I asked for Juliet at the marble reception desk and was directed to another counter at the opposite end of the floor. There was a separate elevator bank there, and I noticed a gold plaque designating this one as private. How very Juliet, I thought.

“Hi, I’m meeting with Juliet Thraxton. I’m a relative of hers, Deirdre Crawley,” I said, thinking how much Juliet would hate to be identified as part of my family.

The concierge hid her disbelief well. “Welcome to the Penelope Hotel,” she said, smiling. “Ms. Thraxton’s in a meeting now, but as soon as she’s free, I’ll let you know.”

I took a seat in an empty little waiting area in front of the elevators. The plush chair was covered in some kind of fancy sheepskin. It felt almost like a hug, but in a good way. I glanced at the concierge, but she was acting busy. I sat there feeling weirdly comfortable for a couple of minutes, hoping no one would notice.

But the sensation wasn’t meant to last. The light switched on over the private elevator. “Miss, would you like me to call up now?” the concierge asked.

“Sure,” I said. Then the elevator door opened. Ben Northcutt stepped out.

He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He froze in place, staring as if I had sprouted fangs.

“Ben? What the hell . . . ?”

He bolted before I could finish the question, storming past the concierge and out a small doorway. He wasn’t running, exactly, but he was moving fast. I started after him, baffled and alarmed.

“Ben!” I called out a couple of times. He didn’t turn back or break his stride. I ran to catch up and then grabbed his arm. He swung around, shoving my arm away. He was breathing hard, and his face was contorted in fury.

“What are you doing, following me?” he demanded.

“I’m meeting Juliet. What are you doing here?”

“Fuck off. I’m not answering your questions.”

“I will beat the answers out of you.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me like you did your father?”

Heads swiveled on the street. Even my father—the one person who had the right to object to what I’d done—had remained silent on the subject. I felt disoriented, unsure which way to turn.

I was too astonished to be angry. “I was just . . .”

“You know what? There was a reason Caroline didn’t tell you anything,” he snapped. “Your sister didn’t trust you. She knew you’d overreact and do something stupid—like you always do, Deirdre.” He clomped off, and I watched him go, feeling like my knees would buckle under me.

CHAPTER 39 DEIRDRE

CHAPTER 39

DEIRDRE