SOPHIE WHACKED HER ELBOW on the filing cabinet—second time, same spot—and swore under her breath as she made her way back to her desk. She tried to ignore the new lanyard and key tag swinging from her neck…and the memories that went with it.
Two days. That was how much time she’d given him. She’d burned two sick days, holed up in her apartment, and spent way too much time thinking about Simon Lassiter. But she’d spoken about him to no one. Not even Delia, though that hadn’t exactly been a problem. Her friend had spent every waking moment that they’d been in contact since Sophie had called after leaving Simon’s room talking about her own problems, which, to be fair, weren’t small. The wedding was still on and mere days away. But all was not well in Wingate Wedding World.
Sophie had mumbled something about food poisoning and being too sick to even answer her phone or come to the door, and apologized for worrying her friend that day and for not being able to retrieve her phone. She’d explained about it being the wrong room, but by then Delia had been off and running, alternately ranting and sobbing about her situation, leaving Sophie to mercifully keep the rest of the truth to herself.
Two days. Not one word from Simon. And far too many words from Delia. Nothing seemed the same. And yet everything was exactly how it always was. Even Delia’s breakdowns weren’t all that unusual, as dealing with the Wingate family had never been exactly easy. Now there was increased tension between her and Adam, who had become suspicious when his call to Delia’s phone—which, it turned out, had mercifully died at some point during the night—had gone straight to voice mail, and had badgered her about why it wasn’t plugged in and why she hadn’t called him back when she’d realized it wasn’t on and she’d missed his daily call.
Perhaps he’d sensed something was amiss, although it took very little, real or perceived, for Adam to flip out, or perhaps it was Delia’s guilty conscience prodding her, but, in the end, she’d confessed to him about the stealth bachelorette party, which had put Sophie squarely on Adam’s shit list, or at least higher on it than she’d been before, and claimed that she’d left her phone in the pub. Which, as it turned out, was the truth. Just not the pub they’d actually started the evening in. And, of course, she’d managed to conveniently leave all the parts of what had come directly after, and with whom, out of her confession. Which was why there was still a wedding on Sunday.
Which meant, everything that had happened, all of it…for nothing. If only Delia had remembered where she’d left her phone in the first place, none of it would have taken place.
And Sophie wouldn’t have spent the past two days see-sawing back and forth over whether she wished she’d known sooner…or preferred that things had happened exactly as they had.
But, as for Adam and Delia, she was convinced that if it hadn’t been the missed phone call, and the subsequent confession about the bachelorette party setting him off, it would have been something else. A truth Sophie had tried, once again, to gently point out to her friend, but Delia was so upset over his cool attitude toward her since their most recent blowout, and his subtle threats to call the wedding off if she didn’t “behave more intelligently,” that she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to listen to Sophie. Sophie knew exactly what she’d like to do to Adam, and his condescending attitude and super controlling demands, but Delia wasn’t interested in her vengeance scenarios, either.
Of course, there was that part where Delia had actually done something much worse than attend an un-Wingate-sanctioned bachelorette party, but given how Sophie had spent that twenty-four hour period, and with whom, she was more than willing to pretend that entire little scenario had never happened if Delia was.
So…Sophie had gone back to life as usual. Listening to her friend sob and rail, working her shifts, collapsing during her off hours. She would have thought the wedding prep chaos and the increased media and guest events surrounding the upcoming Art Institute gala would have preoccupied her to the point of not thinking about Simon every second of the day. All it had done was exhaust her already exhausted self, who was not sleeping worth a damn, despite her intense fatigue. And she thought about him. Constantly.
Matters weren’t helped any by Adam’s mother, who was still ranting every chance she got—which was hourly—about how she couldn’t believe that the museum had the nerve not to change the date of their annual gala when the wedding date had been announced. The museum had informed her the first time she’d thrown a fit that they scheduled their events several years in advance, in order to secure the loaned collections from their donors. But then, a little thing like logic had never stopped Arlene Wingate before, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to stop her now.
Which meant a daily tug-of-war between Arlene and Sven, the gala coordinator—who had many guests booked into the Wingate—with the hotel managers square in the middle.
