Chapter 10
Saffron
I entered my tiny apartment and threw myself onto my bed after kicking my shoes off. I was beat, and my feet throbbed from walking all day in heels. Heels were amazing. I loved them, but, my god, they were painful.
After the excruciating meeting with that asshole, the remainder of the day flew past in a blur.
It was exactly as I intended. It meant I didn’t have to think about him or what had happened in the elevator.
But then, at the end of the day, an email from Tyler’s project manager popped into my inbox.
Tyler signed off on the changes. All of them.
I should have been happy, but the news made me want to hurl my laptop.
He fucked with me just to turn around and do what he was supposed to do, anyway.
I cast Tyler to the back of my mind and checked my texts. My aunt messaged me earlier asking if I was free for dinner. I responded with a resounding yes. Even though my bones protested, I’d rather do anything than think about work.
Aunt Pamela’s place was a walk from my own.
It would take me little time to get there, despite my tiredness.
I got out of my bed, wore a casual dress, and got out of the studio.
The rush-hour bustle had slowed down, making the streets pleasant to walk in.
First stop was the bakery on the way that sold her favorite cannoli.
Second was the one that sold her favorite cherry pie.
I bought a slice, and I arrived at her place with boxes full of pastries.
“You’re later than usual,” my aunt said after we had made our regular greetings.
She was living in the same place she had lived ever since my father fell from grace.
Her apartment was the only valuable asset that remained in the Channing family estate after Dad ran through its holdings.
It was spacious and cozy. But that was not how Pamela saw it.
Living in it was a constant reminder of how life could have been so much better if she were still in the lap of luxury.
And she liked luxury. I spotted a Dior gift bag she had immediately taken to her bedroom when I entered.
Where she found the money to buy expensive items, I never knew, but then again, a single childless woman like her could ostensibly save money and splurge from time to time.
“I brought you your favorite dessert,” I said, entering the kitchen and placing the boxes on the counter.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have.” Aunt Pamela was behind me, looking over my shoulder eagerly. The kitchen smelled of delicious roasted potatoes and rotisserie chicken. Knowing her, she had already made dinner before she called me. “How’s your job? Is the new client treating you well?”
“Uh…yeah.” I went to the cupboard and took out a couple of plates and cutlery, hiding my face from her. “They’re exacting, but it’s nothing I’ve never experienced before.”
“It will work out. Business is hard when you’re starting out.”
“I know.” It was difficult to tell her that the person who had given us the contract was my husband, who refused to divorce me.
We settled at the small dining room table and helped ourselves to the meal.
For a child who grew up with chefs and maids cooking for her, Aunt Pamela was an exceptional cook.
The buttery potatoes melted in my mouth, and the chicken was juicy and well-seasoned.
Paired with the cheap but flavorful wine, the entire meal was better than anything you could find in a fine dining restaurant.
“Have you spoken to Tyler Hawthorne recently?” Aunt Pamela was cutting her potatoes into tiny little cubes.
The question almost made me choke on my food. “No, why?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I read an article about him recently. They were going on and on about his magnificent new building; it was just insane the way you could tell the reporter was slobbering over him.” The sneer in her voice was obvious.
“Oh, right.” I'm pretty sure I knew which article she was talking about.
It was a puff piece about how Tyler and Sebastian had built affordable housing units that were both accessible and cheap to construct but also beautiful with spacious apartments.
It was an over-the-top piece. The reporter made it appear as though Hawthorne and Hawthorne had single-handedly solved the homeless crisis through that one building.
“Why don’t you use his surname? Your surname, really. It could help you get work since the entire city loooves him so much.”
“I thought you hated him and everyone named Hawthorne,” I said.
She scoffed and took a sip of her wine. “Your father hated the Hawthornes. I’m ambivalent.”
I was about to point out it didn’t sound like it from the derisive tone she had when she mentioned the article, but I didn’t want to talk about that man anymore; this dinner was a means for me to forget about him.
But since she had brought him up, I might as well tell her what I have been neglecting to say before.
“I don’t think I’ll be legally able to for much longer. I’m divorcing him.”
“Aunt Pamela almost choked on her wine.”
“Did that bastard serve you papers?”
“No. I made the decision to end it. It’s not like it was much of a marriage to begin with, and my father was the one who wanted it, not me.”
“Saff,” she touched her heart. “Don’t say that. Your father went to great lengths to secure that marriage for you.”
Yeah. Including blackmailing the groom and coercing money out of him. “Didn’t stop him from selling me at a marriage market.”
“He was doing what he had to do. I hate him so much sometimes, but he was thinking of your future. Which you seem not to have put to good use, and now you’re throwing the only opportunity of setting yourself up with a comfortable life away.”
