Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Bennett
Seeing Efa at reception today was all the confirmation I needed that Worth and Leo were right. I need to know more about her. I don’t know why I want to spend time with her. And I won’t until I do more research. Undertake further investigations.
Which explains why I’m loitering in corridors at midnight.
I pull up my phone and check that the hotel website is back up and running.
If only I’d known the hotel’s systems and site were down sooner, I could have done something about it. It would never happen at Fort Inc. If it’s important, I know about it at Fort. But Fort Industries? It’s more of an investment portfolio than a business. Samantha, one of my most trusted employees, oversees everything under that umbrella. The hotel, a couple of other businesses I’ve bought, the small investments I make into projects that help the environment or create communities.
I’m sure Samantha’s aware of the issues at the hotel, but she hasn’t told me about them. I respect her for wanting to sort them out herself, but I’m pissed that she let this shit show go for two days without reaching out. I solved the issue in a nanosecond. She can’t know I did, otherwise she might put two and two together and figure out I have more contact with the hotel than I tell her. She obviously doesn’t know I’m staying there.
So much secrecy. All necessary to protect the most important thing to me—my privacy.
How ironic that one of the few people who know who I am was the person to tell me about the problem.
I straighten.
Was it ironic? Or is it possible that Efa was the one who sabotaged the systems? Because sabotage is definitely what happened. There wasn’t an error or a technical fault. Someone had deliberately brought the systems down. Without any ransom request.
While I’m here, I can have a further dig around. Part of furthering my investigations.
To see if it’s her trying to fuck with me.
She rounds the corner from the elevator and her smile blooms on her face, and I feel it in my veins. If I listen to my gut, as Worth advised, there is nothing remotely suspicious about Efa. She’s all sunshine and truth and honesty. I’m the liar in our relationship. But I have to go by the data, not my gut, and the coincidences are piling up.
“Hey,” I say.
“It’s nice to see you,” she says and my head spins like I’m being tossed upside down on a carnival ride. I realize just how badly I wanted her to want to see me. “I’ve mis— It’s been weird not seeing you in your suite.”
She almost let it slip that she missed me. I bite back a smile. We’re both hiding things.
She pulls out her keys and I step aside, letting her unlock the door. When she gets it open, she pauses, turns to curl her fingers around my wrist, and pulls me inside as if to make sure I’m not going anywhere.
“How was your day?” I ask.
She slips off her black stilettos and I kind of wish she hadn’t. I mentally chastise myself. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. I’ve got to get to the bottom of who she is and why she’s popped up in my life now , of all times.
“Want a drink?” She heads to the kitchen area.
“Questionable red?” I ask.
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have got something better in. My brother-in-law owns a vineyard and he’d be horrified I’m not better stocked.”
“Another brother-in-law?” I ask. “Is that code for something I don’t understand? Or does it mean something different in the UK?”
She laughs as she fills two glasses of water from the faucet, no ice, then slides one across the counter toward me.
“My sister is almost married to a guy with five brothers. So I call all six of them brothers-in-law. Is that wrong? I keep meaning to look it up.”
“And one of them owns a vineyard?”
“Yeah, in Argentina I think.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously, not knowing what to do with that information. Do I have to do anything? Is this “getting to know her”? I can’t remember ever doing this with a woman. Chatting. About nothing. Without an aim or an expectation.
“So, you know how you told me about the hotel systems?” I ask.
Her face lights up—not because she’s excited, just because she’s engaged. “Yes. Isn’t that weird? And the fact that the website was offline too. They should have been able to get that back up and running in like, a nanosecond.” She shakes her head.
“What’s that look for?” I ask. I really want to know what she’s thinking, but I don’t want to influence her by making a suggestion.
“It just feels—well, I guess I’m getting as paranoid as you. It’s probably nothing. Everything is up again now anyway.”
“No, something was bothering you. What is it?” I ask, trying to sound only vaguely interested. She specifically mentioned sabotage before, but why?
