Chapter 29
“I am on top of the world tonight!” I cry excitedly.
William laughs as the cocktail waitress at Terrace on Trump puts down our bottle of champagne and begins to uncork it. It is a glorious summer evening in Chicago, just stunning outside, and we are seated together on a sofa on the lush terrace on the 16
th
floor of the Trump Tower. We have a gorgeous view of the Wrigley clock tower and the Chicago River, and the sun is still setting in the sky.
And we are celebrating.
My new job as a writer for the Beautiful Homes Network!
Pop!
The champagne is opened, and I am as bubbly as the luscious Dom that is about to be poured into my glass.
“Darling, you might not
literally
be on top of the world,” William says, laughing, “but we are high enough here for you to be close enough.”
I laugh and then snort, which makes William laugh harder.
Our glasses are poured, and we thank the waitress for our champagne. William raises his glass to me.
“To you, Mary-Kate,” William says, his eyes sparkling at me. “To your new journey as a writer. You deserve this, darling. I am so proud of you. Cheers.”
I clink my glass against his. “Cheers,” I say happily.
We both take a sip and then put our glasses aside. I tuck my legs up underneath me and rest my arm on the back of the couch, gazing at William with nothing but love in my heart. A breeze comes up and moves his beautiful waves, and one errant curl sweeps down on to his forehead.
I reach over and gingerly brush it back. “Thank you for everything you have done to help me get here,” I say honestly, stroking his hair. “I could not have done this without you.”
“That’s not—”
I silence him by putting my finger over his lips. “Mr. Cumberland, I find it most inappropriate that you interrupt me right now,” I tease.
William grins. Then he puts his hand over mine and brings it to his lips, kissing the top gently.
“My deepest apologies for my rudeness, Ms. Grant,” William says.
I laugh and so does William.
“But in all seriousness,” I say, continuing, “you make me see things I never would have seen. Thank you for that.”
William’s eyes stay riveted to mine. I see them soften as he takes in my words.
“You are most welcome,” he says quietly. Then he takes his fingertips and draws slow circles on my kneecap, which is revealed by the denim pencil skirt I am wearing on this Friday night.
“Are you trying to tempt me, William?” I ask, flirting with him as I pick up my champagne and take a sip.
“Would I do such an inappropriate thing to my assistant?” William asks, raising his eyebrow. “Oh, wait. You are no longer my assistant now, are you?”
“No,” I say, getting shivers from the sensation of his fingertips grazing my skin, “I am not. But I do not know if it is appropriate for you to touch your
consultant
like this.”
He grins wickedly at me. “
Touché
.”
I laugh. “This night is beautiful,” I say, gazing at the city around us.
“And so are you.”
I turn and see William’s eyes have never left my face.
“How did I get so lucky to have found you?” I ask as I look at him.
William stares at me for a moment. He flexes his hands, stretching his long fingers in and out, and then he rakes them through his hair. I notice his eyes get very serious and he exhales.
My God, he looks serious and . . . nervous. My heart skips a beat. Why would he be anxious?
“William?” I ask, concerned. “Are you okay?”
William clears his throat. “Yes . . . Mary-Kate, I want to talk to you about the f—”
“Excuse me? Mr. William Cumberland?”
We both turn our heads. A young man in business attire is standing beside us.
I force a smile on my face, but inside I want to scream. This happens to us all the time, where someone approaches William and wants to tell him how they admire his business, love to work for him, blah, blah, blah, but, damn it, why now? What was William going to say that had him so serious and anxious?
The young man nervously talks about being a graduate of Notre Dame blah, blah, and I half listen as William indulges him for a few minutes. Finally, the young man leaves and I am right back to where we left off.
“What were you saying?” I ask.
William shakes his head. “I have decided I do not want to have that conversation here. I want it to be private,” William says firmly, stroking the side of my face with his hand. “But it is important, and we’ll talk about it first thing in the morning.”
My heart stops. It is about the future. It is about London. I
know
it, I just do. My entire life is falling into place and I just can’t believe how incredibly happy I am about everything!
Yes, the discussion of the future—
our
future—can wait until tomorrow. Right now I want to savor this champagne, this view, my new career, and, most of all, an evening with the man I love.
And tomorrow the final piece of the puzzle, of where we are going to live together, will be put into place.
I wake up on Saturday to find William already gone. Which is normal for him. He goes for his swim, works for a bit, and then gets me a coffee from Starbucks.
I smile to myself as I stretch in bed.
