I wake up sometime during the night, still in Landon’s bed. The room is dark, with only a dim light from outside the open curtains. Landon is not with me on the bed, nor anywhere in the room.

I find a white hotel robe in the dressing room. Putting it on, I find my way through the suite, finally going through the open doors that lead to the terrace. There I find him standing by the stone railings, looking out at the city in the night.

I stand by the doors, just looking at him. He’s wearing pajama bottoms riding low on his lean hips. The air is cold, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. As I watch, he runs a hand through his dark gold mane then leans forward on the railing, releasing a sigh as the muscles of his back flex with the movement.

I find myself wondering what he’s thinking. There’s something melancholy about his solitude and I’m hesitant to disturb him, but almost as if he can feel me standing there, he turns around and straightens.

“You should be asleep,” he says.

“So should you. What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking.” There’s a hint of tiredness in his eyes.

I join him at the railing. “What about?”

“Work.”

I turn to look at him. He’s looking straight ahead, his eyes focused on the darkness beyond the lights. Did I really expect he would tell me what was on his mind? His monosyllabic answers remind me that even though last night it felt as though something shifted in our relationship, it was just my imagination.

We’re still practically strangers—strangers with good sexual chemistry, but still strangers.

The wind moves, causing me to shiver slightly. Landon notices. “You’re cold,” he says. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”

He puts his arms around me and his skin is warm, even though he’s been standing outside shirtless. In his room, he takes off the robe I’m wearing and pulls the covers back on the bed, lying down with his arm around me until the steady rise and fall of his chest lulls me to sleep.

I feel it when he gets up not long after, the loss of his warmth almost jerking me out of sleep. He doesn’t return until it’s getting light outside. I wake up when he joins me on the bed, and after another tender round of intense sex, we lie in each other’s arms, not speaking, and not asleep either. Eventually he gets up to go to the bathroom, and I leave for my room to prepare for the day ahead.

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, dark 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 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 tell 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 says quickly, changing 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 apparent 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 toward 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 off-Broadway play directed by his brother Aidan. There’re other pictures of him with his brother, who is slightly darker but has 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 we’re never going to meet and be put in a position where he would remember that Landon once thought I was a whore. When 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.

I forget my novel, concentrating instead on Landon’s life and wondering how his experiences have affected him. I bury myself in reading about him, going from the social and gossip sites to the business reports and online encyclopedia articles, until it feels as if I could write a paper about him if I wanted.

I know instinctively that there’s a lot more to him than even what I’ve read. The people behind the articles and profiles haven’t even scratched the surface of who he is. I doubt anybody has, and as I finally get into bed, very late, I know I’d like to be the one who does.

THE next day, I spend the morning at the Gold Dust. Most of the refurbishment work is completed, and the project team is slowly giving way for the operations people, who are starting to prepare the hotel for opening night. I spend most of the morning with the photographers, a husband and wife team who met in art school and established a firm together. They set up and take pictures while letting me scroll through a folder on their tablet that contains pictures documenting the refurbishment of the hotel from the first day.

Later, I have lunch at a small restaurant close to Union Square, on the advice of the concierge at the Rosemont Royal, who makes the reservation for me. While I eat, I watch the tourists outside at the square. Back at the Rosemont, the manager reminds me that the spa services are available. With nothing else to do, I decide to spend the afternoon being pampered, and I emerge with my muscles loosened, and my hair, nails, and brows done to perfection. After that, I laze around the apartment, a little sullen that Landon hasn’t called to tell me he’s back or on his way. In fact, he hasn’t called at all since he left. I start to feel like I imagine jealous wives feel, and it annoys me.

When my phone rings, I practically pounce on it, thinking it’s Landon. I’m surprised by the severity of my disappointment when it’s only Jack.

“Hi Jack.”

“You could try to sound a little more excited to hear from me,” he teases.

“I could try, but why should I?”

“Okay, I deserve that.” He pauses. “So, what’s going on with you?”

I look around the empty suite. “Nothing in particular.”

“I’m in luck then. Guess who’s in San Fran?”

I frown. “Not you?”

“Definitely me.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Let’s hang out. I’m sure you’ve worked so much you deserve to take a break.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it possible that I missed you so much, I flew across the country to see you?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m hurt that you think so, and I’d like to rectify that. So what do you say to a night out?”

“Not unless you tell me what you’re really doing here.”

“I’m here to see you,” he insists. “I didn’t want to leave the country without saying goodbye.”

I’m not buying it. “You could have said goodbye on the phone.”

“I could have, but I chose not to. Come on Rachel. Come out and see me. It’ll be fun.”

I almost refuse. I know how impulsive Jack can be, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of his grand gestures before. A month ago, I would have been over the moon. Now I’m just confused by my lack of interest.

However, it doesn’t seem fair for me to spend the rest of the evening just waiting for Landon when Jack has supposedly flown halfway across the country to see me.

“Sure,” I tell him. “When and where?”

“Let’s see,” he says, “I’m staying at this excellent hotel close to Union Square. There’s a lounge here I’ve heard a lot about. We can go there.”

