“Yeah,” I say. “We just talked. I felt comfortable opening up to him. He listened. He was interested in what I had to say. He made me feel so seen.”
“I’m sure he’s like that with a lot of women.”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I watched him last night with his people. Don’t get me wrong: he was charming; he knew exactly how to talk to each person. He knew how to praise the men and compliment the women without once laying it on too thick. But that night on his boat, he wasn’t trying to charm me. I mean… he wasn’t ‘on’ like he was last night. He was just being… himself.”
“And?”
“And I kind of got the feeling that he rarely gets to be himself.”
She considers that, her face twisting with concern and curiosity. I feel a rush of anxiety. “Is that insane?”
“A little,” she says with a dry laugh. “But I also get it. He’s an extremely handsome man.”
“It’s not about his looks,” I insist with a huff of frustration. “I mean, of course it’s undeniable that he’s handsome. But my attraction to him is about more than that. I feel… I know it sounds stupid insane to admit this at all, but I feel comfortable with him. I feel safe. And that should most definitely not be the case. He’s threatened me multiple times.”
“But you don’t believe he’ll follow through?”
“No,” I admit. “In fact, I think he’s trying to give me what I want, under the guise of controlling me.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What do you mean?”
“He wants me to be his personal chef,” I explain. “In his home.”
“Whoa…”
“He says it’s to pay off my ‘interest.’ But it’s just an excuse. I can feel it.”
“Wait, so you actually want to accept his offer?”
I lean back in my seat. “No,” I whisper—and it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. My whole body shudders with tension. “I spent the whole night thinking about it, Freya. I think I need to return his phone. And then I need to leave.”
“Leave?”
I nod. “If I don’t go, if I don’t just return his phone and cut ties with him forever…”
I leave the sentence unfinished. The final words are too thorny to get out of my throat.
Freya doesn’t have the same hesitation, though. “You’re scared that you’re in too deep. That you might actually fall for him.”
She looks unnecessarily stunned by that fact, which does nothing to help alleviate the shame that’s wracking me since the Plaza debacle.
Anton was right about me: I crave the drama and the excitement and the rush of the unknown. And if I want that to change, I have to do something different.
I have to leave.
“I know it’s a lot.”
“I’m just glad you’re telling me instead of pulling a Harry Houdini,” says Freya, patting the back of my hand.
“What did you think I would do?” I ask. “Just up and leave? Irish goodbye?”
She shrugs. “We haven’t been friends that long. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“It’s not about the length of the friendship,” I tell her. “It’s about the strength of the friendship.”
She gives me a touched smile. “Yeah?”
“Of course.”