by Kim Karr
I was off balance.
It was as if the world was at an angle and I was trying to walk in a straight line but finding it more difficult with every passing minute.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Isn’t that what they say?
My heart was ripped from my chest when I walked away from Logan and although it almost killed me, it certainly didn’t make me feel any stronger.
Just the opposite, in fact.
I missed him.
Everything about him.
So much I could feel it down to my bones.
And I was starting to regret what I’d done.
I knew I shouldn’t be. I wasn’t wrong. I had a life now that didn’t have room for maybes. I knew this. Still, I was just so unhappy. And I didn’t understand it because here’s the thing—two weeks ago I never wanted a man in my life, and then along he came and hijacked me. Gave me a glimpse of something I’d never had, and now I wasn’t sure I could live without it. Without him. Yet, I knew I had to—for Clementine. For her I had to stay strong. Keep my mind healthy. Not let it wander with wonder.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I hope you got my text,” he said softly.
Blinking out of my daze, I looked up and tried to smile. “I did.”
Lips brushed my cheek in a way I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with. “I got a call at the last minute that I had to take.”
“It’s fine, Michael, relax. I ordered for the both of us.”
The Saks Fifth Avenue bag in his hand slid under the table. “Thank you for meeting me like this. I know it’s last minute, but I really needed to talk to you.”
Mild curiosity as to what was in the bag distracted me for a moment.
“You look tired. Are you sure everything is okay?”
Forcing myself to stop thinking about Logan was difficult, but I had to concentrate on the conversation at hand. “I’m fine. I’ve just had some trouble sleeping. But honestly, Michael, meeting you for lunch isn’t a problem. I wasn’t doing much today anyway. Peyton took care of the entire inventory restocking at the boutique yesterday and everything else was already done.”
Michael and I hadn’t talked since his early phone call Saturday morning and I found that strange. Usually, he called me for dinner on Sundays but he hadn’t called yesterday, and since I was in New York City, I hadn’t called him either.
He sat down. “Good then, I don’t have to feel guilty about dragging you out on a rainy day.”
It might be a cold, rainy spring day outside, but it didn’t matter because even in here I was chilled. Nothing could warm me. I was cold, sad, and tired. I hated feeling like this. I blinked away my thoughts and focused on Michael. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about? It sounded urgent. Is everything okay with Clementine’s new nanny?”
Unfolding his napkin, he set it on his lap. “Yes, they’re both fine. This meeting isn’t about Clementine.”
“Oh. From the urgency in your voice, I just assumed it was.”
Actually, I had come here with two trains of thought. One—he knew I’d lied about the cocaine being delivered to my boutique; or two—he had changed his mind about who he was appointing as Clementine’s guardian and had invited me here to let me know.
My heart started beating so fast.
This had to be about the delivery.
I was so screwed. I tried to remember what Logan had told me to say under this circumstance, but nerves got the better of me and my brain felt frazzled.
A small sip of his water on his part alerted me that he was nervous too.
I wondered why.
Finally, he spoke. “First of all I want to apologize for involving you in that entire mix-up last week. I never should have put you in a position like that.”
Phew, he was completely unaware of not only the delivery, but also Logan’s involvement. Another attempt at a smile I just couldn’t seem to form failed. Instead, I tried to be as upbeat as I could. “Please, Michael, I think we’re past all the pleasantries. I understand why you had to ask me for help. Sending the packages to the boutique and not the house or your office made sense. No one would have had any idea. I’m just glad the people who were threatening you and Clementine are now behind bars and we can put all of this behind us.”
I hoped that was true.
Dark circles below his eyes couldn’t hide how tired he looked and I wondered if something was still worrying him. “Good then, we can agree to put that behind us.”
I nodded.
“You’re certain everything is okay?” he asked again.
No, everything was not okay. I was heartbroken and downright upset over this entire situation I’d allowed myself to be put in, but I couldn’t tell him that. He knew nothing of my brief affair with Logan. I drew in a deep breath and found some inner strength. “Yes, I’m fine.” This time I managed a smile that had to look as fake as it felt.
“Okay then, I have a favor to ask you.”
Before I could think of what to say, because the last thing I wanted to do was another favor for him, the waiter arrived with our food. “Lobster rolls,” he said, placing our plates in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”
Michael looked over at me and I shook my head. “No, I think we’re good. If you could just bring the check, I’m in a bit of a hurry today.”
“Yes, certainly, Mr. O’Shea, no problem.”
Michael was a regular at B&G Oysters. He’s the one who turned me on to the restaurant and to lobster rolls. Both of which I loved, but neither of which pleased me today.
I looked down at my rectangular plate of food—the sandwich on one side, the sea-salt-seasoned fries on the other, and in the middle pickles and a small silver container of ketchup.
Ketchup.
Even the stupid condiment made me think of Logan, and my mind drifted back to the first night we’d met.
Logan had been sitting across from me at the table and I couldn’t get the ketchup to come out of the bottle. He took it from me and magically poured some onto my plate. Those hazel eyes lifted seductively. “The secret is knowing where the sweet spot is,” he’d said. That was the first time my stomach had ever done a full belly flop over a guy.
