7. Wren

“Chase loves it as much as I did. Evie, though, isn’t a fan of the long tournaments.” He chuckled. “Especially with the little ones. But I think we’re in the wrestling world for the long haul.”

“As long as Chase likes it.” I toyed with a French fry on my plate, but rather than pop it into my mouth, I dropped it again.

My phone buzzed on the bar top. Another text from my overbearing father, I was sure. I’d lived on my own for ten years, but once he’d discovered it was snowing here, he suddenly acted as if I’d forgotten all survival skills. I wasn’t even responding anymore. I’d told him I was fine and that I’d rescheduled my flight. He needed to let go. He and my mother meant well, but they needed to let their adult children be adults.

Was this normal? Did parents just never stop worrying about their kids?

Maybe that was it. It looked as though I had another reason to add to the long list of why I had no intention of having children.

“I’ll take another.” Kline pushed his empty beer across the bar as the bartender approached.

Considering how hard it was snowing, the bar was pretty full. Most of the high-tops scattered around the place were filled with people who’d probably come from the hotel, like I had. It made a lot more sense than venturing out in the storm. We all had to eat, right?

All of us but my roommate, apparently.

I worked to not scowl at my phone where it sat on the granite bar. I’d been stupidly hoping Tom would text and say he’d changed his mind.

Because I just wanted to hang out with him. It was frustrating. There wasn’t a single good reason I should be feeling this way. Not to say there weren’t tons of bad reasons. Work, my best friend, my parents—all reasons to stay away from the acute attraction that coursed through me every time I was near Daddy Wilson.

Guilt clawed up my throat. I should care that Avery wanted me to stay away from her father. I could lie to myself and say that if he made a move, I’d turn him down, but I knew the truth. I longed for him to make a move. I wished for it. And then felt shitty about it.

I sighed.

“Sorry if I’m boring you with all the kid talk.”

Forcing a smile, I hooked my heel on the rung of the backless stool and shifted to face Kline. “Not at all.” I’d attempted to make small talk for the last half hour, but no matter how hard I tried, my head was still up in the suite. “I’m just distracted.”

My phone vibrated between us, and a New York number flashed across the screen.

My stupid heart skipped as I lifted the phone, but I tamped down on the excitement. It wasn’t likely that Tom was calling from the hotel line.

Even so, I was eager to answer. “This could be the hotel.” I swiped right and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello.”

The way my heart sank when a young male voice said “Ms. Jacobs” made me once again want to curse myself.

“Yes?”

“This is Henri, the concierge at the Baccarat Hotel. I have Mr.…” There was a brief pause. “Mr. Brown here.”

Mr. Brown—oh . I blinked.

“He claims to have locked himself out of your room?” His tone lifted at the end, making the statement seem more like a question .

I sucked in a sharp breath. Locked himself out? It was hard to imagine. Tom was not the type of man to lock himself out. Panic seized me, making my chest tighten. Something must have gone awfully wrong for him to have lost control like that. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone and turned to Kline.

He waved me off, clearly having caught on to my alarm. “Go. I got this. Just let me know if you need me.”

Snatching up my wristlet, I jumped to my feet. “Thanks. I’ll text you.”

I dashed out into the cold, nearly falling on my ass when my heels hit the icy sidewalk. Snow dusted my hair and shoulders in the thirty seconds it took me to shuffle to the hotel entrance, where the doorman greeted me, pulling the heavy glass door open.

As I shivered, I scanned the almost empty lobby, quickly finding Tom glaring at me from where he stood next to the concierge’s desk.

Jeans, gray T-shirt and… bare feet ?

“What happened?” My heart pounded in my ears as I scurried toward him. There was a million-dollar work of art at stake, and I’d acted like a child, letting my stupid hurt feelings take control. I shouldn’t have left the room. Shame and anxiety flooded me. How would I explain to Pat and Erin that I was next door at a bar ignoring my job—with the guy we’d hired for security, at that—when a painting worth more than a million dollars went missing?

“I’m locked out.” Tom narrowed his eyes at me.

“Do you need me to make another key?” the young guy behind the desk asked. “I just need an ID to confirm first.”

I shook my head. “I have mine.” And I wanted to get Tom alone so he could explain what the hell happened.

We had been very low-key about what was going on, even with the hotel, because advertising our possession of something worth so much was unwise.

Without another word, Tom turned and stalked to the elevator, leaving me to trail behind him.

“Tom,” I whisper-shouted as I jogged to keep up with his long strides. “The painting? ”

He stopped in front of the elevator and frowned at me, his forehead bunched. “Is upstairs.”

I froze. “You left it?”

Jaw locked, he huffed out a harsh breath through his nose. The elevator dinged, and when the doors slid open, he stepped inside, seemingly ignoring my question.

“Tom.” My sharp tone pierced the small space as I stepped in behind him.

Without responding, and with more force than necessary, he hit the button for our floor, which did not take on the warm orange glow the buttons normally did.

The doors slid shut with a whoosh, locking us inside the small space.

“ Stonehenge is fine?” I asked, hands clutched to my chest. What the hell was going on? Why did he leave the room? No one left a million-dollar painting completely unattended. Not without a reason.

“Key,” he snapped.

I pursed my lips. “What?”

He pointed to the still unlit button. “This damn thing needs the key.”

“Right.” I reached into my pocket and passed the card over. “But what about the painting?”

“It’s still in my room.”

Bewildered, I swallowed past the nerves rising up in me and gave him a once-over. His hair was disheveled, and his feet were bare. What on earth had made him leave the room, leave his painting, in this state?

“I don’t…understand,” I stuttered as I pulled out my phone to text Kline and let him know all was okay.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped off, ignoring me completely.

“Tom.” Once again, I trailed behind him to our room. Though my shock was quickly fading to annoyance. “Hey,” I called uselessly as he pushed through the door.

He stalked across the space toward his room, but I refused to let him shut that door on me. Not without an explanation. Picking up my pace, I stayed on his heels .

The second we were through the door, he froze, and I crashed into his back.

The jarring collision didn’t even prompt him to turn my way.

The concern that had held me in its grip dissipated instantly and was replaced with anger. “Damn it, Tom. Stop ignoring me.”