Chance Read online

  "That's what my contact at the police station told me." Her eyebrows dance around playfully, which is enough of a warning for me. I refuse to ask her about her contact. I can only imagine the details she'd gleefully supply to me.

  "When was he released?" I glance down at my smartphone. It's almost six now which means that I have two hours before I need to be at Ivy's apartment.

  "That I'm not sure about." She nods towards her desk phone. "If you give me three minutes and some privacy I can find out."

  I sigh audibly as I turn on my heel to walk out of her office. I close the door behind me before I plop myself down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room and wait.

  ***

  "You didn't see him today at all?" I tap my hand on the small reception desk in the lobby of Asher's building. "He should have come home within the last two hours. Can you try and buzz him again?"

  "You bet, Ms. Bell," Frank, the doorman who keeps a watchful eye over Asher, nods as he swipes his fingers along the screen of the tablet in his hand. "I've been here since three. I haven't left my post at all. Mr. Foster didn't come home."

  Asher was released from custody more than two hours ago. He had been held at a police station near Wall Street. I'd raced down there when Devon told me the address. My hope, although short-lived, was that Asher would have been distraught and would have sat himself in one of the chairs in the lobby there. When I burst through the doors and scanned the faces, his was nowhere to be found. I'd tried to call him and it had immediately gone to voicemail. I'd tried twice more since then with exactly the same results.

  "He's still not answering the buzzer. If you want, I'll let you up and you can knock on his door."

  Before I can form a coherent response I'm walking towards the bank of elevators with Frank hot on my heel. I tip my chin in his direction as he follows me into one of the cars before he pushes a small silver key into the control panel. "This will take you up to the sixth floor. You know his apartment number, right?"

  "I know it." I manage a weak grin as he steps back before the doors slam shut.

  ***

  "Where's Caleb?" I pull in a deep breath as I step through the doorway. There is absolutely no mistaking the panic in my tone. I'd knocked on Asher's door for more than fifteen minutes before finally giving up. As I rode the elevator back down to the lobby of his building I realized that I only had one more place to go. I had to come back to Caleb's apartment so I hailed a taxi and headed straight over.

  I don't consider myself influential but I'm hopeful that what I said to Caleb earlier resonated enough that he made the decision to help Asher. I want the younger Foster brother to be here, resting in bed or watching television. I want him to be safe.

  "Who are you? Who let you up here?"

  I turn to face the woman asking the questions. She's significantly older than me, which probably means she's not here in a capacity other than professional. I know Caleb's type and this woman isn't it.

  "I'm Rowan Bell. I'm a friend of Caleb's." I stop to think about that last statement. "The doorman knows me. He let me up."

  "You're a friend of Caleb's?" she parrots the words back to me. "I've never heard of you."

  I should take some degree of offense at that but I can't. In a social sense, Caleb and I cross paths only several times a year at various benefit dinners or events. We don't share many of the same friends and while he's out trolling bars and clubs for his next bedmate, I'm generally home by ten going over work that I didn't have time for in the office. We don't travel in the same circles. Our friendship is typically focused on text messages, phone calls and the occasional lunch or drink after work.

  "Are you one of his girls?" She eyes me closely. "A lot of you show up here."

  Isn't that nice? This random stranger who is standing guard at Caleb's doorway thinks that I'm here because I can't resist him. "I'm not one of his girls."

  "Do you think you're special to him?" She leans in so close that I can spot a few wayward dark hairs darting out of her nostrils. "You all think you're so special to him."

  If resentment had a spokeswoman, I'd nominate this person for the job. What the hell is her problem? If I had to guess it's that she propositioned Caleb and he unceremoniously turned her down.

  "Who are you?" I have just as might right to interrogate her, as she has to question me. "Caleb has never mentioned you before either."

  She takes a step back before her tongue juts out to run over her bottom lip. "I'm Ruby. I'm the new house manager."

