Like when you meet a charming guy at a wedding on the other side of the country. “I should get Steve home,” I muttered, slipping out of her embrace. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Don’t forget to see what’s right in front of you,” Indie said then led the way back outside.
Steve and Captain both perked up as we approached, and my stomach twisted a little. Indie was in my head now, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her hints weren’t just hopeful thinking on her part. Was there more to Steve’s little glances than I thought?
“You ready to go?” I asked, touching his shoulder. “I’ve got a plan for lunch I think you might like.”
Why was Matthew grinning like that?
“Actually,” Steve said, “I was hoping you’d let me do lunch today.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, of course.” And while I was surprised by his request, given his latest encounter with the frying pan, I had to wonder how much this had to do with what Brennon had said yesterday about Steve cooking. I hadn’t thought much about that, since Steve obviously hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but my curiosity was piqued. “Do we need to stop by the store or anything?” I asked.
“I’ve already called in a grocery delivery,” Steve replied, his ears turning a bit pink beneath the curls of his hair. “I was kind of banking on you being okay with it, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
I tried to find some sort of clue in Matthew’s face, but he was suddenly stoic, though a light danced in his eyes. I doubted he would tell me anything if I asked, so I just thanked him and Indie for letting us stop by and took Steve by the arm, leading him back to the car as Captain followed close behind.
Chapter Fourteen
I didn’t like the way he was breathing. Or rather, I didn’t like the way he wasn’t. Steve hadn’t said much since arriving back at the apartment except to make sure all his ingredients were accounted for when the delivery arrived, and at first, I thought it was because he was focused on lunch. But the longer I sat on the couch, the dog at my side, the more I wondered if he was in more pain than he let on.
I’d never bruised any ribs, but I could imagine it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Steve only took shallow breaths as he moved about the kitchen, sometimes pausing completely and leaning on his hands as he very slowly and deliberately filled his lungs.
He hadn’t really gained any color back in his face, either, and that worried me too. It was only Thursday, barely halfway through the week I was looking after him. Was this the sort of thing I was supposed to be wary of? I got as far as looking up the number for the hospital, but I waited before I called. Maybe he was still just tired.
At the very least, I decided I probably shouldn’t let him stand there and run the risk of injuring himself while cooking. “What is it you’re making?” I asked.
Steve looked up, his arm wrapping around his ribcage almost unconsciously. “It’s a surprise,” he said.
How could I get him to let me do it without offending him? I was more than glad he was making the effort, but now was not the time. I needed to make him think it was his idea to let me take over. “Well I’m starving,” I said. “I don’t suppose you could hurry it up?”
He narrowed his eyes, but his glare was only so effective when he was very nearly smiling at the same time. “I didn’t know you were such an impatient person,” he said.
“Only when it comes to food.”
“I’m getting there. It’s been a while.”
“That may be true,” I said, “but that doesn’t make me less hungry.”
“Do you want to make it?” he asked, exasperation in his voice. Perfect.
“I do, actually,” I said and joined him in the kitchen before he could argue. Taking him by the shoulders, I led him back to the couch then said, “Walk me through it, chef.”
He seemed torn by the idea of not being the one to cook his fancy dish and by the desire to sit with Captain and rest, but he didn’t argue with himself for long. “Cook the steak first,” he said, settling on the couch. “There’s a really good rub in the bag there. You’ll be steaming the asparagus. Poaching the eggs.”
This was surprisingly complicated for a man who pretended just yesterday he didn’t cook. “I’ve never poached an egg before,” I admitted. “Mom didn’t do a lot of breakfast.”
“I’ll walk you through it,” Steve replied. And then he smiled, and all of my worry flitted away. Somehow, that smile of his made me feel like I could do anything.
* * *
“Eggs Benedict. On a beef steak. Over asparagus. On top of sourdough bread.” I sat on the couch, Captain licking my empty plate and my stomach and taste buds both delightfully satisfied. “Who would have thought?”
Steve smiled, and though he had only managed to eat half his portion so far, at least he wasn’t appalled by my cooking ability with a dish I’d never attempted before. “It was always one of my favorites,” he said softly.
“I’m sure it was better when you made it,” I said.
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, his eyes drooping a little. He was exhausted, and I was definitely glad I had taken over the job of doing the actual cooking. Besides, Steve had been an excellent coach, knowing the little nuances of the dish no recipe could have told me.
“Have you always been a cook?” I asked him.
His smile changed, a little strained now. “Every time I traveled somewhere new,” he said, “I found someone to teach me something. I always planned to retire early and open a restaurant, but…”
“But what?”
He fixed his dark eyes on me, his expression full of sadness. “I lost those dreams when I lost my sight,” he said with a sigh.
Yeah, okay, I could see why that would make things harder. “That didn’t stop you from making breakfast the other day,” I argued.
“Pancakes and foie gras don’t exactly compare,” he said. “I can’t fillet a fish if I can’t see it. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve burned or cut myself just trying to make a sandwich.”
“Any ten-year-old can tell you the same thing,” I replied. “It just takes practice.” But now it made sense why he would act as if he didn’t know how to do any of this. He was probably so afraid of finding out that he really couldn’t do it that he hadn’t even tried.
