Page 42 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

He’s asleep, on his back, but his head on the pillow is facing my way, giving me the wonderful view of his peaceful beauty.

Except I sense the turmoil inside him. Feel it in myself.

The uncertainty is messing with my head.

My emotions feel like a yo-yo, up and down, high and low.

He’s euphoric. He’s disastrous. I’m so torn, unsure if I can sustain the force of Jude’s swinging moods.

Slipping out of bed quietly, I pull on his shirt and pad on bare feet to the lounge to find my bag, expecting to see endless missed calls from Nick. There are none. It only fuels the mayhem inside. Increases the questions.

In despair, I call the girls, tucking myself in the corner of the couch. “Hey,” I say quietly when they both answer, Abbie on her sofa, Charley in darkness.

“I’m in bed,” Charley whispers. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I admit, trying so hard to stop my voice from cracking. “Nick was at the pub Jude and I ate at this evening.”

“Oh no,” Abbie breathes.

“He turned up at my office today too. He’s applied for a job at the company.”

“What the fuck?”

“He knew what pub I was in because he got into my phone and shared my location.”

“Wait.” A load of rustles and knocks come from Charley before a light pops on. She’s in her kitchen now, her wild hair wilder. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “Jude completely lost his shit.”

“Fuck, did he hit him?” Abbie casts aside the bag of crisps she’s munching her way through.

“No.” I sigh. “He manhandled me out before it came to that, but there was something not right.”

“How so?” Abbie asks.

“I got the feeling they knew each other.”

“What?” they both whisper.

“I don’t know. It was tense.” I sink farther down into the couch. “Nick was saying something but couldn’t finish because Jude shoved him out of the way.”

“Saying what?”

“He said, He’s not ... ” Both girls raise their brows. Both are finishing that sentence like I am. He’s not ... who you think he is. “My new car got vandalised too. Someone scratched gold-digging bitch into the paintwork.”

Abbie gasps, outraged. “Who would do that?”

“I think Jude suspects Katherine.”

“Her husband needs to put that woman in a cage.” Charley’s head is shaking.

“What’s Jude going to do about it?” Abbie asks. “Just let her carry on terrorizing you?”

My poor brain isn’t up for this kind of mindfuck today. “I’m not worried about Katherine. I’m more concerned about what happened with Nick.”

“Have you asked Jude?”

“I’ve tried.”

“Then ask Nick,” Charley says.

I tilt my head, not relishing the thought. But maybe she’s right. And for the sake of my sanity ... “Do you think I should?”

“God, yes.”

I sit up straight. Yes. Yes, I should. Because now my mind is taking every moment since I’ve been with Jude and overthinking it.

Like the night last week when Nick showed up at the restaurant we were at when Jude met my friends.

He wasn’t tracking me; Lloyd told him we would be there.

And now I’m wondering if Jude left the table for a whole different reason.

Did he see Nick before me? Does he know Nick?

“I’m going to call him now. Thanks for listening to my woes. ”

“Let us know, okay?”

I nod and hang up, bracing myself to call Nick. I chicken out four times before I eventually brave dialling him. It goes straight to voicemail, and I contemplate leaving him a message. But ... no. I need to talk to him. Actually, I need to talk to him face-to-face.

Now.

I go back to the bedroom and quietly get dressed, watching Jude sleeping peacefully as I do.

He doesn’t stir. After collecting my things, I slip out of his apartment quietly, constantly questioning if I’m doing the right thing.

Whether I’m being paranoid. If I’m making somethings out of nothings.

Regardless, I need to tell Nick to back off, and I will.

He’s taken things too far. Tracking me, the interview at my work.

Way too far. It ends now.

Anouska is in the lobby when I make it there, saving me the trouble of finding her. If she can’t help me, I’m going nowhere. “Hey, Jude’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him. I don’t suppose you would know where he put my keys after the repairs were made on my car?”

“I have them, give me a second,” she says, smiling as she pops through a door, then reappears a moment later.

“Thank you.” I give her praying hands.

“Is everything alright?” Her head tilts, the questions in her eyes rampant. “I saw you get back earlier.”

I force a smile. So she felt the tension too? Saw the explosions. “Everything’s great.” I don’t hang around, pivoting on my heels and walking out of Arlington Hall. “See you later,” I call, hurrying past Stan, whose smile falters as I go.

“Miss Lazenby,” he says in question. “Do you need any assistance?”

“Not today, Stan.” I walk the line of prestigious cars and head round the back to the staff car park, aiming my fob at my Jaguar.

