Unleash Me, Vol. 1 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) (30 page)

“
It
doesn
’
t
matter what anyone else said to you.
 
Not one of them has a contract with you.
 
I do.
”

“
Why
are you wavering on the sidewalk?
”

“
I
’
m not.
”

“
The
hell you aren
’
t.
 
Look at you
—
you
’
re drunk.
 
And after what you just pulled on
me?
 
Throwing my clutch to the
ground?
 
I feel threatened.
 
So, deal with this.
”
 
I dialed 9-1-1.
 
I put my cell on speakerphone so he
could hear the dispatcher
’
s
voice.
 
“
I
’
m being threatened,
”
I
said when the man answered.

“
Where
are you ma
’
am?
”

When I gave him the address, Marco
Boss, his face flushed with fury and disbelief, went back into the
building.
 

“
Actually,
”
I
said,
“
that
threat of calling you might just have done the job.
”

“
We
still need to have a car drive by and make sure, ma
’
am.
”

“
That
’
s fine,
”
I
said.
 
“
I understand.
 
And thank you for being there for me at
this moment
—
what
’
s just happened was
beyond disturbing.
 
Come as soon as
you can so I can get away from him.
”

*
 
*
 
*

When the police arrived ten minutes
later, I told them what had happened, and that I
’
d felt threatened.
 
But then I made a choice.
 
I
could crush Boss now, but to what end?
 
It was better to deal with Boss through Alex, who likely would be more
brutal.
 
If I subjected Boss to the
police, it would just cause a scandal, which none of us wanted.
 

“
I
don
’
t
know who it was,
”
I said.
 
“
Obviously somebody at the party.
 
I have a new book coming out.
 
A large ad for it is in today
’
s
Times
.
 
Another ad with my face on it is running
in Times Square.
 
He obviously
recognized me from one or the other, and for whatever reason, he laced into
me.
 
I felt frightened by him.
”

“
Can
you describe him?
”

“
Absolutely.
 
Tall.
 
Dark.
 
In a tux.
”

The officer looked disappointed.
 
“
Is that it?
 
That could be anyone.
”

“
It
all happened so fast, I
’
m
afraid that
’
s
all I
’
ve
got.
 
Unfortunately.
 
I
’
m so sorry.
 
It
happened within minutes.
 
I
’
m beyond grateful that
you
’
ve
come.
”

“
What
do you need ma
’
am?
”

“
A
cab to get out of here and get home.
”

“
Then
let
’
s
get you one,
”
he
said.
 
“
Follow me.
”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I stepped into the cab, I
thanked the police officer for taking the time to make sure that I was all
right.
 
I then asked the driver to
take me to 800 Fifth.
 
And as I sank
back against the seat and we cut into traffic, I wished that Tank was there
with me.
 
After tonight?
 
I missed him to the point that it
thrummed through my body.

Just two more weeks before he
’
s
home
, I thought.
 
Fantastic
.

What the hell had happened
tonight?
 
Where had it all gone
wrong?
 
I was certain that a good
deal of it had to do with Boss busting through three martinis within such a
short period of time.
 

As I thought about it, I realized it
didn
’
t
really matter how big he was.
 
His
liver might have been able to absorb the first two of those nine shots of
vodka, but the other seven?
 
They
went straight to Boss
’
head,
and what it revealed in him was that he obviously was an angry drunk when
pressed by his colleagues as he
’
d
been tonight.
 
He
’
d gotten it from
Julian West and then from Helen Young, each of whom had trashed the idea that
my book should be radically changed.
 

It brought out the monster in him
, I
thought.
 
But what
’
s
in store for me now?

Who knew?
 
What I did know was that I wasn
’
t going to get any
more involved in this mess because I already knew that Julian was going to
intervene.
 
Best to keep my head
down, continue to work on the book, and adhere to my contract until something
—
if
anything
—
happened.
 

I would tell Tank about what happened
because I was damned if I
’
d
keep any secrets from him, and I
’
d
likely tell Blackwell, too.
 
But
Jennifer and Alex?
 
