The Fidelity World_Nondisclosure Page 2

  Chapter 3: Pratt

  Rowan

  A few days found me back in my apartment in New York. It felt cramped, but I’d been told by my classmates that I lived in the lap of luxury. Manhattan studios went for thousands a month. I had that and more.

  The kitchen could be crammed into a shoebox and was probably smaller than a ship’s galley. I had a queen-size bed but barely any room to move. My friends had thought this was funny and wondered why I didn’t replace the queen with a twin since I lived alone. I had a stove and a dishwasher—luxuries my classmates had insisted were not standard. Not that it mattered. I ate out for virtually every meal. In New York, there was no reason to cook.

  All that would change.

  I hurried to dress and headed downstairs.

  “Good morning, Miss Rowan,” the doorman, Tom, greeted me with a charismatic smile, twinkling eyes, and a face deeply lined with a life full of laughter.

  I’d never seen the man frown. Didn’t think it was possible.

  “Hey, Tom.” I lifted on my tiptoes to give him a morning hug and peck on the cheek.

  After nearly two years, he still thought that behavior was odd, but I had grown up in the South. Kisses and hugs were a part of our social dance, and I’d be damned if I let the city of cities take that away.

  Tom stood stiffly for my hug. “It’s a beautiful day.” He extricated himself and held the door. Then, he hailed a cab with his shrill whistle and a wave.

  “Oh, I’m going to walk today.” My voice sounded chipper, like I thought it was a lovely idea. The truth was much different.

  Henry Porter and his team couldn’t have been clearer. If I downsized to a studio, moved away from Central Park, got a MetroCard instead of using taxis, and cooked all my meals rather than eating out, my money would extend another few months.

  I had drawn the line when Henry mentioned roommates—plural, not singular. That wasn’t happening even if Henry had said I could squeak by for another two months if I roomed with others. Two months could very well be another two years. There had to be another solution. With the adjustments to my lifestyle in place, I had nearly a year to sort out my financial woes before I was truly broke.

  “Are you certain, Miss Rowan?” Tom asked.

  If I immediately moved Freddy out of his home, Henry had assured me that my remaining funds would stretch to graduation. That still left me six months short. A quick visit with Freddy before returning to New York had turned disastrous when I mentioned the possibility of a move. Freddy didn’t handle change very well. He didn’t handle it at all.

  Classes were starting again after spring break, and I had my eye on attending the Spring Job Fair at Pratt. I might find my way into an early internship. It didn’t need to be much, but I had to find something.

  At least the hunt for an apartment wouldn’t be on my shoulders. Sara Donaldson had taken over that task, and I waited in limbo for her to make the impossible happen.

  A cab pulled to the curb, and I hesitated. One last ride?

  “Thank you, Tom, but I’m looking forward to the walk.” I sniffed and turned into the wind.

  He cocked his head and waved the impatient cabbie to move on. I gave a fleeting smile and headed to the nearest metro stop. It wasn’t like I’d never ridden the subway before. Not all my classmates could afford the luxury of a cab. I simply hated the press of all the people jammed underground.

  Fortunately, it was a beautiful day. The crisp spring temperature chilled the air. Juggling jacket, purse, and satchel, I successfully purchased my first MetroCard and officially became a public transport commuter. I hated it.

  School was on my mind and distracted me from the incessant noise, harsh smells, and overcrowded subway. After I emerged from the bowels of the subway, a quick walk brought me to Pratt’s campus. Most of my classmates spent their break having fun or visiting family. I’d had one brief afternoon with my brother, Freddy, and three long days with Henry and his team of lawyers.

  My two morning classes breezed by as my professors welcomed everyone back. Assignments were turned in, and new ones were handed out. All the while, I kept my attention focused on the clock. The Spring Job Fair was a place to ask questions and make connections. Many graduates of Pratt would return to speak to the student body, providing valuable insights and lessons learned. I was pleasantly surprised to find a friend speaking to the crowd.

  Patrick Fitzgerald captivated those gathered as he spoke about his company and explained some of the tips and tricks that had worked for him. I hung in the back of the room, watching him enrapture eager students with his passion for design. A blue blood like me, he was the epitome of a Southern gentleman. His light accent made many hearts flutter, and there was an honest warmth to his personality—something not common to those born and bred in New York, who rarely looked a stranger in the eye.

  A couple of inches shy of six feet, he was a handsome man with a trim, muscular physique. He wasn’t thick and brawny, but he carried himself with a sense of possession and strength. It gave him an undeniable presence, which won over friends and colleagues. Soft brown eyes brought a measure of peace to those gathered. For me, it felt like coming home. I’d missed my friend. When he noticed me, those brown eyes lit with recognition. I smiled and gave a slight wave. It had been too long since we sat down and talked.

  I really needed a friend right now, but what I needed more was someone with contacts in the business. Patrick could give me both, and I didn’t feel bad for relying on him. Fortunes were made and lost based upon who you knew.

  He concluded his presentation to thunderous applause and slowly made his way to where I waited.

  “Rowan!” He approached with his arms open for a hug.

