Megan may have been disappointed, but she was a professional. She spent the next thirty minutes discussing gait analysis, arch support, and overpronation. After they’d selected a pair of running shoes, Elizabeth turned in her chair and blinked at Will, who was leaning against the wall watching her. “I never knew there was so much to consider in a pair of trainers,” she teased him, and then smiled softly. “Thank you.”
Will couldn’t stop staring at Elizabeth as she chatted excitedly with the saleswoman. Her emotions were always clearly expressed on her face. Even when she shut down, as she had earlier, it was clear that something was wrong, even though he couldn’t have said what it might be.
He hadn’t ever met anyone like her. Even Georgiana, who was a wonderful person, took the privileges of their lifestyle for granted and expected a great deal from her big brother. Elizabeth had come from a very different place, but was intelligent and funny and fiercely loyal, grateful for the smallest thing he did for her, kind and compassionate to those around her. There were no games with her. Elizabeth has a temper, he thought fondly, and she’s not afraid to use it, but even that’s not so bad. She just has to run it off. He considered her actions at the hospital. Maybe we should get two pairs of shoes.
He had no doubt she’d be just as gracious in the most expensive stores in the city as she was here, purchasing running shoes. And she was so very beautiful. He couldn’t wait to take her to the Christmas fundraiser and Uncle Terry’s New Year’s Eve Ball. He’d talk her into shopping with Georgiana. Maybe she can model everything for me after.
Finally, she turned to face him, holding a foot aloft for his inspection. “I think we have a winner.” As she turned back to Megan and began to remove the shoes, he caught Megan’s eye and held up two fingers. She nodded, and he prepared himself to defend his decision. Elizabeth would roll her eyes at him, but she’d give in eventually. He looked forward to the debate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Thank you for my shoes,” Elizabeth said happily, swinging her bag as they entered the apartment. “I’m going to go run right now. Do you want to join me?”
“I thought you ran to have time alone,” Will replied. “Wouldn’t running with me defeat the purpose?” He tossed his keys in the bowl where he always kept them.
“You know,” she said, abruptly changing the subject and indicating the bowl, “leaving them there makes it easy for a thief to find them.”
Will nodded gravely. “Yes, and if he’s looking for a car to steal, I’d rather he find the keys two steps inside the apartment and then leave instead of ransacking the place.”
Elizabeth considered that. Assuming the intruder was only looking for a car, it made sense. She was pretty sure that anyone who broke into an apartment like this wouldn’t just be after a car.
Still, any thief would have to breach a good deal of security to even get into the elevator, let alone into the apartment. Will had an alarm. The building had a doorman and security staff. Unlike many she’d seen in the city, the personnel here appeared well-trained, often former military or law enforcement.
She let it drop. “I don’t need to be alone tonight,” she informed him.
He motioned to the bag. “Well, go change into the shoes, then. We’ll break them in.”
Twenty minutes later, they had stretched and were standing in the building’s gym. The room took up a quarter of the third floor, and the wall overlooking the park had been replaced with glass. There were several rows of treadmills, elliptical walkers, and bicycles, as well as rowing and weight machines. Free weights had their own space in one corner, and there were two rooms off the main floor used for classes.
Elizabeth turned to Will. “You are so lucky,” she said. “So much better to run inside during the winter.” She frowned, a crease appearing between her eyes at the top of her nose. “Where’s the track?”
Will just smiled, placing one gentle finger under her chin and tilting her head up. The track was on the upper level, the center space fenced with clear plexiglass but otherwise left open so that anyone running could see the rest of the gym below them.
“Clever,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling. She gazed around her to find the stairs and spied a door she thought must conceal them. “Here?” she asked, moving towards it.
Before Will could reply, she had darted through the door and up to the track. He followed at a more leisurely pace. As he exited onto the track, Elizabeth was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “It’s spongy,” she grinned. “I love it. Thanks for showing me.”
Then she was off, loping gracefully away. Will just watched her go, feeling content, happy. He hadn’t run on the track since Georgiana left for Stanford. She had decided in the ninth grade that she wanted to try out for the track team in high school. She hadn’t made the cut, but they’d kept up running a few times a week. Still, the gym was something they’d always had, and he’d long taken it for granted. Not that he wasn’t grateful for what he had, he told himself, but seeing his home through Elizabeth’s eyes made him happy. He didn’t think he’d ever smiled as easily or as often as he did when he was with her. When Elizabeth finished her first lap, she called to him to run with her, and he did, matching her shorter strides easily.
“I love these shoes,” she told him as they ran. “Thanks again. You didn’t need to buy me new ones.”
“I did, actually,” he replied, rolling his shoulders as he tried to loosen up, “I’m the one who filled your old ones with mud.” He glanced over at her and admired the rosy hue her face was taking on as she ran.
“I deserved it,” she said with a grin, “but I love the shoes anyway, so thanks.”
“Really, it’s fine.”
She huffed a bit and glanced up at the ceiling. “Let me remind you how this simple social interaction is meant to go, Will.” She sounded amused, but also annoyed, and Will wondered what he’d done this time. He couldn’t think of anything between buying the shoes and beginning the run that could account for her shift in mood.
