“I haven’t talked to Markovic since the fire either.” I flashed back to the wild look in Vuk’s eyes and the old burn scars around his neck. “He disappeared when we got out of the vault. Do you think…?”
“The Serb does what he does,” Kai said. Most people referred to Vuk as the Serb, per his preference, but I couldn’t shake the habit of calling people by their, well, actual name. “No one knows what goes through his head, but if he hasn’t dissolved your partnership yet, I assume everything’s fine.”
My shoulders tensed.
Kai’s eyes sharpened behind his glasses. “Is everything fine?” “Besides the small matter of the fire? Sure.” I tossed back my drink. “Because I’ll dissolve the partnership myself after the New Year. The club isn’t happening.” “Why not?”
Another headache set in behind my eyes. I was sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again.
I clipped out the same reasons I’d given Sloane; like Sloane, Kai seemed unimpressed.
“People make mistakes,” he said. “Entrepreneurs make even more. You can’t succeed in business without failing, Xavier.”
“Maybe not, but I bet most mistakes involve a disrupted cash flow or media mishap, not a fire that could’ve killed people.”
“Could’ve but didn’t.”
“By some miracle.”
“I don’t believe in miracles. Everything that happens, happens for a reason.” Kai turned to face me fully. “That list of names I gave you? Those are some of the sharpest people in business. They believed in you enough to invest their time, money, and resources into the club, and they wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t think you were capable of pulling it off. So stop using your martyr act as an excuse and figure out how to finish what you started.”
The heated reprimand was so out of character for Kai, it stunned me into silence. We weren’t friends, exactly, and maybe that was why his words successfully cut through me. There was nothing quite so humbling or clarifying as getting lambasted by an acquaintance.
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but nothing came out because he was right. I was acting like a martyr. I’d taken the fire and made it all about me and my guilt, and I’d used that as an excuse to walk away from the club.
Despite my success in getting the process started and the best of the best onboard, I was afraid I’d still fail. The fire gave me an opportunity to walk away without admitting to that fear.
I’d downed three glasses of whisky before Kai arrived, but the realization sobered me up quickly.
First Sloane, now this. I really was a coward. To think I accused Bentley of being that very thing when I’m worse.
I swallowed the golf ball that’d lodged itself in my throat and tried to think logically.
Kai might’ve been right, but it didn’t change the fact that pulling off a grand club opening by early May was nearly impossible from a logistical perspective. I could throw together something smaller, but whatever I did needed to pass muster with the inheritance committee.
Basically, I could try harder, but my chances of failure had increased exponentially.
I rubbed my temple, wishing not for the first time that I’d been born into a simple, normal family with regular jobs and regular lives instead of this Succession-esque mess.
“Isabella put you up to this, didn’t she?” Even in my current state, I was clearheaded enough to recognize that Kai’s appearance in this particular place, on this particular day, wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t respond, but the small twitch of his mouth said it all.
“How’d you know I’d be here today?” I asked.
“Educated guess. This bar has seen its fair share of comfort drinking.” He nodded at the glittering display of expensive bottles and crystal glasses. “I may have also asked security to alert me if and when you check in.”
I snorted. “I’m flattered you went to the trouble.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t do this for you,” Kai said dryly. “I did this for my reputation and for Isa. I was the one who connected you with the people on my list, and it’ll reflect poorly on me if the club doesn’t succeed. Plus…” His gaze flicked to his phone. “Isa would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t get you to pull your head out of the sand.”
Sloane.
My hand flexed around my glass as another wave of regret crashed into me. She’d tried to help, and I’d driven her away. Then I couldn’t be bothered to say a simple I’m sorry, not even on Christmas, because I’d been too wrapped up in my own mental bullshit.
God, I was an idiot.
I stood abruptly and grabbed my coat from the hook beneath the counter. “Listen, this was a good talk, but—”
“Go.” Kai returned to his drink. “And if anyone other than Isa asks, this conversation never happened.”
I didn’t need him to tell me twice.
I sprinted out of the club and into one of Valhalla’s chauffeured town cars. I gave the driver Sloane’s address.
It’d been eight days, two hours, and thirty-six minutes since we last spoke.
I only hoped I wasn’t too late.
Xavier
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go up,” the concierge said with zero traces of sympathy. “You don’t have authorized access.”
“I’ve been coming here for weeks.” I tamped down my frustration in favor of a smile. Catch more flies with honey than vinegar and all that. “Apartment 14C. Call her. Please.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” This concierge was different from the one who’d let me up when I thought something had happened to Sloane, and he proved remarkably resistant to my powers of persuasion. “Ms. Kensington specifically left instructions stating that no guests are to be admitted without her explicit written approval.”
