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But, I realize what touching her would ultimately bring about.

  Total ruin and disaster for both of us.

  “Do you?” I reply.

  I try to keep my tone formal and wise.

  I don’t think it works.

  She senses my trepidation, my worry that this will drive a wedge between us that I won’t be able to avoid.

  “You're wrong.” she states, flatly.

  Her tone has an angry edge.

  “My father wouldn't do that,” she states, emphatically.

  Both of us are aware that I am right.

  I recognize her father's business sense has overridden everything else in his life.

  I have experienced that Julian Bradford will do whatever he can to silence the Whittaker troubles he's had since Jameson took over.

  As far as Julian goes, Jamesen Whittaker is just an annoyance.

  It makes me worried for Tinsley.

  “They’re only introducing you.” I try to backpedal.

  “You're wrong,” she says it again.

  She spits the words out.

  Tinsley pushes me back, away from the door, before slamming it behind her.

  In the empty doorway, Tinsley’s ghost hovers and taunts me.

  I can smell her scent, as the soft wind wafting through the penthouse carries it away.

  I think, hard.

  My brow furrows in concentration.

  This is not a turn of events that I like.

  Am I losing control of the account?

  Why would Jamesen be making moves like this without consulting me?

  That's unheard of.

  His investors won't be a fan of doing something like this, merging with Bradford Energy. Whittaker has been profiting for years because of their clean energy movement.

  Bradford Energy has had nothing to do with clean energy, and likely won’t ever.

  What are they up to?

  But none of that matters now.

  Tinsley has gone.

  The echo of her face is permanently etched in my mind.

  My body aches for her touch.

  I understand, for the first time, that there's something Noah Stone wants but cannot have.

  And, I fear it will drive me insane.

  2

  Tinsley

  September 8, 2009

  I am dizzy and weak from my encounter with Noah.

  But mostly, there is anger.

  Not because he's pointed out something I already realized.

  I'm angry because he's the last person I wanted to hear those things from.

  The end of our pleasant afternoon concluding with a barrage of hurtful comments was not something I anticipated.

  I don’t believe it was what he intended on happening either.

  But it is what it is.

  I could take the short path, from West 59th near Central Park South, where Noah's penthouse is, to Columbus Circle where my parents live.

  I really don’t feel like going home.

  Slipping my sweater back on, I run through the park, and head back down the Center Drive pedestrian path, past Sheep Meadow, and down past the reservoir.

  I’m tempted to run all the way across the lawn, to avoid facing my feelings.

  As I run, I contemplate the situation.

  Noah is the one man that's been in my heart.

  My feelings for him have been there for a long time.

  Longer than I care to admit to myself.

  I’d always believed my infatuation with Noah was always just an innocent crush.

  But, today proved to both of us that there is more to it than we cared to admit.

  For the first time, Noah really saw me.

  When he almost kissed me, I thought my heart would stop!

  The larger part of me, however, the more rational part, was screaming at me that there's no way that Noah Stone would kiss me.

  I'm still just a little girl to him.

  Untouchable.

  I always thought Noah to be a calm, rational man, and that he would not want me.

  This was something I had convinced myself about.

  I mean, hell, Noah could have just about any woman in the city.

  He is the man of the hour; he always has been in my mind, anyway.

  With that square jaw, and those intense eyes in an incredible shade of blue it would be no trouble at all for any woman to drown in his charms.

  Noah’s sleek short blonde hair is always perfectly trimmed.

  His face always sports a perpetual five o'clock shadow.

  He dresses impeccably, either a formal suit or the finest designer clothes, unless he goes running.

  He knows the best of the best; he always knows what he's doing.

  My father says he has incredible business intuition, and an uncanny sense of the way of things.

  There's a reason everyone knows him in Manhattan.

  He never needed to run a business; but, his clients know he always makes smart, sound investments.

  The man came from money, but he worked hard to make a name for himself.

  Of late, there’s been a stain of scandal around him, because of his wife, Olivia.

  Truthfully, I never thought Olivia, his wife, was enough for him.

  She was always a cheater, anyway.

  Not that he hasn't had his fair share of women within their marriage, but she drove him to it.

  My mind turned to his confession regarding Elizabeth.

  I breathed a sigh of relief to learn there was never the love he needs in his relationship with her.

  Yet, there is something to it that troubles me.

  It's not that I pretend to be able to identify what he needs.

  I just know he won't find what he wants in that woman.

  They were never right for each other, and she continues to torture him, by keeping his daughter, Ava, from him.

  Even at nineteen, I understand that Elizabeth is a danger to him.

  And to have sired two children with that woman?

  It infuriates me.

  I can’t believe he lost control, and just impregnated her like that.

  More probably, she poked holes in the condoms, to trap him.

  Twice.

  But, he’s smart enough to figure out where babies come from, and how to take precautions and even terminate a pregnancy if it came to that.

