Chasing Bristol (The Finding Trilogy Book 2) Page 3

  “And still do,” Julian interjected.

  “Even after what he did,” Amber continued. “But come on.” She glanced over her shoulder at the exit. Mason and his friends were leaving. “That guy is clearly interested in you.”

  “Clearly,” Julian stressed, bobbing her head.

  Amber went on, “And if my instincts are correct, which they usually are, he probably came back to Rhode Island in hopes of meeting you again.”

  I tittered. “What? That’s ridiculous. He had to have known that the possibility of meeting me again was slim, and if that’s the case, it’s weird.”

  “Yeah, and plus,” Julian chimed in. “Now that I’m thinking about it, rebounds aren’t healthy.” Eyeing me, she added, “I think Mason seems nice too, but I get it, Bristol. You need time to figure stuff out.” She traced the tip of her bottle as she deliberated. “Take as much time as you need and don’t rush into anything.” She started drinking again.

  “But,” Amber reasoned, “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun—handcuffs are kinky.” She laughed. Julian spilled some of her beer, unable to stop her giggles.

  “Stop.” I glared at them playfully.

  Amber composed herself. “Okay. Okay. But who knows, maybe you’ll have something better with Mason.”

  Julian wiped her mouth with a napkin then gave her two cents. “If you guys met again so randomly, chances are you’ll see him again soon. Just wait.”

  “Yeah, or she could go to the station and ask for him,” Amber teased.

  “Okay, you two,” I smiled at them and relaxed my body. “Like I said, I need time.”

  Amber reached over to squeeze my arm. “All right, enough is enough. Let’s hit the floor one more time and then bounce.”

  She dragged me and Julian to our feet and ushered us back to the dance room. Everything that had happened over the weekend and that day flew from my mind again while I let loose to the music, but for some strange reason, Mason’s unraveling gaze and mesmerizing smile seemed to be stuck in my head. No matter how buzzed I felt or how hard I tried, I just couldn’t push him away like everything else.

  A loud thud startled me out of sleep. Rolling over on my side, I squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was after three in the morning. I pushed off the covers and climbed out, still a bit woozy from drinking earlier.

  Wandering into the kitchen, I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. I was about to have a sip when I glimpsed something sticking in at the bottom of the door. Bewildered, I blinked to get a better look.

  It appeared to be a note.

  Are you kidding me? It was so damn late at night.

  Leaving my water bottle on the island, I walked over to the door, turned the entry light on, and picked up the note. I straightened and unfolded it. The handwriting was now familiar. It was from my admirer. This was seriously starting to drive me nuts.

  You looked like you were having fun tonight. Good.

  Forget about that ungrateful boyfriend.

  He doesn’t deserve you.

  Soon, Bristol. Soon you’ll be mine and you’ll always be loved. I promise.

  X

  Fear gripped me. The note fell from my hand. My heart began to race. His words were startling. He’d been spying on me.

  Nervous, I peered up at the front door to make sure the chain was fastened. It was. I looked around the apartment—nothing was out of place. Still, it unnerved me to know that my secret admirer was watching me and my friends.

  I’d never been so spooked in my life. Who was this guy? What made him think this was sweet? Were my suspicions about Mason dead on? If so, how did he know about Tyler?

  Gawd! Having an admirer was so irritating. Leave me alone damn it!

  I flicked off the light and walked to the kitchen to throw the note in the trash. Then I picked up the water and went back to my bedroom.

  Placing the bottle on my nightstand, I turned off the lamp and slid under the covers. I was still on edge and glanced at my room door a few times. Taking a deep breath, I settled down, rolled over, and pulled the sheet over my head. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any more bangs in the night or creepy notes left under my door.

  After lunch on Tuesday, there was a meeting at the office. George Wilcox and his son, Greg, stopped by to discuss the fundraiser and the merger with Vanderson Publishing.

