Page 87 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Nope, that’s hollow. And easy. Think, Paul. What triggered everything?”

“The missing earring.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “It’s a symbol of so many things for her. So what can you to try to make it right?”

I knew what he needed to do, but I wanted him to come to the realization himself.

“Okay, so maybe the hotel would let me go back to the suite and look?” he asked.

I shook my head. “They’ve probably had a dozen people through that room since you stayed there. What else you got?”

“Maybe I could go on eBay and try to find a match?” he asked, staring into space.

“Good option, or if it’s a one-of-a-kind, you could…”

“Have a copy made! That’s it,” he slapped the table, and a few other diners turned to look at us.

“Yes, perfect,” I cheered. “You know that jewelry store, Veritique? They have a whole side business creating duplicate jewelry. I bet they could do it.”

“Oh, hell yeah. Chloe loves that place—I think she’s seen the movie Very Veritique about twenty times. We could make a day of it.”

I sat back and grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. It could signify the beginning of a new approach for the two of you. You two could actually talk about what went wrong, and ways that you can be better about communicating in the future, so it won’t happen again. You can show her you’ll always be there for her, for better and for worse. Yes? You literally said those words to her in front of everyone who matters to you.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But it’s a two-way street. She needs to tell me when she’s struggling instead of keeping it inside.”

“Exactly, you get it now,” I agreed. “So, you’re welcome for solving all your problems. I’ll mail you my bill for all the therapy.”

He laughed, but then his face turned serious. “I wish I could do the same for you. I hate that he hurt you.”

I stared out at the other diners stuffing their faces. Thanks to the food all around us, my appetite was slowly coming back. Maybe my grieving process was moving on to the “eat the sadness away” period?

“I don’t think Vincent is capable of giving what I need in a relationship. His first love is Summit. And the man barely even believes in actual love, you know? It’s like he’s run the numbers and decided it’s not worth the risk.”

“His dad didn’t exactly model great relationships,” Paul said. “How many marriages has he had? Five?”

“Four,” I corrected. “One great love and three runners-up. Anyway, there’s no need to talk about it. It’s done, I’m moving on. Let’s talk about what’s happening with Strapped.”

And with that, we took a page from the Vincent Forde playbook and moved on to the only thing that mattered: business.

26

VINCENT

On top of all the drama I was currently facing, I could now add a missing-in-action Paul to the list.

He wasn’t at my place when I’d arrived home from work, so I texted him for a status update. He was usually glued to his phone, so I was shocked when he didn’t reply. I texted him again as I got ready for work the next morning and once again got zero response. When he didn’t pick up my call, I determined that something was up, and it wasn’t good. I didn’t want to reach out to Chloe, just in case he was keeping her out of the loop as well, so once lunch time rolled around, I headed over to his apartment. I’d opted to take my chauffeur today instead of driving myself, since being in the parking garage never failed to make me think of Piper.

And thinking about her made my heart hurt in a way I’d never experienced before.

I called Paul once again as I walked into the lobby of his apartment building even though I had a feeling he wouldn’t pick up. I was starting to get worried since the radio silence was so unlike him. The guy loved talking.

I walked over to the doorman at his desk. “Hey, Sam. Is Paul in?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Forde,” Sam said cheerfully. “Looks like he’s actually—” The man’s smile dropped into an expression of confusion as his eyes caught on something over my shoulder. “I mean, he’s…um…” I turned to see what had snagged his attention and saw Paul behind me making throat-cutting gestures only to sigh in defeat when our eyes met.

“Fine, yes, I’m here,” Paul said, irritated. “Why are you here? Isn’t it enough that you’ve been calling and texting me nonstop?”

“We need to talk,” I insisted. “Can I come up?”