Trapped with Mr. Walker

I PULL MY PHONE out of my purse as I walk up the subway steps. It immediately starts dinging with notifications.

None are from Reed.

My heart sinks and I sniff, blinking furiously.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

After he left Suze’s last night and I almost threw up grilled cheese all over the kitchen tiles, I went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. So hot that my skin was glowing bright red when I emerged. It felt kind of symbolic. But not in a good way. It was like washing those last kisses of Reed’s from my skin meant that it was final. He’s gone. And he’s not coming back.

“It was never going to last forever, Angel.”

I manage to place one foot in front of the other and join the crush of people heading out onto the sidewalk and enroute to work. I scan through my phone messages, opening a text from Maria first.

Maria: Hey, it’s crazy here. Reed’s hosting a last-minute press conference in the ballroom. And Griffin didn’t come home until late. I think it’s something to do with the news about Dennis Vincent. Call me when you can.

I check the time it was sent—fifty minutes ago. That’s typical. Of all the days for the subway to break down between stops, it had to be today. I spent twenty minutes standing there baking hot with no air circulating the packed carriage, face to face with a guy who had clearly not brushed his teeth this morning.

Public transport sucks. Especially on days like today, where it seems I may as well have been on a different planet for the past hour, judging by the amount of city news alerts I’m getting to my phone. I set them up after moving in with Reed. I thought it would help me to understand the whole campaigning and election jargon for when I was at functions with him in case people asked me my opinion. I wanted to sound like I had an idea about it all.

I’m still mostly illiterate when it comes to it, but not today.

Today I understand perfectly.

Today’s breaking headline means one thing.

Dennis Vincent has something to do with that video. And so does Graham Hutchings… and Bea.

My stomach lurches upward into my throat and I fight the urge to gag as I read the article on the screen.

Dennis Vincent has been outed as being Graham’s biological father. And he’s being investigated by the DOI?

Nausea threatens to cripple me, sending cramps coursing through my lower torso.

This cannot be a coincidence.

It says after an anonymous tip, they are looking into conduct while Dennis was in office. And now suspicions have been cast on to Graham and his motivations for running for mayor.

It makes sense. After what Stuart said about Dennis and the NYPD commissioner and their shady deals, the fact that Graham isn’t just his friend, but his son, throws a whole new spin on things.

They wanted Graham to be mayor. And if he wasn’t, they wanted the next best thing to ensure things ran how they wanted—A mayor who was on their side, by choice, or force.

I can’t believe anyone would go to those lengths to try to get to Reed through me. But someone did. And the sickness in my gut tells me it’s them.

I throw my phone back into my purse and speed up, weaving in and out between people as I race to get to The Songbird, my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing quickening. Reed said Bea knew about that night. She must have told them. Then they found the video footage somehow. It’s the only explanation. And Reed must have found this all out.

Oh, God. Reed.

He’s having to deal with this. He probably doesn’t know what will happen next. Whose hands that video will end up in.

It can never be allowed to happen. He would rather die.

Maria heard him say it.

He must be going out of his mind. I need to get to him. I don’t know what I can do. But I have to get to him. To see him. To know he’s okay.

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t called me and maybe doesn’t want to speak to me. I just need to know that he’s okay, I need to—

I round the corner, my heels slamming against the concrete as I break into a run. A black town car is up ahead, in front of The Songbird, and the doorman is holding the rear door open. I can’t make out much else because there’s a swarm of press, wielding cameras, spilling out from the sidewalk and into the street. I’m so close when a sudden rush of voices explodes, firing question after question.

“Mr. Walker, do you have any comments on Dennis Vincent?

Mr. Walker, how well did you know your opponent, Graham Hutchings?

Is it true you and his girlfriend dated twelve years ago?”

That’s when I see him. A flash of mahogany waves, visible above everyone else’s heads. A deep navy-blue suit peeking through a small break in the crowd. A forest green tie.

Then nothing.

The car door closes.

I ignore my blouse sticking to my back, and the beads of sweat rolling down between my breasts.

All I can focus on is that car and the man inside.

“Reed!” I try to shout, but my voice comes out coarse from all the crying I did last night. I try shouting his name again, only managing to reach my own ears as the roar of the press shouting their questions through the car’s blacked out windows fills the street.

My shoulders slump forward, and I suck in fast, uneven breaths as the car disappears.

