Page 24

Taylor

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Taylor?”

“Mr. Marshall?” I ask, completely taken aback when I spot a black car I already recognize parked by the bar.

William’s father steps out. “I needed to talk to you.”

“At this hour? And you came here? Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow at your mother’s house?”

He looks somewhat embarrassed. “Yes, I could have, but I was eager to share the news.”

I’m really not in the mood for small talk. Partly because of his history—he’s shown up at my employer’s house now and then, hovering around me—and partly because it just doesn’t feel right.

I don’t have to be a genius to see William has serious trust issues, and from what I’ve learned about this man, they’re more than justified.

Still, I don’t want to be rude, so I offer a small smile. “I don’t understand. What could be so important?”

“Get in the car. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s about a job opportunity.”

I’m twenty-three, but my mindset’s basically that of a cop. “How’d you know you’d find me here right now? I usually leave much later.” I could also ask how he even knows about my second job, but besides not wanting to sound confrontational, I’ve learned the Marshall family tends to cross privacy lines whenever it suits them.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “It was just coincidence. I tried calling you, and when you didn’t pick up, I called the bar. Someone said you were leaving.”

“And so you decided to wait for me. Why, exactly?”

“This job opportunity.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Marshall, but I don’t have any free time,” I lie, hoping nobody’s told him I got fired.

“That’s a shame. It would have been for next weekend, a reception at a friend’s home, and he’d pay a thousand dollars a night.”

I exert a supreme effort not to let my jaw drop. I really want to say I’ve thought it over and yes, I’ll do it, because God knows I need the cash. But my pride—and the gut feeling that screams it’s too good to be true—won’t let me go back on my word. “Yes, that’s a pity. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

“Let me at least drive you home.”

“No, thank you. That doesn’t feel right.”

He looks at me like he wants to say something else, but he keeps silent. Meanwhile, I’m praying he hasn’t seen the photo William mentioned—taken of us kissing in the club. Of course, it’s nearly impossible to recognize me, and given William’s reputation as a womanizer, it could be anyone.

He steps closer and holds out his hand. “I know you must have heard a lot of terrible things about me, Taylor, but I’m just trying to be a good friend. A protector.”

I shake it so as not to be rude, but when he places his other hand on top, keeping me near him too long, I pull mine away and step back. “I don’t want to be impolite, Mr. Marshall. Forgive me if I offended you—I’m just odd like that. Once again, sorry you wasted your time, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends, and I don’t need a protector.”

“Coming here cost me nothing. But you’re mistaken. Everyone needs a protector. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.”

I frown. My God, what a strange choice of words. “I have to go now. Good night.”

I start walking quickly to the subway, and when I reach the corner, I glance back just in time to see his car driving off in the opposite direction.

I walk another hundred meters, and again, that creepy sensation of being followed sparks the hairs on my neck. My phone rings, but I ignore it. The last thing I need is to lose track of my surroundings by answering a call.

It’s a common mistake women make when walking alone at night: picking up the phone. That can distract you and make you an easier target. I always try to remember the safety lessons Dad taught me growing up.

I’m cautious to the point of paranoia because I don’t plan on becoming a statistic. Every year, countless women disappear in the U.S., and the numbers are even higher for someone my age.

If anything happens to me, there isn’t really anyone who cares enough to come looking.

I’m almost home now, less than a minute from my building’s entrance, after nearly an hour on the subway, when I spot William’s car approaching. Despite all the crap that’s happened tonight, my heart leaps.

Normally, when chaos strikes—like the day my father died—I prefer being alone. Yet even though I’m sure the doctor is only temporary in my life, somehow I know he’s the one who can give me a little of the peace I need today.

Just three steps from my door, I stop and wait, but I’m startled by his expression as he gets out of the car. He seems angry. Well, from what little I know, being annoyed is his usual mode. If there’s one thing about the two of us, it’s that we’d both fail a “Best Temper” contest. It’s like we’re mirrors of each other—both combative. But tonight, he’s beyond that. He looks a bit unhinged.

“Invite me up.” He says this with a formality that doesn’t match what happened at his place over the weekend. He’s speaking like Mrs. Marshall’s grandson, not like William, the lover.

Without a word, I unlock the front entrance. After I go in, I see him type something on his phone, probably telling his driver he’s going upstairs with me.

“How’d you know I’d just gotten home?” I ask while sliding the key into the door of my tiny apartment—just two rooms.

His silence unnerves me. “I went to pick you up at the bar.”

He doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t pry further. Not that I get the chance, because the moment the door closes, he pins me against it and kisses me in a way that makes it clear he’s not here to talk.

I should push him away. The night’s been awful, starting with the injustice at the bar and ending with that bizarre visit from his father.

Yet the instant William’s arms come around me, nothing else matters.

We’re what’s real, and being with him is being home.