Page 63 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

RYAN

THE INTERROGATION AUDIT

BooksAndBiceps: What happened with Willow Winslet? Are you guys together? The twelve weeks are up! We need an update!

HoosierDaddy: It was just a publicity stunt. Can we get back to the normal stuff now?

MilesZhouOfficial: Broski! You never told me you were back in the ol’ Northeast! I’m firing up the Croc-Mobile.

I rolled my eyes at the comment section and tossed my phone onto the aging armchair that sat in the corner of the green room.

Why was it called a green room if it wasn’t green? This one looked like a beige motel room with corporate art and hospital furniture.

I grabbed a cheese cube from the fruit and veggie tray that had been set out for me and popped it in my mouth as I sank onto the couch and closed my eyes.

That appearance was a shit show.

A daytime talk show wanted to do a segment on practical dating tips, but all the host wanted to do was make double entendres and ask questions about Willow.

It had been five days since Willow left me at an airport terminal with my heart in my hands. Five days since I saw her. Five days since I heard her voice. Five days since I saw that look in her eye and knew there was no convincing her out of it.

That was the thing about Willow.

She didn’t yell and scream and shout accusations when she was angry. She was cold. And that was the worst thing of all.

I could handle angry. I could handle rage. I couldn’t handle indifference.

The realization that she had bought me a plane ticket before we even left the rental house in Manhattan was the nail in my coffin.

She went through the stages of grief and moved on while I slept beside her, thinking I still had a chance.

If I could have gone back in time, walked out of that salon, and gone straight to her, I would have.

I would have done it in a fucking heartbeat.

I hoped, with every fiber of my being, that those cards from Shep were worth it.

I hope they gave her the closure she deserved.

I closed my eyes and let out a sharp breath, hoping like hell that they would just let me leave and not ask me to participate in short-form content for their digital platforms.

I didn’t have it in me today. I had been a shitty coach for the clients who were unlucky enough to have calls scheduled with me last week.

I spent every waking minute trying to get in touch with Willow.

I asked Lisa where she was. I reached out to Jack and Miles.

I messaged Whitney and Wander. I was about to pack up and start scouring the country if I didn’t get a clue soon.

Voices carried from the hallway just outside the door.

I really didn’t want to make social media content right now . . .

I was about to sit up when everything went black.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine!”

Darkness slowly lifted, but a sharp pain immediately ricocheted down my neck.

I groaned, but tried to lift my head anyway.

“Where am I?” I rasped. My throat felt like it had been filled with sand.

I blinked and tried to make out my surroundings, but it definitely wasn’t another defunct Burger Palace.

The kidnapper, however, was the same.

“Dude. You didn’t see my comment?”

A dim light turned on overhead, and I realized I was in the first row seat of a minivan. Reflective sun shields covered every window, making it impossible to see in or out. Miles was in the driver’s seat, craning around to look at me.

“You’re in the Croc-Mobile. Had to get a new set of wheels before the mini-me comes along. Gotta say—she’s pretty sweet,” he said with a satisfied grin as he patted the dashboard that was lined with little rubber ducks.

I groaned and tried to roll my head from side to side to ease the ache. “Why am I in pain?”

Miles hummed in thought. “My guess is either from the heartbreak or from the bro hug I gave you to get you out of that studio. The segment was terrible, by the way. They need a new host.”

“And by bro hug, you mean?—”

“You might have passed out a little. It’s fine. You weren’t in any real danger.”

“Great,” I groaned. “Am I still in New York?”

Miles laughed. “Of course not, you silly goose. I love the city as much as the next guy, but I’m a homebody these days. We’re in Rhode Island.” He clapped his hands together. “So. We can have this chat in here or in the interrogation room. Which do you prefer?”

Before I could answer, Miles said, “Interrogation room it is!” Then everything went black again.

“You have got to stop kidnapping me,” I said when I awoke in a brightly lit room. Industrial tile stretched from wall to wall.

Miles was leaning against the wall rather casually, wearing a pair of swim trunks, Crocs, and a long-sleeved shirt. I was handcuffed to a sturdy metal chair that was in the middle of the room, right over a rather ominous floor drain.

“Once is bad enough,” I said. “Twice is inconvenient. Twice in one day is overkill.”

A click echoed in the empty room as part of the wall slid back. It wasn’t that I was disoriented and couldn’t find the door. It was that the door was really a discreet panel that completely disappeared into the wall.

A man wearing a bespoke navy suit peered inside. His coiffed hair, five figure cufflinks, and pocket square screamed of wealth. He looked at me, then at Miles, then at me again. “You’re not on an assignment at the moment,” he said, his voice thick with a posh British accent.

“Nope,” Miles said as he put emphasis on popping the p .

The man looked at me again, eyeing the handcuffs that chained my wrists to the sides of the chair. “Do I want to know what you’re doing in here?”

Miles shook his head. “Probably not.”

The man huffed. “Hose down the room when you’re done.”

“I’m sorry. What ?!” I shouted.

But the door was already closing.

Miles pushed off the wall and moseyed toward me. “No need to shout. I can hear you just fine. Besides, the room is soundproof. Keller hates when the screams sully his afternoon tea. I figured this was the most private place we could have this little chat. No one will hear a thing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” I mumbled under my breath. “I thought you were a bodyguard. Not a mercenary.”

“Private security,” he clarified. “We solve rather unsavory problems with creative solutions. Sometimes those problems require a chair in a soundproof room that can be disinfected if needed.”