“Excuse me?” he asked, confused.
She started to laugh a little. “I say ‘thanks,’ and then you say, ‘You’re welcome.’” She shrugged, “It’s really not hard.”
He felt his face grow warm, and it wasn’t from the running. “I tend to have trouble with small talk,” he explained.
“I know,” she replied bluntly, “which is why you need to practice.”
They’d completed two laps by now. Will noticed that Elizabeth’s stride was growing stronger, and he lengthened his own a bit. She grunted appreciatively and made an adjustment to keep up.
“So . . . Thank you for the shoes,” she repeated teasingly.
Will pretended to think about it for a moment before relenting. “You’re very welcome.”
“See?” she laughed, “Simple.”
Only with you, Elizabeth, he thought, but instead began to run backwards in front of her. “Race?”
“Against those basketball-player legs? Are you crazy?”
He snorted. “Afraid?”
“No,” she shot back instantly with a toss of her head, “just absolutely certain the deck is stacked on this one, and not in my favor.” She kept running at her steady pace as he began to pull away. No matter the taunting, she could not be influenced to take him on. She just smiled and let him go.
After eight laps, Elizabeth slowed considerably, running a final circuit in a slow jog as she cooled down. Will ran another lap before finishing with his own cool-down. When he made the final turn, he saw Elizabeth, her back to him, flexing her left knee as though it was bothering her, and he frowned.
“You okay?” he asked as he jogged to a stop in front of her.
She nodded. “New shoes, new track. Just a bit sore. It happens.” She shook her head, and her lips twisted briefly into a grimace. She said something softly. He thought he heard “three-thirty-seven,” but that didn’t make sense.
“What was that?” Will asked, as she began to stretch.
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Elizabeth shut her eyes briefly. She gazed out the window at the dark sky and the illuminated park, and replied, with a single shake of her head, “Nothing.”
No matter how Will tried, he could get no more information from her. When they reached the apartment, she wrapped up some ice in a towel and elevated her leg, refusing to let him help her. Instead, she opened a notebook and grabbed a pen. With a flourish, she paused, pen at the ready, and asked, “So what’s on our highlights of New York City list, Mr. Darcy?”
Will slumped into a chair next to her at the table and swiped at his face with a towel. He held two bottles of water in his hand, passing one to her and opening his own, guzzling down half of its contents before taking a breath. She shook her head at him.
“Worn out from all that showboating?” she grinned.
“Hey, I’m old compared to you,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be so afraid of racing an old man.”
“Right.” She snorted. “You’re absolutely decrepit.”
“Still,” he pressed, “you were a maniac at the mud run. It’s not like you to back down from a challenge.” He grinned. “Disappointing, I have to say.”
She tapped the notebook and ignored him, writing as she said, “I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty, for sure, and Ellis Island.” He glanced over at the paper to see that her handwriting was tight and even. “Oh, and I have to take you for dim sum, but according to Jane, the best place isn’t actually in Chinatown.”
Will gazed at her. “Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice, “what’s wrong?”
She ignored him, continuing to write. “I do have to attend that school thing for Kit.”
He almost growled this time. “Elizabeth.”
She tossed the pen down and sighed. “Do I really have to spell it out?” He looked at her blankly and lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug.
Elizabeth’s expression grew guarded. “There was a time when I wasn’t so slow, you know,” she explained defensively. “Six months ago, even, I would have taken you up on that race.” She raised her chin as she stated baldly, “and I would have stood a chance of winning, too.” Will held her gaze, and she laughed, relaxing. “I said a chance. You know, if I kicked you in the ankle or something.”
She broke the connection, casting her eyes to the ice on her knee before speaking again. “I feel pretty fortunate to even have a leg.” Unconsciously, she rubbed a very thin scar just above her eyebrow, trying not to notice Will’s guilty expression. She failed. “See, that’s why I don’t bring it up,” she said, irritated. “I was lucky, Will. Most of the time I don’t even have to think about it. Complaining would be an insult to all the Marines who’ve suffered so much worse.”
There was a short silence, and then Will said sternly, “You sound like Richard.” It wasn’t a compliment. “It’s not an insult to be honest if you’re in pain. You don’t need to compare your suffering with anyone else.”
“Fine.” He doesn’t get it. “I will let you know if I’m in pain as long as you trust me to manage it.”
“Deal,” he replied. “Just don’t leave me hanging out there acting like a prick.”
“But it looks so good on you.” He tossed his empty plastic bottle at her. She grabbed it in mid-air and set it on the table in front of her.
“Nothing wrong with your reflexes,” he grumbled.
“I’m not the old coot here,” she replied coolly. “Now, where do you want to go?”
Elizabeth’s phone buzzed. She sighed, fairly certain who was contacting her.
“You okay?” Will asked from across the table.
She nodded and read her text message.
Strike three, Dutch. I got a call from my guy at The Markham. They wanted to replace you. I convinced them to hang in there for now, but I couldn’t get York to sign you on.
Elizabeth grimaced. The Markham was a really good job. She didn’t want to lose them as clients. And she’d been counting on York. I’ll speak to The Markham.
You do that.
