She looked up to the number. Sloan’s room. He had texted her the room number when he arrived. Abbey took a step closer. I really want to see him.
A pang of jealousy flooded her as she heard the sounds coming from the dark, shadowed room—gasps, moans, the sound of skin on skin, the rustle of bed sheets. Abbey had no right to feel envy. She knew the relationship Sloan and Robert shared. Her marriage to Sloan was no more than an arrangement. Still, the idea of her husband with anyone else, man or woman, bothered her.
Abbey froze as a voice floated toward her.
“More, Robert. Please more!”
Her eyes grew wide. The voice was very, very female. She shoved the door open and stormed inside.
The blonde, whimpering and pleading for more as she clenched the pillow beneath her head, never noticed Abbey in the room. Robert didn’t miss a stroke as he glared at Abbey, a strange smile spreading across his face as he continued to thrust. He buried his face into the woman’s shoulder as she dug her fingernails into his hard, contoured back, crying out in pleasure.
Abbey scuttled backward from the room, closing the door behind her. Then she gawked at it dumbfounded. Tears filled her eyes as she gasped for breath. She curled her hands into fists. “You cheating bastard! I hope you catch something!” she shouted at the door. She picked up her bag from the floor in a rage and ran for the elevator.
»»•««
Sunset cast long shadows across the hotel bar. Abbey stared at the glass of wine that she had ordered when she’d slumped in her chair two hours ago. She hadn’t taken a sip. She couldn’t stomach it.
Shutting her eyes at the onslaught of tears, her mind returned to the scene upstairs. How could Robert cheat on Sloan like that? Abbey slammed her fist on the table, tipping the wine glass and spilling the contents. She grabbed a cloth napkin and dabbed at the puddle. She turned as she felt a hand on her arm.
“Abigail, luv,” Sloan breathed. “Where have you been? We go on in a half hour.”
Abbey gazed into his ice blue eyes shimmering in the candlelight that flickered throughout the room. She bit her lower lip, fighting the cry that lodged in her throat. Sloan kneeled on one knee next to her, taking her hands in his.
“Abigail, talk to me. What happened?” he begged.
She simply stared at him then lifted her head to look over his shoulder. Rising from her seat, her face twisted in anger. “You miserable bastard!” Abbey launched past Sloan, balling up her tiny fists. She beat on Robert’s chest relentlessly as he stood in the doorway of the bar.
Sloan pulled Abbey away from Robert, holding her in his arms as he led her to a back room. He looked into her eyes. “Abigail, what’s wrong?” Sloan pleaded. Abbey turned away, unable to answer. Sloan turned to Robert. “What did you do?” he demanded.
Robert laughed. “What I normally do when I meet a gorgeous blonde in a hotel in Miami.”
“You cheated on Sloan!” Abbey accused. “He was with a woman.”
Sloan spun on Robert. “You what?”
“Got a little. Upstairs. Of course before Abbey walked in.”
Sloan ran his hand through his thick, ebony hair as he exhaled. “I can’t believe you could—”
“Do what, Sloan?” Robert interrupted. “I guess I didn’t realize when you asked me to be part of your ruse, I would have to be celibate. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I could have sworn the door was closed.”
Abbey looked up at Sloan, her face clouded. “Ruse? What ruse?”
“Abigail…”
She shook her head, confused. “You asked Robert to pretend he was gay? To cover for you?”
They both turned as they heard Robert chuckle again. But his smile quickly melted away. He patted Sloan on the shoulder. “I hear confession is good for the soul, my friend.” Robert swiftly strode away, disappearing from the bar.
Abbey stared at Sloan, silently pleading with him. “Confession? What confession? You are gay, aren’t…you?”
He looked away from her as he ran his large hand through his hair again then stroked the stubble that grazed his chin. Abbey could read his answer in his silence.
“You lied to me,” she whispered. She shoved him in the chest to put distance between them. With Sloan’s muscle and size she just managed to knock herself back a step or two. “You son of a bitch! You lied to me!”
