And if she shoves it back in my face because of this screw-up, there’s always Norway.
Chapter Twelve
IVY
Christ, it’s been the first time I’ve been in this gym since I got back, and I’m feeling it. I end the last of the final run reps and fold over onto my knees, practically dead. Well, not quite, but I either need to up these sessions or kill my trainer. The fact that I ask him to push me this hard is neither here nor there, and after the frustration that is Blake fucking Rhodes pissing me off, I needed this.
He looks down at me as I stand back up again and try stretching the stitch out of me, a wry smile on his face.
“Oh, fuck off, Neil.”
Chuckling, he throws a towel at my face. “Same time next week?” My eyes slant to him as I walk for my bag and rub the sweat off my face. “You know you’re useless without someone bossing you around occasionally, Ivy.”
I pick up the bag, flipping him the middle finger. “Fine.”
My hand waves him off in goodbye as I walk through the gym doors, barely any ability to converse anyway. I’m still too aggravated about nearly getting myself involved with a man who clearly can’t have an actual free-flowing conversation to bother. And after this session, I can’t see conversation becoming anything other than short-lived. With anyone.
Walking out into fresh air, I ponder the situation some more and head for the coffee shop. What is wrong with men? They’re all pathetic. It’s no wonder I’ve never had a half-serious relationship in my life. The fact that I’ve also not found anyone worth considering, that’s actually suitable for my family, isn’t the point. They’re all boring, or the same of the same. The elite circle isn’t something I’m interested in. Same hairstyles, same clothes, same accent to go with our privileged lifestyles and schools. I thought Blake might be different. He seemed it, anyway. But now? I’m pissed off with him. I gave him a chance beyond sex, and look what he did with it. Nothing. He’s just someone who isn’t prepared to open up. Great in bed, yes, but that’s not enough for me.
Never has been.
And maybe he’s hiding something.
I don’t like that thought in the slightest.
I slip into the coffee shop, nod at Jenna to order my late lunch over the queues, and get my phone out to scroll through the rest of the afternoon ahead. A few emails pop up, several notifications, and a text from Landon. I open it and find a name and a number. Noah Locke’s number.Yes.
For the first time today, a smile lifts my lips, and I grab my coffee from Jenna, blow her a kiss, and head back out to get home. It isn't until I reach my place and dial Locke’s number that I start thinking about Blake again, or rather whatever secret it is that he might be hiding from me. I felt something with him, not that I know what it was, but liking him is one thing, trusting him is another. I won’t have secrets involved in anything I consider potential. He was potential. Sadly, a half-arsed apology via text is not going to cut the mustard with me.
“Locke,” comes across the line gruffly.
Oh yes. Locke.
I shut the door into my apartment and dump my bag on the table. “Noah? This is Ivy Broderick. Landon gave me your number. We need to meet.”
There’s quiet on the line for a few moments, and I look at the phone to make sure it’s not cut out. “Why?” he eventually asks.
“Suspicious much? I need info about the author, and as you’ve already done some of it, I’d like whatever you’ve got first. Today preferably.”
More silence.
“You’ll have to come to me,” he says.
“No problem. Where are you?”
“I’ll text a meet point.”
“Okay. How will I know who you are?”
“You won’t. I’ll find you.” My eyes roll at his secretive nature, and then I remember that we are actually paying him to work for us.
“Hang on—”
The phone goes dead.
Lovely.
Although—I drop the phone and head to the shower, ready to get on with this day—I’m getting used to that. Blake seems to be quite good at it too. And Landon’s always been short and curt. Maybe it’s me? Maybe I’m giving off weird vibes.
