She thought of Daddy, what he might have revealed to her if she’d known to give him the chance. Esme deserved that as well. “I have to try. Can you give me some time? Not much. Just enough to nose around here a little bit. Her shift starts in twenty minutes. If she doesn’t turn up, I’ll leave a note for her at the front desk.”
“Fine, but be careful. I’ll head downtown to get my things and meet you under the clock at Grand Central in two hours. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” He brought his hand to Darby’s cheek and smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
New York City, 2016
After packing her personal possessions from her desk into a canvas bag—there weren’t many, a mug, an umbrella, and an extra pair of high heels—Rose walked out of the WordMerge offices for the last time. The rest of the staff had no idea what had occurred with Tyler. She’d collected her things and left, as if she were only popping out to the gym.
Five years ago she’d been a rising star, groomed to take over a national anchor position one day. And now she couldn’t even hold a job at a start-up. But with her father so ill, the trajectory of her career seemed an inconsequential thing, like a burned-out lightbulb you kept meaning to fix. She’d get back to it and figure it out soon enough. For now she had to focus on her dad.
Bird was eager to get outside when she returned to Darby’s apartment. Or maybe Esme’s apartment, really. But once they walked out the service entrance, the rain began falling in sheets. She tucked Bird under one arm, strode into the park, and planted him beneath one of the giant elm trees. The leaves acted as a de facto umbrella: large drops broke through the foliage every so often, but the worst of the weather was kept at bay. Bird found a patch of dirt of which he approved and took a long pee, glaring up at Rose for invading his privacy by watching him. She looked away. How had she got to this point, where a ten-pound dog bossed her around?
As Rose approached the Barbizon, a figure caught her eye. Jason stood underneath the awning that led to the lobby, looking down at his phone. In a smooth movement, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, and her stomach did a flip. His every move breathed of sex to her now; she couldn’t help it. But she didn’t want him going inside.
“Jason!”
She called out and crossed the street, almost getting hit by a cab that had veered suddenly into the left-hand lane.
Jason looked up. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Sorry, I left my phone in the apartment.” She glanced back at the lobby. Patrick saw her and waved. “We’ve got to go around the side. Come this way.”
“Wait a minute.” Jason stood firm. “I just went inside and they said you don’t live here anymore.”
“Well, not officially. I dog-sit for another tenant.”
“Then let’s go in; this rain’s a disaster. And we have to talk about what happened today. Tyler said you quit.”
“I did. If I stayed, he would’ve made my life more miserable than it already is. But we have the story still, so that’s good news. Come around this way and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He still didn’t budge. “Why don’t we just go in the front?”
The answer came to her in a flash. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the lobby. Management rules.”
“Rose!”
The deep voice was instantly recognizable. She begged silently for it to be only Griff, not Connie, but her luck had run out. The two were unfolding themselves from a black town car, wearing matching Burberry raincoats.
“Griff, hi.”
“What are you doing here?” His eyes darted back and forth between her and Jason.
“This is Jason.” She was unsure what else to do. She nodded at Connie, who glared back. They’d met a couple of times when the kids were dropped off, but never exchanged more than a few words.
Griff shook Jason’s hand like the politician he was, firmly and with great sincerity. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m going inside.” Connie disappeared, leaving behind the faint whiff of Chanel No. 5.
Jason dug his hands into his pockets. “I’ll leave you two for a minute.”
“Don’t,” Rose insisted. “Griff, I’m not here to see you; you don’t have to get all bent out of shape.”
“I’m not bent out of shape. Simply surprised. Did you leave something behind?”
Jason looked at Rose, confused.
“I didn’t leave anything behind. I’m visiting a friend in the building.”
Relief crossed Griff’s fine features. “Right. The woman on the fourth floor. In that case, after you.” He gestured inside.
“No, you go ahead. I have to speak with Jason.”
“All right. And maybe we can make an arrangement to talk, in a week or two. Would that be possible?”
An unmistakable heat came from his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that Jason was standing close to her, ever so slightly possessive, that got his competitive juices flowing. Or maybe he’d actually missed her.
Two weeks ago, she would have loved the opportunity to bring him back into her life, in whatever way. To find their connection again. But not anymore. And her change of heart had nothing to do with Jason. Her father’s decline, Stella’s painfully honest rant, and the ladies’ stories had made her see her life in a new light. She would be in charge from now on. As a result, the chemical attraction, the aura that encircled Griff and made him the focus of her world, had dissipated. Just like that.
“Sorry. I’m too busy.”
“I see. I guess I’ll see you around. Jason, it was nice meeting you.”
Jason grunted in return, and when she turned to face him, she could see he was pissed.
“What exactly is going on?”
“Well, that’s Griff, my ex-boyfriend. And his wife. I mean his ex-wife.”
“We were introduced.”
Patrick was making his way outside, and she didn’t want to have to speak with him. “Follow me and I’ll explain.”
The walk to the service entrance and up the stairs seemed endless. Once in the apartment, she dried off Bird with a towel before he skittered over to his usual place on the couch. He stared at Rose expectantly, as if he were a tiny bearded spectator at a boxing match.
“Who lives here?” Jason asked.
The time had come to tell the truth. Now that the story had been killed, maybe Jason wouldn’t be too horrified. Rose grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dried off her hair, avoiding his gaze. “This is Darby’s apartment. Or Esme’s. I can’t quite wrap my head around who she is anymore, to tell the truth.”
“You appear to be quite comfortable here.”
“I’ve been taking care of her dog.”
“Whoa. Back up a minute.” He lowered himself onto the couch and exchanged glares with Bird. “First of all, why did you quit?”
She sat cross-legged on the chair. “I don’t want to make stupid lists. That’s not why I signed on with Tyler.”
“I can understand that. But we could have convinced him to do the Barbizon piece at least.”
“No, he was done with it, and done with me. I’m tired of playing games and being played.”
“So what will you do?”
“I’ll pitch the story to someone else. The New York Times Magazine, that kind of thing.”
“And what about all this?” He gestured around the room. “How will you explain to your editors that you’re living in a source’s apartment? The Times doesn’t like that type of thing, you know. No good news source does.”
“I know. It wasn’t planned.”
“Obviously, there’s something you’re not telling me. You’re taking care of her dog, yet you don’t know much about her, and have no idea where she went. “
“It all happened at once. Stella Conover was dog-sitting but she had to go to the hospital, so I took over. Apparently, Darby hasn’t made many friends on the floor. She’s standoffish.”