Stepping out of the coffee shop, I do the same thing I’ve done every day since arriving in Chicago, I scan my surroundings for the outline of the man who’s been seared into my memory. When I met Duke a year ago, I’d been hellbent on doing something that scared me, and here I am, doing it again. My courage paid off last time. Will I get lucky again?
And this is where I remind myself that I haven’t moved cities for Duke, I’m simply here to advance my career. It’s just a happy coincidence that my new employer is none other than Noah DeVere, the preferred interior designer for a certain titan of the hospitality industry.
Noah had approached me three months ago, making an eye-watering offer that even Brooke said I’d be crazy to turn down. She’s been my mentor since I left college and she knows working on a Moncrief project would take my career to the next level. Her eagerness for me to move to Chicago has nothing to do with Duke either.
Realistically, it’s a long shot that he and I will crosspaths. I never did find out how exactly he’s associated with the Moncriefs other than he’s involved with their security and gets perks in the form of condoms. That doesn’t mean he’s an employee. He could have been hired muscle taken on solely for the trip to Philadelphia. I’m putting a lot of faith in serendipity.
As my shopping bag swings on my arm, I’m familiar enough with the streets of Chicago now to recognize the intersection leading to the Excelsis hotel where the Moncriefs have their Midwest headquarters. The DeVere office is a couple of blocks away, and I’m hoping my induction tomorrow will include a visit to the hotel.
As much as I try to manage my expectations, it does feel like all the stars are aligning. I’ve rented out my house in Philly and Noah has helped me secure the most amazing apartment not too far from the office.
I’ve spent the last week getting to know the area and buying a whole new wardrobe. I have a green sheath dress picked out for my first day tomorrow that just happens to be the exact same color as the dress I wore at the Exemplar. It’s smart, professional, short but not too short, and its cut accentuates my curves. I’m pairing it with nude heels to elongate my legs and today’s successful shopping expedition had been to find a matching purse.
There’s nothing left to do but wait for fate to take over, which might explain why my stomach is in knots. I’ve left everything behind in Philadelphia to pursue a man who, for all I know, might not want to see me again. If I thought I was being reckless that night at the hotel, this is on a whole new level. It could go catastrophically wrong.
Which is why Brooke hasn’t filled the vacancy I left just yet. She’s my backup plan. My old life is still there if I need to make a hasty retreat. I hope I don’t. I’m not ready to giveup on the fantasy that’s been playing in my head like a movie reel.
I’m here for good, I tell myself. I won’t consider any other alternative. And that means I’m about to face an autumn and winter in Chicago that might be a touch colder than I’m used to. Maybe I need to buy a new coat.
I’m about to head back to the department store when there’s a commotion just ahead of me. There’s the rapid fire of camera clicks and a scary-looking man in a leather jacket grabs the closest of the photographers and swears at him in what sounds like Russian. The paparazzi are flocking around the entrance to a restaurant so it must be someone important inside.
Keeping a safe distance away, I wait to see which celebrity is going to emerge. And that’s when serendipity hits me right between the eyes.
Photographers are jostled out of the way as a familiar face steps out of the restaurant. It’s Max, the security guard who took Cameron back to my house and, by all accounts, threatened to kill him if he didn’t pack his things and leave. When Cameron had tried to refuse to sign the divorce papers, Max had given him two black eyes. It took six months to get that information from my ex-husband, who’s still terrified of talking to me. Not that we talk. That chapter of my life is most definitely over.
And as I wait for the next chapter of my life to begin, the pounding of my heart against my eardrums is deafening. I’m curious rather than alarmed when Max is followed out by the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
Tall and elegant, she radiates power and privilege in a lime green bodycon dress that rides high enough to show off her ridiculously long legs. It makes my first-day outfit look like a nun’s habit in comparison, but it’s nother dress that takes my breath away, it’s the man who appears next and slips his arm around her slender waist. He’s equally breath-taking, but for all the wrong reasons.
The baseball cap looks incongruous paired with the dark blue suit and reflective sunglasses. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be recognized, but I’d know him anywhere.
“Duke,” I say, my voice so weakened that I don’t think the word leaves my mouth. Not like all those times I’d screamed it from the top of my lungs. I know how that sounds. I have an overused recording lest I forget.
My gaze snaps back to the woman who’s now shouting in Russian. I’ve no idea what she’s saying, but her deep brown eyes shoot lasers at the man in the leather jacket. She’s young, younger than me, but she has no problem barking orders. He immediately releases his hold on the photographer’s shirt collar, and just as quickly, the woman’s expression shifts from anger to… to one hell of lethal smile aimed at the cameras.
I tell myself Duke must be part of her entourage, then watch in horror as the woman grabs him by the lapel. She twists him in the direction of the paparazzi who are already snapping away.
“Katarina, turn to Duke!” one of the photographers directs. “That’s it, perfect! Now, let’s see that ring sparkle.”
My stomach plummets as Katarina raises her left hand and waggles the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen at the cameras. Duke tugs the peak of his cap down to cover his face as hisfiancéeshows off her engagement ring, and after a couple of excruciating seconds, he pulls Katarina towards the waiting limousine.
I should turn and run, but I can’t tear my eyes from the happy couple. I can’t move. I can’t think. I don’t want to think. I’m a stupid,stupididiot. A tremor runs through mybody as I feel the foundations of my new life crumble beneath my feet.
I’ve moved cities and jobs so I can be close to a man who probably doesn’t remember my name. He fed me some bullshit about not being good enough and I’d swallowed it. He called me a goddess, but the only goddess I see is the one with his ring on her finger. Why the hell did I let another man fool me into thinking I was something special?
As Duke helps Katarina into the limo, his back is to me. I trace my gaze over his body and mine reacts with the longing that’s haunted me for twelve long months. Pain traps my chest in a vice. I can’t breathe. I can’t…
Duke straightens to say something to Max, only Max isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at me. He mouths the word ‘fuck,’ and Duke turns to follow his gaze.
I have no idea if his eyes widen in shock behind his shades. I don’t see any hint of surprise or embarrassment, or even recognition in his features. I don’t give him time to react. I spin on my heels and run like my life depends on it.
I weave between pedestrians who are walking too damn slow and almost send someone flying. As I turn to apologize, I glance back. Duke has stayed by the limo, but… Oh, shit. Max waves him goodbye then shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking straight for me. His stroll is casual and he gets no more than a curious look from the starlet who’s rolled down the limo window. She won’t be aware who he has in his sights, but she does cast her gaze briefly over me.
As I remain frozen to the spot, Max gives me a subtle nod, like he’s praising me for waiting. I’m not scared of him in the same way Cameron was. I could stand my ground. I’d happily tell him to fuck off to his face. And Duke too.And maybe I’ll get my opportunity at some point, but not today. Today I run.
I run until I reach the coffee shop I’d been in earlier, but in my eagerness to get inside, my shopping bag snags on the door handle. I hear paper tear and my brand-new purse drops to the ground. Not stopping to pick it up, I ignore customers’ curious stares and make a beeline for the door with a ‘staff only,’ sign on it.
Entering a large food prep area, I seize on the first member of staff I see. “Please, is there a back door?” I ask the young server.
