15. Anna

15

ANNA

S unlight is filtering through my bedroom blinds when my eyes blink open and my hand stretches down the covers to find … No Pepper . Usually, she licks my face to wake me up when she needs to pee. Curious, I get up and use the bathroom, scowl at my phone and throw on my pants and top from last night. As I head down the corridor, a noise reaches me from the kitchen … like beating or grinding? There’s an immediate scrabble of feet against the floor and Pepper appears around the corner where the open-plan kitchen sits just off the living room, barreling straight for me at speed. I bend down and scoop her up, and she wriggles as her tail goes round like a windmill. I round the corner into the space between the dark wood island and the cupboards to find Adam in last night’s pants and shirt, whisking a pale liquid in a bowl.

“What are you doing?”

He turns and grins at me and … oh, the slight scruff on his chin and bed-tousled hair! My stomach swoops and dives.

“Pancakes,” he says. “It was a Saturday tradition in college.”

Did a guy ever cook breakfast for me? Oh, God! I have to stop comparing him to boyfriends. He’s a friend. A friend I want to keep.

“After a wild Friday night? ”

“It probably won’t surprise you to discover that I always made the pancakes as the least hungover of all of us—I mean Fabian, Janus, and me.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person about wild nights. My whole life has been about tennis performance. I don’t really drink.”

“You don’t? But you’ve had champagne at some of the events, a bit of wine …”

“I might hold a glass, but I have a few sips at best.”

I step up beside him at the countertop as he frowns as if he’s trying to remember, strong fingers whipping the whisk around the bowl.

“Suffice to say, I must be the most boring woman alive,” I add.

He turns his head and his eyes twinkle at me. “I prefer thinking about it as being fun in a different way.”

I grin at him. “Well, let me know when you work out what that way is.”

“Maybe in a comic book and dog show way?”

I laugh, and he gestures at me to move back as he shifts toward where the griddle is warming on the stovetop, so I step around the island, sliding onto one of the bar stools.

“I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t need that.” I bite my lip, trying to gauge his expression.

He pours the mixture into perfect circles on the pan in front of him and chuckles. “I wasn’t expecting how goddamn strong a downhill skier would be, that’s for sure.”

Does nothing faze him? “God, Adam, we have to stop going to events like this. This must be way more trouble than you ever anticipated. I’m sure you don’t want to …”

His head snaps up, eyes narrowed, and he puts the bowl down on the countertop and gestures between us. “We’re friends, right? Things just got difficult for you. I’m not leaving you to fend off that scumbag on your own.”

I press my hand to my chest. “I’ve no idea how much of a threat he really is. He’s probably doing this for the publicity. That’s his modus operandi. Up until his injury, he’d been losing, and brands pay for his bad-boy image. A fight is perfect for getting the media attention he’s after.” I sweep my hand out, and it catches on some Saturday newspapers on the counter.

“You went out?”

He laughs. “Pepper came to find me, so I took her to relieve herself and decided that pancakes should be the order of the day. Then I saw some of the headlines in the papers, so I bought them all.” He tips his head toward where my hand is now resting on the papers.

I drag them over to study them. In one of the photos, Arty’s face is in full fury, inches away from Adam’s. In another, the photographer has caught me just as I heard the commotion behind me and turned around, mouth open and staring.

I scan down the first article in The Post , then push the paper away.

“My lawyer is pressing ahead with a restraining order. He says we can get a temporary order of protection in place today. I’ve had messages from Arty trying to intimidate me, and he thinks he won’t go away unless we escalate.” I sigh. “But I just … I don’t want to give more oxygen to that asshole, and this is going to generate a whole other round of speculation in the press focused on him. But I guess I’ve got to roll with it.”

“He’s texted you?” His voice is sharp, and when I look at him, his eyebrows are drawn together in a hard slash. “I can get rid of him for you if you like,” he says suddenly, and my eyes bug out.

“What, like, bump him off?” My voice wobbles.

He laughs. “Hell, no. I’m not a closet member of the mafia. My friend from college, Fabian, can hack into almost anywhere. He’d be able to dig up some dirt on Arty that you could use to deter him from interfering in your life ever again.”

Whoa, really? That sounds amazing. But then my stomach plummets—if he could find stuff on Arty, what could he find out about me?

“Arty’s been blowing up my phone since 7 a.m. I can’t bring myself to read any of the messages.”

Adam straightens, the expression on his face no less intense. “Are you serious? Why haven’t you blocked him?”

I sigh. “My lawyers thought it was a sensible idea not to, because it’s likely he’ll incriminate himself, or at the very least it will be evidence of harassment and intimidation.”

“Fuck. I hate that you have to do that. I loathe this guy.”

“You and me both.”

“Let me know if you want me to find something that’ll keep him at bay.”

“I don’t want to do anything illegal.”

Adam laughs. “Well, that might be a problem. I’m not sure Fabian does any legal stuff at all.”