The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (36 page)

Racing heart. Shallow breath. All signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to get home and take half a Xanax—maybe a whole one and crawl into bed.

He waited for me outside the ladies room.
 

“I think maybe you’ve had enough reunion for one night.” He held up my sweater.
 

Relieved, I shrugged into the cozy waffle knit moto jacket and turned to face him. “Thanks.”
 

His chagrin tinged smile caused a little heart flutter. Pangs of sadness ripped through me. Was it possible to simultaneously experience a mild melancholy in such an anxious state?
 

Worse yet, was it possible I still cared for Troy Lambert?
 

There had always been a strong magnetic pull with Troy, an undercurrent of potent sexual energy that simmered just beneath the skin. And despite everything that had happened, some of those feelings were still present.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t say those words. Now here I am acting like a giant sap.” He took hold of my sweater and zipped, slowly. “I guess time heals all wounds, but only if you want them to heal.” His gaze lingered.

“Troy—”

He surrendered at once, gesturing toward the front entrance. As he walked me outside, a black car eased to a stop at the curb.
 

“I’m hoping you might agree to an occasional drink. Let me gaze upon the gorgeous, courageous woman that got away.”

“See me again, Gracie.” He took hold of my hand and yanked me to him. “Take pity on a man who will never hold you in his arms, or kiss you crazy wild senseless, or make love to you.”
 

Suddenly I was catapulted back to prom night, senior year. He cradled my head in his hands and kissed me softly at first, then harder. For a moment, I returned his kiss, releasing a latent passion that frightened me so badly I broke it off.

Troy pressed me against him, and I pushed back. “I can’t, Troy—please.” I pivoted away and stopped dead in my tracks.
 

Bradley stood on the sidewalk wearing a rain-spattered coat, his close-cropped sable hair, damp and disheveled. How long had he been walking the streets in the rain looking for me? Troy and I had been talking for hours.

“Bradley, I—” It wasn’t hard to read his handsome face. A tortured mix of anger, betrayal, and worry, with a icy stare that made my knees knock.
 

Troy stepped forward. “She needed to know about Ethan—”
 

Bradley cut him off. “Not until we’re sure.”

“What about the security tape?” Troy edged forward warily.
 

Dumbstruck, I whirled back and forth between the two of them. “What does ‘not until we’re sure’ mean? You both knew about this—you consulted each other?”

Bradley spoke impatiently. “There’s a chance Ethan Royce could be here in the city. We know that he blew off his meeting with his parole officer—never checked in. That was a little over a week ago.”

A chill ran through me. “And you didn’t want me know?”

“I didn’t want you looking over your shoulder, frightened. You’ve got security, you’re just not aware of it.” Bradley nodded to a man wearing a dark suit standing twenty-five feet away.
 

Stunned, all I could do was blink at the man holding an umbrella.
 

Bradley’s glare narrowed on Troy. “The statute of limitations in a rape case is ten years in California. You’ve got less than a month left, isn’t that right?”
 

I stared, wide-eyed, as Troy’s mouth tightened.
 

“This isn’t about Ethan, is it Troy? It’s about you. A last minute temperature check.” Troy appeared shaken by Bradley’s accusation. “Did your father send you after her—to find out if she remembers anything?
 

“Troy, is this true?” My mouth was so dry, my voice cracked.

His eyes shaded slightly. “Yes and no.“

My stomach lurched and I swayed slightly. Bradley reached out and steadied me. “He doesn’t want to protect you. He only wants to protect himself.”

I did an instant replay of the last few hours with a different spin on his motivations. I stared at Troy open-mouthed. “You manipulated me into this meeting—into trusting you.”
 

Bradley’s jaw twitched. “Trust. Are you really going to go there, Gracie?”
 

My gaze shifted to the security man in black. “And is he there to protect me or spy on me, Bradley?”
 

“Gracie, I have always cared about you.” Troy moved closer. “He’s the one who will break your heart, not me.”

Any possibility of love between Troy and I was long gone, but he was right about falling in love with Bradley—that could hurt one day.

