Page 72 of Parker
Boyd drives the limo to the front doors of the Madison Hotel. Ebony sits beside me in the back seat, her hands clasped in her lap. We argued again before leaving the fashion house tonight. It’s becoming a habit neither of us can break. Our differences are long past agreement. There is no common ground to find. We’re living this lie.
Ebony acts like we are a couple, even around those who know better. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s as if she believes that if she tries hard enough, long enough, I’ll relent. But I won’t. I’ll never replace Nicky. I’ve made that clear, time and time again.
She insists the extra touches, her hand on my arm, the kisses on my cheek, are for show. But I know better. I can feel it means more to her. And maybe that’s why I feel guilty.
Ebony is a broken woman. She lived under her ex-husband’s wrath for years. Her work and my friendship were her onlyescape. This relationship, our facade, matters more to her than it ever could to me.
I know she was jealous when I met Nicky. My life changed overnight, and so did hers. Our regular meet-ups vanished. The situation reduced our link to work alone. Our friendship evaporated along with my time.
When her lies were exposed, the ones that imploded my life from the inside out, I wanted to fire her on the spot. My initial reaction was to have Boyd dispose of her and throw her in the River Clyde. But my mother talked me round, like she often does. She’d lived with an abusive man; it can make a person do desperate things. Ebony, for all her jealousy, had been a long-time supporter of the Parker family. It was our duty to protect her, no matter how I felt personally.
Plus, as someone deep on the inside, with multiple connections within and outside of our businesses, she knows where the bodies tend to be buried and has more than enough information to cause more than a minor headache. So, I’d folded and let her stay. Every day I question whether that was the right decision. Today is no different.
We haven’t spoken since the boardroom this morning.
My mother kicked off this morning’s meeting by congratulating us both on the PR charade we’ve created over the past weeks. Business dinners, media appearances, and public events have filled my calendar in and around the city, a declaration that Joel Parker is back, sane, and newly attached to a woman the press adores.
Ebony’s presence by my side has become part of the Parker brand. She’s reliable. Lovable. Professional. The perfect headline to go with the ideal photo on a front page. Individual and successful enough to be interesting. Just soft enough around the edges to make our relationship appear real.
It was easier to play along than fight my mother, Boyd, and Ebony. I had nothing left to lose. Nicky made it clear we have no chance of reconciliation. The business didn’t need to self-destruct just because I have already.
And ultimately, they were right. The public loves a redemption arc. A man rebuilt from heartbreak with a strong woman by his side. We are what PR companies dream of.
I’m still replaying this morning’s meeting in my head when Boyd’s voice breaks the awkward silence in the car.
“You have the penthouse,” Boyd informs me. “I’ve already collected your keys and had the luggage delivered to the room. The maids will unpack your clothing and belongings now. Dinner is at eight in the private dining room on the nineteenth floor. All your guests reconfirmed attendance again this morning.”
“Thank you, Boyd.” I don’t know what I would do without this man.
“You’re welcome, sir,” he says, stopping the car and stepping out onto the pavement. He opens my door, then walks around to Ebony’s side, holding out his hand to help her from the car.
As much as I hate to admit it, she looks stunning with her dark hair pinned up high. Her makeup is subtle but shimmers against her deep blue eyes. She’s wearing a soft blue long-sleeved wool dress, both elegant and sexy.
I offer my arm. She takes it like it means something, and we walk into the hotel together.
The Madison Hotel is tucked away in the Scottish Highlands, far enough from the city to host private conversations I need. Locked behind dark iron gates, it’s the epitome of muted opulence. A modernized mansion from years gone by.
Crystal chandeliers hang in the high-arching reception area. A baby grand piano to one side is played effortlessly by a gentleman in a tux. Ebony’s heels strike off the polished whitefloor with every step as we head for the elevator, Boyd in front, leading the way with our room key in hand.
As we reach the doors, Ebony finally speaks, so softly that only I can hear. “I'm looking forward to tonight.”
I press the call button, resisting the urge to sigh, then glance at her. "It's a work trip."
She nods. Her lips thinning to a small smile, but something flickers in her eyes. Knowledge, maybe. Confidence, for sure.
“I’m not wanting this to be any more awkward than necessary,” I tell her.
She mumbles something like an agreement. The elevator arrives with a familiar chime, and we step inside. An attendant stands there in a perfectly pressed dark uniform.
“Good evening, Mr. Parker,” he addresses me, then nods to Ebony. “The penthouse?”
Boyd passes me the key to my room.
“Yes, please,” I say, as Boyd turns to leave. “It’s a stunning room,” the man tells us as the doors close. The elevator immediately rises upward. “Perfect for a romantic getaway.”
My eyes flick to Ebony, who is standing silent. Her cheeks pink as her lips press together.
“It’s not that kind of night,” I mutter.
