by Zee Irwin
She smoldered back at me with something between desire and daggers.
I desperately needed to make her understand.
I finally broke the silence. “I want us to try again.”
But she blurted out, “We need to keep things professional.”
I snorted. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel what was going on between us back there?”
“It-it was the heat of the moment, that’s all.”
“What the fuck? Cassidy, I never got over you. Can’t you feel the truth I’m telling you?” I could hardly believe I said it aloud, but it was out there now. I knew it for the truth. It was time she grasped my exact position on the matter as well.
She scoffed, “You don’t get it, do you? It hurt so bad when you left. I can’t go through it again.”
“Who says you will?”
“Who says we won’t have the same issues as before, especially with your family?”
“My family gets no say in who I date or what I do.”
“I wish I could believe you, but here you are, back in Boston, running the company as part of your Dad’s grand plan for your life. Whatever happened to your plan, your dreams, Bronson?”
“I’m fine with running the company. It’s what I want to do. Cassidy, come on. We’ll work things out.”
“No. We both need to move on.” She took out her phone and earbuds and listened to something. Or maybe nothing, only to give the impression she finished with this conversation.
Silence spoke volumes the rest of the drive on what I thought of her plan for moving on, I hoped.
Once we arrived at her parents’ house on Cape Cod, she rushed upstairs. Sam and Nancy greeted me like the prodigal son returned. I acted the part, best as I could. What should I say? Gee, I hooked up with your daughter, and poor me, she won’t take me back. On second thought, maybe if I whined enough to Sam, then he’d work his dad magic on Cassidy and sway her right back into my arms.
To avoid what would surely be an awkward dinner if I stayed, I made up an emergency work excuse to get back to Boston. None of the sisters were in sight, probably all in Cassidy’s room listening to her tale of our car misadventure. Did she feel bad about our quarrel? Was she upset at all about slamming the door on my wishes?
The questions plagued me as Sam walked me back out to my car.
“I wish you could stay, buddy. It’s no fun building a carburetor alone.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Hey, thanks for rescuing our girl. She’s special, but I don’t need to tell you that.” He beamed about his daughter, with every right to be proud.
“Another time, Sam,” I promised and left.
The drive back to Boston remained quiet without the radio playing. Which left my mind busy rehashing every touch and kiss, and stewing while plotting my next move to convince Cassidy to give us another chance.
When I walked into the mansion, I wanted to curl up in a sad, little ball in my bed and sleep until morning. My mother saw me and had other ideas.
“You missed your appointment with the matchmaker. She had eleven fine women flown in to meet you for the first time at a cocktail party. Everything was set up for you, and all you had to do was show up. Where were you?”
She hit me with this on a bad night. I may as well get it all out there on the table for my dear mother to grasp. “I was with Cassidy.”
If I could bottle up the venom spewing from Mom’s eyes right now, it’d be enough to thwart the enemies of any state.
“What the hell did she ever do to you to make you despise her so much? From my viewpoint, the only thing she did was make your son happy. Why wasn’t that enough for you?”
“She’s not good enough for my son.”
“Who gave you the right to decide? Not me, and it’s my life. You’ve never given her a chance. I don’t think you’ve spent over five minutes with her. You drew your own conclusions about her with no facts.”
“I forbid you to see her again. We are a prominent family in certain circles. There are certain expectations--”
I reached my breaking point, so fucking done with this. “And I’m a grown man. I forbid you to interfere with my love life. I told you before, I don’t want you meddling, and I meant it. If you’re trying to find a good way to no longer have a son, then keep pursuing this matchmaker thing, and we’ll see how it all ends up for you.”
I bolted to my room. I threw toiletries and clothes back into the suitcase I hadn’t yet fully unpacked anyway, then took off a few minutes later.
After driving around for an hour, I found myself at The Four Winds Hotel downtown, close enough to the office building. It would be a long time before I stepped foot in the Maxwell mansion again. Which suited me fine.
21
Catch of the Century
Cassidy
After Bronson left me at my house, I flew upstairs to Emily’s room and slammed the door. I threw myself on her bed and cried for an hour. Bella knocked and came in, and they were the best sisters ever, rubbing my back and soothing me. When I finally sat up and told them the whole thing, omitting a few intimate details, they weren’t so soothing.
“Cass, I love you babe, but seriously I don’t know which is worse. Watching what you went through five years ago or this. Would you get over yourself already?” Emily kept a supply of tissues coming.
Bella stood up to return to her room. “Yeah. Bronson is the catch of the freaking century.”
“And you keep pushing him away. So he was a douchebag after the accident? Okay, but he’s apologized now, and trying to make amends with you.” Emily shared a glance with Bella, looking like they agreed, This is our chance to stick it to our sister.
“We’ve heard you talk ad nauseam about this guy far too long. You’re fooling yourself about your feelings. Now he says he wants you back and you trade his feelings in for a hookup? Way harsh, sis.” Bella crossed her arms and leaned on the doorway, bits of her silver hair fell across one eye.
My eyes swapped from one sister to the next. What the hell? Why weren’t they on my side?
