by K. A. Linde
It was the Upper East Side billionaire, playboy stupidity, which I couldn’t seem to escape, that had trapped me back into its relentless pull. Like trying to escape quicksand. The harder you tried to get out, the faster it pulled you back in.
Still…I wanted to see her.
And there was only one way to find out what she was up to. I needed to use my resources. If I couldn’t go to Jane…I could always go to Rowe.
Penn
8
My feet carried me to his building a few blocks down from mine. I let myself in the elevator that took me up to his residence. I wasn’t sure if he was home, but he hardly ever left unless he had to. He’d opened up Crew headquarters in Manhattan a decade ago and then promptly redesigned his home to include his own office space with a wall of screens to videoconference into meetings. The little introvert.
“Rowe!” I called as I let Totle off the leash, who took off running.
A muffled reply came from his office and then a laugh. I followed behind Totle and found Rowe exactly where I’d expected him, sitting at a white minimalist desk covered with computer monitors. He’d pulled Totle into his lap. No one was immune to my dog’s charms.
Rowe nodded his head at me as the only invitation to enter his sacred workspace. I stepped across the hardwood floor and sank into a bare white chaise that never got used.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Rowe shrugged. “Work. Shit. You know.”
“I do.”
“You’re here for a reason,” Rowe said intuitively.
Totle curled up in his lap and promptly fell asleep. Ridiculous dog.
“I can’t just visit?”
“I’m not Lewis.”
I snorted. “No, you’re not.”
Rowe went back to his keyboard, typing away at the speed of light. The best part about Rowe was that he always gave me space. He never forced me to talk when I wasn’t ready. He never expected conversation when it was better held with silence. He sometimes missed social cues and was entirely obsessed with his creation and all things tech. But he was a great guy, a great friend.
“So,” I said a few minutes later.
Rowe arched an eyebrow.
“Katherine paid me a visit.”
“Pleasant.”
“Yeah. I guess Natalie is in town, and she was photographed at Club 360 with Jane Devney. Katherine came to gloat.”
“Huh.” Rowe slid his chair down to face another monitor and started typing. “This?” He swiveled the monitor, so I could get a good look at it and see Natalie’s face blown up on an enormous computer screen.
“Yeah,” I said softly.
“And you want me to look her up?”
“No.” I sighed and met his gaze. “Yes.”
“Cool.”
“Wait, no. She has me blocked on Crew. If she wanted me to know that she was in New York, then she would have told me, right? Clearly, she doesn’t want me to know.”
“I think, if you’d wanted someone to tell you no, then you would have gone to Lark. But you came here instead.”
He was right. Damn it. I hated how well he knew me sometimes.
“Yeah, but is it a breach of privacy?”
Rowe’s smile was strictly villainous. “If people wanted privacy, they wouldn’t put everything on the internet.”
We all had our own moral qualms. Mine always dealt with sensuality and sex. Katherine’s was in her cunning, devious scheming. Lewis’s was his obsessions and how quickly he could destroy them. Lark had long since relinquished that side of her personality, but at one point, she could manipulate people better than even Katherine. Better than even me.
But Rowe. Rowe’s had everything to do with technology. And the way people used it and how he could use it to bring others down.
“And anyway, no one can block me on Crew.”
Put that way, it was mildly terrifying. I was glad he was on my side.
“I don’t know if it’s ethical.”
“Did you want moral advice or tech support?” Rowe asked. He leaned back in his chair and stroked Totle’s head. “Morality isn’t really my area of expertise, Professor.”
I wavered on a precipice. Did I give in and find out what she was doing here? Or wait around in perpetuity, wondering?
Rowe shrugged and turned away from me, back toward the computer. “I’m too damn curious now. You can watch over my shoulder or not.”
His fingers flew across the keys. And I knew that he was giving me an out. He was going to do it either way. So, I might as well find out. And I struggled with my own moral issues. They’d gotten me to this place with Natalie to begin with. But fuck, I needed to know.
“All right. Here’s her account,” he said.
I leaned in and watched the last year of her life scroll past on the screen. It took about a minute.
“What the hell?”
He pulled up a side screen that featured her activity. “Looks like she’s gone dormant. The account is active, but she’s not on it. Her last sign-in was several months ago.”
“Why would she do that?”
He didn’t say anything. We both knew the reason anyway. Me.
“She’s added a handful of connections. Let me check those out.” He skimmed through the new people she’d added to her account. “Almost all of these are from Charleston. One lives in Savannah and one in New York City. Does the name Gillian Kent sound familiar?”
I shook my head. “Never heard of her.”
Click.
We entered Gillian’s profile.
“She’s an editor for Warren,” Rowe said.
My eyes narrowed further in confusion. “Why would Natalie be friends with a Warren editor? Do you think she published a book?”
Rowe pulled up a second screen and searched to see if there was any news of Natalie publishing, but it came up empty. “Doesn’t look like it.” He went back to Gillian’s profile and did a cursory scan. “But…”
He zoomed in on a picture she’d posted yesterday at Club 360. It was a full party with a giant sign that read, Congratulations, Olivia. I scanned the picture but didn’t see Natalie or Jane in attendance.
