Page 46 of Fixation

HARPER

“ B efore we wrap up this interview, I have one last question.” Octavia, the editor-in-chief of New You City magazine, uncrosses and crosses her long legs.

You wouldn’t think anyone could look graceful shifting around on a high stool with no backrest. This woman proves that theory wrong. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay.” A smile curves my lips up, though it isn’t really okay.

I don’t like surprises.

We’ve been chatting in this loft the magazine rented for the past two hours, which I fully expected. The questions were sent to me six months in advance, as soon as she’d contacted me about doing this piece.

And she’s already asked them all.

What she hasn’t addressed is my slight, hardly noticeable limp.

These damn. Gorgeous heels.

Octavia, with her sharp sapphire eyes, couldn’t have missed my hobble.

My doctor sure didn’t. He scolded me for putting them on in the first place.

Just as planned, he wasn’t there to make me change out of them. But he saw me getting dolled up on his phone.

After he texted me that I looked good enough to eat in my silk black blouse and my black flared pants, he ordered me to take off my heels. To put on flats instead.

I refused his orders, then I reminded him he’d promised not to deny me another orgasm for a week, so I could basically do anything I wanted.

He called me a brat.

I’m still reeling from that. The heat between my legs is dizzying.

I won’t let it show. I keep my feelings bottled up with the rest of my secrets.

My rehearsed smile and calm demeanor are my impenetrable shield.

To anyone except Anderson.

“So…” she starts. “About?—”

“Miss Ellis, I’m so sorry.” Her assistant’s heels clink on the concrete floor, the sound echoing from the high ceilings of the loft. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun. Her nervous expression is tighter. “Miranda’s on the phone. She says it’s urgent.”

Octavia’s lips press into a fine line as she accepts the phone from her. Her hair that’s styled in a perfect bob sways when she turns her face to me. “I could ask her to hold.”

“No, no.” I wave my hand, grateful for the break. Talking for two hours straight can get exhausting when you’re a homebody like me. “Go ahead.”

Her sigh is short. “What.” The word she barks into the phone isn’t a real question. She’s demanding answers. “The model wouldn’t wear it? Get another one. They what? What am I paying you for?”

Her conversation isn’t any of my business. I’m not interested in eavesdropping her, anyway.

Instead, my mind is determined to carry me elsewhere. Away from this huge, empty loft in SoHo. Away from the magazine’s crew.

To Anderson. The feel of his hand. The brush of his lips along my skin. The needle teasing my neck.

Mmm.

Who would’ve thought I’d think about him every chance I got? I definitely didn’t.

Too soon, Octavia ends the call. Her assistant is there, taking the device off her hands and rushing back to the corner, tapping on her tablet.

“Again, I apologize.”

“No worries.” I sit up straight, bracing myself to lie. For him.

“I won’t waste much more of your time.” The sincerity in her voice should relax me.

Regardless, I keep my guard up. “My last question is the one that intrigues me the most, and I’m sure our readers as well.

What can we expect from your summer collection?

Your press release yesterday mentioned they’ll go live on your website and be available in selected stores in less than three weeks. ”

My collection. Not my limp.

Okay, that’s good. Better than good.

Pride and excitement swell in my chest.

Before Anderson turned my life upside down, I wasn’t sure what would become of this collection. I wasn’t sure there’d be a new one at all.

I wasn’t joking when I told him my inspiration was severely lacking.

My spring collection felt like a cliché. An assembly of flowery pieces that I hated. Sure, the flowers were beautiful. Who doesn’t love flowers? Thing is, it felt…lacking.

More of the same , I scolded it, throwing one piece of paper after the other into the trash can.

When I finally gave up, I let Emersyn know that I was officially available for new custom orders. My inbox blew up, and I was busy creating rings, bracelets, and hairpins from other people’s visions.

No more of that. At least for the time being.

My summer collection is everything I ever wanted it to be and more.

And yes, it’s finished.

This morning, after Anderson left and I squeezed in a one-hour nap at his request, I devoted myself to truly perfecting the last piece in my collection and sent it to LA. A two-piece silver ear cuff.

It’s my favorite one to date.

One of the cuffs is bejeweled with tiny diamonds and one ruby stone in the center. The other looks the same, just with a black onyx gemstone instead of the ruby.

They could pass as diamond rings.

Anderson’s and mine.

Two people who couldn’t be more different and yet are inseparable.

I can’t wait to tell my family everything about him.

