Tank watches silently as I pull out handfuls of lingerie to add to the pile and then rush into the hall bathroom to grab my toiletry bag.
“Let’s go. I need to get you out of here before one of them shows up because I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He hefts the suitcase and I follow him out to the car.
Sadness descends as we pull away from the house. I grew up here. My last memories of my parents are in this house. But maybe that’s why I need to leave. Staying here where the best and worst moments of my life occurred doesn’t seem to be helping me move on. I lean against the window and watch the streets go by in a blur of motion. Before long we arrive at Tank’s apartment.
“Home sweet home,” he says.
“Just for a little while.” There’s no way this can be a permanent thing. He thinks he wants me to stay right now but that’s only because he’s never lived with anyone before. Once the shine wears off, he’ll want his space and his privacy back.
He takes my suitcase in the house and deposits it in his room. “Do you want to go out for dinner?” His voice carries from the bedroom to the front where I plop down on the couch.
“That’s fine.” I pick up the remote on the cushion next to me and turn on the TV. It’s showing a sports station. I flip channels until I find a home decorating marathon.
The stack of mail falls out of the top of my bag, scattering across the floor. Most of the envelopes are bills but the last one I don’t recognize. I open the envelope. At first, I’m sure that what I’m seeing is a mistake. I didn’t actually think this many zeroes could fit on a check. But there’s no mistake and I can’t even blame it on sloppy handwriting. It’s a computer generated check from First National Bank and Trust for one million dollars. I find myself tracing the six zeroes over and over. Then the name on the account.
Maxwell Dean Marshall
I dig frantically in my bag for my phone. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m planning to do but I know that I have to give this back. Mr. Marshall must not have thought I was serious when I told him I wouldn’t help him. Or it’s some kind of mistake. Maybe he authorized the check before I came last week and didn’t stop it in time.
I search through my contacts to find the number for his hotel. A man answers. The voice is slightly familiar but I don’t have time to try to puzzle it out.
“Hi, is Mr. Marshall available?”
“No, he’s not. Can I take a message?”
“Tell him that Emma is coming over. I need to give him something.” I hang up before he can try to talk me out of it. If I have to I’ll just shove the envelope into his hands and walk away. He’s probably one of Mr. Marshall’s many assistants. I don’t care who takes the check as long as it’s out of my hands.
“Tank, I have to go out.”
He appears at my elbow, looking concerned. “What do you need? I’ll drive you.”
“It’s personal stuff. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” I lean up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his lips. He softens slightly.
“Call me if you need me.”
I grab my coat from the back of the chair and shove my arms into it. The cold air hits me as I rush out the door since I didn’t even bother to button my coat. My car emits a soft purr when I turn the key. I gave Tank a hard time about it but I’m truly grateful. Whatever his friend did to my car, it’s been running better than ever.
As I drive, my mind isn’t on anything but getting to the hotel. How can I take anything from his father when I know now why Tank didn’t want to see him? Although that’s not the only reason I can’t do this. It feels wrong to attach currency to any part of what I’ve shared with Tank.
How do you attach a price tag to falling in love with someone?
By the time I arrive at the hotel, I’m almost sick thinking about the envelope in my bag. I hand the valet my car key and run for the doors.
“Wait, Miss. Your ticket!”
“I’ll be right back.” I don’t stop, barreling through the elegant lobby toward the elevators. The businessman on board looks shocked when I stick my hand between the rapidly closing doors.
“Sorry,” I mutter before hitting the button for the penthouse. He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I use the time to slow my breathing. He gets off on the eighth floor and I ride the rest of the way up to the penthouse alone.
The doors open with a ding and I walk down the plushly carpeted hallway to the double doors. They open before I even get there. It’s Jon. I stop, mid-stride. Stupid stupid stupid. No wonder his voice sounded familiar. I’ve only spoken to Jon on the phone once or twice.
“Emma.”
I turn around to run back the other way. He’s on me before I even reach the elevators.
“Get in here.” He drags me back toward the hotel room. His hand clamps over my mouth so tightly that I can’t even bite him. Once we’re in the suite, he kicks the door closed behind us. The main living area is empty.
“If you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you that Mr. Marshall is in a meeting across town. You’re too late.” He’s talking to me in the calmest voice, as if he’s not holding me in a stranglehold. “You know it’s interesting how after visiting with you, suddenly the old man decides to do independent audits on all his accounts. Am I supposed to believe you two are just besties now, huh? What happened Emma? Were you worried there wouldn’t be any money left before you could get your hooks into him?”