River

My God, he’s here again.

Jericho is here at Kelly’s Café, and the fact that he knew where to find me suggests he checked out my details.

What else does he know?

Everything?

Or nothing?

Both could be reasons he’s in my sphere of existence again.

I’m standing behind the counter with my hands frozen at my sides, gazing at him with the same shock I experienced last night. And the night before.

That first night, I was in shock because it was our first meeting in eight years. Last night, I was surprised to see him again and that he seemed to be there just for me.

The same way he is now.

There’s no way this is a coincidence.

I was just about to replenish the napkins on the tables when he walked in.

He’s wearing more casual clothes than last night. Today, he’s dressed in a T-shirt and Levi’s. He looks more like the Jericho I knew from the past.

Seeing him this way, and again, only irritates me because I really do wish he’d leave me alone.

I’m tired. Tired mentally and physically. It’s just past six thirty in the morning. I’ve only had about three hours of sleep. Less, if I’m being truly honest.

I don’t have the strength for whatever this is.

Jericho walks toward the table at the back and sits. His eyes are riveted to me, and he has that same look of curiosity wrapped in desire I noticed last night.

“Oh my God,” Kelly mutters, coming up to me. “Is that seriously Jericho Grayson? In my café?”

I glance at her and take in the star-struck expression on her face. It shouldn’t be surprising that she recognizes him. It would be more surprising if she didn’t.

In a city like New York where he walks among the Wall Street titans, people like him are treated like celebs.

I gather myself and my scrambled, very tired brain to give her a curt smile.

“Yes. It seems so.”

She gives me a wide-eyed stare and a matching smile. “He’s looking right at you. Go. Serve him before Talia does.”

She lifts her chin toward Talia, the other waitress, who is serving the elderly couple who come in here every day. Talia is taking their order, but her eyes are on Jericho. She’s definitely Jericho’s type. She’s the same age as me with long raven hair and a barbie-doll figure men love, and she knows it.

From the moment Kelly found out I was single, she’s been trying to set me up with every half decent guy who walks in here. She’s in her late fifties so has that motherly presence about her that makes her treat us like daughters. On this occasion, I wish she wouldn’t try.

“I think we better let Talia serve him. She’s closer to his table.” I nod, hoping my suggestion will help me avoid him.

Judging from the deadpan stare Kelly gives me, I already know she’s not going to allow me to worm my way out of this.

“River. Don’t let me march you over there.” She slides a pencil into the messy brown bun sitting on top of her head that looks like a cute bird’s nest. “This is exactly why you’re single. You have to seize opportunities the way I did with my Ed.”

Her eyes become dreamy, and I resist the urge to groan.

This situation here is nothing like her and Ed, her husband of thirty-five years. She’s told me the story of how they met a million times during my time here, so I’m well versed in it. The two met at a carnival at the kissing booth Kelly arranged to work in just so she could kiss him.

It’s a sweet story, and Ed is amazing, but Jericho is not like Ed. At all.

Men like Jericho make me want to stay single for the rest of my days. So, I won’t tell Kelly that I’ve been there and done the relationship thing with this guy, and I have no desire to test those waters ever again.

“Don’t keep the man waiting. He’s our customer.” She uses her I’m-your-boss voice.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go serve him.”

Ugh. This is just what I need to start an already hard day.

Feeling like I’d rather jump into a black hole and hide until the world ends, I grab my notepad and pen, then proceed to take the arduous walk toward my ex.

I run through all the possible things I could say to him, but my mind slows the closer I get, then I’m torn between wanting to scream at him and running away.

If I didn’t need this job, I’d do both.

Jericho straightens, drawing attention to his football-player muscular shoulders.

He levels me a curious stare, then gives me that sexy half-smile that hooked me from the first night we met. That smile always got me in trouble. It did that night when my stupid heart decided it wanted one of the most popular boys in school. Someone who seemed unobtainable to me.

Our meeting wasn’t sweet like Kelly and Ed’s, but there were parts of it that were.

I met Jericho Grayson when I was fleeing from a party I shouldn’t have gone to. I was the new girl, only a few weeks in at Aster Academy, an uppity school I didn’t belong in either. I got accepted because Dad worked for Jaeger Tech and had a prestigious job as one of their senior software engineers. He’d just made a big move from their branch in Colorado to New York, much to my evil stepmother’s delight.

At school, I was a prime target who the bullies christened the dance geek, so the night of the party I had the misfortune of having my very own Carrie moment. I even got the pig’s blood, too. They said it was a close match to my hair.

I was in mid-flight when I crashed into Jericho, who then saved me from the bullies who were chasing me. It turned out he was the thing they feared. The alpha at the head of the food chain. He, Knight, and Luc. The trio who owned the school. I never had any more problems with bullies after that day. Any problems I had came from being with a guy I knew right from the start my father would hate just for being a Grayson.

When I reach Jericho’s table, my head feels heavy and light at the same time. The feeling infuriates me because it’s his fault. The only thing I’m thankful for is that I’m out of earshot, so Kelly and Talia won’t be able to hear me. I have no shortage of words to say to Jericho for putting me in this awkward position.

“You know this borders on stalking, right?” I raise my brows and focus on his bright blue gaze, which brightens at the mention of stalking.

“Yes, but when has such a thing ever stopped me?”

Old memories heat my cheeks as I recall him watching me from afar while I was with my family. Then he’d sneak into my room late at night to be with me when everyone had gone to bed.

“I suppose never.” I try to keep my voice steady because he looks like he knows what I’m thinking.

“I’m glad you remember.”

“What are you doing here, Jericho?”

“Can’t a guy get a cup of coffee?” He flicks his palms over, a gesture meant to show that’s all he’s here for, but I know it’s not.

I decide to play along and ready my pen and notepad to take his order. “Is that black or white, and would you like any sugar with it?”

He chuckles. “How about I get five minutes with you instead?”

My jaw tightens, and I lower my pad. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Why the hell are you doing this to me? I told you to leave me alone.”

Most people would have taken my tone as a warning to quit while ahead, but not him.

He presses his lips together, and instead of the smile he gave me moments ago, his expression turns serious.

One of the deadliest things about this guy is that he never allows you to figure him out. One minute he’s cocky and arrogant with a jovial, flirty personality you think you could work with. It’s even charming at times. Until he switches and becomes cold, calculative, and ominous. As if the malice that lives inside him can only be tamed and controlled for so long before it unleashes.

That’s how he looks now.

He sits forward, leaning closer, as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “Five minutes.”

He’s doing that ignoring-my-comments thing again.

“No, but if you really do want coffee or anything else on the menu, I’ll happily serve you. Anything else is a no.”

He gives me a narrowed gaze and considers me for a moment before speaking. “How about you give me five minutes, then I promise to leave you alone. You won’t see me again.”

I stare back at him, thinking about this new offer which isn’t really an offer. It still suits him because I still don’t want to talk.

“Why are you so hellbent on talking to me?”

“Because I want to know what happened to you.” He gives me a clipped nod. “Regardless of our past, wouldn’t you want to know what the fuck happened to me if you found me dancing in a strip club?”

His smile returns with mischief. I have to bite back mine. The thought of him dancing in a strip club isn’t funny at all—in fact, I’m sure the place would be packed every night with women from all over the world. It’s just funny because it’s him.

“At least I can still make you smile.” His smile widens.

“I’m smiling because it’s crazy. That would never happen to you.”

“But if it did, I’d hope you’d at least care enough to find out why.” He searches my eyes, and something softens inside me. “Would you?”

I look away, glancing at the door. At the people outside on the sidewalk walking past or getting ready to cross the road.

The question is, do I still care if our situation were reversed?

Would I care enough to push past my hurt to find out why he’d hit rock bottom?

Knowing the answer, I look back at him and nod slowly, hesitantly. As if I’m afraid entertaining such feelings might crack the ironclad control I’ve held over my heart all these long years.

“Then give me five minutes, River. Five minutes, then I’m out of your hair for good.”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat and release a measured breath.

“Okay. But  I’m not answering any questions I don’t want to answer.”

“That works.”

I pull out the chair in front of him and sit, wondering what I’m about to get myself into. Did I really have a choice, though? No matter how much I pushed back, he seemed to be determined to get an answer out of me.

Now that I’m in what feels like his lair, my entire body is rigid with tension. I can also feel Kelly watching me. As Talia isn’t across from us anymore, I’m sure she’s joined her and they’re talking about me.

“So,” Jericho begins and steeples his fingers, “when did you get back to New York?”

I blink several times. The last time I saw him, he would have had no reason to think I’d gone anywhere except Juilliard.

“I wasn’t aware you knew I’d left.”

“News travels.”

“Right.” I’m inclined to believe his answer over the possibility of him checking on me. He made it clear before we parted ways that his feelings had changed toward me, so why would he care what happened to me after? His recent checking is different. “I’ve been back in New York for close to ten months now.”

He seems surprised to hear that. “Oh. That’s quite some time.”

“It is. So, what else did the news tell you?” I want to know what he knows. That way, I can prepare myself.

You have to be prepared when you talk to someone like him.

Jericho Grayson has a penchant for finding things others can’t. I’ve never really known exactly how he does it, but he can. The same way he can solve any math equation within seconds and figure out the answer to…anything.

He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.

“The news told me that you stopped dancing with the Bolshoi Ballet.” His jaw tenses, a tell he knows more details than what he’s giving me. It leads me to believe that he must have checked things out. “And you never got married to your fiancé.”

Yes. He did check me out.

Jericho’s gaze flicks down to my ring finger, bare of the ring that once lived there.

I wonder if he’d believe me if I told him I had to pawn it to buy food. I’ve never told anybody that story.

I still can’t talk about Sasha either. I don’t know when I’ll be able to. My ex-fiancé left a hole in my soul as big as the galaxy. And it wasn’t because of love lost. That would have been better. I could have handled it more than the truth of the lie he was.

That lie is part of the reason Sasha is behind bars in one of Russia’s maximum-security prisons.

I hold my breath and push his deceitful face out of my mind. I don’t want to think about him now, or ever again. Even if I fear the very real possibility that he’ll get out of jail and find out that it was me who put him there.

Jericho’s stare intensifies, and I realizes it’s because I haven’t said anything, so I think of the same lie I’ve been telling those who don’t know the truth.

“It didn’t work out.” My voice holds a rasp of pain. “Neither of them. The Bolshoi Ballet and the engagement.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

For some reason, his answer irritates me, and I recall a movie I once saw with a similar scenario. A girl had run into her ex and got upset with him when he told her he was sorry to hear her engagement was off. At the time, I thought she was overreacting, but now I get it.

She was upset because he was saying she didn’t find happiness with this other guy, but deep down she wanted to be with her ex and have that said happiness with him.

While I don’t wish to go back there with Jericho, I’m annoyed he feels bad that I couldn’t find happiness with someone else.

I know he meant my dancing career, but my mind fixates on the broken engagement.

“Is that why you came back?” he asks, looking like he’s trying to be careful with his words.

“Yes.” That’s the shortest version of what happened.

“Please tell me Club Edge isn’t the end of your dancing career.”

“No.” At least I have some light at the end of this dark tunnel to look forward to, but it’s not happening anytime soon. “I have the lead part in a production with the Emersons Dance Company. That’s for the summer. Then I have an audition with the New York City Ballet in the fall.”

He looks impressed to hear that. “Wow, well, that’s fantastic.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m sure you are, and I’m sure you’ll get the part.”

“It would great.”

Those from the dance world will know how rare it is to get an audition with the New York City Ballet, but my previous credentials opened the door.

Teaching at the academy and the part I have with the Emersons Dance Company have also helped. Especially the latter. It’s only a small production that will run from June to September, but it’s something active and shows I can still get dancing jobs. Too many gaps of not doing anything doesn’t look good on a dancer’s resumé. I’ve had almost two years of nothingness.

Only God knows how much I would have loved to go back to the Bolshoi Ballet and live the dream I had for as long as I could remember, but my position was filled long ago. In any event, I know my heart can’t handle the whole ordeal of returning to Russia.

“Until then, I’m teaching at a school. So, at least I’m still dancing.” I have a feeling he already knew that I teach at the school because he knew to find me here.

“That’s good, too. What about everything else? You’re working three jobs.” He intensifies his stare, and my breath stills.

I knew we were building up to that question, and for that answer I need to think.

“I have a few things I need to take care of.”

“A few things?” His brows knit.

“Just bills.”

“Must be a lot of bills for you to be working at Club Edge.”

Yeah, like a minimum of a hundred thousand. I’m not telling him that, though.

“I can take care of it. It will be fine.”

“Why don’t you let me take care—”

“I think your five minutes are up.” The words fall from my lips instinctively, cutting him off before he can finish his offer. His offer to help me with money.

Maybe most people would think I’m completely foolish to turn him down in such a way and not even consider an offer for help, but that would just shove me deeper into the hole of humiliation.

Jericho catches my meaning, and the understanding that I don’t want his money forms in his eyes.

I wonder if he’s shocked that this Cinderella turned him down when every woman he’s probably been with since me has treated him like a king because of his wealth and status.

I might be the damsel in distress, and yes, I had the evil stepmother and a stepsister who managed to rob my father blind of everything after his accident, but Jericho Grayson is not my Prince Charming.

With that reasoning, I stand, pick up my notebook and pen. His gaze follows me, then locks with mine.

“I should get back to work.”

He blinks, severing the tension filling the space between us. “Okay.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It was good seeing you again, River.”

“You, too.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

I don’t need to walk away this time. He pushes to his feet, dips his head, then heads to the door. Just before he walks through, he glances over his shoulder.

At least he looked back this time, and I can replace our last goodbye with this one.

Goodbye, Jericho Grayson.