by Lila Monroe
“That’s the part that really hurts,” I admit. “I mean, I know it looked bad, with what Artie said. But part of me feels betrayed too. He should have believed me.”
“So, don’t let this guy keep you down,” Jules says brightly. “Get out of the apartment. Take a walk. And maybe take a shower first.”
“Is that a hint?” I ask wryly.
She grins. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but those sweatpants are crying out for the laundry.”
I look down and grimace. “Maybe you’re right.”
There’s a knock on the apartment door. Jules goes to answer it. A guy in a courier uniform is standing on the other side. “Delivery for Hallie Gage,” he says, brandishing a thick envelope. “I need your signature.”
I sign his clipboard and look over the envelope. There’s no sender address on it.
“Well, open it already,” Jules urges.
I tear open the seal and pull out the papers inside. There’s a statement of contract fulfillment—and a check for fifty thousand dollars, signed by—
“Max Carlisle.”
I gulp.
“You still got paid!” Jules crows. “At least something good came out of all that craziness.”
“But . . .” I shake my head. “I can’t take this. I can’t believe he even paid me after what happened.”
Jules shrugged. “He probably didn’t have a choice. If his contract with The Agency was half as good as yours, it was watertight. You spent a week with him as his fake girlfriend. Job fulfilled.”
Maybe so, but the check still doesn’t feel right, clutched there in my hand. I grab my purse and shove it in. “I think I’ll take that walk.”
* * *
I shower and change into something vaguely human, and head uptown to the Agency. Approaching the brownstone building, my stomach ties in knots. If I hadn’t run into Olivia—if I hadn’t taken her up on her offer—I never would have gotten involved in Max’s whole crazy life. He would be a hot, steamy memory from the wedding, and nothing more.
But I was the one who said yes, I remind myself. And kept saying it, despite all the lines I was burring.
And even after everything, I can’t regret him. Not one moment.
I hit the buzzer. Alice’s chirpy voice carries through the intercom. “The Agency. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Hallie,” I say. “I need to talk to Olivia. Is she there?”
“Come on up, Hallie,” Alice says without hesitation. Huh. I wonder if Olivia was expecting me to come calling. I haven’t talked to her since everything fell apart with Max. I figured he’d fill her in on the story however he wanted to. I don’t really enjoy the thought of hashing it out all over again, but I head up the stairs all the same. Like before, Alice opens the door before I’ve reached the top. She gives me a bright smile. “Hi, how are you doing? Did you change your hair? I like it.”
“Um, thanks.” I step into the office, immediately surrounded by understated luxury. Thor even comes over to batter my calf with one of his affectionate head-butts.
Olivia’s office door opens. “Hallie.” She beckons me over, and I brace myself. Why does it feel like I’m visiting the headmaster’s office? Maybe something about how effortlessly elegant Olivia looks, ushering me to a chair and carefully pouring us tea.
“So,” Olivia says. “I hear things with Max Carlisle didn’t end too well?”
“Understatement of the year.” I cringe. “I’m sorry. I know you warned me, but I didn’t follow your rules. I didn’t even follow mine,” I say sadly. “But I swear, I don’t know what he told you, but it was a misunderstanding. I never went behind his back about anything.”
“I never said you did,” Olivia says calmly.
“But what am I supposed to do with this?”
I pull out the check, and put it on the polished coffee table between us.
“Deposit it?” Olivia arches an eyebrow. “I assume he’s good for the funds.”
“You know what I mean. I let the lines get blurred! I was trying to stay totally professional,” I add. “But . . . he grew on me. Like fungus. I really liked him,” I add miserably. “And . . . one thing led to another. A few times.”
Olivia eyes me carefully. “Casual hook-ups have been known to happen in this business, but it doesn’t sound like this was so casual.”
Suddenly I’m wondering exactly what Max told her. But that’s not a healthy path for me to go down. “No,” I admit. “I fell for him. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? You told me to remember it wasn’t real and I went head over heels anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia says, “I threw you in the deep end with this assignment. Perhaps I should have found someone else, someone more experienced.”
“With resisting playboys, or jet-setting treasure hunts?”
Her lips quirk in a smile. “Perhaps both.”
“Either way, I can’t accept this.” I nudge the check closer to her. Olivia’s brow knits.
“But it’s yours,” she says. “You earned that money. Why on earth shouldn’t you take it?”
“Well . . .” It seems so obvious to me, but now that I have to put it into words, I’m fumbling. “It just feels wrong. The time I was with him didn’t feel like work. I wanted to be there. And then the way things ended . . .”
Olivia takes the check, puts it back in my hand, and closes her fingers over mine. “Hallie,” she says, looking me straight in the eyes, “you deserve this. I know you’ve had an upset here—”
Understatement of the year.
“—but the best thing you can do now is move on,” she finishes. “Go ahead, build the photography career you were dreaming about. That was the point of all of this, after all.”
A very compelling argument. I waver, but I don’t know how to argue with the full force of her firm gaze on me. “I’ll think about it,” I finally agree.
Olivia smiles. “Now, I have an appointment coming . . .”
