Connectivity (10 page)

Chapter 15

I step out of the cab and look at William’s apartment building in Mayfair. I take a deep breath and gather myself on the sidewalk, gazing up at the ten-story building, and, in particular, to the top floor, where I know William is waiting for me.

William Cumberland, founder and owner of Connectivity. William Cumberland, one of the most powerful players in the media industry. William Cumberland, one of the wealthiest men in the world. William Cumberland, my boss.

But that isn’t what William Cumberland is to me. At all.

To me, he’s just
William
. William, the amazing man I find myself falling harder and faster for every second I’m with him.

I know this is so, so dangerous.

I know it is probably wrong.

I know I could end up getting really hurt if I’m not careful.

And I know I absolutely don’t care.

The one thing I am certain of is that for the first time in my life, my heart is alive. My heart is telling me what it wants, what it
needs
, to be happy.

And what my heart needs is waiting for me in the 10
th
floor penthouse right now.

I feel the butterflies shift in my stomach in anticipation. I dash up the steps and am greeted by a doorman as I step into the chic lobby of the building.

“Good evening. I am here to see William Cumberland,” I say, smiling at the doorman. “He’s expecting me. I am Mary-Kate Grant.”

“Let me check,” the doorman says, going over to the desk and picking up a phone. He hits a button. “Mr. Cumberland? I have a Ms. Grant here to see you . . . All right, thank you.”

He turns to me and smiles. “Please follow me, Ms. Grant.”

I follow the doorman down the corridor and he stops in front of an elevator, hitting a button. “This is Mr. Cumberland’s elevator. It will take you directly to his residence.”

I furrow my brow. “He . . . has his own elevator?”

“Yes, Ms. Grant,” the doorman answers as the doors open. “Have a good evening.”

Holy shit. William has his own freaking elevator? Unreal.

I glance at my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. I am going to his penthouse in a white T-shirt, black hoodie, and folded-over black yoga pants. I check my teeth to make sure there is no lipstick and then adjust my headband. Which, of course, I am wearing specifically for him tonight.

The elevator zooms to the 10
th
floor and the doors open right to William’s living room.

I stand still, in shock. Oh. My. God, it is beyond breathtaking. Everything is white and modern—from the floors and walls and low-backed sofas and glass tables. There is a wall of windows providing a spectacular view of London at night, just as amazing as the view he has in his Chicago penthouse.

But by far the most fabulous view is that of William, who is walking toward me. He’s wearing a chocolate brown V-necked sweater, one that matches his hair, jeans, and rugged lug-soled brown boots.

“Mary-Kate,” William says, stopping in front of me and cupping my face in his hands, “I know that saying ‘welcome’ is a most appropriate greeting for your arrival. However, I prefer another form of greeting. Do you care to know what that is?”

Oh dear God. I can’t even think as William is stroking my face.

“And what would be an appropriate welcome, William?” I manage to ask.

William answers by pressing his lips slowly and sweetly against mine, easing my mouth open in a romantic kiss as he continues to caress my face with his hands.

Oh God. Nothing compares to kissing William.
Nothing
.

He breaks the kiss and begins running his hand through my hair. “I have wanted to do that all day.”

I laugh and wrap my hands around his waist, feeling the fine cashmere sweater against my fingers. “I have wanted you to do that all day.”

He presses his lips against mine once more. I melt into him and think I would be very happy to simply kiss him all evening, just like I did last night.

William gives me a quick kiss and smiles at me. “Okay, now I will officially welcome you to my home.”

My heart catches for a moment.
His home
. William’s real home, the one he will return to in June once the Chicago networks are running to his liking.

And as I remind myself of that fact, my stomach drops.

I shake the thought from my head. I can’t let myself go there. I can’t.

I step away from him and take in my surroundings as a distraction from my thoughts. “This is incredible,” I say. Then I turn to face at him. “But it doesn’t seem like you. It’s so
modern
. This seems more like your Connectivity offices at The Shard.”

William rubs his hand over his chin. “Agreed. I bought this place last year and just had the decorator we used for The Shard do this. I didn’t really care about the décor, to be honest. But maybe you could redo it for me.” 

My heart leaps. “I would love to.”

William gives me the grand tour, from the all-white kitchen with the restaurant grade built-ins and spectacular view of Mayfair, the multiple bedrooms, the bathrooms with the ultra-modern fixtures all in white.

“Now I will show you why I bought this place,” William says as we head back to the living room. “The balcony.”

He opens the door for me, and I step outside. Oh, wow, it is fabulous! The deck wraps around his penthouse on one side, and you can see the most gorgeous view of London from here. The city just glows in the distance and I see the London Eye all lit up. Wow, it is amazing!

I walk over to the railing and lean out over it, letting the cold March air lift my hair back from my face. William joins me and we take in the view.

“This is fantastic!” I cry, delighted with what I can see.

“I know,” William agrees. “It is a good place for me to think. I just stare out over London and sort things out in my mind here.”

I steal a glance at his profile. God, he’s so beautiful. I can just see him out here, weighing the problems of running his empire, working systematically through issues in his head while he searches for answers in the city skyline.

“This would be a good place for that,” I agree.

I turn around and look at the patio chairs and chaise lounges, thinking how nice it would be to sit out here in the summer with a blanket and glass of wine. Then I notice an outdoor dining table with eight chairs around it.

I look back at William, curious. “Do you entertain here? That table is huge!”

William eyes me as if I have lost my mind. “Do you
know
me?” he asks, laughing. “Entertain? Of course not!”

We both laugh, and I shake my head.

“Well, then why do you have it?” I ask.

