by Aven Ellis
I take a sip of my amaretto-flavored coffee and stare out at the beautiful city lights of Chicago from his window, wishing that somehow I could see my future with such clarity as I see the majestic city in front of me.
“Talk to me,” William says, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn. William is not even looking up from his iPad, yet he instinctively knows I am tortured.
“What?” I ask.
William swipes a few things and puts the tablet aside. Then his blue eyes are piercing right though me. “You aren’t happy about this writing job opportunity. I want to know why.”
My heart freezes. William knows, he just knows.
I can’t bear to see his disappointment. I stare down at my coffee, gathering up the courage to tell him the truth.
“I . . . I am not sure I want to quit working for you,” I admit.
“Mary-Kate, look at me.”
I swallow hard and do as he says. William is gazing at me with nothing but compassion in his beautiful eyes.
“You aren’t meant to be answering my phone and typing my presentations,” William says softly, caressing my hair with his hand in a comforting manner. “If you were still doing those things for Paul, you’d be jumping at this chance to have a job that suits you.”
“But—”
“No buts. I loathe that word,” William reminds me. Then he smiles. “Of course, I understand that working for someone as sexy and dashing as myself could cause you to be rather torn about leaving your current position. However, I assure you I shall remain sexy and dashing no matter where you are working.”
I manage a small laugh. “You are impossible.”
“Impossibly sexy? Yes, you have told me that. Many times over,” William says, lifting an eyebrow.
I blush and he laughs. Then I clear my throat.
“William,” I say, going back to being serious, “I do like collaborating with you, though. I . . . I am not sure I want to give that up.”
“Who says you have to?” William asks, furrowing his brow.
“I won’t be with you anymore,” I say, my voice growing thick.
William takes the mug from my hands and puts it on the coffee table tray. He wraps his hands around mine and squeezes them in his. “I’ll still ask you to do those things for me, Mary-Kate. I’d be a bloody idiot not to utilize you in that capacity.”
“Why can’t I just be your assistant and freelance write on the side?” I blurt out, thinking that is the optimal solution to the problem.
“No. Absolutely not,” William says firmly, his eyes flashing with intensity. “I will not have that. I will not. You need to be writing. Not making copies and tea. Your voice needs to be heard, and not on a here or there basis around doing tasks for me. I will not stifle that voice in you. I want you to write like mad, Mary-Kate. Like mad. That is what would make me happy.”
I stare at William and tears fill my eyes. I know in my heart he would love for me to stay by his side, but I also know he wants what is best for me. He knows how much I have wanted a career. He knows I fell into writing by default but he knows I love it. And even if it costs him, he wants me to be the writer I am destined to be.
I feel the words “I love you” on the tip of my lips. I want to say them. I want to tell him I love him and I have never loved anyone the way I love him.
“Mary-Kate,” William says, interrupting my thoughts. “Please tell me you’ll go after this. Please. I know you will get this job if you are passionate about it like you are about everything else you love.”
And as I see the passion in his blue eyes, how much he knows me and in the end, what would truly make me happy, I feel as though the weight of the world is lifting off my back. I see now my future, with just as much clarity as I see the twinkling lights of Chicago out the window.
“Yes,” I simply say.
“Yes?”
“I’m going for it,” I break out into a huge grin. “I’m going to get that job, William. And I am going to write my brains out when I do!”
William flashes me a beautiful, genuine, I-am-so-happy smile, the one he saves for me and his family.
“Brilliant!” he says excitedly. “Brilliant!”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me.
I excitedly kiss him back. The original feeling I had when learning about the job is back, and I feel the world is so full of possibilities.
A writer. If I get this job, I am a professional writer.
William begins kissing my neck and moves me backward on the leather couch. “I think it would be most appropriate,” he whispers against my neck, “if I find a way to reassure you I will still pay plenty of attention,” he says, kissing my neck again, “to all your needs when you are a writer.”
Oh my God. Yes, this was indeed a brilliant decision.
I slide my hands up around the base of his neck, up to his hair, caressing his silky waves in my fingertips.
“Show me,” I whisper in his ear, “just how you would do that, William Cumberland.”
He laughs wickedly and tugs down on the zipper on my hoodie.
“My pleasure, Mary-Kate Grant,” he says, kissing me on the mouth.
And just like that, everything is right in my world again. It doesn’t matter if I am a writer. It doesn’t matter if I am not with him all the time. We are together, a team, just like we have been since that Valentine’s Day in the bar at the Peninsula Hotel.
As his hands move over me and we begin to make love, I think of how I worried so much about him leaving me, about William blowing the candle out, so to speak, and heading back to London to his old life without me.
But I realize now, even with life’s continued unexpected surprises and turns, our candle will burn bright. This man is my life. William is everything to me, and I know I am everything to him.
Nothing could ever extinguish what we have.