Bradley pivoted toward Troy, nostrils flared. “We’ll see how much you care about her. There’s some new surveillance footage taken outside our building. Would you recognize Ethan?”
 

Troy hesitated. “It’s been ten years,” he shrugged. “I could try.”
 

I saw my chance to escape and turned on my heels.

“Contact Lieutenant Caruso, Special Victims Unit.” Bradley barked over his shoulder as he ran after me. “Where are you going, Gracie?”
 

Not an available cab in sight.
 

“I’ll take you home.” Bradley caught up and took hold my arm.
 

I pulled out of his grasp and kept walking. “That won’t be necessary.”
 

“We had an understanding, Gracie.” His words slowed my steps. “We learn to trust each other by telling the truth—no withholding.”
 

I stopped and turned around. “I know and I’m sorry.”
 

Stormy eyes, furrowed brow, determined lips set in a thin line. All of his pain stared me in the face. “Bradley, this was something I needed to do for me. Without…anyone…hovering.” Rather than meet his gaze, I watched Troy’s car pull away.

Bradley hesitated, perhaps to consider my words. “If you really want closure let him go. Move on.”

“I needed to hear him say he fucked up, that he was sorry.”

Bradley shook his head, incredulous. “What, he hasn’t hurt you enough?”
 

The truth in his statement got me fighting mad. “I don’t know if I will ever forgive him, but this face to face helped me connect some of the dots.”

Confused, duped and completely humiliated, I needed time to think. If our meeting had been solely a fishing expedition, Troy had gotten what he wanted. He now knew that I recalled almost nothing about the sexual assaults. But he hadn’t seemed particularly relieved or reassured by the information. In fact, he appeared to be experiencing a good deal of emotional turmoil.
 

I confronted Bradley’s stormy gaze. “You need to learn to trust me.”

“Like you trusted me with Audrey?”
 

“I didn’t trust Audrey. And I hardly knew you.”

“And why should I trust you? You’ve obviously got a history with this guy you haven’t told me about.” I’d never seen Bradley this furious and I backed away in no mood to explain myself or my past.
 

He exhaled a sigh. “Gracie I want to believe you. Give me a reason.”
 

“No matter what I say, or how much I try to explain, you’re not hearing me.” My own anger simmered close the surface. “We need a break, Bradley. We’ve gotten too close too fast. We’re going to blow up the whole relationship if we’re not careful.”
 

Wound up tight, Bradley’s stare moved off into the gray void of drizzling cityscape. “Fine.”

But before I could step away, he was in my face. “If we can’t be together right now, so be it. But don’t expect me to back off entirely. If you’re going to continue to see this asshole I’ll double your security. Triple it.”
 

I stamped my foot and growled, which made his lips twitch. “Not funny.”
 

“Yeah, it is.” His stare remained icy, but he also shook his head. “You’re just so damn cute when you’re mad.”
 

I exhaled a sigh. “I thought you were the one, Bradley, the one man in the world who understood me. And now I don’t know.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for—a man or a doormat.” Those vivid blue eyes could not conceal his pain. “You are the brightest, most beautiful women I’ve ever met—with a kind and generous heart. I was beginning to believe I had found someone to love. Someone who might also learn to love and care for my daughter.”
 

He scrutinized me carefully, as if he saw me clearly for the first time. “But you are fucked up when it comes to boyfriends. Especially old rapist boyfriends.”

Zing. Pow. Splat.

My eyes narrowed into slits. “Fuck you, Bradley.”

I turned away and he grabbed my arm. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You obviously believe he’s innocent.”

“Just like you obviously believe he’s guilty.” I shrugged out of his hold. “Why do you have to be so damn controlling? And what if I don’t want to be protected? What if you protecting me just makes me feel like the helpless little college girl I used to be?”

Rarely, if ever, did I make a scene in public. Yet here I was yelling at the top of my lungs in the middle of the financial district. A flash of yellow caught my eye and instinctively I waved. When the cab actually stopped, I leaped off the curb.
 