  Greg Wilcox was quite the looker. He was tall, sturdy in form, and had an air of confidence and conceitedness encircling him. His father appeared frazzled, though, as if he’d reached his final limit in life.

  Mr. Wilcox hardly cracked a smile when he greeted Beverly Vanderson and the department heads. He’d glower or sigh in an exasperated way, while his son held a reserved, nonchalant expression the entire time.

  Gina, the event coordinator, asked me to organize a list of potential venues for the company’s anniversary celebration in August. It kept me busy for most of the day.

  I stopped working for a moment to stretch my fingers and finished the strawberry drink I’d brought back from lunch. Tossing the empty plastic cup in the bin under my desk, I went back to researching on the web.

  Vibrations resounded from my purse. I leaned over and snatched out my phone. The screen showed ‘unknown caller’. Curious, I answered. “Hello.”

  No one spoke.

  “Hello?” I said again. No answer. Then I heard someone breathe, cavernous and perverted.

  I disconnected the call.

  What a moron.

  Voices reverberated from the hallway. I glimpsed Beverly Vanderson and the Wilcox men as they turned the corner. The other department heads talked with them for a while before going their separate ways. George Wilcox appeared more at ease, laughing with Beverly. His son lingered in the office while she showed Mr. Wilcox around.

  Greg caught me watching him. I looked back at my computer fast. My phone started to vibrate again. I glanced at the screen: caller unknown.

  Ignoring it, I turned off my phone and continued putting together the list. Someone came up to my desk, tapping the wood with his long, thick fingers.

  Lifting my head, I saw that it was Greg Wilcox. A cocky grin arched his lips as his dark blues perused my features.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, baffled as to why he was standing there giving me the ‘I want you’ look.

  Greg rested on the edge of my desk, making himself comfortable. “My father says I should get acquainted with you,” he said smoothly. “Bristol Armando, is it?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Get acquainted with me?”

  He stuck his hand out to shake mine. “Greg Wilcox. I’ve been told you’ll be assisting with the fundraiser.”

  My mouth opened. “Seriously? I thought Gina was handling that?”

  “Well, Beverly has informed me that you’ll be involved as well. I think it’s a good idea. It’ll give me and my father a chance to see how you work, which is important given that he’s considering you for the creative director position.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh wow, thank you so much.” I laughed in my excitement.

  Julian appeared from down the hall then. Seven in tow. He’d been out of town visiting his mother who had moved to New Jersey following her divorce from his father.

  Julian looked across at me, winked, and then gave me thumbs up. I knew she’d put in a word for me, but I still wasn’t expecting to be considered since I didn’t have much experience.

  Grateful, I smiled at her. Greg noticed. He slanted and looked at Julian for a second, then refocused on me. “Anyway, Beverly and Gina says you’re a hard worker.”

  “Yes, I am.” I noticed his hand and the way he was tracing the wood with his fingers in a sensual way. I lifted my head and added, “I always do my best.”

  Impressed, a broad grin arched his lips and showed off perfect, glistening whites. To my dismay, I started to think of Mason, comparing the two men.

  Mason was hotter. Way hotter.

  “That’s good.” Greg
’s voice nudged me back to reality. “I always expect the best from anyone who works with me.”

  “Oh.” I’d forgotten that Mr. Wilcox’s son was involved in every aspect of his father’s company. This venture was probably his idea. “I look forward to working with you then.”

  Greg straightened and stuck his hands inside his pants pockets. “Likewise. I’ll stop in more frequently so we can plan and discuss the event further.”

  His father and Ms. Vanderson strolled back into the main lobby. He started over to them, but then stopped and said as an afterthought, “I haven’t eaten. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

  Yeah right.

  I feigned regret as I replied, “Actually, I’ve already had lunch and I’m pretty busy with an assignment from Gina.”

  Greg frowned. “I see. No worries.”

  None at all. I’d piqued his intentions from the way he was undressing me with his bedroom eyes.

