Blindsided by Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Hilary Rose

  “Looking lovely as ever,” he said, opening his arms to fold Caroline into a hug as they greeted each other in the living room of the Forrester estate—the house she knew so well, the house in which she and Rick had been married on Thanksgiving Day.

  “And you look perfectly healthy to me,” Caroline teased, regarding the handsome, distinguished-looking man in the burgundy velvet robe. Women of all ages still fell for his silver hair, wise eyes and dimpled chin, not to mention his courtly charm, and she could certainly see why. “I think you’re faking sick so you can stay home and tinkle the keys on that piano all day.” She nodded at the gleaming black grand piano where Eric often serenaded the family on special occasions.

  “Come. Sit with me.” He took her hand and led her over to the sofa by the fireplace, the portrait of the formidable Stephanie Forrester watching over them. “How’s it going over at the office so far?”

  Caroline filled him in on the designs she and Ridge had settled on, how they’d met with the production team and when she expected to see samples. “I think we’ll be right on schedule.”

  “I had no doubt that you’d whip the place into shape, just the way you and Rick took charge of the Hope for the Future line when it was floundering.” He sighed, his smile fading. “It goes without saying that I loved having you as a daughter-in-law and that my younger son behaved badly. I’m sorry about all of that.”

  “Oh, Eric. You’ve always been wonderful to me.” Caroline gave his hand a squeeze. “My love and respect for you will never change. And speaking of the fundraiser, if you need me to help you write your speech for it, don’t hesitate to ask. Pam said she’d be coming over to record you.”

  “I have plenty of time to pull my thoughts together,” he assured her. “It’ll just be the CEO Emeritus greeting the guests in absentia, thanking them for their contributions to cancer research and paying tribute to Stephanie—nothing I can’t handle.”

  “So you didn’t ask me here this afternoon for a report about the fashion show? Pam was wrong about that?”

  “Ah, Pam and her assumptions.” He chuckled. “No. I wanted to apologize to you on Rick’s behalf and to do it in person. I also wanted to discuss Ridge with you.”

  “I’m not sure what Rick may have told you—he seems to have given everybody the idea that we’re back together,” said Caroline. “We had one dinner, that’s all. It’s a beginning, but I don’t know if there’s anything there for me anymore. We’re a long way from any sort of reconciliation.”

  “Thank you for being honest,” said Eric. “It’s for you to decide whether you two have a future together, so let’s move on to Ridge. I’m worried about him. I’m worried about him personally and I’m worried about him as our acting CEO. He’s disengaged and I can’t blame him, after what he’s been through and what he’s still going through. But I’m hearing rumbles that our important buyers are concerned. We’ve done what we can to downplay his sight loss in the media, but word is out that he’s not running the company with the same fire in his belly and we can’t afford to see orders drop. This fundraiser in Stephanie’s honor is Forrester Creations’ public relations opportunity to show the world that we’ve still got it—that Ridge is still turning out the iconic designs that made us what we are—and I don’t want it to slip through our fingers.”

  “I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, Eric. I promise you.”

  “I know that, Caroline, and I have the utmost confidence in you. But how can we get Ridge to feel better about his life and his work, more hopeful? You’ve spent the past couple of days with him. Have there been hints of the old Ridge? Any ideas how to bring him around? You seem to know how to do just about everything, so I thought I’d ask.”

  Caroline considered Eric’s questions. “He’s been angry, moody—distant.”

  “So everybody tells me.” Eric nodded ruefully. “My oldest son can be gruff and bull-headed even under the best of circumstances, but he’s got a huge heart when he likes someone, and he likes you, Caroline. He must like you because you’re the only designer he didn’t say no to when we were all begging him to bring in help for the fashion show.”

  “I like him too, Eric. Not when he’s growling at me but when he does let me in, he can be very …” Caroline trailed off as she flashed back to the night at Luc’s, to the sensation of Ridge’s fingers lingering on her lips, of the way he’d looked at her …

  Eric arched an eyebrow. “I have a feeling this collaboration of yours is going better than I anticipated.”

  “It is,” she confirmed. “I mean it’s only been a couple of days, but I think I’m getting through—a little.”

  “Then maybe you’ll come up with some way to draw him out, show him that he’s still important, not only to the company but also to all of us who care about him—drag him out of the house at the very least. It would be good for him and good for Forrester Creations.”

  “You want me to help him psychologically?” she said, making sure she understood. “I’m not a shrink, Eric.”

  “What I’m asking, if you’re willing, is for you to apply your considerable cleverness and personal magnetism to Ridge in a way that will boost his morale, make him feel that there’s a reason to get up in the morning. There must be some way you can do that. I’ve seen what a spitfire you are. I remember how you stuck your own neck out for Rick time and time again and how you weren’t a bit afraid to take on Ridge in the process.” He smiled. “I know this is beyond the job description; we brought you out here to design dresses, after all. I’m just asking as a favor. Use the spitfire in you to get Ridge to open up a little, since he likes and respects you. Let him know he’s not diminished as a leader, as a human being, as a man. If an idea how to do that comes to you, I’ll be very grateful.”

  Caroline did light on an idea and it made perfect sense to her. Her idea would be a way for Ridge to feel like a boss and mentor again, to escape his own dark thoughts, a way for Forrester Creations to have a CEO who realized he was much more than a pair of damaged eyes. It would also be a way for her to have some fun while she was in LA—a win-win for everybody.

  “You’ve thought of something?” Eric asked. “You look like I used to whenever I’d hit on an idea for a new design.”

  “Yes, I just might have!” said Caroline. “I’m due over at Ridge’s as soon as I leave here and I’ll try it out on him.”

  “Sounds promising,” said Eric. “Just one more thing: Ridge can’t know that I asked you to intervene, so this conversation needs to stay between us. I don’t think he’d take it well if he thought his father was meddling in either his personal or professional life. Understood?”

  “Of course, but I genuinely want to help him and Forrester Creations,” Caroline assured him, “even if you hadn’t asked me to.”

  “You’re one in a million, you know that?” They rose from the sofa and Eric wrapped her in another hug before walking her to the door. “Oh. One more caveat,” he said before sending her on her way. “Rick is sensitive—overly sensitive, if you ask me—if it looks like I’m showing Ridge any sort of favoritism or extra attention, and it would be detrimental to the company, as well as hurtful to him, if he thought I’d asked you to spend more of your time with Ridge … Look, all I’m saying is that however you decide to accomplish our goal for Ridge, try to keep my sons from going to war over you—at least until after the fundraiser.”

  “Over me?” Caroline was taken aback by Eric’s remark until she remembered Rick’s use of the very same words just the night before. Still, a war over her seemed highly unlikely.

  Eric shrugged. “Who knows why two people develop a connection, but it happens and that’s life and there’s nothing wrong with it. All I’m saying is that Forrester Creations needs this event to go off without a hitch, so tread carefully.”

  *

  Ridge lived in the Bel Air section of LA amid movie stars and captains of industry and families with old money. He’d bought the house, a gated, Tuscan-st
yle estate nestled just up the road from the famed Bel Air Hotel, when he’d returned from Paris to settle into Forrester Creations as its new CEO. He’d hoped it would be the ideal home for RJ whenever his custody arrangement with Brooke allowed for visits. There were plenty of bedrooms for the boy and his friends, and the Bel Air Country Club was nearby if his son ever decided to trade soccer for golf. He’d had no idea that the house’s location would end up being a godsend for him too; his old friend Jerome, the concierge at the Bel Air Hotel, took it upon himself to find Ridge a suitable attendant, a young waiter from the hotel dining room named Ben, who brought meals and helped with everyday tasks that were difficult for Ridge to manage on his own. Ben arrived first thing in the morning, helped him get ready for work and came back at the end of the day to check on him. It was a practical setup and Ridge was grateful for Ben’s efficient yet unobtrusive demeanor, but he longed for the day when he didn’t need an attendant and could get back to leading a normal life.

