Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(79)

Gretchen had invited Kat to lunch, but Kat had called off, citing work. Gretchen suspected her agent was still mad at her since canceling contracts had meant that it cost Kat money, too. And her agent was probably not very pleased with the mess she’d scraped together for the last Astronaut Bill book, but she didn’t care.

She wasn’t writing a single thing and, for once, she felt wonderfully, gloriously free. She hadn’t realized how unhappy writing had made her until she no longer let it rule her life.

Maybe, like Hunter, she was still figuring out parts of herself.

***

The roses continued for a week and a half, until one day Gretchen walked into the cafe and saw only one bouquet sitting on the counter. The roses were the deepest, darkest velvety red, and she immediately recognized them—Papa Meilland.

“Well,” Cooper said as she came around to the back of the counter, tying on her apron. “We finally got a note with the roses.”

“We did?” Gretchen perked up, her hands suddenly twitching with want. “Where is it?”

Cooper’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know it was for you?”

“Just a hunch. Now, where’s my letter? Gimme.” She made a grabbing motion at him.

He dropped a cream envelope into her hand. It simply had a large G printed on the front, and the back was sealed. Hastily, she tore the envelope open and was surprised at the sight of the paper inside.

It was soft, yellow with age, and wrinkled. Gretchen sucked in a breath as she carefully removed the folded paper with reverent hands.

“What is that?” Cooper asked, peering over her shoulder. “Looks old.”

“It’s a letter,” Gretchen said in a soft voice. “And it’s very old.” She touched it with reverent fingers, remembering the contents of the letters at Buchanan Manor. “I need a moment in private.”

“Sure,” Cooper told her, giving her a puzzled look.

She raced to the back room and then shut herself into Cooper’s office, sitting at his messy desk. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the letter and began to read.

My lovely Lulabelle,

I never thought a day could seem longer than twenty-four hours. Once, I cursed that the days were so short, for they seemed to rush past. I have found a way, though, to make the day seem interminably long, for the hours to slow to molasses and minutes to crawl past as if unmoving.

I simply need to be parted from you.

I miss you, my darling. I miss you so very much that my heart aches in my breast. I long for you, for your body next to mine. I long to wake up and feel your hair against my cheek, to taste your sweet breath against mine, to hear your warm and happy laughter. I miss your body, of course, but it is your mind and your spirit I miss most of all. It is you who brings the light and warmth into my life. I am cast into darkness without you at my side.

And so I sit, watching the minutes descend into hours, and count the days until you return to my arms. I live for the day that I can see your brilliant smile again, touch your lips to mine, and know that we will never be parted again. I know that day will come soon, and my aching heart is eased at this.

All my love,

Benedict

Tears pooling in her eyes, Gretchen clutched the letter to her chest. No raunchy words of love this time. No longing for sex. Just a simple, aching loneliness that spoke to her soul. She hadn’t seen this letter before. Had it been at the back of the box that she’d been unable to get to? Had Hunter read through them, thinking of her? Looking for just the right letter to soften her heart?

It had worked. It had worked wonderfully.

She looked over the letter again, touching it with amazed, trembling fingers. She’d ripped open the envelope in her haste and now she regretted that move. She wanted to keep it and press it into her scrapbook like she had with the roses. Gretchen carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.

There was an address printed in the top left-hand corner. A return address.

Curious, she read it. Then she read it again.

And then she bolted from her seat. Rushing back into the main room of the cafe, she shrugged her jacket back on, winding her scarf around her neck once more. “I have to run out, Cooper.”

He gave her a concerned look, a frown wrinkling his brow. “You coming back?”

“I am. I just need to see something,” she told him, and rushed out the door before he could question her further.

Gretchen raced down the streets of New York City, her heart pounding as she wove through the crowds. SoHo was always busy this time of day, but she didn’t pay attention to anyone. Instead, she was lost in thought, running her thumb over the green embossed return address on the envelope.

She took the subway toward Madison Avenue. Envelope in hand, it took her a few minutes to locate the building, and then she entered, eyes wide, as she read the placard at the front of the office building.

Buchanan Real Estate—4th floor.

He had an office here in the city? She thought he only worked out of his house. In the entire month she’d stayed with him, he hadn’t left it. Mystified, she entered the elevator.

The fourth floor was a bit of a surprise. Not because it wasn’t the Buchanan offices at all—it was—but that the walls seemed to be made entirely of glass. For a man who prized his privacy, this struck her as either bizarre . . . or deliberate. Glass panels displayed the waiting room of the office, with six chairs neatly lined up next to end tables that were covered in real estate magazines. Fresh roses decorated each table, and at the far end was a reception desk. If she headed further down the main hall, the glass walls continued, and she could see straight into Hunter’s office. She touched her fingertips to the glass, staring at the office. It was set up exactly the same as his office at home, right down to the mirrors on the wall, the enormous TV, and the vase of roses at his side.