I already look like a crazy fucking stalker. It’s been more than enough for one day.
But I can’t give up.
I open her contact on my phone, my thumb hovering over the button that would open a text message.
I didn’t want to resort to this. I wanted to find her, surprise her, show her that I would go to any lengths to let her know how I feel.
I don’t think I have any other options.
I swallow the hard lump of my pride. That’s what this means, then. If I’d go to any lengths, then here I am. At the end of the line.
It was pride that tore me apart from her in the first place. It’s my own damn fault that I wasn’t willing to listen to her, to see her side of the story. All I cared about was that she was snooping—and not even that. That she might find out the details of my past that I’d rather forget, and then she would know that someone out there managed to threaten Ace Kingsley. And almost managed to get away with it entirely. If it weren’t for a few upstanding men in the Italian justice system, I might be rotting away in one of their prisons right now, my fortune collecting interest and me without the slightest ability to use it to save myself.
I stand there for another five minutes trying to craft a text message that will make her want to see me again.
I’m sorry, I start out. I should have listened to your side of the story.
I delete the entire thing and start over.
I shouldn’t have done what I did.
No. This sounds like I’m admitting to the murder, which would be a damn fool thing to even begin to suggest, even by accident.
Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.
I might be desperate, but even now, I can’t bring myself to send that in a message. It’s the unembellished truth, but if I’m going to say this to Carolyn, I’m going to say it to her face.
I open up another message, and I very nearly text Noah, asking him what to say.
No!
I run a hand through my hair again and take a deep breath. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m in love with a woman, but that doesn’t have to shatter me.
If she walks away for good, yes, that might destroy me. But not forever.
Just send the text, Kingsley.
I tap out the words and send them before I have another moment to second guess myself yet again.
I’d really like to talk to you. Will you be home soon?
It has far less of a stalker vibe than several of the other messages I considered, even though at this point I’m almost totally unconcerned with seeming overzealous. I just have to see her.
What if she doesn’t want to see you?
I dismiss the thought the moment it enters my mind. It’s too horrible to consider, that I might have spent the day trying to find the woman I love only to be dismissed at her doorstep.
Speaking of, I should probably get the hell away from her doorway. If she’s not at home—which she almost certainly is not, unless she’s had the strength of will to ignore me knocking for the last twenty minutes—then eventually she’s going to return, and it’s not exactly the most attractive place to be, hovering outside her door, waiting like a lovesick puppy.
You might as well be a lovesick puppy.
True or not, I wrench myself away from the door and head for the elevator.
Step one: I need to tell Noah to keep an eye out for Carolyn and let me know when she’s back in the building. That way, I’ll know if she’s decided not to see me. Step two: Go back to the penthouse and wait to see if she’s going to have me or not.
The elevator door opens and I step on.
This is going to be the longest wait of my life.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Carolyn
My financial manager and realtor cannot come to a consensus about what the right thing to do is in my situation. The realtor, Angie, thinks that I could make an absolute killing on the sale of the apartment and the storefront. Of course, if I make a killing, her cut will be substantial.
Meanwhile, Scott Richards is still arguing in favor of, as he calls it, “maintaining my assets” even if I decide to leave the city.
“It makes the most financial sense in the long run,” he’s telling her over the phone when my cab pulls up to the curb outside my building. There’s a strange energy coursing through me that I’m absolutely going to take advantage of, and right now. My first call when I get upstairs is going to be to one of the personal assistants I share with a couple of friends, and I’m going to ask her to bring as many packing boxes as she can carry up to my apartment.
A moving company will do the bulk of the work, of course, but it’s been a long time since I moved anywhere for a substantial period of time. Since…since college, really, which is bordering on eight years ago now.