“Who the hell is Olivia?” I asked.
Click.
We entered the page that Gillian had tagged for Olivia Davies.
I froze when I saw the shadowy headshot on the page. The woman was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and wide sunglasses. She wasn’t quite looking at the camera, but she was smirking while remaining in the shadow. It was clever. No one would be able to guess who was in that picture.
Except for the hair.
Even if I couldn’t pick out her face in a lineup, I knew that hair anywhere.
Silvery-white locks that fell in long tresses to her waist.
Hair I’d run my fingers through and grabbed in fistfuls and worshipped.
Natalie was Olivia Davies.
“Whoa,” Rowe said. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Click.
The book cover filled the screen. Bet on It in stark white letters against a blue background with the words Based on a true story in a corner. I pored over the attached synopsis. My eyebrows rose and rose as I continued to read.
“What the fuck?” I breathed.
This sounded familiar. Beyond familiar. It sounded like I’d lived this.
Holy fuck.
“Looks like she wrote about us,” Rowe mused.
“Fucking fuck, fuck,” I spat.
He scrolled through the page and then clicked over to Amazon. “And it’s got great reviews. Dude, I wonder what my character is like!”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You wonder what your character is like?”
Rowe shrugged. “We already know what she’s going to say about you.”
Yeah. We sure as hell did.
I stormed across the room. If I’d been at my place, I probably would have shattered something. As it was, I was this close to letting the characteristic Kensington fury boil over, setting it loos
e on Rowe’s monitors. I needed to rein it in, control it. Figure out why this set me on fire and compartmentalize it.
“She wrote about us,” I growled.
“Yeah, dude.”
I put my hands down on his desk and leaned over. “Why am I even surprised? She’s a writer. That’s what she does. She puts her own experiences onto paper. And who can blame her for taking a pen name when Katherine Van Pelt would skin her alive if she found out?”
Rowe nodded. “Could be worse.”
“How?” I snarled.
“She could have forgotten you.”
I stilled. My blue eyes lifted to meet Rowe’s. “What do you mean?”
“You think a girl who spent the last year writing and releasing a book about her time with you has forgotten you?” He snorted. “I thought you were the one who was good with women.”
I slowly straightened. Rowe was incredibly right. He’d somehow seen what I hadn’t. I’d only seen the slight. How she’d clearly expunged all of her anger onto the page. Her last-ditch effort to get back at us all.
“I have to see her,” I said at once.
Rowe grinned. “You’re in luck. Looks like she’s still in the city. Having a book signing this afternoon.” He gestured to the computer.
“That’s right now.”
“I’ll watch Aristotle,” Rowe said.
“Why does this feel like a conspiracy to steal my dog?”
Rowe just grinned.
“Okay. Okay. The Strand. See Natalie.” I nodded to myself and was about to walk out when another thought struck me. I turned back to Rowe. “If this was published with Warren, does Lewis know?”
“What do you think?”
A shudder of anger shot through me. No wonder the asshole had been acting so strange around me. I’d have to deal with him later.
“Can you wipe all of this? I don’t want Katherine to find out.”
“Easy.”
“Thanks, Rowe.”
He was already back at his computer, hiding all the connections we’d made that led us to this moment. And damn, I was thankful for him. I just hoped that Katherine didn’t ever discover this. I couldn’t imagine the fallout.
I was out of his place and in another cab in a matter of minutes. The Strand Bookstore in the Village was packed with customers even though the space was ten times as big as it looked on the outside. I’d thought it was a cozy little independent bookstore, but this was a behemoth, storied structure with miles of books on its shelves.
I didn’t see anything resembling a book signing though. Just floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, tables and tables piled high with books and recommendations, and bookish swag. A display showed Bet on It at the front of the store, and I picked up a copy.
“Are you here for the Olivia Davies signing?” a female employee asked enthusiastically. She gestured to the book in my hand.
My head popped up. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Wonderful. She’s signing on the third floor.”
I thanked the woman and then carried my book up to the top floor. I had no idea what I was going to say. A year ago, I’d rushed from New York to Charleston to sweep her off her feet. I’d thought that, if I put myself on the line, then all would be right between us. But it hadn’t worked.
Now, a year later, I had no idea if she would even want to see me. All I had was this book that said she hadn’t forgotten me. That she might still want this.
I took a step inside and froze.
There she was.
Natalie.
A year had passed, and she looked exactly the same to me. Radiant. Effervescent. She was dressed in boho attire I’d seen her in for weeks on end. Though the dress was different, it felt right to me. Her hair was wavy, down her back, and she kept messing with it as she spoke to the excited woman standing in front of her. Her eyes lit up as they chatted back and forth, likely about the book and how much the woman clearly enjoyed it. Natalie tilted her head back and laughed. An unbridled laugh that brought me back to nights in the Hamptons with her. All those nights I’d taken for granted.
