Duplicity 2 (Duplicity New Adult Romance) (2 page)

The most welcoming person was a nearby cocktail waitress who took pity on me and sorted me out with a Manhattan in the blink of an eye. I took a sip and immediately felt the kick of the bourbon and a warm feeling as the strong, bittersweet alcohol passed down my throat. Given my recent misbehaviour as a result of overindulgence with the booze, I resolved to take it easy tonight. But the way the drink took the edge off my anxiety was a welcome relief. A nagging voice in my head was asking me if I should be drinking at all,
just in case
, but I made a deal with myself. One wouldn’t hurt.

The ding of the elevator made me turn as another load of revellers joined the crowd. Men had swapped their work suits for open neck shirts and sport jackets, while the ladies were dressed to the nines. I got the impression that the older set holidayed in the Hamptons and golfed with senators, while the younger crowd partied till they got married and joined the out of town commuters.
 

For me, an outsider looking in, it was all too perfect … were these people for real, or just pretenders? Whatever the truth, a jolt of reality reminded me that I was playing the game now too.
 

With a deep breath, I straightened my back. I scanned the crowd again for Nick. A wave of optimism passed through me as I saw the back of a familiar fair-haired head across the room. I made my way towards him, relieved that I’d found him at last. I’d really have to get him to introduce me to some more people tonight.
 

I approached Nick from behind and checking that no-one was looking, gave his bum a cheeky pinch. Before my brain had time to register that his behind felt different, he swung round to apprehend the culprit. My jaw dropped in horror as the man stared at me. We were both speechless, me with embarrassment, him with a sleazy delight.
 

I had no idea who this person was. Apart from the color of his hair, up close he didn’t look like Nick at all. Cute, but definitely not Nick.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I cried, my hand flying up to my mouth. “I thought you were someone else. Wrong bum. Please, forgive me. I’m mortified.”

The man’s companions had turned to see what the fuss was about. I flushed as five pairs of eyes looked me up and down. Wrong Bum held out his hand.

“Gavin Hains. Pleased to meet you too, Miss …?”

“Martin. I mean, Holly Martin,” I mumbled, reaching out to meet his handshake.

“What a sweet accent,” Gavin replied, holding my hand for longer than necessary. “Are you British?”

“Yes, I’m here from the London office. Just for a while. I’m not sure, exactly.”

“Aah,” said Gavin, a look of understanding flashing across his eyes. “You’re Nick’s chick, right?” The others laughed as he said it.

If Nick’s timing had been better, he would have appeared at my side right then and squared up to Gavin. Instead, my get-out came in the form of an announcement over the tannoy, declaring that the coaches would be leaving in five minutes to take us to the Waldorf, where the auction event was being held.
 

“Nick’s chick?” I replied, trying to interpret Gavin’s meaning. I wasn’t anyone’s chick just then, with Nick still nowhere to be seen. I decided against challenging Gavin, although I didn’t like the way he was mocking me.
 

Gathering all the dignity I could muster, I deflected, “I’ll ignore that. Please excuse me, I was just leaving.”
 

The group snickered again as I walked away in the direction of the door. My face was flaming, but no-one seemed to notice or care. They were all too busy finishing their drinks and making their way outside.
 

A queue was forming for the coach. Glancing around the lobby, it was clear that Nick wasn’t here. I was sure that he wouldn’t have left without me, so where the heck was he?

Someone shouted across the lobby, over the noise of the remaining few. “Please, outside folks. The last coach is about to leave.”
 

Gavin and his cronies were approaching the door, and there was no way for me to avoid them.
 

“Has Nick stood you up?” asked Gavin, raising his eyebrows as he approached. “Surely not? That guy is incorrigible.” Cue more snorts from the goons.
 

“Please, let me accompany you to the ball, Miss Martin.” Gavin bowed, and waved his hand in a sweeping motion.
 

“No thanks,” I declined.
 

“Come on Gavin, let’s get out of here,” said one of the other guys, pulling him away.
 

