Chapter 8

Eight

My phone is my lifeline now. And I fear that's not a metaphor.

So instead of smashing it, I start to pace, not even caring that I reek of vomit, as I try desperately to come up with someone—anyone—who isn't Damien and might have three million dollars.

" Bastards. " Aria grinds out the word. "None of this is on you, Bree. Do you hear me? Not one single, fucking thing. Tell me you know that. Tell me you believe it."

I just shake my head. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is the money. Where the hell am I going to get that kind of money?"

"Damien," she says. "I know you don't want to, but you have to," she adds at the same time that I snap, "No!"

I can't bear the thought of hurting Damien and Nikki this way. There must be another solution. I consider asking Evelyn—but she's known Damien for almost his entire life, and I'm terrified that she couldn't keep the secret. Not only that, but she and her husband are in the middle of building a new house, and while she's well-off, I don't think she could spare as much as I need.

Maybe banks have good interest rates on So you're being blackmailed loans.

I bark out a twisted-sounding laugh, realizing that I may be a little hysterical right now. Then Aria is in front of me, holding my shoulders and ordering me to take deep breaths.

Raindrops. Roses. Whiskers. Kittens.

By the time I hit tied up with string , my mind's clearer. But I still don't have a plan.

Ari sighs. "We just have to make a list and?—"

My phone rings, interrupting her and making me jump as it vibrates in my hand. I glance at the screen. "Five-one-two area code."

Ari scowls. "Where the hell is that?"

"I should answer it," I say, even though I want to toss the phone—and the horror it's delivered to me—far, far away.

"No." She makes a grab for the phone, but I pull back. "Dammit, Bree," she says as it rings again. "Just let it go to voicemail. Give yourself time to think."

I almost agree, then I shake my head. "What if it's them?"

The thought sends a wave of nausea crashing over me.

Ring!

"It isn't them," she says. "Probably a telemarketer."

"You don't know that."

She cocks her head and stares me down in that Aria way she has. "Like they'd let you see their number."

"Duh. They're calling from a burner phone."

Another ring.

"I have to," I whisper, terrified I'll get punished if it rolls to voicemail.

Her shoulders sag a little. "Put it on speaker," she orders. "We're in this together now."

I blink back tears as I comply, hating that she's been dragged into this mess, but thankful that she's got my back.

"Hello?" My mouth is so dry that my voice is little more than a croak.

"Bree? Is that you?"

I stiffen at the familiar voice.

Beside me, Aria mouths who?

Ash , I mouth back, realizing that she wouldn't know his voice. Though I've talked about him ad nauseam , they've never met in person. And even though he's been interviewed by many an on-air reporter, Aria's unlikely to have caught a broadcast about racing or engines or whatever else Ashton Stone has going on in his burgeoning empire.

" Bree. " His voice has an urgent edge now. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," I say, my voice mousy and strange. I clear my throat and try again. "What do you want?"

If he notices the ice I've managed to edge into my voice, he doesn't mention it. "I just wanted to check on you."

Beside me, Aria's brows rise as she mouths—very clearly— What. The. Actual. Fuck?

"Check on me? What am I, a kid? Are you my daddy?"

"Do you want me to be?" His voice drops in tone, and I immediately regret my words.

"No. Ick."

He chuckles. "Never understood the appeal of that one, either."

"As fascinating as it might be to know we have that in common, why are you calling? And why did you call from another number?"

"Another number?"

"You didn't pop up. I got some 512 number instead."

"Pop up? You mean, I'm in your contacts?"

I silently curse. "Nikki put you in."

"Oh." I can practically hear the frown in his voice.

"Is that a problem?" I snap.

"What? No. God, no. I was only wondering why."

Because I asked her to.

I don't tell him that, though. "A college friend had her wedding in Marfa."

He chuckles. "Those famous lights."

"It really was pretty," I say, remembering the stunning night sky of that small, Texas town. "Anyway, Nikki said you were in West Texas that week, too. Nearby at some test track. She thought I should have your number in case I needed help or, I don't know, whatever."

More accurately, I had suggested Ash as my emergency contact, and Nikki had thought that was a stellar idea. I don't tell Ash that part. Especially since I never got up the nerve to call him.

"She probably gave you my personal number. I'm calling from a work line. Is that a problem?" he adds, mimicking my earlier question.

"Nope. No problem."

"The wedding would have been, what? A couple of months ago?"

"Yeah." A bit more than that, actually. Why?"

"Just that it's a shame you didn't ring me up."

"Oh." My chest is suddenly very tight. And, yeah, I'd thought about calling him at least a dozen times. And each and every time, I'd chickened out.

"I would have taken you for a spin."

Oh. " A spin." My mouth is far too dry. "Because those test tracks just go around and around in circles."

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he says, his low voice as soft as a caress.

I feel my cheeks heat as Aria crosses her arms and mouths O.M.G.

I shift, putting more of my back toward Aria. Somehow, I have lost complete control of this conversation.

"At any rate," he continues, "I'm flattered you still have my number."

"Yeah, well, I never think to cull them. You'd be surprised how many people are in my contacts that I've totally forgotten exist."

"In that case, maybe I didn't need to call after all."

I have no idea what he's talking about, and I shift back to look at Aria, who's standing there with her brow furrowed, like she's focused on a jigsaw puzzle she can't put together.

Just hang up, she mouths when I shoot her a questioning look.

I really should. But instead of taking the upper hand, I take the bait. "What do you mean?" I ask Ash. "Why would you need to call?"

"That's the question of the hour, isn't it?"