The moment Anderson wraps up his business with the mafia, I’ll have them come over to meet him.

“Harper?”

“My new collection, yes.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and instantly regret it. Heat floods my neck. Fuck. I drop my hand and clear my throat. “I won’t ruin the surprise or give too much away, but…”

“Yes?” Octavia’s eyes glimmer.

Her fingers play absentmindedly with a silver necklace from my latest winter collection, the one with the rose pendant and white metal leaves.

“You should expect the unexpected.” I clasp my hands together.

I’m sure Octavia notices that they, as the rest of my body, are bare of jewelry.

As a rule, I don’t wear any. It isn’t fair to my babies, to pick a favorite.

“A dark and gritty collection that will be all wrong for summer, yet it’ll be timeless. ”

“Hmm. I’m dying to get my hands on those.” Her pen flies over her notepad as her cameraman snaps photos of my wide smile. “What inspired you to go in that direction?”

Love. Deranged, twisted love. “I was down with the flu last month.”

“I got the newsletter.” Octavia nods.

I’m shocked. Beyond flattered that a woman as busy as her would subscribe to my newsletter.

“It was bad. The worst I’ve ever had.” That part is true. I never fainted from a fever before. Never hallucinated. Never let a man kidnap me. “I was in a dark place, and it was terrifying. And, in its way, beautiful too.”

Anderson was that dark place. That beautiful thing.

“I turned my pain into art. That’s it.”

“Oh.” She eyes me sympathetically, then changes her tone into secretive one. “Could I have a sneak peek? It’ll stay between you and me, I swear.”

Normally, my answer would be a flat-out no. The smallest leak could allow anyone to steal my designs. Weeks or months of my and my team’s hard labor would go down the drain.

The answer is still no. But while I have no plans to show her one of my pieces, I do have the urge to give her something. A teaser for her and her audience.

“Sure, and you can put it in the article too.”

I’m about to stand up to get my bag, but Octavia shakes her head furiously. Snaps her fingers. Her assistant materializes, my bag in her hand.

“Thank you.” I accept it from her, digging inside it until my fingers lock around what I’ve been looking for.

The onyx gemstone is heavy in my palm. I open it for Octavia to see, and her eyes latch onto it. Her curiosity is bursting at the seams.

Her greedy stare flips something inside me. Possessiveness, sharp and sudden.

I put Anderson—err, the gemstone—back into my bag.

Mine.

“Thank you.” Octavia rearranges her features, returning to being the composed woman she’d been throughout this interview. “It was wonderful having you, Harper.”

“My pleasure.” My leather bag is on my shoulder.

I’m up on my feet, fully expecting my ankle to act out as soon as I put my weight on it.

What a pleasant surprise that it isn’t that bad.

Well, not a surprise. What a gift, from Anderson.

How he heals me. “Contact Emersyn once the article is ready. She’ll forward it to my PR agency like we discussed. ”

“Will do.” Octavia rises to her feet, shaking my hand.

She turns to her assistant.

I, the woman who fell for her kidnapper, check my phone for messages from him.

A pang of disappointment has my heart twisting. The last text was about my high heels.

I read it again.

I might not be able to deny you an orgasm, but I promise you’ll ache, kitten. I’ll spank you raw when I’m home. You won’t be able to sit on your ass for days. When you do, you’ll think of me. Of this moment.

The message is hot. Sinfully delicious.

I’ve gotten spoiled. Desperate for his attention.

A part of me has held onto hope that he’d find out where the interview was. That he’d text me to wait for him outside the loft. I wanted him to stalk me. To show up here after his shift ended.

He’s supposed to be wrapping up in a few minutes. And he hasn’t texted.

Well, he doesn’t owe me a ride. It isn’t fair to expect that of him.

Hospitals don’t have strict office hours. Not to mention that Anderson is the last person to drop everything and clock out if a patient rolls in.

He’s busy saving lives. I don’t dare text him and complain.

We’ll have plenty of hours to spend together later. I smile at that.

The taxi service the magazine ordered for me arrives while I wait outside the building. I get in, greeting the blond driver with a simple, “Hello.”

I’m too mentally preoccupied to say anything more elaborate. Anderson takes up the entire space in my heart.

The driver looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Harper Arlington?”

“Yes.”

He pauses for a moment, lowering his brow.

Strange. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Though he doesn’t sound remorseful in the slightest, I let it slide.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. He blends into the traffic. My confusion goes quiet.

