Page 58 of Still Her
Fifteen minutes…
25
Mayzie
The minutes tickby while I pace, take a drink of water, and pace some more before finally walking over to the window, letting the view do whatever it can to calm me. Gazing down at what looks like tiny lights and cars, I remind myself that it’s thousands of people, thousands of lives, with millions of things going on. And this… is just one unpleasant thing I have to do. That’s all. And then it will be over. I look over at the clock on a side table that reads 5:58.I don’t have to leave yet. I don’t have to be there on the dot.
As my gaze comes up to stare out across the city, a warm, comforting feeling comes over me, seemingly right out of nowhere. I’m suddenly compelled to bring up my right wrist and look at my tattoo. A flashback of the memory of Jack and I getting the same symbol inked into our skin quickly blinks across my mind, and I bring my fingers up to run across the two nines that forms an artistic heart over the words Only Ours. The feeling nestles in the center of my chest, and I feel it glow and pulse as if my heart is a jar of fireflies. I close my eyes and bring my hand completely over the symbol as if to draw strength from it.
In that moment, everything feels like it locks into place making me feel brave and assured. I open my eyes and whip around, heading for the door, snatching the penthouse key card off the table as I pass. Who knows how long this feeling will last. Hell, it will probably be gone by the time I reach the elevator. But it was enough to get my legs moving, carrying me out of the damn hotel room.
* * *
Okay, that elevator ride sucked. How manyfrickin’floors was it from my floor to this stupid, snooty penthouse floor? Enough for my mind to wander into la-la land that’s for damn sure. I feel like a hapless bird going to face the cat who wants to eat it, or better yet, I’m heading into the damned spider’s web. Yeah, I’m the poor little fly about to get trapped in the spider’s web, Eli being the spider of course. The cartoon image of a giant, hairy spider with Eli’s face floats into my mind, making a manic, nervous giggle escape me. Eli the giant douche-spider. Damn, I’ve lost my freaking marbles. The elevator pings,wiping all traces of humor from my mind. Now I’m stuck, standing in the vestibule between the elevator and the hallway that leads to the Douche Suite. I get tunnel vision looking down the hallway and I swear it stretches longer and longer before my eyes, making me feel like I’m in the damn Shining. Only instead of creepy twins, it’s a mega-douche waiting for me. Fuck.
Once my tiny freak out is over, the hallway snaps back to its actual shorter length. Squaring my shoulders, I try not to think. At least not about anything except putting one foot in front of the other, again and again, until I reach the door, where I stop.
I see the device meant for registering the key card and realize all I have to do is swipe the card in my hand and enter. But I just stand there, flipping it over and over. I can’t seem to do it. One, it would probably make me appear willing. Two, I don’t want to because I’mnotwilling. Instead, I give a hesitant knock. Maybe part of me foolishly believes he won’t answer, like he’s not actually in there waiting for me.
But damnit, I hear footsteps approach before the door swings open, presenting a douche.
“Mayzie…” Eli greets me with what I’m sure he believes is a warm and welcoming smile. He stands aside to let me in, but I make no move from the doorway. My torturous heels seem to be cemented to the hallway carpet. “Come in,” he coaxes, waving his hand indoors.
“I’m afraid to,” I admit.
His face softens. “You don’t need to be afraid. Just come in and talk to me. You’ll see, everything will be great.”
For whom?I think, as I take one step and then another, talking myself through repeating the motions until I am just inside the door. Eli closes it behind me, and steps around to stand in front of me. He’s not crowding me; he’s giving me space, but God, thatstare. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I think I’m feeling my back start to sweat. I breathe in through my nose and very subtly let the breath out through pursed lips, being careful not to make it obvious. I try to look everywhere but at him, taking in the space. There’s a grand piano in the corner by the windows that display the sparkly skyline through white sheer curtains.
“I’m glad to see you still know how to make smart decisions,” Eli starts in, bringing my attention away from the crown moldings and back to him.
“Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean you win,” I say, standing stiffly in front of him.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You are here after all.” He’s trying not to let his cockiness show in his smirk, but he’s failing miserably.
“That doesn’t mean I want to be here.”
“But again, here you are. And you sure as hell didn’t show up in a pair of sweats, so I’m not fully convinced you don’t want to be here.”
“Then you’re delusional,” I barb, trying to be bold.
I see a flash of scorn quickly pass over his eyes, but it’s gone almost before I can register it. He composes himself quickly, acting unfazed.
“You know, you seemed perfectly comfortable with me on the plane, Kitten. What happened?”
“I wasn’t comfortable on the plane-,” I start, and then the memory catches up to me. We did have a good time talking; for a little while. “Well, I was for the time you were talking to me, politely; like we were friends. It went out the window when you started eyeballing me the way you do other women, making suggestive comments and locking me in small spaces with you.”
“Ah, yes,” Eli smiles nostalgically at the ceiling like he’s recalling fond memories, before directing his smile back down to me. “I’ve always thought you were pretty Mayzie, but you never put it on display much; always the dressed down blue-jeaned wife of the rock star. And then, I admit, seeing you dress up for Jack got my attention. And then again at the photo shoot,” he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “just sealed it for me.”
“Sealed what?”
He stares at me quietly for a long moment, as if he’s gathering just the right bunch of words. “My desire to really put everything into this relationship,” he states, seemingly satisfied with his own answer.
“Which relationship?” I ask, just a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. I’m trying like hell to get this guy to verbalize one clear sentence that the cops can nail him with. “Your relationship with the band, or with me?”
“Oh… the whole package Kitten,” he gives me a cocky tilt of his head with his answer.Ugh!That could mean so many different things. It’s like he’s some storybook character that talks in riddles. I try a different way instead.
“I also thought I was comfortable when you apologized to us in Houston. Guess I’m not as smart as you think I am because I really believed you were a genuine human being.” Maybe a little guilt will get him to slip.