by Amelia Wilde
Things I need to do.
I stand up from the chair and smooth out my jacket, giving my father a grin that matches his. This time, it comes close to feeling real.
At the door, I pause a moment and turn back to address my father.
“I know it’s a bad habit,” I say jauntily, with the kind of attitude I know my father loved from the real Christian, “but I’m going to lean into it today. There’s something I need to do. Don’t rat me out to management, okay?”
My father shakes his head, his smile giving him away. With one hand he waves me out of the office. As I turn away, I hear him say one more thing, “That’s my boy.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Quinn
By Wednesday, I still haven’t made up my mind about Christian.
I work myself up into the strongest frenzied conviction that the lying asshole deserves no part of my life, blinking any stray tears from my eyes, and throwing myself into whatever I’m doing—planning Christian’s events for the next month, watching Bridesmaids with Carolyn, running on the treadmill at the gym. I wasn’t going to buy a membership in the city, but yesterday when I got out of work, I was ready to burst from all the excess nervous energy that had built up from an entire day of looking at Christian’s name over and over again. I’d have preferred to just run along the sidewalks, but when I stepped outside the HRM offices, the hundred-plus-degree heat hit me like a brick wall. So I did what any desperate person would do: I went to the Midtown Nike store, bought myself an exercise outfit and athletic shoes, and looked up the closest gym to my apartment on Google. A day pass was forty dollars, but I didn’t care. I needed to run.
I ran on the treadmill until my lungs burned in my chest, until my legs felt weak and my knees like jelly. At home, I found my roommate already parked on the sofa. Carolyn had called it an early day at the boutique. Once I was out of the shower, I flopped down onto the couch next to her, and we both stretched our legs out, our feet propped up on the ottoman.
“Another rough day?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply.
“Every day is a rough day when your only client is your ex-boyfriend.”
“I bet. Trainwreck is on HBO. Want to order in?”
“More than anything.”
By the end of that movie, I’d changed my mind about Christian again. So he did something fucked up in his life. Who hasn’t made a mistake? Casting the first stone, and all that.
Of course, not everyone steals their dead brother’s identity and goes on pretending to be him for another ten years, tricking his friends and remaining family the entire time.
Wednesday morning, I wake up exhausted, as though I haven’t slept.
There’s a meeting with Christian scheduled for 10:00.
I’m torn.
On the one hand, my stomach is twisting in painful knots at the prospect of sitting across my desk from Christian, looking into his eyes, and pretending that I feel nothing. I could curl up under the comforter and stay in bed all day, avoiding the scene entirely. It’s tempting.
On the other hand, I haven’t seen him since last Thursday…and it’s killing me. I’m so angry at him. I’m so baffled by what he chose to do. But something deep inside me wants to be close to him, wants to be touching him, wants to be fighting with him even, if that’s what it takes to get past this.
I shove the covers off of me and get out of bed in a huff, sick to death of feeling this way. I need to make up my mind.
I turn on the shower, adjusting the water to the perfect temperature, and step inside.
More than anything, I need to be a professional. HRM was my ticket out of Colorado, and if nothing else, it can be my ticket away from Christian, too.
I stop mid-shampoo. That solution doesn’t sit right, either. HRM has offices all over the world, and I could request another transfer, but how would it look right now? Not great. I haven’t been at headquarters long enough to prove myself.
There’s only one course of action right now. I need to finish my shower, dry my hair, and gird my fucking loins for the gut-wrenching meeting at ten.
My hands tremble over my keyboard all through the morning.
At ten minutes to ten, I lean back in my chair and clench them into fists, stilling my body through sheer force of will.
You are in control of this meeting, I remind myself. This is your job, and you’re great at it.
I can feel my face slipping into the neutral expression that I’ve always worn before high-pressure meetings. A former boss of mine once said that he wondered if anything ever shook me, and I laughed it off. “No,” I said. “Nothing ever does.” That’s the kind of illusion you need to maintain if you’re going to work in PR, and I’ve been damn good at it so far.
Christian has taken me far off that path, but I’m back on it and ready to face him.
That’s what I’m telling myself when my phone rings at 9:55.
It’s Adam, calling from his desk.
“Campbell,” I say, my voice strong and clear. I’ll be damned if I let anyone see how much this has shaken me, how much it’s made me doubt everything that happened over the past few weeks.
“Mr. Pierce is here for your ten o’clock. Should I send him in?”
“Absolutely,” I say, and my heart wrenches in my chest.
Moments later, my office door swings open, Adam holding it, and Christian strides through, his chin up, his back straight. I drop my shoulders a little and lift my chin in answer. Adam gives me a nod and pulls the door closed behind him as Christian crosses the office without a pause and sits down across from me.
He looks like shit.
