Page 36 of The Clinch
Because leaving now would make things worse.
But then I’m gone.
Every time the doors hiss open, I look up. Force of habit.
At five p.m., when I step into the sticky summer heat, Leo is parked at the curb, watching the entrance.
That does more damage than it has any right to.
He gets out, takes one look at my face, and opens the passenger door.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
He barely pauses.
“I want to,” he says. “But tell me if you don’t.”
Now it’s seven p.m.,back in his apartment. He handed me dinner before I could even take my shoes off. I ate standing at the counter, too tired to argue, too wired to taste much.
A dress Jessica sent over hangs from the closet door—less like fabric, more like a dare.
Tonight, I smile and let cameras take what they want.
Tonight, I walk into a room full of strangers with Leo Carver’s hand on my back and pretend I don’t feel it everywhere.
I stare at my reflection—face made up, hair blown out and styled—and summon the version of me that can do this without cracking.
The version that keeps it simple. Casual. No entanglements.
That was the version I walked into Schimanski with.
Now I’m living inside the aftermath of a fight I didn’t start, in a man’s apartment I wasn’t supposed to sleep in. What stays with me is the way he looked at me this morning, like my needs were his problem to solve.
Like he’d decided something.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I slip on the dress. Emerald silk. Clean lines. Backless in a way that isn’t asking permission. The fabric skims my hips, follows muscle instead of softening it.
I run my fingers over the fabric once, then force myself to stop. In the mirror, the reflection is alarming.
I look capable.
I look expensive.
I look like someone who won’t be derailed again.
I reach for my heels, slip them on, fasten the clasp. A breath in. A breath out.
Ready.
When I step into the living room, Leo is waiting.
Black tux. Jacket open. Bow tie undone at the throat. Sharp lines and impossible shoulders that make the entire room feel smaller.
He looks down at his phone, then looks up.
“Hey,” I say.