Probably because of the heightened stress level of the entire hotel staff, security hadn’t even given her much grief over having to replace her key tag. She’d been almost nauseous enough when she’d approached their office, terrified that her activities would somehow be revealed, that faking a food poisoning incident as her reason for leaving her key tag in a restaurant and not realizing she’d lost it until reporting for work two days later was a relative breeze.
All that stomach-churning terror, and all she’d gotten was the standardized lecture about the vital nature of safety and security for the hotel and all its guests, then was sternly informed by her immediate supervisor that given her exemplary work history, she wouldn’t be written up this time, but that another infraction would result in a report being put in her file and a possible demotion or dismissal. Otherwise, it was have a nice day, and don’t eat the shellfish.
Normal. All back to normal.
So why didn’t she feel back to normal? Sure, it had only been a few days, and the entire episode with Simon wasn’t exactly a forgettable way to spend a day, but it was more than that. She worried. Not about the key tag, or what he might have done with it. No, that would be normal. What did she worry about? What had made the past two nights the longest of her life? Wondering if he was okay. Had she given him enough time with the key before the replacement had rendered his tag invalid? Had he recovered the velvet box and whatever was inside? Was he, right now, on his way back to England, gone from the hotel, and her life, forever? Was Tolliver hot on his heels, or had he accepted the loss of the object, knowing it was never his to begin with?
Did Simon miss her?
She missed him. She couldn’t even pretend to claim otherwise. She rolled her chair forward and stared, sightlessly, at the files on her desk. She had a pile of work to do. Being gone two nights straight had left an overstuffed inbox and dozens of calls to return. She wondered how the day managers handled the job, when her far more narrow field of responsibility covering the night hours seemed so chaotic and unwieldy. There was only so much a manager could take responsibility for from midnight to six, though it had its share of special concerns. Mostly in the form of noise control, overly exuberant parties, late arrivals who hadn’t confirmed, inebriated guests, unwelcome visitors, that sort of thing.
But the guests were a lot more demanding during regular business hours. Most of the time on her watch, the guests were asleep. It was only the ones who weren’t who could make her life interesting. Of course, day management was her goal. It was the next step.
She propped an elbow on her desk and rested her forehead in her palm as she sorted through the latest stack of reports from security, must-return call slips, urgent notices from the kitchen and the front desk and the housecleaning staff. At that moment, the idea of taking on a hotel of the size of the Wingate seemed like a career path only an insane person would choose. “A life of crime seems much less intense.”
One thing she hadn’t done was check up on the occupancy of a certain room…or a certain suite. The less she knew about Simon’s whereabouts, and Tolliver’s, likely the best for them all. Or, that’s what she told herself. But it had taken almost superhuman control to resist even a peek.
Her door burst open, and Mick, the concierge, popped his head in. “I have a problem.”
Her entire body tensed. This was what she’d feared, every waking moment, since leaving Simon’s room. The moment the hotel would discover a crime had occurred. “Of course you do,” she responded, lifting her head, heart pounding. She forced a smile. “Which is why we hired you. Because you’re a problem solver. It’s in the job description. And you’re very good at your job.”
“Yes. Well, this time the guest in question wants to speak to you. And only you.”
She couldn’t help it, her heart skipped a beat. What other guest would want to speak to her and her alone? Was this Simon’s way of contacting her through business channels, to make their connection appear legit? And why in the hell was she even wondering that, since she’d decided to walk away? She would hardly go back just because he’d crooked his little finger.
Visions of all parts of Simon, crooked and otherwise, filled her already vision-filled brain. She crossed her ankles and pressed them together against the urge to get up and run.
The question was, which way would she have run?
Then another thought struck her. What if it was Tolliver waiting impatiently to speak with her? What if he’d noticed something missing and was making good on his threat to contact management and security? What if he noticed that she was the maid from the other day? Simon had said he was far more observant than he let on.
Now her legs began to tremble, but not in a pleasurable-memory-induced kind of way.
“Who is it,” she asked, trying to keep the internal quaking out of the tone of her voice, “and what does it pertain to?”
