My Greatest Mistake

by T Gephart

  And I was right.

  She still wanted me, just as much as I wanted her. All I had to do was decide how I was going to use that information.

  My hand reached down to hers, covering it as I opened the door.

  “Thanks for your time, Ms. Mathews. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  She straightened, sliding her hand from under mine to create more distance. “My pleasure, Mr. Archer. Have a nice day.”

  It was all so sanitary, polite, and administrative. Textbook-perfect professionalism HR would get a hard-on over, but I knew better.

  I’d bet anything, underneath that cute, conservative skirt that curved her ass so deliciously, she was wet. And she’d be thinking about that kiss that didn’t happen all afternoon.

  “Same to you.” It was my last goodbye, straightening my tie as I stepped out into the hall and headed out toward the exit.

  I didn’t look back, knowing it would only heighten the anticipation for when I saw her later. And that just made my balls ache even more.

  “You’re a sadistic son of a bitch, Archer,” I chuckled to myself as I found my way back to reception. “And that woman is going to be your undoing.”

  “Archer!” Robert Phillips slapped me on the back, not at all annoyed I was over thirty minutes late. “We started without you. I’ll get the waiter to bring you some champagne.”

  I’d been dragging my feet with the settlement, taking longer than I needed finalizing contracts, but I’d prolonged it as much as I could. All the details had been ironed out two days after I landed in New York, with only minor negotiations needing to happen. Ordinarily I’d have done it as quickly and painlessly as possible, not in the mood to spend more time with a client or case than was necessary. I got bored easily, always anxious to move onto my next case, looking for the thrill that came with a new set of problems. It was that high that kept me working long hours, neglecting my family, and for the most part, detached. But since meeting Zara, I’d slowed down, reassessing every angle before giving it the rubber stamp in an effort to stop me from getting on a plane and going back home.

  Ironic that it didn’t feel so welcoming anymore, the idea of flying back to my empty apartment in Boston making my stomach roll. But regardless of my personal feelings on my current address, I couldn’t stop the inevitable. Everything was signed, sealed and delivered as of yesterday afternoon, and whether I wanted to admit it or not, my business in New York was done.

  I smiled back, not really feeling the jovial mood that was around the table. Five equally white-haired, Caucasian, designer-suit-wearing “Roberts” were joining the original one in raising their glasses. “Good, you’re drinking heavily. It will make my bill easier to take.”

  Robert—the original one, not one of his clones—laughed, sloshing the expensive champagne out of the glass. “You’re a real character, Archer, exactly the kind of guy we’d kill to have on our team. Those Boston bastards better watch their backs or we’ll steal you right from under them.” His obnoxious laugh was met with a chorus of agreement and approval. “You can take the boy out of New York but never New York out of the boy.” He winked, wrongly believing that because I’d originally been from The Empire State, I was one of them.

  I wasn’t.

  Because even though I was a shark in negotiations and could close more successfully than anyone at the firm, I still gave a shit. I cared about the workers of the companies we dismantled, reassembled, amalgamated, or absorbed. And while I’d become a very rich man doing the very thing I loved, I’d been able to protect some of the people who would’ve definitely been shafted.

  So, fuck you, Robert, we were nothing alike.

  “You’re forgetting I’ve seen your accounts, Robert.” I accepted the glass of champagne I’d been handed by the waiter. “You couldn’t afford me.”

  Cue more ruckus laughing and celebratory backslapping, my need to eye roll at an all-time high.

  The remainder of the lunch was as predictable as the start. I listened with fake enthusiasm while each of the men recounted how he was going to celebrate his new windfall. Stories of their glory days at college spoken about like they’d graduated in the last decade, embellished with sordid tales of their sexual conquests. It was always the same mix—money, women, power, wealth—a heady cocktail I’d partaken of more times than I was proud of. But I didn’t like it, no longer comfortable with the level of egomaniacal misogynistic bullshit I had to sit through.

  What the fuck was I even doing with these clowns?

