by Amelia Wilde
I spend Thursday parked on the couch with my laptop, sorting through all the things I’ll need to do before I can erase Rainflower Blue from the Internet. Ace is on my mind with every single breath, and it doesn’t help that all the most popular threads have to do with him. And me. And the so-called murder that he never committed.
I finally work up the courage to look through the packet from Aida.
My heart aches when I read it.
It’s information regarding Elisa’s death. No sign of foul play whatsoever, just a painful end brought on by cancer. Aida has included several items, including a police report that seems to have been filed by Elisa’s father, which accuses Ace of abusing her. The evidence, Aida says in a note, is completely falsified.
He’s an innocent man, and every second that the website is live, people who probably claim to be his friends are tearing him to pieces, speculating on when he’ll be arrested and tried in the United States’ courts.
I set up a meeting with the tech team, followed by one with my financial manager, for Friday morning, when I can be sure that I’ll have their undivided attention.
I’ve owned the site long enough to know that there are things I can do from my own computer to shut it down, but not as completely as I might like…and though I spend several hours with my mouse hovered over the button to discontinue database operations, I can’t bring myself to click it.
I’m so fucking torn.
I can’t take it anymore and flip the laptop’s cover closed, then snatch my phone from the couch beside me, my heart in my throat.
I wait for it to calm down before I tap out a text to Jess.
I thought about what you said.
Yeah? :)
I’m going to shut down the site
That’s probably for the best
Yeah. But I just can’t do it
Why not?
Shouldn’t I prove his innocence first?
There’s a long pause.
Care! Don’t be insane. Nothing you post on that site is going to prove anything to those people. It’s way past that point. All you’re going to do is put personal information they don’t need in front of their ravenous faces. Trust me. Just let it go
My face goes pink.
I’ve really helped other people before, though
I’m sure you have. But I don’t think this is that kind of scenario. Let me guess—you told people if their husbands were visiting hotels without them?
Yeah, that kind of thing
I know your heart is in the right place, Care, but Ace doesn’t need you to protect him from rumors. They’ll fade away on their own.
Another pause, another text.
I really feel like you should focus on proving to him that what you want is him, not to profit from the fact that he’s a person of interest in New York’s hottest scandal. Of course we both know this isn’t a real scandal….
You’re right.
She’s absolutely right, and I’ve been an idiot.
Ace Kingsley is the kind of man who can fend for himself. That’s one of the things I like best about him—that he does what he needs to do for himself.
He’s strength in the face of ridiculous rumors, a wife who died, an Italian crime boss who tried and failed to put him behind bars.
And damn it if I’m going to lose him over this stupid website.
I pull the laptop back onto my lap and log in.
There’s housekeeping I need to do before I pull the trigger on this.
I’m going to shut down Rainflower Blue at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, come hell or high water, and I’m never going to look back.
I’m only going to look forward.
The next decision comes to me in a flash of inspiration.
Even if Ace doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, I need to make a plan.
I need to get out of New York City.
I’ve been here for too long, submerged in the endless river of rumors that flows along the streets, and I need to start over somewhere new. It won’t be enough to simply shut down the website.
I’ll set up something with the realtor as soon as I can formulate this note to my subscribers and figure out just how much cash I’ll need for refunds for the rest of this month’s subscription fees.
My heart beats faster in my chest. Starting over somewhere new. Somewhere new, Ace by my side….
…or not.
Chapter 44
Ace
No.
No, I’m not fucking sure that it’s over.
In fact, I’m not sure I did the right thing by walking out on Carolyn at all.
She didn’t have a real chance to explain herself, and after the conversation with Eli, I’m beginning to think this entire venture grew out of a real desire to do something for the good of other people. I’ve seen the way she treats her employees at the boutique. I’ve seen the way she treats her neighbors.
Can I blame her for making a profit off of it?
My own father has admitted to making a few shady investments early on in his career.
Nobody is fucking spotless.
And the truth is, Carolyn fits me.
Body and soul, as goddamn pathetic as that sounds.
I cannot lose her over this.
The thought is so powerful it feels like I’m having a heart attack.
I can’t.
I absolutely cannot lose her over some stupid website.
Who the fuck cares if all of New York is talking about me? I certainly haven’t been any worse off for it. Elisa’s father doesn’t have the reach to torture me in New York, which was my main concern when I left Italy. If he wanted to make my life miserable, he’d have done it by now.
I’m free of that.
And if Carolyn made some extra money by hosting a website, who the hell am I to judge her?
I have to find her.
I stand up from behind my desk so abruptly that I crash into the keyboard tray, then reflexively shove it back under the desk. It sticks and I have to jam it in.