Emily agreed. “Poor Bronson. You must have ripped his heart out.”
“You know the list you told me to write, the checklist of all the qualities I want in a guy? Well, what about your own list, Cass? Doesn’t he match up to yours anymore? ’Cuz if you don’t want him, I’ve got some girlfriends who’d die to try him.” They both snickered.
Okay, maybe they weren’t the best sisters. “This is not helping. Screw you both.” Furious now, a dose of my own medicine wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.
I avoided them for a while because I hated admitting they were right about it all. Later, I made us chocolate fudge sundaes topped with peanuts, and we made up before bed. It’s what my sisters and I did, always holding up the mirror, providing a real peek at ourselves inside. And forgiving.
That night, nothing I did in bed could subdue the little ache inside of me. I had hooked up with Bronson.
In a car.
On the side of a highway.
For once in my life, I wanted to hook up. I wanted the feel of him deep inside of me again. And I let him take me all the way there.
It didn’t quite measure up to what I thought a reunion between Bronson and I would be. Of course I fantasized about what it would be like, many times, more than anyone knew. My deepest, darkest secret fantasy was to be with him again, once, maybe more. Only the images playing in my dreams were softer, more romantic, like making love by candlelight in a bed with our fingers lacing together, or taking a bath with rose petals floating around us. Last night in the car was different.
Fast.
Furious.
Exciting.
It was a mess. It was surreal. We fucked.
And I liked it.
This grown up version of us contained more than any dream before.
We laughed, then argued, which I didn’t like. And I tried getting my point across to end any further trials between us, but if I knew Bronson, he
wouldn’t stop pursuing me. He said as much. And now I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to stop. Because the little scene in the car, the one where his lips set me on fire and his cock . . . oh my! Yes. How I was wrong. One time would never be enough.
What now? Replay the whole thing over and over and add lustful car PDA to my secret stash of Bronson mind porn? Check. Done.
The next morning, Dad dropped Emily off at my apartment then drove me to work. I sat at my desk like a complete fumbling idiot. My mind froze on the scene with Bronson in his car last night. My body still hummed from his touch, the aftershocks splintering through the fault lines of my veins.
Thankfully, he had a day of meetings out of the office. What would I say to him the next time I ran into him? Hey there. Nice moves last night. Sheesh. I thought I knew his moves from before, but that was then, and this was now. Not that he needed any improvement from the past, but I could tell Bronson had matured. Kisses were deeper, his control and endurance were patient, his groans edgier. He operated on me with a fierce passion blazing brighter than ever before. And I didn’t even want to entertain any thoughts about other women in his arms.
All morning, I evaded talking with Aggie, complaining of a headache with my nose down, pretending to be into my work. I couldn’t verbalize what my internal babble debated. It was insane, fighting with myself about Bronson, about the past, about the future.
Matilda called me into her office, finally halting my temporary insanity. If she hadn’t appeared when she did, I knew I would have ended up a wet mess sitting at my desk overthinking the details.
She closed the door behind me after I entered. A flash of panic once again rooted inside me. Had I made mistakes, or was Matilda going to surprise me with another spontaneous praise session for something I did?
“Is there something going on between you and Bronson that I should know about?” She hit me point-blank, towering over me with her arms crossed in her total boss lady way after she had ordered me to sit down in one of two chairs facing her desk. Looking down her nose at me completed her bossy boots attitude toward me.
“There’s nothing going on. Bronson and I are old friends.” The depths of denial took me by surprise, rolling off my tongue easily enough when reality suddenly interfered with my job situation.
“Humph. Might I remind you it’s company policy not to fraternize with management. If you do, the relationship needs to be registered with HR.” She didn’t look like she believed me, and I didn’t either.
“I called you in here because I caught the holiday coupons. They almost shipped out to every franchise owner across the nation. Look at these. See anything wrong?”
I peered at the photo on the screen of the tablet she held out. It was from Acme Printing Co., and I knew the instant shock registered in my face because it stung from turning red. There were the coupons I had proofed and completed the day before Christmas Eve, the night of the party.
I read aloud the circled coupon. “‘Good for 12 Chick In Bun filet sandwiches at all participating locations.’ What? This isn’t the copy I approved.” I shot to my feet.
“Yes, it is. Your approval code is right there on the upload. I suggest you go to the printing house personally this instant and get it straightened out. This snafu is costing us time and money. And Cass, if you don’t fix this, you’re out. As it is, I have no choice for now but to write up a warning for your HR file.”
I flew out of Chick In Bun and spent the rest of the day at the Acme Printing company, overseeing the revisions, the reprinting, checking and triple checking everything. The coupon reprint had to be a rush job and would cost the company extra, but it had to be done. I avoided looking at the final invoice because I couldn’t stomach knowing the cost.
What would Bronson say about the monumental mistake I made? He would likely find out when the company got hit with an enormous expense. Would he fire me? Or would sentimentality from our past relationship keep me protected? At least I had something else to worry about now. Forget the past or future with him, fighting for my job took top priority.
This had to be the single most embarrassing event of my career so far. And I thought it was bad walking out of the ladies’ room with my skirt tucked into the back of my tights when I was about to give a major presentation in the boardroom last year.
