Suddenly wanting nothing more than to be alone, she nodded in response. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but with one last glance in her direction, he left the room. A moment later she heard the front door open and close.

“Thank you for the orgasm? Really?” Story wailed at the ceiling.

Chapter Five

Story gazed up at the ceiling of Grand Central Terminal, the green and gold constellations running the length of the busy concourse. Hundreds of people rushed past in every direction, some talking into cell phones, all studiously avoiding eye contact with one another. She felt invisible and energized all at once. The sheer magnitude of the station and the constant rumble of sounds drowned out her problems until they ceased to exist.

Peering down at her frayed jean skirt and sandals, she felt hideously out of place among the sea of business suits, but no one seemed to notice. It made her want to return in a clown suit juggling pineapples to see if she could garner the attention of at least one cool New Yorker, but somehow she doubted it.

After Daniel left, she’d felt the need to escape. Jack’s apartment, being far from cheerful to begin with, had felt too quiet. A perfect space for dark thoughts to fester. So she’d unpacked and started walking, finding Grand Central quite by mistake. It turned out to be the perfect match for her current state of mind. Jumbled, chaotic, confused.

Sighing, she leaned back against a marble pillar, the passing mob altering its course slightly to avoid her. Less than one day had gone by since Fisher broke up with her. She could hardly believe it. In that small space of time, she’d jumped on a plane to New York, shocked her father by showing up unannounced, and made out with an insanely hot hostage negotiator. Her father’s protégé, no less.

At the memory of Daniel’s mouth on hers, his hands moving possessively over her skin, Story felt her blood heat. Pressing a cool hand to her cheek to relieve the spreading pinkness, she tried to think of something, anything, else. Austin Powers. Rotten bananas. Beatlemania. Scabies.

Nothing worked.

She even tried thinking of Fisher, but it only led to one hideous realization. In three years, he’d never once scrambled her brain the way Daniel had earlier that afternoon. Not even close. She hadn’t thought of him even once while Daniel kissed her. It was almost enough to make her feel a tiny bit guilty. Almost.

All at once, Story felt foolish. She’d been about to settle for someone who’d hardly even kissed her toward the end. Of course, she held no delusions that Daniel would somehow be a better choice. She’d never met a man more suited to playing the field. But if nothing else, he’d given her some valuable perspective. In addition to one seriously mind-blowing orgasm.

Feeling fractionally better, Story pulled the cell phone from her hoodie pocket and frowned when she saw a missed call from Fisher. Why would he be calling her? He’d made it clear last night that he’d moved on. Probably something concerning the wedding and the dozen or so cancellations they had yet to make. She couldn’t deal with him right now—or ever—so she went into the settings on her phone and blocked his number. Then she scrolled through her contacts and selected a different name. Someone she actually wanted to speak with. Smiling, she held the phone to her ear.

Hayden, her college roommate, answered on the second ring. “Bitch, if you’re calling to tell me how great the weather is in San Diego, I’m hanging up.”

Story pushed away from the pillar with a laugh and walked toward the exit, dodging bodies as she went. She and Hayden had attended UC Berkeley together, sharing a dorm the first year and an apartment the remaining three. A Manhattan native, Hayden had returned to New York after school to be near her incredibly wealthy family, who held the purse strings with a tight fist. They’d wanted Hayden at home to assist in running their various charity organizations, and she’d been given no choice but to obey. It had broken Story’s heart to watch her best friend leave.

“The weather is probably perfect as usual, but I’m not there to either confirm or deny.”

“Huh. Are you already in Maui? The wedding isn’t for another two weeks.”

“Actually, it’s never. I hope your plane ticket is refundable.” Story took a deep breath as the line went silent. “Weddings are boring, anyway. I decided to come to New York and hang out with you instead. Did you know your fellow citizens have fully embraced public urination?”

After a long pause, Hayden finally spoke, her voice crisp and businesslike. “Exactly how wasted drunk will we be getting? Just ballpark it for me.”

“Obliterated.”

“Fabulous. Does tomorrow night work? Mommy dearest roped me into hosting a benefit tonight. Gag.”

“That’s perfect, actually. I need to sleep. We’ll text tomorrow about a plan.”

“Deal.” Hayden paused. “Hey, honey, I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to be just fine. And if you need an extra push, we’ll burn Fisher in effigy. Right in the middle of Times Square.”

Feeling tears threaten, Story laughed. “I missed you.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Story pushed through the doors of Grand Central leading to the equally busy sidewalk, her mood dramatically improved at having something to look forward to. Taking a minute to orient herself, she walked back toward Jack’s apartment on the East Side, stopping only to pick up groceries. Very expensive groceries. Six dollars for cereal? Apparently in addition to living space, corn flakes came at a premium, too.

With the bags loaded under one arm, she fished the keys out of her pocket and entered the building. Seeing two people enter the elevator, she called out for them to hold it. A hand shot out, preventing the metal doors from sliding shut.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

A balding man in his early forties looked back at her from behind dirty glasses. To his right, an elderly woman stood hunched over, using his arm for support. Story smiled at them both, punching the number for the fourth floor.

“Hi, I’m Story,” she said quickly, to fill the silence. “Just visiting my father for the week.” Neither of them responded and the man aimed a dark look in her direction, preventing her from saying anything else. Unnerved by his unwavering stare, she averted her gaze, praying for the elevator to hurry.

When the doors rolled open, the man and woman exited slowly behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed that the woman was having great difficulty walking, even with the younger man’s assistance. Not in the best shape, he labored underneath her weight.

After setting the groceries down outside Jack’s door, she turned and jogged back toward them. “Can I help?”

The man looked mildly startled by her offer, but nodded and shrugged. Story took the woman’s arm, helping them down the hallway.

Muttering to himself, he dug in his jeans and pulled out a set of keys to unlock the door. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”

“Okay, sure, no problem.” After a brief hesitation, she turned to leave. The woman appeared ready to collapse, but she didn’t want to force her help on them. He’d seemed reluctant accepting her help in the first place.

“Damned insurance company,” he suddenly called after Story, forcing her to turn back. He nodded toward the woman, who didn’t seem capable of speaking for herself. “They won’t cover her hospital stay any more. I had to miss work today to bring her home. Damned crooks. Damned crooks.”