Strict (Part Five) Read online

  The maitre’d seems to know Gage, and leads us to a table in the back. Gage pulls my chair out for me and the maitre’d sets a heavy, leather bound menu in front of me. He pours us both sparkling water from a heavy blue bottle into fluted glasses, and then disappears.

  “The steak is good here,” Gage says, not bothering to pick up his menu. He’s checking his texts, frowning as he deals with whatever business crisis is happening at the moment.

  I stare at him blankly. “That’s what you have to say to me?”

  He looks up, seemingly confused. “The steak is good here. Why would I lie about that?”

  “I didn’t say you were lying.” I shake my head. “I just find it kind of ridiculous that after everything that just happened, what you want to talk about is dinner choices.”

  “That’s not what I want to talk about, Chloe. No one wants to talk about steak. It was just a comment.”

  I take a sip of my water, wincing as the carbonation hits my throat. I hate sparkling water. “I just don’t know how you can think about food at a time like this.”

  “You need to eat.” He looks at me, his gaze sweeping over my face, his expression softening. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

  I roll the stem of my glass between my hands, watching the light from the candle that sits in the middle f the table reflect off the surface. “Yes,” I say. “I have.” I stare at him, meeting his gaze, hoping he knows that I’m talking about more than just the fact that a killer is on the loose and might be coming after me.

  He stares back at me, his golden eyes meeting mine. I look for a sign or hint of what might be going on in his mind, but there’s nothing. As usual, he’s a mystery.

  “So are we going to talk about what happened?” I ask.

  He sighs and sets his phone down on the table. “What would you like to talk about?”

  I take my napkin, which is folded artfully in front of me, and place it in my lap, my hands twisting at the fabric.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Gage raises his hand, summoning a waiter who’s standing in the corner, who scampers over quickly.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stratford,” he says. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “Two filets, medium rare, with the creamed spinach and sweet potato. And one glass of still water for my date, please.”

  “Certainly, sir.” He scampers off again.

  “Why do I need a special water?”

  “It’s not a special water, Chloe. It’s still. Obviously you don’t like the sparkling.”

  “It’s fine,” I lie, taking a sip from my glass as if to prove him wrong. I don’t know this is suddenly so important, but it is.

  A silence settles over us, the only sound the soft hum of the other diners, all of them seemingly wanting just as much privacy as we do, judging by the way they’re huddled closely in their booths, their features almost indistinguishable in the dim light.

  “Gage.”

  “Chloe,” he counters.

  “I’m serious. I want to talk about what happened.”

  “You’ll be staying at my apartment tonight,” he announces as the waiter returns. There’s an agonizingly long pause in the conversation as the waiter opens the bottle and pours still water into a fresh glass.

  “Anything else?” the waiter asks.

  “No, thank you,” Gage says.

  “Are you sure?” he prompts, “We have a delicious pumpkin soup with chestnut aioli that would be –”

  “We’re sure,” I say briskly.

  The waiter doesn’t skip a beat – he’s probably used to rich assholes yelling at him – and instead pulls a business card out of his pocket and sets it down on the table.

  A waiter with a business card. Jesus. Daniel DiNato, Head Server, it says in a gold embossed script that matches the sign outside. He probably makes more than I do. Well, he definitely makes more than I do, since right now I make zero. I wonder if this place is hiring.

  “I’m not staying at your apartment,” I say to Gage as soon as Daniel has cleared the area.

  “It’s not safe for you to stay at the dorms.” That wasn’t what I was talking about, when I said I wanted to talk, and he knows it. And yet he’s somehow good at guiding the conversation, because now I have no choice but to address this.

  “I can’t stay with you. If anyone sees me…” I trail off. “It could be bad.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That’s great,” I say. “But I do.”

  “You are not staying in the dorms, Chloe. It’s not up for discussion.”

  I take in a deep breath and think about going back to my dorm room. Grace won’t be there. She’s spending that night with her friend from school. I’ll be all alone. Well, not all alone. It’s a dorm, for God’s sake.

  As long as I lock my door, I should be fine. Right? But the thought of my dark empty room isn’t exactly comforting. Not to mention the lax security at the front door and my missing bracelet.

  Of course, if anything happens, all I’ll have to do is call 911.

  But still.

  How long will it take for the police to show up? Enough time for Brandon McCarthur’s hands to wrap around my neck and squeeze until I can’t breathe.

  “Oh, fuck,” Gage says suddenly. I follow his gaze to the side of the restaurant where a few low, curved leather booths are flush against the wall. They’re nestled next to the polished oak bar, the kind of table you’d request when you’re there for a drink or a private meeting.

  Willow sits in one of the booths, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a short, spiky ponytail. She’s wearing the dress she had on at work today, a crisp grey shift dress with a slim red belt. Her sheer hose is perfect, her heels shiny and high, the telltale red soles that even I know mean they’re Christian Loubitons the only pop of color against the black booth.

  Oversized sunglasses cover almost half of her face, even though it’s dark in here. She looks perfectly put together, and yet something about her body language is off.

  She seems…I don’t know, loose or something.

