“Do you need help with your things?” he asks, pushing off the wall toward me.

“I’m okay, but thank you.”

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my stare. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay.” I tuck a strand of invisible hair behind my ear, needing the distraction.

He nods toward the elevator. “We should get going. The quicker we get there, the quicker we can leave.”

He starts walking. I follow.

He takes one corner of the elevator. I take the other.

And when I climb in the car, I stick as close to my door as I can, knowing the ride won’t be anything like last night.

The silence is lonely, but loneliness is welcome.

I’ve never thought there could be a positive side effect of amnesia, but this one time, I wish I could choose it. There are so many things I’d just rather forget.

I wish Pierce and I could both forget, to go back to what we were before.

I dared to cross that line. Now, there’s no way to get back over.

Pierce finally breaks the silence as the car parks in front of Wade’s office building. “The jet is ready to leave as soon as we’re done here.”

I nod, wondering if he had something else planned originally . . . before the mess I made last night.

He holds the door open for me, but he doesn’t place his hand on my back like usual. Anger may not be Pierce’s thing, but the temperature between us is cold. He walks next to me without a word. It’s almost worse this way, wondering what he’s feeling instead of having him say it.

“Pierce Stanley for Wade Adams,” he announces to the receptionist before it even dawns on me that we stopped in front of her desk.

“You can go on up to the twenty-fourth floor. His assistant will show you to the conference room.”

My phone vibrates as the elevator closes, but I don’t move to retrieve it from my purse. It vibrates again a few seconds later.

“You going to check that?” Pierce asks, staring up at the elevator ceiling.

I pull it out, sliding my thumb over the screen. I have a slew of missed texts, but the one that catches my eye first is from Blake.

Blake: I might not be here when you get back. Going out of town for a few days.

I think about ignoring him but reconsider.

Lila: When will you be back?

When there’s not an instant reply, I start typing another message. It shouldn’t matter to me. We’re unfixable. Too much has been done and said that can’t be forgotten.

The elevator dings, interrupting my thoughts.

“Ready?” Pierce asks, narrowing his eyes on my phone.

I shove it back in my purse. “Sorry.”

This will be the second time in two days I’ve been in this suite, and it holds bad memories of the testosterone battle I witnessed yesterday between Pierce and Wade. I’m not expecting fair play today either.

Wade’s Barbie-like assistant appears to greet us. “Mr. Stanley. Ms. Fields, please follow me this way.”

We end up in the same conference room as yesterday, the one with the line of windows overlooking Times Square. Instead of taking a seat at the expansive marble table, I walk toward the picturesque view, placing a finger on the cool glass. I need a break from Pierce, from seeing him and hearing the smooth sound of his voice. Even more than that, I need a reprieve from myself, because, at the end of the day, it’s not Blake or Pierce who got me here . . . it’s me.

Professionals flood the sidewalks below. Posters and billboards line the street. It gives me something to focus on, a place for my thoughts to wander. It works until I see a man—who has the same hair color as Blake—walking. He creeps into my thoughts so easily. A part of me wishes he only existed there . . . that I could mold him into what I need him to be.

I’d keep his edge. The sides of him that people warned me about are the ones that make me feel the most alive. All I’m asking is for him to let me in, to give me a chance to see if everything I feel inside is valid, or if it’s a fucked up mirage I’ve caught myself in.

“Good morning.” I startle, glancing over my shoulder to see Wade entering the room. I already want to slap the smug look off his face.

“Sorry. Just admiring the city,” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him watching me as I walk to my seat. The guy gives me the creeps, but I put up with him for Pierce. That’s what I get paid to do after all.

Pierce hasn’t said a word since we walked in here. He sits at the end of the table like a king witnessing our exchange. He’s probably waiting for Wade to eat me up and spit me out after what I did to him. “Did you make a decision?” Pierce asks.

Wade clears his throat, leaning back in his leather chair. “I did.”

“And?”

“The project is yours with forty percent ownership under two conditions.”

Pierce lifts a brow but says nothing. I feel like a spectator at a powerful ping pong match.

Wade continues, “She stays on the project.” He points his pen in my direction. “This hotel is going to be the future of New York City hotels, and it needs her fresh eye.”

Both sets of eyes are on me, but it’s not my decision to make. Pierce pays me, and I don’t think I’m his favorite person at the moment. Then there’s the whole apprenticeship—nothing more permanent has been promised.

After a long pause, Pierce finally says, “She’s on the project. What else?”

Wade smiles. It has an evil undertone. “I want Blake Stone to work on all of the murals and art pieces. His style will blend in perfectly with what Lila presented yesterday.”

My breath catches, and my gaze whips to Pierce. The muscles in his jaw pulse, his teeth bared. “No fucking deal,” he barks across the table.

“Are you sure about that?” Wade asks, smugness washing over his face again, “There’s a lot of money in it for you.”

“I don’t need your fucking money! We’re done here.” Pierce stands from the table, motioning me to join him. I comply, too afraid of his current emotional state not to; I’ve never seen him like this.

“Hey, Lila!” Wade shouts behind us. On instinct, I glance back over my shoulder. “If you’re fucking him, be careful. He has a penchant for using things once and then letting them go, especially things that aren’t his to begin with.”

Pierce releases me, striding across the room to where Wade sits, relaxed in his leather chair. A gap between two speeding trains is closing before my eyes, but I can’t look away. Pierce grips Wade’s shirt, pulling him up a couple inches. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“You know exactly who I am, Stanley. You took something from me, and I don’t think you’ve paid me back yet. Now, I’m just going to take it.”

Pierce swings his arm back but hesitates. “You’re not worth it.” Just as quickly as he went to Wade, he walks away. “Let’s go,” he says as he passes me.

He moves quickly toward the elevator as I struggle to keep up in my heels. We step inside, him on one side, me on the other. Anger radiates off every tense inch of his body.

“What was that all about?” I ask, my voice low.

“This isn’t the time, Lila.”

I open my mouth but quickly shut it again. He’s right.

When the elevator reaches the first floor, Pierce surprises me, grabbing my hand in his. Behind almost sleeping with Pierce and frozen hot chocolate, elevator rides are going to be the most memorable part of New York City. It’s where everything starts, or ends, or where my thoughts get me all worked up.

Before I know it, we’re in the car, all the space in the world between us. It’s strange going from lovers one night to distant acquaintances the next.

“So, you want to know what that was all about?” he asks, rubbing his hand along his jaw.

I nod. Obviously I do. Who wouldn’t? “If you want to talk about it,” I answer.

He laughs sadistically. “I feel like I owe you some explanation, so here it is . . . a couple years ago, I slept with his girlfriend once after a night of having too much to drink.” He continues, “I didn’t know who she was at the time and had no intention of ever seeing her again. He can’t seem to let it go.”