In my Arms Tonight (NYC Singles Book 2) (12 page)

An outright lie. But nobody would find out.

Her mother’s chest deflated. Had she been holding her breath all this while? “If you need something, sweetie, you can talk to us anytime. In fact, why don’t you stay with us for a few days? With Keira gone, her room’s vacant. You can take it.”

“Keira doesn’t like anyone in her room while she’s gone,” Kat reminded.

“But it’s been so long since you stayed over. You don’t even call us much anymore.” Her mom sulked, triggering her guilt.

Yeah, she neglected her parents a lot. Most weeks, she forgot to call them. They were lucky if they got a call from her once a fortnight. Obviously, she was not winning any trophies for the best daughter in the universe, but it was disturbing how distant she’d become.

She loved her parents. More than anybody else in the world. But like all grown-up children with professional lives that took over everything else, she wasn’t good at showing that affection.

“Did you eat breakfast?” her dad enquired, changing topic and changing channels as well, to ESPN.

“I did,” she bluffed. She’d eat at her desk later.

They watched tennis on TV. Kat wanted to talk, but she didn’t know what to talk about.

The thing about distance was that too much of it and it became difficult to reconnect.

When it was time for her to go, there was no missing the look of sadness on her parents’ faces, which, by the way, they did their best to hide.

Well, at least they had Keira.

Kat made a half-hearted promise to herself to show up next week and tromped out.

Just as she was entering the
New York Times
building, Ashley called. Why couldn’t people simply send text messages?

“Ash, if this is about the news on TV, then don’t worry. I’m fine,” Kat said, not giving Ashley the opportunity to even edge in a hello.

“Are you sure? You’re not hiding anything like you did during the stalker incident?” Ashley asked.

The stalker incident… well, everybody seemed to be hell-bent on reminding her about that.

“I’ve learnt my lesson. I won’t try to handle everything by myself again.” Squeezing into the elevator right before it closed, Kat pressed up against the metal wall at the back.

“See a shrink as soon as you can. You don’t realize it now, but post-traumatic stress disorder can really mess you up,” Ashley warned.

Ashley was obviously talking from experience, since Andrew, her fiancé, had been battling PTSD for some time now.

Since Kat knew better than to argue with Ashley, she muttered a noncommittal “Mmmmm,” followed by, “Are you at the office now?”

“On the way. Running late today.” There was a clap on the line. “I wasn’t feeling well in the morning.”

“Morning sickness already?” Kat teased.

“You wish. But no. I checked last week. It’s probably the awful lasagna I had for dinner.” A hiccup rose in Ashley’s throat.

Kat plowed through her curls with her hand, scraping past an annoyed Bill as soon as she got off the elevator.

“I gotta go. My boss is already giving me the look.”

“Remember lunch on Saturday at my apartment. Don’t go chasing down a lead like you did last time. Bella and I waited for hours.”

“That was a one-off.”

Ashley sniggered. “Okay. Bye.”

Hanging up, Kat made a beeline to her desk before Bill’s frown got any deeper.

Alex glanced at the perfectly polished statue of a woman who was sitting across the granite-top desk with her sharp-nailed fingers folded over the edge. Manhattan’s most iconic buildings stood outside the window behind her, gleaming in the orange sunlight.

Posh office with amazing city view. Well, he’d have expected nothing less of Jane Grayson.

Achievements in the form of framed family photographs, PR awards and children’s drawings panned out in front of him, encompassing her table and creeping up to the shelf on the wall.

Jane King, director of press and communications
, the golden nameplate propped on her table read.

Jane King. Oh, right, she was married now, wasn’t she?

Alex’s eyes fell to a framed photo of her wrapped in a man’s arms with two young children squishing their cheeks into hers. The man was David King, the co-founder of Patterson & King. The two boys—identical in appearance, blond-haired with ice for eyes like their mother—were unmistakably hers.

Growing decidedly uncomfortable at him examining the silver frame, Jane crossed her sleek legs over each other. Her gray skirt rode up.

“Pleasure to see you, Alex.” Her hand sought his for a handshake.

Ice cold, her skin felt like a popsicle when he shook hands with her. This wasn’t the Jane he remembered. His Jane hadn’t been so cultured, so contained, so calm, so cold.

Alex lowered himself to the seat opposite hers and pointed his chin at the roses on her desk. “Nice flowers.”

If there was such a thing as a PhD in small talk, he probably had it.

“Would you like coffee?” Unnervingly cool and confident, she was very much like a robot. For a second, he blinked, wondering whether the ice sculpture in front of him and the bohemian girl he’d once loved were the same person. The voice was the same, the face, too, but nothing else.

“I’m all right. Thanks.”

“I’ll make one for myself, then. Won’t be a moment.” Gliding across the room, she worked the coffee machine, returning with a cup of dark brew in her hands.

Alex couldn’t peel his eyes away from the photo of her kids.

“Didn’t know you and David had kids.” The words were deliberately said to annoy her. “How old are they?”

“Twelve this November.” Her tone thawed, glinting with motherly affection.

“Twins?” Rolling a pen from her desk between his fingers, Alex leaned back into the leather-cushioned chair. A thread of sunlight from the window shot him straight in the eye.

“Mmmm.” Her lips trembled, raising the cup to her mouth. “Identical twins.”

“What are their names?”