And she looked so…happy.
So very happy.
Suddenly, everything else left my head. Her book. What we’d had. Why I was doing this. All I saw was the woman who’d had a dream to become an author and succeeded. Damn it all if it was a book about us that had gotten her here.
If she saw me, then I would undo all of this. This whole life she had built. The life she had always wanted. I could only ruin it. Like I’d ruined our relationship.
Natalie had made it clear a year ago that she didn’t want any part in my world. That, if it were just us, then sure, this might work. Maybe. But I was a full package. I came with the expectations of the Upper East Side, which she had made perfectly clear that she did not want. She didn’t want my life. Fuck, I didn’t even want my life. So, there was no way I could drag her back into it.
Coming here was selfish.
Her happiness and success meant more to me than anything else I was going to say to her in that moment. If there had been something I could do or say a year ago to change it, I would have done it. But there wasn’t.
And there wasn’t anything now either.
So, I took a step back, walked through the door, down the stairs, and out of the bookstore.
And let her live her life without me in it.
Natalie
9
I glanced up from the book I was signing. My eyes drifted to the entrance to the room. To the place where I was certain a dark-haired man in a suit had been standing moments earlier.
“What is it?” the woman in front of me asked at my puzzled expression.
“I thought I saw someone at the door.”
She turned and looked with me. “No one’s there now.”
“I could have sworn…” I trailed off as my brain ran away with itself. I pushed the finished signed book back to the woman.
“Thanks for coming,” I told her. I glanced back to the bookseller at my side. “Sorry. I will be back in a minute.”
“Olivia,” the bookseller said softly, “there’s a line.”
“I know. I have to use the restroom. Just…give me a minute.”
Before she could say another word, I stood up and darted out of the room.
“Was there…someone standing here?” I asked the woman at the top of the stairs.
“Oh. Hmm…yes. A man just left.”
My feet took off before she even finished.
I wasn’t crazy.
He was here.
He was here.
He was here.
I ran down the stairs and through the bookstore, ignoring the puzzled looks of the customers and employees. Then, I was out on the sidewalk without a jacket in my sleeveless dress. But I hardly felt the cold.
I looked left and right. Desperate to catch a glimpse of the dark hair or a shock of baby-blue eyes. A man in a suit with his hands stuffed in his pockets. A look of contemplation on his face as he found me.
But there was no one.
It could have been anyone in that doorway.
I’d just hoped…
I thought I’d squashed all hope long ago.
Penn Kensington wasn’t going to come and sweep me off my feet. He’d tried a year ago, and I’d rebuffed him. Now, my brain kept envisioning him running down here to make everything right. A sick, twisted fantasy that would never come true. Because he could never make it all right. I didn’t even know if I really wanted him to.
But, until this moment, I hadn’t even known I’d wanted to see him.
And I couldn’t seem to fight away the disappointment that I did.
And he hadn’t shown up.
Natalie
10
“I still cannot believe that the publisher was able to get us tickets to Hamilton,” Amy said giddily as we stood outside of Richard Rodgers Theatre in Midtown.
“Pretty kick-ass perk if I do say so myself.”
“Tell me about it.”<
br />
We had our tickets scanned and then entered the theater. I was finally in the room where it happened. My inner nerd was squealing with delight. After the weird feeling I’d gotten at the bookstore earlier this afternoon, I needed this. Just me and Amy and Alexander Hamilton.
We found our seats in the orchestra level and spent the next couple of minutes taking pictures together. Amy disappeared to get us drinks while I waited anxiously for the curtain. I fiddled with my phone, scrolling through my Olivia page on Crew.
Suddenly, my phone started buzzing, and Jane’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello?” I asked uncertainly.
I hadn’t thought that Jane would actually reach out to me. I’d thought she was just being nice the other day at the party.
“Natalie, darling! It’s Jane.”
“Hey, Jane. How are you?”
“Lovely as always. I was about to walk into dinner with an investor for my little pet project. But I know this incredible martini bar that has the best bartenders in the city. I want to steal them all away. And I thought you should come with me. My treat for celebrating your fabulous book release.”
“Oh, well, I’m in Hamilton right now with my friend Amy.” I glanced around, hoping that Amy would show up any moment and help me make the decision about this.
“More, the merrier. I’ll text you the deets.”
“Thanks. I’ll have to see if we can make it.”
Jane’s laugh was soft and raspy. “You won’t want to miss this place. I have to walk in for dinner now. See you later, darling.” She made a kissy noise and then hung up.
I stared down at my phone in confusion. Jane Devney was a bit of a force of nature. She was seeing an investor? For what? So bizarre. And now, she wanted me to meet her for martinis? I did not understand her one bit.
“What’s that face?” Amy asked. She passed me a clear plastic cup of red wine.
“Jane Devney asked us to go out for martinis after this.”
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you that Enzo invited me to this art bar in SoHo with some friends. They’re showcasing a new talent.”