“Damn it.”
My secretary, Cecily, whom I share with several of the others in this unit, pokes her head in the door. “Mr. Kingsley? Is everything all right?”
“I don’t have time to send an email.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kingsley, I—”
I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not going to be in for the rest of the afternoon. Or the morning.” I want to be decisive, striding out of here with a fucking purpose, and I’m losing my damn mind over the possibility that it’s already too late.
I have to get to her now.
“Mr. Kingsley? What can I do for you?”
Even Cecily seems to think I’m cracking up. Maybe I am.
“I need you to cancel the meetings. Any meetings that I have today. Reschedule them for next week. All of my commitments are in the calendar. And I’m going to need an away message.”
“Of course, Mr. Kingsley. Is there anything else?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
She nods, stepping back out into the hall.
I take my phone off the surface of the desk and send a hasty text to Noah, who responds with his characteristic On the way, boss. The car will be at the curb when I get downstairs.
“Mr. Kingsley?” Cecily is back at the door, rapping gently at the doorframe.
“Yes?”
She has a little smile on her face, and it makes me wonder how much the secretaries here just know.
“Whatever you’re doing…good luck.”
I’m sure as hell going to need it.
Noah shuts the door behind me after I slide into the backseat of the Bentley, scrolling through my phone even though all I can think of to do is text Carolyn.
And I don’t want to text her.
Even in my most desperate hour, I don’t want to start with a pathetic text message begging her for her current location so I can throw myself at her feet.
Not literally.
<
br /> Maybe fucking literally, if that’s what it takes.
Noah pulls his own door shut behind him and turns around, throwing his arm over the back of the seat.
“Where to, boss?”
“Boss,” I say, under my breath. “How many times—” That shit doesn’t matter at all. Noah grins at me, eyes shining. I’m not in the habit of leaving in the middle of the workday, and he knows it.
“Who are we looking for, boss?” I can tell he’s trying to stifle a laugh, so I look at him with narrowed eyes.
“How do you know we’re looking for someone?”
“You’ve been staring out the window all week, mooning about Carolyn. Any idiot can tell you miss the hell out of her. So where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“Text her, then.”
“No.”
Noah rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, then gives me a look that I would never tolerate if he weren’t such a close friend.
“Fine. Where do you think she might be?”
It’s hard to think straight because I’m so fucking wrapped up in what I have to do.
“She’s probably at the boutique.”
“That store she owns? Couple blocks away?”
“How do you know that?”
Another look.
Noah turns around and peers into the sideview mirror, then steers the car back into traffic.
“Wait.”
“I’m taking you to that store, boss. If you sulk for another week I’m going to lose my damn mind, and so is everyone else.”
“There’s something else I need to do first.”
The idea comes to me in a painful flash, but it makes such complete and total sense that once my mind works out the logistics, there’s no way I can’t follow through.
Carolyn will know my apology is absolutely sincere. She’ll have no choice but to believe me.
And even if she chooses not to, I’ll move on with my life knowing that I did everything possible to win her back, up to and including baring all the details of the worst parts of my past. Every little thing.
If she wants to know about me, she can.
I love her too much to live any other way.
I love her too fucking much.
My heart throbs with it, aches with it, until I think it might burst.
I have to get to her.
“Safe deposit box,” I say to Noah the next time I can get a breath.
This is in motion now, and I’m not going to stop until I find her.
Chapter 45
Carolyn
Scott Richards, my financial manager, purses his lips and looks across the desk at me.
He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s been adept at managing my money all these years, so I’ve been able to forgive him for his occasional older man bullshit.
Right now, unfortunately, it’s in full force.
“Ms. Banks, I’m just not entirely convinced that selling this asset would be in your best financial interests.”
“Why not, Scott?”
He taps his fingers together in front of his chest like the banker in Monopoly and takes in a breath through his nose. “When we originally purchased the storefront, it was worth far less. Your renovations, and increased traffic over the past year, have increased its worth considerably. I can only expect that to continue. Selling now could lose you millions in future profit.”
The word “profit” reminds me of the millions I’ve made off of Ace, and it turns my stomach. Scott Richards never blinked an eye at that source of revenue, and—it just now occurs to me—that may be because he’s a member of the website himself.
Was. Was a member of the website. Right now, as I sit across the desk from Scott Richards, in the strange and stupid position of having to convince him to do what I want with the properties I own, my technical team is dismantling the website, downloading the data onto a secure drive that will be stored in a safe deposit box that only I can access, and securing the domain name and all related domain names for the foreseeable future.
