Chapter Twenty-Seven
T he buzz of Rafe’s phone haunts my dreams. Incessant, like the drone of killer bees sent to annihilate me from this plane. No… wait. That’s my phone vibrating on my nightstand. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I lean over to see a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello,” I mumble.
“Is this Trishara Malik?” a crisp voice asks.
“Yes, who is this?” I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face with my blanket tucked under my armpits. Rafe stirs next to me, his eyes peeling open slowly.
“This is Diane Hart’s assistant. She’s reserved a table at the Diamond Lounge for lunch at 12:30 p.m. Dress is business casual. Don’t be late.”
The phone disconnects abruptly, and I’m left staring at the darkened screen.
“Who was that?” Rafe asks.
“Diane’s assistant. She wants to have lunch.”
Rafe sits up. “Why?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. During our golf game, she mentioned that she was impressed with my scores on some of the testing. She hinted at putting in a good word for me about the training program.”
Rafe’s smile is tentative. He reaches a hand out but pulls it back. “That’s fantastic. You didn’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t sure if she really meant it, I guess.”
After walking away from Rafe on the boat last night, I kept my distance, and he gave me space. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I still don’t. Lan and Gabrielle could tell something was up, but they didn’t say anything either, and we finished the night in awkward silence.
I fell in love with Rafe, but there are too many strings here. It hurts too much to look this in the eye, so I’m practicing avoidance as I rebuild my shield and work on falling back out. When we returned to the suite, we said very little, lying next to each other until we drifted into sleep.
It’s only 9 a.m. Tonight, the ceremony to announce the winners of the training program will take place. Five lives will change—at least five—because I already know I’ll never be the same again.
“I’m going to go for a workout before lunch,” I say. “Do you want to come?” I want him to say no. It’ll be easier to start snipping the threads if he isn’t around.
Maybe he senses it too, because he replies, “I’d love to, but I should catch up on some email this morning.”
“Okay.” I slip out of bed and head for the bathroom.
When I return from the gym, Rafe isn’t in the suite. He texted to say he was meeting up with his dad. Knowing how much stress David causes him worries me, but I put it out of my mind as I prepare for my meeting with Diane.
Rafe isn’t my responsibility. Rafe isn’t mine.
Diane’s assistant said business casual, so I opt for a black pencil skirt and an emerald-green sleeveless blouse with a bunny bow at the neck. I slip on my black heels and use my flatiron to straighten my hair into a smooth sheen.
A short while later, my shoes click along the marble floor as I approach the Diamond Lounge. Located just off the lobby, it’s a swanky space filled with plush club chairs that serves small plates and locally made spirits.
When I arrive, I give the hostess my name.
“You’re the first,” she says, grabbing three menus and leading me through the restaurant. As I take my seat, she sets one menu in front of me and the other two on top of the plates on either side.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Water is fine,” I say before she nods and walks away.
I texted Molly earlier about my lunch and the disaster with Rafe last night. I haven’t heard back yet. It’s Saturday, so she’s probably out for the day, heading to yoga and the farmers’ market. I can’t wait to get home to dissect every moment of the past three weeks with her and then sob until I wring all these emotions out and bury them away.
A few minutes later, the hostess leads Paul Stuart, VP of southeastern operations, through the restaurant. I stand as Paul arrives and holds out a hand.
He’s in his late fifties with greying brown hair and pale grey-blue eyes.
“Miss Malik,” he says. “Paul Stuart. Diane asked me to join you today.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, returning to my seat as Paul sits in the chair on my left. He’s fairly trim and clearly an athlete. As he sits, his eyes dip to my chest, pause at my mouth, and then lift to my eyes. He gives me an oily smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and my fingers itch for a panic button.
“Diane has told me you’ve impressed her,” he says, getting straight to the point. “She wanted me to meet you, as she’s secured the other votes needed to award you a spot in the training program, but I wasn’t convinced yet.” His tone indicates how beneath him he feels this is. How much of a favor he thinks he’s doing me. I bite my tongue to prevent a career-limiting retort from flying from my mouth. I hate this guy already.
I swallow, apprehension building in my stomach. Five of six of them chose me? And now I have to jump over fences like a pony to impress this asshole?