Gavin turned around and caught my eye one last time before they left. His leery smile turned my stomach.
 

I watched through the glass as the last few people mounted the steps of the bus. I was the only person left in the lobby now, apart from the models who were clearing up. The hall was eerie in its silence, compared to the din only moments before.

Reaching into my small purse, I remembered that I had left my cell phone upstairs. I made my way to the elevator and once inside, stared at the buttons. My eyes were bleary with tears. My floor, or Nick’s?

***

Upstairs, I grabbed my stuff, immediately checking for messages on my cell. A one-liner from Nick:

Sorry. Running late. Go without me. Meet you there x

There’d been a lot of that lately. Working late, missed dates, always something more important. Yes, I totally got the fact that Nick had a busy job, but so did I. I’d moved my life to New York for him and not even two weeks later, he was becoming a stranger.
 

Or maybe he was always a stranger, after all I’d only known him for a few weeks. But I thought I knew him well enough to trust my love for him, and his for me. Why else would I have given up everything to follow him across the Atlantic, far away from my home, my job, my friends and my family? My hand reached up to touch one of the diamond studs in my ear, and my heart softened. He was trying his best, right?

Outside, the cold November air made me shiver. My cocktail dress didn’t cover much skin. I buttoned and belted my Burberry mac. Another designer purchase to make me feel better about my unravelling life.
 
Roll on pay-day, because at this rate my credit card was going to melt.
 

I hadn’t bargained for having to up my game so much in New York to keep up appearances at work. Arriving with just one suitcase, I’d decided that all my clothes were totally wrong. The style here was so different to London, I’d just run straight out and bought a whole new working girl wardrobe. Never mind the fact that none of it might fit me in a few months, but I’d just have to worry about that later.
 

I walked over to the kerb and stuck my arm out. There was no way I was walking anywhere tonight in these heels. I could easily be mistaken for a high class hooker. Not that they probably walked anywhere either. A yellow cab stopped and I got in.
 

“Where to, ma’am?” asked the driver, looking at me in his mirror. I hesitated, uncertain whether to head for the Waldorf as instructed by Nick, or to take matters into my own hands. I was in no mood for going out now, goodness knows when Nick would show up and if I had to face that Gavin Hains again … well, that made my mind up. I gave the driver my address and he sped off.

As the cab raced through the streets of Manhattan, I sat back and looked in awe at the flashing colors of the cityscape outside. I still had to pinch myself to believe that I was actually here, in New York, living the dream. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. My boyfriend was the hottest guy on earth, and I had a job to die for.
 

Just for a moment, I forgot about that fact that my boyfriend had a wife, that I was a nobody at work, and I had a secret that was a potential ticking time-bomb.

Life’s what you make it.
 

There was no way I was going down without a fight.

CHAPTER THREE

The cab was driving slower now. Recognizing a few familiar landmarks, I knew I was nearly at the apartment I was lucky enough to be able to call home for the next few months at least. I noticed a late night drugstore and I asked the driver to pull over.
 

“Would you like me to wait, ma’am?” the cab driver asked as I searched for some money.

“No, I’ll be fine, thanks, it’s not far from here,” I replied, paying him. “Keep the change.”

The apartment was only a block or so away. But first I had an important purchase to make, one I had been putting off since my arrival.

Inside the drugstore, I approached the till.
 
A girl about my age was standing there, dressed in a white coat.

Perhaps sensing my trepidation, she smiled, putting me at ease.

“Good evening. How can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was soft and kind. Her eyes met mine, encouraging me to speak up.

My mind went blank, and there was a lengthy pause. The girl kept smiling, waiting for my response. I’m not sure how I got the words out.
 

“I’d like, um, a home pregnancy test kit please?”
 

“Okay, sure. We have several. I’ll just show you.”
 

