His Belt (Part Four) Read online

  His Belt

  Part Four

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  WANT TO BE IN THE KNOW?

  His Belt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Copyright © 2018 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  His Belt

  (Part Four)

  Chapter 1

  ABIGAIL

  I always wondered what I would do if I were ever attacked, if someone came up to me on the street and tried to mess with me or abduct me. I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be the type to cower in a corner, or plead with my attacker in a high-pitched, whiny voice.

  Turns out, I was wrong.

  Turns out what I would do is scream “Fire!” at the top of my lungs and then turn around and kick the perp in the leg as hard as I could.

  “Owww!” the woman holding my shoulder screams, immediately letting me go and grabbing at her leg. “Owww! Oh my God, what did you do that for?”

  She’s on the ground now, clutching her calf, pulling up the bottom of her black yoga pants and inspecting her skin. Now that I’m getting a better look at her, I’m starting to seriously doubt that she’s any kind of kidnapper or anything nefarious like that. She’s in her fifties, trim and tone, with a flippy shoulder-length dirty blond bob.

  “Who are you?” I demand, my hand going to my pocket and reaching for my phone in case I need to call the police.

  “I’m Eli’s mom.” A bruise is already starting to bloom on her skin. “Where’d you learn to kick like that, anyway? And why were you screaming ‘fire’?”

  “I heard that if you’re in trouble, you’re supposed to scream ‘fire’ no matter what’s actually happening,” I explain. “Otherwise no one will come.”

  “Oh. Smart.” She nods in approval and pulls the bottom of her pants down. “People are so caught up in their own bullshit, so protective of themselves, that they won’t come help unless they think they’re not in danger.” She rolls her eyes and sighs, like the ridiculousness of the general population has made her weary.

  “Wait.” I shake my head, still reeling from what just happened. “Who did you say you were?”

  “I’m Katherine Armstrong. Eli’s mother.” She holds her hand out and waits for me to take it.

  Eli’s… Oh. Elijah. Elijah’s mother. Elijah’s mother who he’s never mentioned to me.

  “Oh,” I say, trying not to look as startled as I feel. I take her hand. Her handshake is firm but friendly. Now that I’m getting a good look at her, I can see the resemblance – she has the same eyes as Elijah. She’s wearing a full face of makeup, the kind that’s meant to look like you’re not wearing any– a swipe of mascara, a few layers of beauty balm, a slick of nude lip gloss.

  She’s a very attractive woman.

  “I saw you running, and I just…I wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry I scared you.” She sounds sincere.

  “How do you…I mean, how do you know about me?” It is possible Elijah’s mentioned me to her? Just because he never mentioned his mother to me doesn’t mean he hasn’t told her about me. Although the thought of Elijah having that kind of personal conversation with anyone was so far out of the realm of what I could imagine it was almost laughable.

  “I saw your picture with him on Page Six,” Katherine says. “And I needed to talk to you.”

  “So you stalked me to my apartment?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Abby.” She rolls her eyes and then checks her phone, scrolling quickly, her wrist flicking through screens with practiced ease. I’m not sure, but I think she’s on a dating app. “It’s very easy to find where someone lives these days, and if you’re worried about that, you should take up this country’s privacy laws with your congressperson.”

  “What?” I shake my head, trying to focus. “I’m sorry, I don’t… what is it you’re doing here exactly?”

  “I want to talk to you about Eli,” she says, sighing and sliding her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. “And about Ryan’s wedding. Can I take you to breakfast?”

  “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes,” Katherine says to the waiter fifteen minutes later. “And some bacon on the side.”

  “Same,” I say, without even looking at the menu.

  We’re at a diner around the corner, the kind of organic frou frou place where everything has a gluten free alternative and the coffee is fair trade and pressed. I picked it because I thought someone like Katherine would appreciate it – I’m not sure why, but I’m feeling the need to impress her. But she wrinkled her nose at the organic fruit bars and chia seed pudding before deciding on the pancakes.

  She picks up two Splenda and dumps them into the coffee in front of her, then swipes another alert off of her dating app. I try not to look, but it’s kind of impossible. She’s Tindering with people who are way too young for her, from what I can see. She swiped right on a pic of a shirtless guy in front of a surfboard, his abs sparking under the glare of the sun. Is she some kind of sugar mama? I wonder.

  “So Ryan’s wedding,” she says, suddenly all business as she folds her hands in front of her. Her nails are gorgeous – filed into perfect ovals and slicked with a muted mauve polish. “I’m assuming you’ll be there.”

  “Why would you assume that?” I say carefully, then stir a sugar-free dairy-free almond milk hazelnut flavored creamer into my coffee and take a sip. I’m realizing now that I’m on very dangerous ground. Obviously this woman thinks I know much more about Elijah than I do. From what I’ve gathered from context clues, Ryan is Elijah’s brother. And he’s getting married. Other than that, I know nothing.

