What Lies Beneath

“I am because you’re a good guy, Will. You stuck it out with Cynthia and took care of her even when you and I both know you were on the way out. Then you tried again to make it work, even if it was with the wrong woman. That’s the kind of dedication and loyalty I look for in a business partner.” He paused, his expression softening in a way Will had never seen before. “You were almost my son, Will. And that’s good enough for me.”

Flustered wasn’t even the right word to describe Will’s state of mind, but he held it together. They chatted for a while about trivial things. Then he thanked George, promised to have his office send over the final paperwork later in the week and walked him out.

The rush of success-fueled adrenaline shot through his veins as if he’d been pulled back from a precipice. He knew this project was going to launch the Observer into the same peer group as the Times. He could feel it in his bones.

Will wanted to celebrate but slumped back into his chair instead. The victory was sadly hollow without Adrienne there to celebrate with him. Despite the suspicion and pain he couldn’t put aside, when it came down to it, she was the one he wanted to kiss and take out for a night on the town with endless champagne. And she was gone.

Suddenly Will’s tie felt too tight.

His office had been his retreat since Adrienne left. He’d worked more hours than ever, avoiding their empty home and the feelings he couldn’t face. Now the walls of his spacious office were closing in on him. He didn’t want to be here a second longer. Without even shutting down his laptop, he got up from his desk and walked out.

“Mr. Taylor?” Jeanine questioned when he started down the hallway.

“I’m going home. Reschedule anything on my calendar. Dan’s in charge.”

Will didn’t wait for her response. He didn’t want to be here right now. He hailed a cab on the curb and headed back to the apartment.

When he finally walked in the door, he had his mail clutched in one hand and his overcoat thrown over his arm. He stood in the entryway, hoping the restricting feeling in his chest would abate now that he was away from work, but it didn’t. And he knew why.

Frustrated, he yanked off his tie and tossed everything onto the bed as he entered the bedroom. The bed was made and had been since the day Adrienne left. Being in it without her had felt odd, so he’d returned to sleeping in the guest room.

Something felt off. He’d been fighting the feeling for weeks, but he was too stubborn and hurt to seriously consider what was really bothering him. Their fight in the bathroom kept replaying in his head each night as he tried to sleep. The expression of fear and heartache on her face. How she’d tried to explain something he hadn’t wanted to hear.

He stopped outside of the master bedroom closet. He’d slammed the door shut in a fit of rage after Adrienne left the apartment and hadn’t gone in there since then. Will hadn’t gone into her workroom either. There were too many memories locked inside.

Twisting the knob, Will pulled open the door and walked in. The neatly hung rows of clothing were the same, the boxes of priceless footwear lined up as always. The only thing out of place was a piece of clothing on the floor. He bent down and scooped up the discarded blouse. Stitched into the collar was a tag that read Adrienne Lockhart Designs. Just as she’d tried to tell him.

A million curse words came to mind, all of them directed back at himself. He was a jackass. She’d tried to tell him that day, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. He’d leapt to his own conclusions and pushed her way.

Why?

Because it was easier than admitting he’d let himself fall for her. Easier than admitting he’d made love to a woman he knew in his heart wasn’t his fiancée. He got himself out of a sticky situation by making it all her fault.

Why had he immediately turned everything she said into a lie? She was in a plane crash and nearly killed. She went through hours of reconstructive surgery, weeks in the hospital. The poor woman’s face had been smashed in so badly they couldn’t tell her from another passenger, but somehow a head trauma severe enough to scramble her memory had seemed outlandish.

Perhaps she would’ve recovered earlier if she’d been exposed to things she knew. Maybe if her family and friends had come to the hospital things would’ve clicked sooner. But the problem was compounded by strangers and doctors insisting she was someone she wasn’t.

Will should’ve spoken up instead of quietly, privately questioning every time she acted out of character. They could’ve cleared the whole thing up weeks ago. Saved himself the heartache. But then he would’ve missed out on the joy and passion, too.