Page 84 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

“And the view.” I lift my chin at the wall of windows overlooking Manhattan, but don’t actually take my eyes from Leo.

“The view. Of course.”

Silence twists between us. I so badly want to stay. But I know I can’t.

“I better go and help Sophia,” I say.

He stands and pushes his hands into his pockets. “We’ll have to catch up about The Mayfair at some point.”

“But I still have a three-month trial, right?”

“Right,” he replies. “Though I’m sure you have a plan to present for the roof terrace development?”

“Oh, yes. Right. Yeah, I’ll follow up with your new assistant and put something in the calendar in a couple weeks.”

“Good,” he says. “Well, if you don’t need my help, I’m going to head to the gym.”

I flex my biceps like a complete freak. “Go get ’em,” I say and turn, shaking my head at myself and all my awkward.

I disappear into the bedroom, blinking back tears. I fill another box and a couple of bags and head to the elevators. I just want to disappear. From Leo’s apartment. From New York. From being my dad’s daughter, and all that it entails.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Leo

I don’t enjoy running on the streets of New York. There are too many people and too much traffic, but I needed to take the edge off my goodbye conversation with Jules. The gym wasn’t enough distance—I had to get out of the building entirely.

I head to the Upper East Side without making a conscious decision to do so. Though I’m on the way to Worth’s place, I make a detour. I run up Park and turn left at 79thStreet. I slow my run to a walk and look up, taking in the tall brick façade, still the same as it was when I used to deliver bread here to the Hammonds, when I first met Caroline. It’s like no time has passed whatsoever. The wrought-iron railings that surround the front entrance still gleam. The windows are still blank, like their panes are all painted white, except I know it’s the effect of blinds you can see out of, but not into. For all I know, Caroline might be in there now, looking down at me.

I remember thinking that I needed to have enoughmoney to buy a house like this for Caroline and me to raise a family in. I never doubted my ability to make that money—to make something of myself—but it was never going to be enough for her. Or her father.

“Leo,” a woman’s voice calls from behind me. I turn around and come face-to-face with Caroline, beaming at me. She still has the same air about her that she had when I first knew her. It says she’s going to be fun and mischievous and a complete handful, but everyone’s going to love her anyway. I’ve never met anyone who upholds such a perfect veneer—never breaking character. She’s always smiling. Always “on.” She’s beautiful—there’s no doubt about it.

She’s wearing gym gear and carrying a coffee—just like any New Yorker on a Saturday morning. Except from her tan to her blowout, money oozes from every pore. I have no doubt, she turned the head of every man she passed on her way home. “How wonderful to see you,” she says. “We’ve gone so many years and now twice in three days!”

I lean in and air kiss her cheek. She leans her free hand on my upper arm and it feels like liquid metal burning into my muscles. I step back. “I’m just out for a run and was passing. Not seen this place in a while.” I always avoid this street whenever coming up to see Worth.

“Do you want to come in for a coffee? Or a glass of water?” She smiles. “You look like you might need to hydrate.”

“It’s okay, I’m good,” I say.

“My dad’s inside,” she says. “I know he’d love to see you.”

I let out a cynical half laugh. I’m sure he would. But not because he likes my company—more because he likes the money I could make him. Hammonds like to use people. “How things change, right? Another time. I’m on my way to a friend’s for coffee.”

She goes to speak and then stops herself. Finally, she says, “You know way back, when we first knew each other. My memory isn’t great, but I’m sure we both did things we weren’t proud of. We were kids, though, right? It’s water under the bridge now.”

It’s less of a question and more of a commentary or maybe a command. It would be on-brand for her to believe she has the ability to decide what’s forgotten between us. She flicks her hand up and then tosses her hair over her shoulder in the way she always used to. Younger me was mesmerized by her confidence and ability to take everything in her stride. But now it seems kind of sad. I can’t help wondering how much she pushes away—out of sight and out of mind.

I pause, waiting for her to finish her sentence, to offer me some kind of apology. But after a few long moments, I realize she’s waiting for me to speak.

“My memory’s pretty good,” I say.

Her smile falters briefly, but she recovers quickly, pulling back her shoulders just a little. No one would notice, unless you’d seen it before and were waiting for it.

“I do hope we can get together for dinner with you and your beautiful new fiancée.”

“Jules,” I say.

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