Chapter 37
GRAHAM
It’s not surprise I feel when I get a call from the real estate billionaire Gibson Hayes.
It’s pure dread. The feeling of the other shoe poised to drop.
The request for a divorce felt out of character for Avery from the moment I walked into the kitchen that morning, but the Hayes’s involvement helps it make more sense.
Before she met Marianne, Avery was sweet, charming, unassuming, and humble.
These days, she’s embodied her socialite status.
There are certain places she used to go—the coffee place two blocks down for example, which she refuses to step foot in now.
She never leaves the apartment without full make up, dressed in the trendiest styles.
Her former Pilates friends? They’re now only gossip fodder for her and Marianne.
I suspect Marianne is behind this demand for a divorce. The question remains, though, how much does she know? Did Avery tell her I have a lover? Or has she only said enough about her lack of a sex life to gain Marianne’s sympathy?
It’d be a lie to say I’m not scared shitless when Gibson requests a lunch with me. I know better than to say no. I have to understand my enemy in order to fight them.
My face is pale in the mirror as I shave. Silas is asleep because he worked last night. I haven’t told him about this. I have a feeling he’d tell me to ignore it and deal with Avery directly.
But the situation has clearly evolved, and I no longer consider Avery safe.
She hasn’t spoken to me since I packed a bag and left the apartment last week.
I’ve sent a handful of texts that have also gone unreturned.
My parents are pissed on my behalf, and they say she’s not returning their calls, either.
Lawyers are being consulted. My brother Holden’s been looped in.
The wagons are circling, and there’s been some noise from my father about digging into Avery’s past. So far, I’ve managed to talk him out of that, but I won’t be able to hold him off forever.
It’s only a matter of time before the media gets hold of the story, and even with all Dad’s connections in the press, a scandal is a scandal.
He’s determined to make Avery the focal point of any negative attention, though. Not me.
I’ve been a wreck. Scheming doesn’t suit me.
I don’t have the brain for this high level game of chess.
I think one step at a time, not four or five moves ahead.
Today, I assume I’ll find out what Avery really wants in order to keep my secret, because that has to be what this is about.
Maintaining another residence isn’t scandalous.
It won’t get me in trouble with my constituents or the senate. Having a gay lover? Well…
She has to know I’d do just about anything to protect that secret.
She also knows—and this is why I’ve been dry heaving off and on all night—that I’m practically broke.
All my income is accounted for—it goes to the apartment at Hanover Gardens, Avery’s therapist, her fucking wardrobe, and all the travel I’ve been doing.
The debt I’ve managed to amass has me ready to choke on bile at any given moment.
In the bedroom, I pull on my suit jacket as I stare at Silas’s sleeping form.
Our entire relationship passes before my eyes.
That night at the Plaza. The cosmic coincidences that placed him firmly in my life in an irrevocable way.
The way he’d fought me—his own feelings.
The way he didn’t shy away from me after the miscarriage when I’ve never been more miserable.
All the kisses he was never able to refuse me.
The home he’s kept warm for me all this time. We met nearly two years ago now, and for my part, there hasn’t been a day since that first time I haven’t thought about him. We’ve come so fucking far. Weathered impossible odds in a relationship we both know can never be more than a secret affair.
Whenever I doubt whether his feelings for me rise to the level of mine for him, I think about what he’s had to sacrifice to call himself mine. He could have anyone. Someone who would openly claim him, introduce him to his parents. Be able to be seen in public with him at all for Christ’s sake.
But he’s chosen us—hidden. Isolated. Living in the shadows.
I gulp against the strong swell of love filling my chest. I can’t lose him.
His strength props me up when I feel weak.
His want gives me the kind of confidence I never had before he came along.
The unconditional love we share is the only thing keeping me moving this morning toward my fate.
It’s ultimately how I know I can face whatever Marianne and Gibson bring to the table in this matter with Avery that should be private.
I lean over him, a hand between his shoulder blades, so I can kiss his cheek.
He stirs, and his eyelids flutter open. A slow grin bends his lips. “Nice suit. Where are you headed?”
