With our eyes fixed on each other, his smile falters. “Promise me you’ll never settle for being a perk when you can be someone else’s everything.”
My heart starts throbbing, and my breath stills in my throat. He doesn’t move except two blinks while waiting for me to answer a question he didn’t ask. “All right.”
He nods, appearing satisfied, and pulls into the flow of traffic. “Tacos?”
“Tacos.” Running the tips of my fingers across the leather coating the dash, I say, “I think this is the most expensive car I’ve ever ridden in.”
“I’ve been in pricier, but this car is my favorite,” he replies with such confidence, though not a hint of arrogance is detected. “There’s an envelope in the back. It’s the retaining contract. No fees as promised.”
I look behind his seat to see the envelope and take it, tucking it inside my tote. “Thank you. I know I said it before, but I really do appreciate you helping her and me.”
“I want to help.”
Though traffic slows, the city begins to tower as we cross the bridge. “Is the contract why you came to see me?”
“Actually, I wanted to spend some time with you. We don’t get many opportunities.” He glances at me. “Just the two of us.”
Being under the steel and concrete bridge with the sun blocked from most angles, I’m reminded how much I hate bridges. I grip the side of the seat with one hand and the belt across my body with the other. “On purpose.”
“You don’t spend time with me on purpose?”
I gulp down the fear threatening to creep up my throat and try to hold my tone steady. “No, I thought that’s how you wanted it.”
His eyes volley between the road and me, a little line digging deeper between his eyes. “Why do you think that?”
Shrugging, I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess because you never asked.”
“Touché,” he replies as confusion cinches his brows even closer.
Somehow, I find comfort in staring at him versus the brown cage surrounding the vehicle. “Actually, I asked once.” I hate the shame mincing my words. “Junior year. I asked you to take me to a dance.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his attention on the bumper-to-bumper cars ahead, and then he says, “I don’t remember that.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Sure, it does. Hey. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I try to shake off the sinking feeling. “I don’t like bridges. I don’t even know why. Must be a fear from a past life or something. Who knows?” I roll my eyes because I sound ridiculous.
Reaching over, he covers my hand gripping the seat with his. The warmth brings peace to my racing heart as I keep my eyes trained on the veins of his hand. He asks, “What dance was it?”
I drag my gaze to his. “It was a last-minute ask, and you were busy.”
He’s steady in his voice and strength with his hand gently wrapped around mine to keep it from shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Really. I didn’t even remember until just now. It was just a sock hop to raise money for a local shelter. A dance-all-night kind of thing. The social work department hosts one every year. I went to others.”
“I should have gone with you, though.”
“You made a donation, and that was the goal anyway—to raise money.”
“It was 50s themed?”
“Yes.” I smile at the memory. “That year, I had this great skirt—big and poofy with a poodle on the front and a matching sweater. It was the prettiest shade of blue.”
“Like your eyes—” His hand leaves mine to return to the steering wheel before I even process what he said.
“Like my eyes?” My lids flutter without permission. God, that’s humiliating. I don’t think I’ve ever fluttered my lashes before, and now, I’ve gone and done it to one of my friends.
Then, as if he’s entering evidence into a case in court, he states, “You have pretty eyes.” Direct. Professional. Affirmative. A pregnant pause leads to him reaching for a button on the steering wheel. “Music?”
As a classical song hits fever pitch, like my face, he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry,” he yells before he can lower the volume. Hopefully, that was distracting enough for him not to notice me pressing my hands to my cheeks to lower the temperature of my embarrassment. He noticed my eyes? I get compliments, but not usually from Rad. Come to think of it, Rad doesn’t say much of anything to me. Of course, that could be attributed to Marlow usually owning the conversations and Cammie discussing wedding details when we all get together.
An awkwardness permeates the air just as we enter Manhattan, reminding me of the topic I’ve been avoiding. It may not change my fate, but I’d like his perspective. I ask, “Have you ever thought of leaving New York City?”
“No, never.”
“Wow, that was fast. Never?”
His smile returns, but it’s tight at the corners, guarded. “Correction. The easy answer is I have, but I wouldn’t want to at this point in my career.”
“The hard answer?”
“I used to think about leaving after college, but . . .” He pauses, seeming to debate with himself, which is something I’ve never seen Rad do. He’s always sure of himself. Not in a bad way . . . and sometimes in a bad way. He’s intelligent and confident. I guess he has a right to be arrogant occasionally.
“But what?”
The tension starts to ease as does his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve always been honest with me, so I will be with you. When Cade and Cammie got together, and Jackson and I met you and Marlow . . . I don’t know. It felt right. It made me want to stay. I mean, what would I do without Jackson texting me about food or Marlow wondering if I’ve seen the society page?” Chuckling through the sarcasm, he adds, “They’re family.”
I grin, but it’s half-hearted as my gaze falls to the floorboard and my confession rolls off the tip of my tongue, “I stayed for the same reasons, but is it enough when the rest of your world is falling apart?”
The light turns green, but Rad stops to look my way. “What’s going on, Tealey?”
I suck in a breath, my heart thumping, and try to steady myself. Admitting it out loud to my friends—to Rad—makes it more real. I’m leaving. Them. My life. This city.
I’m not ready, but with only a few days left until I need to be out of my apartment, I’d need a miracle to keep me here.
“If we’re telling truths, I should have told you and the others already.” I close my eyes briefly. “My apartment building sold. The new owners are demolishing it and replacing it with ten stories of modern condos. It’s already been approved by the city.”
“You’re moving.” His tone is somber without an ounce of surprise. “How soon?”
“By the end of the week.”
I hadn’t noticed his watch until a fluorescent sign gleamed off the large face. The man’s all money. Always has been, but not in the flashy kind of way . . . other than that watch. Oh, and this car. His office and awards. And we can’t forget his donations. “Doesn’t sound legal. Owners must give proper notice. Less than two weeks is unreasonable, especially in New York. I’d like to look over your rental agreement.”