Last Heartbreak Page 3

  "Nice, Mindy. Hell, no! While you're at it, cancel Natasha's invitation, too. Don't be a bitch." My caustic tone is over the top.

  Mindy blanches, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  I can't breathe anymore. I tug at my necklace.

  "You don't look well, Kienna. Are you sure you feel okay?" Her fingers jump to the silver cylinder locket dangling between her breasts, subconsciously stroking it. Mindy's voice lowers, and she leans in closer, making sure only I can hear her speak. "Do you need a hit?" She thinks no one knows what she keeps in her locket, but it's no secret. A tsunami of mixed emotions pulls at me, urging me to accept Mindy's offer. I just want to stop hurting.

  "Miss Delacroix, Mister Dougherty asked me to give you this." A waiter appears at my side, envelope in hand. A room key.

  Maybe Steven left the note. Maybe he wants me alone to do something twisted, to pry the truth out of me and relive it. Oh, God! I'm going to be sick. I stand, grabbing my clutch and rushing off with no excuse for my sudden absence.

  No one follows me at first. I slam my hands into the back ballroom doors and head toward a private balcony usually reserved for private benefactors. The largest name plastered on the glass is ours—a huge, gold-lettered DELACROIX is the last thing blocking me from fresh air and freedom.

  I can't get my legs to move fast enough. My perfect external façade cracks and splinters. I forget I'm surrounded by society's elite, and my every emotion must remain in check. I gasp like someone has a bag over my face, and I can't breathe.

  A stern voice calls after me, "Kienna. Reviens ici immédiatement!"

  My blood instantly turns to ice. Father. The way he says my name, breaking it harshly in two. I struggle between turning to plead my case and pretending he's not there.

  I don't stop until I'm through the glass doors, safe in the cold night air. My voice is mewling, a disappointment even to my ears, "Yes, sir?" I stop and turn toward him.

  He steps closer, towering above me. "Retourne à l'intèrieur maintenant!" When angry, his voice sounds choppy, his thick French accent stronger than usual. His eyes narrow to slits, and he's livid. I'm a dead woman walking.

  "I'm not feeling well—" I try to get it all out, that I'll do what he wants, but I need a moment.

  His heavy hand lands on my shoulder shaking me once hard. He loosens the tie around his neck slightly and tugs on the collar of his dress shirt. His thick neck swells wider the more pissed off he gets, causing the veins along the sides to rise up like cords of rope. He mistakes my tone for defiance—and I know how he'd respond ordinarily—but this will be so much worse.

  CHAPTER 5

  ~The present~

  "I'm not sure what happened after that. He yelled and pushed me to the balcony wall. When he left, I wandered on the ledge, but I don't remember wanting to jump. What's wrong with me? How could I get that close and not recall a damned thing?" My voice shakes and my body feels cold. I sink further beneath the blankets, pulling them up around my chin.

  "It sounds like you're in shock, Anna. Tonight was much too serious to handle over the phone. You need help—more than I can give." He's pleading with me. We've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same—I say I'll get professional help, but don't because I can't. If my family found out... I shudder just thinking about it.

  "Parker, I'm a coward. I should have stayed where I was supposed to be and done what he wanted me to do."

  There's a long pause before Parker replies. "Anna,” he says with conviction, “I want you to listen to me carefully. I've talked to you more than enough to know you are not a coward. You are strong, but even you have a breaking point. Tonight won't resolve itself."

  "I deserved it, Parker. I've done things that would make you question everything—things that would prevent you from trusting anyone again, much less me."

  There's another silence during which I hear him swallow hard. When he comes back on the line, his voice is calmer, more composed. "No matter what mistakes you think you've made in the past, everyone is entitled to a second chance. The thing is, forgiveness starts with you. Have mercy on yourself for whatever it is you think you did."

  I laugh bitterly. "I don't think I did it—I did do it. I'm a bad person, Parker. I don't deserve forgiveness or mercy."

