Andrew rifles through his papers. He’s sitting opposite my desk, brisk competence radiating off him. “Let me see…” he mutters and pulls out a binder. “Here. The latest memo from Exciteur just arrived. They’ve refined the list of cities they suggest we start in with more info on each, and added contact information to reputable brokerages.”
I scan the list he hands me. San Francisco, Portland, Atlanta, Dallas. “Great. Run a brief in-house analysis on the hotel market in those cities, and then start looking for properties. I want a cost analysis done on each.”
“Will do,” Andrew says. “Miss Bishop had an additional thought at our meeting earlier today. She suggested we create our own, in-house reward system for customers at the WH hotels. They’ll collect points with each stay, contributing to a free night, and it’ll also put them in the running to win a weekend stay here. At the Winter New York.”
It’s a good idea, incentivizing frequent travelers to book with us. “She suggested that, did she?”
“Yes,” Andrew says with a chuckle. “Seemed like it was off the top of her head, too. Here, these are the architect firms Exciteur has already contacted on our behalf. They’ve all worked with hotels before.”
“Excellent,” I murmur, and skim the list. Andrew is great at his job. This system undoubtedly saves me time.
But it’s painful to have him tell me this and not Sophia. That the contingency I’ve put in place, a fail-safe, is one we’ve come to actually need. And now I hate Andrew a little, for getting the chance to talk to her on a weekly basis.
After he’s finished briefing me, he leaves, shutting the door behind him and closing me in with my thoughts. They turn morose. Maybe this is just how relationships go. They invariably come to this, to a bitter end, to sharp words and even sharper emotions.
What I’d had with Beverly had been empty, occasional companionship. We’d gone through the motions, but it had been hollow, a farce of the real thing. That had been exactly what I’d wanted back then. It had been what I craved after Cordelia when relationships seemed like nothing but pain. Beverly had expected nothing from me, and I expected nothing from her, and there was no pain to be had from that.
That’s why I’d ended the occasional trysts about a year ago. The hollowness that had once felt comforting had started to grate, and the immorality of it all weighed heavier by the month. But it had never hurt.
What Sophia and I had? That was the opposite, with potential pain lurking around every goddamn corner, but only because it was real in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.
And now I’ve lost it.
The best woman I’ve ever met, and the best opportunity I’ll ever get. Both of them, gone in a moment.
I rest my head in my hands. It’s been seven long days since she told me to leave her alone, standing next to the East River. She’d been about to cry. I’d heard it in her voice, but she hadn’t wanted me to see it. She ran instead.
Fuck the hotels, fuck the project, and most of all, fuck Percival Browne for winning her affection, and then abusing it rather than honoring it. For making the most incredible woman I’ve ever met believe relationships aren’t for her. But most of all, fuck him for still, after all that, having her affection.
I stare down at the papers spread out on my desk. The plans and names and contracts for the franchise, all drawn up by her and her team. It has her stamp all over it.
You want a wife, and I can’t be that, she’d said. Those words had haunted me over the past week. I should have been clearer about what I truly wanted and why. That I care for her because of who she is, and not because of what she can give me down the line.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Enter!”
It’s Anthony. Walking close by his side is Abel, his guide dog. “Hi,” he says. “I’m a few minutes early.”
“That’s all right. Have a seat,” I say. If anything, talking business with my little brother will help take my mind off things.
He narrows his eyes. “Even I can see that you look shot. Have you been sleeping?”
“Not very well.”
“No, I can see that.” He sinks down into the chair Andrew just left, stretching out his long legs. Abel, seeing that her master is safe and sound, comes around the desk to greet me.
I run my hand over her soft head. “Hi, you.”
Abel wags her tail softly and then lies down next to Anthony, ever loyal, ever faithful.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sophia and I have called it quits.”
He frowns. “Damn. Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“How come?”
“Lots of things.” I shake my head and push back from my desk, giving my own legs room to stretch. “It’s over, and I’d rather it wasn’t, but it wasn’t my call. She found out about the relationship I had with Beverly and reacted badly.”
“Oh,” he says. “You know, I heard she’s moved on to Paul’s younger brother. Can’t remember his name right now, but you know, the banker who just moved back from London?”