  When she sees that Gage has noticed her, she pulls her sunglasses off slowly. A shiver flies up my spine. Something about the look in her eyes makes me uneasy. Never taking her gaze from Gage, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small compact.

  And then, as if there’s nothing wrong with it, as if she’s in a private bathroom and not out in the middle of a restaurant, she sets the compact on the low table in front of her, takes a vial out of her purse, shakes some white powder onto the mirror of the compact, and snorts it with a small straw.

  My mouth gapes.

  “Did she… is she doing cocaine? In a restaurant?”

  Gage gives me a look like he can’t believe how sheltered I am.

  I’m not.

  I mean, I know people do drugs, I just never thought that someone would be so blatant to do them here, out in public, with like, a bunch of people around. I expect someone to come running out of the back of the restaurant, police or at least a waiter to stop her, but no one seems concerned at all.

  “Wait here,” Gage says, pushing his chair back. But before he can stand up, a commotion starts at the front of the restaurant, raised voices and the sound of a chair scraping across the floor.

  Daniel the waiter is trying to stop a man with salt and pepper hair and a meticulously trimmed beard from entering the restaurant.

  “Get your hands off of me,” the man says. He has a British accent and a jacked up body, and poor Daniel looks scared out of his mind.

  “Sir,” he’s saying. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to –”

  “Stratford!” the British man yells, spotting Gage.

  “Shit,” Gage mutters under his breath. “Wait here,” he repeats to me. “Do not move. Do you understand me?”

  I nod.

  He gets up and hustles the British man out of the restaurant. I can see them through the break in the heavy curtains tha
t drape the windows, talking on the sidewalk, a flash of the British man gesturing and yelling. Who the hell is that?

  “Enjoying your food?” Willow asks, appearing beside me so suddenly that the sound of her voice makes me jump.

  “I haven’t gotten my food yet.”

  “Let me guess,” she says, plopping into Gage’s empty chair. “Steak? Medium rare?”

  “Yes.” I say, smoothing my napkin out on my lap.

  “It’s always the same,” she says. “So fucking predictable.” She picks up Gage’s water glass and drains it, then snaps her fingers until an anxious-looking Daniel appears next to us. “Martini,” she instructs. “Keep them coming.”

  “I’m not sure that you’re – ” Daniel starts, but she levels him with a gaze that makes it clear that she won’t take no for an answer.

  He scampers off.

  Willow stares at me over the table, not saying anything. I’m having trouble reconciling the Willow that’s sitting here now with the Willow I see at work, the ice queen who’s totally in control.

  Her eyes are dark pools, and the way she’s looking at me is making me uncomfortable. Even though she’s the one who’s crashing my dinner, I feel like I need to say something.

  “Do you know who that man is?” I ask, gesturing out the window. “The one with Gage?”

  “Gavin Winthrop,” she says. “He wants to buy River’s company.”

  I frown. “Why is Gage talking to someone who wants to buy River’s company?”

  Willow just smirks.

  Daniel appears with a martini, and sets it down grudgingly in front of Willow. He watches as she picks it up and drains it in three or four big gulps, then hands the empty glass back to him and lays her head down on the table.

  “Your dinner is ready, Ms. Cavanaugh,” Daniel says to me, shooting a nervous glance in Willow’s direction, and I wonder how he knows my name. “Would you like me to serve it now, or would you prefer to wait for Mr. Stratford?”

  “She’s going to wait for Mr. Stratford,” Willow says, without picking her head up from the table. “Don’t you understand that she’s always going to wait for Mr. Stratford?”

  The light from the candle illuminates her features, her skin flawless in the dancing flame. There are dark circles under her eyes, and a tiny bit of white powder clings to her nose.

  Daniel disappears, and I glance at Willow. “Do you…I mean, can I call you an Uber, Willow? Or a cab?”

  She smiles. “I don’t need an Uber or a cab.”

  “I just… I don’t think you should go home alone tonight.” I realize that I don’t know anything about Willow’s home life, if she has a boyfriend or a roommate, or even where she lives.

  “I’m not going home alone tonight, Chloe,” she says, a smirk passing over her lips. “I’m going home with Gage.”

  And then she passes out on the table.

  Chapter 4

  CHLOE

  “Willow?” I touch her shoulder gently, surprised at how fragile she feels, how clearly I can feel her bones through her dress. She moans softly and turns her head. Okay. Well at least she’s alive.

  I take in a deep breath and get up, walking to the front of the restaurant, where I stick my head outside. Gage and Gavin whatever-his-name-is are standing a few feet down on the sidewalk, arguing about something.

  “Excuse me,” I say, and Gage turns, his eyes flashing at my disobedience. “Willow’s passed out on our table, so it’s probably time to leave.”

  Gavin’s eyes slide up my body, and it makes me feel dirty. I yank at my skirt, pulling it down over my knees.

  “Go inside, Chloe.” Gage’s voice is a low warning, and it warms me from the inside out, the breeze that’s blowing across midtown doing nothing to cool me down.

  “Did you hear what I said?” I press. “Your assistant is passed out at our table, high on cocaine mixed with who knows how many martinis. She also seems to think she’s going home with you.”