  “Patrick, it’s so good to see you.”

  Folding myself into his arms, I welcomed myself home. My hands might have gripped a little harder than normal, but I couldn’t help it. Seeing Patrick brought all my insecurities rising to the surface. I didn’t want to lose him, and I was afraid of what would happen when he learned about the chaos of my life.

  Powerful arms drew me in tight. “Are you okay?” His words fluttered in my ears and reminded me we were in a public place.

  I gave a quick squeeze and released him. Tears pricked in my eyes, but a quick blink flicked them away. “I’m good, just glad to see you.” I made a sweeping gesture toward the stage. “Looks like things are going well for you.”

  He gripped my hand and tugged me outside. “They are, but let’s talk about you. I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

  Patrick had helped me with my application to Pratt. He’d sat with me while I agonized over what to place in my portfolio for the application review. I wouldn’t have been accepted if not for his involvement. I hadn’t made an effort to seek him out even though we lived fairly close to each other, but there’d been a good reason for my distance. The mess my father had made distracted me from most things.

  “Has it been that long?” I asked.

  He gave me a look. “Yes, my dear, it has been precisely that long. Are you free for lunch?”

  I was, but my new budget wasn’t. “I, uh…”

  “No way are you saying no. My treat, and I have the perfect place in mind.”

  “How can a girl say no to that?”

  “You don’t,” he said, “and you’re going to tell me exactly why you’re so sad.”

  “I’m not—” The sternness of his look had me biting my tongue.

  “Just let me know where to bury the body,” he said, joking. “Man troubles or something else?”

  If only I had man troubles.

  “Something else,” I admitted.

  He drew me away from the press of other students, but there were still too many who could overhear. Lies weren’t something Patrick and I had ever shared. I owed him the truth but not here.

  “Where are you thinking for lunch?” I asked.

  Chapter 4: Lunch

  Rowan

  Patrick’s idea for lunch con
sisted of a tiny shoebox deli wedged between two buildings. He paid, and we found two seats crammed in the back. He opened wide to take a bite of one of the tallest Reuben sandwiches I’d ever seen. I watched as he tore off a chunk. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, thoroughly enjoying his sandwich.

  My tuna melt remained untouched. We were about to have a conversation I didn’t want to have, and that churned my stomach. There was no good way to explain how far my status had fallen after my father’s arrest and subsequent suicide.

  “Not hungry?” He licked his lips and then gave me a long, hard stare.

  “I thought I was, but now, I guess, not so much.”

  “You should eat.” He took another bite, but this time, his keen eyes remained on me. After he swallowed, he wiped his lips and placed the napkin down on the table. “Are you going to tell me why you look so sad?”

  Breath rushed in, and a deep sigh escaped me. “I’m not sad.”

  “You look sad.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then, what’s weighing on your mind, my friend? Why do you look so incredibly miserable?”

  I stared at the abandoned tuna melt sitting before me. Then, I took in a breath and asked for a favor, “I need a job.”

  “A job? What kind of job?”

  “One that pays.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have time for a job. No student at Pratt does. You’re halfway to the finish line, but that only means, things are going to get more intense, not less. Besides, it’s too soon to be looking.”

  I pressed my fingers on the tabletop and admired the immaculate French manicure adorning the tips of my nails. That, too, would have to go. Manicures, pedicures, and the massages I loved weren’t in the budget Henry had set for me.

  “Patrick,” I said, dreading the next words, “if I don’t find a job, there won’t be any graduation.”

  He slanted his chin down. For a long while, he said nothing. It killed me because I was dying to know what was going on in his head. The silence between us dragged because I sure as hell wasn’t going to fill it with any words of my own. Finally, he took another bite. It took forever for him to chew and swallow. But he did, and he put the stacked sandwich down.

  “How bad is it?”

  “It couldn’t be any worse. I have less than a year to come up with enough money for my tuition and pay for Freddy’s home.”

  “How is your brother?”

  “Happy. Content. He really loves that place.”

  “I sense there’s a lot more you’re not telling me.”

  I nodded. “My father’s embezzlement left us destitute. My lawyer tells me I’ll be bankrupt within the year. I don’t care about me, but I can’t pull Freddy from his home. In order to afford it, I have to graduate from Pratt and find an internship, which leads to a job, but I can’t stay at Pratt because I can’t pay my tuition, let alone my apartment.”

  “I see,” he said. “I’m surprised no one has swooped in to rescue you.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’ve had offers.” I had one, the worst possible offer. “The thought of becoming a trophy wife for some man who wants me for nothing more than my name and my looks turns my stomach. Besides, I’m not looking for a savior. I’m looking for a solution, and I’ll do whatever it takes to see that Freddy never has to leave his home.”

  “Anything?” His left eyebrow cocked up. “That leaves the barn door wide open.”

  “Have you never been desperate?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not sleeping on the streets, and I’m not trying to be insensitive to those who are. There are other people in much worse places. If it were just me, I could make a ton of sacrifices. I’d quit Pratt and find a job that paid enough to put a roof over my head and food in my belly, and I would work my ass off to make things better. But it’s not just me. I have Freddy, and I’m not going to do that to him. I won’t rip apart his world. So, yeah, the barn door is wide open.”

