“I’m not claiming to know who the actual author was,” I started tentatively, afraid of hurting Stacy’s feelings more, “but from what I know of Hudson, he’s not much of a letter writer. And Celia does seem to be comfortable around the literary world.” The quotes she’d picked to highlight in my books indicated as such, anyway.
“What was the email address he sent from?” Occasionally Liesl came up with things I should have asked.
Stacy wrinkled her brow. “
[email protected], I think.”
I was already shaking my head when Liesl asked, “Is that his email?”
“I only know of his Pierce Industries account. He uses it for both business and personal, but he rarely sends personal emails.” Or if he did, I wasn’t aware.
The bell rang, announcing Stacy’s next client. She looked to the door then back to us, as if she was torn.
I felt the same way. There was more to potentially uncover, but I’d promised we’d be in and out. Besides, there probably wasn’t anything else I could know without reading the actual emails and that seemed like too much to ask from Stacy unless she offered. “Thanks again, for your time and your answers. I know you’re busy now.”
She nodded as she crossed in front of us to open the door. With her hand on the knob, she paused. “I should be thanking you too, I suppose. You’ve enlightened the situation.” She opened the door before I could respond. “Vanessa? Welcome to Mirabelle’s. Come on in.”
Stacy’s client walked in and we headed out.
“If I think of anything else,” Stacy called after me. “I’ll contact you.”
It was a hopeful ending to the conversation. If she was anything like me—and very few people were, but it was possible—she’d go home and reread all the emails “Hudson” sent with the new scenario in mind. Maybe she’d find something there and send me a note.
I texted Jordan and discovered he’d found a meter down the block. He waved, letting us know his location.
Liesl linked her arm in mine as we walked toward the Maybach. “Do you think you learned anything?”
I shrugged. “I’d like to believe it was all a scam on Celia’s part. But that doesn’t answer why Hudson was kissing her or why he won’t tell me the truth about it.”
“Maybe she asked him to play along. Would he do that? Or he was in on it all along.”
I bit my lip. “All of those options are possible.” I thought he’d been well at the time he’d met me, but maybe he had still been playing people. Was that what Hudson didn’t want me to know? That so recently, he hadn’t been well?
Or was it Celia he was protecting? Yet again.
The club was already open to the public when I showed up for work that night, so instead of using the employee entrance, I went through the front doors. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen Celia waiting in line. So much for her being bored with the game.
The doorman asked before I had a chance to remind him. “Not her, right?”
“Right.” I looked out toward the blonde once more. It was somewhat comforting to know she was still interested in tormenting me. To my sick mind, it proved that she thought I was still important to Hudson. Even if it wasn’t true any longer, at least she hadn’t gotten the memo.
As I stared at her, she waved. “Hi, Laynie.” It was the first time she’d talked to me since she’d begun her stalking.
I didn’t respond with words, but I did smile before going into the club. In about two minutes she was going to be turned down at the door. That was definitely something to grin about.
It was the last time I smiled for the remainder of the night. My shift was ho-hum and I worked my ass off keeping on top of the summer crowd, but the constant ache of missing Hudson ate at me. Everywhere I looked, I saw him—in the bubble rooms, in the office, at the bar.
By three a.m. when my shift was over, the idea of going back to the lonely penthouse had me in tears. I considered going somewhere else instead—Liesl’s, a hotel. The loft. I could go to the loft and see him. Be with the man I wanted to be with.
But why would I want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with me? That was proof that I wasn’t the person I’d once been—the person who would have gone anywhere to be with the man she was into, whether he wanted her or not.
So I ended up at the penthouse. Alone. I managed not to cry as Reynold drove me there, but the tears started before I exited the elevator. They continued while I got ready for bed, and while I checked my phone that I’d left at home during the night. Then they turned to sobs when I read the one text message I had: