Rise - Part Two (Rise #2)(4)
"You look beautiful, Tess," he says with a growl as he leans towards me.
My body instinctively reacts by pulling back. The unexplainable electrical charge that I felt course through me from the mere touch of his fingers on my skin when we first met, disappeared years ago. It was replaced with a comfortable familiarity that eventually descended into emptiness.
"How did you find me?" I blurt the question out as I glance over his shoulder to where a group of women have gathered. I can't judge their age by the way they're dressed or the make-up that accentuates their features. They may be in high school, or college. For all I know they're all my age. It hardly matters.
What does matter is that they're following his every move. They all carry the same hopeful expression on their faces that he'll turn around and pull one of them from the crowd and into his hotel room. I've seen that same look on the faces of hundreds of women backstage at Ansel's concerts in the past. I don't need to see it again.
"The mailing address on your website is that building." As his hand flies in the air towards the building that houses my office, I catch a quick glimpse of the plain silver band on the pinkie finger of his right hand. It's been there since I slid it onto his finger years ago. It was meant to be a treasured reminder of our undying love for one another.
I watch as his eyes catch mine before they fall to my own hands. I'd taken off the matching band from my finger more than a year ago. I'd carelessly tossed it out of the window of a car as it raced down an expressway in Germany. Anger was the fuel behind my drive to rid myself of the reminder of the love we once shared and as Ansel yelled at the driver to stop the car so he could get out to search for the ring, I'd felt a regret that was only momentary. When I'd finally glanced through the rear window of the car expecting to find Ansel stopping traffic so he could retrieve that small band of silver, he'd been standing on the shoulder of the road, a wide smile on his face while he talked on his smartphone.
We hadn't spoken of the ring since then and even though he bought me two others, more elaborate and dotted with diamonds to replace the thin, inexpensive one, I hadn't worn either. The meaning that the discarded ring held couldn't be found in a replacement because it didn't exist anymore. My feelings for Ansel had died before we even got in the car that day.
"I didn't expect to see you again," I say hoping that my words will pull his gaze away from my hands. "What do you want?"
His lips part slightly as he absorbs how terse my tone is. "I came to New York to see you."
No. He came to New York to further his career, which isn't surprising at all. Singers come and go and they're only as relevant as their next chart topping hit. Ansel has done something that most aspiring singers his age only dream of. He's made a name for himself and he's created a following that will carry him from one song release to another. All of his dreams have come true and the buzz surrounding his presence in New York is proof of that. I should know. I must have skimmed past at least five articles written about him in the newspapers I bought earlier.
"You didn't come to see me, Ansel," I correct him. "I know that you had some work to do here."
It takes only a brief second before my words register with him. He absorbs them as he always does. "You've been checking up on me? You wouldn't know that unless you've been following what I'm doing."
No. I would know that if I were scouring the news for information about my lover's father.
I spent enough time with Ansel to know that once his ego has been fed, whether intentional or not, it's a beast to be reckoned with. Every ounce of humble pride that Ansel may have once possessed was torn from him when he signed a recording contract.
If the man believes that I've been keeping tabs on his movements, or even his career, it's going to recreate a dynamic that I've worked hard to disengage myself from. I'm the first to admit, to myself, that I was once addicted to every article written online about him. I'd wake up early, before class, to scour the Internet for anything on social media about his concerts the night before. I craved information about him. Looking back now, I know that it was born from a desire to feel more connected to him than I did. It didn't take long before I realized that regardless of how many pictures I'd see of his smiling face, or how many music bloggers wrote about how spectacular his concerts were, our futures would never align.
"I wasn't checking up on you." I look towards the growing group of women who are staring at us. "I saw your name in the paper today. That's how I knew you were here."
I intentionally neglect to mention the fact that my best friend is one of his biggest fans. I don't want Ansel to carry any knowledge about the life that I'm building for myself here. My relationship with Lilly is none of his business and I intend to keep it that way.
"Do you have time for a drink?"
I glance down at the watch on my wrist. It's near five and after I'd locked up my office for the day, I'd carried all the newspapers down to the basement of the building to shove them into a large recycling bin. I had held my breath every step of the way, hoping that Landon would suddenly appear wanting to talk about last night.
"I can't," I say truthfully. It's not that I have plans beyond trying to call Landon again. Emotionally I can't deal with Ansel today. I don't want to hear his empty pleas about needing me in his life. I'm nothing more than a reminder of who he once was.