Love & Learn Page 5

  She rolled over on her back and stretched. Most of the tensions from the last couple of days had left her body, and she felt rested. Calmer than she had been for a long time. It had been a pure act of madness or perhaps desperation that had driven her here, but now she felt saner. More reasonable.

  She climbed out of bed and padded on bare feet into the bathroom to pee and splash some water on her face. A thick, luscious bathrobe hung on the back of the door, and she slipped it on. It also smelled of him, that lovely manly, adventurous scent, and she pulled the soft, heavy fabric around her when she walked out into the kitchen.

  There was nothing in the fridge, besides some condiments, but next to the coffee machine on the counter was a rack of pods. The rack was about half full, and she figured he wouldn’t miss one of them.

  She found some mugs in the cupboard above the machine and placed one of them in the machine. While the coffee machine whirred, she walked over to the window and looked out onto the street. It was very early, and the street was empty. The coffee machine beeped, and she walked over to get the mug, taking it with her into the living room.

  The mug was hot between her hands, and she blew on the brown liquid to make it drinkable. She took a sip and then got her phone out of her denim jacket that she’d left on the arm of the leather sofa. She needed to charge it, but when she checked the outlet next to the sofa, the charger there didn’t fit her phone. She only had about 25% battery left, so she would have to find somewhere to charge it, once she’d collected her bags from the Port Authority.

  She should have brought her bags here, of course. She could have done a load of laundry, and charged her phone, and made all the important phone calls to potential landlords and employers in this quiet apartment, instead of at a coffee place somewhere, surrounded by loud people and traffic noises.

  Perhaps she should go and get her bags, and then come back here.

  She could do that.

  No, she couldn’t. It was insane to even consider it.

  But she had the key now. And she felt so much better after all those hours of sleep, in a safe and quiet place.

  She could stay here, just for a couple of days. Henry would never know. She was a tidy person, and she could make sure that there would be no trace of her, once he got back from his book tour.

  It would make everything so much easier if she could do her job and apartment hunting from here.

  She leaned back on the sofa, remembering the women she had seen yesterday at Port Authority. The professional-looking women in their expensive suits with expensive hairdos and makeup. Professional manicures. Handbags that cost a month’s rent. Or even more.

  What would it take to get a job like that?

  She didn’t have their education, that was for sure. But what if …

  An idea started to take shape in Lizzie’s mind. It was an insane idea. Complete madness.

  She’d never be able to pull it off.

  But if she did …

  It could change her life forever.

  She waited by the window until it seemed as though everyone who was going to work had left. That tiny, elderly woman with the dog that had unknowingly let her in the building yesterday went out for a walk again and came back twenty minutes or so later. Then there was no one at all, coming or going for about twenty minutes.

  That’s when she left. She didn’t sneak or rush out of there. Just walked calmly out the front door as if she had every right in the world to be there.

  When she returned in the evening, she was carrying both of her duffel bags, a couple of shopping totes from a secondhand clothes’ store, and a small bag of groceries. The apartment key opened the front door downstairs as well, fortunately, so she didn’t have to wait for anyone to leave the building this time. She made it through the foyer, up the elevator, and into Henry’s apartment without anyone seeing her.

  It was such a relief to lock the door behind her again. And this time, she had all her stuff with her, and some food.

  She did a load of laundry first, washing everything that she’d picked up at the secondhand store. Even a couple of garments that said Dry clean only. She could not afford to have them dry cleaned right now, so she’d just have to keep her fingers crossed. Then she cooked herself an omelet for dinner and ate in the breakfast nook as the sun disappeared behind the rooftop across the street. She’d had a busy day, going from one secondhand store to another until she’d found what she’d been looking for. It had cost almost every penny she had, but she hoped that the gamble would pay off many times over. It could, if she played her cards right.

  After dinner, she gave herself a makeover in Henry’s luxurious bathroom, with a face mask, a manicure, and trimming her hair a little with some scissors she found in a drawer in the kitchen. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Then she went into his home office and booted up the computer while keeping her fingers crossed that it wasn’t password protected.

  It wasn’t!

  She googled ‘how to write the perfect job application’ and followed the instructions. Found some blog posts that detailed how to pad a meager résumé. Watched a couple of YouTube videos on how to nail job interviews. Then she created a profile for herself on LinkedIn and added some information there. Using her cell phone camera’s timer, she took some photos of herself against Henry’s impressive bookshelves—headshots only, since her new clothes weren’t dry yet. Then she started looking for vacant positions that weren’t advertised by a sign in the front window.

  By the time she went to bed, she had sent out about a dozen applications. She had been vague as to her actual qualifications but thought that her new and improved résumé looked pretty good, if one didn’t look too closely at it.

  And her headshot with her hair in a serious updo, and the impressive Upper West Side location she had listed as her home address, would probably work in her favor as well.

