I couldn’t, of course, actually do any of the refurbishments until the police tape officially came down. And since that wasn’t happening for a day or two, I had plenty of time to load up on supplies. Unfortunately, the only décor store I could find that didn’t have the word ‘Barn’ in the title was a good fifty miles away, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me.
It was that want for supplies—or, more precisely, the hunt for the perfect replacement tables—which had me on the road that night.
I should have gone earlier, but Lulu had woken up short of breath and, as the designated freeloading best friend, rushing her to the emergency room fell under my jurisdiction. It was just gas (thank God), but when you’re that preggers, they apparently have to run three dozen tests no matter what brings you to the hospital.
By the time I got her back home, fed, and safely in bed with Jack snoring in the next room, the sun had already set.
I thought about putting the trip off until tomorrow. I even thought about asking Dalton to come with me. It could be a date, of sorts. But I was behind schedule, and if I was going to be serious about this, then I needed to get a move on, and Dalton would have been … distracting.
I cut onto the main road, my mind firing off one stressing thought after the next. Things were supposed to be simpler here. This was supposed to be the place I could chill out and start over after my mother’s death.
But here I was, dating one man, thinking about another, and strutting down a runway surrounded by an ever-growing audience of dead bodies that looked unnervingly like me.
Why was I doing this? I never wanted to run a nightclub, and I sure as hell didn’t see myself settling down in New Haven.
I pressed harder on the gas pedal, accelerating as though I was already making a run for it from that miserable town. But there was a hesitation there I hadn’t felt before. Something that made me feel tethered to New Haven.
Maybe the reason I wanted club manager job was for the control. Maybe, with so much spinning in orbit around my head—so much that I couldn’t grab or change or fix—I felt compelled to find any situation I could control. And The Castle was just that.
Thinking of the club brought an image of Abram to mind, and I sighed. Was it The Castle I was drawn to … or was it him? I tried to think back to other jobs I’d had before, and never had thinking about work make me think about my employer’s eyes, or arms, or chest, or lips.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter and gave myself a little shake. Snap out of it, Char. The truth was, I was only thinking of Abram right now because I felt bad for him. He had seemed so defeated. Of course I couldn’t get that image out of my mind—who could? All I wanted to do was save him from that misery. Lord knows I couldn’t save myself from mine.
I mean, it was either that, or I just wanted the job because he didn’t want me to have it.
So I either want to help him or piss him off. Real healthy, Char.
Those thoughts, along with a little concern about whether the tables would look like they did on the website swirled in my mind.
On a long, dark stretch of highway with woods on either side, Lulu’s car made a loud pop. I had never been much of a driver. It wasn’t really a necessity in New York. As such, I didn’t really know what was going on when something about the steering changed the car startled swerving across the emergency lane.
I jumped, gasping. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I jerked back hard the other way. The car fishtailed and spun across the empty highway until it skidded sideways into a tree.
Despite being thrown back, my seatbelt kept me in place. Still, it hurt like a bitch and shook me up pretty badly.
I stumbled out of the car, kicking off my heels and cursing my incessant need to dress up even when only the employees at a furniture supply store would see me. A quick assessment of the car revealed the culprit for my distress: a flat tire.
Wow, Char. That’s pretty special.
Only I could have such a disastrous reaction to something so basic. The flat tire may as well have been ancient hieroglyphics for all I knew about it.
As I stared at the shredded rubber, chewing my lip, my agent’s voice scrolled through my mind. “Pretty girls shouldn’t do that sort of work,” she’d said one day in reference to women learning to change the oil in their car. “It ruins the hands.”
I looked down at my hands now. They were useless, but damn if they weren’t stunning. I rifled through the front seat until I found my cell phone. No signal.
Ugh! I hate this place.
So much for Triple A. Maybe if I walked back toward town, I could get a signal. It was only a couple of miles, and for all I knew, only a few steps until the signal kicked back on.
I grabbed my purse and took a look around. The road was dark, though, sandwiched by thick tree lines and without a single street lamp. Not exactly my idea of an inviting nightly stroll.
A sense of uneasiness crept over me. Here I was, all alone, in the dark, and without any way to call for help.
Would walking down that road even be safe?