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“Email me the dates, and we’ll make it happen.” I feign excitement.
“Excellent,” Nolan says. “Can’t wait to meet the lucky girl.”
I stab the red button on the intercom to end the call.
“Think of it this way,” Broderick says, “it’ll put you that much closer to the end goal. A week with Ames and his family. A quickie wedding. A baby … What’d I tell you? You always get what you want. Somehow it works out for you every damn time.”
My office phone rings, and I check the time.
“I’ve got a conference call with senior management in web services,” I say, motioning toward the door.
He leaves, and I pick up the receiver.
When I’m done, I make another call, this time to Sophie.
She answers on the second ring.
“You getting settled?” I ask. It’s strange knowing she’s in my home without me.
“Trying to.” Her voice is an echo, like the sweeping halls of the estate swallow her as she makes her way around. “Only got lost twice today.”
I laugh. “Won’t be long until you know the way around there like the back of your hand.”
“I’m aiming for the end of the week, but that might be slightly ambitious given the fact that you have an insane amount of rooms …”
“To be fair, I don’t know what’s in half of them. One of these days you’ll be giving me tours,” I say. A flight itinerary reminder pops up on my screen. “Don’t forget to pack for this weekend.”
Not that Seattle is littered with paparazzi, but I’m already envisioning grainy shots of the two of us strolling the city blocks, in baseball caps and sunglasses, arms around each other like some kind of celebrity couple trying to enjoy the real world incognito.
We’ve got this …
“I’ll have my assistant add you to the manifest,” I say. “We leave Friday at noon.”
“I’ll be ready.” Her tone isn’t colored with excitement, but I’ll ensure she enjoys every minute of our weekend away. That and I’m excited to get her out of her element for a bit. Could bring out a side of her I’ve yet to meet …
I tell my future wife I’ll see her tonight, and end the call. Then I send an email to my first assistant to add Sophie to the flight. When I’m finished, I take a moment to relax. But only a moment—I don’t have all day, and my next meeting starts in fifteen minutes.
Broderick was right.
Things always work out for me.
At this point, I don’t think anything could go wrong.
Thirty-One
Sophie
Present
Seattle is pretty from way up here. I slide the door to the hotel balcony and inhale the earthy petrichor that saturates the air. Rain clouds roll in and below a blue-gray fog settles over the city. We landed in Trey’s jet over an hour ago at some small airport east of the city. He arranged for a driver to bring me here while he hightailed it to a meeting.
Ever since my time with Nolan, I’ve hated hotels because they only remind me of him.
They all smell the same—bleached linens and shampooed carpet, icy air conditioning and a cocktail of random people with a mélange of intermixing colognes and fragrances. The furniture is always arranged the same way. The towels are always white.
It doesn’t matter which hotel I’m in or the city, the ghost of Nolan is always here, haunting me.
That said, our suite is gorgeous with its extra-wide balcony and sweeping views of the city. The concierge left a bottle of wine, a box of Belgian chocolates, and an assortment of artisanal soaps on the coffee table along with a handwritten note from the hotel manager.
I slide the door closed behind me and perch against the limestone balcony railing. A dozen stories down cars honk, buses hum, and people hustle and hurry like ants on a farm.
I spend the better part of the hour taking it all in, and when I’m done, I grab the book I threw in my bag at the last minute, read a few chapters, and catch a quick nap on the king-sized bed in the next room.
It’s impossible to remember the last time I had a lazy afternoon where I hadn’t a single thing to do or care in the world. Even on my laziest of days at home, there’s always a nagging to-do list haunting my thoughts.
When I wake, it’s almost six.
Trey mentioned dinner was at seven-thirty and that there was a dress code. I unpack my suitcase, hang my clothes in the closet, and select a classic black number before heading to the bathroom to get ready.
I’m securing my earrings ten minutes later when the gentle open and close of the hotel door tells me he’s back. A moment later, he appears in the open bathroom doorway.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
“Just as I expected.” He leans against the jamb, casual, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder. His expression is unreadable as his stare weighs on me.
