Disappointment doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now. It's there in my voice. I can hear it. Nolan sure as hell can too. I don't care.
I was prepared to tell him to him go ahead and call Crew so he could help Adley before he came walking back into the office. I could sense immediately just by the expression on his face that our date was over. I had known it before he explained that the last call was a pressing matter that had to be dealt with immediately. In simple terms, it means I need to haul ass out of his apartment right the fuck now, even if I'm not ready to.
"I'm sorry, Ellie."
You'd think he'd have the decency to at least tear himself away from his phone while he half-heartedly apologizes for ending our night early. He doesn't though. He types away, sending someone a text message or an email. For all I fucking know, it's a sext message.
I skim my fingers over the screen of my phone. "I'll take off now. I have an Uber coming to get me. He's only six blocks away."
"I could have called for my driver."
He could have, but he didn't. Instead, he focused on something on his phone the same way he is now. I want to talk to him. I have questions that I need answers to.
To begin with, I want to know why he said he lives near Cremza when he obviously doesn't. I'm assuming he said it as a way to break the ice when we saw each other there. I'd like to hear him clarify it for me.
I'd also love to know why he has a yellowing copy of the New York Times from a day in May five years ago open on his desk. The calendar on the wall is stuck back at that month too. I noticed the date when I was drooling over the picture of a sandy beach displayed for that particular month.
The dust-covered, open packaging from a smartphone sits atop his desk. The model is obsolete. The only value it would have to anyone at this point would be as a paperweight, even though it was in high demand a few years ago. It's been replaced several times over by newer, more streamlined versions.
The phone Nolan is holding is the same model as mine. It's just two months old and already there's a promise from the tech company that produces it, that a better phone is on the horizon.
It's as if we stepped into a time machine when we crossed the threshold and entered this room.
Maybe I'm paranoid because of what happened with Tad. Maybe I'm just reading more into Nolan's home office than is there. I can't tell. I just know that something feels off and my intuition rarely fails me.
"I'll call you in the morning, Ellie."
Again, his eyes are glued to his phone's screen. Seriously?
"Sure, whatever works," I say because, at this point, I just want to leave.
I wait for him to offer to walk me out, but that would require some attention being thrown my way and that's obviously not happening.
"I'll get my purse and my shoes and then I'll go," I grumble as I step to the side. "I can find my way back to the lobby on my own. Can I ask you something first?"
As if on cue, his phone rings again. He stiffens, his hand reaching to scrub the back of his neck. "Fuck, just fuck."
It's enough of an answer to send me toward the office door. "Good night, Nolan."
He catches me by the elbow, his chest pressing into my back, his voice thick in my ear. "If this were anything else, I would bury it until tomorrow. I would completely ignore it and take you to bed."
But… I wait for it.
"But, I can't. I fucking can't."
I turn back to look at him. "I'll catch up with you soon."
He kisses me softly on my forehead as his phone continues its cruel reminder that his attention is no longer mine. "Tonight was amazing. It's just the beginning."
Of what, I want to ask, but I don't. I can't. He brings the phone to his ear and he brusquely tells the person on the other end to hold as he waits for me to leave the room.
***
"Ellie Madden?" he literally screams my name at me. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
I wish I were. There are a lot of Uber drivers in Manhattan. What are the chances that the one that I get is the boy I used to sit behind in eighth-grade geometry class? It's the same boy who was in virtually every one of my calculus classes in high school. He's not a boy now. He's a man with thinning light brown hair and hazel eyes. "It's me."
"You remember me, right? Rick Jones. You don't look the same."