Page 14 of Forbidden Fruit
She smiles, satisfied. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, then.”
“Abigail?” I call out. “Don’t forget about the business dinner with the Whitmores tonight. I don’t need to remind you how important this is to me.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be on my best behavior,” she assures me as she waves and walks out of the office.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I exhale a long breath and lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples again. This is getting out of hand. Blair is supposed to be off-limits, and yet every time I think about her, I want to forget all the reasons I should stay away.
And with Abigail’s words ringing in my ears, I know I can’t avoid Blair forever. It’s time to make things right.
Even if it’s the worst thing I could do.
“Are you ready?” I ask Abigail as the car rolls to a stop in front of the Whitmores’ townhouse.
“Yes, just give me a second,” she says, using her phone camera to reapply her lipstick.
I nod and step out, the evening air cool against my face. The driver pulls away toward the corner to wait while I round the car. By the time I open her door, Abigail’s already slipped her lipstick back into her clutch. I offer my hand, and she takes it, her fingers cool and delicate in mine as she steps out.
The Whitmores’ home is the kind of place that speaks softly but carries history. Brick glowing under gaslight, ivy climbing the iron railing like it’s been there for generations. Old Boston money doesn’t shout, it whispers, and you learn to listen.
The butler opens the door before we reach the top step. “Good evening, Mr. Stirling, Miss Miller.”
I nod in greeting and step aside for Abigail to enter first. She glides past me, poised in her pale blue silk dress that skims her knees, a single strand of pearls catching the light at her throat. Her smile is flawless, practiced, the kind that looks warm until you notice it never reaches her eyes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore,” she says smoothly. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you both.”
Mrs. Whitmore elegantly rises from her seat in the drawing room, silver hair swept into a chignon. Her husband, tall, broad-shouldered, still commanding despite his age, stands beside her.
“The pleasure is ours, my dear,” Vivian says, kissing Abigail’s cheeks with graceful warmth. “Please, no need for formality, call us Vivian and Jameson.”
Jameson extends his hand to me after pressing a courtly kiss to Abigail’s knuckles. “Calvin, welcome to our home. We’ve been looking forward to this dinner. Come, sit.”
The dining room gleams beneath candlelight, mahogany polished to a mirror finish, crisp linens, and fine silver catching the glow.
We take our seats, Abigail beside me. The first course arrives, a lobster bisque so smooth it could pass for silk, and conversation drifts as easily as the music humming from the next room.
“So,” Vivian begins, stirring her soup with a faint smile, “how did you two meet?”
Abigail glances at me, our silent cue. We’ve rehearsed this. Twice.
“Well, it actually started at the office,” she says, smiling at Jameson. “We were both heading to the same meeting, and the elevator got stuck between floors.”
I nod, adding smoothly, “It wasn’t for long, just long enough to talk.”
“Oh yes,” she continues, “and we realized we had so much in common. He’s surprisingly funny when you’re trapped with him, though I might’ve made fun of him a little.”
“I deserved it,” I admit with a hint of a smile. “She challenged me. Kept me on my toes.”
Abigail laughs softly. “And by the time the elevator started moving again, we both knew something had shifted. It was silly, really, but it felt… right.”
Vivian sighs contentedly. “I like that. Real chemistry in unusual circumstances.”
“Exactly,” Abigail agrees, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “A stuck elevator, a little teasing, and as they say, the rest is history.”
Their laughter blends with the gentle clink of silverware. The scene looks perfect from the outside: two families sharing warmth, charm, and the illusion of love.
When dessert arrives, Jameson leans back, folding his napkin beside his plate. “Calvin,” he says, “join me in the study for a drink?”
“Of course.”
