She hugged me tightly and released me. “I want to emphasize, Gemma, how important it is that you give love a chance — if it’s still there.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Love is the most important thing in the world. Not money, not fame, not a single thing else. It’s love. I know that you and Peter were very much in love, and somehow, Frank and I came between that.”
“I think Peter and I came between you two first,” I said drily.
“Well, now that Frank and I are back together, and that the wedding is back on, there’s no reason you and Peter can’t be back together, right?”
I sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Why can’t it be that simple? Why can’t you make it that simple?”
What could I tell my mother? I’d accused Peter of being out of touch. He’d accused us of being gold diggers. He had been rubbing my nose in the fact that he had insisted on paying for things for me. I’d decided that he wasn’t worth the truth about my family.
And there was the small matter of him using sex as a way of punishing me while he was upset over the whole thing. That was a can of worms I wanted to avoid opening, if at all possible.
“There were a lot of things going on in our relationship,” I said finally. “You and Frank, that situation, it was almost the straw breaking the camel’s back.” That situation had dropped on our relationship like an anvil. It had been the push behind everything that followed, but that was a truth my mother didn’t need to know. Maybe I was back to protecting her with my lies. But there were some things about my life, about the relationship I’d had with Peter, that she just didn’t need to know.
“I’m worried about you,” my mother said. “It’s been nice to have you here at home with me, but I’m afraid if you stay too long, you’ll lose your potential. You’ll stagnate. You’ll get depressed.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll bounce back. I think I’ll take the train into the city and stay for a little while. See if I can find a new job by the time you and Frank get married.”
I could barely discern my mother shaking her head in the darkness of my room. “Lost a boyfriend and a job in one fell swoop. It’s awful.”
“It probably speaks a lot to the truth that you shouldn’t mix work and play,” I mused. “Well, at least I learned that lesson.”
“As long as you learned. Gemma, you can stay here as long as you want. I just know how unhappy you can be when you’re not doing what you want to be doing.”
For a long time, what I’d wanted to be doing hinged on working in an office in an iconic skyscraper in New York City. I hadn’t necessarily cared which building, or which office, or what I specifically did, but maybe it was time to nail that down. Maybe that was what had been holding me back. My interests were too broad.
The next day, on the train ride into the city, I made notes in the journal that had held all of my lies for me. I referenced those lies, too, in trying to pinpoint my own truths. I knew they were folded in there. I was a highly capable woman. I knew that I could find a job if I really set my mind to it, if I focused my strengths.
And I had to be honest with myself, as the train slowed to a crawl on its approach to the station. If I couldn’t make it here, in the Big Apple, I would make it elsewhere. This city had been hard on me, and I’d learned some tough lessons. But I’d also learned that I didn’t have to be in New York City if it was too hard. There was no reason to suffer if success could be found somewhere else.
As I walked the streets, though, I realized how much I’d missed the energy of this place. Almost everyone was here because they wanted to be here. They loved the city as much as I did. Even though I was only here as a visitor this time, I knew, in my bones, that I’d be a New Yorker once again. I’d ply these streets as a resident, commuting to my place of work from my apartment, developing friends, actually enjoying this amazing place.
For now, though, I needed a temporary place to rest my head. The penthouse was out of the question, of course. I was sure that Peter had it scrubbed clean, all traces of my brief residency there erased, everything thrown away in the hotel’s dumpsters. The homeless picking through the garbage bags must have had a field day with my fine business wear.
I knew I should be frugal, but I wanted to make this first night, at least, a celebration. I was getting back out there. I was going to move on from Peter. I was going to find a job that utilized my skills and my degree and paid me well enough so that I could afford a decent apartment. Therefore, I wanted a nice hotel, one where I could feel pampered, and maybe imbibe a little from the minibar, putting it all on a credit card I’d gotten in my name as a faithful investment that in the very near future, I would be able to afford living like this.
I entered the first such hotel I came across to check in, to get the party started, giving the receptionist my name as she searched the availability.
“I have only the penthouse available,” the woman said, looking up at me, uncertainty and something else I couldn’t identify in her eyes.
“Well, that’s not an option,” I said, laughing. As fitting as it would be to ring in my new-new life in New York City by spending the night in a penthouse, I wasn’t about to do that to my credit card. One night up there would probably exceed my limits. “That’s all right. I’ll try somewhere else.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she said. “There’s a note, from the owner. It popped up when I entered your name. It said that if a Gemma Ryan — that’s you — tried to stay here, she would only be allowed to stay in the penthouse. And it would be complementary, no matter how long she chose to stay.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
She shook her head, befuddled. “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life. We — we have other vacancies available.”
“Then let me pay for one of those,” I said, anger building. “Please.”
“I can’t do that,” she said. “These are explicit directions from Peter Bly. It says that anyone who doesn’t follow them will be fired immediately.”
I turned around and marched out of the hotel without uttering another word, seething with anger. How dare Peter try and interfere with my life? This was my life. Mine. We weren’t together anymore, and he was still trying to sling money at me. This was unacceptable.