  Unfortunately, that day would not be soon; his doctor’s appointment had not gone as Ridge had hoped, and Dr Connolly was puzzled by the lingering red spots and dark shadows that still obscured his patient’s vision.

  “The pigment layer in the eyes, or RPE, has numerous metabolic and immune system functions,” said the ocular specialist. “As you know, your exposure to the intense light of the fire decreased the pigment, Ridge, but it should have regenerated by now.”

  “Then why the hell hasn’t it?” Ridge demanded and immediately apologized for his outburst.

  “I know it’s been a rough road.” Dr Connolly placed his hand on Ridge’s shoulder to steady him. “As I’ve explained, one function of the pigment is to protect the underlying retinal cells, which are part of the nervous system, from excessive light. Blindness—including the partial blindness you’re experiencing now—persists until the RPE is fully regenerated. In your case, I suppose it’s conceivable that the nervous system itself is to blame.”

  “The nervous system? Are you saying if I just relax and enjoy myself I’ll be cured?”

  “No, not at all, although anything that reduces stress—learning deep-breathing techniques, doing some low-impact exercise like yoga, engaging in activities that help take your mind off your condition—wouldn’t hurt. But the nervous system is a difficult beast to tame and sometimes we doctors have to act counter-intuitively. Which is to say, we do nothing and let it right itself.”

  Ridge shook his head with incredulity. “So there’s no pill, no treatment, nothing else you can do? I’m just supposed to wait this thing out—while I’m contorting myself into some yoga position?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I can give you more medication for the pain and I suggest you continue to limit your light exposure whenever possible, but other than that, my friend, you need to find a way to be patient and let this resolve on its own. I promise you it will.”

  “Are you staking your reputation on that promise, Dr Connolly?”

  “I am, Ridge—unequivocally. I just can’t say when.”

  *

  Pam had given Caroline the gate code for Ridge’s house as well as the key so he wouldn’t have to stumble around to let her in. Not that he knew she was coming. She’d decided to show up unannounced instead of calling ahead to say that she, not Pam, would be bringing the documents for him to sign. Given his frostiness at the meeting, she didn’t want to risk having him insist that she not come.

  Her driver pulled up to the house, set high atop its own private knoll with an unobstructed, panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and Catalina Island over a canopy of greenery. Caroline actually gasped as she took in the beauty surrounding her. She’d grown up a child of privilege at one of the best addresses in Manhattan—a city girl whose parents’ historic townhouse sat proudly on the Upper East Side. But this—this magnificent eyeful of the sea and the sky and the trees along with the soaring feeling of being on top of the world—was so spectacular that she bounded out of the limo and stood on the front lawn for several minutes, absorbing it all.

  It was only after the limo left the driveway that she was reminded of the reason she’d come. Clutching the envelope containing the documents for Ridge to sign, she let herself in his front door. She stepped into the striking entrance hall where more grandeur awaited her—not the sort of gaudy opulence she’d seen inside some of the mansions of LA but a home befitting the CEO of one of the world’s most prestigious fashion houses.

  She walked past the double staircase and into the formal living room, observing every detail as she went: the beamed ceiling, the mahogany floor, the imported rugs, the tasteful furnishings. The heavy draperies were drawn but she pulled one back to take a quick peek through the French doors that led to an expansive patio and beyond, to the sparkling infinity pool and lush landscaping. She continued her tour of the room with its silver-framed photos and fine antiques, and her overall impression was old-world elegance meets modern glamor with a hint of whimsy; along with the state-of-the-art lighting and electronic equipment, there was an old-fashioned pinball machine tucked into a corner. Caroline smiled as she guessed there were similar playful touches throughout the house, perhaps for RJ’s benefit, perhaps for his father’s.

  “Pam?”

  Caroline turned. Ridge had been expecting his aunt, of course. “It’s Caroline, Ridge,” she said, walking toward him. “I hope it’s all right. I stopped by with those papers Pam needs you to sign.”

