Obsessed: Part 3

I slide in silently waiting for him to take his seat behind the wheel. "Will Jax be joining us here?" I hold out the card knowing full well that Leonard already knows my destination.

"No Miss," he says curtly. "Mr. Walker is out of town I believe."

"Wait," I snap as he starts to pull the car away from the curb. My heart has dropped to my feet. Why am I going to this address if Jax isn't even in the city?

He doesn't respond as he drives the car through the maze of traffic in Manhattan.

I slink back into the seat and stare at the card in my hand again. Why would he send his driver to get me to go to a place alone? Maybe he arranged it all before last week and Leonard was just following directions. As soon as we arrive, I'll ask him to take me back home.

"We'll be there soon," he calls to me.

I stare silently at the window watching the city rush by me. If there was any question about my relationship with Jax it's been answered now. He's so busy with bringing Mark to task that he forgot to cancel these plans. I feel foolish.

The car pulls to a stop in front of a storefront. I can't make out the sign in the dim light. It's not illuminated and the banks of windows are all covered with brown craft paper. I wait patiently while Leonard walks around the car to open the door for me. I reach for his hand as I step out. My eyes search the sidewalk. It's barren save for the expected foot traffic of a Friday evening.

"Stand here." Leonard directs me by elbow to a spot not more than a few feet from the deserted store.

I search his face looking for any explanation. He's expressionless as he points towards the storefront and takes a step back.

I pull my eyes to the building, wishing I could just slip back into the car, go home and crawl into my bed.

My breath catches as the sign springs to life. Lights pop into the darkness and my heart stops when I read the script writing. Whispers of Grace. Grace. My mother's name.

The door bursts open and I'm overtaken with images of my father's face, my sister and her husband, Mrs. Adams. I see Madeline beyond them, and Nathan. I think I catch a glimpse of Sandra, his sister waving to me from behind the doorway.

I reach to hug my father, burying my face in his chest. "Dad," I whisper. "What…what is this?"

"Come." He pulls me close and guides me through the doorway into a beautifu

l space filled with jewelry cases. He leads me to one and I peer inside. Nestled beneath the sparkling lights are my pieces. My bracelets, my necklaces, rings that I designed and earrings too. I stare in astonishment. These are the pieces I've had at my apartment. I had packed them to take them to Boston.

'How?" I ask not really absorbing the scope of the space I've just entered.

"Wait until you see your studio." His words are so carefree and happy.

"My studio?" I can't comprehend what he means.

"Your studio, your store." He waves his free hand around the room. "This is all yours, princess."

I stare at the space, drinking in every nuance and detail. My eyes stall on the crystal vases filled with daisies, the business cards stacked neatly at the door and the exquisite glass table I assume are for consultations for commissioned pieces.

"You did this?" I search my father's face for answers.

"I helped with the design." He pulls his shoulders back with pride. "Jax did this."

"Jax." His name falls from my lips with a quiet sob just as my eyes settle on Brighton's expansive painting from the gallery. The painting I was standing in front of when Jax first spoke to me so long ago.

"Come this way." He pulls me towards the back of the space and opens a door that leads to a staircase. I follow him as he takes each step slowly, the arthritis in his knee making him a slower version of the vibrant man who chased me around the playground in my youth.

Just as he reaches the top step he flips on a light switch and the room is filled with warm, white light.

"This is your studio." He moves aside as I leave the last step and walk into the room. It's breathtaking. A large table is the focal point along with carts filled with supplies. I walk the perimeter of the room slowly pulling it all inside of my mind.

"I can't believe this." I hold my hand over my mouth in astonishment. I've had tears streaming down my face since I saw my father bolt out of the door onto the street. I'm finally overcome with emotion and I reach for the side of the table to balance myself.

"There's something for you." He points to an envelope in the center of the table. "I'm going back down to have some of that fancy champagne."

"Yes," I whisper.