“One of our guests is putting something of great value—according to him—in our hotel safe, and he wants to post his own security personnel. Our security is understandably not enthusiastic about the idea, and…this has led to a demand to speak with the manager.” Mick, who was always meticulously groomed with never so much as a plucked eyebrow out of place, always managed to somehow maintain himself as the calm in the center of any storm, no matter the size. Behind closed doors, however, he was quite the animated gossip. It was for both of those reasons that he was one of Sophie’s favorite people.
He managed an apologetic smile. “That would be you, darling. I tried to mediate the best I could, but, my dearest innocent, if you could see the size of those behemoths Mr. Tolliver wants to post—”
Everything past the name “Tolliver” landed on deaf ears. The fact that he was wanting to deposit something into the safe meant that Simon hadn’t retrieved anything yet, because what were the chances he had some other priceless piece he wanted to stash?
She had prayed that whenever whatever shit was going to hit the fan, indeed did hit the fan, that it would happen on the day shift. She supposed it was karmic justice that it was happening at night, during her shift. It didn’t mean she had to like it.
“What, exactly, is the beef?” she asked, feeling the complete lack of sleep for the past three days taking its toll all at once.
“The key word there being ‘beef,’ believe you me. Mr. Tolliver wants to post private security in the form of two men the size of the Roman Coliseum in the general vicinity of the hotel safe. Now, if only they could be persuaded to wear togas, I might be more enthusiastic about the endeavor, but—”
“And what, precisely, does he want these two pillars of Rome to do?”
“Observe anyone going in and out of the safe, and make certain that no one enters the safe that hasn’t followed protocol with the front-desk security.”
Which was why her security guys were pissed. Men, in general, didn’t like to be made to feel as if they were inadequate at…well, anything. But they especially didn’t like their supposed vulnerabilities exposed in such a public and emasculating way. “They cannot interact with the guests, and they cannot impede the entrance or exit of anyone into the safe. If there are any concerns, whatsoever, in that regard, they can report either to their boss, who can contact security or the manager on duty, or they can simply report to either of those resources directly.” Mick started to interrupt, but she lifted her hand to stall him. “If, at any time, those rules are not followed, Mr. Tolliver’s security detail will be detained immediately by security and turned over to the local authorities, if whatever infractions they committed are deemed necessary of that particular treatment, and Mr. Tolliver will be asked to remove his valuables from the safe and check out immediately.”
“But—”
“Please relay that message to both Mr. Tolliver and security, the latter of which is free to contact me directly. I’m sure Mr. Tolliver will be tolerant of my concerns in this manner, especially as he’s getting, more or less, what he’s asked for.” She looked back down at her work, thankful her concierge couldn’t see the way her legs still shook under her desk.
Mick just stood in the doorway, staring, until she looked up again.
“Is there anything else?”
He sighed. “You know, some days I hate my job.”
She smiled wearily. “Join the club. And, Mick,” she said, calling him back when he resolutely turned to leave. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in this situation. I understand Mr. Tolliver can be something of a tyrant, and we both know what security can be like. I don’t envy you, but I’d appreciate it if you could make this go away. I’m really rather deep in the swamp here.” She motioned to the stacks on her desk.
Mick smiled at her. “I’ll do my best for you, my sweet.”
“I know you will. And I’ll owe you.”
He winked. “Oh, and I’ll collect.”
She smiled back, and waited until he’d closed the door to do a face-plant on her desk. She groaned, then drummed her feet hard on the floor. Neither made her feel particularly better.
What would make her feel better—much, much better—was to see Simon again.
No. No, no, no, no. That would be bad, she schooled herself. On a Delia-impulsive-decision-making level of bad. She’d done the smart thing. She’d realized she was in over her head, in more ways than one, and she’d immediately extricated herself from the situation. If her life was a movie, surely the women in the audience would be cheering her smart heroine behavior in that moment.
Either that, or rooting for her and the sexy, handsome New Zealander to somehow make things work out.
“Seriously. No more afternoon movies on Lifetime for you.”
She forced herself upright, but there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on a single detail on her desk until she found out how things had shaken down with Tolliver and security. And with the velvet box presumably in the hotel safe, she couldn’t help but wonder what Simon’s plans would be now. Not that she could in any way involve herself. To do so not only put herself at risk, but could also put Simon in harm’s way. Something had prodded Tolliver to use the hotel safe. Simon said he was paranoid and a control freak—hence the henchmen on hotel safe duty—but she doubted he’d just suddenly decided to do that after initially choosing to keep it with him at all times.