“I’m not going to use his connections to get ahead if that’s what you’re implying.”
“A smarter woman would. So, he’s agreed to the divorce?”
“That’s the thing. I thought he would. I mean, he’s practically lived as though he’s single, but he refused to sign the papers. We’ve never talked in the past five years. But he refused!”
“Curious,” she said.
“Apparently, the material Dad used to blackmail him will be triggered if we divorce. You should have seen him on the day of the wedding. He was furious. Whatever Dad had on him was big.”
“See. I told you your father was looking out for you.”
“He blackmailed a guy! And now that guy won’t grant me a divorce unless I uncover this blackmail material and whoever is holding it.
Tyler thinks I’m the one holding it, if you can believe it.
” I jabbed a morsel of my chicken with more energy than I intended and popped it into my mouth.
It no longer tasted as good as before. Talk about Tyler had ruined my food.
“Interesting…”
That gave me pause. Whenever Aunt Pamela said ‘interesting,’ it usually meant there was more she knew, and she was hiding something. “Do you have any idea who could be holding the material?”
“Saff. You know I never involved myself in your father’s affairs. Maybe one of his friends or old associates,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
If that was true, that was going to be hard.
My father had a penchant for making enemies, and anyone who had business dealings with him was rooting for his downfall.
As for friends, most of my father’s ‘friends’ were of the fair-weather variety and abandoned him when things got tough.
That’s why he ended up resorting to sordid tactics when his business got in trouble.
“But do you have any idea who it could be?”
“I don’t even understand why you want to divorce him. Do you know he’s worth five billion dollars? That’s what the article said. Access to a shrapnel of that kind of wealth means you don’t have to work. Yet you persist in doing so and not—”
“Ugh, not this again.”
“You shouldn’t be working, Saff! You should be getting what’s owed to you! By your husband.”
“And I told you a million times before. I don’t want his money.” I shoved the plate away, appetite lost.
“It’s money you deserve.”
“But—”
Aunt Pamela waved me off. “Tell me at least that you asked for a generous settlement.”
“You’re forgetting he paid me a settlement before we got married.”
“It’s what you’re owed.”
I let her have the last word even though I didn’t agree with her.
She had never had to work for a living until she was in her fifties.
And even then, she worked at a finishing school where all she had to impart were etiquette lessons.
For someone like her, with her background, it was the man’s duty to look after a woman, especially when that man was rich.
It was clear in her disdain for the rich, spoiled kids she taught that she wished she could be them and not merely teach them.
I never understood why she didn’t remarry after her husband cut her off from the will and then died. The money she received from my father must have been enough, I guess, until everything went to dust.
I took out the cannoli and cherry pie, dished them onto two plates, and settled down to watch a game show with her.
This part was much more fun than the dinner.
The dessert I brought felt too little, and when it was time to go, I contemplated going to the patisserie Malaya had raved about the other day.
It was along my route, and after rage-quitting the dinner and spending all day running around, I was still hungry.
It was late in the evening when I arrived, but they were still open.
Malaya discovered this place a couple of weeks ago and loved coming here.
It was a patisserie in a cute Rococo style that was unapologetically feminine.
I loved the French retro decor. According to her, the food was just as good.
I joined the short queue and soon I was at the front.
“Hi! What can I get you?”
I froze as I stared at the blonde woman.
What the fuck was she doing here? And behind the counter too.
Her bright smile should have been disarming, but it made my stomach turn.
Was this? This must have been her shop. Suddenly, a memory came to me.
A story about an item in this bakery going viral and the person who owned the shop was being interviewed.
Ivy Sinclair. Tyler Hawthorne’s sister. Fuck. How did I forget?
“We have a special. The croiclairs are having their final run; you could order one if you haven’t eaten them.” Her customer-service voice jolted me to the present. My gaze darted around the menu board above her, then went to the pastries in the display case.
“Uh…” My mind was scrambling. Should I stay or should I go?
It would be weird if I bolted out of here.
But what if he were around? What if he’s somewhere in the staff area?
The Hawthornes are a notoriously close family.
But that didn’t mean he would hang around in his sister’s bakery.
Calm down. It’s not like he’ll pop up from behind the counter. “Uh… yeah, I guess. Can I have one?”
She tapped on her computer screen. “Would that be all?”
“And a cappuccino. On the go.” I had planned on eating here, but I was no longer staying longer than necessary.
I took out my card and handed it to her, and just as she swiped my card, my worst fear came true.
Coming out of a door marked ‘staff only,’ Tyler came into the bakery.
I might have avoided him if he hadn’t immediately turned in my direction and met my gaze with his.