  Had I been delusional, reassuring myself I wasn’t like them but really wasn’t much better? Nate was right, I had been unhappy. Or at least I’d been stuck on autopilot, doing the shit I’d always done because it made sense.

  But it no longer did.

  And heading back to Boston was no longer the only thing making me want to lose my lunch.

  “When’s your flight?” Robert #4 asked, his pudgy fingers shoving an unlit cigar into his mouth. He wouldn’t smoke it, the maître d’ nervously looking in his direction, but he was going to tell himself he could if he really wanted to. “Heading back soon I’d imagine.”

  “I’ve got some other business to attend to before I do.” My lips thinned into a line. There wasn’t a chance I was mentioning Zara to any of these cocksuckers, even if I’d been obligated to tell them my business. I didn’t want her tainted by them, by this, feeling like those two parts of myself were disconnected.

  There was a reason I didn’t talk about work when I was around her, Nate, or my family. I’d always rationalized I’d kept the different sides compartmentalized so I didn’t turn into a heartless bastard, but maybe it was deeper than that. And sitting at a table full of privileged, rich, soulless assholes gave me a front-row seat to my future.

  A trophy wife who’d divorce me because I didn’t pay her enough attention. Only to marry two or three more times because I got sick of coming back to an empty house I probably hated. Maybe we’d have a couple kids—different wives of course, just to make it interesting—and my relationship with them wouldn’t fare much better. They’d toggle between treating me like an ATM to despising me, no doubt blaming me for screwing up their lives. It would be nothing like the childhood I had, the bond between my parents and siblings something I’d forget about by the time I was fifty. Hell, I’d already put the wheels in motion, not bothering to even tell any of my family I was in the state.

  Well, that was fucking great.

  And to think just a couple of hours earlier I’d been ecstatic, standing in Zara’s office, looking forward to our “friendly” dinner.

  “Gentlemen.” I stood abruptly. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have something urgent that needs my attention.”

  “Of course,” laughed Robert #2. “We’re going to hide out here a little longer before we have to go back to our wives.” Loud groans punctuated his statement.

  “Enjoy that.” I tipped my head goodbye. “I have something important to do.”

  And for the first time in a long while, I actually meant it.

  Zara

  “You’re dating him again?” Belle swung her legs on the edge of my bed, her chin resting on her fists as she watched me get ready. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I kinda predicted this. He’s your soulmate. You belong together.”

  “Belle,” I huffed impatiently, hating that I was weirdly nervous about seeing him. We’d had dinner before. Seen each other. Slept together. Why the hell was I nervous? “You did not. In fact, if I’d listened to you, I’d be chasing after Edwin Carlisle and not Lincoln. And we’re not dating. We’re friends.”

  “Friends?” She screwed up her face in disgust.

  “Yes, friends,” I reaffirmed, the idea marinating a little more since our meeting in my office. “He’s got a great mind, and he’d be an asset if I ever wanted to bounce ideas off him during a tough case.” I listed all the reasons I’d gone over on my way home. “He wouldn’t see my asking for help as a sign of weakness and
I can be myself around him. I’d trust him to tell me the truth.”

  “Yeah, his brilliant mind is why you’re wearing that low-cut dress that shows off your boobs.” She rolled her eyes, pointing to my cleavage.

  “I can appreciate intelligence and still wear a low-cut dress, Belle. And no, it’s not just his mind, he’s funny and interesting, and sexy, okay. There I said it. He’s sexy.”

  There was no point denying why I was wearing the dress, because I wasn’t fooling anyone. I’d said I wanted to be friends with the man, made a big production about it and yet still thought about how he’d almost kissed me in my office.

  And how much I’d wanted it.

  Get it together, Zara. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, and sending mixed signals isn’t smart. And yet, when given the option of staying in the clothes I’d worn earlier or changing into something else, I’d gone solidly with something else.

  He’d been slightly distracted when I’d called.

  Not rude or short, but his voice was lacking the usual teasing tone I loved so much.