“Abigail…”
“Why? Why did you lie to me?”
When he reached out for her hand, she pulled it away, repulsed, as if he were a snake.
“I couldn’t have you leave, Abigail.”
“Why? The contract? The money?”
“I told you I don’t need the money.”
“Then why?” She paused as another idea occurred to her. “The green card? You planned this to stay in the country? To get me to marry you?”
“How could I make you ask me to marry you? No, that wasn’t my intention.”
“Then why?”
“Abigail, please…”
Abbey backed away, her eyes darting, distraught and looking for an escape. She jerked as she felt Sloan grasp her arm.
“Abigail, you need to understand…”
Pulling free from his hand, she dashed from the bar, dodging tables and the patrons that had filed in for a drink before the book festival.
She heard Sloan’s voice rise above the noise. “Abigail, stop!”
She pushed her way through the lobby of the hotel, shoving her way through the glass entrance door, taking only a second to find a waiting taxi. She opened the cab door and threw herself inside. “The airport, please.”
Abbey jumped at the large hand that slammed against the trunk as the car pulled away. Her tears erupted as she buried her face into her hands.
»»•««
The airport was strangely busy for eight o’clock at night. Abbey waited in the ticket line, her shoulders hunched in defeat. I’m done. I’m leaving.
Abbey turned off her cell phone. It began to ring seconds after the cab pulled from the hotel. She didn’t want to talk to Sloan. Ever. The betrayal was too much. She’d trusted him with her heart and soul, and he’d used her. Now she was done with him.
She didn’t notice when the woman at the counter called for her. The man behind her nudged her to attention. Shuffling to the counter, she pulled her wallet from her carry-on bag. “A ticket to New York City. One way. As soon as possible.”
“Certainly.” The woman tossed her graying blonde hair over her shoulder and typed furiously. She studied the screen. “I have a flight leaving in forty-five minutes for La Guardia. The price of that ticket will be—”
Abbey interrupted her silently by holding out her bankcard and driver’s license pinched between her index finger and thumb. The attendant hesitantly took it. “Certainly.”
Abbey watched as she typed a little more, swiping the card through the machine with a vigorous motion then pausing as she watched the screen.
“Ms. Wright, I am afraid your card has been declined,” she announced quietly.
“It can’t be. Please try it again.”
The woman nodded and swiped the card again. After a moment, she shook her head. “Do you have another card, Ms. Wright?”
Abbey exhaled, frustrated. “Why is it being declined? Does it say?”
“Insufficient funds.”
“That’s impossible. I just put money in there.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wright. Do you have another card?”
Abbey sighed again and opened her wallet. She stopped as her eyes rested on the only other card there—a MasterCard her mother had given her for emergencies. Slipping it out, she handed it to the woman behind the counter. This whole night certainly constituted an emergency. She would pay her mother back once she cleared up the mess with her bank in the morning.
The woman swiped the new one. After a moment of staring at her screen, she smiled then continued to type. She handed Abbey a slip to sign then gathered the cards, receipts, and ticket. “Thank you for flying with us!�
�� she finished.
Abbey silently gathered her things. She forced a smile for the woman behind the counter before shuffling away.
»»•««
Abbey lay in her bra and panties beneath the stiff, cold bed sheets. She stared out the window of the dismal hotel room, listening as another plane’s engines roared overhead.
There were many things she forgot in her hurry to get out of Miami and away from Sloan. For starters, she’d left her suitcase, with all her clothes, in her hotel room. She’d also left the key to Sloan’s penthouse in the inside zipper pocket of that suitcase, thus, she was unable to recover any clothes she had already moved there.
Not that I would venture there. I want nothing to do with that lying son-of-a-bitch ever again.
Abbey had tried to buy something to wear besides her power suit, but was only able to find a matching “I Love New York” T-shirt and shorts set in a little gift boutique at the airport. It would work for the night. However, when the clerk ran Abbey’s card, it was once again declined.