She stiffened. What if Tolliver had caught Simon trying to steal—retrieve—it? What if, right now, Simon was in some kind of trouble? Security hadn’t been alerted to any potential thefts, and the last time the cops had been called was last week with that frat party fiasco. She might have been home for the past two shifts, but had anything happened on that level, she’d have known within five minutes of reporting for work.
So she forced her brain to stop the roller-coaster ride it was about to embark on, before it left the launch pad and picked up too much speed. She was out of the Simon-Tolliver situation, professionally and personally. Well, other than her moral obligation to the hotel as an employee. As a manager, she was supposed to be vigilant if any news came to her attention regarding a potential problem that could arise between a guest and the staff, or a guest and another guest, and take immediate action if deemed necessary.
Of course, she’d also learned in her college hotel management courses that effective, successful managers were creative in solving problems, using whatever tools they might have at their disposal to rectify a potential crisis as swiftly and cleanly as possible, mitigating potential fallout to the best of their ability.
And hadn’t that been what she was doing, helping Simon retrieve an item that did not rightfully belong to another guest? She’d used her key tag in a professional, if slightly rule-bending manner, and done her best to assess the situation and resolve it in a way that would lessen the possibility of greater damage if left in the hands of the guests.
Which was so much bullshit, but it made her feel better, at least momentarily, to think of it that way. Yes, she’d failed, much as she’d failed in her attempt to help Delia. Clearly, a life of criminal behavior was not something she should pursue any further. But she’d been trying. Truly. Trying to mitigate fallout between Delia and Adam, and the rest of the Wingate clan. Trying to mitigate the chances of Simon and Tolliver coming to blows, or worse, if he’d tried to retrieve the velvet case. If she’d been successful in either endeavor, her best friend wouldn’t be so miserable, and Simon could be on a plane back to England, leaving Tolliver to handle his loss—hopefully—privately.
Instead, Delia was an emotional wreck, so different now from the woman she’d been when the two had become friends, that Sophie was truly worried for her as she approached what should have been the happiest day of her life, and Simon was possibly even further away from achieving his goal of righting a wrong and restoring a family heirloom to its rightful owner. And, somehow, Tolliver had been alerted to the fact that something wasn’t entirely kosher with his current plan of security, which meant he wasn’t a happy Wingate guest. And an unhappy guest was a potential problem guest. And someone of Tolliver’s magnitude could prove quite problematic.
So much for her mitigation skills.
She shoved back from her desk and got up to pace. She hated being stuck in here, not knowing what was going on, but didn’t dare show her face until she was certain Tolliver was tucked safely back in his suite. She briefly debated heading over to security to watch the monitors and see for herself what was happening at the safe, as well as take a peek at any activity in the hallway outside Tolliver’s rooms. She could use the recent contretemps as her excuse to enter security’s inner sanctum, but that would still mean dealing with them and listening to their litany of all the reasons why guests should not interfere with hotel security staff.
She wouldn’t be at all surprised if they waited for the day shift to start and took up their argument again with the general manager, who was several decades Sophie’s senior, professionally and chronologically. It was likely they’d win the argument, but by then she’d be at home, and out of the direct line of sight of Tolliver, when the issue was resolved one way or the other. She might get a call, or a command performance to come in early tomorrow for a meeting with her supervisor to discuss her decision, but that still kept her out of Tolliver’s direct path.
There was another knock on her door, making her jump, but she took a breath and reflexively smoothed a hand over her shirt before responding. “Come in.”
Mick stuck his head in the door, then realized she was standing away from her desk and swung the door open wider.
Sophie slid a step to her right so as not to be seen through the open doorway. “And?”
“Tolliver is mollified, security is livid. I heard them discussing taking the matter to Gretchen in the morning.”
Gretchen was the general manager, known privately amongst the rest of the staff as Frau Dourface.
“I’m sorry,” he added.
“That’s okay, I assumed as much. At least it’s under control for now.”
