Follow Me(53)

I was about to approach her when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stiffened. Brandon, the so-called president of my fan club and Senator Potts’s son, had been skulking around the gallery earlier, giving me his usual dead-eyed grin from underneath his hat. I prepared a fake smile befitting a major donor and spun around.

The smile dropped from my face when I saw it was Lawrence, wearing his orange shirt and an irritatingly casual smile.

“Amazing turnout, huh?”

I gritted my teeth so hard they squeaked. Since the preview two weeks ago, my surprise and disgust with Lawrence’s behavior had simmered and concentrated until it was thick, viscous rage. His appearance at Lena’s birthday party had only further cemented my anger. I was furious with him for cornering me like that and furious with him for trying to laugh it off like it was just a joke, and I was furious with myself for not reporting him. I knew that if it had happened to a friend, I would be shocked they hadn’t called their boss immediately and had not relented until the aggressor had faced consequences. But it hadn’t happened to a friend; it had happened to me, and I was all too aware that Lawrence had been working at the museum for years, while I was just a newly hired, underqualified Instagrammer angling for a promotion she didn’t deserve. I didn’t want to hold him accountable at the expense of my own career.

He squinted at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” I said tersely.

“Are you sure?” he asked, reaching out to touch my arm.

His fingertips grazed my skin, and my vision tilted as I remembered the way he’d laid his hands on me that night. I snatched my arm away and hissed, “Keep that hand to yourself if you want to keep it at all.”

“Whoa, who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

All my pent-up fury gathered on the tip of my tongue, and I felt myself on the verge of lashing out. I forced myself to swallow my anger before I caused a scene and risked the credibility I’d been working so hard to build. This scumbag was not going to cost me my promotion.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and professional.

“Audrey—”

“No,” I hissed. “I didn’t want you to touch me the night of the preview, and I don’t want you to touch me today, tomorrow, or ever. Got that?”

Without waiting for a response, I turned purposefully on the metal heel of my favorite pointy-toed pumps and marched toward the door. As I strode out of the room, pulse thundering, the black-haired woman caught my eye and smiled.

? ? ?

I WAS READY to collapse by the time I left the museum. My feet, legs, and back ached from stalking the gallery all day in four-inch heels, and my eyes felt glazed from staring at my phone screen as I posted images and responded to comments. I’d planned an indulgent evening of self-care: a long, hot shower; a crisp glass of cool wine—I’d sprung for a twenty-five-dollar bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc from the cute wine shop on my street—and testing out an overnight hydrating mask (which had been sent to me by a new organic skincare company) while watching Netflix in bed. I was already thumbing through the programming options on my phone as I walked home.

I looked up as I neared the apartment, and my stomach sank. Ryan, wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and with his brown hair hanging lankly around his shoulders, sat idly on the steps, drinking a canned energy drink and smoking a cigarette. As if he had been waiting for me, he raised his head and met my eyes. Holding the cigarette between his thumb and first finger, he took a long drag and then smiled, letting the smoke escape from the gaps in his teeth.

“Hello, neighbor.”

“Hi, Ryan,” I said faux brightly as I continued to my apartment.

He leaned over the stairs as I unlocked my gate, and I said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ash that cigarette on my head.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked in his cagey way.

Why, so you know whether it’s safe to break in or not? I thought. I flashed him a saccharine smile and said, “Sharpening my knives.”

He burst out with a shrill, hyenalike cackle. I shuddered and hurriedly let myself into my apartment. As I carefully engaged each of my three locks, I could still hear him howling with laughter. Hoping to drown out the unsettling noise, I opened my laptop and chose a Spotify playlist heavy on my current favorite band, Ted and the Honey. I turned up the volume until I could hear nothing other than the music, then hopped in the shower.

I emerged refreshed and relaxed, and, still wrapped in my towel, headed to the kitchen for that sauvignon blanc. I’d just finished pouring a glass when my buzzer sounded.

I jumped, sloshing wine onto the tile. I glanced uneasily toward the door. Ryan?

The buzzer sounded again, this time holding its earsplitting note for an extended period.

Goddamn Ryan, I thought angrily. How would he like it if I went up there and harassed him?

I was looking for Leanne’s contact number on my phone when it vibrated in my hand with a text from Nick: I can hear you in there. Let me in!

I cautiously opened the door to find Nick, tanned and grinning. Ocean-colored eyes twinkled as they surveyed my towel-clad body, still beaded with water, and he let loose a slow wolf whistle.

I swatted at him. “Stop it.”

“Nice of you to get dressed up for me.”

“Yeah, well, if I’d known you were coming, I would have baked a cake,” I said sarcastically. “What are you doing here?”