Chapter 8 I Prefer a Challenge #2
I scan the website for availability, the act nothing more than wishful thinking.
A special note appears on the home page.
Adelaide’s dad died and private services will be held at the VonAston Castle.
That’s where Kingston—the love of her life—lives.
Did they finally work things out and he’s helping her?
She never shared good stories about her dad, more like how he neglected her in favor of his new wife and her daughters.
One of them was worse than the other. Clementine was a nightmare.
She even stole Kingston for a while, and he blew off Adelaide as if they were never friends. She hated them both, rightfully so.
Regardless of her difficult relationship with her dad, this can’t be easy for her.
If I hadn’t gotten myself in this messed up situation, I could have gone to her. I could have been at her side if she needed me.
I feel like a horrible, selfish person. If I had dutifully followed the rules, rules I agreed to in my dad’s office when I signed my life to Lachlan’s, I could have negotiated a trip to visit Rhode Island for a few days.
Now, I can’t even contact her without worrying she’ll get interrogated by my husband.
There is no place you can run that I won’t find you. Consider yourself warned.
Would he hunt me down like a dog? With the way he kept declaring I’m his, maybe. The man has serious control issues.
I could never put Adelaide in a situation where she’d have to lie for me. If I call her, she will have to lie to my family or Lachlan if they contact her in an attempt to find me.
The last we spoke, I said I had an earful for her. She probably hasn’t reached out to me, thinking her situation would bring me down. We’re such a pair in that way.
I’ll send a huge bouquet to the VonAston Castle with a sympathy card and tell her we’ll catch up when things die down. This cat and mouse game between me and Lachlan can’t last forever. Once it’s settled—preferably in my favor—I’ll fill her in on the truth.
I order the arrangement on my new phone so I don’t forget and glimpse an ad for a spy TV series that flashes at the bottom of the page. It shows a clip of a man being physically interrogated.
My stomach bunches with thick knots.
Would Lachlan do something like that to Raphael? I’ve never seen him act violently. Mom said he’s well-mannered, but he has anger issues. I don’t know what he’s really like or the lengths he would go to get me back.
I slam my fist down on the leather seat, wanting to kick myself for involving Raphael.
When I glance out the window, I realize we’re in the city. Slower traffic, cars honking, people walking the sidewalks. I read the GPS on the dashboard. Eight minutes until we’re at the hotel.
I want to call and check on Raphael, but I’ve never had his cell number. I didn’t need it to sneak out to meet him in the backyard. Even though, I want to believe he’s fine, I don’t want to assume anything.
I stifle a groan of frustration. Everything in me doesn’t want to do this, but I can’t live without knowing I might have caused serious problems for Raphael or his dad.
I pull up Lachlan’s contact information on my phone. I added his number along with my family’s, Adelaide’s, my bank, and a few others.
Before texting him, I Google how to block my new number and follow the instructions.
Me: It’s Emery. I need one night to myself. If you respect this for me, I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon at the estate and will comply with your future wishes.
My stomach drops as I hit send. This will hopefully throw him off the chase, give me the time I need to call Raphael’s dad, get his son’s number, make sure he’s okay, and devise another plan of escape before my fake meeting with Lachlan tomorrow.
I jump at the preset ringtone when a reply text comes in from Lachlan—or rather the name I christened him with.
Scathing liar: You have one night.
I stare at the text in disbelief. He’s giving me one night. Why? Maybe he’s too angry to be around me. Maybe he’s coming up with ways to torture me. Not that he would… I don’t think.
The car stops. “The Carlyle,” Peter says.
One of the hotel attendants opens the door for me.
“Thank you.” I pay and rate the ride five stars—per our agreement—before getting out on the sidewalk.
“Checking in?” asks the older man. He does a quick scan of my outfit and his upper lip curls slightly.
I forgot I’m wearing the nighty-looking dress and that my boobs are on display. Now, I really wish I hadn’t agreed to give Peter my wedding gown in addition to the thousand-dollar tip.
I can’t bring myself to ask for it back though.
He showed me a picture of his daughter on his phone and said she loves couture but can’t afford it for her wedding.
She’s also tiny like me but evenly proportioned.
The bust will need to be taken in, but since she can sew, that won’t be a problem.
