Wherever It Leads (8 page)

“I might need you to attend a dinner with me and some of my associates. I would expect you to dress a certain way and won’t allow you to come out of pocket to purchase those items, Brynne.”

“I have nice things and Presley’s closet at my disposal. I don’t want you buying me clothes.”

“I’m not compromising.”

What do I say to that? “Fenton . . .”

“Edie will have someone pick you up later today. Get with her on a time that works for you.”

“How do I even know what to buy? I don’t even know where we’re going.” I’m kind of giving in by asking that, but it seems like a moot point to argue at this juncture. I can almost hear his grin through the phone.

“We’re going to Las Vegas. Edie has a list of things you will need. Just leave it up to her.”

“You are overwhelming.”

“Just wait,” he teases and my hesitation dissolves. “And Brynne?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. If you need anything at all, please let me know. But right now, I have a meeting I have to get to.”

My cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. Go. I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.”

“You’re the best interruption I’ve had in a long time.” The smoothness is back, wrapping itself easily around me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow . . .”

The line clicks and I sit and stare at the phone.

What have I gotten myself into?

“I
s that everything?”

Glancing around my room, it looks like I’ve been burglarized. Clothes, shoes, and jewelry are strung everywhere. My attempt at being prepared for this trip has resulted in a mess of epic proportions, and truth be told, I don’t know if I have everything. It’s hard to know if you’ve packed all you’ll need for a trip with a man you barely know, to a place you’ve never been, and aren’t exactly sure why you’re going.

Well, besides the obvious.

I look back to my suitcase. It’s stuffed to the brim, overflowing with dresses and swimsuits, footwear and accessories. Most are brand new, tags still attached, sporting prices I don’t even want to look at if I want to keep my panini down.

I gaze at the pile of items and the clock on the table beside my bed. A little less than twelve hours to go.

I shuffle to the chair in the corner and drop into it. Presley, in turn, tosses me a puzzled look.

“Don’t even,” she warns.

“Don’t even what?”

She wags a finger my direction. “Don’t get that look on your face. The one that says you’re overthinking this. Again.”

“I’m not overthinking it,” I contend. “I’m just thinking that maybe this isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Maybe it’s not,” she says, surprising me with her candor. “But it
is
the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever seen you do. You’ve been more fun today than you have in a long time, and I think you’re doing the right thing by going. Even if it’s not,” she says, sitting next to my luggage, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I take a deep breath and hold it, because I’m not sure how to answer that.

“Exactly,” she points out, thinking her point was made. “You’ll get properly ravaged if you’re lucky and will come home on the other side of a plethora of orgasms at the hands of a man I’m quite sure is skilled enough in the sack to rebound you. It’s a wildly amazing plan if you ask me.”

“Yeah. I agree.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it.”

“It’s just . . . I don’t know what he expects. I don’t know what to expect myself. I think I’m in too deep here. I mean, yeah, I’m all about having some fun, but going away with a guy I don’t know for a few days seems . . . extreme?”

“And amazing.”

“And potentially a nightmare,” I sigh.

I push off the chair and walk to my bureau and grab the bottle of water I set there earlier. I take a long, leisurely drink, pretending the clear liquid is vodka that will soothe my nerves as it goes down. But it doesn’t. When I place it back down, my anxiety level is still climbing.

“If you get there and he’s an oddball, call me and I’ll send someone to get you. It’s not a big deal,” Presley notes.

“He’s not an oddball.”

“He doesn’t have that ‘quiet serial killer’ look in his eyes when you’re alone?”

“No,” I snort. “He has that ‘hypnotizing sex machine’ look.”

Presley laughs and fiddles with the zipper on my brand new suitcase, also courtesy of Fenton. “Look, Brynne, if you really don’t want to go, then don’t. But I think you do. That’s why I’m pushing you. You just . . . you deserve some fun. You need a break from all the craziness and what better way to do it than with Fenton?” She puts the tip of her fingernail between her teeth and thinks. “This is like . . . imagine this trip as pushing a button. When you come back, you’ll be reinvigorated. You’ll have something, hopefully a whole lot of somethings,” she grins, “to think about and smile when you’re dealing with life. Right now, you don’t have a lot to go on in that department.”

“Thanks for that, Dr. Phil.”

“I’m serious.”

I pad across the room and sit beside her. Ignoring the suitcase and all it entails, I look at my friend. “I’m not worried Fenton is a serial killer, Pres. I’m worried I’ll be awkward. What if I get there and have a panic attack? What if something happens with Brady and Mom calls and I can’t get to her fast enough? What if—”

“Stop.” She places her hand on my shoulder and watches me until my breathing slows. “If something happens with Brady, I’ll make sure you make it to your mom as quickly as possible. I’ll have Daddy’s jet come get you if I have to. But, Brynne . . .” Her gaze drops to my lap before finding mine again. “You know there’s a chance you might not hear about him for months. Years. You can’t put off living because of that.”

