Chapter 3: Strangers In The Dark
902 Words
She broke down sobbing. He let go of her wrists.
"I'll give you a ride home," he said after a long sigh. She could come or stay he wasn't going to wait.
He stopped by the passenger door, silent, his gaze fixed on her. Jennifer hissed under her breath. She hated this, but the odds were against her. It didn't look like the rain would stop anytime soon, and Boyles Heights was still far from Beverly Hills. Moreover, she wasn't positive Lexi would let her squat for another full night.
She dragged herself to the car.
He yanked the door open and she climbed in. The cushions of the seat were softer than her bed. She was dripping, afraid she'd ruin the car, but he only said, “Ignore it, I'm drenched as well” when he climbed into the driver's seat.
He switched the ignition on and turned the car onto the wet empty street.
Jennifer squeezed herself to the edge of her seat, leaning against the door. She flinched at his sudden movement—he was only reaching for the AC. He turned it off, while the heater hummed to life.
The first ten minutes of the drive were quiet. She was looking out of the window to the buildings as they flew by at great speed. Vincent's eyes were glued to the road.
"You are heartless, as the rumors claim." She blurted out suddenly, not turning.
Vincent looked at her briefly. If she really knew who he was, she wouldn't dare speak to him in such a manner. He was trying hard to recall her name, but the thoughts of the divorce kept popping up in every corner of his mind.
"What is your name?" he asked finally.
She wiped her face and turned to look at him properly for the first time. He had a well cut face and a sharp nose. He had little facial hair around his cheeks and chin, like he had forgotten to shave. His hair was wet, messy and glossy.
"Jennifer. My name is Jennifer Lawrence," she whispered.
"Where is your place?" His grip around the wheel tightened.
She was too astonished to be annoyed. She recalled yelling into his face how she had no place.
"I don't have one," she mumbled.
He took a long pause, then said, "I'll find you a place to stay tonight. Not because I care what happens to you out here, I care what it would do to my conscience."
"You don't have one. If you did, I'd have a job and this conversation won't be happening right now."
"If a half-drunk girl walks into my office with inappropriate clothes and a messy attitude a second time," he pointed out, "I'd gladly deny her a job."
"The date for the interview had slipped my mind. I had a rough day and was trying to blow some steam off with my friends. I overslept"
"And I'll guess those friends have jobs." He didn't need an answer from her. Her face said it all the way. She shut up and looked back out of the window.
After a minute of silence she spoke, "I needed that job."
"And my company had no use of someone like you. Still doesn't."
He freed one hand from the steering and tugged at his shirt collar. He hissed, unable to force Tracy's face out of his mind.
The drive continued in silence, or so he thought. He was reminiscing over the events of the afternoon and was oblivious to her silent sobbing, until he saw from the corner of his right eye the way her small frame shook.
He exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry."
She turned like a spring. "No you're not. And f**k you!"
He scoffed, "If only you knew how f****d I was."
His phone rang then, and he answered it on speaker.
“Sir, it's almost midnight, and you're not home yet.” The voice sounded calm as usual, Vincent fidgeted with his shirt collar once more.
“On my way, Carlos." The line cut.
Neither of them spoke a word again for the rest of the drive.
It was a few minutes past midnight when the car pulled into the lobby of White Heaven, one of Moretti's luxurious penthouses. Carlos waited with an umbrella. The sight of a woman with Vincent appalled him.
“Donovan called Sir,” Carlos announced, leading the way.
“Not now Carlos". He drew him aside and whispered something. Carlos nodded and walked away.
Jennifer hovered at the door when she climbed out, looking everywhere but at him. Her mind had just registered the situation, she had followed a man rumored to be dangerous to his place.
“This way,” Vincent pointed to the elevator. She watched him go.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. Vincent led the way to his room. She took baby steps behind, forced to watch his back. His black wet hair gleamed in the lights of the hallway. He was tall and lean.
Warmth and the sweet scent of wood and lavender hit her when she stepped into the room. It was bright and heavily furnished.
“Carlos, will see that you rest well for the night. The bathroom is that way.” He pointed to the west side of the room, and then he tore off his clothes in one move.
"What do you think you're doing...?"
- Writer
