Chapter Thirty-Three
Ross sat in the holding cell, seething with rage, sick with worry but mostly satisfied that he’d had the singular pleasure of beating that bastard’s face in. He stood when the officer appeared and called his name. Austin stood beside him, pinched-faced and pissed-off.
“Let’s go, Hoffman. I posted bail.”
He got up slowly, bruised and bloodied hands dangling at his sides and shuffled out of the piss-stinking jail. They walked out once Ross had collected his suit jacket, watch, phone and wallet. Austin stayed silent the whole drive to the brewery.
“Thanks,” Ross said after they parked. He was at a loss and wondering where in the hell Elisa might be right now. She’d been so brave, slapping the guy, but Ross had not been about to let the opportunity pass without exacting some revenge on her behalf. No fucking way. He looked down at his raw knuckles. “Where is she?”
“They held her in contempt, like the judge said he would.” Austin was gripping the steering wheel so tight Ross could see the bones of his fingers under the skin. “It’s a God damned bigger mess and now the press is up my ass like a colonoscopy.” He sighed and let his hands fall to his lap. “Let’s just say that Elisa’s outburst cost her, big time. They’re holding her without bail for reasons no one can explain to me. The celebrity chef is recovering after the brutal attack by the brewer with the famous temper or some shit. Jesus, please us.”
Ross sighed and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Austin shook him off. “We have to meet with the lawyer in an hour. That asshole’s attorney is threatening to sue you for assault, me for harboring you and her for all this time. He’s out for blood and my company is gonna be the one that bleeds. I’m not in the mood for your shit.” He climbed out of the car and stomped to the back door of the brewery without a backward glance.
Ross’ heart pounded as he watched his friend wrench open the back door.
He’d done this. Or at least he was directly complicit and Austin, who’d never done a damn thing wrong, was going to pay the price. He got out and went to the rental that he’d left at the brewery, as they’d all ridden in Austin’s giant SUV to the courtroom, in decent spirits, thinking all would be over and done with soon.
As he drove to his hotel, he self-justified his motivation for beating the guy bloody in the courtroom. His first call was to Jack Galyan’s office, asking if Elisa could have a visitor. After being told that process, he got a quick shower, changed into jeans and a polo-style shirt, then drove to the county lock-up. But when he told the giant lady guard in charge he was there to see Elisa Nagel, he was told she didn’t want any visitors.
Ross frowned. “Tell her it’s her fiancé.”
The woman rolled her eyes, wandered back to some mysterious place in the prison, then returned, her lips set in a firm line. “She don’t want visitors. She knows who you are and says she especially don’t want to see your…let’s see how did she put it…your ugly, stupid face ever again.”
Ross reeled backward until his legs made contact with a chair. He dropped into it, stunned into immobility for a few seconds. Finally, he got up and approached the wall of blue uniform. The woman lifted her face and scowled at him. “You again, blondie?”
“Listen, I know she’s upset. But tell her I need to ask her something important. Something that will help her out…of this…mess.”
The woman sighed, got up, lumbered through the door that snicked shut behind her. For a hot second, Ross contemplated crashing through it, his need to lay eyes on Elisa and make sure she was all right was so strong.
But as before, the woman came, back, her face set in stone to inform him that if he didn’t leave in the next five minutes, she’d have him removed.
Fury tickled his throat as he clamped down on the urge to bellow her name, to demand to see her, no matter what. She had some nerve, pushing him away now. He flopped down onto the front steps in the bright, hot sun trying to get himself back under control. Finally, he raked his fingers through his hair one last time, and headed for his car.
If she wouldn’t see him, or talk to him anymore after he’d repeatedly told her how he felt, after they’d planned a trip home to meet her family, talked about names for their fantasy restaurant—then fuck her. A man could only do so much. This rejection, when he knew damn good and well she needed him too, was the final straw.
“Fuck her,” he growled as he screeched out onto the road in front of the women’s prison. He threw the SUV in park then ran up the steps to his stupid, ever-temporary living space. Ignoring the zillions of texts and missed calls from Austin, Evelyn and Trent, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he wanted.
He dropped onto the cheap hotel couch, opened a beer, drank half of it without tasting it, then hit Call.
“Hello? Ross? Is that you?” Holly’s smooth, southern-inflected accent made him smile around the mouth of the bottle.
“Yeah, babe. It’s me. You busy? I need someone to talk to.” He closed his eyes, hating himself, but knowing this was the right move to make. He required action, and he was going to by God take some.