Ethan

I blame Singer.

She’s got my thoughts all twisted.

If only things had started off differently than they had with her, then I wouldn’t be embroiled in the mess I am.

But Singer Davis stunned me in the most unassuming way.

I’ve already been here an hour and still not had the balls to go up to her, much less talk to her. She’s different from the other women here—quiet, a little reserved, gorgeous with long hair twisted into a ponytail that sweeps back and forth across her neck. Her eyes are the prettiest green, reminding me of brilliant emeralds.

She’s intimidating, and I’m the kind of guy who’s never intimidated in business or life. I’ve paraglided over Paraguay. I’ve bungee-jumped in South Africa. I swam in the Amazon and created a multi-billion dollar company. I don’t have to use lines on women. I just have to show up.

So while there’s a myriad of opportunity circling around the room trying to get my attention, I don’t go for the obvious. I go for the intriguing. The fascinating. The demure. The beautiful. “Who’s that girl in the blue dress?”

Keith, my best friend since I was ten, looks over his shoulder. “Not sure, but check out the legs for days over on the couch. She’s been staring at you since we walked in.” He pops me in the chest. “Fucker. You get all the hot ass.”

“Hot ass,” I grumble, remembering his words. Pacing is something I seem to be doing a lot more lately. I stop in front of the windows that frame a view of what feels like the whole city. This view was worth every penny I paid for it. I just wish I could enjoy it.

My gaze shifts from “legs for days” to the blue dress. An audible moan is heard rumbling from the guys watching the game. The Yankees are down in the seventh, but I’m too distracted to care. Standing with this group of strangers, I ask, “Hey, you know her name?”

“Singer.”

I want to see her again. It’s only been a few hours but it feels like days since I’ve seen the sun, a year since I felt her heat.

Why did I allow myself to be distracted? Dariya didn’t drag me inside to watch the game. Keith wasn’t concerned about a possible scandal.

The whole setup makes me sick, but knowing I fell for it, makes me regret so much more.

I pour more bourbon and sit at a table that seats twelve, but has only ever hosted one. Maybe I should go out, find some entertainment for a few hours, bury myself deep in a different kind of regret. It gets lonely, and pretending I’m not isn’t easy.

Picking up my phone, I press Aaron’s number. He answers after one ring. “Good evening, sir.”

“Did Ms. Davis make it home safely?”

“She did. I’m just leaving her street now.”

As curious as I am to what she’s been up to since I left, I don’t ask. I didn’t send Aaron as a spy, but I’m weak and ask, “Is she in for the night?”

“She said she was, something about a movie to watch. She told me to go home. Can I take you somewhere, sir?”

“No.” My answer comes too quick, considering I want to say yes. I need relief. Want a distraction. “Go home. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

“Six?”

“Yes.”

“Have a good night, sir.”

“Stop calling me that, Aaron. You know I’m fine with Ethan.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Break it,” I reply, but still respect his integrity.

He laughs. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

I take one more shot of courage and get up from the table. I’m tired of this. It’s bullshit, and I’m over having to sit alone every night.

With a text from Matthews calling me back out, I decide to go.

After showering, I get dressed and leave. As soon as I get in the cab I’m tempted to tell the driver to take me to Singer’s, but Reegan’s warning replays in my mind. Until this case is settled, Singer’s red lips are off limits. Keep it casual. The paparazzi can twist the simplest photos into something seedier, but not if I don’t give them anything to run with. I’ve been lucky they haven’t tracked Singer and me so far. The pub in the afternoon and the game. Both were cleared before I arrived. I was told to keep it friendly.

Singer Davis makes that an almost impossible task.

But after six months of sainthood, the stalker media is finally losing interest in my personal life. I need to be careful not to feed the beast.

I entered through a private back entrance, making my way through the club to the VIP area, where no cameras are allowed. Just past eleven, a woman’s hand is on my thigh—red nails that come to a dull point—rubbing over my jeans. Her ample but hard tits are pushed against my bicep, her lips at my ear. I don’t think I’ve heard anything but maybe every third or fourth word.

This place is loud, and my mind is stuck on a walkup twenty minutes south of here. Matthews has his hand up the skirt of a redhead he met less than an hour ago. He’ll be leaving with her soon, leaving her friend attached to me. He always opens his big mouth to brag about the company when all I want to do is forget about work for a while. So I’m not really falling for her advances, they come with a price tag I’m not willing to pay.

She whispers, “Maybe we should go to your place?”

My place? It’s my safe haven. “No.” I stand and reach for my wallet. All three of them watch me. I avoid her eyes because I don’t want to see the need in them. They’ll conjure my own needs and then I’ll be stuck in that regret from earlier, trying to politely get her to leave the penthouse.

Matthews knows when I’m not into someone or something. He’s learned my telltale signs. Earlier, I left to save Singer the trouble. Now I’m leaving to save myself. He says, “I’ve got it.”

