Page 54 of Making It While Faking It
Closing my eyes, I release the tears I’ve been holding. This is the first time I’ve cried over the loss of that shabby relationship. I was going to marry Simon Linney. What in the hell was I thinking? And now I have this thing with Achilles, and he’s already saying one thing and doing another. He’s already pulling me near and then pushing me away.
A message chimes on my phone. All of a sudden, I forget how sad I am as I sit up and swipe my device off the nightstand.
I frown at the screen. “The desk of Achilles Lord,” I whisper and then open the text.
Mr. Lord apologizes for not calling today. He has traveled out of cell coverage range. However, he will reach out to you as soon as he’s able. Mr. Lord says good night and that he can hardly wait to see you.
—Message delivered by Jenn Masterson,
2nd Executive Assistant to Mr. Achilles Lord, Esq.
I hug my cell phone to my chest, over my heart. I’m so relieved to have heard from him—but am I? I hold my phone on my lap and stare at the black covering against the tall windows and think, what will happen when the fast-moving train carrying all the crap that will go wrong one day gets closer? Its engine roars toward us from a distance. I can hear it faintly. Soon, it will collide with me and Achilles, and then what will become of these darling emotions sweeping through me? What will become of us?
The End of the Long Weekend
TREASURE GROVE
SATURDAY
I’m back at the restaurant, and I am working my tail off to institute the new changes that will cost a lot up front but save me a lot more in the long run. Ingrid has reminded me that I’m to make an appearance at tonight’s party, but I call her into my office and deliver the news. I will not make an appearance tonight, and Charla Hinkley’s party will be the last. We will cancel all other reservations, tell them we apologize, that we are unable to support their events due to structural issues.
“Really, it’s the end of all parties? Because last night’s was such a success.” Ingrid asks. Her bright eyes are full of disappointment.
“Yes,” I say. “And we will begin the rebuild, incorporating the party hall space into the main dining facility next week.”
And that starts a whole new conversation about her job duties changing. It’s like this for the rest of the day—I meet with staff, and we talk about the changes. I meet with vendors and contractors. By the end of the night, when Charla’s party has hit a high note, Danny is driving me home, and my head rests against the back seat as I try so very hard not to miss Achilles.
SUNDAY MORNING
I had a really good night of sleep. I’m not going into the restaurant today. Achilles will be back tomorrow. I can’t wait.
I call Paisley to ask if she wants to grab brunch at Treasures. My call goes straight to voicemail. I have a sneaking suspicion she is wherever Achilles is. It now makes sense why he referred to me as TG. Hercules must be with them and referring to Paisley as PG so much that it has become tiresome.
Next, I call Lake, and she and Mason are in Toronto. She sounds excited. Apparently, on the night of the dinner, Hercules and Achilles convinced Mason to ease up on working so much. They said they appreciated his loyalty and the blood, sweat, and tears he’s given to LTI. And then they offered him a black card, which is a credit card with no limit, and the use of one of their private jets and told him to go wherever he wants in the world for as long as he wants—it’s on them.
“They said more to him. I don’t know what else they said, but I’m so glad it worked.” Then she whispers that she’ll get in touch with me when they’re back in New York. “Mason’s coming.” She hangs up.
Before I make a third call to friends, I sit for a moment and think the obvious. For so many years, my perception of the Lord brothers was negatively shaped by Orion. But Hercules and Achilles are indeed good guys. Maybe Orion is, too, somewhere deep down, perhaps.
My third and final call is to Tabatha and James, two friends I haven’t seen in forever. They are available for brunch. We meet at MG in DUMBO, which is short for down under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, since they’re already in that neighborhood. MG is a restaurant where one hundred percent of the menu is prepared by molecular gastronomy techniques. And I have a good time with old friends as we catch up, laugh, and plan our next get-together. Of course, they want to meet Achilles. I have a feeling that all my friends are going to want face time with the billionaire known as being elusive and reclusive, and my future husband.
SUNDAY NIGHT
I, surprisingly, have dinner with Caroline. I learned she was in the house working on Friday and Saturday and even this morning. I ran into her in the hallway after discovering I had fresh linens on my bed and my bathroom was spotless. Apparently, she’s the one who makes sure all of that happens.
I asked what she was doing tonight for dinner, and she said, “Oh, probably order in.”
“Well, have dinner with me!” I said excitedly. “I’d love that. And I’ll make bistec encebollado for you.”
She laughed delightfully. “How can I say no?”
It has been so pleasant getting to know Caroline. We’re eating in Achilles’s den and sharing a bottle of red wine.
So far, I’ve learned that she’s single, never married, but she’s been in love with a man who has now lived on a tropical island for many years.
I study the beautiful woman carefully. Her looks are almost too distracting, actually. How can someone be that beautiful and display such grace and not be with the man she’s been in love with for many years?
“Is that by choice?” I ask, my voice ringing with extreme curiosity.
