Chapter 52 Careful, Kaden
What the hell am I supposed to do? We’ve been here, what...twenty minutes? Thirty, max? Dante and I usually go for two hours. I’m stacking lies like a house of cards, and the guilt is starting to make me feel nauseous. Part of me wants to ignore the driver entirely, to just get in my own car and disappear, but ignoring Bastian usually results in him escalating, and I’m not sure I can handle a public scene at Titan & fucking Grit.
I find Dante mid-set. I step behind the bench to spot him, my hands hovering over the bar, but my mind is miles away. Ten minutes. I look at the clock on the wall. Nine now.
Dante racks the weight and sits up, wiping his forehead with a towel. He catches my expression and frowns. "Everything okay? Who was that?"
"Work," I lie, the word tasting like guilt. "I've gotta bail. I’m sorry, man."
His brow furrows. "We just got started. What’s the deal?"
"The shoot from yesterday," I say, leaning on the rack to hide the fact that my hands are shaking. "Some of the digital files were corrupted. They need a few retakes today or the whole campaign stalls."
Dante scoffs, dropping his towel. "It’s not a medical emergency, Kaden. Finish your workout. What are they gonna do, sue you? You can’t let them think you’re that eager to please. You show up every time they snap their fingers, they’ll start treating you like furniture."
"It’s just how it works," I mutter, a little too quickly. "There’s a lot of people’s time on the line."
"You aren't even gonna hit the shower first?" He calls out as I start backing away.
"I'll swing by the house. Quick shower, change, then I’ll head out.”
He watches me go, his expression softening into something like concern. "Fine. But you’re definitely coming to the studio tonight. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Don't be a stranger, man."
The guilt hits me twice as much. I offer a quick, tight wave and zip up my hoodie, pulling the strings tight to hide my face. Then I check the time as I hit the exit.
Five minutes left.
The air outside hits cooler...cleaner, but it doesn’t help. I pull out my phone, thumbs flying across the screen as I march toward the parking lot.
"Don’t bother sending anyone." I hesitate for half a second, then keep going. "I’m already leaving. If you wanna see me, send the address and I’ll decide if I’m coming."
I consider adding that I’m not a package he can just schedule for pickup, but I decide against it. I reach my car, the key fob chirping as I unlock the door. I hit send just as I'm about to get in. The message whooshes off. And then—
"Kaden."
My heart stops, flatlines for a full second. I turn slowly, my phone still clutched in my hand, and my stomach drops through the asphalt.
It’s him, the driver. Bastian’s car is idling just a few feet away, looking like a predator crouched in the middle of a suburban parking lot. The driver's expression is as unreadable and disapproving as ever. He doesn't say anything else, he just waits, his silence a command in itself. I look down at the text on my screen, then back at the man who clearly didn't need ten minutes to find me.
"Mr. Steele is waiting," he says, his voice perfectly level.
"That's okay," I try to sound a lot more in control than I feel. I gesture vaguely toward my beat-up car, the metal glinting pathetically. "Just send me the address, man. I'll get there on my own."
His expression doesn't shift, but his posture becomes even more rigid. "George," he says flatly.
I blink, "What?"
"My name is George," he repeats, "You should feel free to use it."
"Right. George," I say, trying to regain my footing. "Like I said, I've got my own car, and I'm not—"
"Leave your vehicle here," he cuts in, his tone bordering on clinical. "Someone will be by shortly to take good care of it.
I shake my head, a spike of genuine irritation finally overriding the panic. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening.”
I don't wait for a response. I climb into my car and crank the engine. It sputters to life with a protest that feels embarrassing under the guy's watchful eye, but I put it in gear and pull away anyway.
As I navigate the turns toward the house, my grip on the steering wheel is tight enough to turn my knuckles white. I hate the way George looks at me, almost like he’s seen a dozen versions of me come and go. I hate that he knows exactly what kind of dynamic this is. But most of all, I hate the idea of Bastian treating me like a side piece he can just summon and collect at his leisure. My phone pings on the passenger seat. I glance down, it's a text from Bastian. Two words, a warning wrapped in a thin layer of amusement.
"Careful, Kaden."
“Yeah, you too,” I mutter, staring straight ahead at the road. I start wishing I’d stayed at the gym just to prove the point, just to see how far I could push his buttons before they snapped. But then the image of George walking onto the gym floor and addressing me in front of Dante flashes through my mind. I wouldn't have been able to dig myself out of that hole in a million years. A few minutes later, my phone buzzes again. This time I check it immediately... it's an address.
I’m still annoyed, still sweaty, and still lying to everyone I care about, but I can’t ignore the way my blood is humming. When I get to the house, I park the car and practically sprint to the front door, all while maintaining a mental monologue about how 'not' excited I am. I am not rushing. I'm simply being efficient. I’m grateful to find the driveway empty, Josie’s car is gone, sparing me another round of the Spanish Inquisition.
Inside, I tell myself I’m only showering because I just came from the gym. I tell myself I’m picking out the charcoal-fitted long-sleeved tee and the blue, nicely fitting jeans because they were the first things I grabbed. I check my hair in the mirror for the third time, grab a light jacket I almost certainly won't need, and head back out.