“Duke and Damien.” Straightening, she tugged down her pinstriped coat and narrowed her eyes. “Are you thinking they could have been your children?”

So she hadn’t lost her streak of unpredictability.

Alex dropped his shoulder, shaking his head in agreement. “They could have. If their mother had bothered to show up for her own wedding.”

Jane gnashed her teeth, upping her frigidness to Arctic proportions. “We’re not going to go there.”

“You’re the one who went there first. Might as well go all the way. Wait, I’m sorry, it slipped my mind—you don’t go all the way.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he gave her the look she hated.

He was upset—and not just at Jane. He was angry at himself, too. As if this video mess wasn’t enough, last night he’d spilled a lot of his secrets to a woman he barely knew. It had been bugging him since morning.

Alex didn’t trust people easily. Most people were not trustworthy. His cardinal rule was to never share anything about himself with anyone.

But once he’d started talking to Kat, things had just come pouring out. It had felt natural and easy. Hell, he’d even felt engaged while talking to her, which was a novelty for him these days. He’d been so taken in by her, he’d forgotten who she was. And he’d forgotten it not for a minute, not for a few minutes, but for hours.

“It’s understandable that you’re distressed about the chaotic situation. As you know, changing public perception is a slow process.” Jane brushed his brazen display of animosity under the rug and returned to her monotone. “Your image is bouncing back, thanks to the measures we took immediately after the incident, but the magnitude of negative publicity created by the video has impacted your standing in the race massively. You’re down to second place.” Assertively, she slammed a palm on the table. “We’re hoping to change that by next month.”

“Good, because that’s what I hired you to do.”

“I’ve assembled a team consisting of the best in our firm to deal with your case. I can’t promise that you’ll win back your lead in the race, but I can promise that you will do better than you’re doing now.”

“Excellent. That’s all I needed to hear.” Alex sprang to his feet.

He didn’t want to be around her any more than was necessary.

“Sit,” she commanded, crossing her arms. “We’re not finished.”

“What else?” He sighed.

The tips of her fingers splayed out on the polished surface of the table, sending papers fluttering down the edge. She leaned into him. The unvaried andante of his pulse shifted to an allegro.

“I think you know by now that video… was uploaded with the intention of harming your standing in the race. It’s possible that it could be part of something bigger. A plan.” Bending over her drawers, Jane tossed a magazine that skidded across the smooth surface of the table onto his lap. “This came out recently. The tabloid’s not well-known and the pictures are not that incriminating, but thought I’d warn you. Whichever one of your opponents wants to bring you down is very serious about it.”

Turning the pages, Alex clicked his tongue when he caught his face under the subheading ‘Congressman Summer seen with real estate tycoon. Is his affordable housing plan a farce?’

Lines dug themselves into his forehead and he felt the creases move deeper into his skin. Had somebody been following him? Or rather, having him followed?

“Keep an eye on your surroundings. Don’t do anything that will put you in a sticky situation. There’s only so much I can remedy.” Jane pulled her body upright again.

Making a mental note to himself to look into it, Alex crushed the corner of the paper. “I won’t.”

Jane cleared her throat ceremoniously, waited for a second to pass. “Alex, do you know why I didn’t show up that day?”

He froze. It wasn’t even possible to pretend that his nerves were not on the edge. Her answer… he’d been waiting for it for fifteen years. He’d lost hope that it was ever going to come, and made peace with that, but this…

“Do tell,” he urged, sarcastically.

Jane’s eyes darted up. “I was scared of you.”

“You were scared,” Alex parroted dumbly.

Of all the words in the dictionary, she’d picked the one that made him feel like a criminal. When he inhaled, it was the air in the detention center that he smelt, reminded of the accusatory sounds, his experience in captivity.

When Jane tried to speak, he stopped her. “Don’t. I’ve heard enough—”

“No, I have to tell you. I’ve been keeping this inside for years,” Uncharacteristically, she frowned. “To be honest, I couldn’t imagine being married to someone like you. I just couldn’t. I tried, I tried so hard to love you, but your past was just too much for me. I didn’t know what else you were hiding. I didn’t want to be married to a drug addict—”

“I told you I wasn’t a drug addict.”

Her strained gulp was a clear indication that she hadn’t—still didn’t—trust him on that. “I know… but… it’s too much to ask me to overlook everything. A past like that… it leaves scars. It changes a person in terrifying ways.”

The emptiness in Jane’s expression doubled the sense of disappointment he felt at himself. There was that feeling again. The feeling that there was something wrong with him.

Jane was scared of him. Was he that terrifying?

“Then you should have told me all this earlier. Before you gave me false hopes and made me shell out thousands of dollars for something that had no chance of happening.” Far over the decent volume threshold by this point, Alex was enraged.

So many people, so many years, yet every one of them took a jab at the same sore wound. They all had their excuses—the same excuses that he’d been hearing for ages.

You’re unlovable.

Jane averted her face. “I’m sorry. I should have apologized. I should’ve told you before the wedding and spared you from humiliation. I should have. But I didn’t. Because I was really scared. I didn’t want you to try to convince me to stay or change my mind. By leaving, I thought I could escape the unpleasantness. I’m sorry.”

“Stuff the sorries. I don’t need them.” Alex slammed his balled fists on the arms of the chair. Jane reeled back.