  "Caleb has a house manager? Since when?" The bigger question is why. Caleb lives in this spacious apartment all alone. He may have a guest stay over from time-to-time, or more likely every night, but there's no reason for him to have someone to manage that. He's wasteful. It's just another reason why we're so utterly mismatched.

  "I started last month." She glances down at the gold wristwatch on her arm.

  "Where were you earlier?" I nod towards her. "I didn't see you here this afternoon."

  "I was running errands for Caleb," she says it with so much pride it's as if she ventured out on a journey to bring back lifesaving supplies.

  I shake my head slightly. "Where is he? I need to talk to him."

  "He's not here." She shifts to the right on her feet before pulling her index finger over the dusty surface of a small table that is placed in the foyer. "I need to address this."

  I need to find Caleb, or more importantly, I need to find Asher. "Do you know where he is?"

  "He's on a date." The words leave her lips just as I feel my smartphone vibrate in my hand.

  I look down and I finally feel my lungs fill with air. It's Asher. He's calling and I may just get all the answers I need.

  Chapter 6

  "Why aren't we at Axel NY?" Ivy Marlow says as she glances around the vibrantly colored Italian eatery that is only blocks away from her apartment. "I made the reservation for Axel myself last week, Rowan."

  She did. I can't argue that point. Axel is Ivy's favorite restaurant in all of Manhattan. It's actually the first choice of many of the people I know, including Caleb. I have little doubt that he's there right now, sitting way too close to his date, drinking a glass of wine and trying to control his raging hard-on. I shake my head to ward off the thought.

  When I spoke to Asher on the phone he told me that he hadn't seen Caleb since the police were called to their office. I could hear the regret in his tone. He's staying with a friend tonight. His voice cracked when he asked me if he could stop by my office in the morning. I suggested we meet briefly this evening, but I could tell he was exhausted. He promised, without the least bit of prompting on my part, that he'd stay in and sleep. Asher knows the devastation that I suffered through because of a man's addictions in the past.

  "Something is wrong." She gestures towards me with the half-full glass of house red wine in her hand. "You've been jumpy since you got to my place."

  I could argue that I was jumpy because her son decided to use my lap as a mini trampoline. I'd tried to embrace her three-year-old son, Jackson, when I walked through the door but he had another plan in place. He'd dragged me by the hand to an overstuffed leather chair, instructed me to sit and proceeded to use my head as leverage as he bounced on my lap. Right now my thighs are on fire. I was going to swing by the gym for a yoga class in the morning to try and relax, but I doubt I'll even be able to bend my legs at all. Jackson is the sweetest boy I've ever met, but he's not a lightweight. The boy is built like his father. He's strong and sturdy and judging by the warm embrace he gave me before I left, his heart is just as big as Jax Walker's heart is.

  "How's Jax?" I try to change the subject by shifting it to her husband. "Why wasn't he at home?"

  She peers over the edge of the wine glass. "He's meeting with a business associate about a new deal. You never ask about Jax. What's going on?"

  "Your sitter seemed nice." I decide that for now, I'm going to play the oblivious card. If Ivy gets enough wine into
her petite self, I won't have to stall much longer. The girl loves to talk about herself when she's bordering on the edge of intoxication. I should know. That's how I found out about her real hair color, the unwanted details about the time Jax fucked her in the corridor of an office building and how she giggles whenever she has a pedicure. She's adorable when she drinks too much so if it happens tonight, I'm definitely not going to complain. I need a distraction and tipsy Ivy may be exactly the perfect thing.

  "We're not going to talk about her." She places the glass down. "You know you can tell me anything. Did something happen at work?"

