by Amelia Wilde
“Well,” I say, moving sinuously over to one of the racks and running my hand seductively down a dress, “is there anything I can…help you find?”
Jess laughs so hard tears spring to her eyes. “This is a far cry from when you’d just pull some things out of your closet for me to wear. Those were the days.”
“They really were.”
“Actually, though…there’s a thing you should come to.”
“A thing?”
“At the Swan. Tonight.” Jess’s eyes sparkle at the thought of it. “We’re in town for a couple of weeks, and Alec wanted to throw a party for all of my friends—our friends—to kick it off. The Swan was perfect for us security-wise.”
For the first time, I notice the hulking, suited men, their feet planted, standing outside the front window of the boutique. My own security is far more discreet. “You’re big-time.”
“I’m royalty, darling.” Jessica pats the side of my face, then dissolves into laughter again. I laugh along with her, but there’s a curious ache in my chest.
“Well, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Especially since my only other plans for the day were going home to my empty apartment, ordering takeout, and losing myself in Rainflower Blue, like the spinster I am.
“I knew you wouldn’t.” Jessica breezes past me, throws her purse onto the counter, and then turns around, eyes flying over the meticulously arranged racks. Then she’s scanning my outfit. It’s a black ensemble, high-quality but nothing flashy. Jess looks down at her watch.
“Quick, Carrie. We don’t have time to waste, and we both need to look way better than we do right now. The Swan awaits!”
She’s right. And you can’t deal in rumors unless you’re right in the epicenter.
Chapter Two
Ace
The sidewalk in front of my building on the Upper East Side is swarming with reporters.
Honest to God reporters, with telephoto lenses and phones clipped to their belts, squinting down at the LCD screens on the back of top-of-the-line equipment. Or maybe the fucking paparazzi, although they’re not hiding in the bushes or lurking around pretending not to be watching for me.
“Who the hell do they work for?”
My driver, Noah, who also heads up my security team, shrugs. “Can’t be the newspapers.”
“No chance of that.”
The photographers mill around on the sidewalk for another five minutes.
Noah shifts in his seat. “What’s your call, boss?” He says it with a half grin on his face. Noah’s been a friend since before I went to Exeter. When I came back to New York after college, he was rising through the ranks at one of the top security firms in the city. With our current arrangement, there’s no firm taking a cut, and he’s never once complained about the extra money.
“I’m not dealing with that.”
He doesn’t wait for more instructions, just shifts the Bentley into drive and pulls away from the curb, back into the evening traffic.
The air conditioning has the interior of the car at the perfect temperature, but I’m overheating in my suit. I tug at the collar of my shirt and then loosen my tie. I’ve been traveling all goddamn day, and all I want is to be back in my penthouse.
Of course, the vultures have already swarmed.
I never had this kind of problem before Elisa.
The thought of her has my stomach tied up in knots, the air dry and scorching when I take in a breath. My hands clench into fists against my pant legs.
Fuck this.
I press one fist against the pain in my chest and clench my jaw, letting it crush me, roll me over, until it releases me for another hour.
I am never falling in love again.
The rumors are enough to drive anyone fucking insane, but this recurring heart attack is more than I want to handle. Certainly more than I’m ever going to admit to another human.
They wouldn’t believe me anyway.
I work my jaw as the buildings we’re rushing past swim back into view. Noah will drive around for the rest of the evening, and all night, if I stay silent.
“The Four Seasons,” I rasp, then swallow, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Call ahead for the penthouse. Get yourself a room.” If I can’t be in my own penthouse, then I want to be at the top of the Four Seasons, as far away from the leeches on the street as possible.
Noah takes his cell out of his pocket without a second’s thought. He waits until we’re stopped at a light to swipe through his contacts and place the call. I tune him out after I’ve heard him drop the fake name that signals a priority client to the hotel reservations line.
My heart rate speeds up, panic and anxiety setting in again, and I stare out the window, forcing myself to read every marquee above the business to calm my racing thoughts.
Fuck this.
People can think what they want about me. They can say what they want about me. But I’m not going to let them run me out of town. I was here first.
Noah pulls up in front of the Four Seasons and hops out of the driver’s side. “I’ll be right back.” He reappears a few minutes later and opens the back door, a small cardboard envelope tucked in his hand. “Lobby’s clear. You ready, boss?”
I respond by climbing out of the backseat and rising onto the sidewalk, back ramrod straight, shoulders thrown back. Noah’s right, as usual. The lobby is deserted except for two receptionists, and gentle music drowns out the sound of our shoes as they echo against the gleaming tiles. I’m fucking dying to be by myself.
There’s a private elevator leading directly up to the penthouse, accessed by one of the keys Noah pulls out of the envelope. Once we get above the fortieth floor, my stomach churns. Don’t think about her. Don’t.
I can’t stop myself. Elisa would have loved this place.
Both Noah and I step out of the elevator into the expansive suite. It’s quiet like a cathedral, everything in its interior shining and spotless.
He whistles. “Damn.”
