Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

I love her too much to live any other way.

  My heart throbs with it, aches with it, until I think it might burst.

  “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.

  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 forgiven him for his occasional older man bullshit.

  Right now, unfortunately, it’s in full force.

  “Ms. Banks, I’m 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 Ace, and it turns my stomach. Scott Richards never blinked an eye at that source of revenue, and 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 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’m getting 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 in the nick of 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 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’ll need to start right now.

  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. “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 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 idea.

  How do I find her? I could call some of the people from my security team, but it will take hours to comb the city and be far creepier 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.

  I already look like a crazy stalker. It’s been more than enough for one day.

  But I can’t give up.

  I open her contact on my phone, my thumb hovering over the button that would open a text message.

  I didn’t want to resort to this. I wanted to find her, surprise her, show her that I would go to any lengths to let her know how I feel.

  I don’t think I
have any other options.

  I swallow the hard lump of my pride. That’s what this means, then. If I’d go to any lengths, then here I am. At the end of the line.

  It was pride that tore me apart from her in the first place. It’s my own fault that I wasn’t willing to listen to her, to see her side of the story. All I cared about was that she was snooping—and not even that. That she might find out the details of my past that I’d rather forget, and then she would know that someone out there managed to threaten Ace Kingsley. And almost managed to get away with it entirely. If it weren’t for a few upstanding men in the Italian justice system, I might be rotting away in one of their prisons right now, my fortune collecting interest and me without the slightest ability to use it to save myself.

  I stand there for another five minutes trying to craft a text message that will make her want to see me again.

  I’m sorry, I start out. I should have listened to your side of the story.

  I delete the entire thing and start over.

  I shouldn’t have done what I did.

  No. This sounds like I’m admitting to the murder, which would be foolish to even begin to suggest, even by accident.

  Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.

  I might be desperate, but even now, I can’t bring myself to send that in a message. It’s the unembellished truth, but if I’m going to say this to Carolyn, I’m going to say it to her face.

  I open another message, and I very nearly text Noah, asking him what to say.

  No!

  I run a hand through my hair again and take a deep breath. What is wrong with me? I’m in love with a woman, but that doesn’t have to shatter me.

  If she walks away for good, yes, that might destroy me. But not forever.

  Send the text, Kingsley.

  I tap out the words and send them before I have another moment to second guess myself yet again.

  I’d like to talk to you. Will you be home soon?

  It has far less of a stalker vibe than several of the other messages I considered, even though at this point I’m almost totally unconcerned with seeming overzealous. Seeing her is all I care about.

  What if she doesn’t want to see you?

  I dismiss the thought the moment it enters my mind. It’s too horrible to consider, that I might have spent the day trying to find the woman I love only to be dismissed at her doorstep.

  Speaking of, I should probably get the hell away from her doorway. If she’s not at home—which she almost certainly is not, unless she’s had the strength of will to ignore me knocking for the last twenty minutes—then eventually she’s going to return, and it’s not exactly the most attractive place to be, hovering outside her door, waiting like a lovesick puppy.

  You might as well be a lovesick puppy.

  True or not, I wrench myself away from the door and head for the elevator.

  Step one: I need to tell Noah to keep an eye out for Carolyn and let me know when she’s back in the building. That way, I’ll know if she’s decided not to see me. Step two: Go back to the penthouse and wait to see if she’s going to have me or not.

  The elevator door opens and I step on.

  This is going to be the longest wait of my life.

  47

  Carolyn

  My financial manager and realtor cannot come to a consensus about what the right thing to do is in my situation. The realtor, Angie, thinks that I could make an absolute killing on the sale of the apartment and the storefront. Of course, if I make a killing, her cut will be substantial.

  Meanwhile, Scott Richards is still arguing in favor of, as he calls it, “maintaining my assets” even if I decide to leave the city.

  “It makes the most financial sense in the long run,” he’s telling her over the phone when my cab pulls up to the curb outside my building. There’s a strange energy coursing through me that I’m absolutely going to take advantage of, and right now. My first call when I get upstairs is going to be to one of the personal assistants I share with a couple of friends, and I’m going to ask her to bring as many packing boxes as she can carry up to my apartment.

  A moving company will do the bulk of the work, of course, but it’s been a long time since I moved anywhere for a substantial period of time. Since college, anyway, which is bordering on eight years ago now.

  “Damn,” I whisper under my breath as I slide my card into the cab’s reader to pay the fare.

  “Ms. Banks?”

  “Not you, Scott. I was…thinking of something else.”