Finally, at almost five p.m., and satisfied that everything was under control, I packed up my things. Tom, our printing company representative, let me work from his office, checking with me throughout the day to assure the reprint was on track.
“Thank you again for letting me lurk here all day and for letting me micromanage the reprint.” I gave him my best exhausted but relieved smile.
“Hey, no worries. I’m glad it worked out. Oh, before you go, I have a question about the new Tater Spud ads. Your team sent over a few mock-ups today.”
“I’m not on the team handling the acquisition launch. Matilda’s handling all of that. But I could have a look if it helps? ”
He smiled and turned his monitor toward me as I moved closer to his desk to have a look. I felt privileged, like I was being let in on the biggest secret in the world and couldn’t wait to tell Aggie. But when I spied the images on his monitor, I almost died on the spot.
Images from my Tater Spud storyboards stared back at me. A chicken filet falling in love with a potato spud. Matilda was the only person I shared them with. She had laughed at my designs, made me feel like my ideas were a joke. And now they appeared to be the cornerstone for the entire Tater Spud Acquisition campaign for a major fast-food empire.
I could be jumping to conclusions, but everything seemed pretty black and white to me. She stole my work. And I didn’t see any credit coming my way.
What does someone do when their manipulative boss steals her work? Me, I froze, my spirit numbed to the world.
I debated whether to show my face at the office. We were off the next day for New Year’s Eve, so I didn’t see any point in making an appearance and if I stepped one more foot in the office I’d hurl my lunch, preferably all over Matilda’s desk.
In my best ‘Kill her with kindness’ voice, I dialed Matilda’s direct line and left a message to assure her I had the coupon situation under control. I didn’t dare mention I knew she had taken my designs until ready to confront her and I had not yet thought through how to do that.
What a way to end the year on a low note. The weight of all the stress carried on my tight shoulders, making me exhausted and disheartened. I rolled them forward and back to release the tension on the subway home, but they dropped like a deflated balloon. Facing my past, keeping Karma and Fate and Bronson and my raging hormones at bay, dealing with a bitch of a boss, misprinted coupons, and stolen ideas—all enough to bring anyone down, even me.
When I arrived at the apartment, Lily greeted me. “Cass! Flowers arrived for you. I swear I didn’t look at the note, but could they be from Bron?” Lily stood by the vase of red roses in the center of our dining room table. Bronson was a safe bet since there wasn’t anyone else in my life at the moment, unless Hank had suddenly turned romantic, which I knew he wouldn’t because we were only friends.
I gave her a meager smile and read the note:
Thanks for returning my baseball cards.
You’re the real MVP.
Slugger.
My heart flipped at his use of the nickname. I handed the card to Lily. She couldn’t hide that she was dying to read it.
“So, was I right? Is this a second chance thing happening here?”
She let her hopes grow because a guy sent me flowers, and I had to let her down. “No . . . Oh, I don’t know.” The red roses were totally unexpected, and I counted each long stem—twenty-four of them with perfect petals opened as if shining up to the sun, or the light of our dining room chandelier. I knew Bronson made a rather over-the-top gesture. Still, being only human, and a woman, resisting the romanticism of flowers wasn’t possible. I deflated my lungs, all air leaving me. “Maybe?”
&
nbsp; “Yes! I knew it. You and Bron are meant to be. Oh, Cass, this is so wonderful. Isn’t love a wonderful thing? When you think you’ve lost it, here it comes running back. I guess when two people are meant to be then things fall into place.”
I tuned her out five sentences ago and focused on feeding my downhearted, starving stomach. By the time I microwaved my pitiful frozen dinner and sat down, Lily had finally run out of romantic notions to spew at me.
“I wish I had your kind of luck, Cass. It’s so hard to find the right person, you know? You had Bron once, and even if that was then, he’s back in your life again now. You’ve found your right person twice. I hope you don’t throw this second chance away.” Lily, Miss Positivity and the eternal optimist, turned down her face, looking through her smartphone.
Finally, a good reason to change the subject off of Bronson. “What’s wrong, babe? Why the long face?”
She plastered on the fakest smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. Okay, maybe it’s something. I hoped to meet this guy, Blue92, who I’ve been talking to online. We sort of, kind of, in a roundabout way, talked about meeting New Year’s Eve night, like in actual life. But now he has to work all night. I thought we had something. Now I feel like he’s brushing me off. I hoped this would be my year to have someone to kiss at midnight. I guess not.”
My heart broke for her because being the quirkiest woman in Boston required meeting the right guy who could appreciate all her quirkiness. Right then, I made New Year’s project number three to help Lily find the right guy. This was the perfect distraction to avoid all the other chaos in my life, and now—between Aggie, Hank, and Lily—I had three perfect projects to keep me busy enough in the new year to tell Fate to take a hike. A plan shaped up which I could sink my brain into and avoid further debating about Bronson.
“As it turns out, I have no one to kiss at midnight either. So, why don’t we plan to go to Maddie’s pub? It’s her last night working there as bartender, and we’ll all ring in the New Year together?”