He doesn’t go too fast or anything.

That’s a good sign.

The radio plays some old rock songs while I go through my emails.

Despite busying myself with work, a strange feeling creeps up the back of my neck the longer I’m here. A sense of being watched.

Impossible. Anderson hasn’t left the hospital.

Oh, well. I chalk it up to spending too much time under Anderson’s intensity and go back to scrolling.

A few minutes later, a car horn blares. It’s a long, impatient honk that has me snapping my head up.

That’s when I freeze.

Something’s wrong. Very wrong.

The phone buzzing in my hand becomes background noise as I track the route through the windshield. We’re not headed toward my apartment. We’re headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

Dread coils tight under my ribs. Each landmark we pass cements the truth. I’m not being taken home.

“Where are we going?” This has to be a mistake. Or some kind of shortcut he’s taking. Except—no. This isn’t a shortcut. He’s not taking me home. “Hello? Sir? You’re going the wrong direction.”

Silence. The driver doesn’t so much as look at me.

My throat locks. My face goes numb, as does my hand. My phone drops into my bag.

“Stop the car,” I half-demand, half-plead with him. “Let me out.”

“Not a chance in hell.” His gray eyes are back on me through the rearview mirror. His laugh is high-pitched. Ugly. “I won the fucking jackpot with you, lady. You’re coming with me.”

My instincts kick hard. I plunge a hand into my bag, hunting for something. A knife, a metal file, anything sharp.

My fingers come up empty.

I grab the door handle. Yank. Locked.

Air thins. The car shrinks around me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t even hear the street noise anymore.

“I’ve seen your face, Harper.” We almost bump into a car. “In magazines. On the internet. You and your family. You’re loaded. They’ll pay a lot of to get you back. I’ll be set for life.”

He’s talking about kidnapping me.

He is kidnapping me.

Fuck that. Fuck him. I won’t let him.

“Set for life?” I scoff.

My time with Anderson must’ve made me reckless or maybe I’m being stupidly brave, considering this guy might not be driving through the bridge.

Traffic is heavier there. I could bang on the window and call for help.

Unless he isn’t heading for the bridge at all. Maybe there’s a warehouse or apartment nearby waiting for me.

“Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Set for life in prison, more like it.” I yank the handle again. Locked.

The other door is locked too.

“You won’t get away with this,” I blurt, my pulse screaming in my throat. “Your only option is to let me out now. If you let me go, we can pretend this never happened.” Lying comes naturally when my life depends on it. “I won’t tell a soul about this. Promise.”

“No.”

“My Cloud is shared with my VP. That means she’ll see where you’re taking me,” I keep trying. “Do yourself a favor and let. Me. Out.”

“Shut up, rich cunt.”

Beeeeep. Beeeeep.

The honking is worse than before, cutting into my panicked haze. The person behind us must hate this driver as much as I do. And they don’t settle for just honking anymore. He’s speeding up, probably in a road rage.

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

Panic locks my throat, tighter before.

I have to breathe through this.

Losing eye contact with my driver while I get the phone could end up badly for me. He could hit me and knock me out.

On the other hand, if I don’t pick up the phone until we get wherever the hell it is he’s taking me, it could be too late.

I fish for my phone blindly, swiping my thumb on the screen. “Help, I?—”

“Baby. I’m right behind you,” Anderson’s voice comes loud and clear. “I was late to”— beeeeep —“pick you up. This driver isn’t taking you home. He’s kidnapping you, am I right? Answer with a yes or no.”

“Yes.” I won’t let the tears come out. I need my eyes working. My senses. My composure. “Yes.”

The driver cuts to an alley where the traffic is nonexistent. He zooms through it.

A second later, I hear another car speeding behind us.

Anderson’s.

“That motherfucker.” Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. He’s hitting the steering wheel. “I’m almost there, Harper. Put your seatbelt on.”

I run my hand over the tattered material. My seatbelt is a joke.

“Hang up the fucking phone!” My driver swings an arm at me, accelerating the car while he’s at it.

No time to move to the other side of the bench. I won’t make it. Won’t be able to put the better seatbelt on me.

But since I need Anderson to save me, I won’t waste precious minutes on arguing with him.

“I have it on,” I lie.

“Good girl.” We’re out of the alley and back on the street. Anderson’s engine roars behind us. “Good girl. Hold on tight.”

I do.

Bam.

The car swerves into the wall in slow motion. My body lifts, untethered.

Would you look at that.

I’m flying.