Free Escape (Part Three) by Zelda Reed Page B

smiled. “I would like that.”
    We were steps away from the bar when the door of a black car opened. Out stepped Chace, sporting a long tweed coat and black leather gloves.
    My sister stepped in front of me. “What the fuck do you want?”
    He held up his hands. “I wanted to apologize.” He leaned to the side, looking at me behind my sister. “To the both of you.”
    Laura crossed her arms. “For what?”
    Chace resisted rolling his eyes. “First, for stealing your sister away without asking. And then for firing her.” He looked at me. “For firing you without giving a reason.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” I said, turning on the ice, heading down the street.
    Laura followed me and the car door closed. Chace ran to catch up.
    “Please,” he said, his breath forming white clouds in the air. “I need to talk to you.”
    “She already said no,” said Laura.
    “Actually, she didn’t,” said Chace.
    “You know I could scream,” Laura said, “and in seconds a couple of bouncers will come running to slug your ass in the jaw. You might crack your head on the pavement and we both know you don’t want that to happen again.”
    I looked down the sidewalk. Two of the bouncers from the bar were watching us cautiously, their gaze pinned on Chace who backed away from my sister. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets.
    “Alright,” he said.
    He turned away, shoulders hunched forward as he ambled down the sidewalk.
    “Let’s go,” Laura said, grabbing my arm.
    I planted my feet against the ground. “Wait,” I called out.
    Chace stopped and threw me a look over his shoulder, his signature eyebrow raised.
    “What are you doing?” said Laura, her hand tightening around my arm.
    “I just want to hear what he has to say.”
    The wind kicked up, scratching at our cheeks and ears.
    “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she said, though there was less malice in her words and more – pity, regret?
    “I know,” I said, fixing a smile to my mouth. “But you have to let me be one.”
    She threw her hands in the air. “I’ll meet you at home,” she said, turning on her feet.
    Laura disappeared around the corner.
    Chace waited, his eyes cast over me as if he couldn’t believe I’d agreed to talk to him.
    “I’m not having this conversation outside,” I said, eyeing the red tip of his nose.
    He glanced towards the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
    “Yes, but not there.”

Eleven
     
    We went to a little bar down the road, where the exterior wall was made of glass and everyone sat at small circular tables and tall barstools with white curved seats. The bartenders were beautiful and fit, wearing sleek black suits or dresses, mixing drinks to a constant thump of house music, low so you could hear yourself speak. Chace and I took a seat in the center of the room, the purple lights flashing across his face as he ordered a vodka soda. I did the same.
    “I never thought you would work in a place like that,” he said.
    I shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? You can’t get a job in print if you don’t have an MFA.”
    “ I don’t have an MFA.”
    “But you had enough money to live off of while you traveled and wrote your first book.”
    Chace ducked his head. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for having money – I hated people who did that – but my inch of jealousy slipped.
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “You don’t have to apologize.”
    “Not about that.”
    His elbows were on the glass table, hands folded loosely in front of him as the bartender sauntered over with our drinks. She was beautiful, blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail, blue eyes surveying his face. She was Jennifer-lite but Chace paid her no attention. He slid his card from his pocket and handed it to her, his eyes trained on me.
    “I shouldn’t have fired you like that.”
    “Yes, you should have. I lied to you and didn’t deserve that job.”
    “But you did. I’ve been juggling assistants