Read Trust Me (Rough Love #3) Online

Authors: Annabel Joseph

Trust Me (Rough Love #3) (21 page)

BOOK: Trust Me (Rough Love #3)
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“A lot of people idolized him. You used to idolize him.”

“That was before I understood what an ass he was. Chere…” He was silent a moment. “You know his overdose wasn’t your fault, right? Nothing Simon ever did was your fault, honey. I know you’ve had a lot to process the last few days. I imagine it’s been a hard week for you.”

I laughed at that understatement. “I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help feeling bad about everything. And Price… He wouldn’t even let me talk about Simon or my feelings. He hated Simon so much. That made things so much harder.”

“Well, you know why Price hated Simon. He felt guilty. He couldn’t stand that the money he paid you went to Simon. He thought he should have done something about the way Simon abused you.”

“He did do something. He eventually got me away from him.”

And you kept trying to go back.

I hadn’t really gone back, but I’d cried over
Heart-Lust
in Paris, and listened to Simon’s pleas when he came to my studio. I’d lost my shit over his death, even though Simon and I hadn’t been together in years, even though we never should have been together. I had a weak spot for my ex, a codependent failing. I always had.

I sighed, too softly for Andrew to hear. Price’s perspective hit me like a brick to the stomach. He’d bought me a multi-million dollar apartment to get me away from Simon. He’d paid for me to go to design school. He’d left me alone for two years, against his will, so I’d learn to stand on my own two feet. After all that, I’d stubbornly persisted in allowing Simon and his problems back into my life. It must have seemed ungrateful. No, it must have felt like a betrayal.

“None of it matters anymore,” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t feel sympathy for Price. He was a bad person, just like Simon was a bad person. Just like I was a bad person sometimes. “I’m through with relationships, and I mean it this time. I’m horrible at them. I truly am. I’m fucking done this time.”

“Oh, Chere.” It was Andrew’s turn to sigh. “Life sucks so bad sometimes. Do you want me to come over? Do you need some cuddle time? Best friend cuddles are the best kind of cuddles.”

“They are the best kind of cuddles,” I agreed. “But I’m going to take a rain check. I need to take a shower and rest, and think. I need to think about everything. If Price calls you or comes to see you…”

“I won’t tell him where you are. He could torture me, and I wouldn’t tell him.”

“I don’t know if he’s going to come looking for me,” I said, remembering his cold voice.
You have one hour to get the fuck out of this apartment and never come back.
“I might need you to go to his place at some point, though, and get the rest of my things.”

“I’ll do anything you need me to do. Whatever you need, just call me, any time of day.”

“I love you so much, Andrew. You’re a wonderful friend.”

“The feeling is mutual. You’re sure about the cuddles?”

I crawled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. “Give them to Craig. Appreciate what you have, because he’s wonderful.”
He doesn’t lock you in cages, for instance, to keep you from going to ex-boyfriends’ funerals.
“Can you come see me tomorrow? I’ll cash in on the cuddles then.”

“You got it. You won’t even need to get Price’s permission first, or confess to him afterward that your gay friend was in the same room with you.”

“Freedom. Terrible freedom.”

I joked, and Andrew joked, but the freedom really was terrible. Or perhaps it was the loss of security. I’d come to depend on Price for so many things. All of that would have to change. I felt tired just thinking about it, so tired and lost.

I said goodbye to Andrew, unpacked my toiletries and cranked up the shower. I hunched under the hot deluge of water for long minutes, trying to get my muscles to unknot and relax. I washed my hair and every inch of my skin, everywhere Price had ever caressed or struck or groped me. I ate a sandwich from room service that was probably delicious. I didn’t know, because I couldn’t taste anything.

After that, I turned on the TV to hear some noise, and crawled into the luxurious hotel bed. We’d never watched TV at Price’s place. We’d had sex, and played in his dungeon, and when we weren’t doing that, we’d read poetry and talked about life and creativity, design and ideas. I didn’t allow myself to get up and dig his poetry out of my suitcase. If I did that, I’d never get to sleep.

If I did that, I’d probably run back to him and beg for another chance. That impulse would eventually fade. I just needed distance and time to get over him. He was bad for me. He was just as bad as he’d warned me he was, if only I’d listened.