  I suppose he must have seen something positive in her, and in their relationship, to want to work it out.

  Again, it troubles me, nagging at me, because he’s usually so strong and certain about his decisions.

  A part of me crows it didn't work, as though it makes me happy that he still didn't want to be with her.

  If he couldn't commit to her once why would he commit to her after?

  I guess she hoped maybe things would work out, after he saw their babies?

  But, it’s plain that she would eventually come to realize what I see now.

  That he never would, and never could, give her what she wants.

  Which means, because of her own selfish nature, she won't give him what he wants.

  I slow to a crawl, turning back, taking Central Park West towards my parents' apartment, where I am aware they are probably waiting for me.

  I am sure my father will be angry.

  But, I am too distracted to care.

  How long was Elizabeth with Noah?

  How long did they carry on?

  Years?

  Months?

  It sounded like years, but he didn't go into details.

  I wanted to probe further into it.

  But, my jealousy took over.

  I couldn't stop it.

  I can't explain the emotion I experienced.

  How angry it made me to find she had tricked him into being with her again, even for a time. That she tried to make him engage, even more, thinking he would lead her to his daughter.

  But that only led him to more heartbreak.

  Even if Evan is a sweet kid, you can tell he need
s more of a mother. Magda does her best, but with Noah as his father, you can only wonder how he will turn out.

  Probably just as arrogant and confident as Noah, no doubt.

  Which may not be a bad thing.

  Another, blonde, ambitious man in the family?

  Noah 2.0 is an amusing concept.

  I grin as I race home.

  Also, that's another reason I can't see him wanting me.

  Where has my ambition gone?

  All my friends are off at college.

  My parents didn't see the need, even if I graduated at the top of my class, so, here I am, doing nothing.

  I set myself up for this, being fated to be married off like this.

  If that's really what they intend to do.

  Especially if my trust fund is not available until I'm twenty-one.

  My parents arguing through the closed door of the apartment alerts me to the scolding I'm going to have to endure.

  I assume they've been arguing all summer.

  Especially with me away.

  I try to slide in unnoticed, but I have no such luck.

  “Where were you?” says my father.

  His voice is as judgmental as ever.

  “Nowhere. I was at the park,” I tell him.

  My mother, unfortunately, attempts to deflect his displeasure onto me.

  With me being older, she’s decided I am fair game to divert some portion of his wrath.

  “Didn't you go for a run with Noah?” she asks.

  My father’s ears perk up, and he instantly jumps into the fray.

  “She wouldn't dare do that! It would leave a bad impression on Julian Bradford! They live in the same building,” he says.

  His words come out flatly, in a voice from God manner.

  Mother sighs, rolling her eyes, and goes back to whatever is holding her interest.

  Crochet?

  Sudoku?

  Who cares.

  I don’t really want to deal with their drama right this moment.

  So, I lie to my parents.

  “No, I was not with him,” I say smoothly, as I move into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

  I scratch the back of my neck, unconsciously, which is one of the signs they look for, to see if I am lying to them.

  Damn it!

  Lucky for me, I am beyond their field of vision, the kitchen cabinets blocking their direct line of sight.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, wishing I had lingered for a while.

  Maybe then, they’d have been dining out, or at least living their separate lives and not dragging me through their miserable marriage.

  After a long pause, my father looks my mother up and down, and then he shakes his head.

  “I guess that will have to do,” he sighs.

  Directing his attention to me, he waves his hand in the air.

  “Go change,” he says to me.

  “Why? What for?” I ask.

  “You’re going shopping. You need to pick out a dress for Saturday. Connor Bradford will be there. I want you to meet him; he's a very nice man, you'll like him,” he says.

  Then, he turns and exits into his office.

  Just like that, my father shuts down any questions I may have by simply walking away.

  His way of dealing with family issues.

  Ignore them.

  I hear him locking the door behind him.

  I'm told what to do, where to be, and not to ask questions.

  It's always been this way.

  Until now I've played along.

  “Why do we have to go shopping?” I ask my mother, crossing my arms.

  “I've got a million dresses for this stupid gala on Saturday, and it's my birthday. What if I want to go out with my friends?” I protest.

  “Your father knows it's your birthday,” she says.

  My mother shakes her head, though her pinned hair doesn't move out of place, walking me through our immaculate home to my room, to choose my clothes for me, because she knows I'm about to be stubborn.

  “He wants you to look your best,” she says.

  “But I've got at least twenty dresses I can wear!” I say, exasperated at them treating me like a child.

  “Maybe something a little more, suitable for a woman your age?” she suggests.

  Mother throws a knee-length bandage dress my way, raising her eyebrows high enough that they appear they might leave her forehead and launch into space.

  I understand well enough by now that I am just to get dressed, and then follow her out the door.

  I get it.