  "You do." His voice is sincere. I can't hold back the silent tears any longer. They roll down my cheeks as I listen to him speak. "Life isn't simple. Sometimes we are forced to make decisions others can't fathom. I'm not you, Anna, I haven't lived your life, but I hear your pain and know your suffering. I know we've talked about this before, but it's time that you talk to a psychiatrist. There's only so much that I can do for you. I'm only a volunteer at a crisis call center. Your situation is so far over my head. I can't offer what you need."

  Yes, we have talked about this before, but I'm not allowed to get any real professional help. Calling a crisis call center is dangerous enough. Everyone has a price, even health professionals sworn to doctor-patient confidentiality. I trust Parker because he doesn't know my real name, but the risk is still there. He could trace my phone number and sell me out, too. If anyone thought the Delacroix's daughter told a shrink everything, all Hell would break loose. I know too many secrets. It's beyond strength with my family, it's allegiance, and they've made it clear that I belong to them.

  I'm quiet for too long. Parker must sense my hesitation. "The next time this happens, there may not be anyone to coax you off that ledge. I can give you the names and numbers of people you should call. Experienced, licensed professionals, instead of volunteers like me. Please don't make me report this call to the police. I know you don't want that, but I have to follow protocol. I need you to tell me you'll get help. Grab a pen."

  I know he won't let me hang up until I accept his advice, even though I won't follow through.

  "Okay, give me the names." I feel horrible for lying to him, but I have no other choice. I can't let this go public. I don't have that luxury—that's the irony of being rich. There are some things all the money in the world can't buy. I jot down the names on a notepad from the bedside table.

  After I hang up, I ball up the paper and toss it into the trashcan. His advice ends up in the same place as my dreams.

  CHAPTER 6

  I return home a few days later—after Father's had enough time to cool off from the other night. I live in the penthouse of a swanky Manhattan hotel. My parents purchased the entire floor and remodeled it for me. At the time, I didn't understand why, but now I know all too well. Its convenient location makes it possible for New York's elite men to slip away from their wives, spilling their secrets and semen simultaneously.

  I'd set the place on fire and fake my death if I could get away with it, but I'm not that lucky. My smart apartment, filled with the latest home automation equipment would prevent even the smallest of flames from igniting.

  I drape my arm over my face. Maybe it's morning, maybe not. It's hard to tell. The past couple of days have been a lazy blur, hiding in my room, under my covers. My insides feel battered up, like someone bashed in my heart while pounding my ribs inside out. They didn't break, just bruised. Mindy gave me a huge bottle of pain pills to dull the ache. They don't make the walls dip and rise the way the Xanax did. I know they're addictive, but I hurt too much to pretend nothing happened.

  The phone rings again. Someone really wants to talk to me, but I'm not in the mood. I grab the phone from the bedside table and pull it so hard that the base of the thing falls to the floor and the cord nearly chokes me. "Hello?"

  "Miss Delacroix, this is the concierge. Your breakfast is ready. Shall we send it up or will you be eating in the dining room?"

  I didn't order breakfast, unless... Damn it! I audibly sigh into the phone as I realize why he's calling.

  "Send the food up to the room today, thank you."

  "My pleasure, Miss Delacroix."

  I toss the blankets off and reluctantly sit up. My head aches and the light glares through the half-cl
osed drapes. I'm bone tired. I don't have time to dress properly before Mother arrives, so I pull on a pair of sweats and make the effort to contain my hair in a tight ponytail.

  Feeling a little more human, I walk barefoot across the cold, white marble floor, padding toward the main entrance of my penthouse. The elevator dings and the doors slide open into my apartment. Penthouse perk: private elevator. The enticing smell of crispy bacon, warm toast and freshly brewed coffee wafts through the room. My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters.

  From behind the cart, a man's voice calls, "Room service."

  That voice. The corners of my mouth lift as I meet a pair of sexy, bright blue eyes gazing through stylish, dark-rimmed glasses, above a friendly smile.

  "Good morning, Miss Delacroix. Where would you like me to set this up?"

  Holy shit! It's my hero from the ledge—and he comes bearing bacon.

