The Stranger Just One Night Part 1(46)

Robert Dade just asked me if we could talk.

Like I would talk to a normal person? Have we ever done that? It’s always been passion and teasing and excitement. Have we ever just sat down and had a conversation that wasn’t about work?

No.

But maybe we could. The possibility bewilders me and then quickly builds up a mysterious appeal. We could be more than the roar of a sports car, more than a rash night in a luxury hotel.

I close my eyes for a moment. The images that swirl before me are different from the fantasies I’ve entertained over the last few weeks. In these imaginings I see Robert and me sitting side by side at a movie theater eating popcorn. I see us poring over the Wall Street Journal and LA Times while eating Sunday brunch. In my fantasy our brash impulses are supported by a bond that is every bit as strong as the beams that hold up his decadent house on the hill.

Robert is the man who unlocks my inhibitions and revels in their display. But if in addition to all that he could also be my friend and my partner . . . if he could be a man who willingly walks with me on firmer ground, maybe, just maybe that would change things.

Robert has always appealed to my devil, but what if I gave him the chance to befriend my angel?

If he could, then maybe, just maybe I could be a woman who has it all.

Little sparks of hope ignite inside my heart but the ringing of my cell phone jars me out of my musings. It’s coming from my purse that sits discarded on the floor.

It’s Dave’s ringtone.

I pull out the phone but don’t pick up. Letting my cool and collected recorded message greet him. I can’t talk to him now, not while in this place and certainly not before I have more time to sort through my thoughts and emotions.

But then I hear that he’s sent me a text. Which he never does.

I know where you are, I know what you’re doing.

I try to make sense of the words. He can’t mean . . . how . . .

The next text comes.

I’m supposed to call Dylan Freeland soon. He doesn’t know what you’re doing . . . yet. But if you don’t get off that boat and meet me by your car in five minutes I will make sure Dylan, our families, EVERYONE knows.

I stare at the screen, my eyes wide and unblinking. Dave has never threatened me before, not with anything, let alone the destruction of my career. But then I have never betrayed him like this before.

I look down at myself; my pants are wrinkled and my shirt’s still in my hand. I’m shaking. I’m ruined.

Another text.

Leave him, now. I’m giving you one chance. Take it. Take it or I’ll take everything.

I have never felt so cornered or more scared. It’s not just that he could cost me my job. He could cost me my entire professional reputation. He could cost me my parents’ respect. He could take away their conviction that we, as a family, are good.

With unsteady hands I put on my shirt, gather up my purse, and go above board.

“Kasie,” Robert says, his tone so soft I could curl up in it like a blanket. “We just need to talk for a bit. You don’t have to leave. We don’t have to play these games. . . .”

But his voice fades off as I walk past him without stopping. I get off the boat and walk away. I can feel him watching me. He thinks I’ve made a choice. He thinks I’m running away from him.

But I’m not. I’m not even being led. I’m being pushed.

And it occurs to me that I have never ignored him before. My lack of response to his conciliatory words might actually be the one thing that will keep him from pursuing me. It may be the thing that makes him give up.

The thought makes me stumble but I keep walking, away from the boat, away from the peer and the horizon, back to the parking lot where I can see Dave. Even from a distance I can see his anger pouring out of him, burning the pavement, setting fire to any sense of security I have left.

“I could make you pay,” he hisses when I’m close enough to hear.

“Dave, I’m so sorry. . . .”

“Shut up.” He holds out his hand. “The keys to your car, please.”

Without a word I give them to him.

He unlocks the doors. “Get in the passenger seat.”

I do. He gets in the driver seat and with a screech he peels out of the parking lot, away from Robert Dade. . . .

And toward God only knows what.