“I see,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “And what would convince you?”
His mouth stretches into a smile that shows off a set of straight white teeth. He’s spent a lot of time outside, and his skin is stamped with the sun worshipper’s leathery glow. I imagine he must own a sailboat he pays more attention to than his wife. His eyes dip again, and my skin crawls off my bones.
“Where’s Diane?” I ask, checking my phone, hoping her assistant has sent me a message.
“She said she’d be a few minutes late,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
He plants his elbows on the table.
“Tell me, Miss Malik, why should I put in my vote for you?”
I press my mouth together. I hate that I have to do this. I hate that he’s making me perform. Maybe it was foolish to hope this place could ever be different.
“Well, I graduated from college at the top of my class, and I’ve been with WMC for almost five years. Through that time, I’ve excelled in every project I’ve been tasked with. I meet and exceed my KPIs and have developed and implemented several new processes to improve efficiency.…”
As I talk, I can tell he’s not even listening. He sits back in his chair, pose casual, hands wrapped around the armrests. I finish my groveling through gritted teeth, checking the entrance, and hoping Diane appears.
When I’ve gone silent, he sits up and leans forward again.
“That’s very nice, Miss Malik, but I did have something else in mind.”
This time, his perusal is slow and deliberate. His eyes linger on my mouth, then my breasts, before he looks up again, and the sick realization of what he’s suggesting dawns. This fucking pervert.
“I beg your pardon?” I ask, hoping I’ve misread this.
“Come now, Miss Malik,” he says, tutting. “You’ve just finished telling me what a bright young woman you are.”
And that’s when his hand lands on my knee under the table. I freeze, my entire body seizing as it inches higher.
“I’ve seen you spending time with Gallagher’s boy,” he says. “I know you’re not shy.”
He winks, and my blood rushes so loud that white noise howls in my ears. My neck grows hot, and my stomach cramps as Paul gives me a coy smile. I think of Leo sharing that image of me and the endless parade of disgusting photos and texts that followed. Those men all thought I owed them something too.
Paul’s hand moves higher, sliding up my thigh, and that’s when I return to my body.
“Get your hands off me,” I yell because what do I have left to lose? I stand up, the chair skidding away with a screech. “You vile, despicable pig. You want me to sleep with you for the sake of the training program?”
His slimy smile oozes into raw fury. Everyone heard me, their heads spinning all the way around like funhouse clowns.
“Keep your voice down,” he hisses.
“I will not keep my voice down, you prick.” With a thwap, I toss my napkin on the table and look up to see Diane watching us with her bright red lips parted to form a circle.
“This asshole just propositioned me,” I say, pointing to him. “Is that why you invited him here?”
Her mouth opens wider and then closes. I think about what she told me in the golf cart, and I want to believe in her so badly right now. I need her to prove she didn’t mean what she said and that she won’t stand by and allow this to go unchallenged.
I need to see the woman I thought I was idolizing all these years.
Diane and Paul exchange a loaded glance.
For a moment, I witness the barest prick of worry in Paul’s expression. A slight furrow of the brows, as if he’s afraid someone will finally call him on his bullshit after a lifetime of getting away with everything.
But this is the lesson I learn right then: For some people, the status quo will always be their way.
Diane straightens, tugging on the hem of her jacket as she arranges her face into an ice sculpture. And then she, too, reaches into my chest, rips out my heart, and punts it across the room.
“Don’t overreact, Trishara. I’m sure you’re misunderstanding what Paul said.” She fixes her gaze on the slimeball cowering in his chair. “Right, Paul?”
And just like that, Paul recovers. He sits up and squares his shoulders.
No one is challenging his rightful place at the top of the food chain today, and things will be as they’ve always been. He nods as they seal their pact in blood.
Though her expression remains stoic, I’m sure I watch a tiny piece of Diane Hart float away.
“I still would very much like to nominate you for the training program, Trishara,” she adds. “Please have a seat so we can discuss it over lunch as planned.”
Our gazes meet. This is a standoff. We are the bull and his red cloth waving in the wind. We are cowboys dueling at dawn, fingers twitching on our triggers.
