Chapter 6 - The Unwanted Guest
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At seven o'clock the next morning, someone began pounding loudly on the metal security door of my studio.
I pulled on a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and an old cotton shirt, tied my damp hair into a messy bun, and walked to the door. I pulled open the small iron peephole.
Brad was standing in the concrete hallway.
He was still wearing his tuxedo trousers from the night before, though his jacket was gone and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, wrinkled and stained with rain. The pink mark beneath his right eye had turned into a faint, purplish bruise.
“Kate,” he said through the metal door, his voice hoarse. “Open the door. Please.”
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open six inches, keeping the heavy security chain in place. “What are you doing here, Brad?”
He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, looking exhausted and disheveled—a state I had never seen him in during our entire relationship.
“I spent four hours looking for that ring last night,” he whispered, refusing to look me in the eye. “The hotel staff had to vacuum the carpet in grid patterns. I found it at three in the morning.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box, holding it out toward the crack in the door.
“I don't care about the ring, Brad,” I said flatly. “Take it back to Tiffany’s.”
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“Kate, listen to me,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “Last night was a mess. Vanessa was out of line. I realized that after you left. I told her to leave.”
“You told her to leave after I walked out, Brad,” I corrected him, my voice devoid of anger. “You defended her when it mattered. You told me I was embarrassing you while she was smearing her lipstick on your face.”