“Also, Delia asked me to tell you she was going to drop in after she closes De Trop.” He leaned farther into the room and whispered, “Our darling bride-to-be appears quite distressed.”
Sophie swallowed a sigh of her own. As worried about Delia as she was, she really wasn’t up to dealing with her best friend’s latest round of concerns, but it beat dealing directly with Tolliver, and it would get her mind off Simon, and where he was at that exact moment. And what he was doing. What he was thinking. And were any of his thoughts about her.
“Yes, well, the wedding is this weekend and things are not lovely in lovebird land.”
“So I hear.” He glanced over his shoulder and stepped a bit more into the room. “But, frankly, not all that surprised.”
Mick was one of the best concierges in Chicago for a reason. He was discreet, he was dedicated, and he knew when to reach out, and when to take care of business on his own so the hotel remained above any less-than-legitimate dealings when it came to making their guests happy. She knew Mick was loyal to the Wingates, but that his concern for Delia was sincere, and that anything said here would remain between them.
“Why do you say that?” Sophie asked. Not that it was a big secret that things between Delia and Adam were rather…tense. But that was something only the Wingate family, and the closest of hotel employees, knew. To the public, and more importantly, the media, they were still the Cinderella couple. The wedding was marketing gold for the hotel magnate family and they weren’t about to let a minor internal squabble get in the way of all the free publicity raining down on the happy couple, and, hence, the hotel itself.
But she wanted to know what Mick was thinking, which was a reflection of what the staff was thinking. Just hopefully not saying. Every employee had to sign a confidentiality agreement as per course of employment, but this was the biggest event to happen in the history of the Chicago Wingate, and she knew the media and tabloids were waving around significant sums, sniffing for anything they could exploit for higher circulation numbers. So far, no one had caved, but that was mostly due to the public face Delia was putting on her private pain.
Mick glanced over his shoulder again, then looked back to Sophie. “Of course, everyone knows what a controlling, egomaniacal bitch Adam can be. Remember, those of us who have been here for a while had to deal with him as general manager back when Daddy Wingate made him earn his stripes the hard way. Trust me, those days will never be forgotten. Gretchen is like Glinda the Good Witch, comparatively.”
Hard as that was to believe but Sophie had heard the stories. More and more of them since Adam had taken up with Delia.
“We were all stunned when he started his relationship with Delia,” Mick went on. “He’d never once dated outside his trust fund pool before, much less anyone his family wouldn’t approve of. We thought it was a short-term rebellion kind of thing, but then it seemed to grow legs and we began to harbor hopes that our sweet Miss Delia would be the one to smooth out his, shall we say, less than generous edges.”
“And what is the general consensus now?”
“That whatever reason he got together with her—and who knows, maybe he really did care for her at some point—his family has gotten too intrusive, quelle surprise, and, well, once a controlling son of a bitch, always a controlling son of a bitch. If it’s between making Delia happy, or making Mommy Dearest happy, we all know where his fealty lies. We all feel sorry for her. She’s a shadow of the happy girl we knew and loved. I just wish there was something I could do to help her defend herself better. I appreciate the Wingates, they’ve been very good to me, but it’s no secret they can be barracudas. It’s what got them to the top of their food chain. I’m just afraid our Delia hasn’t grown a tough enough skin to handle the constant nipping.”
Sophie nodded. “I know, and I worry, too, Mick.” She was relieved that his concerns were still the general ones they’d all expressed to Delia, in some way or another, as her relationship with Adam had progressed and the engagement was announced. Apparently, and thank God, word hadn’t gotten out about her friend’s unplanned drunken sleepover with a hotel guest. Mick would have been discreet in making Sophie aware of any rumors, but he’d have made it known to her, if, for no other reason, so she could protect her friend. “You’re a good friend, Mick. I’ll let her know you’re there for her. She can use all the support she can get.”
He nodded and started to back out the door, then paused. “It’s a shame, you know, that there isn’t any way to end the engagement without destroying herself professionally, or even socially.”
Sophie eyed the concierge and wondered just what he knew about that night, but he hadn’t spoken of it and Sophie certainly wouldn’t question him. It was the thing about him she loved. And she knew, without doubt, he would have protected her just the same. “With the wedding less than a week away?” Sophie snorted. “Can you imagine the Wingates’ reaction to that?”