He laughed a little, setting his plate on the end table next to him and turning to face me. “You’re comparing me to a kid?” he said. “Very flattering.”
“I’m just saying maybe you need to look at things differently, so to speak,” I replied. “Take me, for example. My whole life I’ve had a plan and a goal, and suddenly I find myself with an endless supply of free time and possibilities. And I have no idea what to do about that.” I frowned, not really sure how that was supposed to help anyone, least of all me. “But just because I have to change, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. You just have to be open to adapting to whatever life throws at you.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Hoping it was Brennon, I opened the text without checking who it was from. Gordon Hastings’s message made my heart sink like a rock into my stomach: I’m serious about being in your life, Lissa. I’m not going to give up.
“What is it?” Steve asked, reaching out and finding my arm, though I was pretty sure he knew exactly who had texted me, given the sympathetic anger in his gaze.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, shoving my phone deep into the couch cushions. I needed a change of subject, and I needed it now. “What do you miss most?”
He sat up straighter, the little wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. While he still held onto my wrist, his hold changed from comforting to a little too tight. “What?”
I knew it wasn’t going to help anything, but my father put me in a bad mood. There wasn’t any way it could get worse. “Since the accident,” I said, “what do you miss most? Cooking? Skydiving? The freedom to go wherever whenever? Pretty girls?” That last one slipped out before I could stop myself.
Steve exhaled quickly through his nose and pressed his lips together, though I couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused. Shaking his head, he pondered my question, probably trying to decide if he actually wanted to answer. “No one has asked me that before,” he said. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“But you must miss something more than the rest,” I insisted and grabbed his hand. I didn’t know why I was so desperate to know, but I was feeling lost. Ungrounded. I wanted to know what a man like Steve Evans considered important, because maybe I could grasp onto that and hold tight until I figured out what I was doing with my life.
Looking down, Steve took a slow, deep breath. “There are so many things,” he said quietly. “Things I wish I could see again. Things I wish I could see for the first time. But what I really miss, what I would give anything to have back…” He lifted his eyes to mine, his gaze so focused that I could have sworn he saw me clearly. He’d gotten closer—maybe it was me who moved in my desperation to know—and I could see bits of green in his brown eyes I never would have noticed before.
“I miss the faces of the people I care about,” he whispered finally, his eyes searching my face. How much did he see? “I miss seeing their happiness, their sadness, their worry, their contentment. I miss knowing what they feel.” And he reached up, his fingers moving cautiously toward my face.
My phone buzzed again, practically vibrating the whole couch. Both of us jumped, and I scooted to the end of the couch as my heart started racing. If Gordon Hastings was trying to call me again, so help me… But the number on the screen was one I never thought I’d have to see again: Cal Mikaelson.
Curiosity hit the answer button before I could think things through. “Hello?” I breathed. Steve went back to picking at his food, and I stared at him as I tried to understand why my old boss would be calling me in the middle of the day.
“Lissa!” Cal’s greeting came through loud and clear, making my jaw clench because his was the last voice I wanted to hear. “Sweetheart. How’ve you been?”
“What do you want, Cal?” I asked.
Steve glanced up at my annoyed tone, one eyebrow raised in interest as he tried to listen to my conversation. To make it easy for him, I turned on the speaker phone and held it out; I wanted someone else to witness the horror that was Cal Mikaelson.
“I’ve been thinking this last week,” Cal said casually. I could almost picture him sitting in his fancy chair, tossing his baseball back and forth as he rested his feet on his desk. “I really don’t like the way we left things.”
“You promoted an imbecile instead of me,” I replied.
“Yeah, Hamada’s an idiot, it’s true. But you gotta understand, babe—” I cringed as Steve scowled “—there were politics at work. Hamada’s the CFO’s nephew. I mean, if I didn’t promote him, I’d lose my job.”
He was part-owner of the company. I’d never heard such a load of bull in my life. “You mean if you put a woman in charge, people would question your manhood,” I said. “I get it.”
Steve snorted then immediately wrapped his arm around his ribs in pain.
Cal seemed to stumble over his words for a second, and then he muttered, “I’m calling because I made a mistake, Lissa.”
“Oh?”
“I… You are…” He let out all his breath at once then said, “You’re the only one who knows the Yun case, Lissa. Hamada’s whole team has no idea what’s going on, and Yun is threatening to take her money somewhere else.”
Of course she was. Sonya Yun had come to me personally, and I’d spent months working on her file and putting together a proposal that could have tripled her capital. If any of the jerkwads at that company had bothered to listen to me, they would have known that. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that, Cal,” I said, trying my best to sound absolutely clueless. It was how he saw me no matter what I did, so I might as well be what he expected.
“Come back, Lissa,” he said. He actually sounded stressed. “I’ll get my assistant to buy you a flight—where the hell even is she? Calif—why are you in California? Whatever. I’ll pay to get you back to Boston tonight, and you can have Hamada’s job. Please.”
