The High Price Of Father's Freedom

The bodyguards had already lifted Sophie, carrying her toward the service elevator with professional efficiency. Abbey took a step to follow, but Armond moved, blocking her path with his body.

"Abbey!" Miles called out, jogging over. "My car is right out front. I'll follow the ambulance."

Armond turned to Miles. He smoothed the lapel of his jacket. "You've been drinking, Sterling."

"I'm fine to drive," Miles bristled. "I had two drinks."

"And in this rain, in a Ferrari?" Armond shook his head, looking at Miles like a disappointed parent. "She needs safety, not a death wish."

Ken stepped forward, holding a sleek black folio. "Mr. Sterling, the floor manager needs you to sign for the damages. The glass Mr. Woodward broke... and the table spilled by your altercation."

"What? Armond broke the glass!" Miles protested.

"Technically, it was your guest who incited the incident," Ken said smoothly. "If you could just step this way..."

Miles looked at Abbey, then at the bill Ken was presenting. He was trapped by social protocol. "Abbey, wait here. I'll be two seconds."

He turned to argue with Ken.

Armond didn't wait. He gripped Abbey's elbow. His fingers were strong, digging into the tender flesh of her arm.

"Walk," he commanded.

He steered her away from the main exit, toward a panel in the wall that slid open to reveal a private elevator. He shoved her inside and hit the button for the garage.

The doors slid shut, cutting off the music, the noise, and Miles.

The silence in the small metal box was deafening. Abbey pulled her arm away, rubbing the spot where he had held her.

"I'm not going with you," she said, backing into the corner.

Armond watched the numbers count down. "Where are you going to go? Back to that rat-hole apartment in the East Village? The one with the broken lock on the front door?"

Abbey's breath hitched. "How do you know about the lock?"

"I know everything, Rose. I know you're eating ramen noodles five nights a week. I know your father's legal fees are drowning you." He turned to look at her. His eyes were tired. "I know you're scared."

"I'm not scared of you," she lied.

"You should be."

The elevator dinged. The doors opened to a private garage bay. The black Escalade was waiting, engine running.

"Get in," Armond said.

"No."

Armond sighed. He stepped close to her, crowding her against the elevator wall. He placed a hand on either side of her head, boxing her in.

"Don't make me carry you," he said softly. "I will do it. And I will enjoy it."

Abbey looked into his eyes. He wasn't bluffing. She ducked under his arm and marched to the car. She climbed into the back seat, slamming the door.

Armond got in the other side. He pressed a button, and the partition between them and the driver slid up, sealing them in a cocoon of leather and silence.

The car glided out of the garage and into the rainy night.

Abbey pressed herself against the door, as far away from him as possible. Armond loosened his tie. He looked at her profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights.

"Why?" he asked.

It was the question that had been hanging between them for five years.

Abbey stared out the window. "It was a summer fling, Armond. It ended."

"A fling?" Armond laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You left a note on the pillow. You changed your number. You vanished. That's not how a fling ends. That's how a witness protection program starts."

"I found out who you were," Abbey said. "I found out you weren't Armond Chevalier, the art student. You were Armond Woodward. We were... incompatible."

"So you ran because I was rich?"

"I ran because you lied!" She turned to face him, anger flaring. "And because I knew... I knew I couldn't be what you needed."

"And what did I need?"

"Someone who fits in that club upstairs," she spat. "Someone who doesn't have a felon for a father."

Armond reached out. He grabbed her chin, his thumb pressing against her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to her core.

"You think I care about your father?" he hissed. "I cared about you. I've known where you were for years, Rose." Abbey's blood ran cold. "Then why..." "I was waiting," he cut her off, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "For you to hit bottom. For you to be ready to admit you need me."

"My name is Abbey."

"Your name is whatever I say it is when we're alone."

He let go of her face. He sat back, running a hand through his hair. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by the mask of the CEO.

"We're going to my place. Sophie is safe. Tomorrow, we'll discuss your... situation."

"I'm not staying with you."

The car turned onto Park Avenue. It slowed in front of 432 Park, the needle-thin skyscraper that dominated the skyline.

"You are," Armond said. "Because I've bought your debt, Abbey."

Abbey froze. "What?"

"Your student loans. Your father's legal liens. I bought the debt this morning." He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't owe the bank anymore. You owe me."