I hardly see any of it. The floor-to-ceiling windows frame a stunning view of the skyline, framing the sun as it sets brilliantly over the cityscape, its vibrant hues of oranges, reds and deep yellows coating the room with subtle warmth. I should feel relieved. I should feel at home.
Instead I feel numb, stiff, braced for the next wave of anxiety.
Noah turns to me and presses the envelope into my hand. “I’m on the forty-second floor, if you need anything.”
I give him a nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he claps me on the shoulder like he’s my grandfather. “Order some food at least, boss. Nobody wants you to starve to death.”
I give a bitter laugh. “Okay.”
Then he’s stepping back into the elevator, the door sliding shut soundlessly behind him, and I’m finally alone.
I wander through all nine rooms of the suite, staring out at the rapidly changing view as the sun sinks below the top lines of the buildings. Elisa’s laughter echoes in my memory. I can practically hear her exclaiming in glee about the enormous square tub in the master bathroom, at the master bedroom’s canopy bed with gold-threaded fabrics, at the views. My God, she would have loved the views.
I let out a deep sigh and rub at my chest.
Wallowing is not going to do me a damn bit of good.
I’ll have food sent up. I’ll eat. I’ll watch movies.
I’ll spend the weekend here, collecting myself, and when Monday comes, I’ll be able to make some decisions.
I’m in control of my life. Not the paparazzi camped out in front of my penthouse. Not the media. Not the Italian courts—at least not anymore. And not the ghost of the woman I loved and lost.
When Monday comes, I’ll go back to being Ace Kingsley, the man in charge, the man who takes what he wants, the man who never lets anything get to him.
When Monday comes, I’ll be invincible.
Chapter Three
Carolyn
Jess and I try on every dress at the boutique, finally settlin
g on a lush emerald green one for her—it makes her look like a goddess—and a fitted fuchsia sheath for me. I don’t have Jess’s stunning blue eyes, but the bright pink next to my skin makes my dark orbs look more mysterious than boring.
She’s called in her prep team to the boutique, so at six o’clock I flip the elegantly calligraphed sign on the door to “closed” and lead the duo into a little setup I’ve got in the storage room—chair, vanity, lighted mirror.
“This is Candy and Harold,” Jess says, and Harold gives me a grin. His hair is styled to within an inch of its life.
I grin back. “Like what you see?”
“I like a beautiful brunette.” His accent is polished style, all poise and elegance. “Are you ready to be styled?”
I pull out my hair clip, letting my locks spill down over my shoulders. “Am I ever.”
We all laugh, and then the two stylists turn serious as they transform us into amped-up versions of ourselves.
“I didn’t expect to look like royalty when I woke up this morning.” Harold is doing something complicated and lovely to my hair. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s done.
“Oh, you don’t look like royalty,” Jess jokes, sticking her nose up in the air. “For that, you’d need to wear a crown.”
“My, my, how high we have risen!”
The two of us laugh again, and it dispels some of the ache forming in my chest. Who cares if I don’t have a date? If, once again, I’m seated next to someone’s plus-one at the party? I’ve been lucky before. I could be lucky again.
And anyway, I remind myself, it’s better for Rainflower Blue if I’m…unattached. Men have a way of becoming distractions.
By the time Harold has turned my hair into an exquisite creation—half-up with curls doesn’t begin to do it justice—and he’s switched places with Candy, my skin is buzzing, electrified with jolts of anticipation.
An old friend is in town and hosting a massive party. There’s sure to be an uptick in site traffic as a result…but more than that, I can’t wait to be there.
The undercurrent in the room is obvious the moment we step inside the Purple Swan’s main dining room. It features a huge dance floor up at the front of it, a stage where a jazz quartet is playing—low-key for the beginning of the evening, but by the time the last people stagger out of this place, it will be anything but background noise.
Jess claps her hands when she sees Alec waving to her from the second tier of tables. It’s full of our friends, plus a couple other faces that seem familiar. Jax Hunter is there with his wife, Catherine—he leans down to whisper something in her ear, and her cheeks flush pink. On her other side is Chris—Eli, I tell myself sternly, Eli—with Quinn at his side, her hand wrapped around his bicep. My chest starts burning, but then we’re at the table, Eli has stood up and is coming around to kiss both of my cheeks, and I’m swept up in the conversation of the moment. Jess sits down beside me, Alec is next to her, and I accept the first glass of champagne that comes my way as all of my friends talk over one another.
But there seems to be another conversation happening. Am I making it up? All over the room, people are whispering to each other, nodding—a couple here, a couple there.
Am I so desperate for a juicy rumor that I’m seeing and hearing things?
I lean back in my seat. Two tables away, a woman with bright red hair shields her face with her hand and says something to a blonde next to her, then nods, again. “Yes!” I hear her say, her voice blending into the cacophony of chatter reverberating around the rest of the room.
“How are sales at your boutique?” Eli says, sliding into the empty seat to my left, causing me to startle at the closeness of his voice.
