The Invitation
: Chapter 24

Sixteen months ago

“Do you know what Drummond Hospitality is?” I asked.

Aiden was sitting in the living room of his apartment grading papers while I sat at the kitchen table going through my emails. “Hmmm?”

“It’s on your credit card statement for a hundred-and-ninety-two dollars. The other charge I recognize.”

Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “How did you get my credit card bill?”

“It comes to my email now. Remember a few months ago, I said I’d gotten a notice that Bank of America was going paperless, and you’d have to opt out if you wanted paper statements from now on? You asked me to have it sent to my email since everything goes to spam when you use your work email.”

“I thought you were referring to our joint bank account statement.”

I shook my head. “No, your credit card.”

“How long has it been going to you?”

I shrugged. “Two months, I think? Half the time you don’t have any activity. You rarely use your card. Last month it was a zero balance.”

The look on Aiden’s face troubled me. “Is it a problem?” I asked. “Do you not want me to see what you’re charging or something?”

He tossed his pen on top of the pile of papers and looked away. “Of course not. I just wasn’t aware that I wouldn’t be receiving the paper bill anymore.”

“Okay…well, do you know what that charge is? Drummond Hospitality?”

“No idea. The only thing I charged was dinner when we went to Alfredo’s a few weeks ago. It must be a mistake. I’ll go online and dispute it later.”

“Do you want me to do it since I’m online anyway?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

Something didn’t sit right. But I let it go since Aiden and I had already had a few fights about my suspicions over the last few months. There’d been the time I saw an odd text on his phone, and then another time he’d said he was going to his office at the college on a Saturday to work on grades, which he normally did from home. I’d decided to surprise him with lunch since he’d been working a lot, and he hadn’t been there. Then recently he’d come home smelling like perfume, and he’d gotten defensive when I’d asked him why—yelling that if I didn’t have our entire apartment constantly smelling like perfume samples for a business that didn’t exist, his clothes wouldn’t smell like a cheap whorehouse.

Since I always gave him the summary of the diaries I read, he knew the woman in the diary I’d been reading was cheating on her husband, and he convinced me that I was seeing things that weren’t there because of how ridiculously involved I got with the people I read about. Even now, I wondered if maybe he was right. Just last week, I’d read an entry where Alexandria had written about her husband questioning a charge on their credit card bill. She’d reserved a hotel suite for one of her rendezvous with Jasper, and then he’d paid cash when they checked in. But the hotel had accidentally done a duplicate charge.

So I chalked my paranoia up to what Aiden had warned me about. It wasn’t any different than if I’d watched a horror movie and suddenly needed to check under my bed before I climbed in. The stress of what you’re putting in your mind causes your brain to go places it wouldn’t normally go.

“Okay,” I said. “I think you can just pay the restaurant part of the bill, then. It’s more than the minimum payment anyway.”

“Fine.” Aiden went back to grading papers. But a minute later, he said, “I’ll probably remove the card from electronic billing and go back to having my statements come in the mail. I like to have paper copies for tax purposes since I sometimes buy things for work.”

Again, why did that bother me? His reasoning made total sense. I really was looking for monsters under my bed and needed to stop. “Sounds good.”

A month later, I’d forgotten all about the credit card bill. Aiden and I had just gotten back from meeting one of his colleagues for drinks, and I was staying over at his place. On our way upstairs, I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox. In the pile was his credit card statement from Bank of America.

I set the mail on the table, keeping that envelope in my hand. “How did that dispute go with Bank of America?”

Aiden’s eyes dropped to the bill, and he plucked it from my hands. “Fine. They reversed it.” He tucked the bill into his sports jacket’s inside pocket.

Once again, I had no idea why him taking the bill bothered me. But it did.

Aiden walked toward his bedroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

While he was gone, I poured myself a glass of merlot and tried not to give it any more thought. Though this week I’d read an entire diary entry about how stupid and trusting Alexandria’s husband was. She seemed to enjoy almost getting caught and being able to lie her way out of things…

I knew I was most likely being ridiculous. But last month I’d stayed awake half the night after the silly credit card thing had weighed on me. Aiden wouldn’t need to know I’d gone online to take a peek at his bill. And once I did that, I’d be able to put everything to bed, once and for all.

Though…I’d still be violating his trust by double-checking, even if he had no idea about it. So while I tried to talk myself out of doing what I so badly wanted to do, I went to the bedroom to get changed instead. I opened Aiden’s dresser to get one of his old T-shirts, and tossed my jeans and blouse on a chair in the corner. On my way out to the living room, Aiden’s sports jacket caught my attention from the open closet door. I could hear the shower water still running in the adjoining bathroom, so I walked over and took it down. But instead of rummaging for the credit card bill, I brought the jacket to my nose and inhaled deeply. The unmistakable smell of jasmine filled my nose. Jasmine was not a scent I had at home for my Signature Scent samples. It wasn’t even one I’d been working with lately.

The room grew still, and it took me a minute to realize it was because the shower water had stopped. Shit. I quickly hung the jacket back in the closet and left the bedroom. Panic overwhelmed me. There was no way I’d be able to sleep tonight with the way I was feeling, nor would I be able to lie next to Aiden and pretend everything was fine. It was no longer a question of whether I was going to violate his trust and sign into his credit card online. I had to in order to keep my sanity.

My fingers shook as I called up the website on my phone. The damn thing took forever to load, and every two seconds I glanced up at the half-closed door to our bedroom. When the data finally populated, I scrolled to this month’s bill. Relief flooded me when I saw there were no charges at all. Overwhelmed with guilt, I went to sign off, but then I noticed the payments section had a payment of $261. I figured it was probably just the way they showed a credit given for that incorrect charge, but since it left a niggling feeling, I clicked to check.

And froze seeing it was an actual payment made weeks ago from a bank account ending in 588. I felt the blood draining from my face. That was Aiden’s checking account.

It had to be a mistake. I clicked over to the disputes tab. No disputes in the last ninety days. Feeling freaked out and lost, I closed the website and did something I should have done a month ago. I Googled Drummond Hospitality.

The results sent my heart into my throat.

Drummond Hospitality is the owner of four New York City boutique hotels.