I am sure of it.
Chapter 29
“I am on top of the world tonight!” I cry excitedly.
William laughs as the cocktail waitress at Terrace on Trump puts down our bottle of champagne and begins to uncork it. It is a glorious summer evening in Chicago, just stunning outside, and we are seated together on a sofa on the lush terrace on the 16th floor of the Trump Tower. We have a gorgeous view of the Wrigley clock tower and the Chicago River, and the sun is still setting in the sky.
And we are celebrating.
My new job as a writer for the Beautiful Homes Network!
Pop! The champagne is opened, and I am as bubbly as the luscious Dom that is about to be poured into my glass.
“Darling, you might not literally be on top of the world,” William says, laughing, “but we are high enough here for you to be close enough.”
I laugh and then snort, which makes William laugh harder.
Our glasses are poured, and we thank the waitress for our champagne. William raises his glass to me.
“To you, Mary-Kate,” William says, his eyes sparkling at me. “To your new journey as a writer. You deserve this, darling. I am so proud of you. Cheers.”
I clink my glass against his. “Cheers,” I say happily.
We both take a sip and then put our glasses aside. I tuck my legs up underneath me and rest my arm on the back of the couch, gazing at William with nothing but love in my heart. A breeze comes up and moves his beautiful waves, and one errant curl sweeps down on to his forehead.
I reach over and gingerly brush it back. “Thank you for everything you have done to help me get here,” I say honestly, stroking his hair. “I could not have done this without you.”
“That’s not—”
I silence him by putting my finger over his lips. “Mr. Cumberland, I find it most inappropriate that you interrupt me right now,” I
tease.
William grins. Then he puts his hand over mine and brings it to his lips, kissing the top gently.
“My deepest apologies for my rudeness, Ms. Grant,” William says.
I laugh and so does William.
“But in all seriousness,” I say, continuing, “you make me see things I never would have seen. Thank you for that.”
William’s eyes stay riveted to mine. I see them soften as he takes in my words.
“You are most welcome,” he says quietly. Then he takes his fingertips and draws slow circles on my kneecap, which is revealed by the denim pencil skirt I am wearing on this Friday night.
“Are you trying to tempt me, William?” I ask, flirting with him as I pick up my champagne and take a sip.
“Would I do such an inappropriate thing to my assistant?” William asks, raising his eyebrow. “Oh, wait. You are no longer my assistant now, are you?”
“No,” I say, getting shivers from the sensation of his fingertips grazing my skin, “I am not. But I do not know if it is appropriate for you to touch your consultant like this.”
He grins wickedly at me. “Touché.”
I laugh. “This night is beautiful,” I say, gazing at the city around us.
“And so are you.”
I turn and see William’s eyes have never left my face.
“How did I get so lucky to have found you?” I ask as I look at him.
William stares at me for a moment. He flexes his hands, stretching his long fingers in and out, and then he rakes them through his hair. I notice his eyes get very serious and he exhales.
My God, he looks serious and . . . nervous. My heart skips a beat. Why would he be anxious?
“William?” I ask, concerned. “Are you okay?”
William clears his throat. “Yes . . . Mary-Kate, I want to talk to you about the f—”
“Excuse me? Mr. William Cumberland?”
We both turn our heads. A young man in business attire is standing beside us.
I force a smile on my face, but inside I want to scream. This happens to us all the time, where someone approaches William and wants to tell him how they admire his business, love to work for him, blah, blah, blah, but, damn it, why now? What was William going to say that had him so serious and anxious?
The young man nervously talks about being a graduate of Notre Dame blah, blah, and I half listen as William indulges him for a few minutes. Finally, the young man leaves and I am right back to where we left off.
“What were you saying?” I ask.
William shakes his head. “I have decided I do not want to have that conversation here. I want it to be private,” William says firmly, stroking the side of my face with his hand. “But it is important, and we’ll talk about it first thing in the morning.”
My heart stops. It is about the future. It is about London. I know it, I just do. My entire life is falling into place and I just can’t believe how incredibly happy I am about everything!
Yes, the discussion of the future—our future—can wait until tomorrow. Right now I want to savor this champagne, this view, my new career, and, most of all, an evening with the man I love.
And tomorrow the final piece of the puzzle, of where we are going to live together, will be put into place.
I wake up on Saturday to find William already gone. Which is normal for him. He goes for his swim, works for a bit, and then gets me a coffee from Starbucks.
I smile to myself as I stretch in bed. He is so sweet, I think happily. Who knew under that original formal, icy exterior of William Cumberland, international badass mogul, was William who brought his girlfriend coffee every morning?
I get up and get dressed in workout pants and a T-shirt. I plan on heading to the gym for a spinning class later this morning. I go to retrieve his tea mug from his office and prepare to make fresh tea, as I usually do when he’s left for a while.
