EIGHTEEN
Ryan
Jesus fucking Christ. What kind of nightmare had I just stepped into?
Fucking Charlotte was here and she was pointing a gun at Willow. My mind raced a thousand miles a minute and so did my heart; one wrong word, one wrong move could set her off. She was fucking insane. Stay calm, I willed myself as the elevator door closed behind me. Stay calm.
I carefully lowered the plastic bag I was holding, filled with cartons of Chinese takeout, to the floor and straightened up, my eyes never straying from the psycho bitch. “Charlotte, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Europe with Max.” Maxwell Wentright III was her mega-wealthy banker husband whom she’d married after she ditched me.
“Things didn’t work out with the dick. But I’m getting a very nice divorce settlement that will easily support your writing career.”
“That’s good,” I murmured, studying her. While she was still striking by most standards with her chiseled features, her beauty had diminished. Her shoulder-length blond hair was dull and disheveled, her body bloated, and her complexion blotchy. From the glazed look in her eyes, she must either be drunk or on something. Or maybe a combination of both. The smell of champagne drifted up my nose and my eyes shifted to the shattered flute on the floor, the crystal shards scattered in a puddle of the golden liquid.
She caught me staring at the mess. “So nice, you remembered my favorite champagne. Dom Perignon. What a lovely welcoming present. I saved you a glass.”
Fuck. She’d consumed almost the entire bottle. She was definitely drunk.
“How did you get in here?”
With a smirk, she flung her head back. “A piece of cake. Your cleaning lady let me up. She was delighted to see me.”
Damn the new cleaning service.
“What do you want, Charlotte?” My voice grew harsher, more demanding.
She let out a haughty, shrill laugh. “Oh, puh-lease, darling, must you ask? I want you.”
My jaw tightened; my body tensed. What should I say? Do? I took a step forward so that I was standing beside trembling Willow. I so longed to take her in my arms and comfort her. Make this bad dream go away.
“Don’t make another move,” Charlotte barked out, the gun still aimed at Willow.
I remained frozen, weighing my options.
“You’ve always been the one for me, Ryan. Such a shame you fell for that lowlife whore.”
Fury rose in my chest at her words. It took all I had not to lash back at her.
“And such a pity about her death.” She tutted. “I’m sorry I didn’t send you a condolence card. But maybe a congratulations card would have been more in order.” She laughed again wickedly.
My blood was bubbling, my cheeks heating. My fists clenched so tightly I could feel my nails digging into my palms.
Her intoxicated eyes narrowed, zooming in on Willow. “I must say, with the exception of me, you have the worst taste in women. This little redheaded shrew is so beneath you. I think it’s time you say goodbye to her.”
I tried to make sense of her words. What did she mean by goodbye? With love, there are no goodbyes. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Willow. Not now; maybe never. My mind went into overdrive. I had to placate her.
“Yes, Charlotte, you’re right. Why don’t you put the gun down and let her leave. Then, it’ll just be you and me. The way it’s supposed to be.”
Instead of lowering the gun, her other hand joined the trigger-happy one. The expression on her face grew more furious, more determined, more irrational. Madness flickered in her eyes.
“This time I’m eliminating the competition right up front. Taking no chances.”
She steadied the gun in her hand. Fuck! She was out of her mind. Out of control. Without overthinking it, I darted in front of Willow. I held Charlotte fiercely in my gaze.
“If you kill her, you’re going to have to kill me first.”
Charlotte’s face hardened. “Get out of my way, you idiot.”
“Shoot me!” I yelled back.
“Oh God, no, Ryan!” I heard Willow whimper.
“DO IT!”
The gun shook in the psycho bitch’s hand as her nostrils flared. My heart was beating like a jackrabbit’s, not knowing how this was all going to play out. Her lips pinched, her breathing grew labored. The gun stayed pointed.
Think, Madewell, think! Stealing a glance at Willow, an impulsive idea flashed into my head. Facing life or death, I had to take a chance. I had no choice.
“Catch!” I shouted at Charlotte.
“Huh?” she mumbled as I grabbed the vase Willow was holding.
With my best little league pitch and all my force, I flung it at the insane bitch. I held my breath as it—SMACK!—hit her hard in the head. YES! Dropping the gun, she crumpled to the floor, unconscious. On my next breath, I whirled around and lifted the now sobbing Willow into my arms.
“It’s okay, baby.” I smoothed her hair and kissed her scalp as she clung to me, her arms and legs wrapped around me. Like I was her lifesaver. I was.
“Ry-man, you would have taken a bullet for me?”
“Baby, I would take a knife to my heart if I had to.”
And at this very moment, something changed. I felt something toward Willow that I hadn’t felt in many years. The word was in my heart and on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn’t able to say it. At least not out loud. No, I wasn’t falling in love. I already had and didn’t want to lose her.
Ironically, fucking, blackmailing, sicko Charlotte, who had almost destroyed my relationship with Allee, had cemented my relationship with Willow.
I couldn’t save Allee. But I saved Willow. I was her Superman.
As I held her in my arms and smothered her with kisses, I looked up once, and I swear I saw Allee heading toward the elevator.
She gave me a thumbs-up. “Nice job, Madewell. Fuck the bitch.”
I smiled. She was never one to mince her words.
“Oh, and don’t forget to eat dinner. Chinese is the best… make sure to open your fortune cookies.”
And with that, she disappeared.