Rainflower Blue went offline at ten forty-three this morning. I know, because that’s the exact time I watched the tech team take the site down. A man with a goatee—I can’t remember his name—turned to me and smiled. “We can still reverse it, if you want.”
I’d shaken my head. “Not a chance.”
“What if I don’t care about millions in future profit? What if I just want to offload the property?”
Scott spreads his hands. “It is your property, Ms. Banks. I would be remiss as your financial adviser if I didn’t inform you that it might be a misstep.”
“Then what would you suggest?”
“Close the boutique if you’d like, but we can carefully select a tenant so that you’ve got some return on your investment.” He opens his mouth, like he’s going to tell me one more time that it would be unwise to get rid of the property at this juncture, but then closes it.
I lean back in my seat.
“You know what, Scott? I appreciate the advice.” I chew on the inside of my lip. An idea is forming, another in the crashing ocean of thoughts sweeping back and forth in my mind. “The reason I want to sell off the property is because I’m thinking of relocating.”
The instant the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s the right decision.
Whether all of this ends with Ace by my side or not, I have to get out of New York City.
Scott does a double-take. “Ms. Banks, are you entirely sure?”
“Yes,” I say, my tone broaching no argument. “I’ve become too wrapped up in this city and its…dramas.” I find myself about to say “rumors” but stop short just in time. “It’s time to move on.” The more I say, the truer this becomes. The idea is a spark in my chest. The more I think about it, the more it grows.
Scott’s eyebrows are so high they’re practically disappearing in his hairline, and his mouth works. How many words can he possible need to search for? “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say with a smile and a little shrug. “Seattle? London? I could go wherever I wanted.”
“That—that’s certainly true, Ms. Banks.” He blinks at me, no doubt wondering if I’ll keep him on as my financial adviser if I leave New York City. My account is probably one of his largest. Before he can launch into an attempt to pry that information out of me, I shift in my seat and put one hand on the desk, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface.
Maybe Scott does have a point. I might want to keep the storefront in my possession until I decide where I’m going.
Even a move of this caliber shouldn’t put too much of a dent in my trust fund, but until I’m absolutely sure, it’ll be nice to have an excuse to come back to the city if I need to.
What am I saying? I don’t need an excuse to come back here. All of that is secondary.
It’s possible that even Ace is secondary.
My heart twists at the thought, and I know it isn’t true. No. Ace affects everything. My entire world hinges on whether he’s going to forgive me or not.
Without him, it doesn’t even feel like the earth is spinning on its axis. It’s impossible, ridiculous, I know, but that’s exactly how I feel.
That’s why all of this—the boutique, the apartment—it doesn’t matter so much.
I stand up abruptly. “Scott, I’m going to need you to get in contact with my real estate manager. Do you think, between the two of you, you could work out how much I could expect to get from the sale of the storefront?”
“Ms. Banks….”
“And my apartment?”
His mouth drops open.
“And the backup property on the Upper East Side.”
Scott has gone beet red, but he stands up and offers his hand to shake. If I know him, his mind is already whirling, trying to figure out what number he can come up with that will dissuade me from selling everything I own and moving out
of the city.
It makes no difference to me.
The website is being destroyed even as I stand here, and if I’m going to get the hell out of here, I’m going to have to start right now.
Chapter 46
Ace
Carolyn isn’t at the boutique.
The girl at the counter, Natalie, who blushed when she saw me come into the store and turned an even deeper shade of red when I approached the counter, told me that Carolyn had been gone since yesterday and hadn’t given a reason.
“She sounded…tired?” she said, her hands going to the hem of her shirt, tugging at it just slightly. “Maybe she had a wild night out. I don’t know.”
“Thank you, Natalie,” I said with half a smile, my heart skipping a beat. God forbid she had a wild night with some other man and decided that he was infinitely better than me.
It’s a possibility, I guess.
She’s not at her apartment either, the folder from the safe deposit box clenched in my hands. I’ve been standing outside the door for fifteen minutes, knocking and calling her name, and I must look like a complete jackass. I’m surprised nobody has come to try to stop me. Not that they’ll be able to even if they do try.
I turn around and lean against the door, putting a hand to my forehead. Where the fuck could she possibly be?
If she’s not at work and she’s not at home, I have no idea. I doubt she’s at the Swan in the middle of the afternoon. I could try there next, but I have almost no hope of finding her there.
I text Noah.
She’s not here.
Where to next?
Even Noah has realized how deadly serious this is.
I have no fucking idea.
I have to find her, but I don’t know how. I could call some of the people from my security team, but it will take hours to comb the city and be far more creepy than driving around and looking for her myself. Carolyn hasn’t given me much information about other places that she frequents, other than a couple of restaurants, and I’ve already gone there.
