Chapter 6

I soon realized that Sidd made an excellent tour guide, as he was not only outrageously funny but engagingly smart too, and perhaps most importantly, he spilled the tea like an anonymous user on Twitter, so that by the time we lowered ourselves onto the chairs of an outdoor café named after a sixteenth century Italian chateau that I soon forgot, I was drowning in knowledge of a completely different side of Wilkinson I’d never suspected I would be privy to.

To cut the long story short everyone was having sex with everyone, and it was so messy I itched with a need to dip myself into a vat of hand sanitizer.

I sat right beside a bustling sidewalk, wide-eyed and biting into my foil wrapped turkey sandwich as I listened, occasionally stopping to take a big gulp of my overpriced fizzy water so I wouldn’t choke on sudden fits of laughter that gripped me each time he took it upon himself to make commentary on whatever piece of gossip he happened to be letting me in on.

When on a whim I told him about the morning I’d had and Elevator Tristan, Sidd’s face lit up and he leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Oh my God, he’s a pig.” This came out in a near whisper, and even if a part of me recognized how ridiculous I was being I let my jaw fall open.

A smug grin made its way over my colleague’s face as he sat back, taking a moment to play around with his vegetable salad in a move that was all showmanship.

“Okay so two things,” Sidd said, holding out his hands as he began to count off his fingers. “His sister is engaged to a copartner at Wilkinson. And second, he dated Rita for, like, two minutes.”

“No way,” I said, blinking at him in disbelief.

“Yes way,” he countered, and I recalled the uncomfortably stretched out minute I spent cooped up with Tristan and his lackeys that morning.

I tried to picture Rita with her sleek pantsuits and touch-me-not vibe falling for someone so obviously two dimensional, but then an image of his face flashed across my mind’s eye, and I let out a defeated sigh. He was attractive, and unfortunately confident, which was sometimes all that mattered.

“Apparently, she found out he’d been cheating on her through the duration of their relationship and just called things off. God, she was a monster to work with around that period.”

I winced as I remembered the spectrum of emotions I ran through after stumbling upon the text messages and emails on David’s phone. The hurt and humiliation becoming a horrible pit in my stomach as soon as I began to connect the dots—late nights spent working, excuses which didn’t add up that I simply took at face value because I trusted him like a little fool.

I’d called in sick for a week straight, which I spent barricaded in our shared bedroom crying as he begged, saying he could explain.

“Hey,” Sidd began, snapping me out of my reverie. “Are you okay?”

He wore an expression of concern mingled with curiosity, and in that moment in dawned on me that to him I was a wild card. Up until that point he’d been the one doing the talking and knew virtually nothing about me, but like a shark sniffing out blood he’d honed in on my sudden dive into melancholy and wanted to know the reason why.

Pasting on a reassuring smile, I nodded, redirecting the conversation with a transparency that he was all too happy to oblige.

I was having a good time and would’ve been content to remain in my chair as passersby rushed past while Sidd dished the dirt, if a chance glance at my phone’s lock screen did not call to my attention the fact that our lunch break had run long, long overdue.

I jerked upright in my chair and Sidd stopped midsentence, cocking his head to one side as he arched a meticulously groomed brow at me. In reply I held out my phone to him and after a moment he cussed softly under his breath.

Sidd gestured at the waiter as he pulled out his credit card, and to my surprise settling both of our tabs, rolling his eyes when I tried to protest.

“Oh honey, this isn’t charity generosity,” he mumbled, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “I mean I like you, but you’re paying next time we come out for lunch.”

“Deal.” I gulped down a wave of apprehension at the thought of what waited for us back at the office. “As long as we survive.”

Sidd rolled his eyes, standing to his full height in one smooth movement.

“Rita won’t kill us.” The smooth plains of his forehead creased slightly as he thought over his words. “Okay, maybe she will. But only a little.”

“Wow. Thanks for the pep talk.”

He gave an easy laugh but said nothing, holding out his hand which I took after a moment, and then we were off as Sidd expertly weaved through the crush of pedestrians while I followed a step behind, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

Within minutes we stood in front of the Wilkinson building. He let go of my hand, and I looked up to find that for the first time in our acquaintanceship he had on a serious expression.

“Friendly piece of advice, Rory, when you see Tristan Davenport, run. And don’t stop.”

I considered laughing the warning off, bumping him in the shoulder and writing it off as Sidd just being Sidd. Except, I could tell that that wasn’t the case here, and sensed there was more to it than he was letting on. Chewing on my bottom lip, I mulled over his warning as he whirled around without another word, leaving me no choice but to follow after.

We cut a path through to one of the elevators on the ground floor lobby, and right on time its shiny steel surface parted smoothly open in silent welcome as a striking pair stepped out, causing me to freeze in place.