Mick shuddered. “A nightmare of epic proportions.”
The real shame, Sophie thought, was that the Wingates didn’t even want Delia as a member of the family. But once they’d thrown the entire weight of their legacy behind the wedding of the year, there was no way to gracefully withdraw.
“Tell her I’m in my office trying to catch up unless dragged out by the evil forces of hotel management. She can come over whenever she gets done working.”
“I’ll pass the word.” He smiled. “You really do need to take a gander at the pillars of steel when you get the chance. It’s quite the visual feast.”
“I’ll girder my strength and treat myself later. Back to your post, you, before the hotel collapses without your vigilant caretaking.”
“And it would, too,” he said, as he closed the door behind him.
“Probably,” Sophie murmured, sitting once again at her desk, and picking up the phone slips and urgent messages.
IT WAS CLOSE TO THREE in the morning by the time she’d plowed through the worst of it. She glanced at the clock, debating another cup of coffee. Her shift ended at six and she relished nothing more at the moment then the thought of going home and trying to sleep until her next shift, but Delia had called an hour earlier, saying she was delayed with some staffing issues that she needed to handle after the club closed, and would be over to see her when she got done, that she “really needed to talk.”
Sophie sighed and got up to get another cup of coffee. Chances were she wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway. Delia had sounded…determined. Which was new, at least. Sophie snagged a few pieces of wrapped chocolate from the dish next to the coffeepot. Reinforcements were never a bad idea.
She’d barely sat down when Delia rapped once and stuck her head in the door. “Good time?”
Sophie motioned her in.
Her friend was, in more ways than just in personality, the exact opposite of Sophie. She was lean and trim, where Sophie was soft and curvy. She was tanned and blonde, where Sophie was red curls and freckles. She was tall and leggy, where Sophie was…not. Unless by leggy you meant she had strong English peasant stock running through her gene pool. Which was all to say she’d do better harvesting potatoes than walking the runway. Delia was also impulsive, endlessly optimistic, bubbly with a ready laugh, and had a much sharper mind than her Barbie doll appearance might suggest. Except when it came to Adam.
Sophie was as an optimist, too, but perhaps one with a slightly more realistic outlook. She was a thinker, whereas Delia was a leaper. Which was why Sophie took a cautious breath, then popped another chocolate as her best friend paced inside her office.
“So,” Sophie started, “you sounded like you’d made some decisions. Did the staffing situation work itself out?”
“What? Oh, that. No, but it will. I had to fire one of my hostesses for fraternizing with one of the guests—”
Sophie raised her eyebrows at that, given Delia’s own fraternizing situation, but Delia waved it away. “If she’d been discreet, I’d have just had a talk with her, but she was on duty at the time. And it was in the club. And she was in his lap.”
“Ah.”
“Right. That led to the discovery that a couple of the girls actually had a little side business going, leading some of our more…successful guests to believe there was perhaps more to be had at De Trop than drinks and dancing.”
“Wow.”
“Well, I didn’t have hard proof, or I’d have had them all arrested. I don’t think it was that well organized, but I had enough to fire them without references. Nobody said a word about unfair business practices, which leads me to believe I had it all right. And if I missed anybody, I’m sure they’ll think twice about continuing with their side gig.”
“Sounds like an eventful night.”
Delia finally flopped down in the seat facing Sophie’s desk. “It was a distraction and I could use a few of those right about now.”
“Really? Because I’d think the Wingates would be distraction enough right about now.”
“Distraction from the Wingates,” she clarified.
And Sophie totally understood that. Wasn’t she planning to sleep away her free time just to keep from thinking about Simon?
Delia slumped a little in her seat. “I’m not sure I can hold up until the weekend, Soph.”
“You sounded, I don’t know…energized, when you called, like maybe you’d come to some kind of conclusion about something?”
Delia sighed and gave Sophie a look that said, don’t start. But it was too late for that.
“I know, I know, we’ve been over it all before and you know how I feel,” Sophie reassured her. “I’m not going to hammer you with my opinion. Not tonight, anyway.”
“Good, because no way am I calling off the wedding.”
