needed to drown himself in her, but he couldn’t do anything in between.
She was halfway to the door when she stopped and turned around. “Harrison, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for your help today.”
She nodded and left. When the door closed behind her and he heard the sound of the elevator whishing its way toward ground level, he poured himself a drink he knew he didn’t need and took it out onto the terrace. The moon was a perfect, giant orb in a sheet of black. Luminous; full of promise. It should have been another signpost of where he was headed. Vengeance. Yet he continued to feel nothing. The fear he dreaded always found a way in, insidious as it was, worming its way into his consciousness.
He lifted his palms to his temples. Willed it away. It was nights like this, nights when he scaled Mount Everest and won, when any other human being would have been basking in the glory, that he wondered if the darkness would claim him, too.
There had never been any sign he had picked up his father’s genetic markers for mania, but the depression beckoned, whispering along the edges of his mind. He raised his eyes to the Grant tower, a shining beacon of what made America great. Had his father known how close to the flame he was flying? Or had he been blinded by the heights he ached to achieve?
Would it be too much for him? His head pounded with the weight of too many decisions. Too many paths that were no longer clear. Too much, too much.
A jet banked over the Hudson, the lights on its wings flashing in the darkness. He stared at it, hypnotized by the pulsing flares. Is destiny the fate of every man? Is your path irreversible no matter how you pursue it? Or is there a way to rise above it? A way to blaze a path that is yours and yours alone?
The throbbing in his head intensified. He needed to escape, but he didn’t know how.
FRANKIE COULDN’T GET into the car. The haunted, hunted look on Harrison’s face when she’d left, the way he’d been ever since Leonid had agreed to sign the deal, was gnawing at her. She’d expected him to be victorious and superior. Instead she’d found him dark and introspective.
Working nearly 24/7 with someone meant you were in tune with their moods, and the Harrison she’d witnessed tonight was one she hadn’t seen before. One that scared her. Leonid might have passed it off as exhaustion, distraction, but she knew it was much more.
Derrick gave her a quelling look. He wanted to get home to his family. He thought she was nuts standing here on the sidewalk, utterly caught in limbo.
She got into the car. They pulled smoothly away from the sidewalk, weaving into traffic. Her stomach churned in big, conflicted circles. She had led Leonid to believe he could depend on Harrison when in reality he would likely be bitterly disappointed. Whether Leonid had read between the lines or taken her words at face value was something she would never know.
A soft curse left her lips. She didn’t want anyone’s future revolving around her. Then to make her choice only to have Harrison turn into a stone wall when he had been handed everything he’d wanted? What is going on?
She clenched her hand into a fist and pressed it against the seat. Was he feeling guilty for what he was about to do to Leonid even though he’d laid his cards on the table? Or had he finally realized, with the final piece in place to destroy Anton Markovic, that vengeance was a poor substitute for a broken heart? That it would never bring his father back?
Or was it something else entirely? That call from Tom Dennison today? The twisting in her gut intensified. She couldn’t do it.
She tapped on the screen. Derrick opened it. ‘Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you take me back? I’ve forgotten something.”
He gave her a supremely patient look. “Of course. Let me just find somewhere to turn around.”
When he deposited her on the sidewalk outside Harrison’s building once more, she thanked him and told him to go home. “I may be a while.”
Derrick nodded. “Call me if you change your mind.”
She was out of her mind. Setting her jaw, she entered the building through the side entrance. The door required a thumb scan to get in but Harrison had taken care of that for her last week when she’d had to come collect some documents for him. She rode the whisper-quiet elevator to the penthouse, heart pounding in her ears.
The doors of the elevator swished open. The apartment was eerily silent as she moved through the entrance way and into the living room. The precious artwork glowed silently on its perfect cream backdrop. No Harrison.
His study was in darkness. A glow from the terrace suggested he was there. She walked through the living room and stepped outside. Harrison was standing at the railing, looking out at the skyline. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she walked toward him. He turned around, frowning. “Did I forget to give you something?”
“No.” Her knees betrayed just the slightest wobble as she took the last few steps toward him. “I just—” Her voice trailed off. Just what? What the heck was she doing here?
She came to a stop in front of him. Her gaze rose to his. He was as tall and commanding as ever, as stomach-clenchingly beautiful, but the tormented look dominated now. It emanated from every pore of him, blanketing her in his desperation. She pulled in a breath.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The shadows in his face darkened. “I told you I was fine. Go home, Francesca.”
“But you aren’t.” The words spilled from her mouth. “Ever since Leonid agreed to the deal, you’ve been off.”
“I’m fine.”
She frowned. “It’s what we’ve been working toward. I thought you would be happy.”
“I am happy.” The emotion vibrating in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He turned to look at the skyline again. “It’s none of your concern, Francesca. Go home. I’ll see you in the afternoon.”
She stood her ground, legs shaking now. For a man who claimed to feel little emotion it was written in every taut muscle of his body. In the rigid column of his back, his neck. In the barely leashed confusion that surrounded him. It reached out and wrapped itself around her, pulling her toward him.
“Sometimes,” she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm, “the things we want the most, the things we think are going to make us feel better, don’t. Can’t because they were never the solution in the first place.”
He spun to face her, dislodging her hand. Antagonism poured off him in waves. “Nailing Anton Markovic to the ground is going to make me feel better, Francesca. Much better. Make no mistake about it.”
Her heart thudded against her rib cage. “Then why? Why are you like this?”
“Because I have too much going on in my head.” He practically yelled the words at her. “This is not another case of you saving the day, Francesca. It’s far more complex than one of your