He is so sweet
, I think happily. Who knew under that original formal, icy exterior of William Cumberland, international badass mogul, was William who brought his girlfriend coffee every morning?
I get up and get dressed in workout pants and a T-shirt. I plan on heading to the gym for a spinning class later this morning. I go to retrieve his tea mug from his office and prepare to make fresh tea, as I usually do when he’s left for a while.
I walk into his office. I pick up his mug, but I accidentally drop it, sending cold tea splashing across his desk and iPad.
“Fuck!” I blurt out as the tea spills everywhere.
Why am I such a klutz? Why? I run to the bathroom and grab a towel, and I instantly begin to blot the iPad screen and then his papers. And then I notice what I am blotting.
An airline itinerary.
I pause for a moment, lifting the towel up so I can see. It is a Premier Airlines ticket to London, departing on Monday.
With no return
.
My heart stops beating. I didn’t book this ticket, like I
always
book his tickets for work.
William did this himself, without telling me.
Yesterday afternoon
.
I look at the credit card number and the last four digits . They are not his corporate card number.
This is his private American Express card.
This is personal travel.
Travel that he obviously didn’t want me to know about it.
A one-way ticket back to London, for himself.
And there is no ticket for me.
My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs. I frantically sift through the other papers on his desk, and find two files. One labeled ‘Real Estate Agents—Chicago’ and the other ‘New Assistant—Chicago.’
I pick up the one for real estate, my hand shaking violently as I do. There is a printout of this penthouse, with estimated listing price.
Suddenly I can’t breathe. William is selling his penthouse in Chicago and keeping it secret from me. I look at the date of the printout. Yesterday.
The same day he’d purchased his one-way ticket.
The same day I got the job at the Beautiful Homes Network.
The job he insisted I apply for and pursue.
And he did all of this without saying a word to me.
Oh my God.
Tears are now falling from my eyes as I pick up the other folder. I flip through it and HR has provided William with all kinds of resumes. I see a handwritten note from the HR manager for this position and read it.
Heather is a recent USC graduate. Young, determined, background in TV and film, would be a good fit to coordinate things in your office in Chicago. Would you like to schedule a phone interview? Let me know. Josh
I slam the folder shut. I feel dizzy. Panic engulfs me. He must have had this conversation with HR via the phone, because I have not seen one email about this in his corporate account. And they obviously delivered this folder straight to him and bypassed giving it to me like they do everything else.
Nausea rises in my throat.
William didn’t want me to know
. So I wouldn’t know he is grooming another girl like me, another girl he can sweep off her feet as he comes and goes from Chicago as he pleases.
Oh God. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.
I drop the folder as the truth of the situation hits me so hard my knees buckle. I grab William’s desk chair for support, but everything is collapsing around me.
A sob escapes my throat as I stare at all the pieces of the puzzle in front of me, and they are not making the picture I so happily envisioned on the terrace last night.
Sobs rack my body.
He is not bringing me back to London
.
William never planned to bring me home with him.
And that is why he was so nervous to talk to me last night.
William, the man I love with all my heart, the man who I
thought
loved me, is leaving me here.
And the job at the Beautiful Homes Network is simply a parting gift he arranged before he said goodbye.
Chapter 30
I am still reeling in his office when I hear William come through the front door.
I can’t breathe. I can’t
. I desperately try to take in air as I steady myself against his chair.
“Mary-Kate?” I hear his deep voice call out. “Darling? I have your coffee.”
Oh God. Just hearing his baritone voice causes waves of pain to rip through me.
Finally he appears in the doorway. “Mary-Kate I have—” He stops the second he sees me. Instantly his blue eyes zero in on my face and his expression changes to one of shock and concern. “Mary-Kate! What’s wrong?”
The second I look into William’s eyes, my heart is gutted. I am torn apart by this man—this man who is tossing me aside and going home without me. By this man who I stupidly believed could love me forever.
And rage takes over.
I grab the folder of resumes off his desk and hurl it at him.
William ducks and the file sails over his head, bouncing off the door and sending resumes flying like confetti. The coffee falls to the floor, splattering everywhere.
“Jesus Christ!” William yells, eyes wide.
“So are you going to find someone else to fuck you instead of me when you periodically come back to Chicago?” I scream at him. “Heather sounds like a perfect candidate, William!”
“
What
?” William cries, staring at me like I’ve gone insane.
“You are going back to London without me!” Tears are spilling down my face as I grab his itinerary and wave it around. “A one-way ticket home. I am such an idiot to think I had a future with you!”