  Gavin laughs and slaps Gage on the back. “Your intern and your assistant. Nice, mate.”

  My eyes flush and I see the anger burn in Gage’s eyes, this time directed at Gavin. A vein in his forehead throbs, and I wonder what will happen if he decides to punch Gavin right here, in the middle of the street. Jesus, so much potential for law enforcement to be involved tonight. “Go inside, Chloe,” Gage growls. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but see the intensity in his eyes.

  I head back to the table. Willow is now draped completely over the table, her dark hair out of its ponytail and falling over her face, her skin even paler than usual.

  True to his word, Gage appears a few seconds later.

  “Warren is waiting out back with the car.” He takes Willow’s shoulder and shakes her gently. “Willow,” he says. “Willow, wake up.”

  She opens her eyes, blinking at Gage like a princess who’s come out of a long sleep.

  “Hi,” she says with a dreamy smile. “It’s you.”

  “Can you walk?” Gage asks shortly.

  “Yes.” She nods. “Yes, I can walk.” She hauls herself into a sitting position, and then tries to stand up, stumbling into Gage.

  He takes her arm and leads her to the back of the restaurant, leaving me with nothing to do but follow.

  The car is silent on the ride to Gage’s apartment.

  Gage stares out the window, brooding, and Willow slumps against the window, murmuring to herself intelligibly. I’m desperate to talk to Gage, to ask him what the hell is going on, but I can’t do it with Willow right there.

  When we arrive at Gage’s apartment, he whisks Willow down the hall and returns a moment later, walks to the kitchen where he grabs a tumbler and pours himself a drink.

  Then he reaches into the refrigerator, pulls out a platter of sandwiches and sets one on a plate in front of me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “You need to eat.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  He pours me a glass of almond milk and sets it front of my sandwich. I stare at it, dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me? What am I, six?”

  His eyes narrow.

  “What’s going on down there? With her?” I raise my chin toward the hallway.

  “She’s high, Chloe.”

  “I know that,” I say, rolling my eyes and not caring if he has a problem with it. “I mean, why is she high, and why is she here?”

  “I wasn’t going to leave her passed out at a restaurant by herself.”

  “Doesn’t she have a home?” I’m trying to keep the jealous edge out of my voice, but then it’s like, whatever, fuck it. After what Gage and I did earlier, in that library, the fact that he has Willow here, sleeping in his apartment, well… I’m entitled to some answers.

  “Yes, Chloe, she has a home.”

  I wait a beat, giving him a chance to say more, and when he doesn’t, I stand up. “Okay,” I say sarcastically. “This was great. Thanks for an amazing night.” I grab my phone to call an Uber.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling an Uber.”

  He takes my phone from my hand and sets it down on the island.

  “Gage.”

  He meets my eye, takes another sip of his drink.

  “Why is she here?”

  “She’s fucked up.”

  “Okay, I feel like this conversation is going in circles,” I say, “so…” I reach for my phone, but he stops me again, his hand wrapping around my wrist.

  Immediately, desire ricochets through me, not only at his touch, but at the way he’s touching me, with possession and intent. So then why did you safe word if you like it so much? a voice inside me whispers.

  “River fucked her up,” Gage says.

  “What does that mean, River fucked her up?”

  He releases my wrist and runs his hand through his hair, scrubs at his jaw, the five o’clock shadow that’s bloomed on his skin making him look even more
brooding and dark than usual. He drains the rest of his drink, pours himself another. “Just what it sounds like.”

  I sit down and take a bite of the sandwich he’s put in front of me, wanting to keep him talking and knowing that might help. “How did River fuck her up?”

  “They were engaged. River called it off, and Willow…” He shrugs. “She never recovered.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, turning this new information over in my mind. “So you’re saying that he broke her heart, and she developed a cocaine problem because of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “What doesn’t sound right about it?” he asks, and now he seems annoyed, but I’m not letting this go.

  “That River broke up with her and she became addicted to illegal drugs.” I take another bite of the sandwich – chicken and bacon, with avocado and pepper jack cheese. It’s surprisingly delicious. “A lot of people go through break-ups, Gage.”

  “You don’t understand. River is …he leaves people broken.”

  I frown, trying to reconcile this information with the River I’ve met, the guy who is affable and nice and doesn’t seem anything like the kind of person who would hurt someone so badly that they developed a cocaine problem.

  I think about pushing Gage on this, but then change tactics. “Well, if that’s true, then she needs a rehab.”

  “She refuses to go to rehab.”

  I sigh. “Most people refuse to go to rehab.” I take another bite of my sandwich. I can feel my appetite coming back, feel my body starting to relax just a tiny bit after what happened tonight. “She needs an intervention.”

  “Nothing has ever happened between me and Willow, Chloe. I need you to know that.” His golden eyes meet mine, his gaze sweeping up my body.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you understand that? That nothing has happened between us, that nothing will ever happen between us?”

  “Yes, I understand.” I take a sip of milk. “But then why the hell is she here?”

  “She’s here because of River.” The way he says his brother’s name, with such venom, makes me uneasy.