The owner of this apartment doesn’t live here, I want to scream. Seriously, why does Archer’s dad want me gone? There’s no way it could be Archer himself. I couldn’t have messed things up that bad by admitting I love him.
Right?
I scrub at my eyes, trying to clear the tears away. “So you’re kicking me out without any of my belongings?”
The taller guy has the grace to look somewhat ashamed, but the other one has no such sympathy. “We’ve given you notice of your trespass. So are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”
I firm up my jaw as best I can, and grab my purse and phone, praying they don’t tell me I can’t take those either. At least I hadn’t changed into pajamas yet. That would have been awkward.
The elevator car is silent as we ride back down all fifty floors, the lobby attendant’s face impassive as we exit. How do they always manage to be so expressionless?
“Miss Montague,” he says as I pass by. “Your key, please.”
I turn to him, the two officers at my side waiting patiently. “What?”
“I’ve just been informed I’ll need your key.”
Who informed him? Is this a conspiracy or something?
I fish my keys out of my purse, willing my hands not to shake again as I take my key off. “You always called me Mrs. Bishop,” I murmur as I hand it to him.
He nods in acknowledgment but stays silent as he accepts the key and places it in his desk drawer.
The shorter police officer indicates for me to keep walking, sticking by me until we’re fully out of the building. He walks around to the driver’s side of the patrol car at the curb, but the taller guy lingers for a second by me. “Do you have someone you can call? Money for a hotel room?”
The last ten minutes feel like a dream. Is this actually happening? “I- I’ll figure something out.”
“We can give you a ride if you need one.”
Where? Where do I have to go? I find my phone once more in my purse and dial Archer’s number, but it won’t do anything. Is it disconnected or something?
“I, um-” As much as I don’t want to hang around them any longer, I can’t afford to be picky right now. I give them the address of the shelter, ignoring their muted chatter from the front seat as we drive. God, if anyone saw me in this, I’d absolutely die. At least I’m not handcuffed.
I refuse to thank them for the ride as they let me out, and walk up and unlock the shelter doors, heading straight upstairs so the overnight worker doesn’t see me. At night, with no one else around, my desk is smaller looking than usual, and I set my bag down on it gingerly, sinking down into my chair.
I don’t even know how to begin processing everything. Seriously, what just happened? I pick up my desk phone, the dial tone reassuring, and look up Archer’s number on my cell since I still don’t have it memorized. Oh, crap. I didn’t get my phone charger at home. Like that was the main thing on my mind, though.
I punch in the digits, exhaling a long breath, praying he has some kind of reasonable explanation for me. A jolt of relief floods through me as he picks up, but my stomach drops as I recognize it for what it is. The number you have dialed has been disconnected, an automated voice informs me. I hang up and try again, but it’s no different this time.
There’s no way Archer’s phone is actually disconnected. He’s an important guy in his company. The freaking CFO. People have to call him. He didn’t… block me or something, did he?
I slam the phone down in its cradle, my jaw quivering before the floodgates open, tears pouring down my cheeks. What happened? We were doing so good. He said he wanted me, that we would make a real go of this relationship.
And then he skipped out of town after things started getting serious.
No, no. That was a coincidence. He had to leave for work.
That’s what he told you. And yet, here you are, kicked out of your apartment by the police.
I push aside the sick voice in my head, but it returns with a vengeance.
First your mother, then your father, and now Archer. Everyone that gets close gives up on you. Why’d you think this time would be different?
I bury my face in my hands, letting the tears overtake me. It’s not true. Archer hasn’t given up on me. He cares about me somewhat, right? Even though he doesn’t love me, I know he cares. He has to.
I’ll- I’ll figure things out tomorrow. I’ll go visit Archer’s dad and get some answers.
But for now… I’ll cry.
“Hi, I’d like to see Harold Bishop.”
The woman at the reception area looks at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a yeah, right face. Okay, so my hair is a little frizzy. And my dress is a bit wrinkled. And my eyes are still pretty puffy and red. Turns out that credit card Archer gave me was canceled too. I ended up sleeping at my desk last night after I couldn’t book a hotel and it very much shows today.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her nails clicking on her keyboard.
“No.” I lift my chin, trying my best to fool her with confidence. “But I’m sure he’ll see me.”
“Mr. Bishop is the head of an international, billion dollar organization. He doesn’t take walk-in appointments.” Her tone is matter of fact, but the snideness still comes through loud and clear. Under normal circumstances, I’d absolutely agree with her, but I don’t have time for it right now.
“I’m his daughter-in-law. He’ll see me.”
She blinks, startled at my forcefulness, then squints at me. Her eyes flash with recognition, and yes, I’m normally more polished looking, but there’s not much I can do about that at the moment. There’s hardly anything in my checking account because I’ve never really had need of it before. It’s my own fault for relying on others all my life, though. Lesson learned.
I can’t afford to waste any of the little money I have until I know what’s going on. I already had to use some to buy breakfast. And I’m not asking Wendy for a loan. I won’t drag anyone at the shelter into my personal problems.