The dress would look beautiful on her. Besides, someone should get a happily ever after from this gown.
“Yes,” I answer the attendant and cross my arms, trying to hide my ample chest.
“Any luggage?”
“No.” Jeez, I sound as ridiculous as I look. Note to self: add shopping to my list of things to do tonight.
The man ushers me to the check-in counter inside the luxury hotel filled with massive fresh floral arrangements and attendants offering flutes of champagne to the guests. The woman at the counter recognizes my last name.
“Spencer, as in Garyn Spencer of Spencer Securities? Welcome back.”
I didn’t think my family would still be in their system. I give her a tight smile, my nerves flaring to one hundred degrees. A more private hotel would have been better.
“Does the hotel have a personal shopper?” Mom loves using them.
“Yes.” She hands me a business card. “I’ll have her contact your room, but you can call or text the number on the card at your convenience.”
“Thank you.”
With the check-in settled, I follow another man to my room. He shows me around the suite and leaves after getting his tip. I didn’t request an upgraded room, but my last name makes it automatic sometimes.
Exhausted and starving, I stare at the inviting couch near the window that overlooks the city.
More than anything I want to flop onto the cushions and order room service.
It’s a little after 3 p.m. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and that was only a cup of strawberries, but I need to take care of some things first.
I call the estate, praying Candace doesn’t answer.
To my luck, Zelda’s voice sounds on the phone. After a little convincing, she gives me Mr. Lopez’s number. I’m not worried about her telling on me, she’s too concerned about keeping her job to tangle herself up in this business.
Mr. Lopez doesn’t answer, so I leave him a message.
“Hi, Mr. Lopez. I’m an old friend of Raphael’s, and I’m trying to reach him, but I don’t have his cell number. Can you please call or text me at this number? It’s important that I speak with him.” And with you to make sure you still have a job. “Thank you.”
I didn’t want to identify myself to him or he might not call me back. He wasn’t happy about the trouble his son and I got into when I was fifteen. I heard my dad gave them both a lecture and multiple threats.
I try the Porsche dealer next. After fifteen minutes, I’m finally transferred to the service station. A man named Joe answers.
“Hi. I’m trying to reach Raphael. Is he available please?”
“He’s in the middle of a brake service. Can I have him call you back?”
My heart leaps. “He’s there, and okay?”
Drilling sounds in the background. “Is this an emergency?”
“No. Everything is fine.” Better than fine. “Can I leave my number?”
“Sure thing. Give me a sec.”
I wait, breathing much easier knowing he’s safe.
“What’s the number?” he asks.
I tell him and we hang up. Only then do I sit on the couch and take off my strappy heels. I rub my ankle where a blister is forming.
I’m about to order room service, text the personal shopper, and research where to relocate tomorrow when someone knocks on my door.
I ignore it. I didn’t order anything yet so it can’t be that important. If it’s the personal shopper, she’ll have to respond to me through texts. With the adrenaline rush from earlier gone and the lack of food in my system, I don’t have the energy to get off this couch.
A click sounds from the doorway like the person let themself inside.
My heart stops.
I shoot up right on the cushion and stare at the hallway that leads to the entrance. What the hell? Did the hotel staff just let themselves in?
“Hello?”
No response.
“Hello?” I say louder and stand, my gaze glued to the hallway.
Footsteps sound, slow and steady.
Adrenaline charges my veins. Why isn’t the person answering me? I glance around for a place to hide. Should I call 911?
Too late.
Lachlan, looking impeccable in a black suit, having ditched the tux, enters the room, with a menacing glare in his eyes. “You’ve been a naughty, wife.”
How did he find me? A better question is now that he has, what will he do?
I glance at the nearest bedroom, ready to run for it.
“I’ll catch you,” he warns, his tone lethally cool as he saunters toward me.
I shiver and blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Where’s my mom?” She’ll come to my rescue. She always does.
“You heard her. You’re my problem now.”
When he approaches the coffee table, I move to the end, putting as much distance as possible between us.
He cocks his head to the side and takes in my dress, his gaze tightening. “For a woman who likes to hide her chest, that dress leaves little to the imagination.”
I cross my arms and cover my hardened nipples. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“How did you find me?”
He stalks toward me, so I move in the opposite direction, circling the table.