Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

That wasn't what he wanted. Not anymore. One of the reasons he'd moved to Austin was to heal, after all. To heal, and to break bad habits.

Still, it was tempting, and it took more strength than he expected to shake his head again and say very gently, "I really am sorry. I'm not ... ready." She'd been polite enough not to mention the tragedy in his past, but he was certain that Lyle must have at least told her that he'd lost his wife and daughter. Hopefully, that softened the blow of rejection.

She'd regained her footing, and now she stepped back, her forehead creased as her eyes flicked over him, expertly assessing him as she would a witness. "It's been almost nine years, I'm told." The sharp edge of her voice sliced his heart. So much for softening the blow. "If you don't get ready soon, I can't help but think you're going to end up sad and alone."

With a thin, sympathetic smile, she turned and walked away, leaving him to watch her go and wonder at her perceptiveness. Because she was right.

He was going to end up sad and alone.

Hell, he already was.

***

Built more or less in the shape of a rectangle, the hotel spanned most of a city block, with entrances on each of the three sides that abutted a street.

Usually when Noah grabbed a drink at The Driskill, he left through the bar entrance and emerged onto Seventh Street. From there, he could walk the partial block to Congress Avenue, the main downtown artery. He'd head south, checking his phone for messages and putting out fires as he maneuvered the short distance home. A few blocks before the river, he'd hook a right, enter his building through the Third Street entrance, and take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor and the studio he'd bought when he'd moved to Austin earlier in the year.

At the time, he'd considered getting a bigger place--God knew he could afford it--but what would be the point? He was rarely at home. His work was his life, just as it had been for years. And frankly, the only reason he ever bothered to come to the condo at all was because it disconcerted the janitorial staff when he slept on the couch in his office.

Besides, when he'd looked at the building, all the available larger condos had views of the Capital building. He preferred the smaller space and its stunning view of the river. Every morning he watched the walkers and joggers. The kayaks and paddleboats. The infinite shades of green that lined the river's wide banks, then burst into color when the peach blossoms bloomed, shifting the usually green-tinted vista to a vivid pink.

It was vibrant. Alive.

Hopeful, even.

He'd set up his desk in front of the window, and on weekends, he was training himself to work from home. He'd sit at the desk and draw schematics or scribble notes while he watched the activity below. Parents pushing strollers as they walked lazily down the paths. Children tottering on bicycles, obviously fresh out of training wheels. Joggers, determined to lose those extra five pounds. Lovers walking arm in arm, deep in conversation.

There was a never-ending stream of life fifteen stories below him. And the more Noah looked at it, the more he was starting to believe that maybe one day he could rejoin that current.

Maybe.

But not now. Not tonight.

Besides, it was dark. If he went home now, he'd only see the reflection of the moon on the still water. Beautiful, yes. But also surreal and far too lonely.

All of which was why he didn't leave the hotel through the bar, as usual. Instead, he took the stairs down to The Driskill's ornate lobby, then crossed over the marble floor to the main entrance. A doorman hurried to pull the heavy wood and glass door open for him, and a valet nodded speculatively, expecting a ticket. Noah shook his head to indicate that he had no car, then shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he turned right and walked the short distance to the corner.

He'd learned that Austin rarely got too cold, but right now there was a definite chill in the air, which he relished. Although he'd lived most of his life in Southern California, he'd enjoyed his time in New York, especially the changing seasons, and it was nice to be able to p

retend that Thanksgiving and Christmas might come with at least a drop in temperature, if not Autumn colors and snow.

He crossed the street at the corner, and then hesitated. Turn right, and he could be home in less than ten minutes. Turn left, and he'd invariably find himself in a bar, and the evening would end with him either alone and feeling sorry for himself, or with him in a hotel room, creeping out before dawn while a woman whose name he couldn't remember slept soundly in a rented bed.

He turned left.

He had no specific intent, but he couldn't bear the loneliness of his own studio. For a moment, he considered texting Evie. Apologizing. Asking if she wanted to meet at one of the nearby bars. He dismissed the idea, afraid that she'd say no. Or, worse, that she'd say yes.

Instead he just walked, pausing briefly in front of Maggie Mae's, a local establishment that long-time Austinites told him had been a Sixth Street fixture for decades.

He considered going in, but he could hear the heavy beat of the live music even from where he stood on the sidewalk. And when he peered through the windows, it was obvious that finding a seat would be damn near impossible, much less squeezing in to sidle up to the bar.

Some nights, it would be worth it, just to get lost in the rhythm of the music and drown out the noise in his head.

Tonight, he wanted to be able to hear his own thoughts, though he wasn't sure why. He might have the skill and intellect to have turned the balance sheet of the new Austin division of Stark Applied Technology around in under a year, but outside the realm of business and tech, the inside of his head remained a morass of regret and longing and confusion.

Frankly, he was getting damn tired of it.

He continued until he reached The Fix on Sixth, another local staple. The drinks were excellent and the bar food put every other joint on the street to shame. He'd heard a few rumors that the place might close, though he had no idea why, and he hoped it wasn't true. He wasn't a regular, but he liked the place, and the owner, Tyree, always remembered his name.