Abby didn’t write anything else. Elizabeth was concerned. Abby wasn’t generally so abrupt. Maybe she’s out on a job. She glanced at Will, who was jotting down notes so he could purchase tickets or have Wanda arrange things. Or maybe she thinks I’m not listening. Maybe taking this time to spend with Will wasn’t such a great idea.
“Do you want to catch a show?” he asked. He smiled at her, and she could tell he was excited at the prospect of having time, just the two of them.
She smiled back. She wasn’t any less excited, and she’d promised—she couldn’t disappoint him. She’d work around their schedule as she planned, and with any luck, there would be no more princess references. Elizabeth just nodded.
Elizabeth finished her workout but could still feel the stress knotting the muscles in her shoulders. She had to speak to Will about the text Abby had sent last night. She wasn’t sure what could be done about it, but she was worried about her business. She knew Uncle Ed and Aunt Maddy would take her in if everything collapsed, but she couldn’t bear the notion of moving back into the house because her business had failed. It simply couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.
Will had done this a long time, he’d said. He had to have some clue about how to get it to stop.
Will Darcy had very nearly groaned when he saw Charles’s number on his screen, but he answered dutifully. “What do you want, Charles?” he asked with a sense of foreboding.
“Is that any way to talk to your Vice-President of Operations?” replied Charles, who did not sound upset at the brusque greeting.
“It is if he’s about to give me bad news.” Will put the phone on speaker and leaned back.
“I know you’re on vacation,” Charles began, and Will pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do you want, Charles?” Will repeated.
“I want to use this press you’re getting. It’s millions in free advertising, Will, an amazing opportunity for us. You are FORGE, but you’re normally so camera-shy nobody really knows it.”
As Charles spoke, all Will could think about was how he’d just told Elizabeth he wasn’t the face of the company. Now that was exactly what Bingley wanted to make him. Everything they did over the next two weeks would be selectively leaked to the press. Charles was bargaining on the belief that a huge increase in visibility for the two weeks before the holiday season would mean that interest would lessen somewhat afterwards. Controlled overexposure, he called it. In addition, the more available they made themselves, he explained to Will, the less money those photos of them would be worth, and the less attractive a target they would become. But their image, Charles argued, would already be firmly entrenched in the minds of the public. “So long as you mean to make a go of this thing,” was Charles’s caveat.
Will growled at the flippant reference to his relationship with Elizabeth, but he couldn’t deny that the idea had merit. If the photographers were going to follow them anyway, it would be better to hire professionals to manage them. But what Charles was talking about went beyond that. He meant to create a media brand from which FORGE would benefit, an image of a company that helped innovators create Cinderella stories just like the one its CEO was supposedly living.
Richard had laughed out loud when he’d read about Prince Charming because he knew as well as anyone in Will’s inner circle that it wasn’t a role he was born to play. Richard, or even Charles, would be far better candidates, and Will was certain at some point he’d revert to form and undo any work Charles had done. Not to mention, Elizabeth had to agree to be a part of this, and she was unlikely to appreciate being dragged down this particular rabbit hole with him.
He covered his eyes with one weary hand. It struck him suddenly that Prince Charming wasn’t the only role being cast against type. Elizabeth. She’d have to play Cinderella.
He ended the call with Charles, promising him they’d speak again in the morning, and sat for a time just staring at the walls of his stu
dy. He had promised Elizabeth he’d be no more than a few hours, and it was already thirty minutes past.
“She’s going to kill me,” he told the ceiling, then pushed himself up and headed for the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elizabeth stared at Will. He wants to make it worse?
“No,” she said succinctly.
Will sighed. “I thought this might be a hard sell,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
He can’t possibly think this is a good idea. “I can’t believe you would even ask.” She stood, hands on hips, shaking her head, her ire and her volume rising in tandem. “Are you kidding me?” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, searching for an appropriate word to replace the string of curses she was desperate to let loose. “Have you any idea . . . Gaaah!” she exclaimed in a strangled voice, throwing her hands in the air and heading for the stairs. Aunt Maddy has ruined me.
“Where are you going?” Will asked, sounding irritated. As if he had the right to be upset with her. He wasn’t losing jobs because his credibility was shot. Everybody loves a Prince Charming. Cinderella, though . . .
“To get my shoes,” she said curtly. She’d worked out earlier as she tried to decide how to broach this topic with Will, but now she needed to run and the track in the gym wouldn’t do it. She nearly flew down the stairs. When she stomped back up, trainers on her feet, shoving an arm into a navy-blue hooded jacket, Will was waiting, his own coat in hand.
“I’ll come with you,” he said firmly.
She shook her head. “No.” That would defeat the purpose.
“Elizabeth,” he said reprovingly, “it’s dark out. You can’t go out by yourself in the city after dark.”
“Ah, but I can,” she shot back, eyes afire. “Because I am not some frail damsel in distress created to increase male self-esteem or improve your profit margin while mine disintegrates.” She moved past Will to grab her shoulder bag, removing her license and some money and shoving them in a pocket. “I highly doubt Central Park West at night is as dangerous as . . .” her voice trailed off and she clamped her lips together.
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