Twenty-five
Matteo
T he hotel manager is livid when he calls, his voice clipped and impatient. “Mr. Marino, Ms. Jackson is still occupying the suite. She refuses to check out and insists she’s authorized to keep charging everything to your card.”
I inhale slowly, trying to keep my temper in check.
My grip tightens around the phone. “Ms. Jackson has withdrawn seventy thousand dollars in cash advances on my credit card. She’s spent over fifty grand in your boutiques—on designer clothes.
She’s trashed the suite I’m now financially responsible for.
She was supposed to check out yesterday.
Your staff reminded her. She chose not to leave.
So either she provides a new card or she finds another place to stay. ”
He hedges, tone softening. “This puts us in an awkward position with your girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I snap, sharper than I intend. “She never was.” The words rip out of me, but saying them feels like reclaiming something. Like I’m finally cutting the cord I should’ve severed days ago.
I pace to the window, fury vibrating under my skin. Willow knows exactly what she’s doing, bleeding me dry, dragging my name through the mud, all while hiding behind charm and entitlement.
“And awkward for who, exactly?” I grind out. “She was told, by her own lawyer, that if she wasn’t leaving San Francisco, she’d need alternate accommodations. She made her choice. The charade is over.”
He sighs, exasperated. “Mr. Marino, with all due respect, I understand this isn’t a significant sum for someone in your position—”
Money. That’s all anyone ever sees. But it’s not the money.
It’s her. The lies. The audacity. The mess she’s left in her wake.
And the fact that she still thinks she can use my name to get away with it.
“Stop,” I cut in, voice cold. “If you let her stay, that’s on you.
But I’m not footing the bill. And if you keep pressing, I’ll report the cash advances as unauthorized.
Then your hotel will be on the hook. The gravy train ends now. ”
A beat of silence.
“Yes, sir. Understood. We’ll speak to Ms. Jackson about her continued stay here at the Fairmont.”
I hang up, more satisfied than I expected. It’s not about the money. It’s the principle. But this isn’t just financial cleanup. It’s the start of cutting ties. The last threads holding Willow to my life are fraying.
Willow hasn’t seen Amelia all week. She’s treating my credit card like a blank check. Just because I can afford it doesn’t mean I will. That money is for Amelia’s future, not for Willow’s shoe collection.
A text from Ellory lights up my screen, and something inside me lifts.
Ellory: The board meeting went well.
I never doubted it. What Antoine and Dante designed were too beautiful not to win them over.
I start typing a reply—maybe to celebrate a small win—when my phone rings again.
Colleen.
I answer with a groan. “Let me guess. Her lawyer is demanding I pay for her to stay?”
“How’d you know?” she replies, clearly amused.
“The manager tried guilt-tripping me into covering the room indefinitely.”
Colleen snorts. “As if.”
“She pulled another ten grand yesterday,” I add, jaw tightening.
“Oh, she’s really making this easy.” Her tone sharpens. “Which brings me to why I’m calling. I sent a process server to the hotel this morning. We’re counter-suing for all unauthorized charges above reasonable lodging and food.”
I sit up straighter. “And?”
“I also filed for an emergency hearing with Judge Lee. We’re asking to revoke Willow’s access to Amelia and initiate full parental relinquishment.”
My breath catches. “Wait, what does that mean?”
“Tomorrow, we go before the judge. I’ll present the hotel invoices, party photos, and evidence of her extortion attempts. If the judge agrees, we’ll file for permanent custody and terminate her rights.”
My pulse thuds in my ears. “That could backfire.”
“It could,” she agrees. “But we had to act while we know where she is. If she checks out and disappears again, she could delay proceedings for months.”
I rub a hand over my face. “I trust you. When and where?”
She gives me the courthouse address and time.
“Should we meet beforehand?”
“No. Just be early. Judge Lee doesn’t tolerate lateness. That means in your seat before the hearing, not jogging through security five minutes late.”
“I’ll be early,” I promise.
We hang up, and I toss back the last sip of bourbon. It’s end of the day, and I already feel wrung out.
I glance at the clock, and it’s nearly six. The entire day has been swallowed by Willow. The calls from the hotel, damage control with my credit card company, and messages from lawyers trying to rein her in. I haven’t touched a single thing I actually needed to do.
