***
"I was going to leave you a message asking if you wanted to meet me for lunch." She sips the last of the coffee in her mug. "I thought you turn your ringer off at night. I'm sorry if I woke you up."
I nod as my eyes race over the screen of my phone. I feel panic wash over me.
"Brendon texted me," I say aloud. "He says he loves me. He wants me back."
"You're not considering going back to him, are you?" She can't hide the disdain in her voice. "Don't do that, Den. He wasn't right for you."
I hear the words but they don't register. I'm too busy reading the dozens of text messages Brendon send me in rapid succession just after two this morning. It's barely past five now.
It's obvious from the tone of the texts that his anger escalated quickly when I didn't respond. He warns me to stay away from Tyler. He tells me I'll never amount to anything without him.
The text messages are punctuated with two voicemails. I ignore those in favor of the texts. I read them all, anger edging against my better judgment. It's telling me to delete them. I don't. Instead, I read them all again and then hand my phone to Sophia.
"I need to tell him to fuck right off, "I say under my breath."
"I think you need to go to Nova, Den." She slides the phone back across the table to me. "There's a message from Tyler there. Did you not see that?"
I didn't. I'd opened the thread of messages from Brendon and hadn't bothered to check on anything else.
"Why?" I ask as I tug the phone away from her.
"Tyler went there to meet Brendon." She leans forward on her chair, her elbows resting on the table. "Tyler's text says that Brendon called him and demanded a face-to-face."
I pull up Tyler's number and call it while I run to my bedroom to dress. His voicemail kicks in immediately. I call Brendon's number with the same result.
I try Tyler again with no better luck.
As I tug on a pair of jeans I call my voicemail and listen to Brendon's messages. The first is vile. The words filled with hate and anger. He rants about me leaving him and how I don't realize how much I'll need him.
The second is brief. His words are softened by the noise around him. There's the sound of a bus passing as he tells me that he's going to Nova and then a horn honks when he hisses the words he promised me he'd never say.
"I'm done keeping your secret, Den. Tyler deserves to know the truth about the woman working for him."
CHAPTER 25
Early morning in Manhattan is unlike any other time of the day. Most of the city is still asleep. The traffic is moving, although less snarled than it will be an hour from now.
Street merchants are readying their wares by placing them on tables or setting up booths. One yells to me from behind a display of used books. He wants me to invest in something I can read on the subway. He calls at me still, even when I'm rounding the corner toward the subway.
I fish in my purse for my wallet. My goal is my MetroCard. I stop, next to a closed barber shop, as I shuffle through the receipts I've tucked between the folds of my worn leather billfold, looking for the card. I curse when I remember I left it in the pocket of my dress pants. I'd taken the subway home from work two nights ago and then I'd tossed those pants into my laundry hamper.
"Can you spare some change?"
A man appears next to me, a small white dog clutched tightly to his chest. I stare at the dog. At the collar around its neck, that is studded with rhinestones and the red bow that is nestled in the shaggy fur on its head. It matches the polish that has been applied to the tiny nails on its paws.
My gaze drops to the man's shoes. They're designer, expensive. They give him, and his rouse, away.
"Not today," I say as I begin to push past him.
"You look like you had breakfast," he spits back at me. "I haven't eaten in days."
I turn around. He chose the wrong day. This isn't the day to goad me. It's definitely the wrong day to confront me about the fact that I have money.
"You ate a sugar donut." I twirl my index finger in the air near his face. "There's powdered sugar all over your lips and you smell like a rich roast blend that's been harvested from somewhere in South America."
"I found a pastry and coffee in the garbage," he begins to explain. "That only took the edge off. I'm starving."
"Sell your shoes." I glance down. "Those are worth at least four hundred dollars new and from the looks of the ones on your feet, they're less than a month old."
He parts his lips as if he's going to say something but he doesn't. He turns on his designer heel and sulks off down the street.
I curse under my breath. Snapping at a stranger on the street isn't who I am. I give freely. I help as much as I can but only those who actually need it. That man is taking from people who may not have as much to spare as he does. It rubs me wrong. It pisses me off.
I draw a deep breath as I walk toward the subway. I rush down the stairs while I dig for change at the bottom of my purse.