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“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Smirking, Ryan turned to face Laurel. “He’s definitely pining for her.”
“Don’t you two have something better to do other than worry about my love life? Like maybe some actual work?”
“Interesting that you call it a love life,” Laurel mused.
“I caught that too,” Ryan added.
It wasn’t enough that I was losing sleep over what had happened, that I felt bad enough to consider getting on the next flight to New York, I had to take shit from my friends too.
“Is somebody going to go pick up lunch or what?”
I wasn’t pining. I mean…maybe, I…well, no other way to put it––I missed my wife. I missed seeing her face. I missed knowing she was there at night, just beyond the wall, even though I couldn’t touch her. That being a particularly problematic aspect of the situation. I missed the wife I’d been trying to get rid of. God had a sick sense of humor, but there it was.
My cell rang. The Star Wars main theme played. I had little doubt that an ass chewing was coming for the way I’d treated Sydney and I deserved it.
“Hey, Dad.”
“On the second ring. I’m flattered. I’ll make this brief. I’m throwing a party next weekend to announce my retirement and celebrate your wedding. The entire board of directors will be there and so will you––needless to say, on your best behavior. The Public Library. Eight p.m. Don’t be late.”
Under normal circumstances I would’ve argued, which always led to an eventual albeit reluctant capitulation. I didn’t bother this time. I needed to see Sydney, wanted to see her, and Franklin had just handed me the perfect cover. Though I’d never admit it to him. Just because I loved the old man didn’t mean there wasn’t a constant struggle for the upper hand between us. I was still mad at him for muscling me into this arrangement and I wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll be there.”
First time in years those words felt good on my lips.
Sydney
“BLT or turkey club?”
I glanced up from the park bench in Bryant Park I was huddled on to find Frank standing over me looking as elegant as ever in his long navy cashmere coat. I needed to get out, get some fresh air even though it wasn’t particularly warm. Wyoming had spoiled me and being stuck inside all day had become nearly intolerable. I’d been back in New York for two weeks, and between all the work I had to catch up on and the holidays, we hadn’t had a single private conversation. And we desperately needed one.
He held up two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.
“Turkey club,” I answered with a smile. Taking a seat next to me, Frank crossed his long legs and handed me the sandwich.
“Thank Christ––” He unwrapped his and bit into it, moaning. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you said BLT.”
“I knew you wanted it.” Side-eyeing him, my smile grew wider.
“So…you haven’t said much since you got back. How did it go?”
This conversation needed to be handled with care. For better or worse Scott was a Blackstone and he would always be, and Frank loved his family more than anything. Even more than the company he’d built from the ground up. Despite what Scott thought.
I’d had time to cool off. To regroup, if you will. It had been a silly fantasy to believe that Scott would’ve eventually come around, that maybe we could’ve made a go of it. But as evidenced by reality, people don’t change.
Case in point, I spent yet another Christmas eating Chinese takeout and watching It’s A Wonderful Life. New Year’s was pizza and Wedding Crashers. Same as I’d done the last ten years in a row. People didn’t change. Still, a girl could dream.
“Not great.” I sighed. “He’s fighting me tooth and nail. This after I gave him the opportunity to back out.” Embarrassed, my face pinched. “He made me believe a five-hundred-square-foot run-down shack was his home.”
A bark of laughter shot out of him. “And you fell for it?”
“Umm, yeah.” Frank’s shoulders shook in mirth as he ate his sandwich. “I just spent three weeks living with no heat or hot water, Frank. It’s not funny.” Though a faint smile was forming on my face. “He’s a jerk.”
“You knew that when you married him.”
“I was hoping he’d changed…he has moments of decency,” I grumbled. “Did you know Scott can sign?”
Frank turned to examine me. “My son knows sign language?”
I nodded. “One of his employees is deaf and they sign.”
There were moments when Scott surprised me––in a positive way. That’s maybe why I’d kept hope alive as long as I had. The way he treated everyone who worked for him. His love of the land he had stewardship of. The dogs. Then I remembered that I was at the bottom of that totem pole.
