Chapter 2 - The Invitation He Should Have Read
Julian Hayes did not think about Miranda again until four days later.
At least, that was what he told himself.
In reality, he thought about her every time he remembered the way she had looked at him from the bus stop.
No tears.
No anger.
No pleading.
Just that strange calm.
It irritated him more than any insult could have.
By Friday afternoon, Julian sat behind the glass desk in his forty-third-floor office overlooking Boston Harbor while Candace paced near the windows with a champagne flute in her hand.
“You’re still thinking about her.”
Julian looked up from his laptop.
“Who?”
Candace laughed.
“That answer only works when you don’t immediately look annoyed.”
“I’m not thinking about Miranda.”
“You asked Charles to find out where she lives now.”
“That was curiosity.”
“You had your assistant check whether she’s dating anyone.”
“That was legal housekeeping.”
Candace stared at him.
“Legal housekeeping?”
Julian closed the laptop.
“What exactly is your problem?”
“My problem is that six months after your divorce, your ex-wife can still ruin your mood by getting on a bus.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
He had spent eight years married to Miranda.
He knew every expression she made.
Or he thought he did.
The woman at the bus stop had looked unfamiliar.
Not because she had changed her hair.
Not because she wore a different coat.
Because she had looked at him like he was no longer important.
Julian hated that.
Before he could answer, his executive assistant entered carrying a black envelope.
“Mr. Hayes, this came by courier.”
Julian held out his hand.
The card inside was heavy cream stock with raised silver lettering.
HARBOR LIGHT HEALTH FOUNDATION
INAUGURAL GALA
SATURDAY, 7:00 P.M.
THE MARINER BALLROOM
Candace leaned over his shoulder.
“Oh, this thing.”
“You know about it?”
“Everyone knows about it. The governor’s office has people attending. Several hospital systems. International donors.”
Julian scanned the card.
Hayes Meridian Group had been listed as a corporate partner because one of its healthcare subsidiaries had pledged five hundred thousand dollars months earlier.
Julian barely remembered approving it.
His eyes stopped on one line near the bottom.
FOUNDING DIRECTOR: MIRANDA BENNETT
He stared.
Candace noticed.
“What?”
Julian read it again.
Miranda Bennett.
Not Hayes.
Bennett.
Her maiden name.
“How did I not know this?”
Candace took the card.
“Know what?”
“She’s running the foundation.”
Candace blinked.
“Miranda?”
Julian leaned back.
During their marriage, Miranda had volunteered at hospitals, organized charity drives, and spent evenings talking about improving access to pediatric care.
Julian had tolerated it.
He had called it her hobby.
Once, during an argument, he had told her charitable work was what wealthy wives did when they needed something to put on luncheon invitations.
The memory suddenly felt less amusing.
Candace tossed the invitation onto his desk.
“So what? She runs a charity now.”
“This gala is expecting five hundred people.”
“Then congratulations. She learned event planning.”
Julian studied the invitation.
Something did not add up.
Miranda had never been wealthy on her own.
At least, not by his standards.
After the divorce, she had rejected the larger settlement his attorneys offered and taken only what she was legally entitled to under their prenuptial agreement.
He had assumed pride was making her stupid.
Yet Harbor Light had already raised millions.
“Who funded this?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I want to know.”
Candace crossed her arms.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That tone.”
Julian looked at her.
She lowered her voice.
“You liked her better when she was miserable.”
The statement landed harder than Julian expected.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
Candace set down her champagne.
“You splashed her with a car because you wanted her to feel embarrassed.”
“It was a puddle.”
“You aimed for it.”
Julian’s eyes hardened.
Candace smiled without humor.
“I was sitting there, remember?”
For several seconds, the room was silent.
Then Julian’s phone vibrated.
His chief financial officer, Michael Trent.
Julian answered.
“What?”
Michael sounded uneasy.
“We have an issue with the Bellmont infrastructure bid.”
Julian immediately straightened.
Hayes Meridian had spent almost eighteen months preparing a massive redevelopment proposal in Bellmont, an island Commonwealth off the Atlantic coast whose shipping ports connected North American and European trade routes.
The contract was worth nearly two billion dollars.
“What issue?”
“The review committee postponed the private meeting.”
“Until when?”
“They didn’t say.”
Julian’s expression tightened.
“Why?”
“There’s increased scrutiny around several bidders.”
“Scrutiny for what?”
“Governance. Labor practices. Corporate conduct.”
Julian almost laughed.
“Corporate conduct? We’re building port infrastructure, not running Sunday school.”
“I know. But Bellmont’s government has been pushing ethics provisions.”
Julian looked toward the gala invitation.
Something about the timing bothered him.
“Who’s coming from Bellmont this weekend?”
Michael paused.
“The prime minister is in Boston.”
Julian looked up.
“Harrison Calloway?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“Medical diplomacy initiative. He’s making an appearance connected to Harbor Light.”
Julian’s eyes slowly returned to Miranda’s name.
A charity gala.
Bellmont.
Prime Minister Calloway.
His ex-wife.
Coincidence, he told himself.
Nothing more.
Yet suddenly, attending the gala felt far more important.
“We’re going,” he said.
Candace frowned.
“To the charity event?”
“Yes.”
“You just said you didn’t care.”
“I changed my mind.”
Across the city, Miranda stood inside the Mariner Ballroom watching workers test the chandeliers.
Five hundred empty chairs surrounded fifty tables.
Tomorrow night, every chair would be filled.
Her foundation’s director of operations, Naomi Brooks, approached with a clipboard.
“Press table confirmed. Governor’s deputy chief of staff confirmed. Boston Children’s confirmed. Calloway delegation confirmed.”
Miranda nodded.
“And Julian?”
Naomi’s mouth tightened.
“Hayes Meridian confirmed two attendees.”
Miranda had expected that.
Still, seeing his company name made something unpleasant move through her chest.
Naomi watched her.
“You want me to move them?”
“No.”
“Far table?”
“No.”
“Kitchen?”
Miranda almost smiled.
“Naomi.”
“I’m being practical.”
“They pledged half a million dollars before the divorce. The donation benefits pediatric rehabilitation. I’m not punishing children because I dislike Julian.”
Naomi gave her a long look.
“That is an annoyingly mature answer.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Her phone rang.
Adrien.
Miranda stepped away.
“Hi.”
“Am I allowed to ask how the ballroom looks?”
“Like five hundred opportunities for something to go wrong.”
“Excellent. You’ve entered the optimistic stage of event planning.”
She smiled.
“Where are you?”
“Airport.”
Miranda paused.
“Already?”
“My parents moved their arrival forward.”
“Why?”
There was a brief silence.
Then Adrien said, “Security concern.”
Her smile disappeared.
“What kind?”
“Probably nothing.”
“Adrien.”
“Someone sent my father’s office a packet this morning.”
“What packet?”
“Photos.”
Miranda gripped the phone.
“Of what?”
“You.”
Her stomach dropped.
“At the bus stop?”
“No.”
His voice changed.
“They were taken outside our townhouse.”
Miranda turned slowly toward the ballroom windows.
Beyond the glass, Boston moved beneath a gray afternoon sky.
Cars.
Pedestrians.
People she did not know.
Someone had photographed her home.
“When?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Who sent them?”
“We don’t know that either.”
May you like
Adrien’s next words were quiet.
“But whoever did it knew exactly who you married.”