“Let me call his executive assistant,” she says, a bit more urgency in her now. “If you wouldn’t mind having a seat over there?” She motions to a few armchairs grouped together out of earshot of her desk, and I sit where she indicates, watching her from afar as she picks up her phone, speaking into the receiver.
A minute later, she walks over to me, her heels clacking on the tile. “He’ll see you now. You can take the elevator up to the sixtieth floor.”
I will my face to stay neutral, even as I internally gawk in disbelief. I knew it was a longshot walking in here demanding to see him. I thought I’d have to wait a while at least.
I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress the best I can on the ride up, a pang running through my chest as I pass the fiftieth floor.
Archer’s floor.
An older woman with a kind smile greets me as I step off, leading me to a set of polished oak doors. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then seems to think better of it, knocking briefly before opening them and announcing my arrival.
“Send her in.”
His voice sends a rush of ice through me, calling to mind a dream I had last night that woke me out of a dead sleep. I’d been a rat, running in a wheel in a cage, Archer and his father standing outside looking down at me, grim expressions on their faces. Pretty sure I don’t need a psychiatrist to decipher that one for me.
Mr. Bishop’s sharp gaze pierces me from across the room, my steps slowing as I approach his massive desk. I take the seat in front of his desk, the hard back incredibly uncomfortable after my terrible night of sleep.
“I really don’t know what you expect me to do,” he starts before I have a chance to say anything. “Archer made himself perfectly clear. Though, I’ll admit, it was a bit cowardly of him to involve me in his dirty work.”
I swallow past the golf ball sized lump lodged in my throat. “He… you… Archer was the one who did this?”
He folds his hands in fr
ont of him casually, appearing almost bored. The action practically screams what little consequence this conversation is to him. As if my life being upended bears absolutely no importance. “Why do you think he so suddenly left the country?”
Stay strong. Get your answers. “I thought he had to leave for work. Because you made him.”
“Me?” He chuckles, though there’s zero humor in it. “No, he insisted on going, even after I told him Connor was perfectly capable of handling our issues overseas.”
Archer wanted to go? He made it seem like he had to. “But why?”
He tilts his head, a predatory gleam flashing in his eyes briefly. “So he wouldn’t have to face you. With this deal with your father no longer happening, there’s no reason to continue this farce.”
“You’re not buying Dad’s company?”
His lips thin. “No. His attempt at pulling one over on me won’t work out too well for him in the long run. Didn’t Archer tell you he was investigating your father’s company for fraud? Turns out he was right.”
Hundreds of invisible pins and needles prick at my skin, racing up my legs, my torso, my arms, up over my neck and scalp, numbing me, my back hunching forward with the weight of them. “But we’re married.” I grasp at the last straw I have, hanging onto it like a lifeline. He can’t push me out of his life so easily. I have legal rights, don’t I? Archer never mentioned that post-nuptial for us to sign again.
Mr. Bishop shakes his head, the solemnity of his act almost mocking. “Turns out you’re not.”
“W-what?”
“It looks like there’s a record on file with the clerk for a marriage license for you and Gabriel, but nothing for you and Archer.”
“I- I thought they just changed the names or something.”
He purses his lips. “That’s not how it works. Did you and Archer ever go get a license and get remarried?”
It takes me a moment to get out the word, “No.”
“Then it’s not legal.”
I shake my head, desperation bleeding out. “I know Archer. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t evict me. He wouldn’t end things this way.”
He brings his hands up in an oh, well gesture. “And yet, here we are. Now, I don’t have all day to listen to my son’s jilted paramour.”
I curl my arms across my stomach, holding the pain inside. “But I have nowhere to go. He turned off my phone, changed his number or something. I don’t have any money.”
He opens his desk drawer, pulling out a checkbook even as his lips twist in annoyance. “Here. I’ll be generous.” He writes out a check and slides it across the desk.
I pick it up, my hands trembling, five hundred dollars made out to me, Serena Montague. The name is more a slap in the face than the modest amount of money. I was never a Bishop, apparently.
“Give my best to Greg,” he says, dismissing me. I automatically stand, not sure what else to do, not sure at all what’s going on right now. Were my questions answered? Or were only more raised in their place?
Let’s take stock. I’m not married to Archer and never was. There’s no reason to continue the fake relationship now that the Bishops aren’t buying Dad’s company. And Archer cut off my phone and credit card, had me evicted from our apartment, and fled the country so he wouldn’t have to face me while doing it.
There’s just no way. It’s too unbelievable. I know him, despite only being together a couple of weeks. He’s honorable. Noble. Kind. Even if he wanted to end things, he wouldn’t go about it like this. And besides that, he promised he wouldn’t leave me.
And I told him I loved him.
But I also can’t ignore the facts. And the facts are that I’m single, penniless, and homeless right now. Great combo.
I tuck the check in my purse and exit the office, not bothering to say goodbye. What’s the point?