Eventually, I
’
d tell them.
 
But right now, they had so much on their
plates that it wasn
’
t
the time.
 
If Julian West wanted to
call Alex, that was his choice.
 
As
for me, I
’
d
just wait to tell them what had happened tonight when they got home.

I looked out the window and watched
the city speed by when my cell buzzed to life in my clutch.
 
Who would be calling me now?
 
It wouldn
’
t be Tank
—
he
was in the air.
 
I reached inside
for my phone, and saw that it was Boss.
 
I had nothing to say to him, so if he had something to say to me, he
could leave it on my voicemail.
 
I
dropped the phone back into my clutch and, feeling anxious and depressed about
how terribly the evening had gone, an idea occurred to me.

Go to Times Square.
 
Go and look at your advertisement.

Julian himself had suggested it.
 
And right now, I liked the idea
—
seeing
the ad would give me a lift.
 
I
leaned toward the driver and said,
“
Change of plans.
 
Would you mind dropping me in Times Square?
”

“
No
problem.
 
Where, lady?
”

“
Just
the Square.
 
Choose a corner where
most of the action is.
 
I
’
ll find what I
’
m looking for.
”

“
Sure.
”

When we arrived at the Square, it was
just after nine and it was bustling with activity, as it usually was.
 
The cold had zero effect on the
tourists, those whose shops and restaurants were open, or those who were
selling their wares on the sidewalks.
 
I knew I was ridiculously overdressed for this part of town, but what
the hell?
 
I certainly wasn
’
t going to be here
long.
 
I just wanted to see where
they placed the advertisement, snap a photo of it with my phone, soak up the
moment, and then go back home.

We drove down Forty-Seventh to where
it met Seventh, and I asked the driver to drop me at the Doubletree Hotel,
which was just across from the TKTS shop and the bleachers behind it.
 
When he pulled to the curb, I paid him
and exited the cab.
 
I then crossed
Forty-Seventh to the wide median that cut through a portion of Seventh Avenue.
 
There, with the ostrich feathers at my
neck tickling my throat, I stood shivering and looking at the flashing array of
advertisements surrounding me.

It took me less than thirty seconds
to find mine, which happened to be attached to the Doubletree Hotel itself.

As everyone had said, it was
enormous, and when I saw it, my hand went to my mouth.
 
After tonight, I didn
’
t know what was going
to come of my deal with Wenn Publishing, so I seized the moment, removed the
phone from my clutch, and took several photos of the billboard in rapid
successions of light.

It was then that my evening twisted
even further into the surreal.

To my far right, I heard a man call
out my name in a questioning voice.
 
“
Lisa?
”
 

I turned to see who it was.
 
And while he looked a lot older than he
did when I last saw him
—
and
frankly, a little beaten up in his loose-fitting jeans and stained baseball hat
—
I
recognized him.
 
It was my first
boyfriend, Kevin Ryan.
 
The man who
took my virginity when I was seventeen.

How could this be?

“
Kevin?
”
I
said.
 
“
Is that you?
”

He started toward me, his hands deep
in his pockets.
 
As he came closer,
I could see a marked difference in him.
 
His brown hair, always so carefully groomed when we dated for those two
years, was bushy and unkempt.
 
There
was at least three days
’
worth
of stubble on his face, which only made him look older than he was.
 
Instead of looking twenty-five, he
looked as if he was pushing forty.
 
He was either on vacation from wherever he worked and didn
’
t care how he looked
—
which
wasn
’
t
the Kevin Ryan I knew
—
or
he had fallen on hard times.
 
I
hoped it wasn
’
t
the latter.

“
You
sound surprised,
”
he
said.

“
Of
course I
’
m
surprised.
 
It
’
s not every day that I
run into someone from Maine in Times Square at nine o
’
clock at night.
”

“
Just
someone?
”
he
said.
 
“
How about your first
boyfriend?
”

“
Right.
 
My first boyfriend.
”

He looked at my dress, my clutch, my
cape.
 
“
You probably don
’
t meet many from your
past dressed like that.
”