Did he plan this all out? What happens next?
I don’t want to find out.
He slams me against the wall of the alley, cold brick fraying the cotton of my T-shirt.
“You think you can just walk away from me?” he snarls, full in my face, his breath hot and reeking. Exactly like I remember that, too.
But me? I’m not like he remembers. I’m not the broken, beaten-down girl he kicked around for all those years.
I remember all those months ago in the pool, when I finally swam across it all the way through the deep end that first time. The expression on Ankor’s face when he looked at me, so full of confidence and support.
You’re so damn brave, he told me. You can do anything, you know that? You warrior.
And he was right. I can do anything. I am a warrior.
I reach into the bag at my waist, without Lenn even noticing. He’s not used to resistance. He’s used to me crumpling in fear. But not anymore. I close my hands around the pie plate. And then, at the same time that I open my mouth and bite down on his hand as hard as I can—making him scream and curse, dropping his hand from my mouth—I raise the pie plate and smash it across his head.
It shatters, pie splattering over both of us. He collapses to the muddy alley in front of me in shock, eyes wide, bleeding where the glass shattered and cut his bald head. But I don’t wait. I scream in fury and kick him full in the stomach. He curls around my foot, and I wrench free of him.
“Don’t you ever come near me again, you pathetic creep,” I shout.
Dimly, I’m aware of people stopping outside the alley. A couple of burly guys catch my eye, and one of them mouths You okay?
I nod at him, just once. But he stays close anyway. I love New Yorkers sometimes.
“Are you listening to me?” I bend down close to Lenn until he tilts his head up, one bruised eye opening to meet mine. “If you come anywhere near me or my boyfriend again, I’m having you arrested. Do you understand me? And when my boyfriend’s lawyers are through with you, you’d be lucky to see the outside of a jail cell before you’re seventy.”
I raise my fists, and he flinches. It’s enough to make me smile, vicious.
Ankor is right. I’m brave. I’m a warrior.
I step away from him, leaving him bruised and covered in pie and shards of glass. “Stay the hell out of my life,” I yell, before I stride up the alley, still covered in pie splatter myself. I don’t care. A few of the women watching cheer, and I flash them smiles. Then I keep walking, straight past, up the streets until I reach the one I’m looking for.
I walk into the lobby of Ankor’s office, still drenched head to toe in dripping blackberry pie. I leave purple and black stains across the marble entryway. The doorman takes one look at me, his eyes huge, and leaps forward, hand extended.
I stop him with a glance. “I’m going to Marco’s office,” I say, my tone brooking no room for disagreement.
His mouth hangs open. For a moment, I’m worried he’ll stop me, or worse, try to call security about the crazy woman covered in pie. But his eyes narrow, and he seems to do a double-take, before they widen in recognition. I’ve been in here with Ankor before. Not dressed like this and certainly never with jam and berries all over me, but still. He recognizes me.
“Of course, Miss,” he says, after only the briefest hesitation. “Take the last elevator, please.” He opens the door for me and hits Ankor’s floor. The top floor.
I smile. “Thank you.”
Still looking completely confused by my appearance, he nods. “My pleasure.” Then the doors slide shut and I square my shoulders.
* * *
The entire office floor falls silent when they see me. Eyebrows shoot up in every direction. I recognize a few of the people from Ankor’s team who he’s introduced me to. I don’t stop to say hello or explain. I walk straight past them all, to the corner office with the huge windows overlooking the park and the city skyline beyond.
He’s on the phone when I enter, with his back to me. I shut the door behind me and flip the switch next to the lights that lowers the curtains over the glass wall, cutting us off from view of the rest of the office.
Ankor turns in his chair, still chatting, something about making sure it doesn’t get any worse online, when he freezes, his eyes going huge, mouth slack in surprise. To his credit, he recovers after a split second. “I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone and stands, coming around his desk. “Sinclair, my god. Are you all right? What’s that all over you?”