Chapter 37
Icheck the clock on the wall again. It’s after seven. Rory is usually home by six. Last night, she worked until nine, which I figured was due to her leaving work in the middle of the day to check me out of the hospital.
I sent Rhody a strongly worded text yesterday afternoon, chewing him out for calling her.
His response? You’re right. You should have called her.
Which … I should have.
I didn’t want to be another responsibility for her to have to handle.
Making Rory leave work in the middle of the day felt like another instance in which I would be benefiting from us more than she was.
The accident wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it.
The other driver wasn’t paying attention and floored it right as our car was pulling out.
What I could control was not bothering her.
I think Rory took me not calling the wrong way. She definitely took me feigning amnesia the wrong way. I hadn’t thought she’d take me seriously. I’d thought she’d immediately call out my subpar acting skills, not stand there with the blood slowly draining from her face. She cried, for fuck’s sake.
I still haven’t told her I told my dad to fuck off, which I also feel guilty about.
Technically, that means I’m the one getting less out of this, but it’s also the main reason we agreed to do this.
She thinks she’s helping me, and the truth is, we’re pretending only to pretend at this point.
And I’m not even sure how much is pretend.
I check the clock again. Seven fifteen now.
I reach down, grabbing one of Finch’s catnip toys off the rug and tossing it toward her cat condo. She opens one eye, then closes it again.
“We should have adopted a dog,” I tell her. “They’re more interactive.”
She continues sleeping, unbothered by the insult.
We. Rory found Finch, so she’ll keep her after we stop living together.
She’s not my cat. But I’ve grown unexpectedly attached to the sharp-clawed terror, whose fur now lies sleek and straight.
Finch tolerates being brushed, although she acts like it’s an incredible inconvenience.
I think the fancy food Rory gets delivered each week deserves more credit for her coat’s transformation.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I reach for it instantly, thrilled to have a distraction.
The firm insisted I stay home today, and I was supposed to avoid looking at screens for twenty-four hours, so I’ve been bored out of my mind all day.
I rearranged the fridge, worked out, did two loads of laundry, changed all the batteries in the smoke alarms, cleaned the bathrooms, and then cheated for twenty minutes and checked some apartment listings on my laptop.
Lili’s wedding is the first weekend of October. I don’t want to upend things just prior to that, so I should be planning to move out November 1.
I answer the phone.
“Hey. How’s the head?” a familiar voice asks.
“Who is this?”
Kit sighs. “It’s Kit.”
“Weird name. You must have the wrong number.”
“Clearly, you’re feeling fine,” Kit says dryly.
I exhale. “Yeah. Just bored out of my fucking mind.”
“At least you’re not being dramatic about it.”
“Wanna come over? I can’t watch TV or drink, but we could play cards and have soda?”
“I can’t, man. Collins isn’t feeling well, and I’ve got to keep an eye on Dylan. If I bring him to you, I’ll have to bring a shit ton of toddler stuff, and by the time I haul it all over there, it’s going to be his bedtime.”
“No worries. I get it.”
A pause before Kit asks, “Rory can’t entertain you?”
“She’s still at work.”
“Damn, I thought my days were long. You guys should both come work at the company. Better hours.”
“Rory would never go for that. She wants to make a difference, not make you richer. No offense.”
Kit chuckles. “None taken. I’m glad you’re fine, just bored. Speaking of Kensington Consolidated, I wanted to give you a heads-up: Arthur is onto you.”
“Onto me?”
“He was the only person who hadn’t heard about you and Rory.
She’s basically the one grandchild who’s never disappointed him.
He really doesn’t like Sawyer, apparently, and even Charlie has never fully passed muster.
He’s pretty unimpressed by Charlie’s dad losing most of their money, but I think he’s come around now that there’s a wedding.
You were fine as my best friend, but he’s going to grill you at the wedding now that he knows you’re dating her. ”
“I—what? How did he find out?”
“Rory called his godson, who’s the head of neurology at Mass Presbyterian.
And I guess she made a big donation to New York General.
Arthur is on some board or committee there.
He stopped by the office today. Asked Oliver about all of it.
