I shriek. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you back to my place.”
“You can’t just kidnap me?—”
“Watch me.”
With that, Kaz marches into the room, swipes the remote, turns off the TV, grabs my two unopened duffle bags, slings them over his free shoulder, picks up my handbag and the hotel’s key card, and storms out of the crappy motel bedroom.
Fucking caveman.
Chapter 54
Over my dead body
Kazimir
The chauffeur comes to a stop as we arrive at our destination.
Harley’s head whips in my direction and she wipes her tears. “We’re taking a helicopter back to Brooklyn?”
When she opened the door at the motel and I saw her face lined with tears, my chest cracked wide open, but her defiant question sobered me up fast. “After my meeting, I returned to find your note.”
Kaz,
Thank you for everything.
I’m sorry. You deserve better than me. Much better.
H.
“Did you think I was going to go about my day as if nothing happened?”
She winces.
“I was prepared to burn the motherfucking world down to find you.”
She flinches, her eyes widening.
“As I was pulling my hair out, it hit me. A few taps and I pinpointed your location. There was no way in hell I was going to suffer through traffic for two—if not three hours—to get to New Jersey. And the same agonizing scenario on the way back. Not in this lifetime. So, I chartered a helicopter to get to you.”
“But… how did you find me?”
I point to the phone she’s cradling in her hand.
Her expression is of sheer disbelief. “You tracked my personal phone?”
I pin her with a glare. “I asked Cressida to send it to the IT department after she bought it for you via the company’s account after Maybellynn had dumped yours in the toilet. I wanted to make sure there was a tracking device installed on it.”
She scrunches her nose. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away.
I frown.
“Don’t say that.” She averts her gaze. “I’m not yours, Kaz. The baggage I’m carrying would sink the Titanic.” When her eyes land on me again, they’re brimming with tears.
I feel like an asshole for pushing her like this, but I need answers. “Does this baggage have anything to do with A. Monte Cristo?”