“The systems at the hotel are all back up and working again. Thank god.”
“You said you were getting paranoid. Why?”
“It’s just that a malfunction like this feels… deliberate. I mean, why a hotel website? It’s not like it’s a ton of complex code. The hotel isn’t even a chain. I had a look at the website before I came out to New York—really simple stuff. That’s not going to go down unless someone hasn’t done their job in terms of maintenance. But if a maintenance issue caused the site to go down, it’s easy to get it back up.”
She’s totally right.
“And why a hotel booking and room management system? Two systems that work together but are wholly separate. It feels deliberate. It has to be corporate ransom or something.”
“Ahhh. You think it’s ransomware.”
“For sure,” she says. “Don’t you? I had a quick check online. There are no major issues out there. And then before I left tonight, the entire system came back up. Like someone paid their bill—or their insurance—and suddenly everything’s working again.”
She’s not behind this. I can feel it in my bones. There’s no way.
A feeling of relief settles over me and I feel my jaw unlock. I’m really fucking happy this isn’t her doing.
“Except you normally hear about a ransom,” I say. “The person holding you to ransom has to ask for money. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Right. The owners of the hotel were probably contacted. And they paid.”
“Except he wasn’t and he didn’t.”
She narrows her eyes. “You own the hotel?”
I shrug. “One of my companies does.”
She takes her glass and pads over to the sectional. “Wow.”
“I wanted to be completely honest with you.” I follow her and sit down as far away as possible. I don’t trust myself not to touch her if I’m too close.
“Says the man who pretends to be someone he’s not.”
“I don’t pretend,” I say. “I’m always the same man. My name just changes in certain scenarios.”
“But why?” she asks. It’s a question my closest friends still ask, even though they know the reason. “For security reasons? Like… you don’t want to be kidnapped?”
“Well, obviously I don’t want to be kidnapped, but that’s not the reason. I just don’t want the attention. I don’t want to be famous. Or well-known. Or recognizable.”
“Okay. But why ?” she asks.
I don’t know where to start.
“You were so suspicious of me,” she continues, “but I’m an open book. I should be suspicious of you . You’re the one with all the secrets.”
“Let’s agree that ends now.” I don’t know what I’m saying. What I’m doing. All I know is that being close to her feels better than anything I’ve felt. Maybe ever.
A look of disappointment washes over her. “What does?”
“The secrets,” I explain. “We both agree to be completely honest. From now on.”
“From now on,” she says, confused. “Until when?”
It’s a good question. Something I would ask… normally. But I’m not in normal territory. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But now, and for as long as we know each other, let’s always promise to be honest.” It’s the unspoken bond I have with my friends. We’re all completely and utterly honest with each other—and I know I can’t have any deep, fulfilling relationship without that. Growing up in Hollywood, I witnessed the exact opposite all the time. It was trickery and special effects, rehearsed lines and prosthetics. It didn’t matter if it was on camera or not, the relationships were scripted. Fake. I want no part in that.
“If you say so. Doesn’t really change anything for me.”
I bite back a smile. “Yeah, you don’t have much of a filter, do you?” So why did I feel it was necessary to have this honesty pact? Do I need her to know that I’m being honest now? Do I want her to trust me?
“I don’t. But you still haven’t answered my question about why you have two names. I’m guessing it’s not the reason I have two names. You really should have chosen a better pseudonym. Ben Fort and Bennett Fordham are way too similar. Like, almost—do you want to be found out?”
I chuckle. “They are similar. When I first changed my name, I was young. I didn’t expect Fort Inc. to be quite as successful as it has been. I probably would have picked something else if I had.”
She listens to me, her attention rapt, her eyes darting around my face like she doesn’t want to miss anything. “And? Why did you feel the need to change your name when you were young? Did you commit a crime? Escape prison?”
“I was famous by association. I wanted to break that link.”
She groans. “Stop talking in circles. Just spit it out. Famous by association? What does that even mean?”
“My mother was famous. She died when I was nineteen. I wanted to escape her world and live my own life rather than be forever associated with her.”