  “I should have recognized the footsteps,” he said coolly. “Yours bounce.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.

  “I didn’t know you ran errands along with your other talents,” he said.

  So we’re back to the sarcasm, she thought with a keen sense of disappointment. He had been so engaged the day before when he was asking her about herself, so warm—for him. And now there was this … chill. Was it because of his doctor’s appointment or Rick’s deliberate mention of their night together?

  She asked if they could sit down.

  “Sorry. My manners again.” Ridge motioned for her to follow him into another room. It was too big to be called a den, more like a study or library. It had wall-to-wall bookcases, a leather-top desk and an entertainment center with the latest flat-screen TV, DVD player and speakers. Caroline sat on the loveseat. Ridge maneuvered himself over to his desk chair.

  “Should we get the business over with first?” she asked, removing the documents from the envelope. “Pam said you’ve already gone over the contracts with legal, and these are just the executed copies for your signature.”

  “By all means,” he said, waving her over to him.

  She didn’t know how much he could see. With the plantation shutters closed, the room was fairly dark except for the lamp at the end of the desk, and then there was his limited vision. Pam had flagged the lines where he was supposed to sign his name, but maybe he still needed help.

  Caroline drew closer so she could stand over his shoulder as she laid the papers in front of him and flipped them open to the appropriate pages. “Here’s a pen,” she said, reaching for the one nearby and literally inserting it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

  He smirked. “I think I could have picked up my own pen, but thanks.” With Caroline’s guidance, Ridge signed the required pages and handed them back to her. “Was that really worth the trip over here or was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

  Caroline sat back down on the loveseat and considered the question. Should she explain about the mix up with Rick? Discussing her personal life was presuming an awful lot. Maybe the great and powerful Ridge Forrester didn’t care a bit who was romancing her and who wasn’t and that blabbing to him about Rick’s phone faux pas, the shower and the rest of it would only annoy him. Better not to mention it at all, she decided. Besides, she had something more positive to discuss: her plan for lifting his spirits. She’d come up with it at the end of her meeting with Eric and honed it dur
ing the drive to Bel Air, and now was the time to see if it would fly with Ridge.

  “There’s definitely something else I want,” she said, becoming excited as she spoke but trying not to bounce on her seat cushion. “Please hear me out before you answer and please keep an open mind, okay?”

  “I have a feeling this isn’t about a design for the fashion show.”

  “It’s about me getting out of the bubble. You talked about that yesterday, remember? You gave me an assignment to get out of the bubble?”

  “As I’ve said, Caroline, it’s my eyesight that’s bad. My memory’s just fine.”

  “Right. You also said that I didn’t need to work on the fashion show twenty-four-seven and I agree. It’s in the production team’s lap now and until we see the dresses on the models, there will be gaps in our schedules.”

  “Our schedules? I have a company to run.” Ridge stroked his beard as he regarded her from behind his dark glasses.

  “Yes, but—well, just let me finish.” She took a breath. Sometimes she got so wound up about an idea that she tended to gulp her words. “I’d like you to take me out of the bubble, be my tour guide, in a way. What I mean is that there are interests outside of fashion I’d like to explore, the way you suggested, and you’re just the person to facilitate it. For example, when I came into your office earlier today, you were listening to classical music. I couldn’t tell if you were listening to Bach or Beethoven or someone I’ve never heard of, so teach me. Another example: You mentioned that I should go see a sports team. I want you to take me to a stadium or a ballpark or whatever you call those places and explain what I’m watching. You also mentioned that I should seek out food trucks and other alternatives to the fancy places around here and savor the exotic flavors. I want you to do that with me so I’ll learn the difference between curry and cumin. And I want to dance, Ridge. Not ballroom dance or ballet dance but go to a concert with a dance floor and get up and shake it, really cut loose like I’ve never done before. One of those blues bands where the lead singer sounds like he’s straight out of a gospel choir would be perfect.