“The decorator said it was a good way to fill space,” William explains. “Besides, the only people that have been here are my brother and his family, and they have small children and I am afraid to let them out here.”

I pause.
His family
.
This is the first time he has ever mentioned something so personal to me.

“What about your parents?” I ask carefully. “Do you ever see them?”

William pauses for a moment. He stares straight ahead, into the lights of London, and then answers.

“No,” William says, his voice soft. “They’ve never been here. We aren’t close.” He lifts his hand to his mouth and slowly rubs it, and I know he is carefully choosing what he is about to tell me.

“My parents,” he says quietly, “didn’t want to be parents. They married because of me. My mother was pregnant. They thought it was the right thing to do.”

I swallow. I don’t know how much William is going to share with me, but the fact that he is telling me anything this personal is huge.

“And when I was three months old, my mother got pregnant with Rupert, my younger brother. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant at that time but she did. We were both accidents,” William admits.

“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “Don’t ever say that, William. You were not an accident. I won’t let you say that.”

William turns to me, surprise evident in his blue eyes. “What? I
was
an accident, Mary-Kate. My parents didn’t want to have children.”

“No. You might have been a surprise, but don’t ever call yourself an accident. That implies something bad happened, and you being here is no accident. You are
meant
to be here, William.”

I watch as his eyes take in what I said.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth,” I say softly.

William holds my gaze for a second and then turns away. “They are not a good match,” William continues. “They both are passionate, temperamental artists. My father is a sculptor and my mother a painter. They live for their art and own interests. I-I was an afterthought. Because they both come from old money, they could pursue their art however they wanted. Raising children didn’t get in the way of that pursuit.

“I always had a nanny growing up,” William continues. “As soon as I turned eight, I was sent to boarding school. If we were home for a holiday, we were with a nanny. My parents would come and go as they pleased. If they weren’t pursuing their art they were fighting, constantly fighting.”

I swallow hard. William is just letting this pour out of him, and I know he has held this next to his heart his entire life. And he has chosen to trust me with the most painful secret of his past.

“When I was ten,” William says, interrupting my thoughts, “I overheard my mother screaming at my father that she hated him for getting her pregnant, she hated her life, and that she never wanted to be tied down like this. Yet they never divorced because of the financial implications. I think, however, they never wanted to admit the relationship was a disaster. My mother lives primarily in Paris now, as she has since I was sixteen. My father splits his time between London and Rome.”

Tears fill my eyes. I can’t believe what I am hearing. That William—impossibly brilliant, kind, thoughtful William—was raised like this. That he was shoved off on to nannies, even during the holidays. That he actually heard his own mother said she never wanted him.

I link my arm around his and rest my head against his shoulder. I want to comfort him, I want to protect him, and I want to erase what happened to him as a little boy.

“Do . . . do you
ever
see them?”

“We share the occasional visit or phone call,” William admits. “But obviously I am not close to them. Now Rupert, yes, we stay in touch all the time. My parents, however . . . it is what it is. You can’t make a parent want to be one if they don’t want to.”

A silence falls between us as we look out into the city. I blink back tears. I know the last thing William wants is to see me cry.

“I am so sorry,” I say, my voice thick. “You . . . you did not deserve that childhood, William.”

“It is all right,” William says, dropping a sweet kiss on the top of my head. “I am fine, Mary-Kate. I really am.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” I say quietly. “I know that wasn’t easy to share.”

“Well, I do trust that you won’t go running off to the rags with it,” he quips.

“Never,” I say, snuggling in more to him and feeling fiercely protective of his secret.

“What about you, Mary-Kate? Tell me how you grew up.”

And with that, he closed the door on talking about himself. So I follow his lead and tell him about my family.

“Well, you already know about Michelle,” I say.

“You mean the Duchess of Milwaukee?” William deadpans.

I burst out laughing and snort, which makes him laugh.

“Yes,” I say. “So we have the Duchess of Milwaukee planning her Royal Wedding, which thrills my mom to no end. You see, my mom is very worried about me. I am 24 and I don’t have a husband. Or fiancée.”

“Why is that a problem?” William asks.

I hear the confusion in his lovely British voice.

“My mom married my dad straight after college,” I explain. “That was her goal of going to school—to find a husband. And she did. My dad is a dentist. Mom stays at home. Michelle went to college and majored in education, but not because she loved teaching or working with kids, but because she could have summers off. She met Jason, her fiancée, her freshman year and has been pretty much planning this wedding ever since. She will quit teaching as soon as they are married.”

“And you are the complete opposite of them,” William says. “You are passionate about your career. That is what drives you.”

“Yes,” I say. “I have always wanted a career, ever since I was a little girl. I always imagined going to work and being involved in fulfilling projects, working in network television . . . that is my core, William. And they don’t understand that at all.”

“It frustrates you,” William says, staring at me with those knowing eyes.

I nod. “My mom doesn’t understand me at all. She is constantly asking who I am dating, suggesting I join an online dating site, that I should go to church to meet nice men, why didn’t I stay with the last boyfriend?” I sigh heavily as I think about all of this. “She actually emailed me an article about the dangers of putting career ahead of your biological clock last week!”

“Bloody hell,” William says, furrowing his brow. “Your
mother
sent that to you?”

I cringe as I hear the amazement in his voice. “My mom doesn’t know any better. She is dependent on my father for everything. And Michelle will be completely dependent on Jason. And I—”

“Want to be the exact opposite of them,” William finishes for me.

I nod.

William cradles me in his arms and we look out at London in silence. And in this moment, I see how our lives emotionally intersect. We both have very valid reasons for not wanting a serious relationship. William has grown up without any kind of healthy relationship role model, and he has been badly hurt by the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally.