by Amelia Wilde
“God, that ceiling . . .”
“And the next thing I knew, you had a free room at the Pearl for your job. Nobody gets a free room for that long.”
“The free room was because I met someone who did me a favor.”
“A man who did you a favor?”
Heat rises to my cheeks at the memory of his arms around my waist, yanking me back from the path of that bike. It seems like a million years ago now. It seems like he shouldn’t have bothered. If he hadn’t touched me, I wouldn’t know now what I was missing.
“Yes. His name is Beau Bennett.” The shape of his name in my mouth makes my heart ache.
Cynthia’s eyes go wide. “Beau Bennett—as in the Beau Bennett who owns the Pearl and a lot of other properties in the city besides? That Beau Bennett?”
“That’s the one.”
She reaches out and slaps my shoulder. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were sleeping with Beau Bennett!”
“Ouch.” I make a face and rub my shoulder. “Wait—how do you know him? And who says I was sleeping with him?”
Cynthia rolls her eyes. “You were living in a free hotel room. At his hotel. For, I don’t know, at least two weeks. There’s no way you two weren’t into each other.”
“It was actually a suite.”
My friend laughs out loud. “See? I was right.”
I bite my lip, but I can’t stop myself from thinking about him now. I can’t shove him to the edges of my mind. The line of his jaw, his head against the pillow, riding him…these things consume me. The strength of his hands on my hips, between my legs . . .
I shake my head. “What’s your connection to him?”
“Sometimes I moonlight as a marketing assistant for the bank,” she says, looking shy. “We partner with an advertising firm, so I’ve tagged along on a few meetings. His company uses the same firm.”
“You saw him there?”
“I saw his picture.” She sighs. “Notable clients and all that. He’s hot.”
My chest caves in a little more. “Yeah. I can’t argue that point.”
“What happened?” Cynthia’s eyes go dark. “He kicked you out of the Pearl?”
“No.” I don’t want to talk about this, but Cynthia and her sister are doing me a hundred favors a day letting me live with them. There’s got to be something I can give her. Maybe if I admit it out loud, I’ll be able to get over him. “We had an argument, and he accused me of never wanting to commit to anything. So I left. After that I didn’t want to go back to the Pearl—what?”
Cynthia is grinning. “You don’t want to commit to anything.”
I start to stand up. “I knew you’d say that.”
She grabs at my elbow. “Annabel, wait. That’s not what I meant.” I sit back down because it’s exhausting to stand. “You’re heartbroken. I can see that.” Cynthia bites her lip. “Is there nothing you can do to fix this?”
“In terms of what?” I try to put a lighter spin on it, since I’m the one who nearly stormed away. “Wine? You want to get some wine?”
“Getting back together,” she says softly. “Or at least . . . talking to him one more time?”
My throat clenches so tightly it hurts. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay.” She glances down at her hands. “What about that job you told me about? Have you followed up?”
“No.” I sigh, letting my head fall back on the sofa. “I could leave town. Start over. It’s about time.”
“Don’t do that,” Cynthia says briskly, standing up and hustling toward the kitchen. “Call that company back. I’ll open a bottle. We can get you through this.” She goes through the door, then pokes her head back out. “Don’t leave unless it’s on your own terms. You know?”
I know.
Chapter Forty-Four
Beau
“I don’t want to talk right now.”
I may not want to talk, but the phone is insistent, ringing again and again, buzzing against the surface of my desk. No—it’s not the phone. It’s West. He’s been calling all day, and he won’t stop.
Why haven’t I turned the damn thing off?
Important calls might come in, that’s why. If I was to miss a call from Edgar Sykes, I’d never forgive myself. I’m not thinking of Annabel. I swear, I’m not thinking of Annabel, only Bennett Inc. I’ve got the wheels spinning on all kinds of new projects, new outreach. I have people on flights right now, going to survey possible investments. Replacing the contracts from Edgar will take some time, but it won’t be impossible.
My office phone rings, the light on the front summoning my attention. I snatch it up with heat running down to my fingertips. At the last moment I catch myself. These calls are different. Snapping at the people on the other end of the line will be bad for business. That’s what I tell myself.
“Bennett.” God, I hate it. I hate how hope wells up in my chest every time this phone rings. I hate how this hope is wearing her face and speaking her voice. I never gave Annabel my office number, but if she found it and used it to call me? I’d celebrate for days. My breath stops in my throat.
“Mr. Bennett, this is Carl Forbes. I’m out looking at the hotel property in Seattle. The broker would love to set up a time to speak personally with you.”
My soul crumples.
Lashing out at Carl Forbes for daring to call in the first place is my first reaction, but I stifle it through sheer force of will. It’s not Carl’s fault that he isn’t Annabel. It’s my fault that she’s out there somewhere without me.
I rush Carl off the phone, connecting him with Linda. She’s the one who handles my schedule. Meeting times slip through my mind like a sieve, though I try my best to hide it.
I’ve no sooner hung up the phone than my cell rings again.
This time I crush it in my fist and swipe across the screen like a madman before bringing it to my face.
“Stop. Calling.”
“So harsh,” West sings. “Come to dinner.”