I hoped I wouldn’t dream at all, but I did, stark, suffocating nightmares of pale blue eyes and unbreakable metal bars.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Barely There

A
ndrew snuggled beside
me, wrapped in the plush hotel comforter. He told the best stories. He was describing the most recent power exchange scene between him and Craig.

“So then he said, ‘How much do you love me?’ And I was like, ‘a whole lot.’ And he was like, ‘no, I mean, how much do you
love me
?’ He wanted me to pick which ass plug he was going to use on me. And Chere, some of them were like…” His voice drifted off as he made exaggerated motions of largeness with his hands. “And he
looked
at me, you know? He just gave me that look, and I loved him so, so much for making me feel so, so fucking scared.”

“I know that look,” I said, a little sadly. “So? Tell me the rest. Which one did you pick? How much do you love him?”

“Let me put it this way. My ass still hurts, and this was two days ago. I’m lying down instead of sitting. You do the math.”

“You got a spanking too, I bet. Bad boy.”

“Shit, yeah. Craig likes to make it hurt.” He ran a hand through his hair with a giddy smile. Andrew loved getting hurt. Hell, I loved getting hurt too. Fear, dread, the pushing of limits, the emotional appeal.

Do you love me?

Yes, I love you. But I shouldn’t. I can’t.

Andrew’s expression sobered as he looked at his watch. I was expecting Vinod to come by any minute for a brainstorming session. I figured he was coming to check on me too, since I’d been sad when I saw him last week, and had now moved into a hotel. I knew he’d ask questions, and I didn’t have the answers, not yet.

“Price texted me a couple more times,” Andrew said quietly. “I don’t know if you want to know that. I don’t know if it matters. I just don’t answer them.”

I sighed. “Thanks. Sorry if he’s bugging you.”

“He’s not really bugging me. He just keeps asking if you need anything. But I already told him you’re fine, so I think he’s just looking for excuses to contact me. Maybe he thinks I’ll drop some hint about where you’re staying.”

“If he wanted to find me, he would have done it by now. I mean, my phone is on his plan, and he has other ways of searching for me. Surveillance and investigators. Hunting binoculars. Remember that?”

Andrew shuddered. “How could I forget?”

But he hadn’t tried that hard to find me, and he hadn’t come by. Every time room service knocked on the door, I thought, maybe… But no. I couldn’t say I was hiding anymore, because Price wasn’t looking. I was just living in a hotel, waiting to start some new life.

“Thanks for coming to hang out with me,” I said. “Next time, I’ll schedule us a massage.”

There was an obnoxiously loud knock at the door. Andrew’s eyes widened.

“It’s just Jino,” I said. “Vinod’s bodyguard. His fists are the size of your head.”

“Mmm. Bodyguard fists,” Andrew cooed, jumping off the bed. He shrugged into his coat while I went to answer the door. Vinod and Jino bustled in, still cold from outside, wrapped in coats, gloves, and hats. Vinod looked surprised when he noticed Andrew.

“Entertaining handsome young men in your room?” he joked. “You’ll make Mr. Eriksen jealous.”

“Mr. Eriksen has no right to be jealous,” I said.

“Mr. Eriksen has no reason to be jealous,” Andrew joked with a swishy tilt of his head.

“Oh.” Vinod chuckled. “It’s like that.”

Andrew was a terminal flirt, and Vinod, that old letch, was giving him the once over right in front of his bodyguard boyfriend Jino. I pictured the two of them double-teaming my friend and got a little turned on by the visual. And a little squicked out. But mostly turned on, maybe because my sex life had gone from two or three encounters a day to zero in the space of a week.

“Vinod, this is my best friend Andrew. Andrew, this is Vinod Sushil and his bodyguard, Jino. Vinod is a trailblazer in Asian ready-to-wear.”

Vinod stopped mentally undressing Andrew long enough to turn to me with a smile. “A trailblazer, eh? Flattery will get you everywhere. And what do you do with your life?” he asked, turning back to Andrew.

“I’m a painter.”

“A painter?” Vinod stopped leering. His eyes brightened with approval. “I love artists. What do you paint?”

“Anything that moves me,” said Andrew with a smile. “I love to make everyday things special and beautiful.”

“Ah, then we are in accord, because I also like to make everyday things special and beautiful. What else is life about?” He dug out a card and gave it to Andrew. “Send me a link to some of your work. I love to collect.”