  “Oh, please.” Katherine leans back in her chair and waves her hand, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Ryan told me Eli asked if he could bring a plus one. I didn’t even know Eli knew what a plus one was. And that quote in the paper? About how he doesn’t comment on his personal life? All Eli does is comment on his personal life by not commenting, you know? Thinks he’s so clever.” She clucks her tongue. “Besides, you’re completely unlike the women he usually dates.”

  I try not to be offended, but she must see it on my face.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s not a bad thing, Abby. You’re gorgeous and you must be smart if you’re already an editor at your age. And it’s about time Eli found someone he really cared about.” The waiter returns and refills our coffee, and we fall silent. Once he leaves, Katherine looks at me seriously across the table. “I need you to talk to Eli about his brother’s wedding.”

  “What about his brother’s wedding?” I take a sip of my coffee and hope she can’t tell that I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.

  “I’m going to be there. And I don’t…I can’t have it being awkward. I don’t want to do that to Ryan. But Eii, he…” Her hands curve around her coffee cup and she takes in a deep breath through her nose and lets it out, the gesture reminiscent of something she might have learned in a meditation class. Her carefree attitude
is suddenly evaporating as she talks about her son. “He just never forgave me for what happened with his father. He blames me for it.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “He’s told you?” she asks. “About his father’s attempted suicide?” But the way she phrases it makes it sound almost more like a statement than a question.

  “No,” I admit, because pretending to know what she’s talking about is one thing, but lying to her face is quiet another.

  “What?” She slams her coffee cup down on the table, and some of the liquid sloshes over the side and onto the table. “What do you mean he hasn’t told you?”

  “He hasn’t told me.” I shrug, taking a post-consumer waste recycled napkin from the holder and wiping up her spilled drink. “Elijah isn’t exactly an open book.”

  She runs her fingers through her hair, making it look slicked back on the top when she’s finished. “Shit, shit, shit.” She stands up, her eyes wide with panic. “I’m sorry, Abby. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have put you in this position.”

  She throws some money on the table, enough to cover both of our breakfasts, then squeezes my shoulder. “Just be kind to him,” she says, and then she’s gone, sliding through the front doors, swallowed up by a group of tourists wearing matching I heart NY t-shirts.

  The waiter sets the two plates of pancakes down in front of me. They look amazing – all fluffy and light, the blueberries plump and fresh.

  But I can’t eat.

  In fact, my stomach is turning.

  Because all I can think about is what Elijah would do if he knew I’d met with his mother.

  “Hi!” Hailey pops up in front of me as soon as I step off the elevator at work.

  “Hello yourself,” I say, smiling. “You look chipper this morning.”

  “I was waiting for you.” Her hair is in a messy topknot, and she’s dressed in black leggings, black knee-high boots, and an oversized cream sweater. She looks effortlessly chic and every inch the artist she is as she pushes her glasses up on her nose.

  “Why?” I’m juggling an envelope full of page proofs, a takeout coffee from the restaurant I went to with Katherine, and my purse.

  “I need to talk to you about something. Something, ah, private.”

  “Okay. Just let me drop this stuff off at my desk and then I’ll meet you in the break room?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, and shifts her weight onto her other foot, looking suddenly slightly panicked. “We need to go now.”

  She grabs my arm and starts to hustle me toward the break room, but I pull from her grasp and turn around back toward my desk, wondering what it is that could be so important. “Seriously, Hails, let me just… “ I trail off as my eyes travel over the tangle of cubicles that take up our floor.

  There’s a group of people gathered around my cubicle, whispering excitedly. I spot Lucy Bastille’s ice blond head in the mix, and my eyes narrow.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Hailey.

  “Abs, please, let’s go to the break room and we can – ”

  But I ignore her, making my way toward my desk.

  The group of people huddled around it parts and when they do, I almost wish they hadn’t.

  There’s the dress I wore last night, draped across my chair as if it were a person. Obviously it’s not the exact one I wore last night. As I look closer, I see it’s not even the same dress, but a cheap impression of it, the same red color, but this one a knock-off made of polyester.

  All down the front, the dress has been slashed, the fabric split and torn haphazardly, the cuts well-defined as if they were done with scissors or another sharp instrument.

  On the back of my chair is taped a black and white print-out of the picture of Elijah and I from Page Six, but my eyes have been cut out.

  Olivia, one of the other romance editors that I’d been talking to last night at the gala, is standing in front of my computer monitor with a tissue, scrubbing furiously.

  Someone has spray painted the words “DIE SLUT WHORE BITCH” across my entire computer.

  My entire desk has been splattered in a sticky red substance – something to symbolize fake blood.

  A murmur goes through the crowd that’s huddled around as they see me approaching.