That’s not entirely true. He looks amazing. He always does. He’s clean-shaven, giving me an unobstructed view of his chiseled jaw, and his suit is tailored to perfection. I’m sure that what’s underneath hasn’t changed at all.
But his eyes are filled with pain—and something else.
“Mr. Pierce.”
“Ms. Campbell.”
His words settle in the air between us, and fuck, I feel my throat tightening up.
Not now.
I swallow hard and give him a thin-lipped smile. “I’m sorry I had to cancel our meeting last week. I wasn’t feeling well.” My tone was meant to be confident, but my voice rings false, strained. This isn’t what I want to be saying.
“I understand.”
“Thank you.” I slide a leather portfolio across the desk to him. “This is what I have planned for the upcoming week. If there are any tweaks you’d like me to make in terms of scheduling or venue, I thought we could go over those today.”
He reaches out one of his strong hands. I want him to be reaching for me, cupping the side of my face, pressing against the small of my back while he kisses me like tomorrow might never come. Instead he flips open the portfolio and scans the top sheet.
“I have no problem with this schedule.”
Christian’s voice gives away nothing, but his eyes…
I want to say, why did you lie to me? I want to say, how could you? I want to say, take it back. I want to howl my heartbreak at him.
I say none of those things.
Instead I say, “Wonderful. I won’t take up any more of your time today, Mr. Pierce. I’ll see you on Monday for the veteran’s benefit event.”
And then, even as my heart is tearing in two, I rise from my seat and extend my hand across the desk to him.
He rises to meet me, his eyes never leaving mine, and puts out his hand.
Takes mine in his.
Shakes.
Like we’re business associates, and nothing more. Yet at the touch of our skin I feel it—that connection, that undeniable recognition…
My heart is never going to be whole again.
He drops my hand and turns to go, and I sit back down, my fists balled in my lap.
Christian pauses, his hand on the door handle, and looks back at me.
“This?” he says, waving his hand between us. “It i
sn’t over.”
Then he’s gone.
Chapter Forty-Four
Christian
I don’t know what came over me back there.
That’s a fucking lie.
I know exactly what came over me, and what came over me is that I’m in love with Quinn Campbell. I’m in love with her, and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.
On Monday, I put some things into motion. I made a few calls. I consulted with a few people, anonymously, because I’m not as stupid as my decisions make me seem.
With every moment that’s passed since I left my father’s office on Monday, the way ahead has become clearer and clearer. It’s like a light has gone on in my head, illuminating everything I need to do with such clarity that it’s blinding.
I don’t care.
The only truth that matters is that I have to get her back.
When I sat down across from Quinn, I saw the struggle in her eyes. I saw what she was trying so valiantly to hide. I saw it in the way there were tiny crescents on two of her knuckles from clenching her hands into fists. I heard it in the tired strain in her voice. And I felt it between us, the connection stretched so tight it’s ready to snap.
But it hasn’t yet.
That’s what buoys me as I get the hell out of HRM’s headquarters and slide into the back of the town car.
It’s not over for her.
She might tell herself that it is. She might even tell other people—Carolyn comes to mind—that she’s done with me. I’m only surprised that Quinn didn’t admit it to me just now, during the meeting. She prides herself on honesty. I haven’t forgotten how she told me she learned about Elijah—the person she thought was Elijah—while sitting at that very desk. It’s not like her to hide things, which means that I hurt her deeply.
It also means that she hasn’t made up her mind yet.
She’s hedging her bets, not wanting to give up more information than is absolutely necessary.
Once again, I’m impressed by her professionalism in the face of total devastation.
When I got up to leave, I couldn’t keep myself under control any longer. I had to say something, anything, to acknowledge the situation we’re in. I certainly didn’t plan it, otherwise I’d have said something other than “this isn’t over.”
Of course it isn’t fucking over. If nothing else, we have to work with each other until…
Until what? Until she rats me out? She’s not going to do that. If she was going to, she’d have done it by now.
What else is there to do?
She could quit.
No, she couldn’t. Quinn isn’t a quitter. She came out here to build a new life for herself, and she’s not the kind of woman who’s going to flee the city without giving notice just because a new relationship didn’t make the cut.
Or so she thinks.
While Louis navigates the town car through the midmorning traffic, I fight the urge to tell him to turn around right now.
It’s not over.
I want to go back there and explain what I’m planning to do, but it’s taking longer than I expected to get all the pieces in place.
There’s also the fact that she probably thinks I’m a disturbed liar—a felonious criminal. Maybe she even thinks that I murdered my brother.
It’s also entirely possible that I’ll be prosecuted for identity theft once…
I can’t think about that now.
The only thing that matters to me is how I feel when I’m with Quinn, and how she feels when she’s with me. The only thing that matters is us.