Abbey had left the outfit on the counter of the boutique without a word, plodded into the waiting area, flopped into a cold, plastic seat, and began to cry. A flight attendant, feeling sorry for her, had given her a voucher for the hotel room.
That reminds me, I need to call the bank. She slowly sat up, tucked the sheet around her, picked up her cell phone, and turned it on. It had finally stopped beeping and shuddering. Thirty-two texts, fourteen messages. Abbey quickly thumbed through the texts then selected them all for delete. They were all from Sloan. She had hoped there was at least one from Michael. She really needed to hear his voice right now, even if it was across a digital screen.
Dialing her voicemail, she pressed the button for speakerphone. She viciously pressed the delete button whenever that sensual, Irish brogue sounded. Then, she froze at the final message.
“Abbey, this is Aubrey. Your failure to show at the event sponsored for you by Panda Publications indicates to me your desire to terminate your contract with us. Due to your lack of attendance we would like the advance you were given back. If you are not promoting the book, you forfeit the money we gave you. We will be publishing the book without you. We will forward the royalties once it’s on the market. Call me at your earliest convenience to make arrangements.”
Abbey deleted the message with a heavy sigh. Not only had she left her luggage in Miami, she had left her new career as well. She scrolled through her address book for the bank’s profile and hit send. When the line was answered, she asked for Tom. Abbey had been good friends with Tom since kindergarten. He could fix her bankcard problem.
“This is Tom,” a voice greeted.
“Hi, Tom. This is Abbey. I need your help.”
“Sure, Abs. How’s New York?”
Abbey glanced around the dingy hotel room. “Not good. I’m coming home soon. It seems my bankcard isn’t working. It keeps coming up ‘insufficient funds.’”
“Let me take a look.” She could hear Tom typing away on his keyboard. There was a cold, hard pause. “It’s not working, Abbey, because there’s no money in your account. It’s bone dry.”
“That’s impossible. I deposited nearly fifty thousand dollars in there.”
“Let me look further.” There was another pause. “It looks like the entire balance of your account was withdrawn three days ago. You wrote a check for cash for the entire balance.”
Abbey felt her blood run cold. “I didn’t write a check for the balance. I’ve been in New York and Miami.”
“What about Michael? Didn’t you give him a check?”
“Yes. To put a down payment for our reception. How did you know?”
“Reception? What kind of reception are you having with your ex-boyfriend?”
“He’s not my ex-boyfriend. He’s my fiancé. He flew to New York a few weeks ago and asked me to marry him,” she defended.
“Really? Since you left, he’s been all over Jenny. He’s been sleeping over at her place every night and bringing her here to work every morning. As a matter of fact, Jenny quit showing up for work a couple of days ago, just out of the blue. One of the girls at the teller window said she was planning a trip to Mexico.” There was sudden silence. “Hold on. Shit.” Abbey could hear his fingers striking the keys, a flurry of curse words accompanying the taps. “Shit. I just pulled up an image of the check. It’s not your handwriting. Jenny was the teller who authorized the withdrawal. Abbey, I have to go. I need to call the sheriff. I think Jenny stole your money and took off with Michael.”
Abbey couldn’t say a word. She had no money, no way to get home. Now she knew why Michael hadn’t returned her calls and texts. He and Jenny had probably laughed themselves sick every time her name popped up on his phone, knowing she had no clue they had all her money. Her fiancé and her best friend. Her stomach lurched as she felt her world crumble beneath her.
“Abbey? Are you there? I can loan you some money. Take the first flight you can home.”
“And be the laughing stock of Mount Vernon? No. It was bad enough in high school. I’ll figure something out.”
“Abbey.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“If you need anything, call.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Flipping her phone shut, she threw it to the foot of the bed. She wasn’t broke. She was fifty thousand in the hole. It was time to go find a real job and a place to live. So much for the dream. She stiffly stood from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom.
