Going For It. Jo Leigh
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“And not just for an hour. She was hurt by that, Chase.”
He closed his eyes, remembering the last visit with his mother. He loved her, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to like her. To say she wasn’t thrilled with his lifestyle was an understatement. She wanted him to be like her, like his father. To get married, have some kids. She’d told him he embarrassed her. That he was disgracing his father’s name.
“I’ll try, Rupert.”
“Don’t try. Do it. She’s the only mother you’ll ever have.”
“Okay, Yoda. I promise.”
“Yoda?”
“Never mind. You go ahead and put my money where you think best. I trust you, Rupert. You’ve never steered me wrong.”
“Thank you, Chase. But I’m not crazy about doing so much without your input.”
“I know about fast cars and women, old man. You have a question about either one, I’m the guy you come to.”
“Amusing. Very amusing.”
“You take care, Rupert. And, for God’s sake, propose to my mother already, would you?” Chase smiled as he heard the sputtering on the other end of the line. He decided to do Rupert a favor and hung up.
Cars and women. He’d said that last night, hadn’t he? It was true. He’d put restrictions on his life just like his mother had put restrictions on hers. No wonder they clashed. They were too much alike.
He got up and went to the window. He liked to watch Manhattan wake up. His suite was on the top floor of the Four Seasons hotel, and he stayed here every time he came to New York. They knew him here, and they made sure he was comfortable. It was easier this way. Maids, room service, desk clerks. That’s what he was used to. He had a place just like it at the George V in Paris, and another at the Chateau Marmont in L.A.
His gaze moved to the park. He loved it there, with all the kids on roller blades and the pigeons and the women with their strollers. Central Park always made him feel better, regardless of the season. Some of his favorite walks had been in the snow among the naked branches.
As he stared at the blanket of trees, ripe green at the height of summer, he thought about Jamie. He’d decided last night to call off the ridiculous stunt. He didn’t need the aggravation, or the publicity. Sure Jamie was hot, but there were a million hot women in the city. He would call her today and tell her. She’d be relieved. He would be, too. Although, there was one thing he’d regret. He wanted to understand why he scared her so. Animals and children liked him. So what was she afraid of?
Such a paradox. The way she spoke was at complete odds with the way she looked. In fact, she was full of contradictions, and that certainly had its appeal. He enjoyed peeling back the layers. Not his own, mind you. But an interesting woman—that was something to be grateful for.
Those eyes of hers. One minute, radiating confidence enough to take on the world. The next, as frightened as those of a little mouse. Which was it? It occurred to him that he wanted to find out.
So okay, maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he’d go in person. She’d probably be up by now, right?
JAMIE STRUGGLED OUT of her dream and realized the banging she heard wasn’t a demented jailor pounding on her cage, but someone knocking on her door. She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Eleven-fifteen. Odd, she never slept in. Her routine was to finish up her show at eleven, be home just after midnight, in bed by one, and then up at nine the next morning.
Another round of knocking spurred her out of bed. She padded across her wooden floor from the bedroom to the living room, then to the door with its five locks. Up on tiptoes, she looked through the peephole.
No one was there. That was weird. She undid each of the locks, poked her head outside the door. Nope. The hallway was empty. Had it been her nightmare? Her dream about being locked into something from which she couldn’t escape had obvious connections to real life. She’d think about that later. Right now, her mind was on other urgent business. She closed the door and locked the dead bolt, then scurried to the bathroom.
Just as she was lifting her mouthwash to gargle, she heard the knocking again. She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, then returned to the front door. This time when she looked through the peephole, the hallway wasn’t empty.
Her heart thudded as she recognized the man standing at her door. Oh, God. What in heaven’s name… He wasn’t supposed to be here. She rocked back on her heels and ran her hand through her hair, which, thank you, made her look more like a porcupine than a person when she first got out of bed. To say nothing of her caked eye makeup, or the nightshirt that may have been snazzy back in 1994 but had gone straight downhill after that Laundromat incident in college.
She wouldn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He should have called. Because there was no time to shower, let alone buy a new outfit.
He knocked again. Then just as she thought he was leaving, she heard voices and she cringed. What if he knew she was here? That she was completely undone by his presence?
She lifted herself to peephole level again. Mr. Wojewodka, the super, stood next to Chase. He had out his master key chain. The thing was monstrous, and when hooked, it pulled his belt and his pants down a good inch. Why was he searching through them now? Mr. Wojewodka was always harping on her to lock her doors, to carry pepper spray, to call him if she was ever in trouble. And now—
With a familiar squeal, the key entered the door. He was letting Chase into her apartment!
She’d never make it to the bedroom. Was the living room clean? No. Not important. Hiding was more important. Oh, God, the closest hiding place was the closet, and she made it there in two seconds flat. After a few more spent flailing about the knob, she pulled the door closed behind her. She forced herself to stand perfectly still, even though she was shaking with adrenaline, and listen as the two men entered her living room.
“She’s a good kid,” Wojewodka said in his thick Polish accent. “Gives me no trouble.”
“Not even with her men friends?”
“What men friends? The girl is like a monk. She doesn’t see anyone, except her crazy brother.”
“Really?”
Jamie rested her forehead on the cool wood of the door as she plotted ways to kill her superintendent and Chase Newman. If she couldn’t kill them, she’d sue their tails off. Talk about invasion of privacy! Or breaking and entering. Yeah. That was worse. But she didn’t think they did any breaking. Just entering. Was entering against the law? Had to be.
“I really appreciate this, Max,” Chase said. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving this outside.”
“I just hope she doesn’t get mad at me.”
“She won’t.”
Like hell. Jamie hadn’t noticed Chase carrying anything. What was he leaving? She tried to see through the crack between the door and the frame, but that was useless. Maybe if she could get higher. She reached for the doorknob to get some balance, but even on tiptoes she couldn’t see squat.
She gripped the knob with her hand as she flattened her feet, noticing something as she did so. A big, scary lump formed in her chest. The knob hadn’t budged. She closed her eyes and said a short prayer, then she wiggled it. The knob didn’t wiggle. It didn’t do a damn thing.
Locked. How? Why? No, no, no. This wasn’t funny. Wait. There had to be a way to unlock it, right? She ran her hand under the knob, over the wood, her movements growing faster as the repercussions hit her. No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. She’d be trapped. Better trapped than caught by Newman, though. The thought of how she’d look set her cheeks on fire.
Wait a minute. Maybe she should let him set her free. Then he’d have to explain what he was doing entering her apartment.