  CHAPTER 7

  Part of me wants to dance while the rest of me begs to hide. What do you say to the guy who saved your life? A mere "thank you" is almost three days too late.

  "Hey." It comes out as a question, and he smiles in response. He looks just as handsome as he did on the balcony—his thick, wavy hair is a perfectly sculpted mess above his clean-shaven face, and his standard issue hotel uniform stretches across his frame in a way that hints at the strong muscles he used to pull me up the side of a building.

  Suddenly, I understand. "You knew my name the other night because you work here. You deliver things up here all the time, but I never noticed you."

  He looks up from under his lashes, and parts his lips, but doesn't speak.

  "It's okay. I think we're beyond the usual pleasantries. I was an asshole, and I owe you both an apology and a thank you. Sincerely, thank you. If you hadn't come along..." The words knot in my throat, and I can't swallow.

  He cuts me off, keeping the silver cart between us. "I'm glad you're all right. How are your ribs?"

  "Sore, but alive. How's your ego? I kicked it pretty hard in the nuts the other night."

  He chokes on a laugh as if he never expected me to say such a thing. He tries not to smile, causing cute little wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and eyes. "It'll heal. Tinder was still worse." He tips his head toward me and lifts an eyebrow.

  "Tinder." I roll my eyes. "I can't believe there's an app to get laid."

  "It's lazy dating. I'll admit it." He looks sheepishly at me, then at the cart. "Would you like me to set breakfast up on the dining table?"

  "Yes, please. And Tinder isn't dating. It's scheduled fucking. Come on," I lean in to see his name badge, "Graham? Your name is Graham?"

  He flushes bright pink before he nods. "Yes, Miss Delacroix."

  I wave a hand at him and follow him into the dining room. "I'd rather you called me Kienna."

  "I'd rather not get fired, Miss Delacroix. Hotel policy."

  I bite my lower lip as he pulls crisp white linens from the bottom of the cart and begins to set the table. "Well, then, what if you drop the formality when no one else is around? I mean, we didn't exactly have a Tinder rendezvous, but I did get to feel you up. That should count for something."

  He grins up at me from the other side of the huge-ass table. "So be it, Kienna," he says, folding one hand behind his back and bowing regally.

  "You smile too much, Graham."

  "It must be you." He finishes arranging each dish complete with silver domes with ornate handles.

  "It's nice to officially meet you, Graham." Saying his name gives me shivers. It makes him more real somehow. I've been living in my own little fantasy world for the past couple of days, reenacting various scenarios about my savior, never dreaming we'd cross paths again in my building.

  "Likewise, Kienna." He closes the lower doors of the cart and drapes the tablecloth back in place. "So who's coming to breakfast? Hot date?"

  "Ha! No. My mother. Though she's much less enjoyable company than you."

  He grins. "I don't hear that too often."

  "Probably because you skipped eHarmony and went straight for the booty-call sites."

  He shrugs. "It's hard to sort serious dates from women who are batshit crazy."

  "A little leery, huh?"

  "Have you seen what's out there?"

  This conversation is getting too close to home. "I have. There's no point in looking for your soul mate if there is no such thing, right? Might as well have fun in the meantime."

  He shakes his head. There's something different about him, something real, something intense. "I didn't mean that. It's more that I don't think I can find what I'm looking for on a website. It sounds corny, but I believe there's a girl out there somewhere, looking for me. In the meantime, sex feels stale without emotion behind it."

  My jaw drops as my eyes go wide. "Oh, God! That might be the best pick-up line I've ever heard! Did you practice that? How many times did it take you to nail her—I mean nail it." I grin, rising on the balls of my feet like a little girl.

  He rolls his eyes. "I shouldn't say this, but I don't think you're the party girl you want people to believe you are."

  "Yeah? Who am I, then?" I walk up to him, staring into his eyes.

  "I don't know." He looks at me, his gaze roaming over the lines of my face, tracing my features with his eyes. I feel completely exposed—like he can see through the walls I've built around myself. "But I wish I did," he whispers. The longing in his voice sounds authentic, as if he genuinely wants to know the real me. Heat floods through me, my body responding in a way I'd forgotten I could.

