Page 122 of Manhattan Kiss

When my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to quickly check it’s not an emergency message from my parents or Darcy, my heart flips over when I see Deacon is the sender.

I make my excuses and leave reception and head into the first-floor guest corridor. What’s Deacon messaging me about?

The message is short and inexplicable:

Can we talk?

What does that even mean?

Anger rises in my chest. How dare he try to bait me into an exchange of texts. If he wants to talk, he needs to tell me what he wants to talk about. I’m not going to ask him.

And anyway, the answer is no. Why would I want to talk to him? We’ve got nothing to say to each other.

I’m not getting pulled back into being a spectator in someone else’s life. I don’t want to be a part-time woman in his life. And I don’t want to be waiting for him to cut and run.

He did it so easily before.

He turned away without a second glance.

And maybe that’s okay. He prioritized his daughter. I can’t hate him for that. But I don’t have to expose myself to it either.

It’s too painful. And I’m in New York for levity and fun. I’m done with the dark. Once I’ve told Darcy I’m staying, I can really start to enjoy myself. I’m planning to call her as soon as my shift is finished tonight. I’m going to rip the Band-Aid right off and just explain that I won’t be coming home.

I know she’ll be disappointed. But she’ll just have to come to New York more often. Ryder and Scarlett are always coming back and forth. She sometimes complains about how often they come and stay.

I head back out into the reception area, just as a huge arrangement of flowers arrives. It’s not unusual for guests to receive flowers, but this arrangement is particularly large and extremely beautiful. I can’t help but smile as I greet the delivery person.

“I can take these,” I say. “Do you have a name or room number?” I ask.

“Aurora Reynolds. No room number,” the delivery person says.

My heart folds in half and in half again. I know instantly that these are from Deacon.

Why? Why is he torturing me like this? I just want to move on with my life. I just want to turn the page. Hearing from him again is just reopening old wounds.

I thank the delivery driver and head into Avril and Poppy’s office, where I now have a desk. I don’t officially start as the general manager until September, but I’m gradually taking on more and more responsibility.

I put the flowers down on my desk and turn to leave when Avril looks up from her desk.

“They’re beautiful. Who are they from?” she asks, slowly getting to her feet.

“Not sure. Haven’t checked the card.”

“They’re for you,” Poppy says. “Why wouldn’t you check the card?”

“Because there’s only one person in New York who would be sending me flowers. And…”

“Deacon Black,” Avril says. “Come on! You have to open the card.”

“If she doesn’t want to,” Poppy says, “she doesn’t have to.”

“You’re just prolonging the inevitable,” Avril argues. “It’s not like you’re never going to open the card.”

“I’m at work,” I say. “I just need to focus.”

Avril tuts. “You’re nearly done for the day. And anyway, you’ve got time to read a note.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to in front of us,” Poppy suggests.