Vaguely I registered Rita’s presence, but it was the man beside her that commanded my attention, and slate-grey eyes came to rest on me, widening by a fraction before following the slow descent of my purse to the ground when it slipped out of my fingers.

•

“Nothing but sex appeal,” Sidd announced with a low whistle, fanning himself with his hands as we stepped into our shared office. “Father Lord, that man.”

Markus squinted up at us from his computer screen, and while I could’ve sworn that he rolled his eyes before returning to his task in my shell-shocked state I couldn’t be sure.

I plonked into my desk chair, setting my purse on the table before beginning the odorous process of flipping through the sheaf of papers on my table trying to find where I left off, but my heart wasn’t in it, and as Sidd continued to gush I could see that my hands had begun to shake visibly.

Not a lot of people could boast of running into a one-night stand who’d cut things short so abruptly at their place of work—hanging out with their boss no less—so I figured I was handling things pretty well considering the circumstances and struggled to calm my poor heart which pounded inside my chest like I’d just crossed the finish line in a marathon.

Sidd snapped his fingers in front of my face making me start, and this time when Markus looked up from his ancient desktop our eyes met, and I could see that to him this was another Monday morning.

“—when your knockoff Hermés fell and Elijah bent down to retrieve it, before holding it out to you,” Sidd cut himself off, letting out a squeal as he pretended to swoon. “It felt like I was watching Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Ignoring his comment about my fake handbag and the Fifty Shades of Grey reference, my mind latched onto another thing he’d said.

“Hold on,” I interjected, earning a sharp glare from Sid. “What was his name?”

He paused, expression going completely blank as he took in my puzzled frown.

“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” When a couple of seconds passed of me saying nothing, Sidd dipped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utmost disappointment. “He is only the most eligible bachelor according to Town & Country.”

I nodded, trying to appear like I knew why this was supposed to be important, but something in my countenance must have given away my utter cluelessness as Sidd gave me a look that seemed to ask if I’d been living under a rock up until that point.

“For God’s sake Sidd, give it a rest.” At once, Markus had two pairs of eyes swivel in on him and his face flushed red before he cleared his throat. “His name is Elijah. Elijah Wilder.”

Hurt at the thought that the man called Kane had never been real, as well as a feeling of déjà vu rose up at the sound of his last name, and then realization hit me with the force of a freight train.

“You mean Wilder, as in the hotel at Midtown?”

Sidd crowed triumphantly as if he’d singlehandedly guided me to enlightenment, and Markus offered a curt nod before returning to his work.

“Yes, Wilder of The Wilder. But also Wilder, as in: Kennedys of the twenty-first century?”

I nodded as it dawned on me that the reason the name had sounded so familiar in the first place was because I’d heard of them. They may have been notoriously private, but the only other family that came as close popularity-wise were the Kardashians, and even then, they were not multibillionaires.

Jesus H. Christ. For all I knew, the Wilders were as good as modern-day royalty and I’d had sex and breakfast with a member of their clan, which was in itself a hard thing to wrap my head around.

The longer I thought on it the more lightheaded I started to feel, but it provided answers, like why Kane—No, I thought, Elijah—hadn’t spared me another glance as he brushed past after handing over my purse.

He was a walking portrait of wealth, prestige, and probably had a running list of ready and willing heiresses to pick or choose from; and even though it hurt to acknowledge this, my pragmatism could not have come at a better time.

It was most likely why he’d kept his identity a secret from me, I surmised, feeling the sting ease up ever so slightly before disappearing completely, and the more I repeated this to myself the easier it became to breathe. Let go.

I was a footnote in a page of his story, and it only seemed fair since he was a footnote in mine.

“Any ideas on why he came to see Rita?” I asked as an afterthought, and Sidd cupped a hand over his mouth to stifle a snort which still managed to escape past his fingers.

My feelings of warmth towards him from earlier, I noticed, were dwindling the longer I continued to be confronted by this side of him. When he regained a measure of composure, he answered.

“Oh, you precious thing, the Co. in Wilkinson, Strauss & Co. means Wilder.”

Slowly, as the realization started to trickle in, I felt the blood begin to drain out of my face.

“Yes, he and his family own a large chunk of this place,” Sidd said as he finally returned to his desk. “Yes, he runs this whole shebang. Yes, he’s engaged to Tristan Davenport’s sister, Isla—which is why that fucking dick thinks he can get away with anything, though to be fair he usually does. Do you have any more questions?”

Pressure behind my eyeballs signaled the beginnings of a head splitting migraine and I shook my head, feeling the contents of my stomach give an unpleasant roil.

“I don’t think so. No.”

“Good.” He clapped, turning away from me to face his MacBook. “Now let’s get back to doing our actual jobs before Rita drops in. Because I, for one, like being able to afford a gym membership, my rent, and all the other small luxuries of life.”