  Ivy and I couldn't be more polar opposite about our respective career choices. She's a jewelry designer. Her creativity helped propel her into the position as one of the most sought after designers on the east coast. She has a small storefront and studio named Whispers of Grace in SoHo. The tenor of the space is elegant and sophisticated. I felt an immediate sense of calmness wash over me the first time I walked through the door in search of a gift for my mother. Clive had directed me to Ivy's shop. I hadn't questioned him. I'd followed his advice and I not only found a delicate ruby necklace that day that my mother adores but I found a best friend in Ivy. We hit it off quickly and since that day, almost six months ago, we've become inseparable.

  "It's not work," I say handily before taking a first sip of the wine that the server poured for me more than thirty minutes ago. "It's something else."

  "Did you meet someone?" She leans her elbows on the worn wooden table.

  I'm tempted to confide in her but the undisputed fact of the matter is that Jax is Clive's first cousin and I'm convinced that Ivy tells Jax everything. In the big picture that shouldn't matter but the reality of the situation is that Jax and Clive go for a drink after work at least once a week. I don't want to have to explain to my boss why I didn't tell him that Caleb had called the police on his brother. Clive wants what is best for me, and he believes that Caleb is bad news. After today, I'd have to agree with him but I'm not ready to admit that to him just yet.

  "I haven't met anyone," I confess. "I haven't been on a date in months, Ivy."

  "I know someone who I think would be perfect for you." She takes another heavy mouthful of wine. "You'd like him. He's got tats."

  "Tats?" I try to hold back a laugh. "What are tats?"

  "Tattoos," she says with effortless ease.

  "You call them tats now?" I tease. "What's up with that?"

  "Everyone calls them tats." She raises a brow. "He's got them and he's hot."

  I can't stop myself from rolling my head back as I giggle. "Your definition of hot isn't the same as mine."

  "I know you think Jax is hot." She tips the now empty wine glass in her hand in my direction. "I saw you checking him out the first time you met him."

  Dammit. I thought I'd gotten away with that. I had checked him out before I realized he was happily married. It was impossible not to gawk at the man when you catch your first glimpse of him. He's handsome, he knows he is and he's just edging on cultured. Ivy's lucky. I don't have to tell her that. She's the one who is constantly sending me text messages about the daises Jax brings her every few days. Add that to the fact that he can't stop staring at her whenever they're in a room together and I'd say that she found the last perfect man on earth.

  "Tell me about the man with the tats." I motion towards the server. "Who is he?"

  "His name is Tyler Monroe."

  "Tyler Monroe," I repeat it back as I try and place it within my mind. I don't think I've ever heard Ivy mention him before. "How do you know him?"

  "He's working on a restaurant deal with Jax." She motions around the quaint, but cluttered, interior of the space we're sitting in. "It's not like this. It's more like Axel. Tyler is part owner. He's the chef too."

  A man who can cook who has tattoos? That's the opposite of what I usually look for in a man but since I haven't been on a date, or had sex, in months; I'm going to venture outside my typical type. "Do you think he'd be interested in me?"

  "Um…let me see." She leans back in the wooden chair and crosses her arms over her chest. "You're tall. You must be at least five foot eight. You're a gorgeous brunette. You have the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen and your body is killer."

  That's the most compliments I've received in a single breath in... well, ever," I half-tease. "When you tell the chef about me, say those exact things."

  "I've already told the chef about you." She pulls her large purse into her lap. "I showed him a picture of you."

  "You what?" I should be offended but I'm not. I don't typically do blind dates even when I've seen a picture of the man I'm meeting. I've always meet men organically. I met my last boyfriend at a sandwich shop on the Upper West Side. The guy before that I met at the gym. I've never lacked for the attention of men but since I've gotten more immersed in work, I haven't followed up on any of the obvious flirting glances men have been tossing at me.

  "This one." She shoves her smartphone into my hands. "I took that a few weeks ago when you were playing with Jackson at the zoo."

  My eyes dart down to the screen. My hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail on the top of my head. I'm not wearing any make-up and the jeans and oversized grey sweater I'm wearing is doing little to accentuate anything. I look like a woman who rolled out of bed, pulled on her mother's clothes and wandered out into the free world. "Ivy, this is horrible. You don't have a better picture of me than this?"

