“When’s the last time you were in the studio?” Nick asks. Since he doesn’t wait for my answer, I assume it’s because he’s aware of how long it’s been since I produced anything new. “You know, it might do you good to pick up a paintbrush and get back to work on something again.”
“Actually, I am painting. Or, was. I was at the studio in Sagg a few days ago.”
“Is that right?” He gives me a look of cautious surprise. “Who’s the lucky muse this time?”
“You don’t know her.”
One of his dark brows wings up. “I’m even more intrigued now.”
“Forget it. I don’t like to talk about my work.”
“Since when?” He balks, grinning. “The only thing bigger than your bank account is your ego, brother. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s the truth, after all.” My laugh comes easily, and I realize this is the first time I’ve felt anything close to humor in longer than I can recall. Leave it to Nick to drag it out of me, especially on a day like today. “I’m gonna leave the rec center operations and hands-on work to you and Avery. Trust me, it’s for the best.”
“You’re really not going to tell me what you’re working on? Or, rather, who?”
I consider confiding in him about the whole fucked-up thing, starting with my discovery of Daniel Hathaway’s presence in New York. Thankfully, the impulse only lasts for a second. “It’s complicated.”
He smirks. “In other words, situation normal for you.”
He’s got a point, but where my feelings about Melanie Laurent are concerned, complicated doesn’t even begin to describe them. There’s no point trying to explain now.
“I should go. Thanks for making time for me, Nick.”
“Anytime,” he replies, that sharp blue gaze of his too keen, too knowing. “I mean it, Jared. I know things haven’t always been smooth between us, but I’m your friend. I always will be.”
I nod. “Thanks. Likewise.”
He walks me out of his office to the spacious reception area of the executive floor. “I’ll inform the rec center that Alyssa’s welcome to return—on the condition that going forward she’s not seen with Traynor or any of his gang.”
“Understood, Nick. Again, thank you for giving her another chance.”
“Would you like to tell her, or would you prefer that I do?”
“I’ll handle it with her. For some reason, she trusts me more than most people.”
Nick grunts. “She owes you her life, Jared. Don’t think she doesn’t realize that. If anyone else had found her that night instead of you, they would’ve turned her over to the police. They would’ve done worse than that, probably.”
“I just want her to have a chance at a decent life,” I murmur, reliving the night about a year ago when a scrawny, coked-out sixteen-year-old approached me outside a club and tried to sell herself to me for fifty dollars. The flashback brings another one fast on its heels, something even more personal, one I refuse to let materialize. “I just want Alyssa to be safe.”
Nick puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll help you do that, if I can.”
As we talk, Andrew Beckham strolls out of his office nearby. Holding a manila file under his arm, the African American attorney approaches us. Smiling, he extends his hand to me. “Hey, Jared. How’s it going? Didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m just on my way out, actually.”
“Jared came in to talk about what happened in Chelsea last week.”
“Ah.” Beck glances at Nick. “I spoke to the station commander down there this morning. He says they’ve got fresh a tip on Traynor’s possible whereabouts. Sounds like they expect to make an arrest any day now.”
“Good,” Nick and I say at the same time. He gives me a nod. “I’ll keep you posted on any new information we receive.”
“Appreciate it.”
The two men walk me toward the elevator. As we say our goodbyes, the chime dings with the arrival of the car on the executive floor. The doors slide open and Gabriel Noble stands there.
“Morning, Gabe,” Nick says, moving aside to let his head of security step out. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you look that grim since . . . well, in a long time.”
“I need to take a couple hours off this morning, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, it’s okay. Anything wrong?”
Gabe slants a brief glance my way before giving his boss his full attention. “Eve just called me. I need to swing by the hospital and pick her up.”
Beck’s face goes deadly serious next to Nick. “What’s my sister doing at the hospital? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Gabe assures him. “She’s been there with a friend since I dropped her off before heading in to work.”
“Anything serious?” Nick asks.
“It could’ve been worse.” I don’t miss the fact that Evelyn Beckham’s fiancé now seems intent on pretending I’m not there at all. His clipped answers and deliberate avoidance of me puts an edge of suspicion in my veins. “Eve’s friend’s mother collapsed with a blocked artery at home yesterday afternoon. She almost didn’t make it. They’ve got her under observation for the time being while they run some tests.”
“Which friend?” My question sounds more like a demand. Curt and dark, my growled reply brings all three men’s gazes swinging back to mine. “Who’s Eve with at the hospital?”
I don’t need to ask because the truth is written all over Gabe’s grim face. “I shouldn’t tell you. I heard what happened out at your studio.”
Ah, fuck. I shouldn’t be surprised that Melanie would confide in her best friend about the way I behaved. Odds are good she told Evelyn about our arrangement, too. “No wonder you looked like you wanted to deck me downstairs.”
“He still does,” Beck points out.
Nick frowns. “What happened at your studio, Jared? Who are we talking about here?”
I shake off the question with a scowl. All my focus is locked on Gabriel Noble. “Where is she? What hospital? Tell me where Melanie is.”
Beck’s frowning at me now, too. “You mean Melanie Laurent?
