Rise - Part Two (Rise #2)(3)

As brilliant as Lilly Parker is, there are moments when I can't connect the words that leave her mouth and reality. "Painting? Who said anything about painting?"

"That's a lot of newspapers." She skims her index finger over the paper that's at the top of the pile. "People only have that many papers if they're going to paint. I'm glad you're doing it."

"Doing what?" I shake my head hoping that it will dislodge something that will help me understand the conversation I'm obviously taking part in.

"Painting," she enunciates the word so slowly that it sounds as though it was four syllables. "I always hated the color of your office. You should paint the walls a pale shade of green."

Now that we've established that my best friend thinks I'm a horrible interior designer, I feel the need to stop her before she unwittingly offends my wardrobe choice. I saw the way her gaze lingered on the navy blue t-shirt, faded jeans and nude stilettos that I'm wearing when she first walked into my office. I brought along a grey blazer in the off chance that I'd actually have a client meeting today. I have nothing professional on my plate and for that I'm thankful.

I had one goal when I got out of bed after a restless few hours of sleep. It was a fact finding mission on Frederick Beckett. I half-expected to see his name splashed across the front page of the local papers. At the very least I expected a small story about his return from the dead, tucked somewhere in the depth of at least one of the papers between the human interest stories and the obituaries.

I'd found nothing, which I attributed to the fact that he wasn't taken into custody until the wee hours of this morning. That made sense in my mind, until I browsed my favorite sites online for breaking news and came up empty handed.

"You seem preoccupied," Lilly plops herself into one of the chairs in front of my desk. "Did something happen? You saw him, didn't you?"

"Who?" I try to level my tone. There's no way that Lilly knows anything about what happened at Landon's building last night. After all the wine she had to drink, she was likely out cold the moment her head hit the pillow.

"Ansel," she says with a familiarity that irks me. "You've seen him, haven't you?"

I scrub my hands over my face. Last night, the possibility of seeing Ansel Rinaldi seemed tangible and overwhelming. Once I saw Landon's father in that elevator, any thought I may have had about the possibility of running into my ex-boyfriend again disappeared. I actually forgot that he's here, in New York City, in a hotel just a few blocks from my office.

"No." I shake my head from side-to-side. "I haven’t."

"I thought he might contact you." She adjusts the tailored pencil skirt she's wearing as she crosses her legs. "From what you told me last night, you two were really serious at one time."

I can sense a question burrowed beneath the context of her comment but I don't push. I want to be alone when Landon calls me and since it's already near two in the afternoon, I'm anxious for Lilly to leave. I've been expecting his call since I balanced my smartphone on the edge of the counter in my washroom while I took a shower early this morning. I haven't let it out of my sight all day.

"I'm sorry I didn't return your call," I half-lie. If I had listened to the voicemail message she left me after I noticed her missed call, I may actually be sorry. I hadn't done that. I just ignored the call knowing that I'd catch up with her via text or another call later in the day. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

She nods quickly. "I can't cook for you and Landon tonight."

"You can't?" I shoot the words back hoping that my voice doesn't contain the same surprise as I feel inside. If I'm being honest, it had slipped my mind that she offered to make dinner tonight. I'm grateful that she's the one cancelling on me. I always feel a pang of guilt whenever I have to tell her that I need to break our plans. I know the time we spend together is as important to her as it is to me.

"I forgot I have a big meeting at work tonight." She pulls on the end of her ponytail with her left hand. "We planned it months ago and I forgot to put it into the calendar on my phone."

The admission is surprising. She rarely forgets anything.

"It's not a big deal, Lilly. We can do dinner another night."

She places both hands on the armrests of the chair to push herself up. "I thought it would be fun to have you and Landon over for dinner after your trip to California. You can tell me all about the plane ride."

I nod without looking at her. I can tell from the lilt in her voice that there's a playful glint in her eyes. Judging by what happened last night, Landon won't be at the controls when the Foster jet takes me to Los Angeles. He's got more than enough to deal with right here in Manhattan.





Chapter 3


––––––––

"Tess?"

That's the second time today that I've been startled by the sound of an unexpected voice. The difference is this time, it pulls on something in my heart that I don't want it to.

"Ansel," I whisper his name beneath my breath as I turn to look at where he's standing next to me.

He looks exactly as he always has. His shoulder length blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun on the back of his head. His vibrant blue eyes are still rimmed by dark lashes and brows. He may have more growth of stubble on his jaw than he normally does, but there's no mistaking that it's him.