  “As I was saying, I simply can’t recommend a sale of your properties at this time, although the values have, of course, increased substantially since the time of your purchase. There’s no arguing that. But I hope to impress upon you that—”

  “Thank you so much, Scott.” Sometimes, interrupting him is literally the only way to end the conversation. I can tell he’s feeling very passionate about keeping me—and my assets—in New York. “Thank you,” I repeat to the cab driver, who gives me a friendly wave and a smile before I close the door to the car. That’s a good sign. Right?

  “Scott? I’ll get back with you before the close of business on Monday with my final decision. I appreciate all your input.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and then he says, “Of course, Ms. Banks. Pleasure speaking with you, as always.”

  As soon as I end the call, my phone rings again.

  Angie.

  “Hi, Angie.” I pause on the sidewalk in front of the building, tilting my face up into the September sun. Once I go inside, I’m going to lose myself in packing up the most important of my possessions, and by the time that’s finished, it’ll be dark out.

  “Carolyn! I’ll tell you, I think this is a wonderful time to list your properties. I have a number of connections who have expressed interested in similar properties in the last few months, so I’m confident we can negotiate a sale as soon as you’re ready.”

  “That’s good to hear, Angie.” I want to tell her to list it, list everything, but the words stick in my throat. Why is this so difficult? When it first came to me in Scott’s office, it seemed like a sure thing. A new place. A new life. With Ace or without him.

  Is it that simple, though? With him, yes. If we can work this out, then it’ll be the easiest choice I’ve ever made in my life. Without him, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Angie is still talking, but I haven’t taken in a word she’s been saying. Something about the recovering market, more about potential sale prices and added value….

  My phone buzzes with a text message, but it’s probably from Jess. I’ll get to it when I’m back upstairs.

  “Right,” I say, the next time there’s even a hint of a lull. “If you could email this all to me that would be…that would be great. And I’ll get back to you on Monday.” I don’t bother telling her that I’ll have a final decision. Standing here right now, in the New York City sun, I feel entirely undecided.

  About selling, that is. Not leaving. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m never going to lose myself in the business of other people again.

  “That’s great!” Angie chirps on the other end of the line. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. This is going to mean great things, Carolyn!”

  Never let it be said that Angie doesn’t have a bubbly personality.

  I drop my phone back into my purse, take one more deep breath, and square my shoulders.

  I’m doing the right thing. Once I’ve made a little headway with packing, I might even text Ace and ask him to talk.

  I push open the door to the lobby, blinking in the relatively low light, and take a moment to adjust my purse.

  And then my heart pounds, so hard it feels like it might burst right out of my chest, because standing in the center of the lobby, looking at me, is Ace.

  I want to run toward him, and I want to run back out onto the sidewalk, because the surge of electricity that streaks through me is almost too strong for my body to handle. Thos
e gray eyes, that body, Jesus….

  He’s clutching a folder in his strong hands and seems frozen to the spot, but then he blinks and takes a deep breath.

  “Ace,” I say, not caring in the slightest that Arnie the doorman is riveted to the scene, having put down his copy of today’s Times.

  Ace shifts his weight and moves toward me, and it jolts me out of my own head. I’m still too close to the door, and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, to walk to him with a measured pace.

  It’s only a matter of seconds until we’re standing face to face. I breathe in the spicy scent of him and my entire body relaxes.

  “Hi.”

  His eyes bore into mine.

  My entire being hangs on his presence.

  48

  Ace

  I’m on the way out to the car to tell Noah to stay where he is at any cost, but there she is.

  Her hair is a little windblown from being outside, cheeks pink, face determined, and I fall in love with her all over again watching her come through the lobby.

  When she sees me, her mouth drops open and she freezes in place, eyes locked on mine.

  “Ace,” she says, and it’s like there’s nobody else in the lobby. Nobody else in the entire world. Or it would be, if the doorman—Artie?—had decided not to flip his newspaper down onto his podium to watch.

  He is nothing to me.

  Carolyn is everything.

  It hits me that I’m clutching the folder so hard that the edges are curling, and Arnie’s eyes are flicking back and forth from me to Carolyn.

  I can’t stand here forever, even if it feels like time has stopped.

  I take a deep breath and move toward her, across the vast expanse of the lobby, and it seems to wrench Carolyn out of her frozen stillness.

  If she starts to run right now, I’ll die, because I’ll be in the middle of a Lifetime movie.

  The thought would make me laugh if this moment wasn’t so deadly serious.