Ari throws her hands up, then stomps to the table by the door where we keep the mail. I watch as she scribbles something in Sharpie on the back of an envelope, then shows it to me: HE'S PLAYING WITH YOU.

I wish I could argue, but I think she's right. More, I think the game he's playing is dangerous. I'm just not sure what kind of danger.

"Dammit, Ash. I'm not in the mood. Tell me why you're calling or I'm hanging up."

"That's why I'm calling," he says, his voice firm, but gentle. "Your mood."

"Excuse me?"

"There's something going on with you. Right now, you're edgy. And earlier you seemed off. And I'm not arrogant enough to think it's just because of what happened at the airport."

"I'm not edgy," I snap at the phone. I'm not proud of the way I bailed on him that night, but I sure as hell don't want to get into it now. "And I wasn't off at the coffee shop. I was tired. I'd just come from a two-hour talk and book signing. And then you popped up at my car and startled me, and?—"

"And that's all it was? Being startled?"

Something twists inside me. Something dark and a little dangerous. I meet Aria's eyes, and she shakes her head slowly.

I hesitate, then I take the phone off speaker and shift away from her. But not so much that I miss her exasperated expression.

"Listen," I tell him, "I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me, but I'm peachy keen. Really."

"Very glad to hear it. I'm in North Hollywood at the moment. I was supposed to grab a drink with a friend, but he had to bail. Why don't you come join me? Or I can swing by and pick you up. I can't be more than twenty minutes away."

I glance sideways at Aria, who cocks her head in a way that makes me think she knows exactly what Ash just proposed. I turn away again, not wanting her to see the temptation I'm sure is all over my face.

"Sorry. Gotta say no."

"Because you don't want to have a drink with me? Or because I spooked you?"

The words hang there, cold and terrifying. Is Aria right about him? Is this all a game, and this call is his way of never letting me know for certain—even while he drops hint after hint—that he's behind the videos?

"I'm not in the mood for games," I say. "And my mood is fine. Just because I didn't go all gooey when you pounced on me at my car doesn't mean that something spooked me out of my senses."

Except, of course, that's exactly what it means.

"Fine," he says. "You weren't spooked, and you aren't acting strange. All of that is entirely in my imagination."

"Glad we're finally on the same page."

"In that case," he says, "it must be me."

A chill races through me. Surely he's not saying…

I force the thought away. "What are you talking about?"

"You're flat-out rejecting me tonight. You shoved me away outside the coffee shop. You stood me up at the hotel a few months ago. And now I learn that you didn't reach out to me in Texas. As you may be aware, I've got a reasonably high-IQ. I can do the math."

"Can you?"

"Indeed. And my quick wit and superior reasoning skills have concluded that the only possible remaining reason why you won't have a drink with me is, well, me."

"You really may be as smart as they say." And even as the words pass my lips, I realize that I'm flirting. My entire life is crumbling around me, and I'm actually flirting.

More, I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

All I do know, in fact, is that I should hang up. I should just end this cat-and-mouse game right now. Even if he's not responsible for the videos—and I really, really don't want to believe he is—I do not need the distraction of playing mental footsies with a guy like Ashton Stone. Not when hell is nipping at my toes.

Except…

"We're meeting with Maggie tomorrow," he says before I can gather my thoughts.

I cringe. "I told you I was cancelling."

"Yeah. You said that. But Evelyn pulled strings for that interview. You're not bailing."

Since he's right, I say nothing. I just scowl, which is ridiculous since he can't see me.

"We should meet up before. Talk about how we'll handle all the questions she's not supposed to ask but will anyway."

"I can manage on my own."

"Even better. That means we'll have plenty of time to sit and chat about non-Maggie things while we have our coffees."

I manage not to laugh. "You have absolutely no clue how to take no for an answer, do you?"

"No."

This time, I don't bother to muffle my laugh.

"What happened, Bree?" This time his voice is soft. "I thought—before, I mean—I thought there was something there. At my dad's house. Later at the airport. We've never talked about that."

I swallow. "I left you a message."

I hear the low huff of breath. "Yeah. A message." Silence wells between us. "Come on, Bree. I thought we—Was I just wrong?"

My chest goes tight. Suddenly, it feels like I can't breathe. "We're friends, Ash. Can't we just leave it at that?"

And eternity seems to pass, and I think that I'm going to fall into the abyss before he answers the question. Then he says, very softly, "Of course. If that's what you want, then, of course."

I close my eyes as a confusing wave of relief mixed with disappointment washes over me, and I know right then that I'm a Class A Liar. After all, I've gotten away with lying to myself for years.

When I open my eyes again, Aria's right in front of me, watching with a furrowed brow.

I look away, not wanting to see the confusion—and concern—in her eyes.

I'm attracted to him—there's no denying that—but nothing's ever going to happen. He could be the fairy tale hero who saves me from the scary monster, and it wouldn't matter. I walked—okay, ran —away from him before because I had to. And, yes, it was hard and painful and disappointing. But I did it.

And since I already did it once, I know that next time will be even easier.

I just hope he won't put me in the position of forcing a next time.

For a moment, silence hangs on the line. When he speaks, his voice is both firm and gentle. "If that's really what you want," he repeats, "then I won't argue. Not now, anyway. But let's be clear. It will be a lie. There's something more than friendship between us, Bree. There has been from the beginning. And I think there still is."

Panic bubbles inside me. "No. You're wro?—"

"And Bree," he continues, talking right over me. "There's something you might not know about me. I'm a man who's very good at two things. Solving puzzles. And getting what I want. And just so we're clear, what I want is you."