And Sterling Ford? He sure as hell never will.
Number six-fourteen occupies a quarter of the top floor of the Eaton. I’ve been there once before. My mother brought me for a slumber party. I didn’t know we owned it until it was given to me during the reading of my father’s will. Arriving at the Eaton, I do my best to arrange my ruined dress, along with my dignity, into some semblance of propriety. I’m not sure either passes muster.
A giggling woman nearly steps into the revolving door compartment before I can exit. She’s distracted by the man she’s with. He pulls her out of the way and smiles apologetically. “Excuse us.”
“Oops!” she adds. I can’t tell if she’s drunk or just intoxicated with him.
I force myself to nod but can’t make myself return the smile. Stepping into the lobby, I discover it full of happy couples holding hands, whispering to one another—one pair is even touring the space with a wedding coordinator. I suddenly feel like I’m gagging on my own silver spoon. This is supposed to be my life. Dinner at a five star restaurant, drinks in the bar, small talk with the other elite members of Tennessee society—and a sexy, successful man at my side paying for it all. It’s what I’m supposed to want. I never have—until now.
But I’ll never be able to settle for this lie of a life. Not after tasting real life. Or, at least, what I thought was real at the time.
I make my way to the concierge desk, unsure exactly how this works, but desperate to get away from all the happy couples. I hadn’t been given a key or anything of the sort. Several of my friends’s families owned apartments in hotels in New York or London or Paris, the benefit being that at a hotel there was always someone available for maintenance and security. It would always be clean when it was time for an impromptu visit. Why settle for a housekeeper when you could have a five star staff at your disposal?
The concierge doesn’t bother to look up when I approach. He’s a few years older than me and a few inches shorter, which leaves me staring at a thinning patch of hair as his attention remains on the computer screen. He’s probably planning someone’s dinner reservation with their mistress. “May I help you?”
Still no eye contact. I take a deep breath and speak directly to his bald spot. “I hope so. I’m Adair MacLaine, and I—”
His head whips up at the mention of my name. “Ms. MacLaine! My apologies!”
“It’s okay, Geoff,” I read the name engraved on the polished brass pin on his jacket. Judging from his reaction at the mention of the MacLaine name, he expects me to throw a tantrum. I dismiss the innocent snub because I don’t have the energy to be offended, and because I’m tired of living up to my family’s reputation—good and bad. “My family suite—I recently inherited it…um, I’d like to see it.”
Use it. Live in it. Hide in it. I add the rest silently, unwilling to commit fully to the idea that I’m leaving Windfall behind for good. Too much has happened in the past twenty-four hours. I need to process. I need to be alone.
“Of course, let me get a key made.” Geoff switches quickly into schmooze mode, but I can’t help noticing a bead of sweat near his receding hairline. Then I realize his hand is shaking slightly.
I want to tell him that I don’t bite, but something tells me he won’t believe that. I try to put him at ease instead. It’s not a trait that comes naturally to me. MacLaines are accustomed to demanding and receiving. We don’t take time to apologize or ask kindly. The world comes to us, or else it can go fuck itself.
That needs to change.
“Sorry to put you on the spot.” I plaster the warmest smile I can muster on my face. It takes effort given the gnashing anger roiling inside me. It’s not Geoff’s fault that Sterling is a bastard. Geoff is helping me. Geoff is a solution.
He’s also a man, and after my brother’s demands yesterday and Sterling’s manipulation, I’m ready to lash out. Geoff is an easy target, but I won’t let him be. I’m not that bitch that needs to be left behind. I’m not the girl who waited around for a man who only came back to throw her away again.
I don’t know who I am, but I’m determined to decide my own fate from now on, starting with Geoff here.
“Will you be staying?” Geoff interrupts my thoughts, and I blink at him.
“Excuse me?”
He pulls a handkerchief out and mops his forehead as he repeats the question.
“Does it matter?” I don’t feel like committing to anything. Not until I know if Malcolm will come looking for me. Not until I’ve seen the suite.
“We can set a key to expire,” he explains, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “We can also leave them open if you’d like to come and go or…”
Of course, that’s why he asked. It makes sense.
“Leave it open,” I say after a moment. “I have business in the city.”
“Let me show you up,” he offers. He’s out from behind the desk before I can refuse. Geoff glances around me. “Do you have bags?”
“No.” I flush even as I lift my head up. “I thought I better check everything out first. For all I know the place looks like Miss Havisham’s house.”
He gives me a quizzical look, but customer service wins out. “Very good. If you have a valet ticket, I can see to that.”
It turns out that living at the Eaton includes in and out privileges. That’s a relief, since I have no idea how much is in my bank account or how long it will last. Sterling came here to ruin my family. That much is clear to me now. There’s a certain poetic justice to it. He’ll be living in his penthouse pedestal, staring smugly down at the MacLaines on the street below.
“You have use of the private elevators. We reserve them for our penthouse floors,” he explains, leading me past the bank of elevators in the lobby to a discreetly hidden set of golden doors. “Your key will call the elevator.”
When it arrives, it’s mercifully empty. I need a moment away from the bustle of the lobby, away from the couple clinging to one another as they speak to a wedding planner, away from the mother lovingly chasing after her toddler, away from people. But Geoff fills the silence with a constant stream of information on the hotel. He tells me about the pool and the spa and the member lounge reserved for platinum elite guests. I guess owning part of the joint secures me those privileges.
“Are there many other families who own suites?” I interrupt a lesson on how to use the hotel’s wireless internet.
“Only the Eaton family. The other suites are reserved for high profile guests.”
Translation: people with more money than common sense and a desperate need to show off. I’d forgotten that Cyrus’s family has a suite here. I’m not sure how that’s possible given what happened the last time I was here.
I might not have set foot in my family’s suite in the last ten years, but I have been on this floor since.
Then, I wasn’t the one holding the key. I shake off the horrible memory as the elevator reaches our destination. The past is in the past. I need to leave it behind.
I need to leave him behind.
“Everything is fully stocked and refreshed daily.” Geoff leads me to a door marked with a polished brass placard inscribed with the number 614.