Page 12 of Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

I clear my throat. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure you left me much of a choice,” he responds dryly.

“Yes, well…” I clear my throat again. “You can’t be that surprised I sought you out.”

His face, a flawless mask of indifference, gives nothing away. “No, I’m not.”

My eyes narrow, trying to figure out if that means: No, I’m not surprised because we’re exes and we’ve got history or No, I’m not surprised because I’m single-handedly trying to dismantle your world.

My jaw sets.

Only one way to find out.

“Well, I’ll cut right to the chase then.” I cross my arms over my chest. Meet his dark, suffocating gaze head-on. “Are you here for me?”

The question hangs in the air between us, infinitely heavier than I thought it’d be—and breath held, I steel myself in preparation for any reaction he might throw at me. Volatile anger. Ice-cold rage. Psychological warfare. A nostalgic hand-to-throat moment.

Instead, I get one flat, lifeless word in response: “What?”

Frustration wells inside me. I suppose I should’ve added ‘playing dumb’ to the list of potential Adrian reactions.

“I’m not stupid,” I say. “I’ve lived in New York for ten years, and you suddenly just show up here, completely out of the blue. It’s—”

“An unfortunate coincidence,” he finishes.

“That’s a hell of a coincidence,” I say, lip curling. “You moving to my city after all this time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me. I didn’t realize a city with eight other million people living in it qualified as yours , but I moved here because I got a fellowship at Mount Sinai.”

“You could’ve taken a fellowship anywhere,” I retort, unfazed by the comment. “That doctor last night said you had ‘your pick of the litter.’”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “But Mount Sinai is the best. Why should I accept anything less?”

So, I don’t have to worry about running into you at my favorite coffee shop or bagel place or Thai spot or anywhere else in this city, I want to respond.

So, my stomach doesn’t dip whenever I spot the back of a tall, curly-haired man on the street.

So, I don’t have to spend every waking moment of my life just aware that you exist. Here. Separated only by a stretch of concrete and corner stores. Close enough to be within arm’s reach—but nowhere close to mine.

But Adrian already holds too many of the cards here, and since there’s no way I’m going to freely hand him more, I just grit my teeth.

“What about last night?” I prompt. “You showing up at a charity gala for my best friend’s hospital? Was that a coincidence too?”

“I donate money to several hospitals, human and otherwise, through the Ellis foundation,” he explains with another shrug.

“But—”

“I couldn’t have predicted that personal connection any more than I could’ve predicted you’d be there.”

I’m willing to admit his logic does hold water. Adrian may be a Machiavellian mastermind on his worst days, but he can’t predict the future.

Joe was supposed to accompany LuAnne to the party, I was just the last-minute substitution.

I swallow.

If last night really was a coincidence, then…

“Why did you pretend like you didn’t know me?” I blurt out, and when his forehead creases, I add: “At the party. You were walking away, and I grabbed you, and you acted like you—”

“—didn’t know your name,” he cuts in, sounding equal parts mocking and exasperated. “Yes, I remember. I was there too.”

I scoff. “Well, clearly, I can’t be certain what you remember.”

He ignores me. “It wasn’t a manipulation tactic if that’s what you’re implying,” he says. “Frankly, I just didn’t feel particularly inclined to explain or raise questions about our history to a room full of people.”

Minus the sugar coating, I’m pretty sure that translates to: I didn’t want to have to explain to a room full of people that I used to date a poor, no-name artist from Alabama.

“I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings—”

“It didn’t,” I snap, a little too harshly to be believable.

It didn’t.

Adrian stares down at me for a beat. “Right.”

I turn away before he can see the red blooming over my cheeks. “Fine. So, you moved here for work. The party was a coincidence,” I concede. He nods. “Did you know someone bought my apartment building?”

His cocks his head, as if to say: and?

“My rent is doubling now.” I don’t even bother to mask the suspicion in my voice.

His expression doesn’t change. “I’ve heard the New York real estate market is brutal.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But you know what’s weird? Only my rent is skyrocketing. None of my neighbors. Nobody else. Just me. Which feels…” I level him with a challenging stare. “…personal.”

His brows shoot toward the ceiling. “As much as I’ve extended my real estate portfolio in the past few years, the only place I’ve bought in your city—as you seem so apt to keep calling it—is my own.

” His hand dips into his pocket, and he pulls out his phone.

“You’re welcome to speak to my real estate agent if you don’t believe me.

I’m sure he’d be happy to confirm the details of any property I own in Manhattan. ”

I used to see the hairline cracks in Adrian’s mask so easily, but either time has made me rusty or he’s just gotten better at hiding, because, staring up at him, I realize I have no clue if he’s lying about any of this.

And that’s terrifying.

My gaze flicks to the shiny, sleek challenge resting in his palm. I could call his bluff. Talk to the agent. He wouldn’t have made the offer if he didn’t mean it.

But he also wouldn’t make the offer unless he was sure of the outcome.

I shake my head. “No, that’s okay.”

I’m not falling into your trap.

“Well, then.” Adrian slides the phone back into his pocket. “Anything else?” He sounds more apathetic than angry. Like I’m just another task to be handled. Like he finds this conversation about as stimulating as renewing his passport or folding laundry.

The dismissal stings more than it should, and my frustration festers into determination.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

His brows raise lazily. “Don’t do what?”

I shake my head. “Don’t act like these are ridiculous questions.”

