Chapter 9 No.9

9

Hali sat on the leather sofa in the reception area. Finley had disappeared with her SIM card and a brand new iPhone box.

Outside, the sky had turned black. A torrential downpour was hammering against the glass windows, turning New York into a blurred watercolor painting.

Hali checked her watch. It was 8 PM. She had been waiting for two hours.

The door to Ezra's office opened. He walked out. He had changed his shirt. He was walking with a slight limp, but his face was composed again. The mask was back in place.

"You're still here?" he asked, pausing.

"Finley said the storm was bad. No Ubers."

Ezra walked over to the window. He looked at the rain.

"I'll drive you," he said.

Hali stood up. "You shouldn't be driving. Your leg."

"I have a driver, Hali."

They rode the elevator down in silence-a different elevator, thank god.

The car ride was quiet. The rain drummed rhythmically on the roof of the Maybach. Hali felt exhausted. The emotional roller coaster of the last 48 hours was taking its toll.

She leaned her head against the cool glass window and closed her eyes. Just for a second.

When she opened them again, the car was stopped. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

She sat up, disoriented. Something heavy and warm slid off her lap.

It was Ezra's suit jacket. The clean one.

She looked at him. He was reading a file on his tablet, the blue light illuminating his sharp features.

"You were sleeping," he said without looking up.

"How long?"

"An hour. We've been parked for twenty minutes."

Hali looked out the window. They were in front of a sleek, high-end patisserie in Brooklyn.

"Why are we here?"

Ezra put the tablet down. He reached into the footwell and pulled out a small white box.

He handed it to her.

"For the sugar crash," he said.

Hali opened the box.

Inside sat an exquisite dark chocolate tart, dusted with gold leaf.

Hali stared at it. It wasn't her usual comfort food, but it looked incredibly expensive. It was the kind of thing you bought for someone when you wanted to impress them, or perhaps apologize without words.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him. "You didn't have to do this."

Ezra turned to look at her. His eyes were soft in the dim light.

"I told you, Hali. I take care of my investments."

It was a cold way to put it, but the warmth of the pastry box in her hands told a different story.

The driver started the car again and drove the two blocks to her apartment.

When they pulled up, Hali hesitated. She looked at the man who had terrified her, trapped her, and then fed her gold-dusted chocolate.

She looked at her new phone, which Finley had set up. She opened the "Find My" app.

Irving was still at Lia's.

She closed the app. She didn't need the screenshot. She didn't need the confrontation. She was done.

She turned to Ezra.

"The contract," she said.

Ezra went still.

"Send it to me. The final version."

Ezra looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Hali looked at the rain-slicked pavement. She looked at the pathetic building she lived in. She looked at the man who had walked up forty flights of stairs on a bad leg to make sure she was safe.

"I want access to Grimes," she said. "That's my condition."

"You'll have it," Ezra promised.

"And..." Hali paused. "I want to design. For real. Not just fetch coffee."

Ezra reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek.

"You were never meant to fetch coffee, Hali. You have a vision. I've seen your sketches. You have potential."

Hali froze. He had seen her sketches?

Ezra leaned back, the mask returning. "I'll see you tomorrow, fiancée."

Hali got out of the car. She stood on the sidewalk and watched the taillights of the Maybach disappear into the night.

She took a bite of the tart. It tasted like victory. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit like danger.

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