I couldn't either. When I spotted him I was struck by a wave of something so intense that I could only push it into the cluster of hate that I've been carrying in my heart for years. It didn't fit there though. It was so much stronger than that. Desire and need, reckless want.
"I called your brother after I saw you. I wanted Julian to tell me that you were happy."
Julian wouldn't know happiness if it slapped him across the face. He's treading water in a relationship with a woman he thinks is perfect for him. She is, on paper. She doesn't challenge him or excite him. I see it whenever I'm in the same room with him and Isadora.
"What did he say?"
He turns and stares at me. "He told me that you dumped that tool you were engaged to. I assume that made you happy."
It did and it didn't. I broke up with Joel, my fiancé, the day before I was set to walk down the aisle. I couldn't commit to a lifetime of uninspired love and mediocre sex. I know now that I hooked up with him to try and drown out the pain I was feeling over my grandma's death. I was using him as a bridge to the other side of my grief.
When I called to tell him that I wanted to see him so we could talk things over, he already knew. I think he was relieved to hear me say that I didn't love him enough to marry him. He's engaged now to a woman he adores. I saw it for myself when I ran into them last month uptown.
"He wasn't right for me." Talking about Joel is always hard, even though I know ending our relationship was necessary. My parents saw it differently, shaming me for the expensive dress, venue and gourmet dinner for two hundred guests they'd already paid for.
I didn't let it go to waste.
I told the caterers to take the food to a charity that houses the families of ill children. They held a celebratory dinner that night, complete with the wedding cake that I was supposed to cut with my new husband.
I donated the dress, shipped my engagement ring back to Joel and told my brother to take Isadora to Paris, on what would have been my honeymoon. Julian focused some of his time during the trip on scouting locations for the Bishop Hotel that will open in France next year.
I paid my parents back every cent they'd invested into my non-wedding. I didn't want the constant reminders that I'd let them down so I evened the score and they dropped the topic.
"You're not seeing anyone now, are you?" His brows draw together.
How the hell is that his business? I'm still mad at him. I haven't forgiven him because his kiss made me forget my own name.
I have every intention of confronting him about the brownstone. I never toured the property when it was for sale. The only images viewable online were two of the red-bricked exterior. I thought about asking my agent to call the listing broker to arrange a private showing but I didn't see the point. To me it would have only been wasting precious time. I wanted it so I made the offer as quickly as I could.
Smith is my chance to get inside it now. I do want to see the rooms my grandma talked about. It seems fitting to call him out on the house he took from me, inside its walls. It may bebittersweet but I know I'll finally feel a sense of vindication. If I have to play nice tonight to make that happen, I can do it. I know I'll be stronger tomorrow when the kiss and the conversation we had at Easton Pub have both lost their edge.
I clear my throat to tell him that my dating status isn't his concern when his phone rings.
He tugs it from the front pocket of his jeans. "I usually mute this fucking thing before I go to bed at eight."
"You go to bed at eight?" I glance down at the silver watch on my wrist. "It's past your beddy-bye time. I should tell your mom you broke curfew."
He laughs at the reference to the words he used to say to me when I'd skip my midnight curfew to hang out with my friends. Julian would always be the one who'd track me down and order me home before my parents realized I wasn't in my bedroom. All too often, Smith would still be at our house when I finally walked through the door.
"Dammit," he mutters under his breath. "I need to take this."
I nod before turning to the view of Brooklyn. I can't make out anything he says. It shouldn't matter to me if he's talking to another woman but it does. It niggles at me in a way I don't want it to. I've gone from outright hating him a few hours ago to tolerating him.
In an alternate universe we may have had a chance for something more but nothing can ever happen between the two of us. I let my grandma down because of him. She was one of the few people in my life who believed in me and I didn't pull through when she needed me to.
"Brynn." His hand lightly brushes my shoulder. "I need to go down to the studio. They're prepping Senator Carney for an interview tonight. I'm the guy he wants to sit across from him."
I turn and look up at him. "His son killed a woman in cold blood."
"The fucker did." He nods slowly. "The senator bought his son's freedom and I'm going to do everything in my power to get him to admit to that."
Smith's known for his hard edge. He pushes the people he interviews. If I was going to admire one thing about him, that might be it. The way he looks in a black T-shirt with the wind gently blowing his air might be another.
Get a grip, Brynn. Jesus.
"I'll see you at your place tomorrow night." I take a step back, so he doesn't make the assumption that my lips are looking for any goodbye action.
"I'll text you my address." His gaze drops to his phone at the sound of a chime. "Shit. My driver's downstairs waiting. I need to go before the Senator changes his mind."