  Nothing I have is eye-catching enough for Connor Bradford.

  But, I have no desire to be shopping with my mother.

  Instead, I would rather be back there, with him.

  At his Penthouse.

  Looking into his eyes.

  Hugging him, kissing him…

  Noah's penthouse is where I want to be, to just, hang out with him, do whatever, not caring what we do.

  The thing is, I swear to god, I felt sparks flying between us.

  I needed more time to figure out what exactly was going on.

  It's hard to believe he would've kissed me, but I've been daydreaming about kissing the man for a few years now.

  I can hold onto this memory for quite a while.

  “What's the real reason?” I ask my mother.

  I sit down on my bed, and she sighs, looking down at her Louboutins, which are sinking into the plush carpet of my walk in.

  “Tinsley, can you please just leave this alone?” she pleads.

  “Leave what alone?” I counter her.

  “Were you with Noah?” she asks.

  “What if I were?” I spit back.

  My sass doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Mother eyes me carefully, her look indicating she is performing that internal matronly mathematics that mothers do.

  “At least he tells me the truth. Unlike some people in the room,” I say, defensively.

  “You need to stay away from him,” she says sternly.

  “The scandal is all people are talking about, now. He’s trouble, Tinsley, and you would do best to stay far from a man like that,” she scolds.

  She’s right, though.

  Despite all my feelings about him, her intuition is spot on.

  Noah recently admitted to his wife that he’d had a child with another woman.

  Noah produced Evan, and the sudden appearance of a bastard son threw all of New York High Society into an enormous tizzy.

  Olivia, embarrassed beyond belief, made a fool out of him, elevating a simple out-of-wedlock baby into the biggest scandal of the decade.

  They weren’t even married when Evan was born.

  At least I know the truth about that.

  I shrug.

  “Noah treats me like an adult,” I say, and Mother’s eyes look about to take flight again.

  “You aren't old enough to recognize any better, Tinsley,” she says, trying to sound like she cares.

  “Mother, I will be nineteen on Saturday, and I deserve to decide who I should and shouldn't date!” I yell, firing back at her with a haughty expression on my face.

  I am angry.

  “And, I can see Noah on my terms, thank you very much!” I shout.

  This isn’t really too mature, I realize, so I tone it down and try to count to ten.

  I need to deescalate this.

  I take a drink of water, and slowly begin counting again.

  “Noah is bad for your father's business,” Mother informs me.

  “Noah helps Daddy, or at least I thought he did?” I say, somewhat confused.

  “He does,” Mother replies, but it only makes the confusion worse.

  “So, what did Noah ever do to dad?” I taunt her further, knowing I'm verging on brat territory now.

  “I don’t know, and don’t really care to know your Father’s business, but he said so,” she replies.

  This is not a proper response to my question.


  It never was a response growing up, and it's not a response now.

  “That's not an answer,” I explain hotly.

  “I want a real answer, Mother, as to what Noah did. It has nothing to do with Olivia!” I say, too loudly.

  I gulp water, trying to drown my rising anger.

  Mother sighs, as she removes first one heel, then the other, and begins massaging her feet before sitting down beside me on the bed.

  “You see, Tinsley, that your Father and I don't always get along. That's not an accident, you know,” she says, wincing as she rubs her feet.

  “So? What does that have to do with-” I start to say.

  She interrupts me, “So, Tinsley, I never wanted to marry your father. My parents wanted me to marry your father, so I listened, I did what my parents told me to.”

  She’s looking me in the eyes, searching for my reaction to this news.

  I stare at my mother, blinking for a few moments.

  “What?” I am dumbfounded.

  The surprise makes my face go numb.

  Like I can't understand what she’s saying.

  Why on earth would Mother do something like that?

  “It was an arranged marriage, you see,” she says.

  Facing me directly, she explains carefully.

  “Your Father has provided many things for me over the years, including you.”

  She gives me a wan smile.

  “A happy marriage hasn't been one of them. Do yourself a favor, and make the best of the situation he is giving to you, before he forces your hand, and makes you do the same,” she instructs.

  “He can't do that.” My reply sounds childish to my ears.

  I perceive, however, that my Father is quite capable of doing the same thing to me.

  Indirectly, he can force me to do whatever he wants me to.

  I'm powerless.

  They've made me helpless.

  I begin to understand that, by giving me everything, they have made it possible to easily leave me with nothing.

  I only hope they don't leave me penniless with no marketable skills.

  Well, now that the cards are laid out on the table, I have to play along.

  “You have experienced your father's temper?” Mother asks.

  She pulls out a bra for me, tossing it my way.

  Suddenly, she’s tired of this.

  “Now,” her voice is firm, on the side of angry.

  “Can you please get dressed, so we can go find you something more suitable to wear for Saturday?” she says.

  Then, she walks out of the room, her shoes held firmly in her hand.