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From her nightstand came the sound of her cell phone. Elizabeth wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands and pushed off the floor. On the television, Garfield the cat floated into Times Square. Elizabeth had surrounded herself with all her favorite Thanksgiving traditions, but no cheer filled the hollow in her chest.
She didn’t get to the phone before it rolled to voice mail. It was Roark.
“Elizabeth, Vance called and told me we hit Page Six. I’m sorry I’m not there to handle this, but I’m catching the first plane home. In the meantime, it would be best if you don’t speak to any reporters or talk to anyone. That might make things worse. I’ll deal with everything when I get back.”
His voice sounded brisk and authoritative, an employer gearing up for damage control. Yet another reminder that they weren’t in this as a couple, but as coconspirators. Still, it would be nice to feel his arms around her. To be able to lean on him.
Elizabeth shook off her unrealistic longing and went back to her pie. By the time it went into the oven, her kitchen was covered in a thin layer of flour and her sink was piled with dishes.
For the second time that morning her doorbell rang. She couldn’t remember ever being this popular. With Roark’s warning ringing in her ear, she checked the peephole before she opened the door in case an ambitious reporter had tracked her down. Vance Waverly stood in her hallway.
She opened the door.
“Hel-l-o.” Both his tone and his eyebrows rose as he took in her appearance.
Too late, Elizabeth realized if the kitchen was covered in flour, she probably was, as well. “What are you doing here?”
“Roark called me after you didn’t pick up. He’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I can see that.” He looked past her. “Doing a little baking?”
“A pumpkin pie.”
“Then you’re still planning on coming for Thanksgiving dinner?”
Was it that late already? She’d been so busy worrying about her sudden unemployment she had forgotten all about calling to cancel. “I really don’t know if that’s such a great idea. Sabeen was right. Roark and I aren’t really engaged. You have to know he was only thinking of Waverly’s.”
“And you? What were you thinking about?” Vance set his hand on the door frame and leaned in. “Why would a beautiful woman risk so much to help out a man she barely knew?”
“He’s helping me.” She waited for shock and outrage, but glimpsed only amusement. “What’s so funny?”
“Roark could have had almost any woman in New York City, but he chose you. Have you asked yourself why?”
“No.”
“You might want to.”
The timer dinged on her stove, indicating that the pie was done and saving Elizabeth from having to reply. “Can I offer you some coffee?”
“Why don’t I pour myself a cup while you get ready.”
The words that would send him on his way hovered on her lips, but went unsaid. She really didn’t want to be alone today.
“I have a lot of flour to wash off. It’ll probably take me half an hour.”
“The coffeepot looks full. I can wait.”
“Afraid if you leave, I won’t show up?”
“Of course not.”
Elizabeth didn’t believe him. Nor did she blame him for not trusting her. Facing even a small number of people today held little appeal.
An hour later, they arrived at Vance’s palatial home in Forest Hills. Charlie’s face reflected her relief as her husband escorted Elizabeth into the grand two-story foyer.
Despite the large scale of the rooms, Charlotte had managed to make the traditional styling welcoming and cozy. As Elizabeth slipped out of her coat, she couldn’t help but compare the warm, elegantly decorated space to Roark’s starkly appointed loft that, thanks to the odds and ends he’d collected on his travels, looked more like a Moroccan flea market than a home. The two living spaces were as different as the men who occupied them.