A strong arm reached around me and opened the door. Before climbing inside, I turned around. “Leave me alone, Bradley. I need to figure out a few things on my own.”
 

I slammed the door. “Irving Place and Nineteenth.”
 

As the taxi pulled into traffic I looked back. Bradley and the security guy jumped into a black SUV, one of those intimidating presidential motorcade-type vehicles.
 

I sunk deeper into the backseat and tried to imagine Bradley Craig out of my life.

TUESDAY MORNING ARRIVED a groggy temperamental bitch. No wait, that groggy bitch was me.
 

“Fuck, no.” I hit snooze and pulled the covers over my head.

Closure, as it turns out, is a fantasy.
 

Ugly painful events, past and present, had fucked with my head all night. Worse yet, remorse had set in. I shouldn’t have agreed to drinks with Troy. And Bradley had every right to be angry with me.

Three snooze alarms later I managed to get up and get to work. Sarah handed me a jeroboam-sized coffee and shoved me into the sound proof closet known as the black hole, where I dutifully recorded voice over for the Everyday Héros spot.
 

In between takes, I ruminated over the events of last night, moving from regret to anger and back again.

Sarah’s voice pulled me back to head-throbbing reality. “Keep it husky-sexy, but thoughtful. You love the rug rats you made with your handsome sexy man, and you still want to jump his bones.”

 
I pressed the intercom button. “Only if he showers with Héros body wash.”
 

The small speaker in the booth answered. “Take four.”

Finally, Sarah got what she needed. “There’s this hint of young African American in your voice—edgy and cute.”

I plopped down beside my art director in the edit bay. “Are my eyes puffy?” I tilted my chin so she could get a better look at the swelling.
 

“Semi-puffy. Really not fair, Gracie. Your eyes get that sexy almond-shape when they’re swollen.” She shook her head and returned to the edit. “Divulge your secret and I’ll cut you in on the magic eye cream we’re going to develop and market together.”
 

“Green tea bags pressed to my eye lids for five minutes this morning.” I stared at her. “I guess it worked in a semi-puffy way.”

“Drink this.” She passed over a large bottle of Fiji water. “You need to re-hydrate.”

Sarah’s fingers flew over the controls syncing my recorded words to moving images. “Seriously, did you cry all night?”

“On and off.” I sighed glumly. “Sorry I kept you up past three.” Unable to sleep, I had called Sarah in the middle of the night and spilled the whole sordid tale.
 

I nudged her shoulder. “Thanks.”
 

“You’ve been there for me plenty of times.”

We’d grown close this past year, and the realization made me smile.
 

Sarah glanced over. “What?”
 

I hugged her. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have such an amazingly talented creative partner who is also my friend.”

“Back at you, doll.” Sarah switched video files to work on our other spot. She paused the playback and shortened a camera move down my leg.
 

I squinted at the freeze frame on the monitor. “My legs are gangly.”
 

“Shut up. Your legs are to die for—watch.”
 

Sarah cued Sunday Afternoon, the one with Bradley in all of his casual hotness, and me in my short-shorts. The spot opened on a masculine hand turning shower controls. Sarah dialed up the shower spray sound effects. Quick cuts of a great chest and abs, and long athletic thighs. It was hard to tell what manly part was Bradley and which was the Emporio Armani model.
 

The spot was a melange of existing footage ripped from older agency spots, intercut with the new material shot at my apartment.
 

Sarah had cleverly blended the two, dialing out the color to black and white and adjusting the contrast.
 

The spot cut to a close-up of Héros shower gel on white tiles. Water droplets sprayed the product, along with a gorgeous shot of sudsy foam running from chest—to hip—to buttock cheek.
 

Sarah stopped the video. “Hot enough opening?”

I sighed out loud. “Wet, clean and sexy, just like the body wash.”
 

She hit play and the scene shifted to my bedroom.
 

Sarah’s camera work captured something so startling and sensuous I caught my breath. I had always loved the morning light in my room, but these scenes were more than beautiful. They were arousing.