As she watches me, I understand this is my moment to decide. Who will I be? What will my future look like? Do I do as I’m told, shut up, sit down, pretend like nothing happened? Do I secure a spot in the training program and try to salvage this career? Or is it truly a lost cause?
No. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend I’m okay with any of this. Diane isn’t the woman I thought, and I can’t have my soul whittled away any further.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “You can take the training program and fuck off. Both of you.”
I grab my purse and stomp out of the restaurant with the weight of an entire roomful of eyes on me. As soon as I reach the door, I turn the corner and burst into tears. I sag against a wall as my heart races and my limbs shake.
I sniffle and dig into my purse for a tissue but come up empty-handed. I spot a bathroom on the far side of the lobby and scurry over, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser. I study my tear-streaked face in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot, and my mascara is smudged.
I can’t believe that just happened. I’ve just lost everything for good.
I’ve had some pretty bad days, but this is one of the worst of my life.
A toilet flushes and a woman steps out of the stall, pulling a large suitcase behind her. She’s tall and blond and gorgeous and worst is relative, I suppose, because the woman is Hannah.
I can’t tear my eyes away as she turns on the faucet to wash her hands. After a few seconds, she notices me.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
Of course she doesn’t recognize me. I’ve always assumed I was beneath her notice.
“Sorry. I’m Trishara. I work with your… my… I work with Rafe.”
She frowns as she shakes off her hands and studies me. “Oh, right. You’re the one he had to share a room with.”
I’m not sure why, but I’m surprised she knows this. Something about that feels okay. He told her he was staying with me. He’s a single man. There was no reason for him to hide it.
But what’s going on?
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Hannah grins and faces the mirror before digging out a tube of lip gloss from her purse. “I’m surprising Rafe.”
“But you broke up.” It comes out harsher than I intend.
She offers me a sharp look, annoyance flashing over her expression. “He’s just behaving like a typical man. Get too close, and you know how they get scared. They’re like kittens.” She spreads gloss on her lips and then screws on the cap. “He just needed some time, but things will be fine with us. I got David’s assistant to change his plane ticket and booked a room for us for a few nights. It’ll be like a makeup honeymoon.”
My stomach heaves, climbing up my throat.
I’m going to kill Belinda. Slowly. Excruciatingly.
Hannah hops on her toes and beams as my heart falls through my feet.
Things will be fine with them? What happened when she called last night? Did they reconcile?
No wonder Rafe pulled away this morning.
“Have you been crying?” she asks, squinting.
Hannah’s presence sucked up all of my tears, but my face is still flushed, and my makeup is still a mess.
I turn to the mirror and try to clean up. “Yeah, some asshole made a pass at me.”
Hannah tuts and places a hand on a slender hip. “Hmm. I guess you’re pretty for an Indian girl.”
I go entirely still. I’m so stunned by the awful infinite layers of that comment that I can’t even speak as she checks her hair in the mirror.
“So, can you take me to him?”
I blink. Is she talking to me? “Excuse me?”
“You’re sharing a room, right? They wouldn’t tell me the number at the front desk, and he’s not answering his phone, so I was deciding what to do when, luckily, you walked in here.”
I stare at her. I’m numb. Broken from the inside and out.
“Hello?” she asks when I don’t reply.
I nod. I have no fight in me left.
“Follow me,” I say, my voice wooden and foreign to my own ears.
I wonder if he’s returned to the suite. I check my texts, but there’s nothing from him. Of course there isn’t. He’s getting back together with his girlfriend. The ball of anxiety in my stomach swells, making it hard to breathe.
Hannah trots behind me as we approach the elevator.
Tears build behind my eyes again, and I suck in deep breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse. I’m this close to fainting. My knees are liquid, and my limbs have turned to lead. I’m moving in slow motion like I’m drowning in Jell-O.
As we ascend the hotel in awkward silence, I can’t feel my hands or feet.
Hannah looks over at me with a small, uncertain smile because I’m being weird. She has no idea what happened with Rafe, but I knew all along that this was a possibility.
Finally, we arrive at the suite. I swipe my key card and swing open the door.
Hannah pushes past me, dragging her suitcase into the room. “Rafe!” she screams as he stands up from the couch. Slowly. So slowly, like he’s also sinking through the same bowl of Jell-O.
