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Aillard smirks.. “Because King doesn’t have any sway here at Hastings. I do.” With that parting comment, Aillard walks around me towards the door.
I shuffle to the side to avoid a collision with the door and eye my father warily. He could find other donors, but that would require interacting with other humans for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Something he avoids doing at all costs. Including the cost of my happiness.
Dad sits down in his seat, his face pinched tight. “You don’t have to keep looking at me like I’m a huge disappointment.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing,” I mutter.
He runs his hand over his gray hair. “I’m not disappointed in you, Bex. I know how hard this must have been. But we need his contribution. We’re too close to December to not have a solid contract in place. If he pulls out, we’ll be screwed. That’s money an organization desperately needs to continue aiding others. I was thinking about them.”
But not me. Those three little words go unsaid, but the inclination is there. “Work comes first, right?” The bitterness in my voice is unmistakable. I can’t pretend everything is okay right now.
“It’s been eight years.” Dad’s reasonable tone falls flat.
Why does he keep saying that? Eight years is a long time in some aspects, and merely yesterday in others. The clothes I wore eight years ago are vastly different. We’ve come a long way since then in the world. There’s Tiktok now instead of MySpace, but how does one go from loving someone to unexpectedly being shoved out of someone’s life? How does one get over that sense of betrayal?
Therapy helped for a little while. The “move on” strategy was strongly advised to me by my therapist so I could forgive and forget. Easier said than done. There are days, even weeks, that go by that I feel like the me before Thorin came into my life.
Then again, most people trying to move on from a disastrous relationship don’t have their ex’s face plastered everywhere. Billboards. Tabloids. The business section of the newspaper. Ads on social media to come and stay at the exciting and decidedly expensive Ravenscroft Hotels. It’s the reason I hide away from the news by taking on more charitable work.
Most people don’t fall in love with a billionaire at the age of twenty.
“I think I’m allowed to own my pain for as long as I want,” I answer evenly. “You weren’t humiliated, harassed, stalked, or anything else of the sort once Aillard and King got involved to destroy my reputation, so I don’t think you get to make a fair decision on how I should handle my emotions.” Even now, I hardly interact with others outside of work unless it’s charity. On some media circuits I’m known as the Princess of Philanthropy, mostly because King buried my marriage and divorce so deep, hardly anyone knows about it. Most only remember I was some floozy who threw herself at Thorin and suckered him into a relationship.
Dad inclines his head. “You’re right, I didn’t think about it like that.”
No, he only thought of the blip of love I had for Thorin Ravenscroft. That’s all anyone thinks about when they think about heartbreak. I can admit our whirlwind romance wasn’t meant to last. I accept my part of the sordid affair. It’s everything else that came afterwards that blackened my soul.
Turning around, I open and shut his office door with a calmness to rival the war ravaging my insides.
No one speaks to me as I exit the marble tower. The only sounds are of keyboards clicking and my shoes making a harsh, steadying beat against the marble.
I hope my heels scratch the hell out of this floor.
The ride in the elevator loosens my muscles as I descend back into the chaotic mess of press releases, public affairs, and speech writers. A welcoming distraction from the sterile environment above.
Detrick is waiting as the doors open with his tablet and a stack of paperwork in his hands. Thankfully he’ll offer a reprieve from the disastrous meeting. Detrick’s arm moves like he’s going to hand me something from the stack against his chest then pauses. “What’s wrong?”
Clearing my throat, I grumble, “I need you to clear my schedule for a meeting at ten tomorrow.”
His mocha eyes narrow. “Which conference room?”
Resisting the urge to lie, I say, “Ward Enterprises. I’ll need a company car to take me. Charge it to my father’s account.”
Detrick immediately begins typing on his tablet. “Anything else?”
“Do you know where the hidden bottle of bourbon is on this floor?”
His head snaps up with a mocking glare. “You can’t drink during office hours. The only time we do that is ifIam allowed to drink as well.” He pauses. “And Darcy has the bottle so she’s either drank it all herself at some point or poured it down the drain simply to be a bitch.”
Knowing Darcy, it was probably the latter.
Detrick hesitates, drawing my attention to his abrupt movements. “Do you want me to find you something to drink?”
I debate about it for half a minute, far longer than I need to. “No,” I huff. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” Marching off, I make my way back to my office to do what Hastings do best, throw ourselves into our work and forget about people in general.
From my open doorway, I hear Detrick mutter under his breath, “Everything isnotfine.”
Well, at least we know that.
