by Amelia Wilde
Tonight, instead of letting her work late on manuscripts—three nights this week she’s had to stay late at the office—I’m taking her out.
And then I’m taking her home.
For once, the weight of all this won’t be on our shoulders. For once, there won’t be a pile of antiques between us, like an ancient elephant in the room.
I can’t wait.
“Clarissa?” I call her name on the off-chance that she’s in one of the other offices and not in the warehouse or any of the showrooms. I’m about to place the call myself when she appears at the doorway of my office.
“You shouted?” She has a quizzical expression on her face.
“I did. I got lucky.”
“You really did. I was at the other end of the hall. What’s going on?”
“I want you to get in contact with the Ashworths. I just moved their entire estate.”
“Moved it?”
“Moved, as in sold. Entire, as in everything.”
Her eyes go wide. “That’s a change of plans.”
“I know. Just let him know. He’ll be happy to hear from someone familiar.”
Clarissa nods. “Sweet guy. It’s too bad what happened to his son.” She turns to go, then turns back. “Never buy a motorcycle.”
I own six motorcycles—they’re at one of my properties, though which one escapes me. “I won’t.” It’s true—I don’t foresee buying another one any time soon. Or ever.
There are only a few things to wrap up—I want to send John, the man on the phone, a quick email with an idea that just occurred to me—and I swivel back to my computer screen. I’ve just started typing when there’s a knock at the door.
“Clarissa, if you want to teach me a lesson about shouting—”
“It’s not Clarissa.”
It’s Ruby, and her timing couldn’t be better.
I leap up from my seat and stride across the office. As soon as I can reach her, I pull her into my arms, hugging her close to me. She tilts her face up for a kiss, and in less than three seconds we’ve gone from joyful greeting to hard, hot passion. I back her up against the wall next to the doorframe. Ruby throws her arms around my neck, and if it weren’t for the fact that she’s wearing high heels and a skirt, I think she might jump up and wrap her legs around my waist.
She pulls back, laughing. “Wait—wait.”
“Wait for what? Let’s get the hell out of here. I have news to tell you. We should celebrate.”
She shakes her head a little, another crystal laugh escaping her. “No, I have something to tell you. I came here because I think it’ll be easiest to just manage it right from—” Ruby breaks off. “What did you say?”
“We should celebrate.” I take her hand in mine and raise her knuckles to my lips, kissing them gently. “I can tell you here, but I’d rather tell you somewhere worthier of excellent, excellent news.” One step back, and I have the room to playfully assess her outfit. “We can stop on the way to go shopping. Anywhere you want.”
“I think maybe—” Her smile is starting to seem a little strained. Her cheeks were pink when she first came to the door. She looked determined. Now she’s somehow holding herself apart from me, even while her grip tightens on my hands. “I think you should tell me the news now.” I don’t believe her when she laughs. “I’m not going to be able to concentrate on shopping if I know there’s news.”
I lean down and kiss her again. An occasion like this—the beginning of everything, truly the beginning—calls for more than one kiss. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” I take a breath. “It’s over.” Then it’s my turn to burst out laughing. “That sounds terrible. Forget all about that, okay?”
She’s not smiling anymore. She just nods.
“Your parents’ estate? It’s been taken care of.”
The smile flickers back, then disappears. Ruby narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“There’s not going to be an auction.”
All the blood drains from her face. “Why wouldn’t there be an auction?”
A cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t expecting her to be over the moon—not at first—but the way her face has gone ashen tells me this is a much bigger deal than I’d anticipated. I give her a big grin, trying to drum up any enthusiasm at all. “I arranged things with a single buyer. He’s going to pay auction prices.” It doesn’t matter so much that I did make a very generous donation to the cause to make that happen. Ruby never needs to know about that.
“It’s all sold? All of it?”
“Yes.” I press my lips together. “It’s already being transferred, and Clarissa is letting your parents know that they can expect their payment as soon as the money arrives in my accounts. They’re going to be okay, Ruby. This is a great thing.”
“I don’t—” She stares at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. And this time, there’s not any intrigue in her eyes. There’s no vulnerability. There’s disbelief. There’s betrayal. And a flash of hate. “I don’t know that it’s a great thing.” An edge creeps into her tone.
“It really is. I know it might not feel like it—”
“Know?” She laughs, and it’s cold and cutting and sounds nothing like her. “What do you know about having everything ripped out from under you?”
“That’s really not—”
“No, Levi. No. Don’t tell me how wonderful this is.” Ruby covers her mouth with one hand. “I came here to—to deal with you. There were pieces that I wanted to buy for myself, above board, so that my parents would still get what they deserve from the sale. There were things I was going to keep, and now—” Her mouth twists. “You might not want to keep anything in your penthouse, but that’s not how everyone feels. Not everyone is like you.”
