“Parker, my best friend, Rachel, told me that you are manipulating me with your fancy, expensive gifts and dinners and wine, and that amazing sex… and she said that I shouldn’t be dating you.” That wasn’t really a question. In fact, Rachel hadn’t said most of that. That had been a rambling product of my overactive imagination coupled with my insecurity that Parker Danvers was better than me and completely out of my league.
“Oh, Haley.” I heard the pity in his voice and I detested it. Or maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe he really cared. “I’m sending Gordon, okay? He’ll pick you up, and you will come to my house, and we’ll talk.”
“What? No. I can’t.” The thought of going to a billionaire’s mansion was incomprehensible. I would never feel comfortable.
“What else do you have planned? I’m sending him now. You just be downstairs in ten minutes, okay? I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Parker hung up, and I felt like I might vomit—not from the alcohol, but from the anxiety. Not only was I going to have to face up to my accusation of him, but I had to do it at his house, with no way to come home except by his driver, in the middle of the night after I had been drinking. I sighed and let my shoulders droop. If I didn’t listen, he’d show up here, anyway.
I grabbed my jacket and headed to the hallway, locking up behind me. As I stumbled toward the stairs, my neighbor, Martha Wilson, opened her door and peeked out. She was a nosy woman of about sixty years old. Her shih tzu, Sprinkles, yapped at her feet.
“Quit making so much noise in the hallway!” she snapped. I waved at her.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”
“Spencer, I’m going to call the landlord again.”
She complained about once a week for one reason or another, despite the fact that it was her dog who barked constantly. I had only come in the apartment and out twice tonight, and I was trying to be quiet. It was like she waited for reasons to be mean or something.
“Sorry, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll be quieter.”
I didn’t realize how inebriated I really was until I was trying to descend the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I leaned on the wall and let my body slide down as I took each step. One thing was certain, I was not drinking any more tonight. It had been about thirty minutes since my last drink, and with a twenty-minute drive to Parker’s house, I had a bit of time to sober up. Maybe then, I would be braver and could actually ask him the questions I needed answered.
12
PARKER
“Thank you, Gordon.” I wrapped my arm around Haley’s waist and shut the door behind Gordon as he left.
“Look, I’m not wasted. I just rolled my ankle on the step, okay?” She pushed me away and dusted herself off. Mulch clung to her jeans and the jacket she wore, and I tried to respect her, but I could tell she’d been drinking.
“Okay, well there is no judgment at all.” I backed away and watched as she grimaced at the bits of mulch that peppered the Persian rug stretched out across my travertine floors. It was nothing a broom and a vacuum couldn’t fix, but the look on her face was one of mortification. “Can I take your jacket?”
“Uh, no, that’s okay.” She hugged her arms over her chest and shook her head. Then her eyes grazed over the entryway and up the twin, curved marble staircases to the second floor where a crystal chandelier obscured the view of the landing. Her jaw dropped as she tilted her head back to stare at the domed ceiling where I had an artist paint a landscape of the sky. “Oh, God…”
I chuckled at her amazement and gazed upward with her. I forgot at some point how amazing the artwork was. I lived inthis ten-thousand-square-foot home and only made use of three rooms, mostly—the den, the dining room, and my master suite. It was a status symbol and nothing more. I really could have been happy in a simple two-bedroom home in Oak Park.
“Yeah, he did a great job on that. Amazing that even on a three-story scaffolding the artist could create such a masterpiece.” I looked back at her pale face. “Are you okay?”
“Parker, I can’t be here.” She shook her head in an apologetic manner and backed toward the door.
“What? Why?”
“Look at this place. That chandelier alone probably cost more than my car. Look, I don’t know about all of this.” Her hand rested on the doorknob and I hurried to her side. “Please, just let me leave. I’m sorry for waking you up. You’re my boss. I really shouldn’t be?—"
“Haley Spencer, stop it.” I rested my hand over hers, and she peered up at me. “Now, you asked me a pretty serious question, and I want you to know the answer.” I held my hand out in a gesture indicating she should come with me. She looked away and frowned, but she followed. I led her into my den. “I’d ask if you want a drink, but it appears you’ve had enough tonight.” I pointed at the couch. “Have a seat.”
She slumped onto the brown leather sofa, but she kept her arms hugged over her stomach, hunched over in a very closed-off posture. I got myself a glass of Scotch and sat next to her, watching as her eyes studied the room. Three of the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, loaded with every book I’d ever read and a myriad of books I hadn’t but wanted to. Some were from my mother’s collection, passed to me at her death. Others were first editions that meant nothing sentimental, but I preserved them as an investment.
“You like books?” she asked, her jaw hanging loose.
“Of course I do. Why do you think I got interested in the paper? Not only am I a book lover, but I’m a writer too. I plan to write my own memoir, though I do dabble in fiction at times.” I sipped my whiskey and saw her relax. She shed her coat and left it lying on the sofa behind her.
“I had no idea.”
“You didn’t ask. In fact, you’ve really just been avoiding me since we had sex, and even though we had dinner, I still have questions. So let’s make a deal. I will answer your questions if you answer mine.” I downed the Scotch, ready to dig into this issue we’d been facing. She angled her body to face me and nodded.
“I’ll go first,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Was what I told you on the phone true? Is Rachel right?”
