Page 100 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

Avril’s determined and single-minded and she’d do anything for that Boston site. But she’s also one of the most authentic people I know. I don’t think she faked our time together. I don’t think it was possible to fake our chemistry.

“There are no guarantees in life,” Bray says. “But I know for sure there are no rewards without risks.” He nods down at his bowl of snails. “They’re fucking delicious. But I’d have never known if I hadn’t had the bollocks to try them.”

“Are you equating Avril to a snail? Because I’m going to tell every woman you ever date this story if that’s what you’re saying.”

He chuckles. “It’s a metaphor for life.”

I don’t need metaphors for life. I need to figure out if there’s a ladder tall enough to climb these walls I’ve spent a lifetime building and whether Avril is the one I want to climb it.

I need to decide whether Avril’s the woman I risk everything for.

THIRTY

Avril

Keeping busy was my cure-all for everything when I was a kid. If someone was mean to me at school, I’d bury my head in my studies. If Worth couldn’t find the money for a school trip, I’d fake being sick and spend the day rearranging the kitchen cupboards and cleaning everything I could lay my hands on.

It probably explains why, since coming back from Ben’s, I’ve cleared out my closet for the first time in over a year. Now there are three black trash bags full of things I need to take to Goodwill in the hallway, which Poppy will give me hell for when I next see her.

The purge and busyness of closet cleaning hasn’t taken my mind off Ben at all. As we lay in bed together on Sunday morning, our fingers intertwined, I thought we’d crossed some kind of threshold. I felt sure that maybe he’d send me a text from Colorado. And when I messaged to thank him for the details of the seller of the Boston hotel, he didn’t even reply.

Was he looking for something else from me?

Does he hate helping me? Or am I in some business category now where he doesn’t need to communicate with me? I’m off the Ben East island and all memories of our week together have been erased. For him at least.

The upside is, I’ve come up to Boston with a clean closet and a clear mind. By the end of this meeting, I’m sure I’m going to have an agreement from the seller to sell his hotel to Worth. At least, that’s my goal. That’s what I’ve been working toward for so long.

Instead of the train, today Ben and I traveled up to Boston by helicopter. Ben’s time is valuable, I guess. He has all those other people wanting his attention, opening their beaks like baby birds all waiting to be fed. It must be exhausting.

And once they’re fed, then what? Then he just moves on to feed the next bird, then the next. It’s made him rich, but has it made him happy?

Today, I’m one of his baby birds, waiting to be fed. It doesn’t feel good.

At least being on the helicopter meant we didn’t have to swap small talk on the ninety-minute flight. He pointed to the odd landmark as we flew. I smiled and nodded.

It feels awkward between us, but I’m not sure if it’s just in my head. When we get into the car that’s going to take us to the Langham hotel, where we’re meeting the seller, I decide I want to take the bull by the horns.

“I was surprised to get the courier delivery on Monday morning,” I say.

“You didn’t think I’d keep my promise to help you?” He slides his hands down his trousers, flattening out the nonexistent creases, his gaze straight ahead.

“I always knew you’d keep your promise,” I say. That’s how Ben built the reputation he has. He does what he says he’s going to do. He doesn’t let people down. “But to deliver me what I needed on Monday morning, you must have been working on tracking down the seller way before I fulfilled my end of our bargain.”

“Maybe,” he says, glancing out of the window.

“Definitely,” I reply.

“Well, it’s not like anyone could really fall in love in a week. I never thought you’d agree to it. I just called your bluff and lost.”

He says it in that jovial, convivial way that he has, that underplays who he is. Over the week we spent together, I felt like I managed to get past that glossy veneer, but today it’s back. I’m getting full-force Ben East. The man, myth, and New York business legend.

We pull to a stop, and Ben goes to open the car door. I put my hand on his arm and he freezes.

“Thank you,” I say.

Our gazes meet and he nods. “It’s what I do.”

Is that it? Am I just a business deal to him? What about our time-out? Was he just scratching an itch? Maybe it was just sexual chemistry between us from his perspective. But for me? For me it was more than that.