I stared at the phone in my hand, not entirely sure if I was hearing things right. Never in a million years would I have imagined Mikaelson begging, and yet he was offering to pay for an expensive last-minute flight to get me back and fix everything I’d left behind. I knew things would fall apart without me there, but I had no idea anyone would realize I was the reason everything had stayed together before.
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” I muttered.
“I’ll double your salary,” he said. “Get you an assistant who actually knows what he’s doing. Whatever you want. You have to come back, Montgomery.”
I looked at Steve, but he had returned his focus to his food, though he was a lot more deliberate with his fork than he needed to be. Did he care about where I ended up? My stomach tied itself in a knot as I thought about that. If I left for Boston tonight and found someone else to stay with him, what would happen to him? Maybe he would go back to sulking around the apartment and barely eating his food. Maybe he would keep trying to cook and find a way to open that restaurant of his. Maybe he didn’t even care, and my presence here was just because a doctor ordered it, and the moment I was gone he could get back to his own life instead of entertaining me and dealing with all my drama.
“Lissa,” Cal said, “I’m desperate. At least think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I muttered.
Mikaelson breathed a sigh of relief, and he sounded a whole lot happier as he said, “I knew I hired you for a reason. I’ll check back in tomorrow, and I hope to hear good news.”
The line clicked dead, and I sat there with my phone in my palm and my thoughts spinning fast enough to make me dizzy.
“Lissa, that’s incredible news,” Steve said.
I jumped, not because I’d forgotten he was there, but because he sounded so cold. Empty. “He just wants me to fix his problems for him,” I said softly, looking at my phone instead of him.
“He realizes he made a mistake letting you go,” he corrected. “He recognizes your value, and that’s an important thing to have. You should go.”
I turned to him. “What?”
He almost looked angry as he sat there, his gaze anywhere but on me. “That’s an amazing opportunity, and you shouldn’t give that up.”
“But you need—”
“Don’t factor me into this,” he practically growled. “I’ve already spent too much time keeping you from your own life. Don’t make me feel guilty for keeping you away from this.”
So he didn’t care. That was…illuminating. And I had no idea why that hurt so much.
Rolling his eyes, Steve set his plate on the side table and shook his head. “At least give it some thought,” he muttered. “I’m…I’m exhausted after yesterday, so I’m going to take a nap.” He whistled softly, and the dog immediately jumped up onto the couch with him.
Guess that was my cue. The moment I stood, Steve stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes as Captain settled at his side. Thoroughly banished and feeling awful, I gripped my phone and wandered to Brennon’s bedroom. Steve didn’t care what I did. More than the thought of working for Mikaelson again, that fact made me sick to my stomach. I thought we were friends. I thought I had gotten through to him and connected with him. I thought I was starting to figure out who this guy was, but apparently I was wrong.
I called Brennon before I could stop myself, curling up in a ball under the covers of his bed and hoping he wasn’t too busy to answer. I needed someone who knew my life predicament, and at the moment, Brennon was the only other one who even knew I had quit in the first place. Besides, we were dating. Sort of. Maybe we weren’t in love—ha—but I was pretty sure Brennon cared enough about me to care about something like this.
But the call went to his voicemail. He was probably in a
meeting. He would probably call me back as soon as he was out. But instead of leaving a message, I hung up and immediately dialed my mom.
Her answering machine made me groan: “This is Moira! Paul and I are on a cruise for our anniversary, so we won’t get back to you until after Christmas. Aloha!”
“Mom,” I said to the machine, “don’t tell the world your house is empty. That’s a good way to get robbed.”
She didn’t tell me she was going on a cruise. She didn’t tell me she wasn’t going to be around for Christmas! What, was I going to find out when I showed up for the holidays and found the house deserted? But even as I lay there in a stranger’s bed in an apartment that wasn’t mine, I knew what my mom would argue: You never come home for Christmas, Lissa. You’re always working. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my mother for more than a weekend, and in the last month, I had talked more to my nightmare of a father than to the woman who raised me on her own.
What a terrible daughter I had turned out to be.
My phone battery was practically dead, but I had one last call to make, though I already knew he wouldn’t answer. I just wanted to hear his voice, because he somehow managed to make me feel like nothing could go wrong.
“You’ve reached Seth,” his message said. “If you even think about bothering me while I’m on my honeymoon, you’ll have me to answer to. Leave a message at your own risk.”
“Hey, Seth,” I said quietly, holding my phone as tight as my voice sounded. “I know I shouldn’t be calling you, but I…” I what? I needed my big brother. “I need your advice, and you always know what to say. I, uh, I quit my job. Last week. Mikaelson promoted someone else instead of me, and I snapped. I’ve been staying in San Francisco because there’s nothing to go back to in Boston, and I’ve been looking around trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. But Mikaelson just called me. He’s realized how much he needs me, and he’s practically begging me to go back. Offered me double my old salary and control of my own team. It’s everything I ever wanted and worked for. So why is it so hard for me to say yes? I don’t…” I swallowed, curling up into an even tighter ball. “I don’t know what to do, Seth. You’ve always had everything figured out. Since the day I met you, you knew exactly what you were doing with your life and who you wanted to be. I wish I knew how to do that. I wish I had a plan. Or even just a direction.”
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