“Huh. How did she die?”
That’s never the reaction I get when I tell people my mother died. People tell me they’re sorry, or they try to console me. They never ask how she died. At least not right away. Efa continues to break the mold.
“She had cancer.”
She nods. “So you had a build-up. Warning?”
Again, not the reaction I expected. “Some. She died about three months after the initial diagnosis.” She winces and slides her hand over mine.
Silence winds around us as I savor the feel of her skin against mine. It’s more comforting that the normal words of condolence people usually offer.
“My parents died when I was sixteen,” she says. “Helicopter crash.”
I close my eyes in a long blink. “Fuck,” I say. I should have had the entire background check sent to me rather than just the highlights. She just nods, and neither of us speaks. We both get it. No one can ever say anything that will make it better, so why try?
“You got no notice,” I say, understanding her reactions a little better now.
“No,” she sighs. “And honestly, they weren’t doting parents. It’s not like they left a big hole?—”
“Efa,” I interrupt. “They were your parents.”
“Yes, they were, and it was weird not having them there. It’s just that I’m not sure I missed them, exactly. Life moved on much the same as it had. It was only when I went off to university that things… shifted. My uncle stole our money and, you know, from a practical point of view, things changed because we were broke. My sister suffered the brunt of it. She always protected me.”
“Jesus, Efa. That’s… rough.”
She shrugs. “It was difficult at times. But things have shifted again, and when I’m twenty-five, I get my inheritance. I’ll be fine from a financial perspective. I have my sister. And Dylan, my brother. I’m lucky.”
I sigh. Lucky. I guess she is. But it’s a very mature perspective from someone who’s just twenty-one. “I’d describe myself as lucky too.”
“You’re a self-made billionaire. I’d describe you as lucky, too, although I’ll admit it’s probably a little more than luck in your case.” She laughs. “But what about your dad? Is he still alive?”
Did she just compliment me? Kinda sorta? I’ll take it. “I have no idea. My mother never told me who he was.”
“Oh wow. And do you have siblings? Do they know?”
I push my hand across my chest. “No and no.” Sometimes I yearned for siblings when I was younger, but in the end, being alone made it easier to disappear.
“You’re the youngest?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “Wait. You didn’t tell me who your mother was. You said she was famous. Would I know her?”
“Kathleen Fordham,” I say.
She sits bolt upright. “Kathleen Fordham was your mother! She’s… she was so beautiful. And I love that movie she did with the other guy, the one with the—” She pulls at her chin. “Douglas Harrison.”
I nod. “ The Rose and The Thorn .”
“That’s it! I love that movie. Wow. You must be so proud.”
She shot that movie when I was about ten and complained about it every single day. She never went into any details, but reading about Hollywood back then, it’s not hard to guess why a gorgeous woman in her prime might have had a difficult time on set.
“I am proud.”
Efa stands and takes a seat closer to me. “You promised to be honest, but I can hear the echo of something when you tell me you’re proud. It’s such an empty statement. What are you thinking?” She reaches forward and sweeps her fingers across my forehead, like she’s trying to read my thoughts.
“Just that she hated making the movie, and I hated seeing her so surrounded by people who wanted something from her. Some of them would have sold their soul for a moment with her. To get to hold her hand or sign an autograph.”
“Wow,” she says, as if I’ve said something that means something important. “So that’s why you changed your name. Because you didn’t want people to want something from you. You don’t want to be a commodity. But then you became wildly successful on your own merits and you’re on the run again.”
“On the run?”
“Hiding out in hotels,” she says. “Lurking in corridors.”
“I wouldn’t describe it as hiding. Or lurking.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She cocks her head.
“No. I mean, I normally have an apartment. I’m only staying in the hotel because… I think I might have a stalker. I think someone might have made the connection between me and Ben Fort.”
“Right. And you don’t want to be discovered. So you’re hiding.”
“But it’s not a permanent thing. This situation is temporary.”
