“It’s for Jaxson Price. The cupcakes.” I open the box and show them to the security guard. “See. The cupcakes are for Jaxson Price.”
“Can you please follow me, miss?”
“Umm. Okay.”
Officially, this is the worst idea I’ve ever had, and now I will be arrested. They probably think I’ve poisoned him.
“And who shall I tell him the cupcakes are from?” he asks when he leads me to a desk and picks up the phone.
“Willow. Just Willow.” I can hear him talking, and then he places the phone down.
“If you can, please wait here for a minute.”
My heart pounds rapidly in my chest. Here I am, trying to be careful. Trying to keep a low, untraceable profile, and I’m doing the opposite. I should have called him from my burner phone.
I could have said thank you and gone about my life. I’m lost in my own inner crazy when I hear his voice.
“Willow.”
I turn and see him standing there. Tall and lean, and devastatingly handsome.
He’s not wearing the typical attire I would expect in an office such as this.
A white thermal and ripped jeans. He has a leather bracelet around his wrist, and unlike at the fundraiser, he’s no longer clean-shaven. No, he now has a dusting of hair on his face. His green eyes are clear and focused on me, and his brown locks are tousled.
No. He doesn’t look like a Park Avenue prince at all.
“Is everything okay?” There is concern in his voice, and I don’t want to look back up, but I know I have to. When I do, I’m met with crystal green eyes wide with shock. His gaze is on my oversized outfit, then he lifts it up and looks me in my eyes. He squints as if he’s trying to remember something, and that’s when I realize my mistake. The impulsive decision to come here is sending off red flags to him because today my eyes are brown.
I lift the box and hand it to him. “I wanted to say thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“Yeah. For the other day . . . staying with me. I brought you cupcakes.” I ramble when I’m nervous. He takes the box and then gestures to the door.
“Do you want to grab a bite and talk?”
I don’t know if I should go with him, the thought of standing awkwardly in the lobby is too much to handle, so I nod.
“Great, come with me.”
I follow him out of the building. Then he turns left. He walks faster than I do, but I’m wearing Converse. It’s not like I’m in heels, so it’s easy to pick up my pace. He must realize my strides are longer to keep up because he slows down.
It’s about a ten-minute walk before I realize where he’s taken me.
I don’t like that we’re here.
I don’t like that we walked this way . . . but what am I going to do?
I have my hat on, so I don’t feel as naked as I did the last time I saw him, but I don’t feel like myself, and the fact that he’s taking me to Times Square is hell. Actual hell.
I’m not at all prepared for this. Sure, I have my cover. But Times fucking Square.
There are more people here than anywhere on earth.
I already am jumpy . . . but this.
Not a good idea.
We continue to walk, but I’m not sure where he’s leading me. Something about grabbing a hot dog, but I have no clue. He walks, and I follow. We’re at the corner of probably the busiest intersection in the city when he stops.
My feet come to a halt, eyes still trained down. Looking at the concrete beneath my feet. Garbage littered, remnants of gum.
It’s gross, but I don’t want to look up. It’s something I have trained myself to do ever since I left. Never look up.
You never know where a camera is. You never know who will see.
“Willow.”
“Yep.”
“Look,” he says, “we’re on.” Out of habit, I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.
There, on the large screen, are tourists waving. I watch for a second, not realizing, not seeing. But that’s because sometimes I forget what I look like now. But what I don’t miss is Jaxson, waving at himself as if he were a tourist too.
Beside him is a girl. She has a hat on, but from this angle, her face is clear to see.
It’s me.
Because from this angle, you can’t see the freshly dyed hair, you cannot see the new clothes that are too big, and there are no glasses.
It’s obvious that it’s my face is on the screen.
I have to go.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m off.
Running away . . . running down the block out of the crowd. The sound of a horn blaring as the car nearly hits me rings through my ears, but it doesn’t stop me. Not even when the yellow blinds my eyes, a cab.