Conceal

My fingers reach out to my keyboard and I start to search.

Within a few minutes, I’m looking at the building’s security system, scrolling through footage of the lobby.

How easy it would be to run facial recognition software on her.

Do it.

No.

I’m better than that. I’m not some creeper who needs to stalk a woman to get laid. Or, well, be friends with them.

Closing out the site, I open my email and find one from Addison. Some personal request about someone. The number of favors I do for her and her friends is becoming ridiculous. I should start charging them for my time.

But I don’t because it gives me something to dangle over them if they ever give me too much shit about not working etcetera, etcetera.

I read over the email and let out a sigh.

They treat me like a trained monkey, expecting me to perform on command.

It’s ridiculous that they want me to help them but don’t trust me in my own company. Addison isn’t as bad as Gray, but still.

I shoot her back an email, telling her I will work on it tomorrow, and then shut down the computer. Trent might have meant go out tonight, but I still want happy hour.

I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone as I head out the door. When I reach the ground level, I make my way to my favorite bar. The one I once took River to.

Funny how much time has gone by since then.

A lifetime.

Now I’m here alone, and I’m not trying to get a rise out of anyone. No, instead, I’m trying to prove I’m not that person anymore.

After I wave at the bartender, I take a seat at the bar. He knows me, so before long, I’m drinking my tequila and letting the day slip away. My thoughts drift away from my pain-in-the-ass siblings, and instead, I think about the potential of the night.

* * *

I’m sitting at the table, tequila in hand. The girls Trent invited are dancing on the banquette. Their hips sway, eyes closed, in a seductive dance. In another time, in another life, I’d be picking one to go home with me tonight, but as beautiful as they are, none of them pique my interest.

I look over at Trent, who has a smirk on his face as he watches the brunette. He must notice me watching him because he turns to face me and raises his eyebrows.

“I’m taking that one,” he declares with a wave of his glass.

I nod. “Okay,” I mouth back because the music is so loud, I’m not sure how I even heard him before. He was probably shouting, but he’s the guy who wouldn’t care if she heard him.

I’m that guy too. But as of recently . . . I don’t want to be.

“Which one?” he shouts. This time, I shake my head at him. His eyes widen, and then he scoots closer to me. Now he is definitely within earshot.

“None?”

“Nope,” I answer.

“Why the fuck not?”

I want to say a lot of shit, but then he’ll ask questions. Luckily, for me, more people come to the table, interrupting our conversation. When I look up, though, I realize it’s Bethany. Bethany is one of the many crazies I’ve dated. She slides into the booth next to me, leaning into me to brush her lips on my cheek. I give her a tight smile. I hooked up with her a few times, but it became obvious she cared more about my family fortune and being the next Mrs. Price than about me.

She’s the polar opposite of Willow.

Willow.

I wonder what she’s doing. Before I know what I’m doing, I grab my phone, and before I can stop myself, I scroll through my contacts. Looking around the table, I realize there’s no way she’ll be able to hear me, so I lean away from Bethany and turn back to Trent.

“Hey, let me out, man.”

“Where you off to?”

“Gotta make a phone call.”

He vacates the table, allowing me to pass. I can feel Bethany touch my leg as I leave, but I don’t turn around. I want nothing to do with her. Nor do I want to give her any false illusion that I do.

Leaving the table, I head toward the back corridor where I know it’ll be quieter. When I’m in the alcove by myself, I dial the number. It rings three times before I realize it’s late. I hang up and check the time again to see how late it is. As I hit the button and see that it’s ten p.m., the phone rings. Willow. I swipe the screen and answer it. “Hello.”

“You called?”

“Hello to you too,” I lead.

“Hi, Jax. What’s going on?”

I pace the small corridor as I blurt out, “Come meet me.”

“It’s ten p.m.”

“And you have work tomorrow?”

“I mean, no, but don’t you?” she asks.