“Can I just ask you…given what’s gone on the past few days, and Adam’s attitude toward you, are you not calling it off because you’re still in love and want to marry this man? Or are you not calling it off because you’re afraid the powerful Wingate machine would crush you up and spit you out if you so much as tried?” She lifted a hand before Delia could respond. “Maybe I should put it this way. If you could have anything you wanted with no repercussions, as far as your future with Adam, would you still want to marry him this weekend, or would you prefer more time to figure things out?”
“That’s a moot question because there will be repercussions for any action I take.”
Sophie softened her tone. “Is that why you’re not taking any?”
Delia gazed down at her hands and fiddled with the serious diamond adorning her ring finger.
“Del, do you love him? Really love him? Because, Wingate family and your career aside, he’s the one you have to spend your life with.”
Finally Delia looked at her friend, and Sophie hated the resignation she found there. “Do any of us know what we really want, Soph? Adam is a catch a dozen times over.”
“If you’re talking financial security and appearance, yes, he is that. But what about the rest? What about—”
“Maybe I don’t care as much about the rest as everyone else seems to.”
“You forget, I’ve known you a long time. Of course you care about the rest. It’s why you didn’t settle for that ass of an investment banker you went out with two years ago, who was supposedly the catch of the century and showered you with expensive gifts and fabulous dates, but could only be bothered to actually listen to you when he wasn’t umbilically attached to his BlackBerry, which was always. You’re smart, Delia, and you can take care of your own finances. You need someone who is a match for who you are, not—”
“I thought we weren’t going to have this discussion?” she said dryly. “Again.” She straightened in her seat. “The wedding is this Sunday. It’s now Wednesday. Well, Thursday, actually. Let’s be realistic here. It’s not going to get called off.”
“So, what were you sounding so determined about when you called me?”
“Well, maybe what you’ve said has had more of an impact on me than you realized. Or maybe he’s just been hard enough on me this week that I’m thinking about things a little differently—”
“Delia—”
“So, first, I made myself consider the worst-case scenario.”
“Which is?” Sophie asked warily.
“We marry, I decide it really isn’t the best thing for me, and I file for divorce. I signed a prenup, so there won’t be any talk that I married him for the money, and, sure, I’ll have to start over somewhere else as I’m not exactly going to be hired to work here again—”
“You agreed to a prenup? When did that happen?”
Delia glanced at her hands again. “Monday. You were still out sick. And, I knew you’d give me a hard time about it, but—”
“I understand his family is richer than Croesus, but if he really loves you—”
“He does love me, Sophie. You all pick on him, but he’s under a ton of pressure. It’s not easy being a Wingate, especially the only son. And, though they’re a tough bunch, we all benefit from that. I mean, our livelihoods are directly a result of their toughness, their success, so we shouldn’t be so quick to spurn—”
“You’ve been assimilated after all.”
“You know,” Delia said, fire in her voice for the first time that night, “you could be a little more grateful.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You criticize the Wingate family all the time, but you draw a paycheck from them.”
“Because I do a damn good job. A job I’m dedicated to and work my ass off for. The Wingates will never find fault with my ability to do my job or my focus to that job. But it’s a job, Delia. I’m an employee, not a member of the family. And it’s not Wingate Hotel I have any issues with. I am treated well here and I like the challenge. But when the family who happens to own this hotel starts treating my best friend like something someone scrapes off the bottom of their shoe, you better believe I’m going to speak up.”
“And you don’t find that hypocritical?”
“Do you honestly believe that it is?”
“I’m just saying that you’re nipping at the hand that feeds you.”
“If I had issues with how they operate their hotel, then yes, it would be unfair of me to bitch but not say or do anything about it, yet still draw a paycheck. But I don’t have to personally like the owner of my company in order to feel okay being employed by the company.” She sat back and took a breath. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that caffeine after all. “And just how on earth did this become about me?” Then something Delia had said struck a chord. “Wait. Back up a minute. What did you say before, about getting rehired here if you filed for divorce?”
Suddenly Delia was fascinated with her hands again.
“Dee?”
“What? I just meant I wouldn’t be working for the Wingate empire if I divorced a Wingate.”