“Hannah,” he says as she runs towards him and throws her arms around his neck.
I watch him. He’s stiff and wide-eyed. What’s going through his head?
“Surprise!” Hannah yells. “I caught the first flight out of Chicago this morning! I booked us a room so we can spend a few extra days together. I already cleared it with your dad.”
Rafe looks at her with his brow furrowed, and I can’t watch this. I duck into the bedroom and drag my overpriced designer suitcases out of the closet. Three weeks ago, I’d been so proud of how I’d squeezed these out of David Gallagher, but now they’re tainted.
When I get home, I’ll burn them.
After flipping them on the bed, I pile my clothes inside, not bothering to fold anything. I want out of here as fast as possible. I shut out the voices in the other room, knowing I’ll collapse in a heap of tears if I hear them reconciling. All I can picture is Rafe coming into the bedroom to pack up his things and then leaving with Hannah.
I head to the bathroom and swipe all my toiletries into my bag. I grind my palm into my eye socket as a sharp, stabbing pain shoots across my scalp. I pop twice the normal dose of painkillers, hoping to dull the pressure swelling in my skull. I look like a raccoon, which is appropriate because I feel like I’m digging through garbage.
Once I’ve packed everything up, I drag my suitcases out of the room and stop. Rafe and Hannah are on the balcony. The door is open, but I can’t hear what they’re saying over the ocean’s roar. She’s sitting on my lounge chair with her hands in her lap while Rafe leans on the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.
I stare at him. His expression is grim, his eyes dark with shadows. The wind tosses his hair in a way that makes my heart ache. He’s so beautiful, and he was almost mine.
Then he looks over and catches sight of me. His arms drop, and he says something to Hannah before he enters the suite and rushes over.
“Tris, where are you going?”
I swing open the door and drag my luggage into the hall.
“Back to Chicago,” I say. “I’m done here.”
“I’ll be right back,” he yells behind him, closing the door so we’re standing in the hall. He wraps his hands around my shoulders. “You can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“It’s our last night here, and you didn’t answer me yesterday…” He trails off. “Have you been crying?” He looks so concerned that it takes all my willpower not to crumple against him and seek the safety of his arms.
“Answer you? Rafe, your fucking girlfriend is here.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, Tris. How many times do I have to tell you?” His frustration is evident for the briefest moment, but then his shoulders drop. “And I keep telling you that, and yet, she keeps calling, and now she’s here , and of course you have no reason to believe me.”
He moves closer, squeezing the space between us. “Tris, you have to believe me now. I didn’t invite her here. I’m as shocked as you are. I have no desire to get back together with her. I planned to tell her the whole ugly truth when I got home. We’ve been friends for years, and I owed her that in person. I want to be with you. I meant everything I said last night. Please don’t leave until we can talk about this.”
I suck in a deep breath.
I want so badly to trust him, but one person I believed in has already let me down today.
“You asked me not to say goodbye,” I say. “But I need to leave right now, and you need to deal with this. If it’s over, then be honest and tell her. Don’t contact me again until you do. I won’t be caught in the middle of this anymore.”
He touches my face, his hand cupping my cheek. “I’m so sorry I’ve put you through this. You’ve been so patient and understanding. If the roles had been reversed, I would have lost my mind.”
His thumb runs along my bottom lip, and I lean into his touch, worried it’s the last time I’ll ever feel it again. He tips towards me, touching his forehead to mine. I inhale a deep breath, committing his scent to memory.
“I am going to deal with this, Tris. I promise.”
I don’t nod. I don’t speak. I just… break.
Rafe pulls away and stares at me. He wraps his arm around my waist as he lifts up my chin. “Tris, I—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later. When we’re back together.” Then he kisses me with such tenderness that my heart turns to dust.
He releases me from his hold, and I step away, needing to put some distance between us. I press the button and face the door. It hurts too much to look at him.
When the elevator arrives, I step inside and turn around because I need to see him one more time. Rafe stands with his hands gripping the walls on either side, staring at me while the doors slide closed.
I’m terrified of leaving right now.
Terrified of what will happen when Rafe returns to that suite.
His face disappears, and I tell myself that if I lose him now, he was never mine anyway.
But that only makes me feel worse.