The Rogue's Fortune
Vance, a wealthy businessman with a rock-solid personal life. Sophisticated and settled. His home, polished and perfect.
Roark, a scholar and an adventurer with a study crammed with books and a packed bag in his closet ready so he could be ready to leave town on a moment’s notice. And then there was the penthouse on Fifth Avenue. Roark was a man holding on to his past because guilt kept him from confronting his mistakes and forgiving himself.
Envy ate at Elizabeth as she watched Vance kiss his wife and toss the toddler into the air. The room rang with the child’s delighted cries and Elizabeth looked away. Not wishing to burden anyone with her melancholy, she moved apart and sat where she could gaze at the gardens behind the house.
She wanted what Charlie had. Wanted it so bad she couldn’t breathe.
The strong, stable husband. The adorable toddler. The security of being loved and respected.
Instead, she’d fallen for yet another man who couldn’t give her those things.
Would she ever learn?
* * *
Roark’s flight from Cairo landed at JFK a little before four on Friday afternoon. He cleared customs without any trouble.
Brushing past the crowd shuffling toward baggage claim, he stretched his long legs and headed for the taxi area. He hoped the line wasn’t long. Now that he’d landed in New York City, the need to see Elizabeth had gone from prickly urgency to gnawing compulsion.
A short, Middle Eastern man in a black suit caught up to him as he stepped into the icy November afternoon. “Mr. Black, I’m your driver.”
Who’d sent a car for him? Vance knew his travel plans, but he’d never send a car.
“No, thanks. I’d rather catch a cab.” To Roark’s relief, only a handful of people stood in line ahead of him.
“But I have a car waiting.”
After everything that transpired in Cairo, he was more cautious than ever about getting into a car with a stranger. If Masler had any idea that Roark was setting a trap for him, he would have sprung one of his own.
“Who sent you?” Roark demanded.
“I have instructions to bring you to Waverly’s.”
Not Masler then. It was probably Ann.
“No, thanks,” Roark repeated. He had a driving need to see Elizabeth.
“But…”
Roark slammed the taxi door on the man’s protests and gave the driver an address. His head fell back against the seat. His eyelids became heavy and he let them droop. He’d barely catnapped during the twelve-hour flight from Cairo. Normally he was able to sleep anywhere he considered safe. And what could be more secure than a plane flying at thirty-thousand feet? Today, however, he’d been pestered by regrets. Haunted by what Elizabeth had not said when he called to tell her he was heading out of town.
As exhausted as he was, Roark couldn’t quite step across the threshold of sleep. He’d disappointed Elizabeth by running off on such short notice. She might not have asked, but she’d needed him to be there for her on Thanksgiving. He remembered how hard it had been to be alone with the news about his mother’s death. Growing up, he’d never spent much time with kids his own age. Learning about friendship was something it had taken him years to figure out.
Even now, he could count on one hand the people he considered friends and most of those were buddies like Smith that he counted on when he needed help, not confidants he shared his aspirations and fears with.
In fact, until Elizabeth had entered his life, Vance was the only person Roark had confided in. And he’d never brought his half brother to his mother’s apartment. Elizabeth alone had seen it and Roark remained baffled that he’d given her that glimpse into his psyche.
Gray and tan buildings swept past the taxi’s window in a hypnotic blur as they neared the restaurant where Elizabeth was organizing a birthday party for one of her clients. She was in charge of setup. The restaurant would take care of the rest. Before he’d left for Cairo, the plan had been for him to pick her up at seven and take her out to dinner. He was here to make sure those plans hadn’t changed.
Roark held the front door for two men carrying in an enormous cake decorated with realistic-looking women’s shoes. Inside, the restaurant’s urban edge had been softened with black tulle, strings of white lights and sprays of white ostrich feathers. Four-tops had been pushed together to make long rows and arranged in a horseshoe along the walls of the narrow restaurant. Down the center of the tables tall crystal candleholders alternated with crystal vases containing sprigs of greenery and white orchids. Roark saw Elizabeth in every detail.
A woman in her mid-thirties was showing two young women how the place settings needed to be set up. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight. He approached the trio.
“I’m looking for Elizabeth.”
The woman in charge spoke. “You’re Roark Black. I recognize your photo from Page Six.” Her smile carried more than a trace of malice. “Elizabeth is no longer in charge of this event. Or any event for Josie Summers’s Event Planning. She was fired.” Her delight in Elizabeth’s downfall was so obvious that Roark turned away without responding.
Without question, this had been his fault. Elizabeth was on her way to becoming Josie Summers’s partner before he’d entered her life. Now, because Sabeen had behaved badly, Elizabeth had been terminated.