  Olivia stops her scrubbing – it isn’t helping anyway, since there’s no way that paint can be scrubbed off with just a tissue. My heart pounds. My face is hot and my stomach flips. I feel the strange sensation of being almost cut off from everything that’s happening, like I’m in a dream or watching a movie.

  I catch Lucy’s eye from where she’s standing on the other side of my cubicle, huddled together with her best friend from work, Jasmine Kassiano. The two of them are watching me carefully, the hint of a smile playing on both of their lips as they wait to see how I’m going to react.

  And then another murmur goes through the crowd, this one even more pronounced than when I showed up.

  A second later, the crowd parts and Elijah appears.

  When he sees the words on my computer, his eyes narrow and his jaw ticks. Everyone goes even more silent than they already were.

  His eyes pass over his employees, before his gaze lands on me. I watch him take quick inventory of my face, making sure I’m okay, or at least as okay as I can be. I’m not sure what my face is showing, not sure what he thinks, but he knows enough that even if I’m not okay, there’s no way he can do anything. Not here, not in front of everyone.

  The crowd is dead silent now, the only sound the whir of a copy machine somewhere in the distance and the soft murmur of voices from another department, one that blissfully isn’t aware of the vandalism that has just taken place.

  “Who did this?” Elijah demands, his voice low and cold.

  People avert their eyes, most of them looking at the floor.

  “Who. Did. This?” he says, and now his voice is raised, the grip on his control loosening as his anger builds.

  Everyone stays quiet, although a few people glance at each other nervously.

  Seconds pass, seeming like minutes.

  “I see whoever it was isn’t going to be smart enough to come forward and accept responsibility for their heinous behavior, which isn’t surprising from someone who would do something so cowardly.” He reaches over and unhooks the monitor from its tower angrily, the cord flopping onto my desk with a whipping sound. “Make no mistake that the security cameras will pick up the perpetrator, and they will be dealt with accordingly.” He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in, making it clear that whatever punishment is going to befall the responsible party won’t be just losing their job -- it will be much worse than that.

  Elijah picks up the monitor and hefts it under one arm, like it weights nothing. Finally, he turns to look at me. “Go to HR, Ms. Bennett, and get yourself a new monitor and have them send maintenance to clean this up. The rest of you, get back to work.”

  As soon as he clears the area, everyone scuttles away, like they’re afraid that by not getting back to work, they’re going to be blamed for what happened.

  I turn away from the carnage, not wanting to look at it for a second longer than necessary, and head back toward the elevator bank so I can head up to HR. My eyes are blurry with tears that I didn’t realize were there, and I have to push the button for the 7th floor twice.

  Before the doors can close, Hailey appears, shoving her hand between them and stepping onto the elevator with me.

  She looks at me, her eyes steely, and I know she knows that I lied to her about last night. She must. She was trying to keep me from seeing that destroyed dress – someone must have told her what it meant.

  “Hailey –” I start.

  “Save it.” She shakes her head sadly and her voice has an edge. “Abby, what the hell are you doing?”

  “What?” I stare at her blankly. “Wait. That’s what you have to say to me after what just happened?”

  “What do you want me to say? Oh, Abby, I’m so sorry that someone
painted words on your computer and slashed a dress from Target? Come off it. A computer can be fixed. A desk can be cleaned. Your career, on the other hand… “ She shakes her head. “Don’t throw it away, Abby. Not for a man. And certainly not for him.”

  “I’m not throwing anything away,” I say. “And honestly, if you were my friend, you’d save the ‘I told you so’s.’ Someone wrote ‘die whore’ on my computer, Hailey. Someone took a dress I was wearing and cut it to shreds. Do you have any idea how scary that is?”

  “I’m sure it is scary,” she says. “And what it should be is a wake-up call. To stop whatever it is you’re letting Elijah Armstrong do to you.”

  “I’m not letting him do anything,” I say. “It’s not like that.”

  The elevator stops on the 7th floor for HR, and I step out.

  “I’m not going to stand by and just let you ruin your life,” Hailey calls after me. “No good friend would.”

  I keep walking, not sure if she’s being a bad friend-- or if I’m the one who’s being stupid.

  Chapter 2

  ELIJAH

  Fury explodes through my veins as I carry the computer monitor up to my office. I stalk past Addison, the receptionist, who has the wherewithal not to look at me or acknowledge the fact that my mood is temperamental at best, murderous at worst.

  When I get into my office, I resist the urge to throw the fucking thing at the wall until it breaks into a million pieces. But if I do that, I’ll have to call someone to clean it up, and I’m not in the mood for company.

  Who the fuck would do something like this? God, the look on Abigail’s face… it had taken everything inside of me not to gather her up in my arms and pull her close to me, to stroke her hair and whisper into her ear that it was going to be okay.