Ethan

Aaron is quiet, understanding the severity of the situation. On the flip side, Singer doesn’t seem to get it at all. She’s smiling like we’re on a fucking adventure to Disneyland. I’m stewing in my anger, hoping not to take it out on the innocent. But I want to break something. I want to rip someone’s head off. I need to protect her.

I’ve failed her.

Watching her out of the corners of my eyes, she checks her social media then looks out the window. I might be misreading her. The light that usually shines in her eyes is dull. Maybe she’s putting that smile on for me. Reaching over, I take her hand.

When she looks my way, she says, “If it’s not safe for me, the apartment isn’t safe for Melanie.”

“She should stay with Mike tonight.”

“He has an early flight so she can’t. She doesn’t have clothes with her.”

“Tell her to get her stuff, and I’ll send the car for her tonight. Give her Aaron’s number. She can text him when she’s heading home so he’ll be there when she’s ready.”

This time the smile I see is sincere. There’s my kindhearted girl. She was assaulted today, but she’s more concerned about her friend’s needs. God, this girl. Touching my cheek, she asks, “You’d do that for her?”

“For her. For you. Yes, of course. I have three other bedrooms that are never used.”

“You have three other bedrooms? Why have I not been given the full tour?”

“Because the only room that matters is the one where I make love to you.”

Leaning her head on my shoulder, her fingers intertwine with mine. “I love you.”

With my free hand, I reach my arm over the front of her and hold her to me. “I love you, too, Singer.” This is the first time we’ve said it when I felt something else twisting inside, something that threatens my relationship with her, my love for her.

Once we’re in the penthouse, I settle her on the couch. Along with a sleeping pill she brought, I give her warm tea and ice-cold water. I want her to have everything she needs, but I don’t know what that is. She’s so content with the littlest of things and hates to trouble anyone. She doesn’t realize she’s no trouble to me.

While she’s distracted by a home decorating show, I stand near the kitchen, leaning against a wall and watch her. I love her, but I’m clouding her sunny days and raining on her parade. This is unsettling on a deeper level than my well-being.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Lars: I’m assigning detail to Davis until we know more.

He’s not one to make rash decisions. Snap, yes, which is why he’s the head of my security, but not rash. He would only do this if he needs more time to investigate the situation or he believed there was a threat to Singer or myself. I can take it. I can handle someone coming after me. But Singer? If someone’s threatening Singer to get to me, that I won’t accept or risk. My fingers fly across the screen: I want her safe at any cost.

Wanting to check on her, I join her on the couch. “Are you hungry? I have soup or fresh fruit. I can order anything you like. Craving anything?”

She points at me, a smile on her sweet face. Scrunching her lips, she narrows her eyes. “You’re cute. You know that?”

I take hold of her hand and bring it to my lap, tracing her slender fingers. “Have you eaten today?”

“Have you eaten today?” she volleys back.

“I’m serious, Singer.”

“So am I. You’re really cute.”

Although she’s really cute right now, I’m thinking she’s a bit out of it. “Did you take the sleeping pill?”

“I did,” she proclaims proudly. Slinking lower on the couch, she rests her head on a pillow.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No. I want to stay out here with you.” She glances to the TV. “How do you feel about shiplap and farmhouse sinks?”

Eyeing the TV for any kind of reference to what she’s talking about, I feel lost on this conversation. “I don’t know what those are.”

“Have you ever been to Waco?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She rolls onto her back and stretches her legs over my lap. The silly from seconds earlier is gone and she looks at the ceiling. “I used to tell Melanie we were going to own this city, but I’m starting to realize that maybe it will always own me. Not everyone’s dreams are meant to come true. Sometimes dreams are just meant to stay what they are—dreams.”

“Your dreams are goals you’re still trying to achieve.”

“Says the billionaire.” A smile doesn’t follow, but I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. “An entry-level job in publishing pays less than I’m making now. You see where I live on the money I make. Where would I live if I make less? I’ll tell you where. Boulder.” Her eyes fill with tears and I feel the first crack in my heart. I feel powerless watching her crash from the stress of the day.

I stand and pull the blanket over her. “You’ve had a long day. The pill is kicking in. Just close your eyes and get some rest.”

Her lids drop closed, but I leave on the TV, finding comfort in the noise. It’s only eight, but this day feels like it’s been going forever. When I stand, her eyes open and her fingers hold me by the watchband. “Ethan.” Her voice sounds lucid, much like how her eyes appear looking at mine.

“I’m right here.” For a moment I think she’s awake, but she doesn’t seem to register my attention, looking through me more than at me.

“I baked blueberry muffins hoping you’d fall in love.”

“I did. I fell in love.” Stroking her cheek, I say, “You didn’t need muffins for that. Just yourself.”

“Before he pushed me, he said Ethan Everest will pay.” Her eyes fall closed and her mouth falls open and she passes out, instantly in a deep sleep while I’m left staring at her.