The words are a knife to my chest. A knife that’s serrated and stabs me repeatedly, creating a jagged, gushing wound. It’s a thought I’m just learning to live with, to accept as a realistic possibility, and to not want to hurl when it flashes through my mind. I miss Brady. To think what he could be going through . . .

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine,” I half-laugh. “You’re right. Brady would say the same thing.”

“I’m not sure he’d like me pushing you to go with some guy though.”

“Probably not,” I giggle.

Her smile warms my heart, thawing the fear that threatened to grip me.

“Grant said the day he was kidnapped, they were working in an area they normally didn’t frequent.” Presley watches cautiously because, while I talk to her about practically everything, I don’t talk about the intricacies of this much. I don’t know why I feel compelled to now, but I do. “He said they got a call to go over there—him, Brady, and another guy named Zore. And because Brady is a doctor and not former military, he’s supposed to stay with a security detail at all times. There was a little boy in the road with a soccer ball crying and Brady broke off and went to him while the other guys were talking to some locals . . .”

Presley squeezes my shoulder. “Sounds like something your brother would do. Always the softie, even at the risk of his own safety.”

“He risked everything for that little boy, yet Mandla won’t risk anything to get him back. They say the government won’t let them go in because it’s against international treaties to go in and basically start a war, and they can’t negotiate with terrorists. But that’s bullshit, Pres. You know they know who took him. They just stay silent. Our attorney says it’s because anything they say can be used against them if we sue them. Grant won’t even say much more about it. It’s all this big conspiracy, it feels like, and you know, as much as I don’t want to believe it because he and my brother were best friends, I feel like Grant’s been paid off to keep quiet. I really do.”

Presley gasps. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “I am. My dad suspects it too, but I don’t think Mom realizes it. And Dad doesn’t tell her so she doesn’t get even more upset. She can’t handle much more.”

“I wish I could help you,” she says. “Just watching you go through this about rips me in two.”

“You do help me. You’re here every day. You let me cry and mope and pick me up and shake me when I need it but don’t want it.” I think back to all the ways she’s been there for me. “I’m pretty sure that, without you, I’d have lost it this year.”

“Not true. You would’ve been fine because you’re the strongest person I know.”

I snort.

“You are! You’ve handled all this crap like a champ. I would’ve just drowned myself in expensive champagne and waited for someone to fix it all. I couldn’t have kept going like you have. You’re kinda my hero.”

I toss a pillow at her and it hits her square in the face. “Shut it,” I laugh.

“If I ever see Grant again, I’ll take my heel off and stab him through the heart. Best friend’s honor.” She presses her lips against two fingers and holds them up in the air in some sign of solidarity.

I laugh. “Twist it while it’s in there.”

“Done.”

“I just wish I could go back and not let him go to Africa the first time. Whatever happened to him over there just changed his life and mine. Things would be so different if he hadn’t gone, you know?”

This deep desire has rolled around in my head too many times to count, but those times are when I’m alone and often late at night, when the only thing around to judge your thoughts is the darkness. But I’ve never actually said this out loud, in the open, and something about releasing it into the world is cathartic.

Presley rests her head on my shoulder. “I think you’ll always miss what could’ve been. That’s pretty normal for a first love. I mean, I haven’t been with Shane for two years and I still miss him.”

“But would you jump back at the chance if he came back now? If he showed up at the door today, would you just run off into the sunset with him?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, probably not. I think I’ve changed from the person I used to be. I was so needy then, you know? And that’s probably why he took off. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him or think about what our life would’ve been like if we hadn’t split up.”

“I don’t want Grant back. He cheated on me and I really think he had something to do with Brady. But he was the love of my life. I had our entire future planned out. We talked about it—the things we would do together. The places we’d go, the house we would build somewhere. I need to bleach my mind of those things.”

“No, you need to replace them with new ideas and visions. And I’m not saying you’re going to do that this week with Fenton, but I’d try bleach in the form of him.”

My mind wanders to Fenton and his hands on me, his mouth on me elsewhere. I’m pretty sure those images could dampen, if not black out, a lot of old memories.

When I look at Presley again, she bursts out in laughter.

“That smile says it all,” she quips, putting her arm around my shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to be smiling a lot in the coming days, my little Brynnie.”

A niggle of excitement flutters through me, replacing the melancholy from before. “I hope so, Pres. I hope so.”