Chapter 7 - Preston Comes to BostonI read Preston’s message 4 times.
Who is Adrian Blackwood?
There are questions that are innocent because of context.
This was not one of them.
I typed:
Why?
He replied immediately.
Saw a photo.
My stomach tightened.
What photo?
No answer.
I searched my name online.
Nothing.
Then Adrian’s.
A business article from that evening appeared.
BLACKWOOD SPOTTED AT NORTH END RESTAURANT.
There was a photograph taken through the restaurant window.
Adrian sat across from me.
My face was visible in profile.
Another photograph showed us outside.
Walking.
Not touching.
But close.
The headline beneath it made nausea crawl up my throat.
MYSTERY WOMAN WITH AMERICA’S MOST PRIVATE BILLIONAIRE.
I threw my phone onto the bed.
Of course.
Of course a man worth billions could not simply eat pasta.
I texted Adrian.
We’re online.
His answer arrived 20 seconds later.
I know.
That’s it?
What would you like me to do?
Make it disappear.
A pause.
I can reduce distribution. I can’t erase the internet.
I stared.
You can reduce distribution?
Yes.
Sometimes I forget who you are.
His answer:
I prefer when you do.
Something about that softened my panic.
Then there was a knock on my hotel door.
I checked the clock.
10:46 p.m.
I approached slowly.
“Who is it?”
“Eve.”
My blood froze.
Preston.
I stood still.
“Open the door.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I flew up.”
“You flew to Boston?”
“We need to talk.”
I almost laughed.
Five days earlier, he had not considered me worth a phone call.
Now a blurry photograph with another man had put him on a plane.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Eve, please.”
I looked through the peephole.
There he was.
Camel coat.
Perfect hair.
Leather overnight bag.
The exact face I had once thought would be the last one I ever kissed.
I felt almost nothing.
That surprised me most.
“Go home.”
“I made a mistake.”
The sentence hit late.
Not in my heart.
In my history.
How many nights had I waited to hear Preston admit fault?
How many arguments had ended with me apologizing because silence frightened me more than unfairness?
Now he stood outside a hotel door offering the words only after I had stopped needing them.
“I know,” I said.
“Then open the door.”
“No.”
“Eve.”
“Goodnight.”
I walked away.
He knocked harder.
“Is he in there?”
I turned.
“What?”
“Blackwood.”
I opened the door so fast Preston stepped back.
“What did you say?”
His eyes searched behind me.
“Is he here?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
Something violent rose in my chest.
Not fear.
Not shame.
Rage.
“You ended our relationship.”
“I know.”
“You do not get to ask me that.”
“Three years, Eve.”
“You remembered the 3 years?”
His mouth tightened.
“I handled it badly.”
“You broke up with me in a voice message.”
“I panicked.”
“You had been planning it for months.”
He looked away.
There.
Truth.
“You didn’t panic,” I whispered. “You waited until I was physically leaving because you didn’t want to watch me react.”
He sighed.
“I didn’t want another scene.”
“Like this?”
“I came because I realized I love you.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“You realized someone else might want me.”
He stared.
“That’s different.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Neither do you.”
He stepped closer.
“That man is worth almost $20 billion. People like him do not date women like you.”
Silence.
I felt the sentence hit.
Not because I believed it.
Because Preston did.
Women like you.
Before I could respond, a voice came from the hallway.
“What kind of woman is she?”
Preston turned.
Adrian stood 15 feet away.
Daniel beside him.
My brain stopped.
Adrian wore no coat, only a dark suit, as though he had come directly from somewhere formal.
His face was terrifyingly calm.
“Adrian.”
His eyes moved to me first.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded.
Then his gaze settled on Preston.
The temperature seemed to drop.
Preston straightened.
“And you are?”
“Preston Hale.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
“I wasn’t asking.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Of course.
Preston flushed.
“This is private.”
“Then you should conduct it privately. You’re raising your voice in a hotel hallway.”
