Page 4 of A Man of Prestige

He gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s good to see you too, Ells. I’m glad you’re doing well,” he says as he motions to my penthouse and the balcony with the river view. My heart that’s been frozen solid since the argument that ended our relationship, thaws, just a little at the use of one of his nicknames for me.

I follow him back inside to my front door. He turns before he opens it and reaches out, taking my hand that holds the vial. “Be careful with this. The implications could be…life-altering.”

“OK. I’ll run the samples myself,” I reply. I fight the urge to pull my hand away because that part of me is warring with the part that wants him to keep holding my hand. His thumb brushes over my fingers as he pulls away.

“Goodnight, Ells. Call me on this number when you know more. Only use this number. It’s a secure line,” he says. He pulls another phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. “This is a burner phone. Only use this phone to contact me.” He calls the phone on his, and it rings as he hands it to me. He ends the call once he sees that the number has shown up on the burner phone that is now in my other hand.

“Shit. This is more serious than I thought,” I mutter as I stare down at the phone in my hand.

“Ells, I’m sorry I brought you into all this. I promise, once I get this information, I’ll be out of your hair and your life for good. I do truly appreciate you helping me…it could ultimately save a lot of lives.”

“Right. I’ll be in touch when I know more,” I reply because I don’t know what else to say. He nods and leaves. I stand there staring at my door after he’s gone. And then spend another few minutes looking from the vial to the phone. What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter3

Aiden

The ride home seems long.I turn on an audiobook that I’m listening to, trying to distract myself with a story about dragons and wizards, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps replaying the conversation I just had with Ella. My fucked-up brain keeps showing me her flawless skin, her dark wavy hair, her caramel-colored eyes. Those eyes have so many shades of brown in them, even some streaks of amber. I spent many nights looking at them up close, memorizing each color variation. God, I miss her.

I could smell her shampoo as we stood by each other at her front door. My hands itched to massage it into her scalp while standing under hot water in a shower together. I remember doing that. I remember how it felt to run those silky strands between my fingers.

I’ve been with women since her, but none come close. I compare every single one of them to her. They are set up for failure before they even say hello to me. It’s unfair to them, really. I shouldn’t lead them on, I should just make it clear that I only do one-night stands.

Hell, maybe I should thank her. When she left, I tried to find her and talk to her. She seemingly disappeared for weeks, and then I found out she had gone to Afghanistan. I tried to contact her there, but she never replied. So, I threw myself into my work. My promotions and my clinical work successes are all because I spend every hour of every day fixated on making progress. I’ve worked nights, weekends, and holidays. My home has a satellite office that I have connected to my work office so that I can keep working after I leave for the day. Sure, I have fun with friends and have had some great nights with ladies I’ve met, but I never get serious. All my commitment is saved for my career.

Part of me wants to talk about what happened between us, but that ship has sailed. If she wanted to talk about it, she would have come back to me. Instead, years have passed with no word from her at all. She became a ghost in my past until she suddenly came back into my life in the flash of an eye.

That last fight we had, while epic, was stupid and childish. I said some selfish things. I’m not without fault, but disappearing on me like that…I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for that.

My burner phone pings with a text from Conner.

Conner: V is working on a chart. I’ll call you with more info later.

Conner likes to keep us informed on things. It’s odd that he has that role. He’s always been the glue that binds us together. Maybe because he has no siblings of his own. I have a stepbrother. My father remarried two years after my mother’s death when I was seventeen. Hugh is an alright guy. He’s five years younger than me. We don’t have much in common. He works in a marketing firm in Boston but has been doing a grad school program online from a D.C. university. I only see him at family gatherings. Lord knows at seventeen, I didn’t have much room for a twelve-year-old in my life. Plus, I was still reeling from the loss of my mom when my dad went and landed himself a younger version of my mom. Sadie was ten years younger than my mother. Where my mother had me in her thirties, my stepmom had her son in her twenties. Where my mom was kind, Sadie is a bitch. She clearly married my dad for his name and his money.

I pull into my driveway and make my way inside. My mind continues to race. Memories of Tina, the woman we found in the woods, start to invade my thoughts as I pour myself a drink and sit down in my office. I need to quiet my head.

I need to forget everything and focus on my work, just as I always do. I’m the one who’s the most anxious. And right now, my anxiety is in overdrive. I can feel the bad mood coming on. Ella always knew how to make me feel better, even when I was in a mood. There are so many things that only Ella knows. I could fill a book with it all.

My moodiness is a sign of weakness. That’s what my father used to say. But I know it’s not. It’s a sign of the trauma he put me through. It’s a sign of the mental anguish I felt when I was called into a camp director’s office to hear my father tell me that my mother was dead. It’s the sign of the little boy whose heart was beaten to smithereens when he stood over the coffin of the one person who loved him unconditionally.

The guys used to laugh and say I was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Caring and compassionate and logical one moment and then bam, I’d beat the shit out of someone for looking at us the wrong way. Sebastian once said I was a ticking time bomb and needed to get my shit together. He wasn’t wrong. When you lose a parent at a pivotal age, everything changes. I remember everything from that time in my life in vivid color. Each memory is engraved in the pathways of my brain. The sympathetic looks at her funeral from people I barely knew. The whispers in the hallways at schools. I started to fall apart, piece by piece. I was checked out because reality wasn’t a place where I wanted to live any longer. My father wasn’t helpful. I knew he wouldn’t be, but a small part of me had hoped that he would care, that he would be a shoulder for me to lean on while I grieved. Instead, I found solace in my solitude, until I found Conner and Sebastian and they showed me what true friendship was. I learned the hard way not to trust others. And it nearly broke me.

I did get it together, eventually, only now, I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose it. If this goes sideways, and it probably will, I may have to give up everything I’ve worked for. I’ll have to start over. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. I hit rock bottom and built myself back up, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it all away.

Conner gives zero fucks. Hell, if he could live in his tiny home on some deserted island, he would happily do so. And Sebastian, while he presents as the happy politician, has spent the last decade miserable with the fact that he was cornered into the family business.

Although, I think Alexis has changed him. I think he’d just as easily throw away his political life for a more quiet and less public one. But whatever he decides, I am nearly one hundred percent sure Alexis will be by his side.

But…I’m not as in the limelight as they are. I’ve made my fortunes by hiding away and working my ass off. Sure, I get asked to speak at conferences and I’ve even been on panels testifying on the Hill, but most days, I can wander the city and not be recognized. My father, on the other hand, wants all the fame and glory. He made one groundbreaking procedure happen in his thirties, and now he likes to continue making the rounds on national television as some sort of media medical darling. The fact that my mom died at a tragically young age, only makes him more untouchable. At least Theo Sterling is a known asshole and Senator North is also not known for his sparkling personality, but my father, he’s a real piece of work.

I put my noise-canceling headphones on and block out everything but the classical music. I feel my body relax as I turn on my computer and start running data.

There’s something therapeutic about numbers. Numbers don’t have feelings. Numbers don’t lie. Numbers are just what they are. It’s comforting. It’s probably why math and science were always my favorite subjects.

I get lost in my work for hours. I’m not even sure what time it is when I finally come to a stopping point on crunching some statistics. I look down at the corner of my computer to see that it’s nearly three in the morning.

I place my headphones down and make my way to the bedroom. I shower and crawl into my bed. Conner and Sebastian keep apartments in the city. I don’t. I have a shower at work and an old sofa in my office. I’ve spent countless nights passing out on it and grabbing a shower in the morning, only to start all over again. If I want real sleep, I come here to my sanctuary. My house doesn’t even resemble their homes. Their homes look stately. Sebastian’s house looks like it could be in the British Lake District. And Conner’s house looks like a damn castle. But mine…is modern and sleek. It is full of windows and metal. Everything is clean lines and sterile surfaces. I have a few pieces of art hanging up on the couple of walls that I have. But that’s it. No family photos. No trinkets from trips. I keep all my personal items on one shelf in my home office, including a photo of my mother and me at the beach. It’s the last we took together. A photo of Sebastian, Conner, and me at our friend’s wedding a few years ago sits next to it. A sculpture my mom made when she decided to take an art class one summer fills another void. And a sketch of Ella that I made one lazy Sunday afternoon sits to the far side. It’s the only relic of our relationship that I kept. I tell myself that I keep it there because it’s the best sketch I ever made, but deep down, I know it’s because it’s of her. And even after she hurt me, I wanted to keep a piece of her.

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