He wanted to collect all right—collect Andrew right into his bed. Andrew pocketed the card. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Sushil.” He nodded to the bodyguard too, who was twice his size. “I’ll leave you all to it.”

We hugged and he left, his oversized messenger bag banging against his hip. He really was adorable. And taken. “He has a pretty serious boyfriend,” I said to Vinod as his eyes lingered on the door.

“So do I,” said the old man. “What’s your point?”

We both laughed, and then he returned to his usual businesslike self. We sat at the table and started going over some of the tweaks he’d asked for the last time we met together. I showed him the pieces I’d worked up, but most were still in the sketch stage. He touched the paper, trying to visualize.

“This would be dark gold?” he asked, considering a tie pin. “Bronze?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I can’t think unless I see it. Unless I feel it in my hands. Show me something else that’s similar.”

We talked some more, and then he asked how I felt about adding some women’s items to the upcoming order. How did I feel about it? I felt fucking ecstatic. The women’s market was ten times larger than men’s. I’d been waiting all this time for him to ask. But now…

“I don’t have that many samples here. There are so many things I want to show you. Can I send you pictures?”

“We can go to your studio right now. Jino will drive us, if you’re not too busy.” He looked pointedly around the hotel room. “You don’t look busy.”

“I’ve been drawing.”

“Drawing? I need to see things. I want to hold things in your workshop. Why are you here? Why not in your studio?”

“I’m taking a break from my studio. The thing is…” I knew he’d talk me into going if I didn’t tell him everything, confess all the drama. “The thing is, Price and I have broken up, and my studio’s in the same building as his office.”

Vinod studied me, his lined, bronze face an inscrutable mask.

“So I just feel, you know, too nervous to go there. I don’t feel comfortable being so near him. I need to find a new place to work.”

“A new place? You have a studio on Park Avenue, in a magnificent building. Where else will you go?”

“I don’t know.” I pressed my hands together, feeling defensive. Jino watched us with his large, dark eyes.

“My dear, are you so terribly afraid of running into him?” Vinod said. “What did he do to you, to make you feel this way?”

“He didn’t do anything,” I lied. “I just don’t want there to be a confrontation. An argument or something.”
He might touch me then. He might try to win me back.

And I might go back to him.

I spread my hands in apologetic finality. “I just can’t. I won’t feel safe there.”

Vinod tsked. “It’s your studio, yes? You have a right to work in your own place.” He gestured toward his hulking sidekick. “Jino can go with us. He can protect you from any confrontations. He’s very good at keeping people in line.”

I tried not to notice the salacious look my elderly mentor exchanged with his much younger bodyguard before he turned back to me.

“Jino won’t let anyone interfere with you if you don’t wish it. I promise, you’ll be safe as can be. Look at him. He loves beating people up if he gets the chance.”

Jino nodded and tapped his fists together. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t want Jino to beat up Price.” The image didn’t please me. I didn’t feel spiteful toward Price, I just felt numb. And confused. And lonely all the fucking time.

“Can you give me one more week to get some samples together for you? Please?” I asked Vinod. “I’m going to handle everything and get back in the studio. I just need a little more time.”

“I can give you two weeks,” said Vinod. “A month, you know, whatever. I can give you as long as your inspiration needs. But I am worried about you, my dear. An artist must be in the studio, submerging herself in her art. You cannot only be here in this empty room, drawing up plans.”

“I know.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. “My buyers love your work. I see it now in the advertisements, on billboards. On people. You are successful, but you are not happy. This upsets me. Does it upset you, Jino?”

His stone-faced companion responded with an almost half-nod. For Jino, it was enthusiastic agreement. Vinod looked at me as if to say,
See?

“Happiness takes time,” I muttered. “Happiness is something you have to work at.”

“No,” he said, drawing himself up in his impeccably tailored suit. “Happiness lives inside you. Where is your happiness?”

He asked in such a demanding tone that I thought I should answer, but I didn’t understand the question. Did he mean where in my life? Where in my mind? Where, geographically? My mind darted like a reckless kid in front of a car, straight to Bleecker Street.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happy,” I said peevishly. “It’s not that easy for everyone. I’m happy if you’re happy—”

BOOK: Trust Me (Rough Love #3)
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