“Of course.” I bob up. “And thanks, for everything. I know I made a mess of it, but I appreciate you trying to help.”
“My pleasure. And chin up,” Olivia adds. “Love happens to the best of us.”
Love?
I make it down the stairs and out the front door before the word catches up with me. My legs balk. I sit down on the front steps, clutching my purse. I feel stranded, and I don’t know what to do.
Is this really how I want to start my photography studio? I know it’s different, but somehow using Max’s money feels just as bad as if I had scammed him out of his inheritance.
I can’t make up my mind either way. Finally, after a few minutes, the door whispers open behind me.
“Enjoying the view?” Alice asks.
“Sorry, am I blocking the entry? I’m just trying to make a decision that could change the whole course of my life,” I sigh. “It’s a lot of pressure. There really should be a guidebook or something.”
She sits beside me. “You know, whenever I’m in a bind, I always think of what my dad used to say. ‘You already know the answer.’ ”
“I really don’t.”
Alice laughs. “I know, that’s what I would always reply. But, he was right. Annoyingly so.”
I pause. Maybe she has a point. I mean, I already know I can live with being poor and scraping my way up the ladder. I’ve done that already. I don’t think I can live with leaping to the top of that ladder knowing I only got there with a boost from Max Carlisle, with him hating me the whole while.
“Thank you,” I say, standing up. I hand her the check. “Tell Olivia I appreciated her advice, but I really can’t accept this. I’d like her to send it back to Max.”
“Are you sure?” Alice looks stunned.
“Completely.” Just like that, a weight is lifted off me. I take in a deep breath, feeling almost okay for the first time in two weeks.
I’m halfway to the subway when my phone rings. I fish it out of my purse. “Hello?”
“This is Lydia Burns from Carlis
le Publishing,” the crisp voice on the other end says. “Are you available to come in for a meeting today, Miss Gage?”
22
Hallie
I stand on the sidewalk outside the Carlisle Building, my stomach tied up in knots. It’s got to be Max, hasn’t it? The secretary on the phone was vague about the meeting, so maybe Jules is right. He’s figured out that I had nothing to do with Artie’s backstabbing, and he invited me here to apologize and make it all OK.
In your dreams.
I head inside and security directs me up to the same floor where I had my interview—and there’s Ms. Editor with her frizzy curls. I give her a polite smile and look around for Max. But she plants herself in front of me and extends her hand.
“Hallie, I’m glad you could make it in on such short notice.”
Oh. “You called the meeting?” I ask, trying to hide my disappointment.
She blinks. “Well, yes. Did my secretary not make that clear?” She sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m training in someone new this week. Would you come into my office?”
I follow her, curious now.
“I know we couldn’t find a place for you in Art,” the editor says. “But it turns out we have a position as a photography assistant that’s just opened up.” She rolls her eyes. “So much turnover these days. No one knows how to commit to a job..”
I straighten up. “So . . . is this another interview? I’m sorry, I didn’t bring my portfolio. If you want, I—”
Ms. Editor waves me off. “It’s fine. The position’s yours if you still want it. I know I liked what I saw.”
She did? Could have fooled me. I’d hate to see how she looks through a portfolio she doesn’t like.
Hold on, did she just say—
“I have the job?” I repeat, my eyes widening.
“Yes,” the editor says, sounding amused. “I take it you are interested.”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely.” A photo assistant position here at Carlisle Publishing—it doesn’t even matter what magazine or paper it’s for, it’s a big leap up that ladder. Holy shit. It’s really happening.
With awfully coincidental timing. I pause, my pulse skipping. “This might sound like a strange question, but did Max have anything to do with this?”
Ms. Editor raises one carefully plucked eyebrow. “Max? I’m not sure who you’re thinking about, but this offer is straight from me.”
Oh. That last bit of hope snuffs out. But still. This is the job I wanted. Like the universe telling me I made the right decision handing back that check.
“Never mind,” I say quickly. “I’m so happy a spot opened up. When do I start?”
The editor smiles. “Next Monday, if you can.”
“I’ll be here!”
I leave with all the details, still in a daze. But even though I’m grateful for the chance, I still have this ache of pain lingering in my chest. I want to be happy, it’s just hard to be overjoyed after the romantic roller coaster I’ve just been on. And the weirdest part is that all I want to do right now is call Max and tell him about the job. I can imagine how he’d have cheered at my victory, and insisted that of course they would be wowed by my talent . . .
I shake it off, but my heart is still heavy.
Back in the lobby, I can’t quite bear to leave yet. Instead I wander into the gallery. I drift from display to display, soaking the images in. It’s ridiculous, I realize. That treasure hunt Franklin Carlisle sent his family on was all about the history and legacy of his company. But now scheming Artie and the rest of them will tear all that history down.
I hope it was worth it.
This time I hear the curator’s soft shuffling before he completely sneaks up on me. Ernest Hammersmith is looking as cheerfully Santa Claus-y as ever.
“The photographer,” he beams. “You came back. Looking for inspiration?”
“Celebrating,” I reply. “I just got hired on as a photo assistant.”
