Hardest to Love by Sidney Ivens

Author:Sidney Ivens [Ivens, Sidney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel
Publisher: Sidney Ivens
Published: 2019-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Lake Shore Drive is four lanes of traffic hell. Battling a headache, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. I guide the SUV past an endless steel rail, rows of trees, and Soldier Field to the right. If the Bears were playing and the quarterback chucked a wild pass, I might catch the football from the window, passenger side.

Passenger Elena’s been quiet. The only movement I’ve caught has been the occasional twist of those slim-fingered hands in her lap and fretting worthy of a grandma witnessing her grandson’s first sexual experience.

“Look. I know we’ve been—” I search for the word. “Distant.”

She straightens up in the seat, her knees locked together.

“You grew up in the bookstore, and I know it’s been your home.”

She glances over. “What did you do to your finger?”

“A hammer wanted to say hello.”

She pats the Ford’s glove compartment. “You borrow this?”

“No. Mine.”

“Your Bond car . . . “

“In my savings account.”

The frown fades from her face.

A white box truck with a green energy logo switches lanes right in front of me, not only blocking the view but spewing fumes. Way to go, eco-buddy. One call to the EPA and they’ll revoke your Prius. I slam on the horn. “Sometime today, people!”

“Yelling won’t get us there any faster.”

“Yeah, but it’ll diffuse the acid dissolving the walls of my stomach.” I cast a side glance. “That’s new.”

She fingers the bright patterned scarf. “This is a Hermes. One of my customers bought it for me as a gift.”

“Some customer.” The scarf’s flashy, almost overpowering, but the blues bring out the sapphire in her eyes. “A male customer?”

“It came all the way from London, can you believe it? They have stores in the U.S. but it came from London.” Her eyes widen, and a pretty pink deepens her cheeks.

“Who gave it to you?” I feel a little jab of something in my gut, and the pain in my jaw from clenching my teeth burns. Who is this mystery asshole bearing scarves? Six weeks ago, I could’ve inundated her with a warehouse of those things. “So who gave it to you? Some Brit polo player with Austin Powers teeth?”

“It’s a jaguar.” Either she didn’t hear me or is choosing not to answer. Instead, she looks down at it, pleased by the animal print in black, white and tan, the vivid turquoise and blues. “Look. He’s smiling.”

I squint. “The only jaguars I like are cars.” Damn. The exit. Getting too distracted by the beautiful girl sitting next to me. I turn off the interstate exit and make a sharp left.

She ducks a little so she can peer under the passenger windshield visor. “This is like a movie set. Look at the stone details and etchings on the buildings. You must miss it.”

“Been too busy to—damn.” I punch on the brakes, and the SUV lurches and almost gives us away.

“What?”

We both watch as Lexi crosses the street. She’s dressed in a tan cashmere coat and matching high-heeled boots and is heading into the building.

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