“I had one good client right at the end of the day,” I say, nodding my head toward Jessica.
Eli grins. “She cares about fashion now?”
“She’s done well for herself.” Nobody else at the table is paying the slightest bit of attention to us. Quinn has a tuxedoed waiter by the arm and is having an involved conversation about something, and everyone else is laughing at a joke Jax is in the middle of telling. “What do you know, E?”
“About what?” Eli’s blue eyes sparkle. Since things have settled down, he’s found a happy medium—he’s still the life of the party, but not quite so intense.
I flick my eyes around the room. “Are you going to tell me that everyone at the Swan tonight is whispering about something different?”
He follows my gaze, then gives me a wide smile. “You’re making things up.”
I slap his bicep. “Tell me.”
“They’re talking about….” He leans in close, like he’s about to divulge a state secret. “Ace Kingsley.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t screw with me.”
“I’m not.” Eli’s face is all sincerity. “You don’t know who that is?”
“Ace Kingsley?” It sounds like the name of some fake rich person in a made-for-TV movie? “No.”
“He was two years ahead of us in school.”
“You are making that up.”
Eli laughs. “I’m not. You really don’t remember Aaron Kingsley? He started going by Ace after he graduated.”
A vague memory starts filtering back to me—a tall, skinny guy with blue eyes and blonde hair, like Christian’s, but he was less outgoing, less confident.
“What about him?”
“He’s back in the city.”
The way he says it makes the hair on the back of my neck prick up, but I can’t put my finger on why.
“And there’s some speculation that—”
“Eli!” Jess calls over to me. “Tell Alec about that thing we used to do in school.”
Eli winks at me. “You sure he’s ready for that?”
I turn toward Jess, ready to play my part in the story, but my mind has Ace Kingsley in its claws, and it won’t let go.
Rumors swirl around me, but I can’t get at them.
Not yet.
Chapter Four
Ace
By Monday evening, I’m regretting my insistence on solitude—and I still can’t make a single damn decision about what I want to do.
With myself. With my life.
I’ve dismissed the butler who has been assigned to wait on the occupants of this room, but the man can’t stay away—he delivers every single room service tray I order and asks if there’s anything else I need. Never once do I catch him rolling his eyes.
I would be if I was faced with someone this pathetic.
I’ve spent time in every room of the penthouse, wasting time either staring out at the skyline or watching shitty action movies on every TV I can find.
My patience with myself is starting to wear thin.
The extra day I’ve so generously granted myself crawls by.
I can’t stay here forever.
The elevator door opens to reveal Noah. He enters, his hands in his pockets.
“How’re you doing, boss?”
“Fucking great, as you can see.” I’m picking at the remains of a perfectly done steak that was delivered under a gleaming silver cloche. “How’s the penthouse?”
“The sidewalk in front of it is pretty crowded.”
“Jesus. Is it that big of a thing?”
Noah cuts his eyes to the side. It is that big of a thing, what happened with Elisa, but if everyone would just shut the fuck up about it, then….
I let out a heavy sigh.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Back tomorrow, then?”
I nod to him and cut another piece off the steak.
“This whole thing is—” I’m interrupted by the soft sound of the elevator door closing behind Noah. “Of course.”
I drop the fork down onto the plate with a clatter and lean back on the couch, grab the remote, start flicking through the available movies. I’ve seen everything I ever wanted to see, and then some.
I can’t stay
in here for fucking ever, although part of me is perfectly willing to just sink into this unbelievably opulent sofa and never emerge in public again.
You’re being a pussy.
The voice in my head isn’t wrong, but my chest clenches anyway. Elisa never would have let me wallow in here like some kind of guilty recluse. She would have dragged me out, probably to somewhere like Central Park, by the middle of Saturday morning.
But she’s never going to do that. She’s dead.
The thought is still so sharp, so harsh, that it’s hard for me to breathe.
My phone buzzes on the cushion next to me and I snatch it up, all the tension going out of my shoulders. A distraction. Any distraction.
The text message reads, Ace Kingsley???
I don’t recognize the number. I pause with my thumbs over the keyboard on the screen. I should just ignore it. It’s probably someone from the press. But I’m so damn bored, so damn frustrated with feeling like this, that I type out a reply and hit send before I can change my mind.
Yeah. Who’s this?
Elijah Pierce.
Who could forget Eli Pierce? He and his brother Christian threw the best parties at boarding school. How the hell did he get my number?
I remember you. Are you in the city?
I’m always in the city. Come out with us on Friday.
He hasn’t changed much.
I start to toss the phone back to the cushion, to ignore Eli Pierce and his pushy invitation, but I don’t.
What’s the worst that can happen if I go out?
Another text comes in.
We go to a club called The Purple Swan. Heard of it?
Elisa and I were going to get a membership to the Swan when we came back to the city one day, but we never got the chance.
Yeah. Who’s we?
You remember Jess Reeves? Carolyn Banks?
Dark hair, both of them, and they were always in orbit around the Pierce boys. Married now, I think. Safe. Out of the picture.