Michael cleared his throat.
Pulled from my thoughts, my eyes darted across the table.
“I have this fundraiser Wednesday night that I was hoping you would attend with me.”
Shocked, I tried not to let my mouth drop open. “What kind of fundraiser?”
After taking a bite from his sandwich, he wiped his mouth. “Political.”
I blinked. “The fundraising for next year’s elections starts this early?”
He nodded. “I’m a little behind the ball and I have a lot of ground to make up.”
“I don’t know, Michael. Politics aren’t anything I know that much about.”
“Please, Elle, I could really use as much support as I can get.”
Not at all wanting to go, I felt like I should. “Can I think about it?”
Michael took another bite of his food. “Sure. My hope is that you’ll say yes. It’s at the University of Massachusetts and it’s a big one. We’re hoping to raise $250,000. A friend of mine was able to arrange for a well-connected alumnus to speak. He’s sure to attract a deep-pocketed crowd.”
“That’s great. I’m certain it will be a success. What is the dress code should I decide to attend?”
Reaching under the table, he pulled the bag out. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of buying you something to wear. You look like you’re close to Elizabeth’s size, so I went with that.”
I wasn’t certain how to take that. On one hand it was nice of him; on the other, was he worried I wouldn’t know how to dress? I took the bag from him. “Thank you. I’m not sure what to say.”
He looked a little sheepish. “It’s not meant to offend you in any way, so please don’t take it like that. I just didn’t know if you’d have anything to wear to a black-tie affair and
I didn’t want you to stress out about spending the money to purchase something. If you don’t like it or if it doesn’t fit, you can take it back and exchange it. Or if you have something you prefer to wear, you can keep it or return it.”
The sincerity in his voice pushed away any animosity I might have had. “No, I appreciate it. I don’t actually have anything formal and I’ll let you know by tomorrow. Let me look at my schedule.”
His phone beeped and he glanced at the screen. His face instantly paled. “I have to go.” He grabbed the bill that the waiter had discreetly placed on the table and then peeled off some twenties from his wallet before setting them inside the leather folio.
“What is it?” I asked.
He leaned forward and whispered, “The men who were supposed to deliver the product to your boutique were found shot to death in their van this morning.”
“What?” I felt ill. “Why? What’s going on?”
“That’s all I know.”
“Who told you?”
He ignored my question and sent a text message before he finally looked up and answered me. “A news text alert. I’m late for a meeting. I really should be going.”
For some reason, I didn’t believe him. I pushed my plate away. “It’s fine. I’m done.”
“Are you sure?”
I waved my hand. “Yes, go.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t be late for this meeting with my br—” He stopped before finishing.
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
That was another lie.
I wasn’t sure I would be fine ever again.
I sat there, watching the rain out the window for the longest time. Something was going on. Something more than I had imagined. Would Logan have eliminated the deliverymen so as not to expose the fact that the product had actually been delivered to my boutique? I just didn’t think so. If not him, then who did? It was way too coincidental to be a random crime. I pondered it for a long while before leaving to go home in the pouring rain.
Later that evening, I was lying in my bed, my mind a web of tangled lies, lost love, and incoherent thoughts, when my phone rang.
I grabbed for it, hopeful, yet knowing I shouldn’t be. I was in the very state of mind that I wanted to avoid. I hated feeling like this. Glancing at the screen, the number attached to the call was blocked, but I answered anyway. “Hello?” I said quickly.
“Hello, Elle.”
“Who is this?”
The voice was deep. “Someone who wants to help you.”
“Who is this?” I asked again, this time louder.
“That’s not important but what is important is that you understand your role and understand that sometimes the toughest decisions are also the easiest. If you doubt you should say yes, just think of the little lives God has created and go forth wisely.”
Chills ran down my spine.
Say yes?
Say yes to what?
DAY 13
LOGAN
The general etiquette in black-tie dressing was that there should be no watch on your wrist. The unwritten rule stated that if a timepiece had to be worn, it should be a pocket watch, but if one absolutely must wear a wristwatch, it should be a slim dress version thin enough to hide underneath French cuffs.
My big, sporty Patek didn’t really meet the qualifications, but then again most of the time I doubted I myself met the qualifications.
I hated going to events like this because of all the social niceties one had to abide by, but at least this time I wasn’t being forced to attend by my mother or grandfather. This time I was on a mission that would bring me closer to getting Elle back in my life.
The campus was all too familiar. After I’d fucked up and gotten kicked out of Harvard at orientation for stupidly thinking I could sell drugs on campus and get away with it, my father pulled some strings of his own and got me into the School of Law at UMass. My mother was so disappointed in me that she didn’t talk to me for almost a year, and my grandfather Ryan was equally as upset and only talked to me a dozen or so times during my entire law school stint. Like I’d come to realize, they were two peas in a pod.
As I parked and looked out over the harbor, my mind was anywhere but here. It was on Elle. It had been since I saw her get in that cab. How was she? What was she doing? Did she miss me as much as I missed her? Fuck, just standing there, I could still remember the way she tasted.