Chapter Seven
Six Months Later-New Year’s Eve
Abbey tugged on her cracked, black loafer. She sat back against the wall to look out the ice-covered window. It’s a time to reflect, she thought to herself. How could the highest and lowest points of my life be encompassed in one year?
She glanced around at her tiny efficiency apartment. The paint peeled from the walls. The refrigerator buzzed relentlessly. The door was missing from the bathroom, which was all right since there wasn’t room to stand in there anyway. The sounds of screaming children, shouting adults, and the occasional gunshot echoed from outside.
This was her life now—home sweet home in Brownsville, New York.
Abbey reached across the windowsill and clasped her fingers around her shamrock pin. She reached to her neck and dutifully attached it to the lapel of her turquoise polyester waitress uniform. She wore the accessory every day despite the objections of Barker, the gentleman who owned the diner where she worked. He didn’t care about dress code—but flashing that much gold could get Abbey beaten. Or killed.
Yet, in the six months Abbey had lived in this dark, dangerous neighborhood nothing had happened to her. She credited her lucky pin for her safety.
Chuckling to herself, she caressed it with her fingers. Sloan O’Riley. The patron saint of screwed up children’s writers. Then, her smile faded.
Abbey thought about Sloan all the time. She wished she could stop. He even filled her dreams. She gazed down at the gold band that still resided on her left ring finger.
The pawnshop guy had eyed it jealously when she had taken all the things she owned into the shop for him to make an offer. The one Michael had proposed with was worthless—the metal was painted silver and the stone was plastic. She had gotten an adequate amount for her laptop and cell phone. But her wedding ring—with the price of gold, he could have given her top dollar. Despite the lies and deceit, however, Abbey couldn’t part with it.
At least the owner had had enough mercy to let Abbey make one last call on her phone. Knowing her mother was at work, she had called home. She left a message that everything was all right, but it would be a while before she could call again. Finishing with “I love you, Mom,” she had flipped it shut and handed it over.
She was sure Mary would be worried sick, but Abbey’s stubborn, Iowa pride wouldn’t ask her mother for help. Taking the couple hundred dollars she was offered, she set off to start anew.
Abbey watched the sunlight glint off her ring. She was p
ositive her husband was no longer wearing his. Her escape from Miami destroyed his case with the INS. A few weeks ago at the end of fall, just before the snow set in, she took the series of subways to Manhattan just to see the building. Bartholomew was gone. A tall, thin redhead in his early twenties stood sentry at the door.
After twenty minutes of working up the courage, Abbey made her way to talk to the doorman. She asked if Sloan O’Riley was home.
No, she was informed. He was no longer in the United States. He now lived in Spain. However, he still owned the building. Of course he didn’t just own the penthouse. Abbey had murmured her thanks before returning to the depths of the subway.
On her way back to the subway, she passed a big chain bookstore. It was there. Right there in the main display with the words number one bestseller next to it. Her book. Her name. Maybe I should call Aubrey? Apologize? The money could really help right now.
As her heart swelled with pride her eyes dropped to the other name on the cover. Illustrations by Sloan O’Riley. With a sad sigh she spun on her toe and walked away. Was she still furious with him? No. Did she have feelings for him now that she knew the truth? Yes. And returning to Panda, if Aubrey took her back, meant committing to a second book and committing to working with him again. Right now her heart couldn’t do that.
As the hands on the old, dirty clock on the wall flipped to five, Abbey scooted off the bed. Barker didn’t want her to work at night. He was terrified for her safety. But tonight was New Year’s Eve, and Barker’s hamburgers were infamously good. She could certainly use the tip money.
The free-flowing alcohol coursing through the bars of New York City would drop the inhibitions and better judgment of many of the partiers. They would venture through the city to Brownsville for a burger to sober up. And, by the activity of the vultures that were already on the prowl in Abbey’s neighborhood, they would pay the price.
Slipping on the threadbare jacket she bought to combat the frigid New York winter, Abbey picked up her purse. Taking a breath to steel her nerves, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, closing and locking it behind her.
Black Irish Page 6