“You said rehired. Not fired. If you divorced Adam, the consensus is they’d fire you from your job.” Delia didn’t look up. “Spill the rest.”
“Well, after Adam found out about the bachelorette party, he confided in me that his sisters have been pressuring him about my work here.”
“He ‘confided’ in you?”
She looked up then, and even though her chin was up, her lips were a bit quavery, and Sophie immediately felt like a complete heel for pushing at her friend. She just hated to see her hurt, and hated even more if she was contributing to the misery.
“He just explained, again, that being a Wingate wife would bring with it a ton of new responsibilities and he’d be honored—honored, Sophie, his word—if I’d agree to step down from my manager’s job and devote myself to helping him.”
“As in, working for him?”
“Not employed no, but as his wife, I’m an important asset and I want to be available to—”
“Do you? I mean, it’s okay if you do, Dee, I’m just— You worked hard to get where you are so I am sincerely asking. Are you okay with giving up your career to help him with his?”
“That’s the decision I made. That’s what I came to tell you. I want us to be a unit, a team, so I need to see us that way, think about us that way. It’s no longer me versus him, or my career versus his. We’re going to be an us, Soph. And if this helps foster that unified front, then yes, I’ll gladly shift my focus. I can always go back to work if it turns out I don’t feel I’m fulfilling my personal potential.”
Privately, Sophie had her doubts about that. Not as long as Dee remained a Wingate, anyway. And though Adam might need a full-time hostess as a wife, Sophie suspected there was more to it than that. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if Adam’s sisters were concerned about having to introduce their future sister-in-law as a nightclub manager. Even if it was a premiere club in their own damn hotel. That wasn’t something a Wingate did. It was something they hired others to do. Delia did it very well. But that wouldn’t be good enough.
“I just want you to be happy, Dee. I know you and Adam have had this whirlwind romance, and maybe it is all the pressures of his family that are making him be a bit more…tense with you lately.”
“I didn’t agree to give up managing De Trop just because I was trying to smooth things over after the party debacle. But I do think it will go a long way toward unifying me with him, which, in turn, will help solidify my standing with the family.”
Sophie didn’t say anything immediately.
“I do think we can be happy, Sophie. Wingate fallout or not, I wouldn’t marry him if I didn’t think we had a shot.”
She nodded, and tried to bite her tongue, but with the rehearsal and the dinners, and the rest of the prewedding events swinging into full gear Friday, this might be the last chance they had to talk privately. She took a breath and just said it. “I know we haven’t talked about it, but what happened the other night—”
“Was a mistake, Sophie. I was drunk and I was scared. It’ll never happen again. If Adam and I don’t make it, then I’ll end things with him. I wouldn’t cheat on him.”
Sophie nodded again. “I know. But…” She looked at her friend, and there was no censure in her tone now, just a sincere expression of concern. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard on you. It’s just that I care about you more than anyone and I hate seeing you get hurt. I worry that you’re caught in the middle, and I—I just wish you were happier going into this.”
“I am happier now that I’ve decided what path to take. I think it’s just that the wedding has become this huge media event. It’s not about our getting married anymore. He’s just not handling it really well.” She leaned forward. “But, even with all the craziness and the pressure, he still wants to marry me, Soph. He loves me.”
Sophie wondered how much Adam was caught in the middle, too, but she kept that to herself. Delia was clearly committed to making a go of it, so it was time to stop cautioning her and start supporting her friend’s decision. Besides, given her behavior over the past few days, who was she to talk about making wise choices where men were concerned?
“Okay.”
“Okay?” her friend asked warily.
Sophie smiled and leaned forward to extend both hands to her best friend. “Okay. Let’s get ready for a wedding!”
Delia beamed and put her hands in Sophie’s and squeezed tight. “It’s all going to work out, Sophie. You’ll see.”
Sophie squeezed back. And, incongruously, her thoughts shot to Simon. And how close she had come to making a really bad choice with him. And how, even now, she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing. “I want it to work out, Dee. More than anything, I want you to be happy.”
But after they’d shared hugs and Delia had gone, Sophie was still left sitting there, realizing that she’d been saying the words to Dee, and meaning them, but in her heart, she’d also been thinking them about herself.