Oh, shit. “Ruby, I’m sorry. But I think if you just let me—”
“That’s the thing.” She cuts me off, tears welling in her eyes. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to let you do anything more. You’ve done enough. I’ve accepted enough help with this situation, and now it’s over. It’s finally over.” Her voice has gone soft, but something has shifted in her eyes. Ruby straightens her back. “It’s over.” She repeats it one more time, and then she turns to go. She casts one last look at me over her shoulder. “Don’t call me. Please.”
After that, she’s gone. There’s only silence left.
Chapter 37
Ruby
What manuscript is this?
I’ve been reading for an hour, but none of the words on the page make any sense. None of the characters seem familiar, either. I rub a hand across my eyes and flip to the front of the bound volume. The title doesn’t ring any bells.
My eyes are burning, but I turn back to my computer and open up the program we use to manage contest entries. My heart sinks when I realize I’ve already read this one. I read it yesterday, and I made notes. Yesterday, I found the prose captivating and the pacing on point. Today, not a single sentence has made an impression.
I toss the manuscript on the pile for the finalists, even though I’m not sure anymore whether it should be one or not. On my desk, there are ten more. The interns have been doing an impressive job of weeding out the true gems.
I can’t even reach for the next one on the stack. The thought of doing it exhausts me.
No. I was exhausted before I thought about it. I was exhausted before I got up for work this morning. I was exhausted from the moment I got back to my apartment, after I ended things with Levi.
My throat closes in a tight, painful knot. How the hell could he do that to me? I mean, yes, it is his job. But the way we’ve been together made me think he understood. I thought he understood how much it meant for this to move at a pace I could tolerate. When did I ever make it seem like ripping off the Band-Aid was my preferred strategy?
There’s no going back now. That’s the worst part. All of the things that I wanted to protect have been crated up and tossed into the backs of trucks and driven to who knows where, in
the care of who knows what kind of person, and I’ll never see any of them again, except in pictures.
The laugh that tears from my mouth is a bitter one. At least I’ll have the pictures, even if I never get the chance to put my eyes on my family’s history in person. Levi made sure to send me the file, filled with taunting images of everything I’ve lost. As if I’d want to look.
It was a good decision, ending things with him. I just don’t see how we could have stayed together, when he’s responsible for—
God, I hate myself. I hate that I was so attached to everything. I hate that I reacted the way that I did. I hate that it affects me like this. But it does, and no amount of looking at the silver lining is making me feel any better.
I grit my teeth. My worst fear came true—that I’d lose everything and Levi—and it’s all my fault.
I take a deep breath in. I’m still here. My family is still intact, for the time being. There’s nothing else to want, on top of that.
Except maybe a little security.
Except Levi.
I’m here, but I can’t be here right now. I just can’t do it.
I push myself back from my desk, more violently than I’d intended, and the chair almost goes over backward. I catch myself at the last second, irritation flashing through my chest. That would have been just perfect—giving myself some kind of head injury from throwing a hissy fit.
Helen isn’t in her office, but her favorite mug is missing from the surface of her desk, so I have an idea of where she might be. I find her in the break room, dipping a fresh tea bag into the mug. Steam rises from the surface. She looks up at me with a smile. It quickly turns into a frown.
“Uh oh.” She hangs the tea bag over the edge of the mug and leans against the counter. “Something’s up.”
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. What was it that I was going to say to her? So many explanations for why I can’t do this right now—today—churn through my gut, but none of them are coherent. I have got to get a grip. “Listen, I’m—” No. I’m not going to present her with some list of bullshit excuses, like everyone else. I’m just going to own this. “I have some personal time saved up, right?”
Helen nods solemnly. “Do you need to take it?”
“I do.” The words I broke up with my boyfriend and it was a mistake are poised on the tip of my tongue, but even thinking it sounds absurd. It was the right decision, even if it was made in the heat of the moment. “I wondered if I could take the rest of today and Monday. My parents’ house—”
“How is everything with that?”
“It’s wrapping up.” That’s as much as I can say without some stupid lie tumbling from my mouth. “I need a couple of days to decompress.” From breaking up with Levi. Which is all wrapped up in the sale, in the auction, in the premature end to all of this. I need to sort through it in my mind, and I can’t do it here. The city is too stuffed with him.
Helen’s eyes are sympathetic. “You’ve got the time. You can take it.”
“I’ll bring work with me. We won’t fall behind on the project—the interns are doing a great job, and I think we’re nearing the end of that process, too.”
“Let them know they can check in with me while you’re gone. Don’t take too much with you, okay? If you’re going to use personal time, you should actually use it. For whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Helen.”
I turn to go, but her voice stops me at the threshold. “Ruby?”
“Yeah?”
Helen purses her lips. “If you need more time, you just let me know.”
“I will.”
Back at my office, I stuff three manuscripts into my bag, shut down my computer, and head for the door. My head is throbbing, and now that I’ve decided to get out of the city the need to be on my own is more pressing by the second.