  13

  Henry

  This was his tenth hotel room in less than two weeks, and he was starting to lose track. Where was he? He had to think for a while before settling on Tokyo. He pushed the button by the bed that made the curtains pull apart with a soft whirring sound, but there was only sky to be seen from where he lay, and skies looked pretty much the same all over the world.

  This one was dark, though, so it was still night. He rolled over and checked his phone.

  2.37 AM.

  He groaned and flopped back onto the flat hotel pillow. He had a long day ahead of him, so he needed to get back to sleep. This itinerary was difficult enough to keep up with, even on 8 hours of sleep each night. Meeting so many people, shaking so many hands, he wanted to make sure that his immune system had all the help it could get.

  But he was wide awake now.

  He stared at the TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed, debating whether it would be worth it, getting up, and trying to find the remote. But there probably wouldn’t be anything worth watching. He wasn’t that into TV.

  The hotel probably offered adult channels. That might help him get to sleep. He reached his hand into his shorts, grabbing himself. Should he get the remote? No, he’d never been that into porn. And he wouldn’t be much of an author if he didn’t have the imagination to create a fantasy that topped the entertainment available on a hotel’s pay-per-view.

  Just as on so many nights on this trip, as soon as he opened his mind to her, there she was.

  His fascination with her puzzled him. He’d been with beautiful women before, but none of them had ever become an obsession like this girl had. He’d thought he’d seen her three times now, in different places all around the world, and every time his whole body had gone into complete alert mode before he’d managed to convince himself that it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

  And it never had been.

  The arousal had been real, though. As had the disappointment whenever the woman he’d spotted turned out to be someone else.

  He wasn’t sure what it was about this girl that made him look for her w
herever he went. She was beautiful, of course. And her fantastic body had given him pleasure in so many ways. Just thinking about her now—the way she had turned toward him in the jacuzzi, her breasts covered with a light layer of white, frothy bubbles, the smile on her lips, the promise of satisfaction in those large, beautiful eyes—it was enough to bring him to a quick release.

  But did it make him feel satisfied? No.

  Memories were nice and all that.

  But they were nothing like the real thing.

  Part II

  14

  Lizzie

  “Are you still here?”

  Lizzie looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Yes, I wanted to finish this before I went home.”

  Her boss stepped inside the room and leaned against the doorpost. “You know, Lizzie …” he started, and her heart jumped up into her throat. Was he going to fire her? She had thought that she was doing so well. Then he continued, “I spoke to my partner earlier today, and we both agreed that hiring you had been a good decision. I know we said that this was going to be a temporary thing, but both Gerald and I feel that we would like to offer you a permanent position. We want to make sure that you stay with the firm, even when Meghan gets back from her maternity leave.”

  Lizzie felt her heart return to its rightful place in her chest, but now it was twice as large as before. It felt so strange to be praised, all too unusual for her, but she loved it. And she loved her job here at the law firm. She didn’t understand a lot of the words in the documents she had to file or print, but she was neat and organized, and she had learned fast. Just as she had promised her boss that she would, during one of her first job interviews after her complete life makeover.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Beckett,” she said, giving him her warmest and brightest smile. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

  He nodded and turned to leave. “Go home, Lizzie. It’s the weekend.” He stopped, and half turned. “Any big plans?”

  “Apartment hunting,” she said, smiling. “Just like every other weekend.”

  She had been with the firm for a little over a month now and had just received her second paycheck. This assistant gig didn’t pay a fortune, but knowing that a steady paycheck would be deposited in her account every two weeks made her feel safe and secure. She had been frugal with the money she had made, only adding a few select items to her wardrobe to keep up appearances at the office, so she had enough money for a deposit and first and last month’s rent if the landlord demanded that. But so far, she hadn’t been able to find a place. There were so many people competing for every listing.

  “Aren’t you happy on the Upper West Side?” Mr. Beckett asked.

  “Oh, very,” Lizzie hurried to say. “But my lease is running out, and I’d like to find something a little closer to work.”

  He nodded. “A client of ours has some buildings. Would you like me to give him a call?”

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. Then she realized what she must look like and closed her mouth. “That would be very kind of you, Mr. Beckett,” she finally managed to say.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” her boss said, and then he waved and walked off down the hall.

  Lizzie stared at her computer screen without seeing any of the information there. Wow. That was so kind of him. And it was so weird. Somehow, people were more inclined to offer help when you looked as if you didn’t need any. But despite her new and improved look, she needed all the help she could get. She had looked up Henry’s itinerary on his publisher’s website and knew that he’d be gone for at least two more weeks, but she desperately wanted to get out of the apartment well before his last appearance of the tour, in Singapore, two weeks from Sunday.

  Time was running out.

  15

  Henry

  “Henry, I need to have a word.”