“Business lunch,” I say. Stupid words that wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny because I’m not a businessman, but they come out regardless.
He’s too sleepy to probe, and I don’t want to wake him any more than I already have.
I know how hard it is for him to rest during daylight hours, even with blackout shades dimming the room to the best of their ability.
“Go back to sleep,” I tell him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Good.”
His eyes close, and I kiss his cheek one more time, savoring the warmth and scruff against my lips. Steeling myself, I stand, leave the bedroom, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and leave our apartment to head uptown.
* * *
Gibson Hayes is built like Superman. He’s an incredibly attractive white man in his forties.
I’ve always thought he was good looking, even before I met him.
He’s well known among politicians—generous in his campaign donations—not to my party, of course.
His camp is firmly on the left side of the aisle, and I assume it’s mostly to do with his interest in his club.
The First Amendment cuts both ways. Freedom of speech and expression can certainly be interpreted to support sex work, but the laws on the books say differently.
If my party has its way in the upcoming year or two, the laws will be significantly shored up, making the penalties for prostitution much, much harsher.
But that’s all secret still, a plan in the works behind closed doors in the Senate, tucked neatly into a piece of developing legislation that purports to protect children from sex trafficking and internet predators. Parents’ rights.
Gibson’s eyes are heavy with stress and a hint of regret when he shakes my hand.
I try to smile, but whether I manage it or not is anyone’s guess.
The restaurant is sparsely populated. It’s early for lunch.
Eleven. I wonder if he chose this time on purpose, so there would be less chance of anyone overhearing.
However, in terms of locations—here in Lenox Hill, I’ll be recognized, as will he.
It’s not the kind of place average people hang out.
“Good to see you,” he says, and I’m uneasy when he sounds nervous, too. He gestures to a table, and I take a seat before he slides into his own across from me. We’re between empty tables for the moment.
A waiter approaches to take our drink order. Gibson says in a low voice before the man reaches the table, “This may be unpleasant.”
I stare hard at him, his lips now pressed into a determined line. “I’m going through a divorce. Nothing’s pleasant these days. I assume this has something to do with that. I know she and Marianne talk.”
“They do,” he says. “And my wife is quite a pit bull when it comes to her friends.”
I twist the bracelet Silas gave me around my wrist. Touching it is a nervous habit, like I can ground myself in him when he’s not around to hold onto. “Shall we cut to the chase, then?” I ask.
Hayes speaks quickly as the waiter nears. “Man to man, and this goes nowhere, are you aware of the reason Avery’s filed for divorce?”
I answer just as rapidly, glancing out the window because I can barely stand the sight of his face.
“She thinks I’m cheating on her. I kept my old apartment.
Is that a fucking crime now? You of all people should know the value of real estate in this city.
The market was terrible for sellers when she and I decided to move uptown.
I was a county prosecutor. It wasn’t like I could afford to take the loss. ”
The waiter is stopped by a man at another table.
Gibson leans back in a comfortable, yet commanding slouch. “I understand you’re doing well for yourself now.”
So he’s clueless then. I guess that helps? “I’ve made good investments.” That’s a lie, but I know my parents will back me up with this divorce. They’ve said as much.
“Speaking of which…”
Finally, I meet his eyes, trying to put steel in my gaze. “Is this where you deliver a message to be generous with my wife in the divorce, or else?”
“More or less,” he says leadingly.
“I plan to be,” I say as the waiter arrives at the table. Gibson orders whiskey neat.
I need water. Gallons of it. My mouth is bone dry, and I’m afraid if I have a real drink it’ll come right back up.
When the waiter leaves with our orders, Gibson leans in, his broad shoulders looming, and speaks quietly. “You have reason to be extremely generous. By that I mean, whatever she asks for, you’ll give her.”
I almost relax. While a lawyer could have delivered this message just as effectively, it’s not a surprise. “Is she planning to clean me out?”
Gibson shrugs, and then his mouth twists into a grimace. His next words come out harsh. “Unfortunately, it’s not just that.”