Exposed by Jasinda Wilder Page B

hurts.
    Swipe right; 0-3-0-9; contacts; Logan.
    It rings once. Twice. Three times.
    “Logan Ryder.” His voice alone soothes me.
    “Logan? It’s me. It’s”—I have to suck in a breath—“it’s Isabel.”
    There are voices in the background, a phone ringing. “Sorry, it’s crazy at the office right now. Hold on, let me go somewhere quiet.” I hear a door click closed, and the background noise fades. “Are you okay?”
    “No. I—I left.”
    “Left?” You suck in a breath. “You mean you
left
, left?”
    “Yes, Logan. I walked out.” My voice quavers. “I . . . Caleb, he . . . we—he did something. To me.” I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that, yet.
    “And he let you leave?”
    “He gave me a cell phone, and even programmed your number into it.”
    “So he can track you, probably.”
    “He told me he had a microchip surgically implanted in my hip. So I don’t think he needs a cell phone to track me.”
    “Are you joking?”
    “Humor is not one of my strong suits, Logan.”
    “Goddamn. That’s fucked up. Like really,
really
fucked up.”
    “I know.” I fall silent as a man sidles past me on the sidewalk, eyeing me with something like greed in his gaze. I give him my best glare, and he continues past me. “Caleb, when I told him I was leaving, all he said was to have fun with you, and that it wouldn’t last.”
    “I wonder what game he’s playing,” he muses.
    “I wish I knew.” A phone rings in the background. “Do you have to answer that?”
    “No. That’s why I have employees,” he says. “Where are you?”
    “I don’t know. A few blocks from the tower. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t want to just go running straight to you, but I don’t know what to do.”
    “Of course you should go straight to me. I’m here for you, Isabel.”
    I like that. Oh, I like it very much. Hearing my name on his lips. A normal name. A beautiful name.
    “Can you come get me?” I ask.
    “I—shit. Fuck. I can’t. God, honey, I’m so sorry. I’m at the tail end of a fifteen-million-dollar acquisition.” He curses again, fluently. “My office is on Ninth and Forty-fifth. Can you make it here?”
    “Yes. I’ll call you again when I’m at the intersection?”
    “All right. I’m sorry, normally I’d drop whatever I’m doing, but I have to be physically present for this one.”
    “No, it’s all right.”
    “It’s not. I don’t even have a car to send for you. I keep things simple, you know?”
    “Simple is good. I’ll make it.”
    “But your panic attacks—”
    I try to infuse strength into my voice. “I’ll have to work through it.”
    “One breath at a time. One step at a time. Baby steps to Logan.”
    “Is that another reference to that movie?”
    “Yes.”
    “I still haven’t seen it, you know. I’ve never seen any movies.”
    “Make it to my office, and we’ll set about rectifying that.”
    “Okay.” I take a breath. “I can do this.”
    “You can do this.” I hear a voice in the background call Logan’s name urgently. “I have to go. Call me if you need me. I swear I’ll answer, no matter what.”
    “Okay. Now go do your acquisitioning.”
    He laughs. “See? You do have a sense of humor. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
    I end the call, to save him having to. I look up at the nearest intersection, at the signs. Seventh and Forty-fourth. Two blocks up, one block over. I can do it.
    I push away from the wall. Straighten my spine. Lift my chin. Breathe deeply. One foot in front of the other. Ahead, a siren blares, and I flinch, and my breath lodges in my throat, but I force my feet to move. One foot forward. Follow it with the other. One step after another. Keep breathing. Ignore the people. Wait at the intersection for the light to change, a crowd around me. No one is looking at me. I am just another face in the crowd. Anonymous. It feels good.
    I make it to Forty-fifth, but then I can’t figure out whether to