“Thanks.” I tell them and walk away before I’m shamed for bailing on her.

Outside, I get a cab fairly fast, considering the busy night. The address rolls off my tongue. Not a true slip, but one with motive behind hit.

I’m a foolish fucker for doing this, but courage has kicked in, so I sit back and think about how I’m going to explain why I’m there when I see her. Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to figure my shit out.

Any other day or night in the city and I’d be sitting in traffic. Not tonight. Destiny has cleared the path like a runway for this taxi to takeoff, and we make it to her place in record time.

Standing outside Singer’s building, I scope out the surroundings and her building in the middle of the street, and then shake my head. What the fuck am I doing here? I pace, checking the time and try to talk myself out of doing what I know I’m going to do.

“Got a spare ten?”

My eyes are drawn to a homeless man who has his stuff neatly piled around him. He doesn’t look too scruffy, though I’m not one to question him. I reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty. Handing it to him, I say, “What’s your name?”

“My friends call me Frank.”

“What can I call you?”

“You just gave me a twenty when I was gouging you by asking you for a ten. You can call me Frank.”

Kneeling down, I chuckle. “I thought twenty might be the going rate, Frank.”

“Don’t get conned, mister. Most of the guys down at the shelter admit they’d be happy with a dollar.”

“A dollar’s not gonna buy much these days.”

“It’s enough to get something to eat, something small, or a coffee at the corner to warm the insides.”

I reach out and introduce myself, “I’m Ethan. Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you,” he says, shaking my hand. “Who are you here to see?”

“How do you know I don’t live here?”

“The doubt that keeps you walking back and forth out here instead of going in there. The debate you have going on in your head, most likely concerning the time, or the girl—”

“Hey hey, Frank. Ease up there. I thought we were friends.”

He leans his head against the brick and laughs. “We are, but I know the look of questionable intentions when I see them, and you have them written all over your face.”

“My intentions are not questionable.”

“What are your intentions then?”

Taking a minute to think about it, I start to wonder if my intentions are questionable when they concern Singer. I stand up and sigh. Running a hand through my hair, I reply, “I don’t know. She has me all messed up.”

Laughter echoes from deep within him, and then he says, “That sounds like a woman you should marry.”

“What?” I’m shaking my head. “No. I don’t know her well enough for that.”

“I’m telling you. Save yourself the disaster that lies ahead and marry her. Skip the pacing and just go forth, young Ethan.”

He makes me laugh again. “You might have a valid point, but how about I get to know her first?”

“That’s a good idea, too, but you should do it before some other guy marries her while you’re busy getting to know her.” He taps his wrist though he’s not wearing a watch. “Best get to it. It’s getting late.”

I step toward the building buzzer, but pause with my finger hovering above it. “Hey Frank, do you think it’s too late to knock on a woman’s door who you’re interested in, but haven’t told her yet?”

He looks far off into the sky. “It’s almost midnight. Might come off like a booty call. You don’t want that for the girl you’re going to marry.”

“Stop saying that.” He shrugs, and I add, “Yeah, I don’t want her to think I’m just stopping by for . . . well, you know.”

“I know.” He points at the corner. “If you’re needing a ride home, you can catch a cab down there a lot easier than this street.”

“Why’d you pick here to make camp?”

“Quiet and safe, I reckon.” Shrugging again, he says, “Anyway, I look out for the tenants when I’m around. They’re some of the nicest I’ve met.”

“They’re lucky to have you.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out another bill. It happens to be a fifty. I hand it to him and he graciously accepts. “You looking for work?”

“Always.”

“I’ll ask around tomorrow.”

“I’m a people person, so don’t be shoving me in some old basement to sort mail.”

Laughing, I reply, “Duly noted.”

“So you want me to tell Miss Singer you stopped by?”

Taken by surprise, I ask, “How’d you know I was here to see her?”

“I didn’t, but figured. She’s the only single tenant in the building who’s not dating anyone other than crotchety Mrs. Kelso, and Kirby, the landlord.”

“The power of deduction.”

“You have good taste. She’s a lovely woman.” It doesn’t surprise me that he knows Singer well enough to say that. No doubt she won his heart by simply being her.

“Yes, she is,” I reply. Looking up at the building once more, I sigh. “Guess I should get going. Have a good night and a good meal, Frank. Nice chatting.”

“You too, Ethan. Next time I want to see you in the daylight.”

Laughing while walking away, I reply, “Okay.”

I may not have accomplished what I came here to do, but the trip wasn’t a loss. In fact, I consider it a win. I met another person completely under Singer’s thrall, and somehow, that makes me feel a little better. Her friends are loyal and love her dearly. I may not ever get to have her, but she’ll never lack for people to adore her. As she deserves. As she’ll always deserve.