Then I remember Ellory’s message, her good news from the board meeting. Guilt twists in my gut for leaving it unanswered. She deserves more than a rushed reply. I decide I’ll check in by text instead. She’s probably out celebrating anyway, and I don’t want to weigh her down with my drama.
Me: My day got away from me. Congratulations. I knew you could do it. Are you celebrating?
Her message comes right back.
Ellory: I’m still at the office. I’m waiting for Inspector Lenning.
My pulse races.
Me: Does he have news?
Ellory: I don’t know. But someone turned off the cameras in our offices and stole Night to Remember .
Me: I’m on my way over.
I fire off the last message, adrenaline surging. My first instinct is to grab my keys, but I force myself to think. I’ll be no use to Ellory if I show up hotheaded and reckless.
I call Keith. “I need a ride to Olivier’s offices. Now.”
Ten minutes later, we’re weaving through traffic toward Union Square. My knee bounces the whole way, pulse thundering. I can’t sit still.
Halfway there, I scroll to Trixie’s number and hit call. She answers on the second ring, cheerful, unsuspecting. Guilt slams into me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tumbling out before she can speak. “I know I promised to be home tonight, but there’s an emergency with Ellory. Something big. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. As soon as I can get free, I’ll come straight home.”
“Is she okay?” Trixie asks.
“She’s talking to the police. Someone stole Night to Remember .”
Trixie gasps. “Is it the same person who assaulted her?”
“I don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
I know that Amelia won’t sleep well until she knows I’m home so doing this is asking a lot of Trixie.
“No problem. I didn’t have any plans tonight except to work on a new book.”
“I owe you for this.”
“I’ll take one of those bubble rings you’re doing with Olivier.”
I laugh. “That’s easy. Consider it done. See you when I can.”
I hang up, shove the phone into my pocket, and stare out at the city lights as we close in on Union Square. My mind is already racing ahead. Cameras down. A stolen dress. Could it actually be Heather who was behind the assault?
This isn’t just Ellory’s problem anymore. It’s mine too.
Keith pulls up to the curb outside Olivier’s offices, Union Square glowing in the dusk. The city hums with traffic and chatter, but all I hear is the thud of my own pulse.
The elevator doors open onto Olivier’s executive floor. Everything gleams—polished wood, glass walls, the kind of quiet that’s meant to radiate control. But all I see is tension coiled in every line of Ellory’s posture as she stands waiting by the conference table.
Relief flashes in her eyes when she sees me, quickly smoothed over with composure. She won’t let anyone here see her shaken.
Inspector Lenning ambles out beside me, raincoat wrinkled, plaid shirt crooked at the collar, khakis that look like they’ve been through a war. He pulls a battered notebook from his pocket as he crosses to Ellory.
“Ms. Matisse,” he says, voice gravelly. “This dress has a name?”
“It was part of Felicity Ford’s Paris Fashion collection. She named it.” She pulls a picture of it. “Here is what it looks like. It has rough diamonds as buttons and a large bubble diamond at the hip.”
“ Night to Remember was purchased for a million dollars?”
“Yes,” Ellory says evenly. “I already told you about the purchase and that the security feeds were cut for thirty minutes last night.”
“Right,” Lenning mutters, flipping through his notes. “That’s unusual. Cameras don’t just…switch off. Somebody shut them down on purpose. Who knew you had the dress? Just about everyone since it’s such a notable dress I would imagine.”
“No. I bought it anonymously. The color of the dress, bright red, is the same as our logo. It is part of the new line we’re launching.”
He glances up, sharp eyes belying the rumpled exterior. “So the question is, who had access?”
Ellory exhales slowly, arms folding. “Only employees. Someone inside this building has the dress. The only way to access the elevators and doors after hours require a code.”
I step closer, my voice tight. “And if you ask me? I’d bet it’s someone who wanted to rattle her before the board meeting presentation today.”
Lenning’s pen scratches across the page. “Good. That narrows things down. I’ll want names of everyone who was in the building last night and any rivalries I should know about.”
Lenning finishes scribbling, then tucks the pen behind his ear. “All right. Let’s see this security footage you mentioned.”
Ellory gestures toward her desk. “It’s already pulled up. Veronica forwarded the files before she left for the day.”
We cross into her office, and for a moment, I forget why we’re here. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Union Square like a living painting, the city glittering beneath us.