  We’d agreed to dinner at a restaurant close to his hotel, even though I knew it could spell bad news later. He’d assured me it wasn’t for shady non-friendly purposes but that he had a stack of work that needed to be taken care of and was using his room as a make-shift office for the afternoon.

  When I’d offered to raincheck dinner for another night, he shut the discussion of a reschedule down. He said he wanted dinner with me, and I’d already agreed, and he didn’t trust me not to send a carrier pigeon with another goddamn message where I wished him well. I swear, he was never going to let me live that down. And one night wasn’t going to make a difference even if I had been secretly looking forward to seeing him too.

  “For the record, I think you’re stupid.” Belle examined her nails, the bubblegum pink polish chipping at the edges. “Just tell him you like him more than just friends and sort out how this thing is going to happen. You belong together. It’s Boston, he doesn’t live in another country. And he has family here, he could totally move.”

  Ahhhhh to have Belle’s optimism, where you just believed everything would work out, raining glitter and sparkles. And as much as I hated to quash her bright outlook, sometimes—or always when you were me—you had to live in the real world.

  “Belle, he’s not just an attorney, he’s got a highly successful job that he’s worked his ass off for. I can’t just ask him to move on the chance we work out. He’d be risking everything he’s been building.”

  I was fairly sure he’d have no trouble finding a job in New York. A man like Lincoln would be an asset to any firm, Bally and Cobb included. But he’d already established his reputation, and even if he got an offer close to his obviously impressive salary, he’d have to prove himself here. Boston was not New York, and he’d have to re-earn his label of greatness.

  “Besides,” I continued, knowing it wasn’t my only reason not to push the issue. “What if he asks me to move? Then what?”

  While my concerns for his career were valid, I held some very real ones for myself. It was entirely plausible that he’d suggest I be the one who uproots and moved. And then what did I say, that I was fine with him tossing away the years he’d built in Boston but I wouldn’t consider it for myself? No, I needed to be in New York, I needed to be at Bally and Cobb, and I hadn’t suddenly decided I didn’t want to sit at the BIG bench sometime in the future. And what the hell happened if we broke up? I’d be in a city I didn’t like, away from friends, family and even colleagues. Everything I knew was in New York.

  Belle swallowed the possibility obviously not having crossed her mind. “You couldn’t leave me, Zara. How would I do anything if you were gone?”

  I shook my head, gently pushing her shoulder. “You would do just fine. We’d both hate being away from each other, but we’d survive.” A weak smile edged on my lips. “But what I couldn’t take is the resentment. From him if he hated it here or had to start over, or the resentment I know I’d have if I walked away from everything here and we ended up history in six months. We could end up hating each other, Belle. Being the worst mistake ever for both of us.”

  There was just too much at stake, too much we’d have to sacrifice, and it was something I’d never ask. Conversely, selfishly, the idea he’d ask that of me terrified the hell out of me. Which meant, like it or not, we just couldn’t work out.

  Belle sighed loudly, throwing her hands around my neck and pulling me down with her onto the bed. “I hate this. He makes you happy, why does it have to be so complicated?”

  I shrugged, not having the answers. “What does Dad always say? Nothing worth having is ever easy. And he was right.”

  “Great, now you’re quoting Dad.” Belle chuckled. “Well, I guess go be friends with him then. But I would totally sleep with him again. You have all the time in the world to be friends that don’t screw when he’s back in Boston.”

  Couldn’t say I disagreed, worried I was already on board with Belle’s plan.

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure how we weren’t going to end up in bed together again. The attraction between us was off the charts, and neither of us had any restraint. But I was going to do my best to make sure I didn’t end up with a crushed heart, and the more I slept with him, the greater the possibility got.

  “Why don’t you worry about your own sex life instead of focusing on mine.” I elbowed her, not wanting to think about Lincoln and whether we’d end up in bed. “His driver is going to be here soon. Please don’t make it weird.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Zara, he’s met me. What if his driver asks about me and I didn’t ask intrusive questions or make it weird? He’d be suspicious. I have a level I need to maintain now.”