I pull out my phone and dial.

“Maria?” I wail the second it connects.

“Harley. Where are you? He’s just left.” She sounds out of breath, too. But I doubt she’s been running up Park Avenue in heels. I stop walking to fan myself with my free hand, hanging back from the main entrance where the crowd of journalists is still present.

“I know. I saw the car. I was stuck on the subway. What’s going on?” I shake the neck of my blouse, welcoming the cool air to my skin.

“Come in the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you.”

I spin on my heels and dart down the side alleyway, throwing my phone back into my purse.

“Morning. Sorry.” I apologize to the kitchen staff as I nip through, holding my purse in front of me so I don’t bump into anyone carrying trays of cleared breakfast items from the restaurant.

I make it to the restaurant door and as I walk through, Maria is rushing over to me.

“Harley.”

I fling my arms around her, needing the reassurance of a friend more than ever.

She hugs me back tightly and the scent of frangipani flowers on her skin calms my stampeding heart. I take two slow breaths before I let her go.

“I saw the news about Dennis and Graham,” I sob.

Her eyes are full of concern. “I know. Griffin barely made it to bed last night before he was up again this morning. And Reed just announced the deputy mayor and all the assigned commissioners. It was filmed live. What’s going on?”

I take her offered arm and we walk through the restaurant toward the main lobby.

“I think that Dennis and Graham, and even Bea are the ones behind the messages I told you about,” I say in a low voice as we walk past two hotel guests and into an empty elevator.

“They’re the ones who have something that will hurt Reed?” She turns to me as the doors close, her eyes wide.

“Yes.” I nod, my eyes stinging as the familiar burning lump returns to my throat.

“They were working together this whole time?”

I dab underneath my eyes, tilting my head up to the roof of the elevator.

I have got to stop crying. I’m no use to anyone if all I can do is cry.

“It makes sense. Reed always suspected Dennis was corrupt. He left under such suspicious circumstances. And knowing that Graham is his son, and they were close… It raises a lot of questions about what they had planned for if Graham got elected.”

“Only he didn’t. Reed did.”

“Exactly.” I lean against the side of the elevator and allow my lungs to deflate as I sag against it. “And that ruined their plans. They had to find a way to get Reed on their side. That’s where I came in.” I place my hands over my face, welcoming the darkness.

Maria’s arm wraps around my shoulder and she holds me to her side. “You didn’t betray him, Harley. Whatever it is they have, you didn’t let them use you against him.”

“No. I left him instead. I left him to deal with it alone. I’m so stupid. I thought it would buy time. But I’ve ruined everything. They still have the power to hurt him. I did nothing, except show Reed he’s better off without me.”

“That’s not true.” She rubs her hand up and down the goosebumps which have formed on my arms.

“It is.” I sniff. “He came to Suze’s house last night. He came to say goodbye.”

Maria’s arm tightens around me. “He said that?”

“He said nothing lasts forever, and it was time for a fresh start.” I suck in a breath as the doors open and we walk out.

Maria’s step falters and she intakes a short gasp of air. “Oh my god, Bea was here this morning, at the press conference.”

“She was here?” I snap my eyes to Maria’s face, but she’s looking straight ahead, her brows pinched together as she steers me toward Griffin’s office, for which I’m grateful as I doubt I’m capable of finding my own nose with how scrambled my head is right now.

“I saw her talking to Reed. It didn’t look friendly.”

Bile shoots up from my stomach and I clasp my hand to my mouth, forcing it away before it can reach any higher. “No.”

I run my hand over my forehead, screwing my eyes up.

I have to speak to Reed. I have to. I need to make sure he’s not drowning in all this.

We get to Griffin’s office door, which is wide open, and Maria leads us inside, closing it behind us.

Griffin looks up as we enter. His phone is pressed to his ear as he paces up and down in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, which have spectacular views over Central Park.

But all I see is the stiffness in his shoulders and the tired lines at the edges of his eyes as he finishes his conversation with whoever he’s talking to.

“Harley,” he says as he walks to his desk and places his phone down.

He looks at me with his brilliant blue eyes, a question held in them.

How are you?

Except I know he won’t allow his lips to ask it, because the answer is obvious in my frantic wringing hands and the wildness in my widened eyes.

“Where has he gone?” I whisper.

“He’s got another live interview to film.” Griffin holds my gaze.

“About the announcement he’s made?” Maria asks.

