Chapter 30
THIRTY
Avril
Keeping busy was my cure-all for everything when I was a kid.
If someone was mean to me at school, I’d bury my head in my studies.
If Worth couldn’t find the money for a school trip, I’d fake being sick and spend the day rearranging the kitchen cupboards and cleaning everything I could lay my hands on.
It probably explains why, since coming back from Ben’s, I’ve cleared out my closet for the first time in over a year. Now there are three black trash bags full of things I need to take to Goodwill in the hallway, which Poppy will give me hell for when I next see her.
The purge and busyness of closet cleaning hasn’t taken my mind off Ben at all.
As we lay in bed together on Sunday morning, our fingers intertwined, I thought we’d crossed some kind of threshold.
I felt sure that maybe he’d send me a text from Colorado.
And when I messaged to thank him for the details of the seller of the Boston hotel, he didn’t even reply.
Was he looking for something else from me?
Does he hate helping me? Or am I in some business category now where he doesn’t need to communicate with me? I’m off the Ben East island and all memories of our week together have been erased. For him at least.
The upside is, I’ve come up to Boston with a clean closet and a clear mind. By the end of this meeting, I’m sure I’m going to have an agreement from the seller to sell his hotel to Worth. At least, that’s my goal. That’s what I’ve been working toward for so long.
Instead of the train, today Ben and I traveled up to Boston by helicopter. Ben’s time is valuable, I guess. He has all those other people wanting his attention, opening their beaks like baby birds all waiting to be fed. It must be exhausting.
And once they’re fed, then what? Then he just moves on to feed the next bird, then the next. It’s made him rich, but has it made him happy?
Today, I’m one of his baby birds, waiting to be fed. It doesn’t feel good.
At least being on the helicopter meant we didn’t have to swap small talk on the ninety-minute flight. He pointed to the odd landmark as we flew. I smiled and nodded.
It feels awkward between us, but I’m not sure if it’s just in my head. When we get into the car that’s going to take us to the Langham hotel, where we’re meeting the seller, I decide I want to take the bull by the horns.
“I was surprised to get the courier delivery on Monday morning,” I say.
“You didn’t think I’d keep my promise to help you?” He slides his hands down his trousers, flattening out the nonexistent creases, his gaze straight ahead.
“I always knew you’d keep your promise,” I say.
That’s how Ben built the reputation he has.
He does what he says he’s going to do. He doesn’t let people down.
“But to deliver me what I needed on Monday morning, you must have been working on tracking down the seller way before I fulfilled my end of our bargain.”
“Maybe,” he says, glancing out of the window.
“Definitely,” I reply.
“Well, it’s not like anyone could really fall in love in a week. I never thought you’d agree to it. I just called your bluff and lost.”
He says it in that jovial, convivial way that he has, that underplays who he is. Over the week we spent together, I felt like I managed to get past that glossy veneer, but today it’s back. I’m getting full-force Ben East. The man, myth, and New York business legend.
We pull to a stop, and Ben goes to open the car door. I put my hand on his arm and he freezes.
“Thank you,” I say.
Our gazes meet and he nods. “It’s what I do.”
Is that it? Am I just a business deal to him? What about our time-out? Was he just scratching an itch? Maybe it was just sexual chemistry between us from his perspective. But for me? For me it was more than that.
To him, I’m a baby bird waiting to be fed.
We ride up the elevator.
“It’s just lunch today,” Ben says. “An introduction. He knows that you were trying to buy the building already. He knows why you’re here. Let him lead the conversation.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but it feels like any warmth there was between us has gone. He’s all business now, and the flutters I felt when I first saw him this morning wither as he talks.
“Yes, okay,” I say. “Thank you again.”
He nods and offers me a half smile, but I can’t just leave it at that.
“How was Colorado?” I ask him. Maybe I can figure out why he went up there. Was it for a date? Is he dating someone?
“Good,” he says. “Useful.”
Useful? That doesn’t sound like the kind of language anyone would use to describe a date.
“Useful is good,” I say, but before either of us can say anything, the elevator doors open and we’re in the lobby of a restaurant.
“I can’t eat,” I say. My stomach is in knots. But it’s not the Boston hotel that I’m ruminating over. It’s Ben. “I just wasn’t expecting to eat.”
“If you’re not hungry, you can just push the food around your plate. We can pick up something devoid of nutrition and high in calories when we leave.”
I smile to myself. It’s the first acknowledgement that either of us know each other beyond our terse, formal interactions of the morning so far.
But I’m not worried about a lack of appetite.
“Do you think he wants to sell the building?” I ask.
I’m not here to chitchat. I want him to agree that he’s going to sign.
Ben stops dead just before we get to the hostess station.
He turns to me. “Listen to me. If you go in there guns blazing, asking him to sell, this won’t work. You need to get to know each other and establish a working relationship.”
“I don’t want to marry the guy. I just want his building.”
The corners of his lips twitch. “I’m not sure he’s your type, but it doesn’t matter whether you want to marry him.
You need to get to know him. From what I’ve found out about him, he’s a man who doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.
If you want him to do what you want, it needs to align with what he wants.
You’re not going to find out what he wants if you do all the talking.
Just listen. Be charming. I know you have it in you somewhere. ”
I narrow my eyes at him as I clench my fists and try not to punch him.
“Come on,” he says. “Try and act like you’re having fun. You might end up actually having fun.”
“Is that what you do?” I ask. “Fake it until you make it?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
I look him in the eye and shake my head. “No. I don’t fake things. I don’t fake relationships.” I’m trying to tell him that everything I said and did when we were together last week was real. Can he say the same?
