Page 12 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

Thirty minutes after I get off the phone with Monica, there’s another knock on my door.

Normally, I’d ignore it, but since this evening is going everywhere but according to plan, I decide that I’d better check to make sure it’s not another letter or bomb or something else I’d never expect waiting for me on the other side.

A second guy I’ve never seen is standing on my porch when I crack the door open, leaving the thick security chain pulled tight across the gap.

I’ve about had it with surprises today, but there are eight enormous roller bags lined up behind him, all matching cream with tan leather trim and the letters LV scattered across the surface of each one.

My eyes wander over the dreamy set before it dawns on me who’s behind it.

“Are you Juliet Hart?” the man asks.

“Yes, but I definitely did not order those,” I tell him, secretly wishing that I could have. The bags are gorgeous. However, I don’t need to hear another word to know that Silas is behind this ridiculous pile of them on my porch.

“Delivery from Silas Davenport,” the man confirms, holding out a clipboard. “Please sign here to confirm receipt.”

Instead of giving in to the temptation, I shake my head.

“Nope. I already have perfectly adequate suitcases, thank you.” I silently say goodbye to the luggage before pushing the door shut, then pull it open to add, “Please let him know that I don’t need these or need anything else . Mmm k?”

“These aren’t just suitcases, Ms. Hart.” The man smiles, raising his brows while motioning for me to keep the door open. It feels a bit awkward that he’s addressed me as Ms . Hart. “And I’m not really supposed to let you refuse them. Sorry.”

He twists a toe into the vinyl doormat, like he was hoping that I wasn’t going to be difficult. I close the door to slide off the chain then swing it wide open.

“Not supposed to let me refuse them?” I ask, fully aware that I’m taking the bait. “Oh, is that right? Is that what Silas told you?”

His neck grows a few red splotches.

“Sorry. I just have to deliver them. Don’t shoot the messenger, and all that.” He smiles weakly.

I remind myself that I’m annoyed at Silas, but not at this innocent young man standing here on my porch. The second one of the evening, as it turns out.

“If they’re not just suitcases, then what are they?” I ask, pressing him gently.

“Oh shit — shoot — here, there’s a note.” He digs into his back pocket, looking even more apologetic, then holds out a small white envelope. “Sorry, I should have just started with this but I forgot.”

My stomach jumps at the sight of another envelope and I grab it immediately, ripping it open, praying it’s another letter from Grant.

Instead, the handwriting is totally different from Grant’s letter, but it’s still vaguely recognizable.

Silas .

My heart constricts. This is the first concrete evidence I’ve gotten today that he’s orchestrating all this, besides the phone call earlier with Monica in which she insisted we have to travel together instead of apart.

My brows nearly touch while I force myself to read it.

Jules,

Grant asked that I take care of this since you wouldn’t be prepared to take off on a trip like this tomorrow otherwise.

There are three sets of identical clothing in various sizes that I’ve had picked out for you.

I haven’t seen you in a while, so we had to guess on sizes.

I’ve included a packing list of what you’ll need.

Take whatever fits.

Leave the rest, and I’ll have Ryan pick it up tomorrow after we head to the airport.

Looking forward to catching up.

See you in the morning,

Si.

I roll my eyes and hand the note back to the poor guy.

“You can keep the note,” I tell him. “I don’t want it. And I wish you could keep all these too, but I get it. It’s your job to deliver them to me, which now you have. Fabulous.”

I look at the bags, wondering if I even have enough room in my living room for this many.

“I’ll help you carry them inside,” he tells me, looking like he’d rather bolt as far away from here as he can instead of following me anywhere. “Silas told me not to leave them outside.”

“Well, doesn’t he just think of everything!” I murmur sarcastically, then remind myself again that this guy has nothing to do with our beef. “I mean, thank you,” I tell him, grabbing the bag nearest to me. It has to weigh at least fifty pounds. “Dear Lord, what did he put in here?”

“Not totally sure. He had Katie pick it all out,” he adds, like I should know who Katie is, before grabbing another bag to follow me in. Of course, Silas wouldn’t spend time doing a lowly task that someone else could do for him, like pack eight bags of women’s clothing.

“Who’s Katie?” I ask, heaving another bag over the threshold, wondering if it’s his current woman-of-the-week. Or, let’s face it, his current woman-of-the- hour .

“The stylist,” he answers, grabbing two bags at a time and pushing them over the doorway. I turn to drag them further into my tiny living room which is filling up fast. “Katie is Silas’ stylist. She’s actually pretty cool.”

“Wonderful,” I murmur, picturing some poor girl making it her life’s goal to dress Silas, and now me.

I try to imagine the guy I knew in college having a stylist named Katie dress him up daily, but I just can’t.

He was way too immature, too goofy, too likable back then to care about such things.

Oh, how time has changed him. This is going to be torture.

“He didn’t need to do this. I’m sure I have some swimsuits and whatever else I need in my closet somewhere.” I search my memory for the last time I put a swimsuit on though, and I can’t quite recall. “Sorry you got suckered into delivering these tonight.”

“I’m not,” he says, smiling warmly before lifting another bag inside. “I’m just glad you decided to accept them. Silas has been obsessed with preparing for this trip for months. I’m glad it’s finally here.”