“That, and questions about the investigation into Dennis Vincent and Graham Hutchings, I would expect.” He glances at Maria, then back at me. “They will want his comment on it. The city has lost faith in the mayor’s office and Reed needs to gain public trust back.”

“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” I cry.

“I know. And he’s a big boy, he’ll be fine. But he will be caught up all day. You’ll not reach him.” Griffin raises his brows at me and my heart sinks.

“I need to see him.”

“We know,” Maria says, reaching out to rub my arm again. “And you will. He’s going to be finished at some point, right?” She looks at Griffin, who runs his hand down over his tie and clears his throat.

“Double check with Stuart, but you’re probably looking at this evening at the earliest.”

“This evening?” My knees struggle to keep me balanced as pins and needles run down both of my arms.

That’s hours away.

“I can’t… I need to know he’s okay.” I whip my head between Maria and Griffin, panic clawing at my chest.

“Harley.” Griffin’s calm, authoritative voice stills me, and I stand mute. “He is okay.”

“Are you—?”

“I spent half the night talking with him. And we spoke again this morning. He knows what he’s doing. He’s made some big decisions about how he wants to deal with this. And I respect them.”

“He’s made big decisions?” I scrunch my face up as I search Griffin’s eyes for an explanation. He just looks back at me, his lips pressed into a flat line.

Big decisions. Like moving on, making a fresh start.

“Oh,” I say, unable to form any other response.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, Harley.” Griffin’s expression remains grim as he speaks. “And I understand if you want to take some time today for yourself.” He looks at Maria.

“Yes. Come up to our apartment. I’m not working today. You and I can keep each other sane.”

She rubs my arm again. It’s comforting. But only to the extent of if it were soothing a small hurt. Not the pain of having my heart ripped from my chest. Every comforting hand in the world combined could never soothe the pain that causes.

Not unless that hand belonged to Reed.

He’s the only one who can make me feel anything other than complete devastation right now. Even if he’s made his mind up and our story is over, just to hear his voice and confirm to myself that he’s all right, that he’s coping, would mean everything to me.

“Um, yes… Okay… I guess.”

Griffin nods at me and then makes eye contact with Maria before we leave. He’s already on another call before the door closes.

“He’s trying to dig up dirt on Dennis Vincent. He’s been on his phone all morning. Something about CCTV and a burner cell phone number,” Maria says as we walk back toward the elevators.

“Oh,” is all I can manage again.

Griffin’s doing everything he can to help Reed. The thought settles the creeping dread that’s sitting low in my gut, but only marginally. What if he can’t find enough evidence? What if we can’t prove it was them? What if they release the video before we do?

“I need to call Stuart.”

The flicker of an idea I texted him about at Suze’s could amount to nothing. But I need to find out. He only replied afterward with a short text saying, “I will ask her.” So I have no idea if it’s even useful or not. But I have to try. I can’t sit around all day and do nothing.

The next few hours are the slowest of my life as I try Stuart and Reed’s phones over and over. Reed’s is switched off, and Stuart’s is permanently engaged whenever I try, his voicemail so rammed full that I can’t leave a new message.

“This is hopeless,” I say to Maria as she places yet another latte down on the table in front of me. My mouth waters at the idea of drinking it. But at this rate, I won’t sleep for a decade.

“I switched to decaf four mugs ago.” Her lips lift into a soft smile as she sees me eyeing up the mug.

“You’re an angel,” I say without thinking, realizing my mistake the second the word leaves my lips. “Oh, God,” I groan, dropping my face into my hands. “What’s he doing, Maria? How is he doing?”

She picks up a remote and points it to the large flat screen TV on the wall of their living area. “There’s one way to find out. You can’t speak to him. But you can still see him.”

The screen lights up and Maria flicks through a few channels before she gets to a news segment.

“Stop,” I cry as I hold my hand up, my eyes glued to the screen. To the smoky-quartz eyes belonging to the face that the camera is focused on.

He’s beautiful. Reed Walker is undeniably beautiful.

Maria sits down next to me and we watch in silence as Reed answers the female news anchor’s questions with ease. He even smiles at one point, his eyes creasing at the corners. It looks so effortless, so genuine. But I can tell from the way his teeth are pressed ever so slightly harder together, and his eyes are super focused with very little blinking, that it’s his practiced, public face he has on.

