Chapter 38
“Do you get déjà vu when she's with you?Do you get déjà vu?" - Olivia Rodrigo
The New York apartment was smaller than the one in Amsterdam, but no less luxurious. Kelsey clearly didn’t skimp on comfort. Unlike the other place, this one was stripped back to the essentials—minimalist furniture that provided a sharp contrast to the industrial, burnt concrete floors.
Almost everything was a study in black and gray. As I explored, I noted six bedrooms, a master suite, a media area, a sprawling living room, and a massive balcony overlooking the city’s pulse.
I was tucking my suitcase into the master closet when I heard my name. Knowing it was her, I stepped out to find Kelsey. Her jacket was folded over her elbow, and she looked effortlessly sharp in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans.
"Hi, Kitty." I walked up to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. I felt her arms instantly wrap around my waist, pulling me in. "I missed you."
"I missed you too. I just got here," I murmured.
"Have you settled in yet?"
"I just finished putting my things away." She reached out, taking a stray strand of my hair and gently tucking it behind my ear, her eyes searching mine.
"You look beautiful," she whispered.
I brought my lips close to hers, the heat between us instantaneous.
Her hands tightened on my waist, pressing me flush against her body.
When we finally kissed, the weight of Peter, the forged signatures, and the 'Ndrangheta vanished.
All that remained was the rhythmic dance of our tongues and the pressure of my fingertips against the nape of her neck.
When her hands slid down to squeeze me tightly, a low moan escaped my lips. Kelsey smiled against my mouth, a playful spark in her eyes.
"I’d say you’re perfect, but I’d be lying—because that worried look on your face isn’t fooling anyone," she noted, catching my chin and lightly biting my jaw.
"I’ll take care of it today," I replied, my fingers tracing her collarbones as we pulled apart slightly. "And later, it’ll be just the two of us."
Kelsey shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Are you rejecting me, Megan?"
"Never. But today... at most, I’ll help you relax."
"What if I’m the one who wants to make you relax?" I countered with a smile, crossing my legs as I sank onto the edge of the sofa.
"You’re always welcome to try, Kitty." She leaned down, pressing a long, lingering peck to my lips. "But for now, I need to shower, unpack, and get ready for the Plaza."
"I’m going like this," I said, gesturing to my shirt and dress pants. "I’ll throw on my coat for the cold, but that's it. Peter doesn't deserve the effort of me dressing up."
"The problem, Megan Woods, is that you look amazing regardless of the effort."
It didn't take long for Kelsey to return, smelling faintly of expensive soap and confidence. As soon as we settled into the car, I draped my thigh over hers, welcoming the familiar caress of her hand on my knee.
"I agree with the plan for the gala," she said, shifting into tactical mode. "If he doesn't fold, I'll play the peacemaker and you’ll invite him to this 'dinner' of ours."
"Perfect. I’ll make sure he thinks the dinner is happening at the Plaza tonight."
"You never actually stay at the Plaza," she noted.
"I know that. He doesn't."
"What time are we heading to the club tomorrow?" I asked, a flicker of hungry anxiety in my voice.
"We’ll wake up, have breakfast, and head over. I’ve arranged for us to have lunch there if needed. Charlie’s already on board." Kelsey said, glancing at me sideways. "Have you thought about whether that's really all you want from me tomorrow?"
"Just... that?" I replied sarcastically, letting out a laugh. "Do you think asking for anal is such a small thing?" I arched an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.
"Of course, Kitty. That is exactly what I meant," she countered, her hand tightening around my waist as we shared an intense, hungry kiss. "Depending on how things go, we might even indulge in some 'vanilla' afterward."
The use of the term vanilla to describe conventional sex was almost too much for me to process.
"Are we even capable of that?" I asked, skeptical. This time, Kelsey was the one who laughed.
"Maybe. We’ll find out when the time comes."
The Plaza’s facade sparkled under the city lights. The moment the car came to a halt, the valet opened my door and extended his hand. I thanked him and headed toward the bar without a word to Kelsey; we had already agreed she would maintain a strategic distance at first.
I ordered a shot of gin on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Just as the glass touched the marble counter, Peter appeared. He was impeccably dressed in a pinstriped suit, clutching a thick manila envelope.
He took the seat across from me, partially obstructing my view of the room. Two tables away, Kelsey was sipping whiskey with her bodyguard, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Hi, honey," he said, signaling to the waiter with a smug air of belonging.
"Cut the small talk, Peter. Let’s see the proof. What do you have in there?" I snapped, not bothering to hide my disdain.
"Can't we have dinner first?"
"I have no appetite when I’m with you. Eat if you must, but I want to know what’s in that envelope."
I reached out to grab it, but he was faster, snapping it away with a sudden movement that made me recoil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kelsey’s posture stiffen; she was visibly struggling to remain in her seat.
"At least let my whiskey arrive first," he insisted.
Once his drink was served, he finally slid the envelope toward me.
I tore it open and pulled out a series of surveillance photos.
There were two of me at the spa with Vanessa, one with her and my friends at Christmas, and one of me with Kelsey, her back to the camera, as we were leaving Central Park.
"There's nothing here," I snorted, tossing the photos back at him like they were trash. "It’s just me and a friend at the spa, a Christmas gathering, and me on a date with some guy."
"The private investigator told me it’s a woman," he countered, narrowing his eyes.
"In a tuxedo and a wool overcoat?" I rolled my eyes, internally mocking his reliance on stereotypes. He was so blinded by his own narrow worldview that he couldn't even fathom the truth.
"And who is he, then?"
"None of your business. Is that all you have?" I asked, my voice dripping with bored impatience.
I stood up, making a show of leaving, but he lunged forward and grabbed my arm with bruising force. I threw a sharp, stay-down look at Kelsey, signaling her not to intervene just yet.
"Sit down," he commanded.
He shoved me back into the chair with a deceptively gentle push, and I reclaimed my seat, my skin crawling at his touch.
"I have evidence that you tampered with several judicial files.
I truly didn't want to use this, my love, but you’ve left me no choice," he said, his voice dropping to a manipulative whisper."I need you by my side at the party convention. As my wife. We’re going to convince everyone that we’re reconciling. "
"Oh, fuck you, Peter."
"I'm dead serious. Look at this."
He hit play on a video and slid his phone across the table. It was me and Kelsey. Unmistakably. In the hotel dressing room. You couldn't see her face, but mine... the expression on it was painfully clear.
"That must have been a good day," he commented, taking a smug sip of his drink. "You don't even look frigid there."
"It was a great day," I retorted dismissively, offering a thin, dangerous smile. "What exactly do you think you’re going to achieve with this?"
"I’ve already told you what I want. And you’re going to give it to me. Unless you want me to find out exactly who this woman is… the one who has you acting like a stray in a locker room."
"Fuck you." I saw his jaw clench in a flash of genuine rage.
I stood up again, and as his hand shot out to grab me, I recoiled and pointed a finger directly at his chest. "If you try to blackmail me with this cheap garbage one more time, I’ll make sure the entire county hears enough juicy gossip about you to ruin three lifetimes. Even if I have to invent it."
"Think about it, Meg. We have a month until the convention.
Let's talk," he said, his tone turning oily again.
I fought the urge to flip him off; the room was too crowded, and a public outburst would play right into his narrative of the hysterical ex-wife.
"And do yourself a favor: stay out of locker rooms with sluts. "
The information Giorgia had handed me was the only thing giving me the restraint not to send him straight to hell, or find a bus to throw him under, like Mean Girls and Skins style.