Page 86 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“Embracing your legacy?”
He takes another draft of his beer. “I figured there would be less chance of bumping into you if I was trapped behind a desk.”
But you’re here now.
“Tell me how you found me, Jake.”
He pauses for a beat. “I had someone tailing you as soon as you landed.”
“Youwhat?” He sounds so unapologetic about it. “Let me get this straight, you don’t bother to return my sodding phone calls, but you have me followed around all day by some old man in a beige mac, Colombo style?” My voice rises indignantly.
“I warned you about my enemies, Charlie,” he says, his face turning serious again. “You don’t know what they’re capable of. I was having you followed in London, as well.”
“Did Wilson hurt your ex, Sienna? Does he want to hurt me?”
Jake raises the beer to his lips again and doesn’t answer.
“I opened your letter,” I blurt out, hating the strained silence between us. “The one you gave me in Morocco.”
“Damn.” The bottle comes crashing down. The word is barely audible, but his regretful tone speaks volumes. “I forgot about that stupid thing. Listen—”
I never get to hear what he says next. My chest is crushing, squeezing, and turning everything to white noise.
I can’t faint in here.I can’t make an even bigger fool of myself than I have already.
Grabbing my cell phone, I bolt for the door. I don’t hear Jake calling out my name, either. I don’t see him jumping down from the bar stool to follow me out. I’m so confused I step out into the road, but I’m honked into retreat by a passing taxicab. Changing directions, I head back up Hollywood Boulevard, swerving around tourists like a vehicle in a high-speed car chase.
Meanwhile, Jake has exited the bar and is sprinting up the sidewalk after me. “Charlie, stop!”
I make it all the way to the corner of Highland Avenue before he catches up with me. “I said stop!” he yells, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him. “Stop running away from me, woman!”
“You once said that you’re no good for me, but the truth is, I’m no good for you,” I gasp out, choking on my tears as my past comes crashing down around me. “I’m so damaged, Jake. I knew there’d be no going back for us after I signed up with Brad, but I did it anyway.”
“Charlie—” Jake’s expression softens, but I can’t bear to look at him anymore.
“This was a mistake. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” I wrench myself away from him and start walking again. I’m right next to the gaping golden aperture of the Dolby Theatre entrance, with the giant sign looming over me like a censorious overlord.
“What happened to you? What made you this way?”
Jake’s words stop me dead in my tracks. I don’t move another muscle until he’s alongside me, his dark eyes flickering over my face, searching for answers. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, but I can taste its bitter recrimination, too. He’ll never look at me the same way again.
But I’m all out of excuses.
I’m too tired to run anymore.
“Tell me, Charlie. I need to know.”
I drop my head and steady my breath. “When I was six years old, my father kidnapped me, tortured me, and then killed himself in front of me,” I say quietly.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Take it slow, Books. Start from the beginning.”
We’re back in Jake’s mansion. I’m sitting on one of his somber gray couches with his black suit jacket wrapped around my shoulders. He’s sitting on the edge of an elegant glass coffee table directly opposite me, and with his troubled eyes and mussed-up hair he doesn’t look quite so businesslike anymore.
The last hour is a blank space. I can’t recall how we got here or how I came to be wearing his jacket. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have it with him in the bar. But now we’re here, with nothing but the ticking of a distant clock eking into our silence. I’m a wreck, sustained by one thing only.Jake’s not kicking me out…yet.
“My father wasn’t always a bad man.”