“You own the hotel now?”
Adrian looked at the carpet.
“Yes.”
Preston went silent.
I stared at Adrian.
He glanced at me.
“Blackwood Hospitality acquired it 7 months ago.”
Naturally.
Why would the universe miss an opportunity this absurd?
Preston laughed once.
“Right.”
He looked at me.
“So this is what you’re doing?”
“Nothing is happening.”
“You expect me to believe he happens to show up at 11 at night?”
Adrian’s voice became quieter.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
I stepped between them.
“No.”
Both men looked at me.
“This is not becoming some ridiculous competition.”
I turned to Adrian.
“Why are you here?”
“Miles saw the article. Daniel informed me a man matching Hale’s public profile entered the hotel 18 minutes ago.”
“You ran Preston?”
“Yes.”
“You said personal information becomes currency, and then you investigated my ex?”
“I investigated the person currently outside your hotel room after 11 p.m.”
I wanted to be angry.
Part of me was.
Another part understood.
I turned to Preston.
“Leave.”
“Eve—”
“No.”
He stared at me.
Maybe he heard the difference.
For years, my no had contained negotiation.
This one did not.
He picked up his bag.
Before leaving, he looked at Adrian.
“She gets attached.”
I flinched.
Preston saw it.
He continued anyway.
“She’ll pretend she’s independent, but she isn’t. She wants promises. Future plans. Sunday mornings. You look like a man who gets bored before breakfast.”
Adrian did not react.
Preston smiled faintly.
“I’m saving you both time.”
Then he walked toward the elevator.
The doors closed.
Silence.
I hated that my eyes burned.
I turned toward my room.
“Eve.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Notice.”
My voice cracked.
That made me angrier.
“I’m tired of people noticing me only when I’m falling apart.”
Adrian said nothing.
I entered the room.
He remained outside.
I almost closed the door.
Instead I held it.
“Do you want to come in?”
His eyes searched mine.
“Are you asking because you don’t want to be alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s enough.”
He entered.
Daniel stayed outside.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Adrian took the chair near the window.
He did not approach.
Did not touch me.
Did not offer advice.
After several minutes, I laughed bitterly.
“He’s right about one thing.”
“What?”
“I do want Sunday mornings.”
Adrian leaned back.
“That sounds manageable.”
“I want the stupid things.”
“Define stupid.”
“Knowing someone will be there.”
“That’s not stupid.”
“Making coffee for 2 people. Fighting over where to spend Christmas. Having a person who remembers your mother’s birthday.”
He watched me.
“I wanted normal.”
“Preston wasn’t normal.”
“No.”
“He was convenient.”
I frowned.
“For whom?”
“Both of you.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It can still be true.”
I looked down.
“Maybe.”
Adrian was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, “I don’t know how to do Sunday mornings.”
I lifted my eyes.
He continued.
“I work most Sundays. I don’t celebrate Christmas. I haven’t had coffee at home with another person in years.”
My heart hurt in an unexpected way.
“So Preston was right about you too.”
“Possibly.”
“Then why are you here?”
He looked at me.
“Because when I saw that he entered this hotel, every rational part of me said security could handle it.”
“And?”
“I came anyway.”
His voice was almost angry.
At himself.
“I don’t do that.”
I swallowed.
“You barely know me.”
“I know.”
“That should bother you.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
“Very much.”
I laughed.
He almost smiled.
Then silence settled again.
I rubbed my arms.
Adrian stood, took off his suit jacket, and placed it over my shoulders.
Cedar.
Warmth.
Memory.
My fingers touched the lapel automatically.
“No mascara tonight.”
“You’re improving.”
I looked at him.
“Did you clean the other one?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Why?”
His eyes held mine.
“I don’t know.”
That was probably the most truthful thing he had said.
I pulled his jacket tighter around myself.
He sat beside me this time.
Not touching.
Close.
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
“Just a second,” I whispered.
His hand covered mine.
May you like
“Take longer.”
So I did.
