Despite hardly getting any sleep, Landon looks wide awake and alert in the morning when we go back to the Gold Dust. He leaves me almost as soon as we get there, joining the project managers for a meeting.
Tony introduces me to the interior designer Lydia Khan, a vibrant middle-aged woman, who according to my research, has done refurbishment work in many big-name hotels all over the world. We spend the morning talking about her work creating distinctive properties, and enriching the experience of visitors through compelling design.
Landon calls me around midmorning. I’ve just left Mrs. Khan, and Claude is showing me around the hotel bar, where refurbishment has been completed. It’s luxurious and glistening, with black leather seats surrounding low, deep-oak tables. The bar itself covers one large expanse of wall, and a raised stage allows for small performances.
I excuse myself from Claude’s enthusiastic descriptions and answer the call.
“I have to go to New York,” Landon starts. “I’ll leave in about an hour, and I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I have no other words to articulate the devastating sense of loss.
I think he senses the disappointment in my voice. “It’s very important,” he says, “or else I wouldn’t leave... I wouldn’t go.”
I wouldn’t leave you. That’s what he had been about to say. I swallow. I have to tread carefully, or else I’ll be ascribing feelings to him that he hasn’t communicated, and then I’ll end up wanting more from him than he’s prepared to give.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” I say lightly.
“You’d better be.” His voice is low, and my breath catches in my throat.
I spend the rest of the day at the Gold Dust, alternatively talking with Claude, the managers of the spa and the world-class gym, who I hadn’t met before, and working on my Mac in the quiet of the office Claude has assigned to me. There, during every little break from my work, my head fills with the memories of Landon thrusting into me from behind while I stood over the desk.
In the evening, I order dinner from room service, and I eat alone while downing half a bottle of wine. Afterward, I explore the suite, ending up at the library, where I find among many exciting looking books, an old classic novel I’ve read at least a hundred times. I start reading it again, getting to a very dramatic proposal scene before I decide to call Laurie.
“At last!” she exclaims, “I was wondering when you would take a break from Landon long enough to remember me.”
“I’m mad at you,” I reply, “What did you tel
l my mom?”
‘Nothing,” she denies. “I said, very innocently, that your work in San Francisco involved a guy named Landon Court.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So how’s it going?” she changes the subject.
I shrug. “Landon’s gone back to New York. He’ll be back tomorrow though.”
“He probably has to give his equipment a rest after you used him with a vengeance to end that incredibly long dry spell.”
“It wasn’t that long,” I protest, “and believe me, Landon’s equipment does not require rest to perform at optimum capacity.” He doesn’t even need to sleep, I add silently, still puzzled by his seeming inability to rest like a normal person.
Laurie giggles in delight. “Before I forget,” I hear the beeping sounds as she does something with her phone. “I sent you a link. No idea why I forgot to send it earlier. It’s pretty exciting.”
The message appears on my phone and I put the call on speaker while I follow the link. It’s one of the entertainment websites, and it has a picture of me, Landon, and Cameron McDaniel. Landon has his hand around my waist, his face impassive as he looks at the camera. Cameron is standing a little to the side, also glaring in the direction of the camera. My face is turned towards Landon so that only my side profile is visible in the shot.
The article is just a short blurb.
‘New York hotel and real estate billionaire Landon Court spotted in San Fran with longtime friend restaurateur Cameron McDaniel, and a mystery woman. Is the most eligible bachelor in New York going off the market?’
“Jeez!” I exclaim. “All we did was go out to dinner.”
“I know, right?” Laurie sounds impressed. “You’re hanging with the big boys now. Enjoy it. I gotta go, Brett will be here any minute.”
With that she’s gone. I end up following the link highlighting Landon’s name and land on a search result of all the articles the website has published about him. Most of them are about his public appearances with women. I’ve read the rumors about the women he’s been linked with before, so I skip those articles. There are pictures of him at an acclaimed play off-Broadway, directed by his brother Aidan. There’re other pictures of him with his brother, who is slightly darker, but with the same blue eyes and arrow straight nose. He’s the brother who was supposed to have sent ‘hooker’ me to Landon’s apartment. How awkward, I think. At least I know that we’re never going to meet and be put in a position where he would remember that Landon once thought I was a whore. By the time we get back to New York, Landon and I will go our separate ways.
I shake the feeling of sadness that comes with the thought, instead concentrating on the articles I’m reading. My mother has had articles written about her work and exhibitions, and Trent & Taylor has been featured in some popular publications. Even Aunt Jacie used to be a very popular model before she became the face of Trent & Taylor and married my uncle. However, all that is nothing compared to the volume of news that has been written about Landon’s family. There’s so much, going back to his great-grandfather, Gabriel Swanson, who built the Swanson hotel in New York in the forties, soon after the war ended. A few years later, he almost lost it, but was saved by Landon’s grandfather, Alexander Court, who used his money to turn the hotel into a world-class name in luxury. He also married Lily Swanson, Gabriel’s daughter, one of the most desired women in New York in her day, and changed the name of the hotel to the Swanson Court Hotel.
Then there’s Landon’s father, Preston Court, who seems to have been a playboy in his time. The archived articles are full of rumors of affairs, some of them dated after he had already married Alicia Creighton, a well-known ballerina and socialite. After she died, he turned into a recluse, hardly seen in public until his death a few years later.