On the way out, I stop in the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I look like shit. My eyes are swollen and red against the ghostly pale of my skin. No wonder Helen is worried.
I splash some water on my face and force myself to stand up straight.
By tomorrow, I’ll feel better.
I will.
Chapter 38
Levi
“Do you need me to look up a contact?”
Clarissa’s voice comes from just next to my elbow, scaring the shit out of me. “Jesus, Clarissa. Warn me.”
“Warn you that I’m here? I’m always here. You’re the one standing in the middle of the warehouse like some kind of bizarre statue.”
I give her a look. “Do you always talk to the boss that way?”
She narrows her eyes. “Do you know how long you’ve been standing there?”
“Yes.”
“You have no idea.”
“Fine. I have no idea. How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’m just going to go back to the original question. Do you need me to look up a contact for you? You look like you can’t remember your own phone number.”
“In fairness, I have more phone numbers than most people could feasibly keep track of.” My chest goes tight, a sick, twisting heat followed by a hollow cold. Every word out of my mouth sounds surreal, even to me. How can I be joking with Clarissa about phone numbers when I should be calling Ruby?
The issue is that I can’t decide whether or not to dial her number. Twenty minutes ago, I made up my mind to go through with it. She can’t avoid me forever.
She can.
Even if she can avoid me forever, there’s no reason to. I only did what was best for her, in the long run. The auction was eating her alive. The sale of the items was eating her alive. I scoff out loud. Where the hell does she get off, breaking up with me for doing the right thing? In all of my houses, in all of my properties, I don’t have as many things as the Ashworths had at the house at Conyers Farm. Not by half. That kind of shit will just weigh you down for life.
“What’s funny?” Clarissa is looking at me like I’ve become slightly unhinged, and maybe I have.
I thought she would take it back. I thought she’d get to the end of the hallway and turn around, realize that she was reacting out of emotion and not reason, and talk it out with me. I thought it would play out the way it did when I had everything inventoried and moved to the warehouse. That wasn’t too far. That ended in a hot fuck on the sofa in my office. This morning, the damn sofa taunted me from its spot on the wall.
Ruby had straddled me, her skirt shoved up around her waist, her panties abandoned on the floor. She’d taken fistfuls of my shirt in her hands and held on tight while she rode me. The way her hips danced and circled, the way she took every inch of me into her heat and her wetness, the way she threw her head back and gritted her teeth to keep sounds from escaping—I want that every day of my life.
Now that I can’t have it, I want it even more.
“Nothing’s funny.” It’s the truth. I can only keep up this banter with Clarissa through some instinct for self-preservation.
“We have a few things coming in from a sale in California today,” she says, her tone casual. “Maybe you’d be happier in your office.”
“You’re probably right.”
She’s dead wrong. I won’t be happier in there. Not unless I get rid of that fucking sofa. It’s not out of my reach, to do that. I could have someone take it out by the time I get back to the hallway. I’m not thrilled with the prospect of gaining a reputation for being a crazed man who gets personally affected by a sofa, though, so that’s out.
Instead, I head back through the warehouse to another set of storerooms. The security on all my storage spaces is state-of-the-art, but these rooms are accessible only by me. These rooms are where I store items that will bring the highest prices. They’re where I store Caravaggios, jewelry from the most controversial dynasties in the world—the things that bring the most obsessive collectors out of the woodwork.
They�
�re where I’ve stored some items for Ruby.
The more I think about them, the more I’m certain that I need to do something, and soon.
She’s not going to be happy.
I laugh out loud. It doesn’t matter if she’s happy. I’m so pissed at her for what she did that I don’t care if she’s happy. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that getting attached to anything—especially women like her—is a mistake. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.
Well, it happened. And now there’s no point in keeping any of this. The hurt in her eyes was sharp, deep—she’s not coming back. She has no reason to. As far as she’s concerned, every bit of this is lost.
I punch in the key code on the pad outside the metal door to the second storeroom, and the lock on the door releases with a click. The lights come on automatically.
Where do I start?
Which thing would hurt her the most?
Even looking into the room makes disgust surge in my throat. This is fucking stupid. I might be relentless when it comes to seeking out the best pieces, the ones that will bring me the most in the end, but this isn’t me. Revenge sales? Those are for petty men who are just as obsessed as their buyers.
If I do this, I’m no better than they are.
On the other hand, I’m not sure that I care.
I slam my hand back down on the keypad, and when I push the door closed, the lock reengages.
I lean back against the wall.
This is a shitty day to be making decisions about anything.
I take out my phone. If I just call her, we could talk, and then—
And then what? The sale has gone through, and even buying every piece back won’t change what I did. If that were an option, it would be the worst one. Ruby wouldn’t have space for all those things. She’d be right where she started, only with the weight of her parents’ entire collection around her neck. And I’m not going to be the fool who pays for a monument to a woman who doesn’t love him, to be stored into infinity, just in case she comes back.