“Logan,” I say dryly. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Sleeping with Beverly meant nothing at the time, but Sophia doesn’t see it that way. And… I’m pretty sure she’s still in love with her ex-husband.”
“Well, shit,” Anthony says. “That one’s hard to overcome.”
“Yeah.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No, but I’ve picked up on the signals.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Look, I’m not an expert on women.”
That makes me laugh. “No, I wouldn’t say you are.”
My brother pointedly ignores that. “But I do know that nine times out of ten, when you assume what they’re thinking or feeling… You assume wrong.”
“You get married once,” I say, “and suddenly you’re full of wisdom?”
He lifts a finger. “Being married means you won the dating game, so I’d listen to me if I were you.”
I sigh. “Right. Okay. So I shouldn’t assume.”
“No, you shouldn’t. What did she actually say? When she found about Beverly and when she wanted to end things?”
I rest my elbows on the desk. “It’s not a conversation I want to relive.”
“Come on,” Anthony says. “We won’t leave to get lunch until you do.”
“You’re a real menace.”
“And you’re stalling.”
I sigh but give in, giving him a quick rundown of what she’d said. I even repeat those words. I can’t be your wife.
When I’m done, Anthony looks more thoughtful than I’ve seen him in months.
“So?” I say. “What do you make of that, oh whisperer of the feminine?”
“Sounds to me like she’s afraid of repeating her first marriage. It can’t have been a particularly great one,” he says and shakes his head. “I remember Percy from school.”
“You were in the same year, right?”
“Yeah. I always got the feeling his parents were riding him pretty hard. Can’t imagine they stopped just because he grew up. Besides,” Anthony says, shrugging, “he always struck me as a man with an appetite for too much fun.”
I sigh. “So I made her feel like being with me would be like being with that fucking asshole again.”
“Maybe,” he says, “but I doubt it’s as clear-cut as that. She was hurt very deeply, and now she’s afraid of opening herself up to being hurt again. Finding out about your little dalliance with Beverly just dialed that fear up to a ten. Hell, I could probably have figured this out even pre-Summer!”
I raise an eyebrow, remembering the man he’d been before he was open about his diagnosis and before he met his wife. “No, I really don’t think you could’ve.”
He waves a hand. “Regardless, the way forward for you is simple, my friend.”
“Simple?”
“Yes. You just have to make it crystal clear to her that you’re not expecting anything like her old marriage. That you understand her fears and promise to listen to them and take them seriously. And that you’re not going to give up just because it gets hard.”
“Fuck,” I say. “You actually are an expert.”
He grins, brief and wide. “Yeah.”
“So how do I let her know that?”
“I don’t know. What do men usually do when they fuck things up? Pen a heartfelt letter or write her name in the sky with a plane?”
“Two very similar options,” I say dryly.
“When I screwed up with Summer, I just went and talked to her. No writing required.”
“I’ve tried that,” I say.
“So try again,” he says. “You have the look of a man who’s pining.”
“I’m not pining.”
“Yes, you are, because I’ve seen the same look on my own face in the mirror.”
I take a deep breath. He’s right on all counts, and maybe a few more that he’s too tactful to mention.
“I think I’m going to move out of the hotel,” I say.
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes. Showing the place to Sophia made me think… it’s not really a home, is it? It’s a memorial, a museum, and it’s important. But the rooms here are the family’s. Not mine. For a long time that didn’t matter, but I think it does now. I think I want it to matter.”
Anthony’s mouth widens into a slow smile. “Yeah. That’s why I’ve always wanted to have a life outside of the hotel, too.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s something I’ve resented you for sometimes. For going down your own path and leaving me alone on the one we were expected to walk.”
Anthony’s quiet. His hand rests on Abel’s fur, moving back and forth in a slow motion. “I knew you did,” he says. “Sometimes. But I also know you, and you would have taken my head off if I’d ever tried to challenge you for your position.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Probably.”
“If there’s one thing you are,” he says, “it’s painfully, obnoxiously, single-mindedly persistent. Don’t stop being that now when you need it the most.”
I look down at my hand, resting atop one of the documents from Exciteur. From her.
“You’re right.”