The girl led me over to a shelf with a display of small white plastic stick-like devices, with rows of boxes underneath. So many! Who knew? I could hear the assistant describing the merits or otherwise of the different tests. Digital or lines? Some had two lines, some one. Pink lines or blue? 3 minutes or 5? Find out before your period’s even due! Works best in the morning … My ears heard the sound of her voice, but my brain wasn’t registering all of her words.

The reality of the situation kicked in and I felt pangs of guilt for the Manhattan earlier. What should have been an easy choice, was overwhelming.
 

My voice was a whisper. “I don’t really understand the difference. It’s all a bit confusing, to be honest. Could you recommend one please?”

The assistant’s eyes widened, like I was some sort of dimwit. “It depends what you want. Would you like me to repeat all of that again?”

There was a ding as the door opened, and another customer entered the shop. The girl looked impatient now.
 

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, not wanting anyone else to hear. “My period’s late and I’d like to do a test in the morning.”

The girl lifted a packet off the shelf.“This one will do great. Let’s get you sorted.”
 

I followed her back to the counter to pay. “Good luck,” she said, in commiseration, when she handed me the packet.

“Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything else? Condoms maybe?”

I wasn’t sure if I imagined that last bit, or if I just heard it in my head.
 

***

Walking towards the apartment, I heard my phone ringing from somewhere in my bag. It was probably Nick, but I didn’t want to stop and talk in the street. I was freezing, my skimpy party dress and mac affording little protection against the elements. My hands were sunk into my pockets as I walked at a brisk clip.
 

I had an uneasiness in my gut that something wasn’t right. The street was deserted of pedestrians, but there were car headlights behind me, shining in the direction I was walking. The car was driving slowly, why hadn’t it passed me by now? I glanced over my shoulder at the black vehicle that was curb-crawling my route. Gaining pace, I rummaged in my purse for my keys.
 

When I reached the steps of my building, I was breathless and my hand was shaking as I turned the key in the lock. A final glance over my shoulder told me that the car had stopped in the middle of the street, lights still on, engine ticking over.
 

I shut the door behind me with a bang, and heard revving as the car drove off. Still trembling, I made my way down the hallway to the door of my apartment. Only when I was safe inside, door dead-locked, with the safety chain engaged, did I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief.

***

Inside the apartment, my heartbeat slowed. My hand no longer shook as I placed the pregnancy test on the coffee table. There was a joyfulness here, a happy spirit that blessed the space.
 

It was a safe sanctuary, the home of my dreams, albeit temporary. Just the opposite of my place in London with Tara.
 
Compact and bijoux, it comprised of only a living room and kitchenette, off which a short, narrow hallway led to the bedroom at the end. There was a door off each side of the hallway. On one side, a tiny bathroom with a shower, on the other a walk-in closet. Even after my recent shopping spree, the racks on the closet were almost bare, begging to be filled with more 5
th
Avenue purchases.

An intricate pattern of wooden parquet covered the floors throughout, except for the bathroom which was tiled with uneven white subway tiles. It was just how I’d imagined a New York bathroom should be.
 

The decor everywhere was simple. White walls with loud splashes of color in the furnishings, making the small space seem both airy and cosy at the same time. A large window at the back of the living room was south facing and provided plenty of light. I counted my blessings for landing on my feet here, and knew I had a lot to thank Nick for.
   

I lucked out when I arrived in New York and was able to move straight in. Friends of Nick were overseas and needed a house-sitter so here I was. There was no way I ever would have been able to afford a place like this, and now it was mine, rent-free on condition that I watered the plants and covered the bills.

Nick and I hadn’t discussed what our living arrangements in New York would be until the last minute. For me, living with Nick for a couple of weeks in London was one thing, but shacking up together in NYC wasn’t on my agenda. I didn’t even know it was on his.

I knew that circumstances were dictating the sequence of events, but it all seemed to be moving too fast, too soon. Cathwell’s relocation plan included a couple of weeks in an apart-hotel, and with naivety I supposed that would give me enough time to find somewhere else to live when I arrived.