Oliver told me to give you his best, by the way, so I think you’re golden there. ”
“Jesus.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Not bored anymore, right? You’re welcome. It’ll be fine. You—fuck, Dylan found a Sharpie and is coloring the wall. Lunch soon?” Kit hangs up without waiting for an answer.
I glance at Finch, still peacefully asleep. Drawing on walls is new, but I’ve personally witnessed Dylan scream, kick, bite, vomit, and throw toys. Yet Kit and Collins are willingly going through that again. Temporary insanity, or am I missing something?
It’s seven thirty now. Still no Rory. I pick up my phone again to text her, then decide a walk sounds better.
Aside from visiting the gym on the first floor, I haven’t left this apartment all day.
No doubt that’s contributing to my current state of stir-crazy.
I pack up some of the leftovers from dinner in a glass container, feed Finch a treat, then head out the door.
An unwelcome face is waiting when I reach the lobby. Carson Albright stands from the bench across from the elevators as I step out, surprise, then annoyance appearing on his face.
“I was just about to call up and let you know you had a visitor,” Gavin, the doorman, says, setting the phone back down.
I nod, adjusting the container of leftovers under my arm. “Thanks, Gavin.”
“What are you doing here?” Carson asks.
“I live here. What are you doing here?”
“You live here?”
“That’s what I just said.”
He exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was hoping to talk to Rory.”
“She’s not here. And I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”
“I know.” He sighs again.
I prefer the prick at the party to this contrite sight. I have zero sympathy for him, but kicking a guy when he appears down isn’t as satisfying. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
He huffs. “No, you won’t.”
“I will, Albright. Because I might have spent too much time drinking and partying, but I have this tiny thing called integrity, which means I don’t lie to people. So, yeah, I will tell Rory you were here, and she can decide what to do with that information.”
Carson’s jaw works as he glances at the generic painting on the wall past the elevator.
“I-I thought Knox was full of shit when he told me you guys were together. He’s always had a thing for Rory.
He hit me, too, that night, after you left.
I figured he was reading way too much into it because he was bothered that she’d moved on with someone who wasn’t him. ”
Knox likes her. He’s liked her. Which I already knew, but don’t appreciate the confirmation. If I hadn’t pitched this scheme to Rory, would they be dating for real by now?
“Rory always complained about you,” Carson continues. “You were the last guy I ever thought she’d date. But at the gala, she was so … focused on you. She was never like that with me. She only paid attention when we were alone. Sometimes not even then. She never … needed me. The other girls …”
My fingers flex at the confirmation he cheated more than once.
Carson sighs. “I convinced myself, as long as Rory never found out, I was doing it for her. Getting what I needed to stay in a relationship she wanted. We had it all. We worked. Then, when she found out—when everyone found out—I panicked. I lashed out—mostly at the person who deserved it the least.”
I stare at him, impassive. He cheated … for her? That’s got to be up there with his this isn’t what it looks like as the stupidest shit he’s ever said.
“I’m not telling her all that,” I state. “Like I said, she can contact you if she wants to.”
“She won’t. She blocked me weeks ago. She’s clearly moved on. And I should have realized why she talked about you so often a long time ago. So, uh, yeah.” He scratches his jaw. “All the shit I said at the gala? I’m sorry. I’ll leave you guys alone.”
Carson turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the lobby.
Rory’s office is not that near to mine. She traveled at least fifteen minutes the day she came to see me.
The building is a block from Tweed Courthouse, the facade similar stone. There’s a gold plate affixed next to the ground-level doors that could use a good shining. I tuck the container with Rory’s dinner under my arm, then yank at the door. It’s locked.
I swear under my breath, although a part of me is glad. It’s almost eight now. For security reasons, someone shouldn’t be able to walk in off the street.
There’s a buzzer to the left of the doors, opposite from the gold plate.
I press it once, then wait, debating if I should text Rory or just head back home and wait for her there.
I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me, following yesterday, but she’s likely avoiding me and doing something important.
I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her work.
When she showed up at my office, it was to do me a favor.