I walked into the next hotel, and my heart sank as the receptionist took on the same puzzled expression as the first.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “There is a message in the system that I’m to give you the penthouse suite. It’s no charge to you, it appears, but there aren’t any rooms available that I can give you except for this one, the penthouse.”
“The message is from Peter Bly, isn’t it?” I asked, my rage continuing to build. “You like working for him?”
“Ma’am, I don’t even know the guy,” he said, shrugging. “That’s just what it says here on my screen.”
“Can you just enter a different name?”
“It says that if I don’t do it, I’ll get fired.” He eyed me. “Sorry. I need this job. What’s so bad with a free night or two in the penthouse, anyway? I’d take it.”
“That’s the problem,” I told him. “You don’t know Peter Bly.”
At the next hotel, I gave a fake name. Everything was going fine until they took my credit card and ran it.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, smiling nervously. “Can I see some ID? Your name and the name on this card don’t match up.”
I gulped and handed over my driver’s license. “The name I gave you earlier is one I use for traveling. You know. Like when famous people check into hotels and don’t give their real names so people don’t know they’re staying there.”
“Oh, are you famous?”
“No,” I said, laughing. “No, I just… I like my privacy when I’m traveling. That’s all.”
“Well, your privacy is closely guarded here, Ms. Ryan,” she said, typing some more. �
�Oh. Oh, my. It says here that you… I just don’t understand this. Let me call my manager.”
I sighed. “It’s all right. I won’t waste your time. It says that if you don’t put me in the penthouse for free, you’ll be fired. It’s a message from Peter Bly, right?”
“Yes, but how do you know?”
All I could do was throw my hands up in the air and leave. I walked along the street, wracking my brain to try and remember the hotels that Peter’s company didn’t own. There weren’t many. It was a successful company that took care of its employees and its properties. Lots of other hotels with current corporate owners wanted to be owned by the Bly Group. That’s how popular it was. Would there be a single hotel I could stay in under my own will that Peter couldn’t control?
I settled on another hotel, one or two stars, that I hadn’t tried. I couldn’t remember seeing it on any files I’d come across during my stint working for Peter, and I doubted that it even had a penthouse. It really wasn’t a place I’d come to celebrate, but being on Peter’s radar meant that I had to revise my grand plans.
“Hello,” I chirped brightly, trying to think positively. Maybe a little optimism would ensure the success of this transaction without Peter’s interference. “I’d like a room for tonight, if you have any available.”
“We do have vacancies,” the receptionist said, not quite as cheerful. I didn’t blame him. It had probably been as long a day for him as it had been for me, and I’d only just gotten into the city. “Your name, please.”
“Gemma Ryan,” I said, with confidence, sure that the Bly Group had never even so much as eyed this dingy establishment.
But my heart sank as soon as the receptionist’s eyes lit up. “Ms. Ryan,” he said, instantly more agreeable. “I have the honeymoon suite available for you. It’s a complementary night’s stay. Courtesy of a Mr. Bly.”
“I would rather not have the honeymoon suite,” I informed him, trying to keep my voice as sweet as possible. “And I do not need Mr. Bly’s charity. Would you please book me for another room? I have a credit card. I’m certain you have rooms to fill.”
“The honeymoon suite’s all right,” the receptionist said, a little defensively. “You want to see it? It gets cleaned really well after each stay. Just like all of our rooms.”
I cringed. “Look, I believe you. I’m not questioning the quality of the honeymoon suite. I just don’t want to be beholden to Mr. Bly, you know what I'm saying?”
“Is he not someone you want to be indebted to?” the receptionist asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Not really,” I said. “I know for a fact that this hotel isn’t owned by the Bly Group. What note popped up on your screen when you typed in my name? Peter Bly couldn’t hold much sway in getting you fired if you didn’t follow his instructions.”
“That the person who gave Gemma Ryan the nicest room in the hotel would get a $500 bonus.”
It was so pathetic that my shoulders sagged. The guy looked so excited — though it was now tinged with doubt — that I knew what I had to do so at least one of us could come out of this on top.
“You know what? Book it. Fine. Get your $500.”
“You said it wasn’t good to be beholden to Mr. Bly,” the receptionist said doubtfully.
“You won’t be beholden, I’ll be beholden. You’ll be 500 bucks richer.”
The receptionist leaned closer. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Yep.” I smiled. “Enjoy the money. He has enough of it to spare.”
Because it sounded a lot like Peter had called every hotel in the city and reserved its nicest room for me.
I had no intention of staying in that hotel, or anywhere. I flirted briefly with the idea of a hostel, or a stab at a service I’d heard a little about that connected weary travelers to residents willing to host them on their couches. But I knew what I really needed to do was confront my problem head on.
I needed to see Peter.