A horrified expression passes over William’s face. “My God, you were going through my papers behind my back?” His voice resonates with shock.
“No, of course not. I would never spy on you!” I shout. “I came in here to get your mug, and I spilled the tea. Then I saw this ticket when I was cleaning up this mess. And thank God I did, because now I know where I stand. You are leaving me!”
I watch as William pales.
Tell me I’m wrong
, I think.
Tell me you love me. Tell me this is some sort of huge misunderstanding.
“Mary-Kate,” William says, his eyes desperately searching mine, “do you actually
believe
that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I cry, jerking my hand across my face to wipe away the tears that cannot stop. “You haven’t told me anything different. It’s not like you have promised me a damn thing or even told me you love me!”
I see hurt in William’s beautiful eyes. He looks pained, as if I had just punched him hard in the gut. He remains silent for a moment, his eyes searching mine, and I feel frozen in place. Like part of me wants to take back what I said, but part of me needs to hear him respond.
He swallows hard and finally, after what seems like an eternity, he speaks.
“You,” he says, his voice taking on an angry edge, “are
supposed
to know me better than anyone, Mary-Kate. Jesus, can you not tell how I feel about you? Have I not
shown
you how I feel?”
I feel my eyes well with fresh tears. As I gaze into his eyes and see the hurt and anger reflected in them, I wonder if this is some horrible misunderstanding. That the man I know—
the William I know
—could not have a life without me.
“The fact that you even think that I am capable of this makes me question
everything
between us,” William says, his voice growing stronger. “That you could even contemplate this idea in your head for more than a split second is beyond me.”
Bam!
I jerk my head as if he had just slapped me. And I feel nothing but fury and pain.
“I am not a fucking mind reader!” I scream at him. “I
deserve
to know where I stand. And I half wonder if you arranged the job at the Beautiful Homes Network to soften the blow of you leaving me!”
“Have you gone stark-raving mad?” William cries. “That is utterly ridiculous, Mary-Kate! Are you listening to yourself?”
“That’s right, William. I must be mad in the head to wonder where I stand when you have made a point to say absolutely nothing about a future with me! And you know what? I can’t do this.”
I go to move past him. I have to get out of here before I say something I cannot take back. I feel out of control and I have to get out and think.
“No, you are not leaving,” William commands, his voice cold.
“I am not a transaction! You can’t make me stay here just because you say so!”
William reaches out to grab my arm but I angrily slap it away.
“Do not touch me!” I storm down the hall and William follows. I go to the bedroom and grab my purse, and then my overnight bag, angrily throwing my things into it.
“Mary-Kate, you need to stop it. Stop it right now,” William commands firmly.
“Why? Are you going to tell me how you feel? That I got this all wrong?”
“I,” William says, his voice shaking in anger, “will not be told when I should say what I feel. And I would never say anything under a threat like this.”
“Oh my God, you think this is a
threat
?” I ask, incredulous.
“Isn’t it? Tell you how I feel or you walk out? Well, I loathe demands, Mary-Kate!”
“That is insane, William!”
“This whole argument is insane and insulting,” William snaps back. He takes an aggravated sounding breath and puts his fingertips over his lips. “Do not walk out like this.”
“I cannot deal with this. I have to get out of here. I have to think!” I cry, a sob escaping my throat.
I rush past him and hurry to the door. I hear him behind me and just as I open it, William reaches over my head and slams it shut with his palm.
“Do not leave,” William commands.
“Or what?” I challenge.
William is silent for a moment, his eyes flickering angrily. “If you leave, I will not take you back. If you make the decision to walk away from me, I will not accept your phone calls or texts or messages. It’s done if you walk out this door, Mary-Kate. I mean it.”
Oh God. I am so torn up and so angry and shattered I can’t think straight. I can’t see straight. I can’t breathe and I feel dizzy.
“Maybe this never should have happened,” I say, crying. “This . . . us . . . we never should have been together. Maybe this was—”
“An accident?” William finishes for me, nothing but hurt reflected in his eyes.
“I didn’t say that!” I sob, knowing how badly that comment hurt him.
“You might as well have,” William says.
“I can’t do this,” I say, whirling around and jerking open the door.
I step through it and whirl around, staring at him. I swallow down the huge lump in my throat, praying he stops me. Praying he just tells me I misunderstood, he loves me, that there is a future.
But he just stares back at me, silent.
And his silence tells me everything I need to know.
“Goodbye, William,” I say, my voice breaking.
I run to the elevator, frantically punching the button, and leave William—and the life I dreamed of having with him—behind.