“Most people fake it every day. People pretend to be happy when they’re not, they pretend to like gifts they hate, and they pretend to be cleverer than they are. That’s life.”
“That’s some people’s lives.”
He pulls in a breath and goes to speak, but we’re interrupted by the hostess, who’s come back to her station.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“We’re here to see Patrick O’Leary.”
“Certainly. Please follow me.”
Ben is right. Patrick, it turns out, is not my type, even if I was looking to marry him—which I’m definitely not. He must be at least sixty, with ruddy cheeks and a red bulbous nose. Ben has also got at least a foot on him. I figure even I’m a couple of inches taller than him at five foot five.
“Very nice to meet you,” I say, reaching out my hand. He takes my hand in his and shakes it enthusiastically.
“The pleasure is all mine. It’s all mine.” He turns to Ben. “And, Ben, my son. So good to see you, finally.”
My son? Does Ben know him?
“You know this is my favorite restaurant in Boston,” Patrick says. “It’s great to be able to show some New Yorkers what we’ve got going on up here.”
“I love Boston,” Ben says. “In fact, I’m in the area for a few days because my brother has some business interests locally and I’m taking the opportunity to hang around.”
“You’re close with your brother?” Patrick asks Ben.
“Yeah,” Ben says, and he pauses. “He’s a really good guy. Smart…in business, but in his heart too.”
Patrick nods. “I like that description. Smart in his heart. I get it. My brothers and sisters are all still with us, and I’m grateful to God for that. Just knowing they’re here—there’s a lot of comfort in that.”
Ben nods. “I get that.” He says it like he really understands what Patrick’s saying, but does he? Does he take comfort from Bray?
“Your brothers and sisters have already seen the worst of you. They know how dreadful you are. There’s no scaring them off.”
Ben laughs, and I give a careful smile.
“Do you have siblings?” Patrick asks me.
“A brother and a sister,” I say.
“Are you close?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Very. We’re in business together. Worth, my brother, isn’t involved in the day-to-day operations of our hotel in New York, but my sister and I work in the business.”
“It’s a family business?” Patrick asks, an expression of surprise on his face.
“Yeah.” I glance across at Ben, and then look directly at Patrick. “Worth owned the building, and was renovating it to be apartments and I pitched the hotel idea to him.”
“He’s either soft or you’re very persuasive. A hotel is a much bigger risk than apartments in New York.”
“You’re right about the risk. But Hotel on Ninth Street is about more than making as much money as possible.
Of course we want to make money, but I told Worth that I wanted our family bonded by something good.
” I pause, wondering whether I should continue, but I decide Patrick probably appreciates the truth.
“Worth raised my sister and me. It was difficult for all of us, and I wanted something other than those difficult years to be what brought us together. I think that helped him see what I was trying to create.”
Patrick regards me as he nods. “And how has it done?”
I laugh. “It’s been expensive. And it’s taken a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, but it’s something we’re all proud of. It’s a place of work, but it’s also a place we’re creating memories in. Not just for ourselves, but for our guests as well. It’s a really positive place to be.”
Patrick turns to Ben. “Have you been to this hotel?”
Ben nods. “My best friend recently had his engagement party there. I can’t say it has a family feel.
That’s not the vibe. It’s very glamourous.
But it feels…intimate. In fact, I hadn’t thought about it until Avril just said, but the fact that it is owner managed is reflected in the feel of the place. There’s a real attention to detail.”
I gaze at Ben. Is that true? Does he feel that way about Hotel on Ninth Street or is he just faking it for Patrick? I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t anymore.
Ben must feel me looking at him because he turns, and when he catches my eye, he quickly looks away and turns back to Patrick. “Are all your siblings in Boston?”
Patrick shakes his head. “My two sisters and one brother. My other three brothers are scattered about. One stayed in Ireland, one’s in Idaho, and another went to London.”
The pleasant conversation continues throughout lunch.
At no point does anyone mention the reason we’re all here—because I want something Patrick has.
When we’ve finished, Patrick says he has to leave, and he gives first me and then Ben a hug.
“I’ve had a lovely lunch. It was great to meet you both. ”
I expect Ben to say something—that doorknob confession-slash-request—but he just thanks him and tells him he’ll stay in touch.
When Patrick leaves, Ben asks for the check, and I whisper under my breath, “Well, that was a complete waste of time.”
“Sir, your guest has paid the bill already,” our waitress says.
“Are you sure?” Ben asks.
“Absolutely,” the woman replies. “Can I get you anything else? Mr. O’Leary made sure to tell me that he’ll cover anything else you wish to order.”
Ben shakes his head. “Thank you. We’re fine.”
“That was nice of him,” I say.
Ben’s expression is one of total shock, and I swallow.
“You think that was a bad sign?” I say, my heart rate picking up.
I rifle through my memories and experiences to figure out why it would be bad that Patrick paid.
“I always insist on paying half the check if I have a bad first date with a guy and I know it’s not going anywhere.
I think it’s polite if you know you’re never going to see someone again.
” Did Patrick know he wasn’t going to give us what we wanted, and that’s why he paid?
Ben’s gaze slides toward me. “Do these bad dates let you pay?” His heated expression sinks into me, and I wonder if he knows how much I miss him.
“Of course they let me pay. We’re not living in the nineteen forties.” I roll my eyes.
“If I took you to dinner, you wouldn’t pay.”
My heart stops and my stomach flips, and I want to slide my hand into his and ask him to take me to dinner as soon as we’re back in New York.
“If we went to dinner, I wouldn’t offer,” I say in a whisper.