Chandler is a great guy. He’s polite and successful and yes, he’s a decent lover. I was willing to go along with it. There are worse things than being stuck with a good man when the notion of love doesn’t exist.
But I realized it also made me a pawn in a game I had no control over.
And this entire epiphany came from one damn, unexpected night.
The same night I fell asleep on a stranger’s chest after talking for hours. The same night I dreamt for the first time in forever. Dreams filled with faded memories of my parents and scenes from their unique and unmatched love for one another.
The same night someone told me nothing worth wanting is ever easy.
Ford.
Ford, named after the college and the car. Ford of no last name, which in a sense makes everything that much more profound. The man with the grumpy scowls and beautiful smiles. Sure, he was attractive and sexy and all of the above, which had my stomach twisting every time he leveled me with those amber eyes of his, but it was more.
It was the words he said and the conviction with which he said them. It was watching him struggle with some unknown demon and realizing that even though we were on different paths, we were in a sense going through something very similar.
One night talking to a man I never met proved to be the catalyst for change within me. A refusal to settle. A refusal to let my brothers and father take what is rightfully mine. A refusal to be stifled. And the need to prove I can have everything I want.
I remove the ring from my finger as gracefully as possible and meet Chandler’s brown eyes while holding it out for him. “This belongs to you.”
He squeezes his eyes shut almost as if to say if he doesn’t see it, he doesn’t believe this is happening. “Can we postpone this conversation?”
“What?” I laugh the word out, my hand still extended.
His shoulders sag. “I said can we postpone this conversation? The breaking up with me part?”
“Chandler—”
“Please, Ellery.” He reaches out and closes my fingers around the ring so that it sits in the palm of my hand. “I feel like an idiot asking you, but . . .”
“The reception,” I murmur, thinking about the event next month where he’s being honored for all his work. Architect of the Year.
“Yeah. I know it’s a lot to ask—”
“It’s the least I can do.” I sigh and pull my hand back, the ring weighing heavily in it. So much for leaving here with a clean break.
“You sure?”
Why does he have to be so nice? So understanding? It would make this ten times easier if he were a dick.
“I’m sure, but after . . . I’m giving this back to you,” I say, holding the ring up.
The smile he gives doesn’t reach his eyes but is genuine nonetheless. “No. I want you to keep it. Maybe you’ll change your mind.” The hope lacing the edge of his tone feels like acid in my stomach.
“Chan—”
“Please. I insist.” He takes a step back and shrugs. “Give it a few months. Maybe you’ll reconsider. Maybe you’ll realize you can learn to love me as I have you.” When I start to shake my head, he continues. “Please. For my ego’s sake.”
“Yes. Yeah. Okay.” I nod when I already know I won’t change my mind. I gave it twelve months. And now I know we’re done.
Today is my day for starting new.
First breaking things off with Chandler.
Then, fingers crossed, everything else I’ve been working on over the past couple of weeks will fall into place at my next stop on today’s schedule.
That’s a big if, but it’s a chance I’m willing—no, I need—to take.
Funny how you can meet someone in the oddest of times to find out they gave you the advice, the hope, and the will to change something that you haven’t had the strength to change before.
One night stranded in a thunderstorm and my perspective changed. My wants have changed. I take that back. My wants have always been there; it’s more the drive to secure them for myself that has been strengthened.
I’m a win at any cost kind of girl.
As I walk out of Chandler’s apartment, past bits and pieces of me that have migrated here over the past year and into this new me, I just hope I have enough currency to make it all work in my favor.
Because falling flat on my face and proving everyone right isn’t an option I’m willing to accept.
CHAPTER NINE
Ford
I bump shoulders as I move through the small space, surprised at the number of people here. The last time I was at a property auction was . . . never. Hell, I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I was involved in a project at the grassroots level.
I’m excited.
“By the size of the turnout, I think we’re already outbid,” a woman murmurs to her companion as I push past people and move toward the front of the room.
When I glance around, I don’t recognize any faces in the crowd, nor do I expect to. The general sale price I think the inn will go for is less than a tenth of what we pay for our typical S.I.N. properties.
“Let her bid,” a guy on the left of me says as I get stuck behind a woman oblivious to her surroundings. “It’s her money. And if she’s actually able to turn it around, then we quitclaim deed it into the company. Her risk. Our reward.”
Underhanded fuck.
“She’ll go broke,” his counterpart replies.
“And that’s a bad thing why? More proof that she can’t handle shit. Besides, if she fails then it’ll be ours even quicker.”
Correction. They’re both assholes.
I glance at the strangers—sure I know one of them from somewhere—and offer a subtle nod in polite greeting to the one facing me before the oblivious woman realizes there is a line of people waiting on her and steps out of the aisle.
“Can we get this damn show on the road?” a woman grumbles as I take a seat in the only available one beside her.
The smile I offer is unreturned. Perfect. That means I don’t have to make small talk. And luckily it remains that way as the auctioneer takes her spot at the dais and begins to go through several of the properties on the block today.
Some are single-family homes. Others are commercial buildings. One is an apartment complex. Each one is an empty shell representing a dream shattered for whoever owned it before the bank took possession of it.
The crowd has dwindled with each successful auction and then refilled with the start of each new one.
Right now is no different.
“Next up,” the auctioneer says, adjusting the red frames of her reading glasses on her nose as she looks down at the paper, “is the White Sands Inn. Property located at 13212 White Sands Drive. This is a unique opportunity to create a world-class, income-producing luxury destination in East Coast’s most desirable beach enclave a little more than two hours from New York City. Located on a sprawling five and a half acre waterfront parcel, this noteworthy compound offers sweeping views of the water and western exposure for spectacular sunsets.” She goes into the details of the property at length. The existing number of cottages. The bulkhead waterfront. The private beach. Other possible ideas for the location such as razing it and creating a condominium complex or a sprawling high-rise hotel.