He tells me the name of the hotel and I agree to meet him. I dress in a simple pale blue sheath dress and navy heels, leaving my hair to hang around my shoulders. Downstairs in the lobby, I run into Ralph.

“I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” he says solicitously.

I smile at the man. “I am, thanks.” He’s been attentive to all my needs in my short stay. Of course, I know it’s being paid for, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

Outside, the chauffeured car I’ve had at my disposal since Landon left is waiting under the awning. I tell the driver where to take me, wondering what Landon would think if he found out that the resources he left at my disposal were now being used to facilitate my date with another man.

I don’t fool myself into thinking he would care.

The drive to the hotel where Jack is staying doesn’t take too long. The entrance is adjacent to the sidewalk and Jack is standing there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his stylish black pants as he radiates calm, confidence, and serious cool. Two women walk by, stealing glances at him, one of them almost missing her step as they pass by.

“Hello beautiful,” he greets me with a hug. I can’t help but notice how good he smells.

Just good though, not divine, like Landon.

“Hello to you too,” I reply.

Pulling back, Jack’s eyes skip from me to the chauffeured car now pulling away toward the hotel parking lot. If he has any thoughts on it, he keeps them to himself.

The lounge is on one of the top floors of the building, overlooking the square. From all the windows, there are fantastic views of the city, with the breathtaking sunset that turns the sky into a beautiful burst of purple, orange, and gold. The décor is heavy luxury, with thick rugs, damask curtains pulled back from the windows, soft lights, and deep red velvet chairs that look like luxurious half-moon pods. A chanteuse on the stage is singing covers of mellow love songs while smartly dressed waiters carry trays around the room.

A waiter leads us to a table by a window. “Now tell me what you’re really doing here,” I say to Jack as soon as we take our seats.

“I already told you,” he replies.

We order drinks—scotch for him and a cocktail for me—and the waiter recommends the bacon and deviled eggs small plate.

The chanteuse launches into an Adele song about turning tables. It’s sad and emotional, and we both listen silently.

“What are you working on?” I ask finally, uncomfortable with the silence.

He shrugs. “At the moment, nothing interesting. I’m joining a team of high-profile climbers in the Andes, but my heart’s not in it. I think I’d like to try something new, maybe submarine tourism—I’d like to explore the ocean depths.”

I grimace. “It doesn’t sound very safe.”

“I’m sure it could be. Safe is boring, by the way.”

I smile. “You always say that.”

Right as we finish eating, a DJ takes over from the chanteuse. By now, there are more people around, and a few are dancing. Outside, it’s already getting dark, but the whole city is ablaze with lights.

“We should dance,” Jack suggests.

“Noooo.” I finish my cocktail—my second—and grin at him, feeling slightly wobbly. “I don’t want to dance with you.”

Hurt flares in his gray eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you very much right now.”

He stares at the ice melting in his drink then looks back up at me. “Maybe that will change.”

“I doubt it.” I pause. “So you and Claudia…”

He shakes his head. “It was rash, and maybe a little silly to get engaged in the first place. It’s easy to fall in love with someone after you jump out of a plane with them.”

“I guess.”

“She was fun, very spontaneous. You know she got famous after a rodeo campaign where she actually rode the bulls?” He pauses. “I think I saw us being a team of adventurers, but we didn’t really know each other. She didn’t know me, at least not like you do.”

He looks so serious, and he’s doing the thing where he’s looking at me as if I’m the only person in the world. I get up from my seat, not eager to pursue the line of conversation he’s starting. “You know what?” I say, “We should dance.”

He obliges. The DJ is playing some upbeat songs, and I let Jack twirl me around the floor. By the time we return to our table, I’m smiling and breathless from the exertion.

“Another drink?”

I bat my eyelashes at him, doing my best imitation of old Hollywood glamor. “Now, sir, you wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk, would you?”

“Why, Miss Foster, I wouldn’t dream of it.” We both laugh. It feels so much like old times, except this time, I’m not as full of longing.

My phone rings suddenly, interrupting our laughter.

“Sorry,” I tell Jack as I glance at the screen.

It’s Landon.

I signal to Jack to give me a few minutes and get up from the table, walking in the direction of the ladies room.

“Hello,” I say.

“Where are you?” Landon asks without preamble.

“Have you returned?”

“I have. I landed about half an hour ago.”

“You could have let me know you were on your way.”

“Why? I told you I was going to return today.”

“Yes, but…” I stop myself. I’d been about to complain about the silence. He didn’t call me once while he was gone, and it rankled. It really shouldn’t have, because even though my emotions are telling me otherwise, I’m not his girlfriend. He doesn’t owe me calls every other hour to check on me, just as I don’t owe him any explanation for going out.

“I went out,” I say, not offering any further explanation.

“I gathered.” His voice is terse. “Are you alone?”

I pause. “No, I’m not, but I’m about to leave.”

There’s a charged silence on his end. “Where are you?” he says finally.

I tell him the name of the lounge.

“I’m on my way,” I hear him say.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on my way,” he repeats, his voice crisp as he ends the call. I stare helplessly at the phone then turn back to the table where Jack is waiting for me.