I close my eyes and think back to the first time I saw her, frantically yanking on the handle of that suitcase, stuck out in the middle of the intersection, the rain cascading down on top of her. I didn’t know the first thing about her, but her strength drew me in even then. She hadn’t broken down when the jerk in the SUV sent her suitcase flying, didn’t crumple onto the sidewalk and cry. She commented on it wryly and then went right back out into the street to collect her sopping wet clothes from the pavement without ever missing a beat.
She’s still that woman.
She’s still the same woman who decided to give her life in Colorado the middle finger and do something else because, damn it, she wasn’t going to live with the memory of her asshole ex-fiancé flung in her face all the time.
So, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she will leave the city.
But if I know Quinn—and I think I do—she won’t leave before I can set things straight.
And I have to make this right with her. Between us.
At least, I have to try.
Louis pulls the town car up to the curb outside the Pierce Industries building, and I step out into the sweltering summer heat. It’s miserable in the city right now. I can’t wait for autumn.
By the time the leaves fall from the trees, this nightmare will be over, one way or another. I have no idea right now if solving one problem will lead to a thousand more, but now that I’ve seen Quinn, my mind is made up.
The lobby of the building is blessedly frigid, and I move at a leisurely pace across the lobby to the bank of elevators. Our floor is, obviously, air conditioned as well, but the lobby might as well be a walk-in refrigerator, and it feels goddamn amazing on my flushed skin. It’s not just the weather that has me hot and bothered, and my heart rate is so high right now that I’m probably in danger of cardiac arrest.
It’s time to get this show on the road.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step into the empty car. There are a few things I need to finish up this morning, and at some point—
A man sticks his arm between the closing doors. They stop closing, and then start sliding open again.
It’s my new lawyer.
“Mr. Pierce,” he says, a sheepish smile on his face. “I was in a bit of a hurry, hoping to meet with you by lunch—”
“Not a problem,” I say, smiling back. “We can get started on our business right away.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Quinn
The moment Christian is out of my office, I grab frantically for my phone, tugging open the bottom drawer of my desk with so much force that I nearly dump the entire contents of my purse onto the floor in my hurry.
Hands shaking, I type out a message to Carolyn.
She doesn’t know everything—she can’t know everything—but I can’t keep this all to myself.
Christian just came in for a meeting
I’m fairly certain that she’s working at the boutique right now. She’s almost always at work. I lay my phone down on the desk and take a deep breath, preparing myself for the agonizing wait.
Her reply comes so quickly it’s like she had been holding her phone in her hand, so quickly that the vibration against the glass surface of my desk startles me.
Calm the hell down, Quinn. People are going to think you’re having a fit.
What people, I don’t know, since I’m alone in the office and Adam calls ahead when there are visitors, but I take another calming breath in through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth.
OMG. How did it go?
Fucking weird. And then at the end he said
My thumb slips onto the send button before I can complete the sentence, and while I’m typing out the rest of what I wanted to tell her, Carolyn’s reply comes in.
DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THAT
Accidental send! He said “This? It isn’t over.”
What does that mean???
I have no idea.
Wait…was it mutual?
Not really.
What do you mean, not really?
I left him.
Have you talked about it?
No.
Carolyn sends an animated emoji of a yellow smiley face rolling its eyes.
I know…
Talk to him, Quinn.
I don’t know how to have this conversation.
Yes you do.
It won’t fix anything.
How do you know?
I know, okay?
Then why are you texting me about what he said?
I pause.
Because the truth is that I have to know.
I have to.
If I don’t find out why Christian did what he did, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering, and I can’t do that. Could it honestly be that he couldn’t bear to face his father, knowing that his favorite son was dead?
The blood drains from my face. Christian lied to me. There’s no way around that. But he could have been telling me the truth last Thursday, too.
I had every right to be upset about him lying to me. I still have every right to be upset.
But Christian is human, just like the rest of us. And from what I can tell, he didn’t get anything extra out of pretending to be his brother, other than his father’s affection.
I never doubted that my father loved me. Not everyone in the world has it so easy.
Even billionaires have their problems.
Nope. No.
I need to shut this down. I can’t keep spending time justifying his actions. I’m not ready to forgive him and move on from this—I’m just not. I’m in New York City because another man lied to me so well and for so long that by the time I left, he had another life waiting for him in the wings. With my best friend.
It’s not my job to let Christian off the hook, no matter how I feel about him. My biggest responsibility is to live a life that I want to live, and right now—as gut-wrenching as it is to admit it—that life does not include a lying billionaire who is still, to this day, impersonating his dead twin brother.
And yet…
And yet…
I send another message to Carolyn.
I just want some closure.
Are you sure that’s all you want?
Yes.
Then I’m with you 100%.
The bubble indicating that she’s typing again pops up right away.
I agree, though—what a bizarre thing to say!