  Henry signed the preface page with a flourish and handed the book back to the woman standing in front of him with a polite smile and a, “Thank you for coming!” before turning to his Scandinavian publisher who was hovering right behind his left shoulder. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Helga,” he said under his breath, while still smiling at the long line of readers waiting for his signature.

  Helga Svendsen looked upset. He wasn’t sure why. The book tour had been a success all through Europe, and here in Gothenburg, people had lined up for hours before his appearance. The book had gotten rave reviews, and the readers seemed to love it.

  Strange, since he could barely remember the plot.

  He signed a couple of more books. Helga stayed by his side. It was bugging him. He glanced at his watch. “I have another fifteen minutes here,” he said. “Go and get me a coffee or something, and I’ll join you in the back as soon as I’m done.

  The booths at the extensive book fair had small partitioned spaces in the back, made of thin, temporary walls and no ceilings. Some of the smaller booths had only enough room to store some boxes of books and the staff’s personal belongings. His Scandinavian publishing company was one of the larger in the business, and they had a whole lounge area set up back there, where the talent could rest out of sight from eager autograph or selfie hunters.

  Helga grumbled but left. Henry kept on signing. When there was about ten minutes left, the book fair staff cordoned off the queue, so that more people couldn’t get in line, and he began to see an end. Finally. His signing hand was starting to cramp up.

  He posed for a couple of selfies with some avid fans who clutched his book to their chest as if it was their most treasured possession and then slipped into the back lounge. Helga was waiting for him, but not seated in one of the rather comfortable armchairs. Instead, she was pacing back and forth. As soon as she spotted him, she stopped and raised her hands in a helpless gesture.

  “Oh, Henry!” she said.

  “What is it, Helga?” He nodded toward the takeout mug on the table. “Is that for me?”

  She nodded distractedly. “Oh, yes, of course, but Henry …” She clutched her hands in front of her chest. “I am so terribly sorry.”

  He slumped into one of the armchairs, sipping the coffee. It wasn’t the worst coffee he’d had on this tour, but certainly not the best. “For what, Helga?”

  She sat on the edge of the armchair opposite his. “Your publisher called me. From New York.”

  Henry frowned. Then he pulled his phone out and checked the screen. “Why didn’t Greg call me directly? I don’t have any missed calls.”

  “He thought it was better that I tell you in person.” Helga wrung her hands again. “He didn’t want you to find out over the phone.”

  “Find out what, Helga?” This was getting on his nerves.

  “I am so very sorry,” she said again, and he frowned at her. “And I don’t know how to say this but … your wife has died.”

  His eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. Helga looked as if she was going to cry. “I’m not married,” he said slowly, but emphatically.

  “Oh, your ex-wife, I mean.” Helga did some more handwringing. “Her family lawyer called your publisher to find out how to get in touch with you.”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would her lawyer want to get in touch with me? We’ve been divorced for more than fifteen years.”

  Helga stared at him. “It was a car accident,” she said, as if that explained anything. “Your wife, er … your ex-wife was killed instantly. And her husband as well. They were both killed.” The stress was making her Danish accent even more pronounced.

  Henry frowned. “That’s terrible. But I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

  “Because of your daughter,” Helga said. “A social worker is bringing her from Los Angeles to New York. You must go home, Henry, and take care of your daughter. I’ve booked you a ticket back to the States this afternoon.”

  The cab pulled away from the curb, but Henry didn’t move. He just stood there, staring up at all the dark windows. It was 3 AM, and all
his neighbors were probably sound asleep. His internal clock was completely out of whack, and he’d not been able to sleep on the flight.

  But now, he was tired. Bone tired.

  With a sigh, he grabbed the handle on his suitcase and dragged it behind him up to his apartment. His mind was in a turmoil, and he couldn’t find a single thought to grab hold of to start unraveling it all.

  OK, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one thought that kept buzzing at the back of his head, like an annoying mosquito.

  Your daughter, he heard Helga say. You must go home and take care of your daughter.

  Daughter? He didn’t have a daughter. Didn’t have any family at all.

  His marriage had been over almost before it had begun, and the only reason they had stayed together for three years was that he had been too busy to get a divorce.

  And they certainly hadn’t had any children.

  He stopped outside the door to his apartment and remembered the last time he’d seen his wife. Standing in the hallway of their shared apartment, across town, surrounded by boxes that a couple of men in blue overalls were carrying downstairs.

  “You’re not the man I need you to be, Henry,” she’d said, and he hadn’t understood what she’d meant at the time, but now, he thought that perhaps he did.

  At the time, he’d been anxious for her to leave, because he’d just realized what was missing from the story he was working on, and he was eager to get back to the computer. Now, he tried to remember what she’d looked like, standing there. It was difficult because he hadn’t been paying attention. She had looked strained and pale; he remembered that.