I tried to look behind me, but I couldn’t quite turn all the way with the wrist restraints. “Is Jack here?” Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Jack was the reasonable one.

“Nah. He’s keeping an eye on my superstar and the superstar she’s growing.”

Whitney was with Jack? Why wasn’t Whitney here? Had Whitney gone to Wander and Jack’s house? If Whitney and Wander were together, that meant Willow was probably with them too.

As soon as I got out of here, I was going to book the first flight to North Carolina.

“Aha. I know that look. You just put two and two together to figure out where Willow is,” Miles said with a grin as he circled the chair menacingly. “Which tells me you still care about her. Excellent. I can work with that.”

“Are Whitney and Wander with her?” I asked.

To my surprise, he nodded. That was the most information I had gotten out of anyone.

Granted, he still had me handcuffed to a chair. But it was something.

“Is she safe?”

“She’s with people who will take care of her,” Miles said as he cracked his knuckles.

“Granted, I’m not there. But I think it’s time for Jack to stretch his wings into author protection territory.

It’s less about warding off bad guys and more about making sure they remember to eat and gently telling them that coffee doesn’t count as food.

” He moved to stand in front of me and crossed his arms. “We divided and conquered. Jack is taking care of the ladies, and I’m taking care of you. ”

“Please tell me that you mean helping me , and not beating me to death in this chair.”

“Nah. Beating people up isn’t my style. Not unless I’m getting paid for it. And I’m off the clock right now, so you’re safe.”

As much as bantering with Miles was usually enjoyable, I wanted to get to the point, get out of here, and get to her.

“I need to talk to Willow,” I said.

Miles reached into his back pocket and grabbed that fucking rubber chicken, giving me a warning wheeze. “Wrong.”

“How am I supposed to get her back if she won’t let me talk to her? I’ve tried calling her. I’ve tried texting her. I’ve emailed. I’ve DMed her. I was going to start sending letters to every known address, but then you kidnapped me.”

Miles circled my chair, flexing and curling his hands menacingly. “Let me ask you something. What was your master plan?”

“My what?”

“Your plan. You dared her to give you twelve weeks so you could prove your program.”

“Yeah?”

“Then what?” he asked. “What were you going to do when the twelve weeks were up? Which is”—he paused and pulled his phone and showed me the calendar on his screen—“today. It’s been exactly three months since you two went at it during the Rom-Con panel. What was your master plan to make it stick?”

“I was gonna tell her how much I love her,” I admitted. “I wanted to make it special. We were supposed to be in the city together. I wanted to take her to this pierogi spot we like. I wanted to make it memorable for her.”

“Bingo.” Miles pointed a finger a centimeter away from my nose. “And that’s where you went wrong.”

“Do tell since you’re the relationship expert,” I grumbled sarcastically. “And can you uncuff me?”

Miles tossed his head back and laughed. “Absolutely not. The chair is half of the fun. It builds character.” He propped his hands on his hips.

“And it gives me your undivided attention. Now. Here’s where you went wrong, Casanova.

Moments are temporary. You forget the flowers.

You forget the candles. You forget what you ate.

But you remember how someone made you feel.

You should have just told her instead of waiting.

Which is also where I’m guessing you went wrong with the ‘who’s your daddy’ reveal. ”

I cringed.

“Why didn’t you just tell her?” He glanced at his phone rather nonchalantly. “Given the timeline that was just texted to me, you had days to spit it out. A reasonable person would have sat her down the minute they found out. Are you a reasonable person, Ryan?”

The girls were texting him? That meant Willow was talking to them. And if the girls were trying to sort through everything, it meant I had a chance.

I needed to get out of these fucking handcuffs.

Miles appeared behind me, hunching over my left shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell her when you found out? Why did you keep it from her?” He tapped my other shoulder with the rubber chicken. “Was it just a game to you? A bet? A dare?”

“It wasn’t a fucking game,” I clipped. “I cared about her. I loved her. Fuck—I still love her.”

He straightened and circled the chair again, resting his shoulder against the wall.

“If you really loved her, you would have told her the first chance you got,” he said, taunting me.

“Love is hard, bro. Sometimes it means you gotta have the uncomfy conversations. So, did you love her or did you just?—”

“I love her!” I shouted. “I love her, but I did her wrong in an attempt to do right. I love her, and wanted everything to be so fucking perfect so there would be no way she could deny that we were made for each other. I tried to control everything. I tried to fix every situation so that every answer would be yes instead of risking her saying that she didn’t want me. I . . .”

I froze as realization dawned.

“I never gave her a chance to be in the relationship with me.” I shook my head in disbelief and stared at the painfully bright fluorescent light panels set into the ceiling.

“It was all me. I wanted her and I never gave her a chance to participate. I put on a fucking show and made her sit in the audience rather than pulling her up to dance with me. I tried to show her what it was supposed to look like instead of letting us stumble through it together.”

Miles clapped his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “Told you. The chair builds character.” He strutted to the wall where the door was and touched a panel.

What had once been a stark white wall cleared, revealing a mirror. Three people stood on the other side of the room, watching.

“Did I pass?” he asked.

The fancy British man looked entirely unimpressed. He pressed a button, and I heard a speaker crack overhead. “That was a rather unconventional interrogation, but yes. Since you successfully got him to admit the information without violence, I suppose you passed, Mr. Zhou.”

“Hell yeah. Thanks for being my test subject. Had to do my annual interrogation audit so I’m on my A-game as one of Keller’s finest asses,” Miles said as he produced a key and unlocked the handcuffs. “Now, let’s go get your girl back.”