  She shakes her head slightly from side-to-side. "There isn't a better picture of you than that. You look amazing."

  "I look hideous." I push the phone back at her. "If you're going to set me up with anyone, the least you can do is show a decent picture of me."

  "He thinks you're beautiful," she says quietly as she looks down. "He said you were breathtaking, Rowan."

  Chapter 7

  Breathtaking? I'd never describe myself that way. I'm not the type of person to stand exposed in front of a full-length mirror so I can find fault with the parts of me that others may not deem perfect. I've always embraced who I am. I like my body and I've never shied away from sharing it with a man when I feel close to him.

  I've been with men who've told me that I'm pretty, cute and even adorable. I dated a guy in college who never failed to mention that he loved blondes, but there was something irresistible about me. I grabbed tightly to those words until I caught him in his dorm room with a blonde.

  I don't need a man's approval. That's not what I'm looking for. I am looking for a man who appreciates me exactly the way I am.

  "Why are you staring at yourself in the mirror?" My roommate, Graham, pops into view behind my reflection. "You're not going to tell me that you're getting a boob job, are you?"

  That's the reason I live with him. Ivy had introduced me to Graham the day after I met her. He used to work for the jewelry company that commissioned Ivy's pieces before she ventured out on her own. After leaving New York to pursue his happily-ever-after dream in Seattle with his husband, Graham and landed back here while in the midst of a nasty divorce. He needed a friend and a place to stay. I needed the other half of the rent when my last roommate left without notice. It was a match made in renter's heaven and within the past few months, Graham and I have become close friends.

  "You don't think they're big enough?" I turn to face him, jutting my chest out towards him. "Most guys like them."

  His eyes settle on the front of my white tank top. "You're not wearing a bra. Doesn't that usually mean your tits are too small if you can wear a shirt like that without a bra?"

  I glance down at the tank and the black yoga shorts I put on after I got home from having dinner with Ivy. "It means my bra was too tight."

  "I wouldn't change a thing about you." He waves his hand in the air between us. "If I was straight, you'd totally be my type."

  "You know that's not true," I counter. "If you were straight, Ivy would be your type."

  He twists his lips into a mock scowl. "Ivy is a cute litt
le thing, isn't she?"

  I nod. "Are you taking off?"

  "I'm heading to a club with some friends." He adjusts the buttons of the front of his light blue shirt. "I need to start getting out there again."

  He does. I've listened to Graham share the painful details of how his marriage crumbled. He puts on a brave face but I hear him pacing the floors at night. I know that his mind is constantly in high gear. Giving up on a lost love is never easy and for Graham the journey is especially painful since he gave up everything he had here to forge a new life in another state. Sacrifice is romantic until the only payoff is a broken heart and endless pain.

  "Have fun." I reach forward to embrace him. "Be careful."

  "I love that you worry about me." He brushes his lips against my cheek. "I worry about you too."

  "I'm fine." I pull back to look up and into his eyes. "Everything is good in my world."

  "Caleb Foster was here earlier." He leans forward so his forehead rests against mine, his brown hair falling into his blue eyes. "He really wanted to talk to you."

  "When?" I pull back to look directly at his face. "What time?"

  "I was watching one of my Judge shows," he pauses to flash me a gorgeous smile. "It had to have been around six I guess."

  "Did he say what he wanted?" I cross my arms over my chest. "It's weird that he didn't try and call me."

  He shrugs his left shoulder slightly. "He said he needed to talk to you and when I told him you weren't home from work yet, he mumbled something and took off."

  "That's it?" I tilt my head to the side trying to decipher what the hell Caleb wanted.

  "If he didn't try and call you, it's nothing." He motions towards where my phone is sitting atop my bed. "Call him and ask him. It's the sure way to find out what he wanted."

  "I don't want to talk to him. Something happened today and I'm pissed. "