  He gave a cocky smirk before turning to catch up with his father at the exit. I went back to work, feeling so elated about the position that I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

  Leaving work that afternoon, I had takeout for dinner before heading to the community center. As a sophomore, I’d volunteered for college credits and liked the experience so much that I continued doing it.

  Pulling up at the Newport Community Center, I parked on the street and made my way toward the wrought iron gates. Several kids were being dropped off for the after school programs.

  “Hey Bristol,” a sweet little girl with blonde pigtails waved after her mother left her at the gates.

  She ran over and I lowered to give her a hug. “Lauren! Gosh, you’re getting big.”

  When I stepped back to look at her, she giggled and tipped in her sneakers. “I can’t wait until I’m older, then Casey won’t bug me anymore.”

  “Oh, no. He’s still at it?”

  She nodded while pouting. Casey was her older brother and a super pain in the butt.

  “Well, you tell him to stop messing with you or he’ll answer to me.”

  A toothy smile appeared on her round, six-year-old face. “Thanks, Bristol.”

  “No problem. Hurry inside now.”

  “Okay. See you.” She gave me a high five before taking off, her feet pitter-pattering up the concrete steps.

  Lauren was one of the elementary school kids I’d assisted in the art workshop. I had stayed with her group for the first month, then transitioned to the pantry express when I discovered they needed more help in that section.

  Strolling past the low hedge, blue mist shrubs, I continued around the side until I reached the back of the centuries old stone building. There was a delivery van parked at the drop-off and Kathy, another volunteer, was unloading fresh produce for the pantry.

  I quickened my steps and climbed up beside her. “Hey, Kathy. Need help?”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay, dear. I’m almost done. You can get started with setting up the boxes. We have a lot to pack today.”

  “Sure.” I turned and continued inside to the large pantry. Tons of empty boxes lined the metal shelves, and plenty of food to fill them.

  Kathy came inside and stood with her hands on her hips. She blew out a long and exasperated breath. Sweat dotted her forehead and loose strands dangled from the band holding up the rest of her brown hair.

  “Don’t think we’ll finish packing tonight,” she said.

  I gave her a light tap at the arm. “I’ll stay late so you can leave. You were here all day.”

  She tilted her head to one side, giving me a grateful smile. “That’s nice of you, dear, but I couldn’t leave you with so much work.”

  Kathy was in her late forties and had been volunteering at the center for several years. I liked how she helped people in need just because she cared, wanting nothing in return.

  “Right!” She clapped her hands, appearing energized again. “Let’s get to it.”

  Her enthusiasm inspired me. Kathy never complained. She’d made a choice, one she was happy with, it seemed.

  We coordinated and sorted out quite a few orders. It surprised me how many boxes we’d packed by the time the center closed.

  Kathy walked with me to the gates. “Thanks for helping out, dear,” she said, patting my back.

  “No problem. Glad to help.”

  “Well, see you next week.” She turned and headed across the street toward her car. I hopped into mine and drove home.

  After parking in my reserved spot outside the apartment building, I sidetracked and went for an evening stroll along the bay. The sun was setting. I sat in the park and watched with an unwavering gaze as vibrant colors of red-orange and yellow blazed over the ocean.

  Soft, flirty laughs drew my attention to a young couple on the bench next to mine. They were clinging together like Velcro, watching the sunset.

  I envied them; Tyler and I never did such a thing. He wasn’t the romantic type. Still, I liked being with him. Our relationship had great moments, like when he’d cook for me or we’d go for long drives on Sundays. But when it was bad, it was really bad. I’d known that something was wrong, that we were growing apart. Perhaps that’s why he’d cheated.

  Darkness began to take over the sky, erasing any remains of color. I started back to my apartment. My phone rang as I entered the parking lot. I looked at the screen: unknown caller. Again.

  Telemarketers were relentless.

