13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Since my interaction with Hayes at the bar, I’ve been keeping to myself. And avoiding everyone. I don’t want to chance another run-in with him. His presence has a way of setting me on edge and bringing out my worst qualities. I’ve even been avoiding Wendell, which I know isn’t fair. We’re on the same side, but I don’t have the strength to face him, not when I have just about every worry imaginable on my mind.
After a while, I stopped answering his messages and decided it was better for everyone if I just holed up in my suite and spared them all from my foul mood. But my time is up in more ways than one. Today is the Gerald Grant Society Fundraiser, and I have to make an appearance. And it just so happens that Humboldt is attending.
Leaning over the side of the bed, I blindly search for my phone that I tossed onto the floor at whatever time I came back last night. I finally find it, the screen bright in the pitch-black room. Shit, I’m already half an hour late.
Attending a fundraiser hungover is nothing new to me, but I scrub my face, trying to wake myself up. I still probably need a shower to get the stench of night-old whisky out of my pores before I turn on the charm for Humboldt.
When I finally make it to the ballroom at the other end of the resort, I have five missed calls from Nico. Prying open the massive wooden doors, I stealthily weave through the crowd as the speaker addresses the room, heading toward my group without drawing attention to myself.
“Where the hell have you been?” Nico whisper-shouts.
I run a hand through my hair, pushing back the uncooperative mass on my head.
“I slept through my alarm,” I say with finality, hoping to crush any further questions.
Nico hums, voicing his skepticism.
I turn to him to see what he means by that very telling hum.
“I’ll believe that when I magically become a born-again virgin.”
Lucy shushes us and shakes her head. Her eyes scold Nico, who shrivels under her stare. I’ve never seen him shrink like that before, but my lips pull, satisfied by Lucy’s ability to get him to shut up. Nico and I face forward and listen to the speaker. Everyone in the room focuses on the bald man with the salt-and-pepper beard.
“On behalf of the Gerald Grant Society, I want to thank all the potential donors and extend a warm, Floridian welcome to all of our out-of-state guests. Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
The room erupts in applause. The speaker steps down from the makeshift stage and begins to greet and shake hands with those standing in front. My head is on a swivel as I inspect the crowd, looking for Humboldt.
“Is he here yet?” I ask the group.
Karim speaks up, “We don’t think so. It looks like he’s even later than you.”
I give him a dirty look and rub the bridge of my nose. “All right, does everyone know what their jobs are?”
“Pretend we actually care about whatever dying animal they’re raising money for this time?” Nico chimes in.
Lucy jabs him in the ribs. “Not helpful.”
“Does everyone else know what they’re doing?”
“Karim and I will scout the room for any probable clients and keep a lookout for Mr. Humboldt,” Lucy says, lacing her arm with Karim’s, who is bursting with excitement. “We’ll do a lap.”
She leads him away from us and gives Nico a final, disappointed look.
Nico turns to me, his brow raised. “They’ll do a lap.”
“Leave them alone.” I cover my mouth with my fist, not letting the snicker escape.
“What? It’s positively adorable. They’re like beavers. I just hope they don’t intend to mate for life. That might be a little painful for our Lucy.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He pats my shoulder. “Speaking of idiots… did you really think we wouldn’t notice you’re hungover?”
I fidget and shift in place uncomfortably. I avoid his eyes, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s not up for discussion, Nico.”
“I’m not judging, believe me. But in five years, I’ve never seen you blow off something as important as meeting a client. It’s just not like you.”
The concern is there, but I don’t want to hear it. Not now.
“I didn’t blow anything off, I’m here.” I sigh. “I just had a bad night, that’s all.”
Nico stares at me, clearly wanting to say something else, but only nods. “There’s a difference between being here and being present, and I think you know that, Alden.”
I grumble, “Says the functioning alcoholic.”
“Key word: functioning. And I’m here, aren’t I?”
Arguing with Nico is like arguing with a particularly aggravating stone wall. He’s holding up a mirror to the obvious and detrimental parts of myself, and I don’t like what I see. It’s like Nico just dumped a bucket of ice water on me, waking me up to the fact that I’ve been shirking my responsibilities. Something I’ve never done, not even when I was at my lowest. But the very idea that Hayes is here and constantly tugging me back to the past, reminding me of the worst years of my life, has thrown me off balance.