“She’s my girlfriend. I have written approval,” I said. I wasn’t technically lying. We were dating, and I didn’t know for sure that she hadn’t added my name to her list of approved guests. “Perhaps you lost it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Perhaps another concierge lost it.”
“They didn’t.”
I gritted my teeth. Fuck honey. I wanted to shove this guy’s head in a bucket full of raw vinegar, but I didn’t have the time for petty violence or arguments.
“Let me up, and this is yours.” I slid a hundred-dollar bill across the counter.
The concierge stared at me, stone-faced. He didn’t touch the money.
I added another hundred to the pile. Nothing.
Three hundred. Four hundred.
Goddammit. What was wrong with him? No one said no to Benjamin.
“Ten thousand cash.” That was all I had in my wallet. “That’s tax-free money if you let me up for just a few minutes.”
I could bypass him physically, but without a resident key card, the elevator wouldn’t budge, and I wouldn’t be able to open the door to the stairwell.
“Sir, this is unnecessary and inappropriate,” he said calmly. “I do not accept bribes. Now, I must insist you vacate the premises, or security will have to escort you out.”
He nodded at the pair of Hulk-sized security guards who’d seemingly popped up out of nowhere.
Sloane’s building would be guarded by two stone mountains and the only incorruptible concierge in Manhattan.
However, I wasn’t leaving without seeing her, which meant I needed a plan C. I scanned the lobby, searching for another plausible avenue when my eyes fell on a small plaque mounted on the wall.
The Lexington: An Archer Group Property.
My pulse jumped. Archer Group.
There was only one person who could help me in that moment. Asking him for a favor wasn’t the smartest idea considering I’d just burned down one of his properties, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
One call to an annoyed Alex Volkov and one very bitter concierge later, I stepped out into Sloane’s hall.
Surprisingly, Alex hadn’t given me a hard time, though I suspected he was saving that for our meeting. But I’d worry about that tomorrow; I had something more urgent to attend to.
I rapped my knuckles against Sloane’s door. No answer, but she was in there. I could feel it.
Another knock, my gut contorting into more and more knots as the minutes passed. It wasn’t like her not to answer the door. Perhaps the concierge called up to warn her I was coming?
I was about to call her just to see if I could hear her phone ring when I heard it—a tiny rustle of movement that cut off as quickly as it’d started. If I’d shifted, or if the elevator had dinged in that moment, I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did, and it was enough to pour fresh energy into my efforts.
A third, harder knock. “Open the door, sweetheart. Please.”
I wasn’t sure if she heard me, but an eternity later, footsteps approached and the door swung open.
My heart stuttered beneath the blow of seeing Sloane again. The past week had felt like months, and I drank her in like a lost wanderer stumbling onto a desert oasis. She was bare-faced and in silk pajamas, her hair twisted into a bun, her eyes wary as she kept a hand on the doorknob.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
The seconds ticked by, tainted by the bitterness of our last conversation.
“Can I come in?” I finally asked. It’d been a long time since we were this uncomfortable around each other, and the tension cast a shadow over the entire hall.
“Now isn’t a good time,” Sloane said, avoiding my eyes. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“On the Sunday after Christmas?” Silence.
I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to piece together the right words in the right way. There were a thousand things I wanted to tell her, but in the end, I opted for simple and honest.
“Sloane, I didn’t mean what I said last week,” I said softly. “About you having no emotions. I was frustrated and upset, and I took it out on you.”
“I know.”
I faltered; I hadn’t expected that. “You do?”
“Yes,” Sloane said stiffly. She went a teeny bit pink around her ears. “I should apologize too. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard right after the fire. That was…that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”
“You were just trying to help.” I cleared my throat, still feeling ill at ease. “And I’m sorry for not reaching out on Christmas. Honestly, I was too ashamed to just call you like nothing had happened, and I figured you wouldn’t want to discuss the fire during the holiday…” It wasn’t the best excuse, but none of my recent actions could be classified as smart.
“You weren’t the only one who didn’t reach out. It’s a two-way street.” Sloane slid her pendant along its chain.
“Maybe we can have a belated celebration,” I said. “The ice rinks are still open.”
“Maybe.” She was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear her.
I paused, trying to paint why this whole thing felt wrong. At first glance, we were on the same page. I’d apologized, she’d apologized, everything was great. So why was tension still hanging over us like a storm cloud? Why wasn’t Sloane meeting my eyes? Why did she sound so fucking sad?
The only thing I could think of was…