“I never said they were ridiculous. Perhaps paranoid—”

“Paranoid?” It’s immediate—all that outrage I felt piecing together Adrian’s possible involvement this morning comes rushing back. Tenfold.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “That might’ve been a poor choice of—”

“This is not paranoia,” I snap. “I’m onto you.”

I expect more feigned confusion, more tip-toeing around the obvious, but Adrian surprises me. “Alright.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’ll humor this train of thought. Let’s say I am guilty of everything you’ve accused me of...tell me why. What’s my motive?”

I take a deep breath.

Because you’re trying to fuck with me.

Because you’re trying to ruin my life.

“Because you want to punish me.” The words come out in one big breath. “For leaving you all those years ago.”

“Punish you?” Adrian’s cool stare doesn’t waver, but the side of his mouth quirks up like he’s vaguely amused. “To what end? It’s been years. If I were going to collect reparations for breaking my heart, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

A flicker of uncertainty creeps in, but I hold on to the anger. The frustration. “Well, the last time we had this conversation,” I start. “You made it pretty clear there wasn’t a time limit on our relationship. You said—”

“That I was going to hunt you down and collect you like a prize? Chase you to the ends of the earth?” The words sound strangely empty without the fervor he had a decade ago.

I swallow. “Don’t say you didn’t mean it. I know you meant it. You were—”

“I was a heartbroken child,” he snaps, and the sharp edge to his voice slices right through me like a tenderized steak. “And I said those things because you were leaving me, and I was devastated.”

They’re the first words out of his mouth that I know are truthful, and the guilt that clogs my throat feels as raw as it did the day I landed in this city.

I’m sorry it ended that way, I want to say. It shouldn’t have…but I’m not sure it would’ve ended otherwise.

“I might’ve meant it then,” he continues, and his voice loses its edge with every word.

“But we’re not teenagers anymore. I haven’t spent the past decade of my life strategizing how to ruin yours.

I didn’t move to New York for you.” He sweeps a hand through his curls, and I pretend like my fingers don’t itch with the memory of tugging on them. “In fact, I’ve been here three months.”

I digest everything he says except—

Three months.

He’s been living in New York for three months, and I had no idea.

“I’ve moved on, Poppy,” he finishes, and the use of my name, my actual name, feels like one more nail in the coffin of the twisted connection we used to share. “A long time ago. I have no interest in rekindling a short-lived relationship as teenagers.”

Three months, and he hasn’t sought me out once.

Because he never planned to.

“I don’t say any of this to be harsh,” he says, and his entire face softens into something that looks an awful lot like pity.

“Clearly, you’re still holding onto the past, and my presence here in New York has unsettled you to the point of—” He pauses.

He wants to say paranoia. I know he wants to say paranoia.

“—conspiracy. If you need help working through these thoughts, there are resources. I have some colleagues who specialize in psychiatry. I could refer you to someone trustworthy.”

I blink.

And then I blink again—this time, to make sure I haven’t accidentally ended up in some alternate universe with an alternate Adrian.

There ’s no way the Adrian Ellis in this universe just insinuated that I need therapy.

My disbelief morphs into outrage very quickly. “I don’t need resources, ” I seethe.

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You implied it,” I fire back.

“I offered,” he says. “That’s all. I don’t think there’s any shame in needing a little help working through the past.”

“Yes, but I don’t need help working through anything,” I insist. “I’ve moved on just fine. Trust me.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. “Right.”

Okay, I need to get out of here before I attempt to kill him.

I take a deep breath.

“Look,” I scowl, eyes fixed to the floor. “You’ve made your point. You’ve moved on. I’ve moved on. That’s it.” I stuff my hands into my jacket and turn. “I won’t keep you from your patients any longer.”

I shoulder past him, but Adrian’s hand shoots out, circling around my wrist. “One more thing.”

I can’t explain the shift in the air, but I feel it—like ice snaking down my spine, my body recognizing I’m in the presence of a predator a split second before my brain does.

That split second is all he needs to strike—to pin me against the column, his large hands flat on either side of my head, so there’s nowhere to look but him.

He leans down, close enough that I can taste his cool, minty breath ghosting over my face. “If you ever come here and use Mickey’s name to get my attention again,” he murmurs darkly. “I promise you’ll have it. All of it.”

I stare up at him, wide-eyed, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

Is he going to hurt me?

His hands, right there, and his obsidian eyes gleaming with intensity, and his full lips, which are mouthing something like—

A hand—his hand—seizes my jaw firmly, and I flinch in surprise. “Do you understand, Poppy?”

Fear floods my senses.

His fingers are so large they nearly cover the lower half of my face and—

He could kill me right now.

He could snap my neck.

He could crack my jaw like an eggshell.

I know it, and I think he knows it too, because he’s staring—not at me—but my neck.

At the fragile carotid artery fluttering beneath my skin.

Fuck.

I have no excuse for the heat that blooms in my lower belly, but I pray he assumes the hitch of my breath is only fear.

There is something wrong with me, I think. Something to be examined…not now.

“I understand,” I whisper, the words slightly muffled by his hand, and his eyes flit back to mine.

“Good.” His mouth twitches into a pleased smile, and I’m all too conscious of his hand sliding down, fingers grazing my carotid, his thumb lingering on my bottom lip as if he means to—

But then the moment is over.

Adrian retreats completely, as if he never invaded my personal space to begin with, and walks away.

I’m shaking, back still pressed against the column long after he’s gone.

What the hell?