The November chill cuts through my jacket as I check my watch: 9:58 p.m. I’ve been wandering the streets of Manhattan for nearly two hours, no destination in mind, just putting one foot in front of the other. I had to shut my phone off, sick of it buzzing relentlessly in my pocket.
By now, Marianne Wescott must be furious. She booked me for the night—not for some charity gala or social function where she needed arm candy, but for what Rina diplomatically calls “the full package.” Five thousand dollars for services I can’t bring myself to provide.
I’ve never stood up a client before. Not once in four years. But tonight, as I stood outside Marianne’s luxury high-rise on Park Avenue, something in me simply…refused. I can’t do it. The thought of being with another woman, even professionally, feels like betrayal.
Because of Sora.
All I can see is her face when she found out about tonight’s “appointment.” The way she smiled too brightly and said she understood, that it was just business, that she was fine with it.But her eyes—those expressive eyes that can’t hide a damn thing—told a different story. She tried to be brave, but the hurt in her eyes practically undid me. It kills me how Sora smiles right before she’s about to cry, like she doesn’t want to inconvenience anyone. And then she turned away, claiming she needed to work on her new manuscript, thinking I didn’t see the tears.
The memory twists in my chest like a knife.
I’d rather scrub toilets or flip burgers than see that look on Sora’s face again.
I can’t lose her. I won’t risk it. Not for anything. I just need a new plan.Quickly.
Somehow, my aimless wandering has led me to the Upper East Side, and now I find myself standing in front of Rina’s elegant brownstone, staring up at the warm glow emanating from her windows. My finger presses the doorbell before I can talk myself out of it.
The door swings open almost immediately, as if Rina has been expecting me. She stands in the doorway wearing a burgundy silk pajama set, her tan skin glowing in the warm light of her foyer. Her dark hair, usually styled straight, falls in loose curls to her shoulders. Without her usual power suit and three-inch heels, she looks softer, but no less formidable.
She crosses her arms over her chest, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising. “Something told me you’d wind up here tonight.”
No “hello.” No “what are you doing here?” She’s always been able to read me like one of her legal briefs.
“May I come in?” My voice sounds rougher than I intended.
She steps aside, gesturing me into the marble-floored entryway with a grace that reminds me why her wealthy clientele find her so intimidating and don’t test her.
“I was about to pour myself a glass of Macallan. I think you might need one too.” She turns without waiting for my response,leading me through to her study, where a fire crackles in the ornate fireplace. The room smells of sandalwood and old books, a comforting contrast to the chaos in my head.
“Marianne Wescott called me.” Rina pours amber liquid into two crystal tumblers. “Four times.”
“I’m sorry.” I accept the glass she hands me, but don’t drink.
“Don’t be. That woman is insufferable.” She settles into one of the leather armchairs by the fire, tucking her legs beneath her. “Though I do wonder what could possibly have made my most reliable escort stand up a high-paying client.”
I remain standing, too wired to sit. “I quit, Rina.”
There it is. All the words I’d been rehearsing during my hours of wandering, reduced to just those three. But they’re out now. No going back.
She sips her whisky, studying me over the rim of her glass. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. But why?”
“I’m in love with someone.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Ah, your privateclient, Sora.” She shrugs. “Taio,” she offers as an explanation to my unasked question.
I shouldn’t be surprised. “Yes. She’s not a typical client which is why I didn’t tell you about her. I wasn’t trying to do anything behind your back?—”
She holds up her palm, stopping me. “I wasn’t worried, Forrest. You know what happens when you build years upon years of trust with someone?”
“What’s that?”
She blinks like I’m clueless. “You give them the benefit of the doubt. You’re not on trial here, Hawkins.”
It’s not like Sora was a paying client. Well, technically, yes. But I never intended on keeping her money. The ten thousand dollars was just leverage so she’d have to see me again. Although now, I may need it.
“Thank you. But it doesn’t change anything.” I set my untouched drink on the mantelpiece. “I need to end this. All of it.”
Rina leans forward, her expression suddenly serious. “And what exactly are you planning to do for money? Your debt to Sean’s firm isn’t going anywhere. Dakota’s school tuition isn’t going to pay itself. And let’s not forget your father’s ranch.”
