After His Betrayal, I Became the Woman He Couldn't Afford novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Returning the Ring

Sylvie hands the ring back in the Kingsbury lobby in front of staff, and Brooks gives her until Friday to apologize on video. Her father's bank calls the loan.

By morning the video had two million views.

Someone had added a caption: She almost got away with it.

I read the comments at my father's kitchen table while he stared at his coffee.

"Gold digger," said one. "Poor man," said another. "Her family was broke, of course she wanted him."

Dad put his hand over my phone and pushed it face down.

"Eat something, Sylvie."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then at least don't read that."

The doorbell rang before I could answer.

A courier handed me a small envelope with the Kingsbury Hospitality crest on the flap.

Inside was my ring, and a card in Brooks's mother's handwriting.

Wear this on Friday, when you apologize. Brooks has been generous. Don't make him ask twice.

My father read it over my shoulder.

His jaw moved, but he said nothing.

"Dad, I'm not apologizing."

"I know," he said. His voice shook. "I know you're not."

"But I told you last night what the guarantee is."

"Dad." I took his hand. "Whatever they do to the credit line, we'll find a way."

He nodded, not looking at me.

In my bag, under the ring, was the card the man from table nine had given me.

I had not decided what to do with it.

I put the envelope in my bag and drove to the Kingsbury Harbor Hotel.

The lobby was full of morning light and people in dark uniforms.

Behind the front desk a young clerk saw me coming and took one step back.

Every head in the lobby turned.

The bellhops, the concierge, a family waiting with their luggage.

All of them had seen the video.

I walked to the desk and put the envelope down on the marble.

"Please give this to Mr. Kingsbury," I said. "It's his ring."

"Ma'am, he's in a meeting."

"Then please say it loudly enough that his father hears too."

My voice carried to the staircase.

"I'm Sylvie Tarrant. Last night, your hotel played a video of me. It was cut from a recording I never knew about."

"It left out the clause I was arguing against. It left out every time I asked for a lawyer to read the contract. It left out his answer."

The clerk's eyes went to the elevators.

I kept talking.

"His answer was, 'Mine is being provided.' Ask him what that means."

A woman near the luggage cart lifted her phone.

I let her film.

"I'm not apologizing to anyone," I said. "Not on Friday, and not ever."

The elevator opened.

Brooks stepped out in a gray suit, buttoning his jacket, with the face he wore for investors.

Behind him came Sierra, holding two coffees.

"Sylvie," Brooks said, warm and loud, for the lobby. "Sweetheart. Let's not do this here."

"You did it there," I said. "In front of two hundred people."

He glanced at the staff.

Then he smiled and put a hand on the small of my back, steering me toward a corner by a potted tree.

I stepped out from under his hand.

"Don't."

His smile stayed in place, but his voice dropped to a murmur.

"Friday at noon. A video, shot here, just a minute long. Sierra wrote you a draft."

Sierra held out a folded page.

"It's really gentle," she said. "I took out the worst parts. It just says you were hurt and you overreacted."

I looked at the page, and I looked at her.

I did not take it.

"You wrote my apology," I said. "After you edited my fight."

Sierra blinked.

"I was trying to help you."

"Sylvie," Brooks said, almost kind. "Think about your father."

"He's sixty-one. He rebuilt that company by hand, and my father's guarantee is the only thing holding his credit line up."

"If it goes, there's no payroll in March. You know that."

My stomach turned.

I did not let it show.

"Is that a threat, Brooks?"

"It's the situation."

He leaned in so only I could hear it.

"You heard me last night. Without me, what do you have left?"

I looked past him at the clerk, who had stopped pretending not to listen.

"Everything I came in with," I said. "Which is more than you've said out loud."

I turned and walked across the lobby.

Nobody spoke.

Sierra called after me, quietly, "Sylvie, wait. You're making this worse for everyone."

I kept walking.

Outside, on the hotel steps, the wind off the harbor pushed my hair across my face.

My hands were shaking now that nobody could see them.

My phone buzzed before I reached the curb.

Dad.

Sylvie, come to the office. A letter came from the bank. They've called the loan. Three million, fourteen days.

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