All I’m offering is roasted chicken with sliced brussels sprouts and chunks of sweet potato.
A middle-aged man in a security uniform appears on the other side of the door. He surveys me through the glass, then pushes the door open a couple of inches. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Rory Kensington?”
He holds the door open a little wider.
“Thanks.” I step through, glancing around the interior.
It’s a cool building. Not new and shiny and expensive. The brass light fixtures look outdated, and there is no shortage of scuffs on the marble floor. But it has a lot more character than where I work.
“Name?”
“Flynn Parks?” Again, it comes out like a question.
The man who let me in swipes his badge and enters another section of the lobby. There’s a desk enclosed behind a heavy layer of glass. He picks up a phone and dials. I hear him talking, but it’s too low for me to make out any distinct words.
I glance around. There’s a small seating area in front of a set of double doors that presumably lead to the offices. I can see an elevator ahead and half of a door beside it.
“She’ll be right out,” the man tells me, his voice distorted through a speaker.
“Thanks,” I call back, not sure if he can hear me through the glass.
I’ve just decided to sit down when Rory appears. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and her blazer is missing. There’s a smudge of ink on her left hand.
“Hey. What-what are you doing here?”
I hold up the container. “I brought you dinner since you were working so late.”
She walks over, teeth briefly sinking into her lower lip. “I, uh, already ate.”
I nod. “Keep it anyway. You can have it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Rory takes the food. “Thanks.”
I nod again. “Also, Carson came by. He wanted to talk to you.”
Rory frowns. “About what?”
“You’d have to ask him. I got the sense he wanted to apologize about … things.”
“I’m not interested.”
I nod, relieved by that response. “I said I’d pass along the message. So … I did.”
God. The trip here took twenty-five minutes. I should have planned out what I was going to say when I arrived, obviously.
“Everything okay here?” I add. “You’re not normally working this late.”
“Just busy. Trying to catch up on some things since I’ll be out part of next week.”
Catch up on things … because I set her behind yesterday. Which I feel guilty for and even more uneasy when I realize she’s out part of next week for Lili’s wedding. I’m nervous for the wedding itself and about the conversation I’ll have no excuse not to have once it’s over.
“Right.”
“You didn’t need to come all this way. You could have just called.”
“I’m not supposed to look at screens,” I remind her.
Rory rolls her eyes. “You really expect me to believe you didn’t use your phone all day?”
“I barely did.”
“So, you’re feeling fine?” Her eyes scan me over, like she’ll be able to see any injury.
“Did the chief of neurology at Mass Presbyterian say I’d be fine?”
Rory looks startled. “How did you find out about that?”
“Your grandfather told your dad, who told Kit, who told me.”
“So, you did use your phone.”
“Kit called me. I just had to tap a button.”
“It would have taken an additional three seconds for you to make a call.”
“Well”—I step closer—“I wanted to see where you defend so … publicly. And, yes, I’m feeling fine. No brain bleeds or anything.”
She scoffs, but she’s smiling.
“Are you trying to get your own building?”
“What?”
“I have my building at Harvard Law. Are you trying to get your own wing at New York General or something?”
Understanding washes across her face. “I donated anonymously. How did you find out about that?”
“Same phone call.”
Rory shakes her head. “There’s already a Kensington wing at New York General. I might have mentioned that to get in to see you sooner and felt a little guilty about it.”
“All that effort for me?” I’m teasing, but I’m also incredibly touched. Same as I was yesterday.
“Duh. You’re the only fake boyfriend I have.”
I’m really starting to hate the word fake, but I keep a smile fixed on my face. “Well, thanks.”
She nods, glancing down at the container in her hands.
I want to kiss her again, but I think that freaked her out yesterday. I hadn’t planned to do it. I just … did. I knew Rory showed up for the people she cared about. I just didn’t realize I qualified.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I say. “See you at home. And call a car. Don’t take the subway this late.”
“Okay,” Rory says softly.
I smile, nod, then turn and start toward the exit.
“Flynn?”
I glance back. “Yeah?”
“Do you want a tour before you go?”
“Yeah. I’d love one.”