Not taking a moment to admire the newly repaired and polished paintwork, I hop in.

Jude’s request not to drive these roads in the dark taps at the corner of my mind.

It’s hard to ignore it, but I start the engine and reverse out of the space, knocking it into drive and pulling away.

I hardly make it twenty feet before I’m braking, Anouska appearing and waving for me to stop.

“Shit,” I curse, letting down my window.

“There’s a man at the gates saying he’s here to see you.” She puts the phone to her ear again, listening. “Nick Phillips. Do you know him?”

My heart crawls into my throat and chokes me.

“Yes, I know him.” How? How did he know where to find me, or that Jude Harrison—a man he’s just been introduced to—owns Arlington Hall?

My unease is making me feel nauseated, especially when I suddenly recall something else.

Nick knew of Arlington Hall. When I mentioned my spa day with the girls at that painful birthday dinner all those weeks ago, he recognised the name.

And come to think of it, he was a little weird.

None of this helps my wariness. I don’t know what to do, my head spinning.

“Amelia?” Anouska calls quietly.

“Umm.” I shake my head, trying to find some sense.

“He’s blocking the way,” she goes on. “What should I tell Nelson to do?”

“Tell him to let Nick know I’ll call him.”

Anouska, a full frown in place, goes back to her phone, relaying my instructions. Listens. “He’s refusing to leave.”

My eyes clench, along with my hands around the wheel, and I hiss at the sharp pain that radiates through my palm. “Let him through,” I say quietly, reluctantly. “I’ll deal with it.” My mind’s racing with questions. “Can you ask Stan to direct him to this car park?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Anouska.” I reverse back into the space and take a moment to wonder how the fuck I’m going to handle this and what the fuck Nick is going to say, as I stare out the windscreen, my heart beating wildly.

Nick’s white Audi S4 rolls around the corner slowly, and the swooshing, sickly feeling inside grows. I get out of the Jaguar, looking around as I wander over to where he’s rolled to a stop. I need to keep this contained. Whatever this is. And I’m praying Jude doesn’t wake up and come find me.

Apprehension feels like a vise around my throat. “Nick,” I say, stopping on the opposite side of his car to him. “You were tracking me.” He must know I know, assuming he got a notification when I stopped sharing my location with him. “And now you’re not, so how did you know where to find me?”

“Nice car,” he says, with no sentiment at all, as he shuts his door, nodding to my Jaguar.

I ignore his insincere comment. “How do you know Jude?” I fold my arms over my chest, my instinct to protect myself overwhelming me, which only makes me more anxious.

Something deep and unstoppable is telling me I’m about to feel even sicker.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I ask.

“To tell me how you know him.” What the hell is he going to hit me with? And can I take it?

Nick makes his way around the car to join me on this side, observing the protective barrier I’ve got in place. I keep my arms folded. “I love you, Amelia,” he says quietly.

Oh, Jesus, stop. “Nick, no.” He didn’t come here to tell me that again.

His lips press together. “I want you back. Please, we can work this out.”

“Nick,” I snap. “How do you know Jude?”

He moves closer, but I make sure the space remains, stepping back. “How do you know him?”

“I’m seeing him—you know that.” In love with him.

“He’s not interested in you, Amelia.”

The pressure in my head is becoming too much, my patience hanging on by a thread. “Why would you say that?” I ask, my voice surprisingly even. “To hurt me?”

“I just know.”

“Tell me,” I grate.

“Come back,” he implores. “Please, come home with me. I can make you happy, Amelia.”

“Tell me!” I yell, losing my shit.

“Amelia!” Jude’s distant bellow of my name has me whirling around, my trepidation rocketing.

He’s jogging this way, his feet bare, his hands midway through pulling a T-shirt down his torso.

The button fly of his jeans is only half fastened.

All signs he was in a rush. Jude’s alarm is screamingly obvious, his worried gaze batting back and forth between me and Nick as he hurries over.

I raise a hand, halting him in his tracks before he makes it to me. “Don’t come near me,” I warn, needing space. Needing information. Keeping my hand held up as a pathetic barrier, I give my attention back to Nick. “Tell me how you know him,” I order.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want you, Amelia. I love you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jude seethes.

But Nick goes on, unperturbed. “Please, come home with me.”

“I’m warning you.” The deadly edge to Jude’s voice is potent.

But it doesn’t deter Nick. “We can sort this out,” he presses. “I can make you happy, Amelia.”

“Shut up,” Jude hisses.