Chapter 17
I approached the manager on the ground floor of the Bly Group building, still angry. What was supposed to be a trip to the city to celebrate my renewed passion and drive and hopefully career was quickly spiraling into comic disaster
“I need to see Peter Bly,” I said, slightly out of breath from flitting from hotel to hotel, being told the same thing at all of them, and marching down here to confront the problem at its root.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked. “Mr. Bly is a very busy man.”
“Yes, he has been very busy,” I spat. “I don’t have an appointment, but try putting my name in your computer. Gemma Ryan. See if anything special pops up.”
The manager looked at me as if I were a lunatic, but did what I asked, her eyes widening with surprise. “Looks like you have a pass to be admitted upstairs to see Mr. Bly whenever you want.”
“Wonder what that would be worth if I sold it,” I muttered, stalking away toward the elevators.
I had to admit that it was strange to be back in the building. I’d left it in such anger, and I’d returned in equal rage. That spoke, on many levels, to the effect Peter had on me.
In spite of my fury, it was oddly nostalgic to march across the floor of the office when I got up there, wondering if the ground floor manager had at least called up to Peter to alert him I was on my way up. I nodded grimly as former coworkers looked up at me, many of them surprised to see me again after the way I’d departed. I hadn’t given notice, hadn’t said a thing to anyone, had simply grabbed my purse from my desk and never come back. I glanced over there now, puzzled that Peter hadn’t filled the position or at least taken the empty piece of furniture away. It fueled my suspicions once again that he’d created a fake position and paid me for superfluous work just to keep me near him. To have sex with me whenever he pleased.
I entered his office without doing him the courtesy of even knocking. He deserved to be as uncomfortable as I’d been all day, caught off guard at every turn.
But Peter, leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk, his hands behind his head, smirking, didn’t look caught off guard at all. I guess I’d been so angry downstairs that the floor manager had called him, after all. He’d had time to prepare himself. I imagined him hurrying to assume this position of relaxation and leisure just to prove that he was as cool as a cucumber about me charging up here. That he didn’t care it was the first time we’d seen each other in weeks. That he was nowhere near as affected by me as I was by him.
Asshole.
We stared each other down for what seemed like whole minutes of agonizing silence, the door easing shut behind me, pulled by my own hand, out of helpless habit. I’d come into this same office so many times — albeit for very different reasons — and closed that door to give us privacy, to keep our trysts away from prying eyes. Part of me wanted to fling it open again, to let my former coworkers know just how big of a jerk their employer was, but it was respect for those same people that made me leave it shut. They had actual work to do. I didn’t need to distract them from it.
Peter looked well. Well, he looked handsome. That was the truth of it. We’d been broken up for several weeks, and he looked tanned, well fed and well groomed, and happy. That vexing five o’clock shadow was still there, dusting his otherwise smooth cheeks. It was that stubble that had unmade me the first time we’d crossed paths. I’d wanted to rub my face against it then, and I wanted to rub my face against it now.
I hated to admit it, but I was still attracted to him. I’d been able to block him on my phone and ignore him for a few hours, but the old feelings had reared their ugly heads immediately upon seeing him.
I couldn’t imagine that I looked anywhere near as good as he did. That was probably the reason he was smirking. I was sure I was red-faced with rage at the turn today had taken, not to mention all the running around I’d done. My hair was piled on top of my hair in a messy bun — an effort to cool down. It might’ve been autumn already, but physical toil took its toll. I’d gotten more exercise to
day than I had in the weeks I’d been living with my mother.
I had dressed up for my trip into the city — well, as much as I could’ve — in black ballet flats and dark skinny jeans and a pretty tunic sweater, but it was all disheveled now. And I was sure I was simultaneously puffy and gaunt from my period of mourning, away from the city. If this was going to be a war of looks, I’d already lost.
Peter broke the silence first, though, so at least there was that. “I’m surprised,” he said. “The Stay Inn? Really, Gemma? I thought you would’ve taken a little more care with your accommodations.” The words were angry, but the tone wasn’t. The tone was amused. I’d missed his voice, I realized, but not his attitude.
“It was the first place I found that didn’t threaten to fire its employees for helping me avoid you,” I said. “It was a matter of principle.”
“I only wanted to make sure you were comfortable when you came into the city,” he said in a weak attempt to quell my anger. “My father mentioned in passing that you were looking for a job and were going to stay here until the wedding. Why don’t you move back into the penthouse?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“It’s not like anyone’s using it right now,” Peter reasoned. “It’s still there, waiting for you. All of your clothes and things.”
I peered at him and cocked my head. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of that?”
“I guess I always sort of hoped you’d come back to it,” he said, and smiled broadly. “And here you are.”
“I’m not coming back to it,” I informed him. “I'm starting fresh. And you need to step aside.”
“What do you mean, step aside?”
“I mean that you can’t continue to interfere in my life. I don’t want your help. I want to do this on my own.”
He laughed derisively. “Gemma, the last time you tried to do something on your own, you were scooping dog poo and slinging drinks. Let’s be honest. What do you think you are going to achieve?”
CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) Page 64