“But you’re permanently not on the internet. I mean, everyone in tech has heard of Ben Fort, but no one can put a face to that name.”
“My five closest friends can. People I went to business school with.”
“People you went to business school with have seen you and know you’re Ben Fort? Did you have to pay them all off not to shop you to the media?”
I laugh at how she cuts right to the heart of everything. “I’d trust them with my life. And rightly so. Nothing’s ever come out.”
She leans her elbow on the back of the sofa and stares at me, watching me like I’m some kind of exhibition.
“What?” I ask her.
“Just admiring the view. It’s pretty unforgettable.”
For a split second, I think she’s talking about the New York skyline, but when our eyes meet, I realize she’s paying me another compliment.
She knows who I am. She wants something from me—a job. But I don’t sense anything but genuine interest from her in this moment.
She frowns and the moment is broken. “Do they know the hotel owner is staying at the hotel?”
I shake my head. “Gretel knows Fort Industries own the hotel.”
“Right,” she says. “And you’re Bennett Fordham, nothing to do with Ben Fort. So the website is back up. The booking systems too?”
I nod. “Yeah, I just wish Gretel or Samantha had told me about the problem. I could have sorted it sooner. In fact, if you hadn’t told me, I still might not know.”
“See? If you gave me a job, I would be an asset.” The sentiment is heartfelt, but her smile is teasing.
I sigh. I’m not sure if I can resolve that issue between us. She’s always going to want a job from me. And I’m always going to wonder if that’s why she’s sleeping with me. I let out a growl of frustration. “I’m not giving you a job,” I say.
She presses out her lips in an exaggerated pout. “Maybe not yet.”
“Not ever. I should go.”
“Because I asked for a job?” she asks.
“Because I’m here because…” I promised her honestly. “Because I want to be here. But did you let me in because you want a job?”
She pulls back. “No,” she says, locking eyes with me deliberately. “I’m not sleeping with you to get a job.” She leans in and kisses me, and I feel it inside and out. “I’m sleeping with you because the sex is phenomenal, and I like spending time with you—enigmas and all.”
Another compliment. Two, in fact. I reach for her and slide her towards me.
“Wait,” she says. “What was that when you were asking about restaurants at reception? Are you trying to tell me you’re married or have a girlfriend or something?”
I laugh. Is that how it looked? “Absolutely not.”
“Then what was with all the questions? You know I’m not a New Yorker.”
I’m such a huge idiot. “Honestly?”
“I demand nothing but,” she says with a smile.
“I was… trying to figure out if there’s somewhere I could take you to dinner.”
Her face brightens and she grins at me. “You were?”
I shrug. “But Tribeca Grill? I’m trying to lie low. That’s not the place to do it.” Her smile dissolves, and I can feel her disappointment in my chest, low and heavy. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and think of something.”
“I know a place.”
“A place?” I ask.
“A place where you can take me on a date. Because I can tell you’re desperate to.”
I chuckle. It’s like she’s set fire to any filter she might have been born with. “Where?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not telling.”
I go to object, but she presses her fingers against her lips. “Nope. But I know you’re trying to lie low. So nowhere fancy, I promise. Tomorrow lunch. Does that work?”
“Lunch?” I ask. The time of day should be the last thing I’m worried about, but I had a vision of us dressing up and me flying her to Paris or something, followed by a soak in a tub full of rose petals and a night exploring each other’s bodies.
An alarm sounds on her phone, and she swipes it silent. “I have to make a call,” she says.
“You have a job in a hotel and have a scheduled call?” I ask, only half-jokingly. Does she have a date?
“With my sister. So unless you wanna meet the fam, you better get going. Unless you’re going to fuck me. Then I might let you stay.”
I’m not going to fuck her. Not tonight, anyway.
I get to my feet, and as she moves away, I grab her hand and pull her toward me. I plant a kiss on her head. “Tomorrow. If I don’t happen to see you as I go through reception.”
“I’ll be looking for you.”
I hope she will be.