  I ignored the call and continued toward the building. As I reached the cut-glass doors, my landlord opened it, pushing his wife in her wheelchair. I hardly ever saw her. Mr. Farris said she’d been in an accident a few years ago.

  Standing aside, I held the door and waited for them to come out. Mrs. Farris reached for my hand. Her palm felt worn and fragile, and her tiny body shivered in the cool spring breeze. She tilted her head back and squinted up at me.

  “I know you.” Her voice sounded tired and hoarse.

  Mr. Farris held his wife’s hand. “It’s Bristol, love. You remember Bristol?”

  She wobbled her head and clasped her hands back on her lap. “I’ve seen her…” she mumbled to herself, looking at the ground.

  He fixed her sweater and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m taking her for a drive to the place where we first met,” Mr. Farris said. “She’s more relaxed there.”

  “I see.”

  Glancing at his wife, he smiled, so genuine and full of love. “Well, we’ll be on our way.” He started pushing the wheelchair again, but then stopped and peered back sideways. “You okay, dear? You look bothered.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Enjoy your drive.”

  He nodded and continued on his way. I went into the vintage-style entry and ascended the stairs, the old pine wood creaking with every step.

  Once inside my apartment, I stood for a moment and gazed around the place, looking at the coral-colored walls I’d painted a week after I’d moved here. At my cream upholstery sofa, and modern contemporary furniture I had picked out.

  The space wasn’t huge, but it was peaceful. Homey. A haven. My comfort zone.

  The days passed by in a blur. On Friday evening after work, I made plans to have dinner with my dad.

  He waved from a table out on the deck the instant I entered The Pier, our favorite restaurant in downtown Newport. The food there was great. I loved the oceanic theme—the blue-painted walls and seashell décor—and how opened it was to the water. The service was also wonderful. Customers were treated like friends.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I greeted.

  His pale greens that mirrored mine sparkled as he pulled me in for a hug. “How are you doing, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

  I sat while answering, “I’m all right. Been busy at work. How’s the project?”

  Dad was part of a crew contracted to work on a Portuguese restaurant in Fall River. It was the first job he’d had since his arrest and going to anger management a year ago.

  “It�
��s coming along. We had a few setbacks with some changes to the plan, but hopefully we’ll meet the deadline.”

  A young brunette with a bubbly personality strolled over to our table. Her enthusiasm heightened once she remembered me and Dad.

  When she moseyed off to put in our orders, Dad stuck his hand inside his khaki jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I almost forgot. This came by the condo for you.”

  Puzzled, I wrinkled my forehead while taking it from him.

  “I heard you broke up with Tyler,” he said before I opened the envelope. I could hear relief in his voice.

  “Mom told you.” It wasn’t a question. She’d probably called him to rant.

  “She called and screamed at me,” he said, confirming.

  Yep. I knew it.

  “Your mother said it was my fault that you dumped him. She thinks I influenced you to do it because I never warmed up to the guy.”

  “Dad, I left Tyler because he cheated on me.”

  His head swiveled. He narrowed his eyes, making his age lines more visible. “That bastard! Of course she didn’t mention that part. No surprise there. Your mother loved him like a son. The little prick,” he grunted. “Wait ’til I get my hands on him.”

  I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, calming him. “Dad, it’s okay. I’m letting it go, so please don’t confront Tyler.”

  His features softened again when he noticed my concern. “Sweetheart, you know I wouldn’t intentionally go looking to hurt him, right?”

  I managed a smile. “I know, you’re only being my protective dad.” Even so, the horrific memory of him beating that man at his last job almost lifeless was still stuck at the back of my head.

  It always scared me whenever he said he’d teach Tyler a lesson if he broke my heart. I’d often wondered how literal Dad’s words were, and whether his anger management sessions had really helped to ease his temper—something I hadn’t even known he had.

  “Bristol?” Dad jolted me out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah? Did you say something?” I drank some water.

  He chuckled. “You’re always lost in thought. Your grandmother was the same.”