by Serena Grey
I shake the feeling of sadness that comes with the thought, instead concentrating on the articles I’m reading. My mother has had articles written about her work and exhibitions, and Trent & Taylor has been featured in some popular publications. Even Aunt Jacie used to be a very popular model before she became the face of Trent & Taylor and married my uncle. However, all that is nothing compared to the volume of news that has been written about Landon’s family. There’s so much, going back to his great-grandfather, Gabriel Swanson, who built the Swanson hotel in New York in the forties, soon after the war ended. A few years later, he almost lost it, but was saved by Landon’s grandfather, Alexander Court, who used his money to turn the hotel into a world-class name in luxury. He also married Lily Swanson, Gabriel’s daughter, one of the most desired women in New York in her day, and changed the name of the hotel to the Swanson Court Hotel.
Then there’s Landon’s father, Preston Court, who seems to have been a playboy in his time. The archived articles are full of rumors of affairs, some of them dated after he had already married Alicia Creighton, a well-known ballerina and socialite. After she died, he turned into a recluse, hardly seen in public until his death a few years later.
I forget my novel, concentrating instead on Landon’s life, and wondering how his experiences have affected him. I bury myself in reading about him, going from the social and gossip sites to the business reports and online encyclopedia articles, until it feels as if I could write a paper about him if I wanted.
I know instinctively that there’s a lot more to him than even what I’ve read. The people behind the articles and profiles haven’t even scratched the surface of who he is. I doubt that anybody has, and as I finally get into bed, very late, I know I’d like to be the one who does.
THE next day, I spend the morning at the Gold Dust. Most of the refurbishment work is completed, and the project team is slowly giving way for the operations people, who start to prepare the hotel for opening night. I spend most of the morning with the photographers, a husband and wife team who met in art school and established a firm together. They set up and take pictures, while letting me scroll through a folder on their tablet, of the pictures documenting the refurbishment of the hotel from the first day.
Later, I have lunch at a small restaurant close to Union Square, on the advice of the concierge at the Rosemont Royal, who makes the reservation for me. While I eat, I watch the tourists outside at the square. Back at the Rosemont, the manager reminds me that the spa services are available. With nothing else to do, I decide to spend the afternoon being pampered, and I emerge with my muscles loosened, and my hair, nails and brows done to perfection. After that I laze around the apartment, a little sullen that Landon hasn’t called to tell me that he’s back, or on his way. In fact, he hasn’t called at all since he left. I start to feel like I imagine jealous wives feel, and it annoys me.
When my phone rings, I practically pounce on it, thinking that it’s Landon. I’m surprised by the severity of my disappointment when it’s only Jack.
“Hi Jack.”
“You could try to sound a little more excited to hear from me,” he teases.
“I could try, but why should I?”
“Okay, I deserve that.” He pauses. “So, what’s going on with you?”
I look around the empty suite. “Nothing in particular.”
“I’m in luck then. Guess who’s in San Fran?”
I frown. “Not you?”
“Definitely me.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Let’s hang out. I’m sure you’ve worked so much you deserve to take a break.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it possible that I missed you so much, I flew across the country to see you?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m hurt that you think so, and I’d like to rectify that. So what do you say to a night out?”
“Not unless you tell me what you’re really doing here.”
“I’m here to see you,” he insists. “I didn’t want to leave the country without saying goodbye.”
I’m not buying it. “You could have said goodbye on the phone.”
“I could have, but I chose not to. Come on Rachel. Come out and see me. It’ll be fun.”
I almost refuse. I know how impulsive Jack can be, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of his grand gestures before. A month ago, I would have been over the moon. Now I’m just confused by my lack of interest.
However, it doesn’t seem fair for me to spend the rest of the evening just waiting for Landon, when Jack has supposedly flown halfway across the country to see me.
“Sure,” I tell him, “When and where?”
“Let’s see,” he says, “I’m staying at this excellent hotel close to Union Square. There’s a lounge here I’ve heard a lot about. We can go there.”
He tells me the name of the hotel and I agree to meet him. I dress in a simple pale-blue sheath dress and navy heels, leaving my hair to hang around my shoulders. Downstairs in the lobby, I run into Ralph.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” he says solicitously.
I smile at the man. “I am, thanks.” He’s been attentive to all my needs in my short stay. Of course, I know it’s being paid for, but I’m grateful nonetheless.
Outside, the chauffeured car I’ve had at my disposal since Landon left is waiting under the awning. I tell the driver where to take me, wondering what Landon would think if he found out that the resources he left at my disposal were now being used to facilitate my date with another man.
I don’t fool myself that he would care.
The drive to the hotel where Jack is staying doesn’t take too long. The entrance is directly from the sidewalk, and Jack is standing there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his stylish black pants as he radiates calm, confidence, and serious cool. Two women walk by, stealing glances at him, one of them almost missing her step as they pass by.
“Hello beautiful,” he greets me with a hug. I can’t help but notice how good he smells.
Just good though, not divine, like Landon.
“Hello, you too,” I reply.
Pulling back, Jack’s eyes skip from me to the chauffeured car, now pulling away to park in the hotel parking lot. If he has any thoughts on it, he keeps them to himself.
The lounge is on one of the top floors of the building, overlooking the Square. From all the windows, there are fantastic views of the city, with the breathtaking sunset that turns the sky into a beautiful burst of purple, orange, and gold. The décor is heavy luxury, with thick rugs, damask curtains pulled back from the windows, soft lights, and deep red velvet chairs that look like luxurious half-moon pods. A chanteuse on the stage is singing covers of mellow love songs, while smartly dressed waiters carry trays around the room.
A waiter leads us to a table by a window. “Now tell me what you’re really doing in SF,” I say to Jack as soon as we take our seats.
“I already told you,” he replies.
We order drinks. Scotch for him and a cocktail for me, and the waiter recommends the bacon and deviled eggs small plate.
The chanteuse launches into an Adele song about turning tables. It’s sad and emotional, and we both listen silently.
“What are you working on?” I ask finally, uncomfortable with the silence.
He shrugs. “At the moment, nothing interesting. I’m joining a team of high profile climbers on the Andes, but my heart’s not in it. I think I’d like to try something new, maybe submarine tourism, I’d like to explore the ocean depths.”
I grimace. “It doesn’t sound very safe.”
“I’m sure it could be. Safe is boring, by the way.”
I smile. “You always say that.”
Right as we finish eating. A DJ takes over from the chanteuse. By now, there are more people around, and a few are dancing. Outside, it’s already getting dark, but the whole city is ablaze with lights.
“We should dance,” Jack suggests.
“Noooo,” I finish my cocktail, my second one, and grin at him, feeling slightly wobbly. “I don’t want to dance with you.”
Hurt flares in his gray eyes. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like you very much right now.”
He stares at the ice melting in his drink, then looks back up at me. “Maybe that will change.”
“I doubt it.” I pause. “So you and Claudia…”
He shakes his head. “It was rash, and maybe a little silly to get engaged in the first place. It’s easy to fall in love with someone after you jump out of a plane with them.”
“I guess.”
“She was fun. Very spontaneous. You know she got famous after a rodeo campaign where she actually rode the bulls?” He pauses, “I think I saw us being a team of adventurers. But we didn’t really know each other. She didn’t know me, at least not like you do.”
He looks so serious, and he’s doing the thing where he’s looking at me as if I’m the only person in the world. I get up from my seat, not eager at the moment to pursue the line of conversation he’s starting. “You know what?” I say, “We should dance.”
He obliges. The DJ is playing some upbeat songs, and I let Jack twirl me around the floor. By the time we return to our table, I’m smiling and breathless from the exertion.
“Another drink?”
I bat my eyelashes at him, doing my best imitation of old Hollywood glamor. “Now, sir. You wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk would you?”
“Why, Miss Foster, I wouldn’t dream of it.” We both laugh. It feels so much like old times, except that this time, I’m not as full of longing.
My phone rings suddenly, interrupting our laughter.
“Sorry,” I tell Jack, as I glance at the screen.
It’s Landon.
I signal to Jack to give me a few minutes and get up from the table, walking in the direction of the ladies room.
“Hello,” I say.
“Where are you?” Landon asks without preamble.
“Have you returned?”
“I have. I landed about half an hour ago.”
“You could have let me know you were on your way.”
“Why? I told you I was going to return today.”
“Yes, but…” I stop myself. I’d been about to complain about the silence. He hadn’t called me once while he was gone, and it rankled. It really shouldn’t have, because even though my emotions are telling me otherwise, I’m not his girlfriend. He doesn’t owe me calls every other hour to check on me. Just as I don’t owe him any explanation for going out.
“I went out,” I say, not offering any further explanation.
“I gathered.” His voice is terse. “Are you alone?”
I pause. “No. I’m not, but I’m about to leave now.”
There’s a charged silence on his end. “Where are you?” he says finally.
I tell him the name of the lounge.
“I’m on my way,” I hear him say.
“You don’t have to…”
“I’m on my way,” he repeats, his voice crisp as he ends the call. I stare helplessly at the phone, then turn back to the table where Jack is waiting for me.
“EVERYTHING all right?” Jack asks when I join him again.
I nod. “Yeah¸ I think.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I look towards the entrance, wondering how long before Landon arrives.
“You sure you don’t want another drink?”
I shake my head. If Landon is coming here, then I’m going to need all my senses intact.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Jack is saying. He starts to tell me about his travel plans, but I’m not really listening. I have one eye on the door, waiting for Landon to appear. The tension in my stomach is as much eagerness to see him, as it is anxiety about his reasons for coming, and what his reaction will be when he sees me with Jack.
Would he be jealous?
The idea is oddly appealing, but I dismiss it almost instantly. Why would he care who I hung out with?
Jack is waiting for me to say something, and I realize I have no idea what he’s been telling me. He leans across the table and put his hand over mine. “You’re not listening,” he says, smiling. “Where’s your mind?”
Before I can answer, my eyes skip past him to the entrance again, and Landon is just walking into the room. As always, seeing him takes my breath away. All that strength and power encased in a body that’s almost too raw in its beauty. He’s wearing one of his magnificent suits, with no tie, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.
As I admire him, his eyes skim over the other people in the lounge and land on me. He takes in Jack, whose hand is still over mine on the table, and as I watch, his eyes grow a few degrees colder.
Still, he walks towards our table, his eyes never leaving mine. I don’t even feel Jack pull his hand away, or see him as he follows my gaze to see Landon. All my attention, my whole being, is focused on the insanely sexy man walking towards me.
When he reaches me, he surprises me by taking my face in his hands and giving me a deep toe-curling kiss that leaves me flushed and breathless.
He releases me, and I sway on my seat. Then he straightens and turns to Jack, who’s looking at me as if I’ve committed some huge betrayal, and stretches out a hand. “Landon Court,” he says.
Jack rises to his feet and takes the proffered hand. “Jack Weyland.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Landon says, though there’s no trace of the stated pleasure in his voice or face. “You write for Gilt as well, don’t you? Are you here for work?”
Jack looks at me, then back at Landon, “No, I’m here to see Rachel.”
The challenge in his voice is not lost on me, and Landon notices it too, I’m sure. He just chooses to ignore it. He turns to me, “You ready?”
“You’re leaving?” If I didn’t know better, I would say Jack sounds hurt.
“Yes,” I reply, getting up without looking at him. I’m still reeling from Landon’s kiss. “I had a great time.”
“Yeah,” Jack says woodenly, “me too.’
Jack doesn’t follow us outside, for which I’m grateful. I can’t even imagine how awkward it would have been for the three of us. Especially with Landon’s arm positioned possessively around my waist.
I don’t complain. Not only because Landon fried my brain when he kissed me, but because I felt a little pleasure from seeing the expression on Jack’s face as I left with Landon. It’s an inadequate revenge for the two years I spent pining for him, but nevertheless, it makes me feel good.
I follow Landon to the elevator. His hand is still around my waist, building a slow heat on the surface of my skin. As soon as the doors slide closed, I turn to face him.
“What was that about?”
His face is bland. “What exactly?”
“Coming here. Kissing me in front of Jack. Acting as if I did something wrong by going out...”
“I wasn’t aware that my actions were so out of place.” His eyes are fixed on my face. “I came here because I wanted to see you and I was tired of waiting. I kissed you because I wanted to.” He stops. “What exactly is the problem? That I interrupted your reunion with your boyfriend?”
Before I can answer, the elevator stops and the doors slide open. I follow him across the lobby to the street, and a few seconds later, a car parks in front of us.
“I came in one of the Rosemont cars,” I tell Landon.
“Your driver has already returned,” he replies, pulling open the door of the car.
I get in with a sigh, waiting for him to join me. “First of all,” I say calmly, “Jack’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, I don’t think it was necessary for you to flaunt our… arrangement in his face like that.”
“Why do you care so much?” Landon asks. “What is he to you?”
“It’s not about him,” I retort.
“Isn’t it?” he challenges. “I seem to recall that exclusivity was one of your condit
ions for agreeing to this arrangement. Did that particular condition apply only to me? Am I supposed to sit back and accept the fact that you went out with him, the same man with whom you had a fight in my hotel the day we met. He’s the reason you were crying in the elevator, and he came all the way over here to see you. Talk about a grand gesture.”
My planned response freezes on my tongue. How had he known about my fight with Jack in the Swanson Court, and about me crying in the elevator?
He takes in my puzzled expression. “Security cameras, Rachel. How do you think I found you? I had dinner with my brother that night. He was trying to convince me that hookers were a better deal than relationships, and he offered to send me one. I refused. When you appeared in the elevator, I thought he’d ignored me, as usual. You didn’t leave your number, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. So I called him, and he turns out he had no idea what I was talking about. I had the security team at the hotel review the tapes to find out who you were, and I saw them too. I saw your argument with Jack Weyland, and I saw how distressed you were afterward.”
I’d wondered how he found me. Now I knew, and I couldn’t stop wondering how many other things he knew about me. With the resources he had at his disposal, he could probably find out anything he wanted, not that I had much to hide, but still.
“Did he come here to apologize?” he continues, “Am I standing in the way of some romantic reunion?”
“Would you care?” I mutter.
“No.” He utters the words so carelessly it pisses me off. “Let’s just be clear, for as long as this arrangement lasts, I have every right to be extremely selfish when it comes to you. I don’t give a fuck about what he wants, because right now, you belong to me.”