“I’m not eating dinner tonight. Not with you. You’ve been harassing me all day, and I’m finished with it.”
“Ah, so you’ve been avoiding me!” he crows triumphantly. “Your secret is laid bare. Come to dinner. We’re all going to be there.”
Oh God. The entire Overton group around a table, having a wonderful time, while the last remaining bit of my goodwill toward all other people dies in darkness.
“No.”
“I didn’t hear that,” West says. “You’ve been avoiding us for weeks. Not this time, my friend. Opening night is tomorrow at your hotel, and you’re celebrating. Come to dinner. Eight o’clock. I’ll send a car.”
“I don’t need—” West hangs up on me before I can finish.
*****
They’re all seated when I arrive at Topaz, an upscale place that Charlie has a hand in somehow, though he’s been rather coy about the details. Charlie is all the way across the corner in the back. Liam’s there, slouched back in his chair like he’s still in a hunting camp. Declan is raising a glass, the first of the tens he’ll raise tonight, and Kinsey sits next to him, an indulgent smirk on her face. West rises to greet me.
“Buddy,” he says.
“No.”
“Bennett,” he tries again. “Sit down!”
I sit. The conversation dies.
I must look horrible.
I didn’t look at myself in the mirror before I came. It’s not as if I’ve let my appearance go over the last week. More than a week? No, it’s been a week. It seems like several years. My routine is the same. I get in the shower every morning and put on the first suit that comes to hand.
“Is this an intervention?” I say, picking up the menu. It’s heavy, printed on high-quality paper, but the scripted words are meaningless. I don’t want any of this.
More awkward silence.
“No, man,” Liam finally says. “Are you sick or something?”
Sick of this. Sick of you. “No. Why?”
“You’ve gone pal
e,” Declan chimes in, shaking his head. “Not good for the ladies.”
Underneath my skin I am wretched, my blood bubbling, boiling. I don’t want to be at Topaz. I want to be with Annabel. I don’t care where we are. We could be in New Hope or homeless under a bridge somewhere. It makes no difference.
“Come on,” Charlie needles, though he keeps his curiosity more understated than the rest. “It’s clear something’s happened. Tell us, and then we can move on with our meal.”
“My God.” The heat is loosening my tongue. “You are vultures, all of you.”
It makes no impact. They stare, waiting. That’s the curse of old friends. You’ve called each other names since time immemorial. This is no different, and it makes me furious. They might not be different, but I am. She made me different.
“Are you sure you’re not sick? Because if you are—”
“I’m not sick,” I snarl. It’s a hard bargain, keeping my voice under control. “If you must know, which clearly you do because you’re all sitting here staring at me like the paparazzi, I lost a massive client for Bennett Inc. Massive. At least half the profit for the year.
There’s a shocked silence. “Damn,” Liam says, and then there’s a chorus of curses that circles the table.
I’m not paying attention to them. I’m paying attention to Kinsey. Of all the people sitting around the table, she’s the one who doesn’t look surprised. She frowns and turns away as if she’s looking for the waiter.
“What the hell happened?” Charlie says, anger in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” I say, my gaze locked on that evil woman. “Why don’t you tell us, Kinsey?”
Her mouth works as everyone’s heads swivel toward her. She’s trapped, and there’s no way for her to escape now.
“Jesus, Kinsey,” Declan says, incredulous. “Did you pull one of your little stunts again? Bennett’s not going to date you.”
They all laugh. She doesn’t.
“I was trying to—” Kinsey’s voice is small, and I can’t stand it. “I was worried about you, Beau. Roger wouldn’t—” She purses her lips. “I’m sorry.”
I bolt up from the table.
I’m done. Done with her, done with all of this.
I have one last thing to do.
Chapter Forty-Five
Annabel
“This doesn’t fit right. This is weird.”
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in Cynthia’s sister’s bedroom, tugging at the hem of the blazer I’m wearing. It’s the top half of the brand-new business suit Cynthia forced me to buy yesterday in preparation for my new job. Three suits, actually. She wouldn’t listen to me when I insisted it was overkill. She stood in the dressing room and shook her head, pushing for five.
“This isn’t a reality show,” I said to her in the mirror. “I’m still a girl on a budget.”
“Go all in on this, Annabel,” she’d scolded. “It’s like everything else. Worldwide Consulting is going to be great.”
I make a face at her in this mirror, too. “It doesn’t look good.”
“It looks amazing.” She reaches up and brushes at one of her eyelashes. “You look professional. Calm. Cool. Collected. It’s going to be a great first day.”
“I should buy a bus ticket instead.”
“Oh, shut up.” She checks her watch. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
Cynthia cheers me on when she drops me off at the Worldwide International building in Midtown. She even forces me to pose for a picture like it’s the first day of school.
“Nobody needs this,” I say through my pasted-on smile.
“You need this,” she says. “You never want to remember anything, and you should. This is going to give you a new version of yourself!”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say.
“Smile bigger!”
I smile. She takes the picture. Then it’s time to go in and face the lobby staff, who have been watching this entire display. To their credit, not one of them laughs to my face or even snickers.
It might not be so bad.
