Taking Turns (Turning #1)(79)

“That’s OK,” Jordan says, coming around the side of his car. “Anyway, the reason I’m bothering you is because three years ago, when I got this assigned spot, you and I were here at the same time. Just like now,” he adds quickly. Like he needs to get all the words out as fast as possible. “And I said something so rude, it’s haunted me ever since. But you and I don’t work the same hours—days—whatever,” he says, lifting up his briefcase. “I’m a partner at Wells, Well, and Stratford. Couple blocks over. I work eighty-hour weeks. And you—” He laughs. “You don’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

He takes a deep breath. “That first day I parked here, I said, ‘I don’t care who had to die for me to get this spot, I’m happy I got it.’” He frowns. Deeply. “And then I got into work and found out… it was your mother’s parking spot. And she had just died.”

Relief floods through my whole body. I smile. Like, big. And Jordan, confused, smiles with me. “Oh, Jordan. I’m so sorry you’ve felt guilty about that. I don’t even remember that day, but even if I did, believe me. I wouldn’t have taken it the way you assumed.”

He exhales a long breath of relief. “I’m so sorry though. I’ve been sitting here for an hour and a half waiting for you. Determined to make this right now that I’ll be seeing you regularly at the Club. I just needed to get that off my chest. I didn’t want you to think I was an *. I’m not,” he says. “I’m really not.”

“An hour and a half?” I ask, still quite uncomfortable, but I’m getting a handle on it.

“Yeah, and you know, I’ve wondered about you a lot over the years.” I’m back to being weirdly uncomfortable and it must show on my face, because he amends quickly. “Not in a stalker way, Chella. Just… a curious way. I was only a kid. I thought you were pretty. And then one day you disappeared. It was just strange for me. Of course, I know now what happened.”

I might fall over and die.

“You went to boarding school. But I didn’t even know about boarding school until I was sixteen and my parents sent me away.” He laughs. “I was so clueless. Anyway. I’m glad I got a chance to apologize.” He points off to his left. “Wanna walk together?”

I point to the opposite direction, still trying to process. “I’m going that way,” I say.

“All right.” he says. “I’ll see you around the Club then, OK? Have a nice day.”

Jordan walks off. He might be… whistling. Happy about his cleared conscience.

I’m not whistling as I walk over to work.

I’m fighting off a panic attack.





Chapter Twenty-Seven - Smith




I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear the doorbell down on the first floor of Chella’s townhouse. What the f*ck? I wrap a towel around my waist and walk over to the bedroom window that faces the front of the house. There’s a black car outside, idling at the curb.

I smile as I think about what this might mean.

Jesus Christ. Last night was the best f*cking threesome I’ve ever been in. Ever. And it definitely wasn’t Bric, because he’s been with me for all of them.

I wonder if they want me to go to the party with them tonight and that’s why they dropped by?

Shit, I’m not even dressed. But if they’re asking, I’m going. And I don’t want them to change their minds, so I yank my trousers off a hanger and pull them on, then hop down the stairs two at a time just as the doorbell rings again.

I pull my zipper halfway up as I jog to the door, then disarm the alarm and pull it open. “You lost your f*cking key, or you just want me—”

I stop mid-sentence.

“Excuse me?” Senator Walcott asks me.

“Uhhh…” I might be speechless. “Ummm…”

“Who are you?” he asks. “And where is Marcella?” He pushes past me. “Chella?” he calls up the stairs. “Chella?”

I stand there, looking out at the snow falling on the black car. What the f*ck is happening?

“Is my daughter here or not?” Senator Walcott demands a few seconds later.

I tap the door closed and spin around, trying to pull myself together. “No, sir. Sorry. She’s… uh, at a party tonight.” Not a lie.

“Who are you? And if she’s not here, why are you here?”

Shit.

“Do you live here?”

I look around to see how much evidence there is of my habitation. The entire dining room table—which seats twelve—is completely covered with files and papers. I’ve got two pairs of shoes in the hallway, and a t-shirt hanging over the arm of the couch. The kitchen is littered with dishes I haven’t bothered to put in the dishwasher, and if that wasn’t enough, the house sound system is playing I Wanna Be Sedated, by the Ramones. A song Chella would never—ever—listen to, let alone own in her music library.

“Yeah,” I reluctantly admit. “I’m really sorry, Senator. Chella didn’t mention you’d be coming for the holiday.”

“What is your name?” he snaps at me.

I get my shit together and extend my hand. “Smith,” I say. “Smith Baldwin. I’m very sorry, sir. I just wasn’t expecting you. And we have a party tonight.” Which really isn’t a lie.