Ego Maniac(37)

I wasn’t a religious guy—the last time I’d been in church was my shotgun wedding to Alexa. And before that, probably a funeral. But a small cross hung over my son’s crib. I looked at it every day, but never really saw it as more than a decoration.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

Standing beside Beck’s crib, I said a small prayer for God to watch over my father and my son.

We’d been back in New York for four months, and that cross had hung on the wall next to his crib the entire time. But when I opened the door to go back to the party, the thing fell to the ground.

I hoped that wasn’t a sign.





Emerie



My head felt like I’d been run over by a car full of pissed-off AA members. I was so thirsty, my mouth had been overtaken by a desert, yet every sip of water made me queasy. Jesus. No wonder I don’t drink very often.

The only good thing about this hangover was that I was so busy feeling like crap, I didn’t have the capacity to think about last night.

Drew.

That kiss.

That kiss.

Baldwin.

Holding my breath, I walked into the office even later than my normal late. I didn’t have a session until the afternoon, but I was behind on typing my notes into patient files.

The thought of facing Drew suddenly made my hangover nausea seem like just a warm up for the real thing. I was relieved when I turned the corner into the hallway to see his door was shut. The awkwardness with him was inevitable, but it would be easier when I felt better. Putting it off as long as possible seemed ideal at the moment.

Inside my office, I hung my coat on the rack behind the door and popped my laptop into the docking station. It wasn’t until I sat down at my desk and reached to flip on my monitor that I saw the note. It was Drew’s handwriting:

All day deposition in Jersey. Won’t be back until tonight. Need you to do me a favor and go upstairs to my apartment. I left a note with instructions in the kitchen. Penthouse East. Keycard for the elevator and door key are in your top drawer. Thanks, D.

That was odd. I attempted to settle in and answer a few emails, but curiosity wasn’t going to wait long. Taking the key and elevator card from my desk, I headed out to the lobby after less than five minutes. On the ride up, I watched the lights illuminate in a daze. I knew Drew lived in the building, but he’d never mentioned it was the penthouse. What could he need me to do in his apartment? Did he have a cat?

The shiny silver elevator doors slid open when I reached the top floor. Stepping off, there were only two doors, PW and PE. Unlike my apartment, the Penthouse East lock turned easily. Drew had written that he wouldn’t be back until tonight, yet I felt compelled to call out as I cracked the door open.

“Hello?... Hello? Anyone home?”

The apartment was quiet. No furry little creatures greeted me at the door either. I closed it behind me and went in search of the kitchen.

Holy shit.

Drew Jagger’s apartment was stunning.

Mouth hanging open, I walked right past the sleek kitchen, down two steps into the sunken living room and went to the wall of glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a view of Central Park that could have been plucked out of a movie. After taking in the scenery for a few minutes, I unglued my eyes and went back to the kitchen. On the granite countertop was a note:

Down the hall, first door on the right.

What the?

There was only one hall. My palms were sweaty when I reached for the doorknob. Why was I so nervous?

I had no idea what to expect, so I pushed the door open ever so slowly. Only to find…an empty bathroom? I was still holding the note from the kitchen in my hand, so I rechecked the directions. First door on the right. Assuming he must have made a mistake, I was just about to shut the door when I saw a sticky on the mirror above the sink. I flicked on the light and took a good look around the room before reading it. It was one hell of a nice bathroom. Bigger than the bedroom in my apartment. Turning to meet my reflection, I pulled the sticky note from the mirror.

Bag on counter. Got you some girly bath stuff. Remote to tub jets in bag, too. Happy belated birthday. Enjoy your day. P.S. Motrin in medicine cabinet.

Unexpectedly, my eyes welled up with tears. The hard-ass destroyer of relationships had a soft side.





My skin was getting pruney. I’d actually dozed off for twenty minutes soaking in the tranquil tub and listening to Norah Jones. Drew had picked up bath salts, lavender bubble bath, and two small lavender candles. The odd feeling I had stripping out of my clothes and drawing a bath in an unfamiliar home quickly faded when I stepped into the warm water.

I’d been in the tub for more than a half hour, and the water was starting to chill, yet I still wanted to try out the whirlpool jets. I opened the drain for a minute, then added some scalding water to warm the bath back up. Grabbing the tiny remote, I pushed a couple of buttons, and the tub whirled to life.

Mmmm, that feels heavenly.

I increased the pressure of the jets on my back and covered the one at my feet with the arch of my right foot, simulating a foot massage.

It really felt like a massage. When was the last time anyone actually gave me a massage? A man? It had been a long time. Too long. Which was probably why when I shut my eyes to enjoy the sensation, I began thinking what that sensation would feel like other places on my body.

And that brought my mind right back to Drew.