she’d decided to attend.
“We may not be able to zone in on Monica Darby’s whereabouts, but we have recently learned from a trusted source that Maynard did indeed leave his estate, estimated to be worth more than fifty million dollars, to his daughter. Now, that’s how you say sorry...”
That info stunned the entire Cress family.
* * *
The last week had been absolutely chaotic.
Monica sat on the foot of the king-size bed of her guest room of the luxury hotel on Fifth Avenue as she used the remote to flip through the cable channels. She paused at the sight of the video of her looking frightened that had been overused the last week, online and on television. “Now what?” she muttered.
“The secret love child of Academy Award–winning actor of stage and film Brock Maynard has not been seen since this day, leaving the Upper East Side town house of the Cress family who are well-known for their culinary empire...and their good looks. Take a look at this family!”
Monica’s eyes went to Gabe’s face in the photo. Nothing had changed in the week since she’d last seen him. The very sight of him still made her feel more alive than the moment before.
She looked over at the opened envelope on the dresser, holding the tickets to the charity event. An opportunity to see him once more. “Should I?” she mouthed.
“We may not be able to zone in on Monica Darby’s whereabouts, but we have recently learned from a trusted source that Maynard did indeed leave his estate, estimated to be worth more than fifty million dollars—”
Click.
Monica tossed the remote behind her onto the bed after having cut off the television. “Trusted source?” she protested. “You mean Phoebe Maynard? Then just say that.”
It was indeed her aunt that had planted the stories with the press because she refused to allow her brother to do in death what he’d done when he was alive—pretend he didn’t have a daughter. And Monica appreciated the show of support from Phoebe, but it had sent the press into her life with the vengeance of bees whose nest had been knocked to the ground.
She was tired of being stung.
With a sigh she moved across the room to the dresser and picked up the invite and pressed it to her nose. With every passing day the scent of his cologne lessened and now it barely held a hint of the warm and spicy aroma. She shifted her eyes up to see herself in the mirror, dressed in the luxury hotel’s plush white cotton robe, with her hair pulled up into a messy topknot, face free of makeup and her eyes bright with the light thinking about Gabe brought to them.
For the last week she had stayed cooped up in the posh hotel room in Midtown Manhattan, where the wealthy played, intending to remain until she’d made some final decision on where to start the newest chapter in her life. Every well-appointed detail of the room with its high ceilings, stylish decor and city view of Central Park was now imprinted on her brain.
No work. No guests. Nothing to keep her occupied. Nothing but her thoughts. And room service.
“Why let boredom be the death of me?” she asked, tapping the envelope against her chin as she decided it was time to have a little fun.
The next few hours were a whirlwind in Manhattan. Behind oversize shades, she ventured out of her room, and thankfully she faded into the fast-walking crowd with ease. Armed with advice from the concierge, she ventured to a nearby boutique, where she enjoyed trying on designer gowns until she found the one that made every eye in the shop stay on her. Diamond earrings from Van Cleef. Shoes from Bergdorf Goodman. Hair, makeup and manicure by the spa at the hotel.
Aside from the cost of the hotel, it was the first of her inheritance she’d dared to spend. And what felt trepid at first got a little easier with each swipe of the card connected to one of several bank accounts she’d opened. It felt odd to spend such an amount when before it would have taken weeks to earn that much, but it had felt good—for once—to treat herself. Not even a sales clerk asking her to provide photo ID to prove it was indeed her card had shaken her. She’d shown her identification and then left the store to spend her money elsewhere.
And now I’m here.
Monica looked out the tinted window from her seat