His eyes light up. “Well, then. Congratulations!” Then his enthusiasm dims. “I hope it survives the shakeup, when the company changes hands.”
He already knows? My stomach clenches. “I know Franklin Carlisle is passing it on. Is the sale already a sure thing?”
“It might as well be. That Arthur Junior is a piece of work,” he adds ruefully. “He’s been pushing to unload the whole place for years.”
Damn. Even though I knew it was coming, it still hurts. “I’m really sorry about that,” I say. “I can tell the company means a lot to you.”
“To be sure. I’m one of the board members, you know,” he adds. “Won some shares off Franklin in a hand of cards, forty years ago now.”
“No, really?”
But Ernest doesn’t look so happy. “Carlisle Publishing has been a profitable and respected business for nearly a century. None of us wants to see it stripped for parts. But the younger generation, they’ve got no interest in learning the ropes and putting in the hard work to keep up that tradition. They just want to make a quick buck.”
I pause, trying to remember what I heard Artie say, that night at the party. He had some of the board members on his side, ready for when he got his hands on Franklin’s shares.
Does this mean he couldn’t sell without them?
“How is the ownership of the company split?” I demand, my excitement rising. “Franklin’s portion isn’t enough to make that call on its own, is it? If you all stood up and fought to keep things the way they are—”
Ernest sighs. “In theory. But as you can see, we’re all getting on. Franklin was the real force behind things. Without him, there’s no real leadership.”
“Well, here’s hoping there’s still a company—and a job for me—come Monday,” I say, rueful.
Ernest smiles. “I hope to see you soon.”
I exit, my happiness dimmed even more. I hate to imagine what Artie and co. will do to the Carlisle legacy, so how must Max be feeling, watching everything fall apart?
Nope, I’m not supposed to be thinking about him. The whole point of getting out of the house was to clear my head. And now that I’ve returned the money, I don’t have any ties to him.
Clean break. Fresh start.
So how can I explain ambling up to Central Park? And if I happen to stroll toward the Boathouse where my camera—and the rest of me—took that unfortunate tumble the other week, that’s just a coincidence too. I’m absolutely not scanning the lawns trying to pick out the exact spot where the refreshment tent was set up. The spot where I first locked eyes with Max Carlisle.
I sit down and gaze out across the lake. I replay our first meeting over again—his cocky grin, our banter, dear Lord, that amazing kiss . . .
I never would have thought I’d fall for the guy I met over those cupcakes. Every red flag was waving that I knew his type. But I was wrong. There’s so much more to him than the cocky charmer he seemed at first glance.
Is he even thinking of me at all? Or has he moved on to the next foreign assignment, the next no-strings girl, like I never existed at all?
It’s a good thing I’m not the gambling kind, because the cruel truth is, I would bet everything that he hasn’t skipped a beat.
23
Max
I line up a serve and slam the ball at the playing wall. It careens off the corner and ricochets so hard, I have to leap out of the way.
My buddy Cal snorts. “My point. Again.”
I scowl.
Usually, a game of racquetball with a buddy is all I need to clear my mind and unwind.
Usually, I’m not dealing with betrayal, backstabbing, and the end of the Carlisle family legacy as we know it.
Cal pauses to take a drink of water. “Not that I’m not enjoying the spectacle, but you’re sucking more than usual today.”
“Real supportive,” I growl.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Cal smirks. “Did you want to sit and talk about your feelings?”
I scowl harder. Cal and I go way back, he’s CEO of the McAdams auto emp
ire, and usually, he understands the shit I’m going through with my family. But he can’t understand this.
“Let’s just play.”
“Your funeral.” Cal tosses me the ball. “It almost makes me wish I was a betting man.”
I snort. “Since when did you quit the blackjack table?” Cal is usually the first on the casino floor, off following the racing circuit in Monte Carlo, Montreal, and more.
“Since I’m a new man,” Cal replies easily. “Shaping up my reputation.”
“And how’s that working out?”
“About as well as your racquetball game.”
I grip my handle and serve again. This time, I manage a couple of shots before I slam the damn thing out of bounds.
“I’m fine!” I exclaim, before Cal can needle me again.
“Clearly,” he replies. “But since this face is too pretty to break, how about we take this to the bar?”
Tempting. But I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to drink away this hole in my heart, and it hasn’t worked yet.
“Another time,” I say reluctantly. “I have a meeting with my lawyers at three.”
Cal arches an eyebrow. “Any luck getting that treasure hunt thrown out?”
“Not so far,” I sigh. “But maybe they’ve found some loophole.”
“You know, I always knew your grandfather was eccentric, but this?” Cal and I head for the locker room. “It’s like he’s burning down everything he’s built just to prove a point.”
“A bone-headed, idiotic point.” I shake my head. “He spent his life building and protecting the company, and he’s just handing it off to Artie because he got to the final clue two minutes before me.”
Thanks to Hallie’s treacherous twist, that is.
“Well, if you need a job, just let me know,” Cal says. “I’m sure I can find something for you. How do you like Monaco in the spring?”