The morning is a whirlwind of handshakes and acronyms. I meet my group manager, the floor manager, and Lisa, the woman I’m going to share a cubicle with. Lisa is tasked with taking me through Worldwide’s computer systems and what she calls the “general workflow,” which is the process we’ll be using to create deliverables for . . . someone. I’m not clear on whether it’s another department within the company or another company entirely.
At lunch I escape to the sidewalk. I want a gyro from a halal cart, and nothing else will do. There’s one four blocks away. I let the sun warm my shoulders while I walk.
My chest aches. It aches all the time, but it aches especially now, when I’d love nothing more than to take out my phone and call Beau. He might agree that the job is bullshit and that we should drive away somewhere, anywhere.
He might, or he might tell me I’m being an irresponsible jackass. The words he said still sting, like a paper cut that won’t heal.
I buy the gyro from the halal cart and eat it on the way back to the office. It’s not so bad. I should let Cynthia know. She’ll be relieved it wasn’t a disaster. More so, she’ll be relieved I can help with the rent this month. I eat the last bite of the gyro and wipe my hands, then throw the wrapping and napkins away into the nearest bin. My phone is the first thing I grab in my purse.
It’s dead.
I roll my eyes hard to get it out of my system. That’s the last straw. Tonight I’m getting a new one. I’ve got a new job, right? It’ll be a little celebration.
I head back into the office. One half day to go, and I’ll have conquered it.
My one wish? That it made me feel the least bit happy.
*****
“This is the newest model, with 256 gigabytes of storage,” says the rep at the phone store, waving his hands like he’s giving a grand presentation. “There are three color options to choose from. Black—”
“I see them,” I say. The color won’t matter. It’ll be covered in a case for most of its life because I’m a rough-and-tumble girl when it comes to phones. They’ve got to last a long time. “The regular black one will be great.” My debate is the storage size. What do I have to take pictures of these days? The inside of my cubicle? Not very inspiring. But this is a celebration, and the thing will be in my life for a while, so I splurge on the one with hundreds of gigabytes to fit pictures of . . . my desk plant, I guess. I’ll get a desk plant.
“Excellent.” The rep beams, then digs in his pocket for a set of keys. He unlocks the shelf below the display, pulls out a gorgeous white box, and hands it to me ceremoniously.
I hold it in my hands in reverent silence. New phones are nice. I can admit that.
Then it’s back to business. “Would you like to activate in-store? You can also make changes to your plan, get a new number, start fresh—”
“That sounds great.” A fresh start. That’s exactly what I need. I can disconnect myself from the past right here, right now.
The rest of the store hums around us while he takes the phone out of the box, hooks it up to a computer that’s sunk into a desk, and starts the process. “It’ll be a few minutes. Did you want a number with a New York City area code?”
“Yeah,” I say absently. I’m listening to the couple at the next desk bicker good-naturedly about whether or not the husband really needs the brand new iPhone or whether he can settle for last year’s model.
“It’s been out six months,” the girlfriend needles. “But I can never say no to you.”
I swallow hard.
The rep hooks up my old phone to his computer, as well. “All I need to do,” he says, “is deactivate this old number here, and—” He clicks around. The moment is nigh.
That’s when the old phone rings.
I see his name in my peripheral vision, and my entire body whooshes with adrenaline. “Stop!” I cry, lunging for the phone, tearing it away from the cord. He star
es at me. “I mean—I’m sorry. This is an important call.” I’m fumbling with it, trying to answer it, failing. “Give me one minute, and I’ll—I’ll be right back.”
My thumb finally hits the right spot on the screen to answer the call. I have zero battery. I press the phone to my cheek and try to breathe. “Beau?” If it’s not him, if it’s a butt dial, I will die right here in the middle of this cellular service provider’s overly lit store.
“Annabel,” he says, sounding shocked. “It’s you.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Beau
“What do you mean? You called me.” Annabel laughs nervously, and the sound sends pure pleasure through every inch of me. Some of the dread dissipates. I waited too long to make this phone call. She should have been the first one I called, but I had to square things away with Edgar Sykes.
God, Kinsey is a possessive bitch. After that dinner I kept calling until Edgar got on the phone. He wasn’t thrilled to hear from me.
“You got your information from Kinsey Cole,” I said sharply. “That’s why you dropped me.”
“I can’t comment on—”
“Don’t be that way with me, Edgar. We’ve worked with each other for years. Kinsey Cole is upset because in her mind she’s been wronged by another woman.” It made my stomach turn to reveal such personal information to Edgar, but that was the ball game. “I dated her in high school. It was a mistake. She’s never gotten over it. This was a jealousy issue, Edgar. It was all fabricated.”
He was silent. Then:
“Kinsey’s your niece, isn’t she?”
This was a threat, though I said it in the mildest of tones. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before that she’d do something like that, but Edgar prides himself on meticulous research. On meticulous decision-making. There are very few blind spots in his methods. Kinsey, apparently, is one of them.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“You should have another talk with her. Call me back when you’ve finished.”
He said nothing, but I could tell by the pause that he was about to hang up.
“Edgar,” I said.
Another short pause, as if he was lifting the phone again. “Yes?”