Holy fucking shit.

I run to my phone and call Lars. “Get up here. Now.”

Lars is walking off the elevator within minutes. “Yes, sir?”

“Do we have the footage yet?”

“We have one, but it’s not clear. We’re waiting on one more from the Bank Center that has a camera aimed at that specific corner.”

“Get it immediately. She’s on medication, but I think it relaxed her mind enough to remember. Right before she was pushed, the man told her Ethan Everest would pay. She said he pushed her toward the oncoming traffic intentionally. He tried to fucking kill her.” My hands run through my hair and over my face. “Someone is trying to get back at me by hurting her.”

“Do you have any suspicions who it might be or why?”

“Not one fucking clue. Fuck.” I pace the kitchen trying to keep our voices from traveling to her across the room. “Keith wouldn’t resort to murder. Anyway, we’ve settled. He’ll get the money he’s been after for years. We need that footage to find the fucker who pushed her. She said he looked homeless so there must have been a payday for him to attack her.”

“I’ll get the footage. I’ve also sent one of my guys to talk to her boss since he witnessed it.”

“This must stay on the down-low. She walked away from a crime scene. Both her and Chip Newsome could come under fire with the police. We need concrete evidence before we go to them.”

“That situation was handled. We’ll get the evidence we need before going to them with this.”

“Tonight.”

“We’re working on it. I’ll text you when I have new information. I emailed you the first video, and I’ll send the second as soon as we get it.”

“Thank you.”

He goes back to the elevator and I return to Singer, who’s sleeping soundly. I sit on the coffee table in front of her and stare. I’ve become the creeper she was joking about earlier, but I don’t care.

I watch this woman in front of me, wondering how a bastard like me got so lucky. Aaron doesn’t tell me much that goes on between them, so I assume their car rides must be quiet. But he has told me how she treats Frank, and that she brings them both coffee most mornings. The mornings she doesn’t, she’s usually running late.

Singer treats the world with a broad stroke of compassion. It makes my teeth clench thinking that someone dared to treat her with less.

I run the tips of my fingers over her delicate neck, the vein pulsing when I pass over it. With two fingers pressed to the beat, I check her heart rate. It’s steady like her. A whirlwind of intrigue and beauty drew me to her so instantly. But her outlook on life, the way she sees me, the peace she brings to my life, she’s my North Star. She’s the one I look to when I’m struggling to find my way home.

Shiplap and a farmhouse sink.

I’m thinking those aren’t common in Manhattan. The city is all about the sleek and modern, like my apartment. But I’d give those to her. I’d rip this place apart and let her have whatever her heart desires if she’ll stay.

I’m careful not to wake her when I get up, though I have a feeling a train’s whistle couldn’t do that right now. I pick up the remote and start to close the curtains, feeling vulnerable to onlookers for the first time since I’ve lived here. Scanning every light I see outside this wall of windows, I realize it’s not just about the view anymore. Someone out there wants to hurt me, and I’m a fish trapped in a bowl.

Other than the charity ball, we’ve been discrete. Even then, we avoided photos, and there’s not been public PDA. Who knows about her? And how?

The curtains close, and I move to where I’ve set up my laptop on the dining table to check my email for the first video.

Lars is right. You can’t see anything from that camera angle. I click over when my box dings with a new message. The second video is here, so I click to full screen. My eyes narrow when I see her and Chip walking down the street together. His arm is around her and even though I could get caught up in that detail, that’s something I’m willing to deal with later to get the other answers I need now.

The elevator opens and Lars calls, “Sir?”

“Dining room.” When I see him, I add, “Please keep your voice down. Singer is asleep on the couch.”

“Have you watched the video?”

“Watching now.” I press play and watch with my hands clasped in front of me. I know what’s coming and anxiety builds.

Lars points at a man in the upper left hand corner of the screen. “That’s him.”

My gaze darts between Singer and this man. He’s disheveled with a slight limp. He appears drunk by the back and forth swaying when he walks. A car slams on the brakes to avoid hitting him when he crosses against the light.

Singer, in all her innocence, is laughing, not even aware of what’s about to happen. The man uses his hands to wedge Chip and Singer apart. Grabbing hold of Singer, he leans into her, and then shoves her.

His pace picks up, and then he runs until he’s out of the camera’s view. I rewind to watch again, this time I follow Singer. The feet of the chair skid as I stand abruptly, the truth just as horrible as I thought. “He was definitely trying to throw her into traffic.”

She stumbles, then falls to her knees catching herself on the curb. A cab drives by, and she leans back just before Chip grabs her by the arms and pulls her away from the edge. He’s shouting at the man but bends down to help her.

With all those people staring, he fucking gets away.

Fuck!

I knew it was bad. I could feel it in my gut, but this is worse. I slam my fists down on the wood table. How will I ever get that image out of my head? How?

“Find him.”