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It looks like nepotism is alive and well.
Fortunately, as it turned out, I have good instincts when it comes to determining which clients are worthy of having our firm invest millions of pounds in them and which are not.
I had the option of either running or picking up my grandfather’s mantle. I chose to do the latter. After all, what else did I have to do at the time? Nothing, because I’d already lost Kennedy Takahashi the year before.
When Kennedy left me, I lost the love of my life.
I lost my best friend.
I lost everything that mattered to me.
Oh, I’ve dated plenty since then, but never seriously. It’s been a steady stream of girls, none of them sticking. How could they? How could they measure up to Kennedy? How could anyone?
I’m not the same man today that I was back then. I’m more mature, more seasoned, and fully dedicated to my job. Now I live to work, a machine who churns out money as easily as my grandfather did before me.
After disembarking from the plane, I claim my luggage and make my way to customs. It doesn’t take me long to get through the queue as I didn’t bring much with me—a few changes of clothes, toiletries, and gifts for Will and Skye’s children.
Once I’m cleared, I stroll through the airport, passing bodies that hum with anticipation. Footfalls tap briskly on the tiled floor, suitcase wheels squeak as their owners weave between other travelers in their rush to make their connecting flights.
In no particular hurry, I slow my steps and take in everything that surrounds me. I nearly stumble in surprise when I spot a woman several meters ahead of me who reminds me of Kennedy. To this day, every time I see a petite woman with silky, straight black hair, my heart misses a beat.
I’m embarrassed to admit I see her everywhere, even when I know it’s impossible. Back home, I might walk into a pub or a restaurant and think I spot her across the room. Or I might think I caught a glimpse of her riding on a passing London bus. And she frequently haunts my dreams, always just out of reach.
With each wishful sighting, my heart beats overtime. But the truth is, Kennedy’s gone from my life, and there’s no cosmic power on earth that will deliver her back to me. Fate is not going to answer my prayers and align our paths.
I continue to the check-in desk for my connecting flight to Ohio. I’m still wondering why Skye’s message sounded so urgent. I certainly hope nothing’s wrong. Regardless, I’d drop everything for my friends and come running if they asked.
It’s been about six months since I saw them last, in London. I can’t wait to see my precocious little goddaughter, Penny, meet the new baby, and reconnect with my best mate and his wife.
As I turn a corner, I catch sight of silky-straight raven hair in my peripheral vision as a petite woman hurries past me. She walks with purpose, her pace brisk and determined.
I stop dead in my tracks, my body going ramrod straight as I stare at the retreating form of the young woman and wonder if I’m losing my mind.
No. It can’t be.
I mean, yes, she lives here in New York City—well, Brooklyn to be precise—but what are the odds I’d run into her at the airport? They’re astronomical.
It must be my mind playing tricks on me.
My gaze follows the woman ahead of me, and I note the familiar-looking brown leather handbag slung over her shoulder—the one her parents got her as a gift when she finished graduate school.
It can’t be her.
Still, I pick up my pace, and with my long legs, I’m halfway caught up to her in no time at all. I position myself to get a closer look, fully expecting to be disappointed. It couldn’t possibly be her, could it? I’m torturing myself.
I reach her side, keeping pace with her, and glance down at the young woman’s profile.
Dear god.
It’s her.
It’s myKennedy.
I intentionally slow my pace, letting her pull ahead of me.
Since this can’t possibly be a coincidence, it’s starting to make sense now. I suspect I wasn’t the only one to receive a text message sayingcome now. Those devious interlopers. They asked Kennedy to come, too. I don’t know whether to throttle them or thank them.
Are they trying to torture me?