  Graham takes a hesitant step closer to me, his body tense. The tips of my bare toes touch the tip of his shoes. We're barely touching, but he feels so close to me. He lifts a single hand, letting the palm hover an inch from my cheek, not touching. I want to feel his warm palm on my skin, but he reaches for a loose strand of hair and tucks it back behind my ear.

  The elevator dings and breaks the moment.

  I step away, acting like his behavior is normal, but it's not. I can't remember the last time a guy was sweet without an agenda.

  "Ah, wonderful!" Mother's cheery voice feels like nails across a chalkboard. "The food is here. Kienna, darling, stop your incessant flirting and let this nice man do his job. And you should be more careful what you wear in public." Her voice picks up into a singsong on that last part. Her entire demeanor is fake, laced with unspoken insults she means to plow into me with once we're alone.

  "Young man," she snaps at Graham, "if you are done setting up the meal, you are dismissed. Please be advised to ignore any lascivious requests my daughter makes, tempting though they may be to someone such as you."

  Graham's spine straightens and his shoulders snap back. He bows slightly to my mother, accepting her insult with dignity. "Of course, Mrs. Delacroix."

  He avoids my gaze. "Please ring when you're done, and we'll be happy to clean up." He half bows, turns on his heels, and exits toward the elevator. I watch his broad, squared shoulders disappear from sight.

  I need a friend, not another conquest. For the first time, possibly ever, someone likes me faults and all. I swallow hard, worried I'll screw it all up, but I follow him out.

  When he turns, he's startled to see me on his heels, perched just outside the elevator. It's like there's a magical barrier barring me from entering the tiny room. "Miss Delacroix?"

  "Coffee," I blurt, terrified he'll say no.

  His brow lifts as he cocks his head to the side. "I'm sorry, do you need another carafe?"

  "No, no." I lace my fingers together and tug slightly. Sucking in air, I rush through it, knowing he's going to shoot me down. I don't care. I need to try. "I'm asking if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime. I want to thank you for the other night, and, well, I enjoy talking with you." I stop tugging my hands and drop them to my sides. My spine straightens, ready for the polite decline.

  "I'm flattered, but it isn't necessary." He's about to take his hand off the button holding the door open. As his arm drops,
I know I have seconds before this chance is over.

  "It is necessary." I smile and step into the doorway. "Don't make me beg, Graham."

  He studies me for a moment, his gaze dipping from my face to my hands and back. From the other room, Mother calls, "Kienna, come along. For God's sake, how long does it take to add up a tip?" Her foul temper is beginning to show through her voice.

  "One moment," I call back, wishing I could escape down the elevator with him. Graham hasn't replied. "Just coffee."

  "I shouldn't."

  "But you want to?" I hear the desperation in my voice. I wonder if there's another woman, someone else he's thinking about. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pressured you. When the time's right—if it ever is—please let me know. No matter what, I owe you a cup."

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "You're wrong, and here's why: a normal man would have taken advantage of my vulnerability, but you haven't. Good friends are rare, and I don't intend to let you pass me by." I step out of the way and allow the doors to slide shut.

  My heart falls into my stomach when they close without his answer. I turn on my heel, ready to pad away, but the doors ding open again. Graham is standing there, lips pressed together hard. He glances past me and then addresses me quickly, softly, "Just coffee?"

  "Yes. It's not a mantrap. I promise."

  He smiles and his gaze cuts side to side a few times before he nods. "My shift ends at four o'clock. I'll think about it."

  I nod, a smile creeping across my lips. "I look forward to your answer."

  CHAPTER 8

  Mother's voice echoes from the dining room. She's on the phone, talking with someone while eating my food and probably drinking my much needed flat white. I should join her and fight for my coffee. I really, really should...

  Avoidance it is.

  I step into the shower instead. If only I could stay there all day, letting the hot spray pound against my head and warm water snake around my body and down the drain.