Chapter 38
Dallas kisses my forehead, waking me. “Hey, beautiful.”
He carried me back inside and tucked me into his bed after … whatever it was that happened. It was the most intense orgasm I’ve had so far. It somehow broke me wide open and then reassembled all my broken pieces in a way that fit together better. It sounds crazy and it is. I’m still adjusting.
I must have dozed off. My dreams were steeped in hazy, New Orleans-esque colors. It takes me a few seconds to recalibrate to the clean, neutral lines and humming luxury of Dallas’s apartment.
“I’m heading downstairs now. I’ll make it as quick as I can. I’ve turned the jacuzzi jets on for you. There’s plenty of food in the fridge and I’ll take you and Sadie out to dinner before we go to the club. Anywhere you want to go.”
He’s freshly showered and wearing … a suit.
My eyes scan the wide set of his shoulders, his broad chest and the muscles of his arms, which are now encased in … wow.
It’s a really nice suit. Like, really nice. It’s made of thick, beautiful material and fits him like it was made especially for him. Which it no doubt was. He looks more formal and untouchable than I’m used to.
I haven’t seen him dressed like this before and it reminds me of who he actually is. World-famous and obscenely successful.
I’m also reminded of our deal. Dallas held me for a while, after our argument and our rough, earth-shattering sex. And I remember that he’s making some kind of concession here, maybe. In the end, I guess we came to an agreement. “Okay.”
He kisses my lips, softly, like he’s wary of falling under my spell again if he gives me anything more. “Relax and enjoy an hour or two of total peace. We’ll go out as soon as I get back.”
Even if I’m still a little mad at him, the thought of him leaving makes me miss him already. We haven’t been apart since he picked me up for the helicopter ride almost a month ago. “How long will it take?”
He likes my question, that I might need him. “Two hours tops.”
It’s daunting, the thought of being alone inside this cavernous apartment at the top of the world. But I don’t let on. “Have fun at the office.”
Dallas reads the light waver, maybe. He touches two fingers under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Hey.” He stares into my eyes. “I love you. And I’ll be back soon.”
I bite my lip because he’s said it to me many times now and I still haven’t said it back. In all honesty, I don’t know how to say it back. My broken trust-o-meter starts cranking up and protesting rustily whenever I begin to even think about saying it back.
He blows me a kiss and the gesture is sort of heartbreaking, coming from a tatted-up sex god in Hugo Boss who I feverishly wish didn’t have to leave me.
But this is good, I remind myself. It’s important to have space sometimes. It’s sort of what I was arguing with him about just an hour ago. Almost.
Don’t start needing him, Amelie Thibodeaux. That’s when things always start to fall apart. My flip-flopping emotions are just part of my own damages and I force all of them back into their cages. I blow a kiss back to him.
He heads for the elevator doors and then he’s gone.
I get out bed sort of gingerly. Our angry-sex was intense and I’m sore in places I didn’t even know I had muscles. There are light bruises on my arms and my hips. My hair is an absolute bird’s nest. And my thighs are streaked with several layers of both wet and now-dried … love.
My phone rings from the kitchen and I go to find it.
It’s Sadie. “Hey, stranger,” I answer.
“Your fault. I’ve left you a million messages. How’s the sex-a-thon going?”
I exhale a shaky laugh. “I can’t even.”
I hear the smile in Sadie’s voice. “You go, girl. I’m happy for you. So, are we on for tonight? Come shopping with me. Can you meet me in Bryant Park, like, soon?” I bring up the map while I’m talking. It’s almost a straight line south from where I am.
“Um. Well, I need to take a shower. And I told Dallas I’d wait for him. He had to go in to work for a couple of hours.”
“It’s not going to take you a couple of hours to take a shower. Come hang out with me. I’ve got so much to tell you. The auditions have been insane.”
“Have you had any offers?”
“I’ve made it to the final round of auditions at Dance Utopia. They’re going to be deciding next week. There are no guarantees but it’s looking really promising.”
“Sadie, that’s amazing.”
“I’ve had some other bites too. I’ll give you the entire lowdown when I see you. Come now, pretty please?”
“I sort of … well, Dallas wanted me to wait until he got back and I told him I would.”
“Amelie Thibodeaux taking orders? Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”
“It’s not like that.” Even though maybe it is. “We can catch up over dinner. He’s going to take us out.”
This lets me off the hook by a single degree, but I can tell she’s disappointed. “Wined and dined by the billionaire. Sounds fun.”
I hate letting her down. But I keep my voice upbeat. “I’m so excited for you, Sade. And I’ll see you tonight.”
“Just let me know where and I’ll meet you guys there.”
“I’m sure we could pick you up.” Dallas’s driver will no doubt be taking us.
“I’ll just meet you. I’m already out. I’m looking for a new outfit for my final audition. Are you sure you can’t come help me find one?”
“I would love to but I’m, like, …” I almost say a mess, but that would just be adding wood chips to an open flame. “This is the first chance I’ve had to decompress,” I say, more honestly than I meant to. “I think I need a long hot shower. Do you want to come over?”
“This shopping isn’t going to do itself. But I’ll definitely take a raincheck.”
“All right. I’ll text you. Good luck with the shopping.”
After we end the call, I go into Dallas’s massive space-age bathroom. The massaging rain-shower feels so good I end up staying in there for a while.