I take the elevator down and wander out on the sidewalk, letting the crowd sweep me away, directionless as to where I’m going. My eyes burn hot, but I don’t let the tears fall, my face aching with the effort to hold them back. I’ll get through this. I will.
It just might take some time to get to that point.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Archer
Weak streetlights shine intermittently through the rear window of our town car as we travel back to the hotel, Connor beside me in the backseat. Up front, our driver brakes as a moped cuts him off, shouting something in Filipino I can’t understand.
“What’d he say?”
“Huh?” Connor looks over at me and then up at the driver. “Oh, basically like son of a bitch. I think it literally means your mother’s a whore, though.”
“Oh.” We lurch forward again as a truck inserts itself into our lane, and I avert my eyes from the window so I don’t continually flinch. I thought New York was ridiculous, but this is an outright free for all. “Is it always this bad driving?”
“Yep.” He relaxes further back into his seat, his apparent ease while we’re in this death trap astounding. “You get used to it after a while.”
“Right.” Hopefully, it won’t be a while for me. I’m already on day five and practically crawling out of my skin. There’s no good reason for me to be here. It’s a hassle to get any of my normal work done, and there’s nothing I can do that Connor himself can’t. The one bright spot is that I’ve been spending time with my brother.
And the darkest is that I still haven’t spoken to Serena after the awkward end to our call the other day.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the display, but there are no new messages, no missed calls. Nothing’s changed since I last checked five minutes ago.
Really, it shouldn’t be her reaching out first. It should be me. I’m the one who didn’t know what to say. I’m the one who made up that bullshit excuse about needing to go. I’m the one who keeps waiting for the perfect words to come to me.
But at this point, I just need to say something. To tell her she’s been on my mind nonstop. That I miss her in a way that physically aches. That she’ll have to bear with me while I inevitably screw some things up. This whole being in a relationship thing is new to me.
Being beholden to someone. Responsible for them. Tied together, not just legally, but deep within yourself. Your brain. Your heart. Your soul. Serena’s in there, but how far?
How do you know?
I pull the reading glasses she gave me out of the inner breast pocket of my suit and put them on, my chest flaring in remembrance of how thoughtful she is, and bring up my messages on the screen, her name at the top. I miss you, I type out, keeping it simple. I just need to open the lines of communication again, get things flowing.
But when I press send, the phone does nothing. Not even the spinny circle like it’s trying to act.
“Hey, do you get bad service over here?”
“Hmm?” Connor looks up from his own phone over at me. “Uh, sometimes. The signal’s best at the office or hotel when I can connect to wi-fi.”
“Yeah, but you’re using data right now. Mine won’t even do that.”
“Here. Let me see.”
I exit out of my messages before handing my cell to him, wanting to keep anything between me and Serena private.
He frowns as he looks at it, fiddling with something in the settings. “It says you’re not connected to a network.”
“Shouldn’t it automatically connect? Do it manually.”
“I can’t. It’s acting like you don’t even have service.”
“What? I was using it today at the office.”
“To make calls?”
I rack my brain, trying to recall every time I used it. “No,” I say slowly. “I only sent emails. I was using the wi-fi, though. I haven’t called anyone on it since-” I clear my throat, pushing away that memory. “Since the other night.”
He hands it back to me. “Try calling someone.”
I bring up Serena’s contact, my thumb hovering over the phone icon. It’s seven p.m. here, which means i
t’s six a.m. there. She’ll definitely be asleep, but this is important. Not that I know what I’ll say, but maybe it’s been long enough that the awkwardness has faded.
But nothing happens. The call won’t go through.
“Let me use your phone.”
He hands me his without question, his sober expression mirroring what’s running through my head.
I type in her number, holding it up to my ear, but it doesn’t even ring before an automated voice tells me the number’s been disconnected.
An unsettling wave washes over me, the back of my neck prickling. “Something’s wrong.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t call Serena. It says her phone’s disconnected. I think mine is too.”
His dark brows narrow. “What?”
“I- I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair, over and over trying to figure it out, calling my number too only for it to give me the same disconnected message. Wait. I should call Lori. Duh.
I type her number in on Connor’s phone and thankfully it rings. When it kicks over to voicemail, I hang up and try again, knowing she won’t answer calls from numbers she doesn’t recognize. Oh well, Lori. You’re answering this time.
It goes to voicemail a second time and I simply hang up and repeat. I can do this all day.
“What is it?” she answers grumpily the third time. “You’re obviously not a robocaller.”
“Lori, it’s Archer.”
“Oh, sorry, I- Wait. This isn’t your number.”
“It’s my brother’s. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. I know it’s early, but can you head over to the apartment and check on Serena? I can’t get hold of her.”
“She’s probably sleeping,” she says, a bit of attitude in her voice. “She doesn’t like waking early.”
Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t know that. “I still want you to check on her.” And maybe I can get an answer as to why her phone’s turned off.
“She was fine when I left yesterday afternoon. What’s going on?”
Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2) Page 20