Nico walks away. “I’m too sober to interact with this particular group. I need a drink. Do you want something?”
His eyes glint, and I know this is some sort of test. The Nico way.
I shake my head. “No.”
He has a small smirk on his face. “Atta boy.”
Nico heads for the bar, almost knocking into someone who’s carrying a tray of champagne flutes. They really need to find people to work these events who won’t tip over from the slightest breeze. I do a lap around the room, getting stopped by men I’ve done business with in the past, and shake hands with prospective clients. The ritual is exhausting but necessary.
I play the part just fine. I smile and pretend to find their lame jokes funny, all to potentially make a connection. I wouldn’t call myself an overly talkative person, but I can bust out a few entertaining one-liners when the occasion calls for it.
Humboldt is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve said hello to nearly everyone in the room. It would be my luck he doesn’t show. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a wave of black hair. And I know instantly who it is. Just as I approach her, Monroe turns around like a bullet, and her body collides with mine.
My hands fly to her waist to keep her from falling to the ground. With my help, she steadies herself and the tray of drinks in her hands. When she sees that I’m the one she collided with, she glares at me angrily.
“That could have been bad.” I loosen my grip and eventually remove my hands altogether. My eyes sweep over her, seeing if she’s at all hurt. “You should pay more attention to where you’re going.”
She scowls and steps back. “Thank you for the helpful insight. I’ll remember that.”
“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you worked events like this.” My breathing stalls, wondering if she’ll bring up the whole panic attack-elevator fiasco.
When she doesn’t, I exhale.
Monroe shrugs. “I needed the extra cash. A girl’s gotta eat.” She avoids my eyes until she asks, “What are you doing here? Researching how people behave so you can mimic them properly?”
“Something like that,” I mutter and do a quick scan around the room to see if Humboldt snuck in.
“What? That’s it?” she says. “Come on, you can do better than that.”
“Just—”
When I focus back on her, everything I was going to say evaporates. The sunlight bathes her face in a soft glow, and it’s almost too much to look at her—too much to take.
“I don’t have the drive to keep up with you and your witty comebacks today, so I’m just going to wave my white flag now.”
Her tongue peeks out and runs over her bottom lip. “Smart man.”
“And it just so happens that my particular set of skills can’t be used here, in a room where everyone is watching us.” I lean down and focus on her reaction. “So I’ll just have to take a rain check for when we can be alone.”
Her features betray a hint of temptation. Her face twists, and by the look on it, I’d hazard a guess that Monroe would drag us out of here and take me up on my offer if we weren’t in a room full of people. But her rational side kicks in, and she clears her throat harshly, breaking whatever tension hangs between us.
“C-champagne?” Her throat bobs, and I’m enchanted by the slight movements.
Blinking my sensual thoughts of her away, I take a flute from her tray and sip it.
“Thoughts?”
At first, the sparkling wine tastes fine, good even, but the moment fades as the aftertaste kicks in.
With a gag, I say, “It’s truly awful.” The offending liquid swirls in my flute. “God, who knew they could fuck up champagne this badly?” I take another, bigger drink and shudder.
“You don’t have to drink it if you hate it that much,” Monroe says, reaching for the flute. “Give it back.”
When Monroe’s hand brushes mine, I quickly withdraw, which earns me a strange look from her. There’s no good reason I pulled away from her. No reason except for how much I want her to touch me again. It’s disturbing, the constant push and pull in my mind when it comes to her.
“No, it’s fine.” I cough into my fist. “I’ll just endure it for tonight.”
She rolls her eyes. “How very brave of you. So what are you doing here? You never said. I never thought I’d see you at something like this. Something charitable.”
“I might die if I keep drinking this.” I hold my breath while attempting another swig. “And you know me, always one to support the animals.”
Monroe snorts. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Are you questioning my motive for being here?”
“Yeah, I thought that was obvious.”
I hold her eyes for a moment. They clash against the light, and I get lost in them before she looks away. My jaw clenches.
“My intentions might not be directly linked to whichever hairless creature is endangered this time, but I made a sizable donation.”
Monroe stares at me intensely. Her face tells me she thinks I’m full of it.
I sigh, conceding. “I saw the poster, and I felt bad.”
She smiles. “It seems there’s hope for you yet.”
“Don’t go spreading that around.”