I dry myself off with one of Dallas’s super-soft towels and go into his—my—walk-in closet, which showcases all my new clothes under their own spotlights, as though it’s a very upmarket boutique.
I choose a soft-suede mini dress that fits me like a dream.
I put on my fleur-de-lis necklace. I put on some mascara and pink lip gloss.
We’re going out in New York tonight, so why not.
And it’s my birthday tomorrow, I realize, so we might as well celebrate.
I haven’t been paying attention to time for almost a month now, which is kind of insane.
Usually, I don’t wear makeup. When I’m working, getting noticed is never something I’m seeking out, since I already get noticed and mostly by people I wish weren’t noticing me.
Then I grab a brush and start easing it through the tangles.
Lila was kind enough to send her new line of cosmetics and beauty products with the delivery, which included several hairbrushes.
My hair is long and wavy, with ringlet curls at the very ends, which hang just past my waist, so I was glad she thought of that detail.
As I’m brushing my hair, I notice a particularly beautiful ray of afternoon light and follow it down a hallway.
I’ve actually only seen less than half of Dallas’s apartment, which takes up the top three floors of the building.
Which he owns, he told me. The entire skyscraper. I couldn’t believe that.
I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me taking a look around.
The hallway has windows on one side and smooth, burnished wood on the other. At the end of it, an open door leads into an office with a huge window framing the Empire State Building. I go in to get a better look, standing in front of it.
The thought of the sheer expense of this kind of view is a hard thing to get used to.
There’s a massive mahogany desk and built-in shelving, decorated in a sparse, masculine style with upmarket knick-knacks, leather-bound books, and some framed photos of his family. I wander over to take a look.
There’s one of Dallas graduating from Harvard. He looks so young. So handsome. But not particularly happy.
One of the photos is Dallas with his arm around what must be one of his brothers.
They might be in their mid-teens in the photo.
They’re both wearing cowboy hats and double denim and they’re standing next to saddled horses.
There are snow-capped mountains in the background. The Montana ranch, I’m guessing.
There’s a photo of Dallas’s father. Also in Montana, by the looks of it, stoic and somehow iconic. I recognize him from the newspaper articles that were published around the time of his death, showcasing his illustrious career and also his misery over the loss of his wife.
And there’s one of Dallas’s mother. Hattie Carson. She’s young in the photo, maybe in her twenties. She’s absolutely stunning and looks every bit the movie star she was.
As I take another step to take a closer look, I accidentally knock something over. A leather briefcase. It was on the floor, leaning against the desk.
A stapled stack of papers falls out of it and something immediately catches my eye.
The Hotel Thibodeaux.
I blink, wondering if I’m imagining things.
Hoping I’m imagining things.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Name of Purchaser: Dallas J. Wilder
Name of Establishment: The Hotel Thibodeaux
Bourbon Street
The French Quarter
New Orleans
Dallas … owns my hotel?
No.
It can’t be.
It took months for the sale to be finalized. You can’t just buy a hotel overnight. There’s due diligence and copious amounts of paperwork and time spent waiting around for lawyers to sign off on things. The buyer drove a hard bargain and these things take time, I’ve learned that first-hand.
I thought the owner was a billionaire … from Houston.
But maybe I got that detail wrong.
I got that detail wrong.
He’s not from Houston. He’s from New York.
Is that why he was in New Orleans that night he came into the bar?
It must be. Everyone’s always talking about how he’s such a workaholic.
Why else would a New York billionaire like him randomly be wandering around Bourbon Street?
He said something about a keynote speech but why else would he have come into our bar?
It’s a dive, let’s face it, and he’s a billionaire.
I mean, I guess it all makes sense now, when you think about it. That’s why Ellen was so obedient and forgiving that day he took me out.
He’s her fucking boss.
He was the one who allowed Ellen to treat the employees so badly. He allowed us to be overworked and underpaid.
Because he didn’t care.
I always thought that whoever bought my hotel must be the worst kind of human being, who only cared about himself and everyone else could go to hell, as far as he was concerned.
It’s him.
I can’t believe this.
But it’s true. I’m staring at it, right here in black and white.
I trusted him.
Just like I trusted my daddy.
God, he was good at the show, though, wasn’t he? The man inherited his mother’s talent, no doubt about it. He deserves a fucking Oscar.
I drop the stack of papers as a wave of nauseousness hits me. I’m suddenly so homesick I can’t breathe. Because I know I can never, ever go back there.
I rush from the room and run down the hallway. For a second I wonder if I’m going to be sick, but the wave passes.
Why didn’t he tell me?
All those times I gushed to him about losing my hotel and everything in it and he never said a word.
Why?
Maybe he knew I’d hate him if I found out who he really was.
I pull on some boots and put on a coat. Then I grab my phone and call Sadie.
She answers on the first ring. “Tell me you’ve changed your mind about meeting me.”
“I have.” My voice sounds strange. Strung out and scared.
Sadie hears it. “You okay, Ami?”
I make a point of trying to sound normal and breezy. “Yeah, I’m fine. Where should I meet you?”
I listen to what she tells me and we end the call.
I leave my phone on the bedside table. He could track me with it. He would track me with it.
Picking up the black credit card, I slip it into the pocket of my jacket. I’m devastated—again—but I’m not stupid. They’re his babies too. And they’re going to need money. I’m sure he’ll be able to track any purchases or withdrawals I make, if I use it. Which I will. Once. Right before I disappear.