I walk into his office. I pick up his mug, but I accidentally drop it, sending cold tea splashing across his desk and iPad.
“Fuck!” I blurt out as the tea spills everywhere.
Why am I such a klutz? Why? I run to the bathroom and grab a towel, and I instantly begin to blot the iPad screen and then his papers. And then I notice what I am blotting.
An airline itinerary.
I pause for a moment, lifting the towel up so I can see. It is a Premier Airlines ticket to London, departing on Monday.
With no return.
My heart stops beating. I didn’t book this ticket, like I always book his tickets for work.
William did this himself, without telling me.
Yesterday afternoon.
I look at the credit card number and the last four digits . They are not his corporate card number.
This is his private American Express card.
This is personal travel.
Travel that he obviously didn’t want me to know about it.
A one-way ticket back to London, for himself.
And there is no ticket for me.
My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs. I frantically sift through the other papers on his desk, and find two files. One labeled ‘Real Estate Agents—Chicago’ and the other ‘New Assistant—Chicago.’
I pick up the one for real estate, my hand shaking violently as I do. There is a printout of this penthouse, with estimated listing price.
Suddenly I can’t breathe. William is selling his penthouse in Chicago and keeping it secret from me. I look at the date of the printout. Yesterday.
The same day he’d purchased his one-way ticket.
The same day I got the job at the Beautiful Homes Network.
The job he insisted I apply for and pursue.
And he did all of this without saying a word to me.
Oh my God.
Tears are now falling from my eyes as I pick up the other folder. I flip through it and HR has provided William with all kinds of resumes. I see a handwritten note from the HR manager for this position and read it.
Heather is a recent USC graduate. Young, determined, background in TV and film, would be a good fit to coordinate things in your office in Chicago. Would you like to schedule a phone interview? Let me know. Josh
I slam the folder shut. I feel dizzy. Panic engulfs me. He must have had this conversation with HR via the phone, because I have not seen one email about this in his corporate account. And they obviously delivered this folder straight to him and bypassed giving it to me like they do everything else.
Nausea rises in my throat. William didn’t want me to know. So I wouldn’t know he is grooming another girl like me, another girl he can sweep off her feet as he comes and goes from Chicago as he pleases.
Oh God. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.
I drop the folder as the truth of the situation hits me so hard my knees buckle. I grab William’s desk chair for support, but everything is collapsing around me.
A sob escapes my throat as I stare at all the pieces of the puzzle in front of me, and they are not making the picture I so happily envisioned on the terrace last night.
Sobs rack my body. He is not bringing me back to London. William never planned to bring me home with him.
And that is why he was so nervous to talk to me last night.
William, the man I love with all my heart, the man who I thought loved me, is leaving me here.
And the job at the Beautiful Homes Network is simply a parting gift he arranged before he said goodbye.
Chapter 30
I am still reeling in his office when I hear William come through the front door. I can’t breathe. I can’t. I desperately try to take in air as I steady myself against his chair.
“Mary-Kate?” I hear his deep voice call out. “Darling? I have your co
ffee.”
Oh God. Just hearing his baritone voice causes waves of pain to rip through me.
Finally he appears in the doorway. “Mary-Kate I have—” He stops the second he sees me. Instantly his blue eyes zero in on my face and his expression changes to one of shock and concern. “Mary-Kate! What’s wrong?”
The second I look into William’s eyes, my heart is gutted. I am torn apart by this man—this man who is tossing me aside and going home without me. By this man who I stupidly believed could love me forever.
And rage takes over.
I grab the folder of resumes off his desk and hurl it at him.
William ducks and the file sails over his head, bouncing off the door and sending resumes flying like confetti. The coffee falls to the floor, splattering everywhere.
“Jesus Christ!” William yells, eyes wide.
“So are you going to find someone else to fuck you instead of me when you periodically come back to Chicago?” I scream at him. “Heather sounds like a perfect candidate, William!”
“What?” William cries, staring at me like I’ve gone insane.
“You are going back to London without me!” Tears are spilling down my face as I grab his itinerary and wave it around. “A one-way ticket home. I am such an idiot to think I had a future with you!”
A horrified expression passes over William’s face. “My God, you were going through my papers behind my back?” His voice resonates with shock.
“No, of course not. I would never spy on you!” I shout. “I came in here to get your mug, and I spilled the tea. Then I saw this ticket when I was cleaning up this mess. And thank God I did, because now I know where I stand. You are leaving me!”
I watch as William pales.
Tell me I’m wrong, I think. Tell me you love me. Tell me this is some sort of huge misunderstanding.
“Mary-Kate,” William says, his eyes desperately searching mine, “do you actually believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I cry, jerking my hand across my face to wipe away the tears that cannot stop. “You haven’t told me anything different. It’s not like you have promised me a damn thing or even told me you love me!”