She takes a step back, severing the moment. “I should go pass these around.” She gestures to her tray. “Enjoy your champagne, sir.”
She leaves with a wink, and I freeze. My gaze doesn’t stray as she disappears into the crowd, and I track her every move. Every nerve crackles and smoulders, and my skin burns, heating me from the inside out.
“Alden!” Nico calls. He weaves through the crowd to get to me. “Hey.”
I force myself to stop looking at Monroe.
“I thought you were getting a drink.”
“I finished it at the bar,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I came over here to tell you Humboldt just got here. And you’ll never guess who he walked in with.”
I think I can make an educated guess of who it is just by how this day is going. When I look search the crowd, I spot Mr. Humboldt immediately, and my frown deepens. The one time I don’t want to be right. But there’s Braxton beside him, hanging on his every word.
“Stay here, I’ll be back.”
Getting across the room, I approach the two of them, thinking it’s time I throw my hat in the ring. Officially.
“Warren, I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say convincingly. Even though I’ve known for weeks that he would be. “It’s good to see you.” He takes my outstretched hand, shaking it.
“It’s a surprise to us both, then. My wife dragged me here. She’s around somewhere if you’d like to say hello.”
I nod. “I’ll be sure to find Betty later.”
Warren Humboldt was at the top of his class at Harvard in ‘93, and now he’s a partner at the biggest law firm in New York. He’s known as the best closer in the city. Having Humboldt as a client would be a huge accomplishment for me, not to mention that I’d finally attract other people of his stature and reputation to sign with me. And I won’t let Hayes get in the way of me taking my company to the next level.
Warren looks between Braxton and me. “You know Braxton, don’t you?”
“Well enough,” I say, holding Braxton’s eyes, daring him to say something.
Humboldt smiles like a coyote who has his prey cornered. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard the gossip. You two have some history, right?” We both remain quiet. “No matter. I prefer it this way. I know you’re both going to give it your all when you pitch me, so I expect neither one of you to hold your punches.”
“Count on it,” Braxton mutters.
“Well, good talk. I should catch up with Betty. She’s probably running the bar dry by now.”
Braxton speaks up as soon as he’s out of earshot. “That man can talk about himself endlessly. You should’ve heard him earlier—”
I cut him off. “This isn’t a bonding moment, Braxton. So cut the small talk.”
“Have it your way. But being a grouch won’t help you bag Humboldt.”
“You don’t know what will bag him, clearly. That’s why you’re standing here, talking to me instead of over there, schmoozing him.”
Braxton tsks. “Don’t you worry about me, Van Doren. I have my strategy, and it doesn’t involve harassing him every second. It’s a wonder how you’re still in business at all.”
“You’re one to talk. That place you call a bank hasn’t gone under yet? The idea of being a contributing factor in its downfall makes me giddy, actually.”
“Bitter much?”
“Not bitter, just well informed. The rumour mill has been working overtime when it comes to you, Hayes.”
He steps toward me. “Really? Because I haven’t heard a thing. Are you sure that isn’t your jealousy talking? Because they chose me over you?” He lowers his voice. “Looks like there’s still some animosity there.”
“It was a blessing in disguise, really. Being passed over for that position all those years ago kicked my ass into high gear. There’s a difference between working at a second-rate bank and being the CEO of a multi-million-dollar wealth management group. Things have a way of working themselves out. And this thing with Humboldt will just be another lesson for you on how it feels to lose.”
Braxton’s expression dims. “I’ve had plenty of lessons on how it feels to lose, Alden. Too many to count.”
“Maybe this time, this one will stick,” I say and walk away from him.
Nico calls after me, but I don’t stop, not until I get inside the elevator, safely tucked away from the outside world. My movements are stilted, like I’m trying to wade through quick- setting cement. The weight of everything feels like it’s crushing me, making it difficult to remain upright, to breathe.
Evelyn. Monroe. Evelyn. Monroe.
My lungs burn and rip at the seams, ribbons of flesh coming undone the more I let my thoughts take over. Flashes of a sickly sweet smile threaten to do me in. My mind feels like it’s about to snap. The flexible cord has turned into a hard, unmovable thing that’s tearing me apart. Evelyn is all I see when I look at Braxton, all I’m reminded of, and it’s wretched.
I’m just a few steps away from my suite when I notice someone standing outside my door. It’s Wendell.
“I should just become your full-time babysitter at this point. It would pay better,” he says. He pushes off the door so I can scan my key card.
How I’ve been handling everything lately has been eating at me. I’ve been trying to juggle everything and doing it poorly. It feels like I can’t do anything right anymore. Wendell is my best friend, my only friend, and I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder like he’s the one who’s done something wrong.
He follows me through the foyer and into the living room.
“You can’t avoid me forever or stop talking to me.”
A restlessness I haven’t been able to shake settles over me. “I can’t do this right now, Wendell.”
I pick up a used glass and pour whisky into it. Do I really want to drink myself into a stupor tonight? I feel sick from overthinking, so I slide the glass away and take a deep breath.
“Well, you’re going to.”
“What do you need?” My voice comes out harsher than intended, and I close my eyes. Don’t take it out on him.
I ignore the whisky that’s tempting me.
“I’m here to check on you, make sure you’re still alive, seeing as you’ve been ignoring my messages.”
My gut contracts, and I think I’m going to hurl.
I nod. “You’ve seen me. You can go now.”
Wendell blocks my path as I move toward the couch. “I’m not leaving, and I think you know that.” He rubs at his chin. “I’m worried about you.” Called it. “You’re clearly hurting, and as your friend, I’m concerned.”
“I’m fine.”
It isn’t my most convincing line. The oomph I usually put behind it falls short. But it’s my go-to when Wendell tries to pry the truth out of me.
“You’re not,” Wendell says simply. “Just be honest with me, Alden. Have I ever judged you? Have I ever made you question if you can trust me?”
My mind swirls with anxiety. “No.”
“Then confide in me, please.”
A lofty sigh leaves me. “It’s Hayes. Him being here now, it’s making me antsy.” It’s almost the whole truth. I expect Wendell to take it in stride, to not question it. But he does.
“And?”
He knows me too well.
The walls come crumbling down around me. I scramble to salvage any part of them, but it’s a lost cause. Sifting through my feelings—what I’m feeling—and trying to put it into words has always been difficult. It’s like reaching into an amassing canyon and picking out the wrong thing each time. I’d either show too much emotion and say the wrong thing or no emotion at all and offend someone.
The expectation that I have to pluck out the right feeling, to make others understand it when I can’t even put a name to it myself, is daunting. So now, I don’t even try to get it right anymore.
“Whenever I look at him, all I see is her—all I can think about is her,” I say softly, hoping he won’t hear me, but he does.
Wendell’s tense expression fades. He looks surprised. If he can read me like a book, I can do the same with him, and right now, there’s sympathy dripping from him. I wish I could just crawl into a hole and stay there. I don’t need his pity; I never wanted anyone’s.
Sympathy has always felt like a burden, a constant reminder of the part of myself that I lost, and I hate it. I hate how much the guilt weighs on me, how much I can’t shake it. It doesn’t let me move on. Whenever someone extended their condolences, they looked at me like they could see the missing part of me, and the rage took over. I felt like I didn’t deserve it, like I was a fraud. Because I should have felt torn to shreds with grief, and when I didn’t, the guilt took its place.
“Alden…”
I shake my head. “No, don’t. I can’t hear it, not again.”
Wendell nods, respecting my wishes. “Can I do anything to help?”
“I just need some time.”
He pauses intentionally before he says, “Not good enough.”
My brows dip. “What?”
“Take a shower,” Wendell says before walking out of the living room.
I follow him into my bedroom, where he disappears into the ensuite. The shower turns on a moment later, and Wendell pops out.
“Why?”
He shoves me into the bathroom. “Because you’re starting to smell. And you need to get out of this room—out of this resort.”
“Wendell, I can’t.” I rub the space between my eyebrows, where a dull throb starts. “The fundraiser is still going on, not to mention I have about a million other things I could be doing. I need to draft my proposal—”
“Is Humboldt leaving this very second?”
“Well, no.”
“Then he can wait another day. You need a break, Alden. Just take a night off.” Wendell says, cutting me off. He’s not going to let me worm my way out of this one. “Now go.” He eyes my hair. “And do something about your hair. It’s not looking great.”
He gives me a tight smile, and I shut the bathroom door, starting to undress.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Wendell says, his voice distorted by the noise from the shower.