I pause, watching him lift another bag over the small step that leads into my home.

“Obsessed for months ?” I repeat, feeling slightly shocked that he’s spent any attention on this trip at all. Especially if he can’t even be bothered to dress himself, and apparently, now me. “Was it actually him obsessing? Or does he have more people to obsess on his behalf?”

He chuckles.

“I’ve actually never seen him take this much interest in any of his travel. He usually wings it when traveling for leisure, or depends on the rest of his team to plan work trip details. But he really cares about this one.”

Silas must have taken Grant’s request to heart. It makes me feel a bit pink in the ears, followed by a tinge of longing that feels dangerously close to nostalgia hitting me square in the chest.

I push it away.

“This is the only trip I’ve seen him give a damn — darn — about,” he continues.

I smile at the guy. He can’t seem to rein in his intermittent swearing habit in front of me, which I find a bit endearing. I wonder if his boss minds.

“What do you do for him?” I ask.

“Anything he needs. I’m Silas’ PA. I’ve worked with him for years. You two are going to have a blast, I think. No one in the world does life like that guy.”

I roll my eyes again. That’s what I’m afraid of.

“I tried to get out of it,” I admit, walking back toward the door to grab another bag.

“You wanted to cancel? I can’t even imagine . . .” He trails off, rubbing his forehead. “He would have been fucking pissed. Sorry. Freaking pissed, I mean.”

I laugh, but focus my attention on getting what’s possibly the heaviest bag into the house, unsure of what to say.

Silas’ PA is less formal than I’d imagine him being.

And it feels a little odd that even this total stranger in my foyer knows more about what I’ll be doing for the next couple weeks than I do.

I know we’re heading to Switzerland first, but I have no clue what’s on the agenda once we get there.

I suppose that’s where Katie’s handy packing list comes in.

“That’s all of them,” he says after double-checking my empty porch.

I study the eight bags now filling my living room, imagining the type of clothing and gear Silas’ assistant picked out for me.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Ryan.” He smiles brightly. “And no need to thank me. I should be thanking you for helping me keep my job.” He gives me a sideways grin. “Silas might have killed me if I came back with them.”

I swallow hard as he turns to go. If Silas would have killed him for failing to deliver a few bags, I wonder what type of fury he’d release on me if I refused the whole trip. Memories of hearing Si ream out his dad’s assistant over funeral details in the days after his father’s death flood my mind.

“Any last-minute advice on how to handle him?” I ask, prodding the loose-lipped assistant.

“We were friends a long time ago. Until . . . until we weren’t.

” I’m not sure how else to describe what happened between us.

After his father died, our friendship just slowly dissolved.

More like death by a thousand pinpricks.

“ Deal with him?” he repeats, looking amused.

He stares past me for a beat before shifting his eyes back to focus on mine.

“Silas is many things. But I can tell that you mean a great deal to him. So, the best way to handle Silas is to just enjoy yourself. Let him see that all this made you happy. I think that’s the only thing he cares about at the end of the day. He just wants to see people happy.”

“Happy?” I repeat, confused. My happiness on this trip will have absolutely nothing to do with Silas. “The only thing I can imagine making me happy on this trip is the moment I have all four letters safely in my hands and we’re heading back home.”

He smiles at the floor, nodding, like he’s not surprised to hear me say that. Then he turns to go but veers back suddenly.

“Don’t mind me asking, but, when did you last spend time with him?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“For about twenty minutes following a funeral last May.”

“And before that?”

I search my memory, trying to recall the last time I spent any significant time in Silas’ presence.

“I guess it’s been about three years before that. He gave us the building for Grant’s nonprofit, but he and I never really saw eye-to-eye on much of anything else recently.” His smile widens, like he knows something I don’t, which definitely annoys me.

“So not much time at all in the last few years,” he confirms.

“Why?” I’ve never been able to hide what I’m thinking, so I can imagine my annoyance is written all over my face right now.

“Well, I’ve worked with Silas for a few years now, since right after his father passed. I’ve seen him at his worst. But if there’s one bit of advice I could give you, it’s that people change.” Ryan raises his eyes to the ceiling as if trying to find the right words. “They evolve .”

Then he opens the door, turning back to give me one last smile.

“Evolve,” I repeat with a snort. Right .

“Safe travels, Ms. Hart. Just let him show you the time of your life.”

Fat chance , I want to say.

Instead, I thank him and close the door, then peek out the window, wondering if I should just camp out right here to wait for the next unexpected delivery. But my street finally looks quiet and dark.

Sinking into the couch, I push my hair back, feeling exhausted. If I had my way, I’d be tucked in bed with my bottle of wine and the box of old photos, having a good cry or snoring by now with my red marker in hand after closing out the last day of this rollercoaster.

Truthfully, a trip like this is probably what I need to kick off my next year. To get away from everything familiar, and live a little as myself again, instead of as the sad near-widow who lost her fiancé.

In fact, I can totally see myself enjoying the mountains of Switzerland, or walking along the ancient rock walls of Italy with a smile on my face, happy to soak up the sun. It sounds cleansing and necessary.

Just not with Silas there watching me do it.