Shaking my melancholy off, I forced myself to focus and headed inside to find Pierce Foley. Pierce was a thirty-something Upper East Sider whose wife was connected to the Kennedys, and that relationship had the couple rallying among the political fundraisers all up and down the East Coast.
James had called me back as promised with five names of guys who he had heard the elite grapevine used cocaine and were also highly connected to the Boston social circle. I couldn’t believe it when I called Foley’s New York law office and they said he and his wife were in Boston for a fundraiser.
Maybe luck was on my side.
A quick sweep of social media informed me that I was looking for a man of average build, a little on the husky side, with thinning brown hair deeply parted on the side. I hoped it wouldn’t take long to find him, and then I hoped even more that it would take even less time to befriend him and find out what he knew. From what James had told me, I was certain pumping a few drinks in him would help me with that.
The place was jammed with people, and even at a cost of a grand per ticket, it didn’t surprise me. The rich always loved things that were expensive. In my monkey suit, I moved around in the way I’d been groomed. After having to stop to talk to the few people I knew, I tried to sideline any more familiar faces. I grabbed a quick glass of water with a lime wedge from the bar and was finally able to start my search.
Through the crowd it was hard to spot anyone who didn’t look like Pierce Foley. I walked the perimeter of the room, moving closer to the center with each lap. Thirty minutes later I still had not found him. This time I started in the center and worked my way outward. I was almost to the wall of windows that overlooked the Boston Harbor when I spotted him.
At the bar.
Bingo!
Casually, I made my way over and sat beside him, setting my glass down. I leaned in toward the bartender and ordered a gin and tonic, which I had no intention of drinking, and then looked toward a very bored-looking Pierce. “I’m on my third, what about you?” I lied.
He swirled what I guessed was a scotch and raised it. “My third as well. Long fucking night.”
I smirked. “You’re not kidding. I swear having to be on good behavior always makes time pass even slower.”
His roar of laughter told me I was in. “What do you say we do a shot?” he whispered.
I pretended to look around. “I’d better not. If the fiancée catches me getting out of hand, I’ll be in the doghouse for a week.”
Just saying fiancée, making up another woman, made the words burn in my throat.
“Good point. If my wife, Sarah, sees me drinking too much, I won’t even tell you what will happen to me.”
My grin came easily. “What’s it like?”
He arched a brow.
“Being married, I mean. I’m supposed to get married next month and I have to be honest, I’m not really feeling it.”
“Cold feet. I get it. I went through the same thing. Marriage is hard. I’m not going to lie. Of course, it has its ups and downs. I’ve been married for almost seven years, and I have to say I’ve been feeling the seven-year itch for a while now. But on the whole it’s worth it.”
The bartender set my drink down. “My friend here needs another.”
Pierce held his hands up. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“Come on, one more, and you can give me some honest advice. No one ever wants to be honest about marriage.”
With a quick gulp of his drink, he set it down. “Sure, one more.”
As he glanced around the room to be certain his wife wasn’t anywhere
nearby, I poured half my drink into my water glass. Last thing I needed was to fog my brain. Fuck only knew what I’d be saying then.
By the time he’d finished his fourth, he’d practically told me his life story. He had two kids, worked for his father-in-law, and had a nagging wife. A variation on the very picture I had in my head of marriage.
It was my parents’ life all over again minus one kid.
“How do you do it every day, man?” I pretended to slur.
“Escape.”
“Escape?”
His shoulders rose and he sniffed through his nose, holding one nostril closed.
“And your wife doesn’t care?” I asked.
“Oh, she’d care.”
“She doesn’t know?”
Chewing on an ice cube, he shook his head. “Clueless.”
I lowered my head a bit. “I’m new in town. If one was looking for an escape, where might one find it?”
“The Priest,” he whispered.
“The Priest?”
“Well, not him directly, but he’s the one you’ll be getting it from.”
“How do I get in touch with him?”
“That, my friend, I can’t tell you.”
“Come on, really?”
“Sorry. He has rules, and he’s ruthless if any of them are broken. Besides, I’ve never actually made contact. A buddy of mine takes care of it for me.”
“Pierce, there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a woman’s voice called.
He shoved his drink toward me. “Pretend you don’t know me.”
My smile couldn’t have been more genuine. “Not a problem,” I said and turned the other way.
“You’re not drinking, are you?” his wife asked when she got closer.
He stood. “No, I was just getting you that glass of water you asked for.”
“That was an hour ago.”
“Are you certain it’s been that long?”
I peeked at them and saw her tuck her arm around his. “Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.”
“Yes, dear,” he said, and turned and gave me a wink.
Poor bastard was all I could think.
My time with him was up and if you discounted learning Pierce Foley was an addict in every sense of the word, I’d learned one real thing. The drug supplier in Boston’s high-society circle went by the alias “the Priest,” and I doubted that was Lizzy, or O’Shea or Tommy for that matter. Neither seemed like the religious type to me.
