Free Down to You by M. Leighton Page B

luxurious, dimly lit reception area. Directional
lighting sparkles like thousands of diamonds in the gold lettering
that reads Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
    We’re at the law firm where he works. With
Marissa. And my uncle. Who’s a partner. He’s the Townsend in
Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
    I want to ask why we’re here, but again, I
don’t. He takes my hand and tugs, leading me out of the car into
the quiet of the empty office. We make our way across to another,
smaller bank of elevators. We go up two more floors, but when the
doors open this time, it’s to a breathtaking view of the brightly
lit skyline of Atlanta.
    I gasp. I can’t help it. I’ve never seen such
a beautiful sight. It’s like a postcard. Only real.
    I weave my way around groupings of expensive
outdoor furniture until I reach the wall that surrounds the
rooftop. The warm breeze teases the hair at my temples as I look
out at the Bank of America building across the way.
    “Up here, people like that don’t exist,” Nash
says quietly as he comes to stand beside me. He’s so close his
shoulder is brushing mine. I fight the urge to lean against
him.
    I can feel warmth from his body radiating
toward me, teasing me with its enticing heat. I shiver in
response.
    “Are you cold?” he asks, turning toward me to
run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if
testing the temperature of my skin. “Here,” he says, taking off his
jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and
heavy and smells just like Nash, like whatever cologne or soap he
uses. I figure it must be called delicious, maybe by Armani
or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. “Is
that better?” He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I
won’t be cold. Of course, I won’t complain. Even if I was sweating,
I wouldn’t complain.
    “That’s much better, thank you.”
    We stand in silence for so long I finally
begin to get uncomfortable. But just when I start to rack my brain
for things to say, Nash speaks.
    And drops a nice little bomb.
     

CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Nash
     
    “My father’s in prison. For murder.”
    Way to just blurt it out there, idiot!
    I don’t know why I feel so compelled to tell
Olivia all my dirty little secrets, but I do. Maybe it’s because
she feels like the misfit. I can relate to that. In a world where
appearances and reputation mean everything, I have to work extra
hard to make sure that everything I say and do is above reproach.
It was a nearly impossible feat to overcome, outlive and
outdistance myself from my father and his imprisonment, but I did
it. After years and years of hard work and kissing all the right
asses, I finally did it. And now I’m one step closer to my
goal.
    After what feels like a freakin’ eternity of
silence, I look down at her. She’s looking up at me, her lips
slightly parted in shock. Her bright green eyes, dark in the dim
light, are focused sharply on mine. But the thing I notice most
isn’t what’s in them—surprise, disbelief, curiosity, maybe a little
pity—it’s what’s not. Judgment. Disdain. Horror. None of the
things I’ve so often seen in people’s eyes when I’ve had to tell
them my story.
    Now I want to kiss her even more.
    Damn you! You just get more and more
appealing.
    “What? No running away, screaming?” I say,
unable to keep the slight trace of bitterness from my voice.
    She surprises me with a grin and a dubious
look. “I think we’ve clearly established that I’m nothing like the
people you normally associate with.”
    I laugh. And it’s genuine. “Yeah, I guess we
have.”
    She turns toward me. The only thing on her
face now is interest. Simple curiosity. I’m glad to see that trace
of pity gone. Of the many things I’d like to have from this girl,
pity is nowhere on the list.
    “Wanna talk about it?”
    I shrug. “It doesn’t bother me as bad as it
used to. It feels more like part of my past now than