Page 100 of One Billion Reasons

“You look like shit.”

My mouth parts in shock. “Uh, thank you? I’m not having the easiest week.”

George shakes their head. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. I meant you look like hell, but you’re not alone. He does too.”

“He does?” I sit up a little straighter.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” George frowns and looks back down at their phones. “Fix it, please. We’re here.” And with that, they shove me out of the cab and drag me into an unmarked lobby.

“This doesn’t look like a bank. Maybe it’s a very special bank for rich people?” We’re near the water, and this looks suspiciously like a dock.

“It’s not.” George gives me a sharp grin and steps back as they close the front door in my face. “Good luck.”

“What the hell?” I shout into the empty space, and I swear I hear a ghost of a laugh float back to me. Freaking rich people.

“Lane Overton?” A polished woman pops her head around the corner. “Your helicopter is waiting. Right this way, please.”

“Helicopter? I’m supposed to be here to process a wire transfer. I don’t need a helicopter.”

“Mr. Becker was very clear. You’re to be escorted onto the helicopter.” She frowns and gestures for me to precede her. I sigh.

“Is it going to make your job difficult if I refuse?”

“Very.” She nods.

“Fine.”

She shows me to the tarmac on the river, where a black chopper is waiting, blades already whirring. The pilot nods, and the woman settles me in, giving me headphones and buckling my seatbelt before closing the door. As we lift off over the Hudson, I text George.

This is kidnapping.

They respond not a second later.

Deal with it.

Lovely. I stare out the window as the city unfurls and becomes suburbs. Not thirty minutes later, we’re touching down in East Hampton and I’m being whisked into a car. The roads are familiar, tugging at memories of summer days and driving that stupid red car too fast. I remember throwing my hands up when Miles put the top down and took turns at speed. Mr. Becker. That’s who he is now. I squeeze my eyes shut as we go down the Montauk Stretch. Mr. Becker. I hate it. I hate the idea of seeing him and not being able to tuck under his arm, of hearing people talk about him and pretending that I don’t know all his secrets and exactly what he likes in bed. Who will force him to surf? Who will make sure he smiles? Will he go back to being that stoic man he was at the beginning of our trip?

My stomach pitches and rolls at the thought of how lonely our lives will be without each other. An echo of those years we didn’t speak.

“We’re here.” I open my eyes to see the Montauk house before me.

The driver helps me out, and I see a slight figure in the distance, on the adjacent property. As she nears, I recognize her, even in the fog of late morning.

“Catherine?”

“Lane?” Catherine pulls me into a hug before I can react. “It’s so nice to see you.”

I’m stiff and awkwardly pat her back. She knows about the fake relationship, and I want to crawl into a hole. “Uh, what am I doing here?”

“Oh, well, I thought it might be nice to have the closing here. Sorry, I hope it’s not inconvenient. Miles said he’d take care of the transportation.”

I shake my head. “No, I mean, what am I doing here with you?”

Catherine leans back, surprise making her brows draw down. “Miles didn’t fill you in? He called last week, and again yesterday to make sure I had all the paperwork. No matter, I have what I need. Follow me, please.” She leads me through the backyard and up a neat set of steps into a partially finished room. More lovely light, and a single table and two chairs. She gestures at one and seats herself at the other.

“I’m so thrilled you’re buying the property.”

“Excuse me?” My mouth drops open for the second time that day.

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