The Reed I know smiles with his jaw looser because it often turns into a chuckle after a few seconds. A chuckle that sets an army of butterflies into full victory celebration in my stomach. And he blinks more. The golden flecks in his eyes dance like they’ve come alive, and his long dark lashes fan over them, creating an intoxicating combination of dark, then gold, dark, then gold.

The Reed I know is more relaxed. Freer.

At least he was.

I haven’t seen him look that way since the day I left him.

The day I walked out and ruined everything.

“I’m going to try calling Stuart again.” I jump up from the sofa before Maria can stop me. The concern on her face for me has grown with my tears after each unanswered call. But I can’t stop. I have to know what’s going on. Maybe Stuart knows more about the video. Or about what’s happening with the investigation into Dennis.

I pull my phone from my pocket and hit re-dial.

It rings.

“Thank God,” I mutter, walking into the kitchen.

“Harley, hi.”

“Stu.” I fall onto one of the stools at the kitchen island in relief at hearing his voice. “What’s going on? Is Reed okay? Have you heard anything about Graham and Dennis? Maria said Bea was at the press conference this morning. What did she want? Did she say anything about the video?”

“Okay, calm down.” Stuart blows out a breath, then laughs softly. “He said you talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

“Is he doing okay?” I whisper, laying my hand over my chest where my heart is beating in a frantic rhythm.

“He’s fine. He is. He’s worn out. We were up half the night. But he’s okay, Harley. I swear to you. In fact, it’s the best I’ve seen him since this whole thing started.”

“Really?” My spine straightens as I process Stuart’s words.

“Really,” Stuart confirms. “We know it was Graham who sent the video. Griffin managed to trace the burner phone, and we’ve got him on CCTV paying cash for it at a Walgreens in mid-town. And more is coming to light over Dennis and just how deeply involved he was with George Yates at the NYPD. There’s enough shit to stick, Harley. He won’t be getting away with it.”

“But what about the video?”

“We’re sending it to the police after his last interview.”

The blood in my veins turns to ice.

“You… You can’t do that, Stu.”

“We have to. If we want them charged with blackmail, then we have to hand it in as evidence.”

My head spins and I grip the edge of the marble counter with one hand to steady myself.

“But people will watch it. They’ll see him. It could get leaked.” My voice breaks as my chest floods with worry. “Those things happen all the time, don’t they? And won’t they make him watch it? Would they play it in a courtroom, and he would have to see?”

“I…” Stuart exhales “I don’t know for definite.” His voice sounds weary suddenly, and I can tell he hates the thought as much as I do.

“Would Riley know?” My thoughts fly to Reed’s twin sister. “She prosecutes assault cases. She will know how these things are handled.”

“Good idea. I’ll call her.”

“Did you look into my other idea? The one I texted you about?” I hold my breath, nervous anticipation held on pause in my stomach as I wait for his answer.

“I did. I can’t believe I never considered it before. You might be on to something. I asked Nina, and I sent her some stills from the beginning of the video… before anyone even comes into the room,” he adds to stem my panic. “She’s working on it. She said it’ll take her a while because it was so long ago, and the quality of the recording is so poor. But she thinks she might be able to come up with something.”

“That’s…” I slouch forward over the counter, laying my head in one hand. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you, Harley. It was a brilliant idea. It could really help.”

“I hope so,” I murmur. The sound of Reed’s deep voice floats from the living room TV and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I have to go. He’s about to come off set and we have twenty minutes to get across the city for the next one.”

“When can I see him? When’s his last interview?” I don’t even attempt to hide my desperation, which is making my voice rise to a garbled squeak.

How long do I have to stop that video being seen by anyone?

That’s my actual question.

The only evidence of that night should be what Reed chooses to allow to stay in his head. And what he doesn’t should die and blow away on the wind like ashes of an old life that’s now passed.

Stuart clears his throat, and I can tell he’s considering the implications of telling me.

“Stu?” I whisper. “Please.”

There’s a long pause and my pulse thuds in my ears as I hold my breath.

“His next one. That’s his last live interview for the day.”

“How long do I have?”

He sighs as though it’s taking a lot out of him to admit it to me. But he does. And I swear if he was here, I would kiss him for it.

“One hour at most, Harley. That’s all.”

My heart goes into overdrive like it’s fighting to break free from my chest.

One hour before Reed’s life changes forever.

That’s all I have.

One chance to fix this.