  I’d barely shuffled into a sit when I heard the buzz at the door. Terry was clinically punctual, right at seven o’clock as Lincoln had promised, my heart doing a weird flip in my chest.

  “Okay, don’t make it too weird. While I have no problem with you terrorizing Lincoln, Terry is a nice guy,” I amended, scooting off the bed and slipping into my shoes. “Now tell me I look good.” I smoothed the front of my dress.

  “You look a-mazing,” she sing-songed. “Now go torture the poor man.”

  Funnily enough, that hadn’t been my plan, or not consciously anyway. I left Belle in the bedroom, making my way to the intercom, pressing the external lock for the door and collecting my things ready to leave. I assumed Terry would be downstairs in the front foyer, quickly grabbing my handbag and keys so not to keep him waiting.

  “Wow.” Lincoln was standing at our front door as I opened it, his eyes traveling up and down my body. He was still wearing the same beautiful suit from earlier but had changed his shirt. His hair was a perfect sexy mess, as was the smattering of stubble on his jaw. I loved the edgier side of him, the after-hours Lincoln. “That’s some dress.” His smile widened, his hand reaching down to my waist and pulling me into his arms. “Don’t get too excited, this is a friendly hug and completely allowed.”

  “Oh, by whose order?” I asked, not bothering to fight him, enjoying the press of his body against mine. “And who says I’d get excited?”

  He laughed, the gentle vibrations of his chest making it hard to pull away. “Come on, Zara, we both know excited is your middle name.”

  “Don’t be rude.” I poked him in the chest, unwrapping myself despite not wanting to. “And I thought Terry was picking me up, wasn’t I supposed to be meeting you at your hotel?” At least that had been the original plan because of his meetings.

  Lincoln shook his head, a disappointed sigh spilling from his lips. “He’s downstairs with the car, and I told you he was in love with you, Zara. I’m here just to make sure there’s no impropriety.”

  “Oh, how selfless of you.” My hand fluttered at my chest. “But I’m sure I could’ve managed.”

  And I would’ve, but I was secretly glad he’d come as well. It was irrational how much I liked seeing him, my pulse f
aster than it should be considering I was standing still. But I knew better than to argue with logic, and I selfishly wanted to soak up every last minute with him even though I knew it would only make it harder.

  “Hi, Lincoln!” Belle yelled from behind us. “I hope your intentions are honorable, Zara’s already told me you aren’t her boyfriend anymore.”

  “I was your boyfriend?” Lincoln grinned, mock surprise flashing through those beautiful dark blue eyes. “Why am I just finding out about this now?”

  “Jesus, Belle.” I cringed, trying hard to stop the blush creeping up my cheeks. “I never called him my boyfriend, and what happened to you not acting weird?”

  “That wasn’t acting weird.” Belle grinned. “Weird would be inviting myself to your not-date-date because I haven’t eaten yet and I don’t like my options in the fridge. I mean, since you guys are only friends and all.”

  Lincoln’s eyes connected with me, his brow raised because he had no idea if she was joking or not. “She’s not serious. If she was genuinely going to attempt to invite herself to dinner she’d already be in the car,” I assured him, silently vowing to give my sister a stern talking to when I got back. “And I seem to remember,” I turned to Belle, “you saying you were going to go hang with Hayley and help with the baby.”

  “Of course I am, I just love that little squishy ball of goo. I was just teasing you. Now get out of here already.” She waved us off, almost pushing us out the door. “And behave.”

  And with her parting warning and gentle shove, Lincoln and I found ourselves out in the hall.

  “You ready?” His hand found its way around my waist, my brow rising in question before we moved any further. “What? Your hall lighting is insufficient, and I don’t want to trip and sue your building manager for public liability. It’s a safety issue.”

  I laughed because he truly did have an answer for anything and everything. “How you aren’t a trial lawyer is beyond me, Lincoln. Now, let’s get into the car before you trip over your big feet in this horribly dangerous lighting.”