With that, I take my leave, sashaying right out of the building once I grab my purse from the waiting room. No one dares to stop me.
The moment I’m inside my car, all my bravado fizzles out of me like bubbles in a champagne kept out too long. My forehead presses against the steering wheel as my trembling hands wrap around it, anchoring myself before I drift away.
I can’t even begin to comprehend the repercussions of this act of defiance, especially on my job. After everything I suffered through for this job, this little stunt might put it all in jeopardy.
I can’t wait around here too long lest someone sees how much this affected me. I put my car in gear and am about to drive out when Ezra climbs in, opening the passenger side door. My foot presses down on the brake, causing the car to lurch forward.
“Get out, Ezra. Someone will see us,” I mumble, exhaustion bleeding in my voice.
His head snaps toward me so quickly I’m surprised he didn’t pull a muscle.
He looks at me with his eyes shot red and hands curled into fists as he grits, “If you think that I’m staying away from you after that shit show, then you’ve another thing coming.”
Depleted of all my energy, I rev the car and drive out on the busy streets of Boston. I drive aimlessly as silence envelops us both like heavy clouds hanging over our heads, ready to drown us at any second.
Neither of us says a word, both lost in our own thoughts.
Everything that transpired today was exactly what I had been fearing from the moment Stacy shared this idea with me. I knew my credibility would be questioned and my privacy would be threatened just because I’m a woman.
However, I truly didn’t think that would happen on national television. All I was expecting were rude comments from outrageous fans. When in fact, they’ve all been supportive except for one or two here and there, but even those didn’t get any traction.
Sam’s insensitiveness and audacity truly astounded me. I couldn’t dream that such a well-regarded interviewer would stoop so low.
When I come to it, I finally find myself pulling in front of Ezra’s apartment building. With quick movements, Ezra gets out of the car and rounds it to my side. Opening my door, he turns the ignition off and pulls the keys, sliding them into his pockets.
Picking my stunned self in his arms, he locks the car and walks inside the building. He tips his head at the guard, who looks at us with wide eyes before a smile covers his face.
My face flushes with embarrassment as I hiss at Ezra, “What the fuck are you doing? Put me down!”
He doesn’t look at me, not even when I hit his chest or bite his jaw. Taking us straight into the elevator, he puts me down only when we reach his penthouse.
I stumble from the suddenness of the action, finding purchase on the wall.
“What’s your problem?” I yell behind his back as he walks away from me. “Look at me when I talk to you!”
Opening the fridge aggressively, he chugs down a bottle of water and throws one to me. “Drink,” he grunts. I open my mouth to retaliate when he interrupts, “Drink the fucking water, Kaeli!”
With an annoyed huff, I unscrew the cap and gulp down a few sips. I place the bottle on the kitchen counter. And before I can wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, Ezra does it for me when he tugs his shirt up and presses it to my mouth.
My insides do a flip at this sweet action, and my thighs involuntarily clench at the view of his perfect, washboard abs. God! He had to go and be considerate even when angry.
His eyes soften at the edges, sincerity bleeding into his tone, “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He embraces me in a hug, propping his chin on my head. My hands hesitantly cling to him. He effortlessly places me on the kitchencounter.
“I know,” I say, softly rubbing his back and feeling his muscles loosen.
“What an asshole! I wish I could ship him back to where he came from. If it were up to me, he’d never be able to interview anyone ever again,” he grits, his nostrils flaring in fury.
“Calm down, Superman. I’ve handled worse.” Pulling back, I pat his chest.
“Kaeli, it is not the reassurance you think it is,” he chides me, tilting my chin to look me in the eyes.
“It’s not?” I tease him.
“Mhmm. You tell me the name of every motherfucker who ever cornered you, and I swear they’ll regret the day they put their eyes on you,” he growls.
My gaze roves over his hard features. His dark hair falls over his forehead as the glacial blue of his eyes swirls like a tornado on its path to destruction. The heat of his warm body seeps into me, recharging me, comforting me.
But what outshines everything is the worry he’s holding onto. Worry for my well-being. How did I never know he’s so fucking caring? How was I ever able to insult him? And how does he still care about me enough to avenge me?