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  A pang stabbed at my heart. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t get why he did it. Not when Freddy was so dependent on him.”

  “I think he couldn’t deal with everything he’d lost. I’ve seen the numbers. It’s all gone. Maybe he couldn’t live with that.”

  “Again, I’m very sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I might have a solution for you.” He gave a low chuckle and whispered under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”

  My heart fluttered with hope. “What are you talking about?”

  “Eat!” he ordered. “You’re going to need it.”

  “For what?”

  “For our talk.” Patrick made a show of lifting his Reuben to his mouth real slow, letting me know that question would not be answered here.

  His eyes shifted sideways as he chewed, and he placed a finger over his mouth. The bastard was having fun with this. With me. He pointed to my sandwich, giving me another command.

  Well, I said I’d do anything. With my stomach in knots and my heart thumping hard, I took my first bite and tasted…heaven.

  “Oh my God,” I said as succulent flavors coated my tongue. “This is amazing.”

  “I know,” he said. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “I just don’t know how I’ve lived here for two years and never known of this place.”

  The deli was only a few blocks away from Pratt.

  “That’s New York,” he said between bites. “Now, finish up, and we’ll go somewhere we can talk.”

  Our conversation drifted from there, touching on everything, except the one thing I wished he would mention. What did Patrick have up his sleeve?

  He showed a lot of interest in my design work, and I showed him some of what I’d been working on.

  As a child, I’d built forts for the boys and princess palaces for the girls, both constructing and decorating them. When the decision had come to choose between interior design and architecture, the choice had been difficult. Patrick had encouraged me to pursue architecture, but I still loved decorating the inside. My father had encouraged me to apply for interior design school because it was more appropriate for a woman. I hadn’t yet decided which I would pursue.

  “There’s no way you’re quitting. Not with your talent,” Patrick pronounced.

  “I don’t want to quit.” I folded my napkin and placed it on my empty plate. “And, if I can get through the next two years, I’ll be able to support Freddy.”

  “What about a husband?”

  I shook my head. “I have an offer, one that would solve all my problems, but I’m not willing to settle. Call me foolish, but I believe in true love.”

  Being dependent on a man made me sick to my stomach. The taste of bile coated my tongue with the very thought of needing someone else. I blame that on my father, who had raised an intelligent daughter to be the son Freddy could never be.

  Honestly, there wasn’t anything in life I’d failed at when I set my mind to it, and I wasn’t ready to start now.

  “Pride,” my father had said, “will one day cripple you.”

  I hated to think he might be right. There were many reasons to give up my dreams at Pratt but many more reasons to stay. I had to look beyond the short-term. If it didn’t kill me, I would do almost anything to fulfill my dreams.

  “I take it, you’re only looking for a stopgap measure?” Patrick said. “Something dependable but with an expiration date?”

  “If it pays well,” I said with a soft laugh.

  “Say I knew of people hiring for only a year and the pay would more than meet your needs, is that something you’d be interested in?”

  “If it kept Freddy where he is and I could still go to school and finish my degree, then yes. I don’t want to give up my future, not when I’m nearly halfway through with my education. If you have something for a year that pays what I need to stay afloat, then I’m all ears.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me from my chair. Once
outside the deli, he glanced up and down the street. “Let’s take a walk.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere, and I have only one request.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s a big one.”

  “Which would you like? Cross my heart and hope to die? Or is a pinkie swear enough?”

  That comment brought a laugh. “Only you would pinkie swear, but no reason to go promising to die. What I am about to tell you can’t be shared with anyone, and you have to swear to keep it to yourself.”

  “Is it legal?”

  His tone had my nerves lighting up.

  “I might be a lot of things, but a criminal isn’t one of them, and if I were, I’d never ask you to…” He waved off my comment. “It’s legal. It’s safe. It’s a privately run, very exclusive company, and I work for them.”

  “I thought you worked for a design firm?”

  “I do that, too. No one says you have to have only one employer.”

  “Well, I’m all ears.”

  If Patrick works for this company, how bad can it be?

  Chapter 5: HRH

  Richard

  England’s beautiful landscapes and rich history flowed in my blood. I loved my country, but I craved the brilliance that was New York. The city pulsed with the vitality of millions; every breath, every step, every moment imbued itself with a lusty, soul-gripping zest. I’d been in New York for two months, and I already knew it would never be enough. The pulse of the city pounded in my veins and whispered to me of sin, sex, and seduction. If I had a mistress, I would keep her in this city, if only to have a reason to return. I craved New York with a fiery hunger, and she spoke to me, whispering her secrets while uncovering mine.

  It was easy to get lost within the crowd, and I’d become an expert at evading the flashing lights and invasive lenses of the paparazzi. England wanted to know about their wayward prince, but New York didn’t care for royalty. Here, I was but one of countless souls, traveling my path and exploring who I might have been if not for the privilege of my birth.