The last two hours have been nothing short of surreal, and I spent most of that time staring at his soon-to-be corpse, trying to see how many good memories I could muster.
I got to six before I started drawing blanks, but I figure it’s better than nothing.
Pushing through the double doors when I get to the waiting room, I find Aerin exactly where I left her.
“Hey. You’re not going to believe this,” I say.
She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder and handing me my phone.
“Aerin?” I ask.
Her lower lip quivers, her chin is tucked, and she whispers “excuse me” as she weaves between other hospital patrons.
“Aerin,” I yell-whisper her name, following after her.
But it’s only when I glance down at my phone and see the text from my lawyer friend that I realize just how badly I fucked up.
READ OVER THE CONTRACT. SHE CAN’T QUIT BUT YOU’RE FREE TO FIRE HER FOR ANY REASON.
“Aerin, wait.” I run after her, only she steps into an elevator seconds before the door closes.
It’s all a misunderstanding.
I was going to fire her—and personally fund the rest of her payout—because I want to date her. I want to make it official, respectable, ethical—all the things that Aerin deserves. She’s much too driven and intelligent to summarize reports day in and day out, and she doesn’t need to be put in the middle of my drama with my father. She doesn’t need to be chained to this bizarre little agreement because of a bullshit contract.
She deserves to be free.
RUSH KNOCKS ON MY door Friday night, and I slam the lid on my laptop and push it aside.
“Come in,” I say.
“This look okay?” He points to his sweater and gingham tie get-up, complete with leather elbow patches.
“Are you going for professor-chic? Because if you are, you nailed it.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“What isn’t wrong with it.” I wink.
Rush shuffles across the room, inspecting his reflection in the dresser mirror. “Thanks a lot, Aer. Now I’m going to have a complex.”
“You asked, I answered.” I throw my hands in the air. “Lose the sweater and you should be fine. Or replace it with a sweater less deserving of a PhD.”
My brother lingers for a bit, taking me in like there’s something off. He’s going to ask me what’s wrong in 3 … 2 … 1.
“You doing okay?” he asks. “And before you answer, remember, you can’t lie to me.”
It’s true.
He knows all of my tells. The twitch of my nose. The tapping of my fingers. The way my lips tighten just a tad.
Rush checks his watch. “I have ten minutes. Lay it on me.”
I wave my hand. “Nah. You have more important things to do. Like change out of that ugly sweater.”
I’m honestly surprised med schools don’t include a class called What to Wear When You’re Not in Scrubs.
In true Rush fashion, he ignores me, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall and giving me that concerned doctor look he’s perfected the last several years.
“It’s not working out … my contract here,” I say. “I messed up.”
“Good God, Aer. You’re not perfect. You were bound to screw up eventually.”
I don’t want to get into the details. I’m already upset with myself, I don’t need to wallow in Rush’s disappointment on top of it.
“Anyway, I think I’m going to head back to LA this week,” I say.
“Oh, yeah? You have another job lined up?”
“No. Not yet. I could. But I think I’m going to give myself a two-week breather. Maybe travel a little. Melrose said I could visit her on location. Or maybe I’ll go to Fallbrook and help Grandma Jane with the bed and breakfast.”
“She’d love that,” he says. “Did that Welles guy pay you for your first two weeks?”
I nod. “First check. Second one comes this Friday. I think. I hope …”
Either way, I have more than enough to take as much time off as I need.
Rush shrugs. “At least it wasn’t a total bust then, right?”
Financially, no.
Emotionally? Professionally? YES.
“Right,” I say, forcing a smile. “You should probably get going. Don’t want to keep Hillie waiting.”
“Don’t make any rash decisions tonight,” he says on his way out.
“When have you ever known me to make a rash decision?”
“Good point.” He waves before leaving my room, and a moment later the apartment door opens and shuts.
Lifting the lid on my laptop, I pull up the travel website. There are numerous flights from NYC to LA, all day, every day. Home is a click and a plane ride away. But now I have to decide if I’m going to quit WellesTech and risk being sued for breach of contract—or wait to be fired.
The thought of going back to that office, of seeing Calder, sends a sick swirl to my stomach, and then I remember, I haven’t eaten all day. But still.
Given the fact that he was secretly looking into firing me and he’s about to take over the company, I doubt he’d mind if I went ahead and quit.
I select a flight for Saturday and grab my debit card out of my wallet.
I’ll take my chances.
SHE IGNORED MY TEXT messages all of last night. My calls? Sent straight to voicemail. I tried calling the office on the insane off chance Aerin fled the hospital and decided to head into work, but Marta said she hadn’t seen or heard from her all afternoon.
But now, here I am, standing in front of apartment 4F in some pre-war building in SoHo, praying to God she’s here.
I called the office just past eight this morning and got her address from Paula in HR. I had no idea where Aerin was staying—all this time I never thought to ask and it never came up. I figured she was holed up in some hotel in Midtown, but all this time, she was a ten-minute walk from me, staying with her brother.
Rapping on the door, I call her name. “Aerin? You home? Open up.”
All I want to do is explain.
I could’ve sent it all in a text, but who would believe that? She’d just think I was trying to cover my ass. I want to tell her in person. I need her to hear it in my voice and see it in my eyes.
I knock once more but no one answers. A third try proves just as futile.
It’s all right.
I’ll keep trying. I’ll find her. I’ll explain.
For the first time in my life, I know everything is going to be all right.
Leaving her building, my phone lights up with a call from Lisette.
“Lisette, hey, what’s going on?” I answer.
She greets me with a sob and a sniffle. “He’s taken a turn for the worse.”
I’m not sure how much worse it can get than “zero brain activity.”
“You should probably come now,” she says. “They’re saying I need to make a decision, but I think you should be a part of this too. He’s your dad, you know?”
Dad.
I wouldn’t call him that.
A dad is someone who plays catch with you, never misses a game, and teaches you how to change the oil in your car.
Calder Welles was only ever a father. Formal and distant, reigning his kingdom with his black AmEx and a secretary to field his calls.
“I’m on my way.” I hang up and order a ride.
All these years, I wanted to tell him off one last time. Now all I feel is … numb. And broken. And for the first time, for reasons that have nothing to do with my father.
I head to the hospital because it’s the right thing to do and when I get there, I’ll say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done.
After that? I’m getting the hell out of there.
And finding her.
THE SIDEWALKS HAVE EMPTIED since the morning rush, and I make my way back to the apartment with a coffee in one hand and a chocolate croissant in the other. It feels wrong not to be in
the office right now. I’ve never missed a day of work in my life. It almost makes me nauseous just thinking about it.
By the time I get home, I’ve already finished half my coffee and Lillie’s name is flashing across my phone screen. I dump my keys, purse, and brown paper sack on the counter before rebalancing my coffee and answering the call.
“Hey,” I say.
“Did you hear?”
My stomach drops. “No …”
“They’re pulling the plug on Mr. Welles today,” she says, her breath airy and soft. “So sad.”
I take a seat at the counter, and all I can think about is Calder and everything he must be going through today. He made it no secret that he and his father had a difficult relationship, but this still couldn’t be easy for him.
“The funeral is going to be Friday,” she adds. “Or that’s what they’re saying. I guess we’ll know more by tomorrow.”
As furious as I am at Calder and as shady of a businessman his father was, I need to be there. It’s the right thing to do.
I have to choose my regrets.
I’M SEATED AT MY father’s desk Thursday morning, one of his favorite gold pens pressed against a yellow legal pad.
We pulled the plug yesterday.
Lisette had the nerve to ask me to write a eulogy. Apparently, she hasn’t been around long enough to know our complicated history, and evidently I’m not strong enough to tell a crying woman that I barely know that she’s asking for the impossible.
What can you say about a man who faked having some mysterious terminal illness to get his son back in his life? Who traded his wife for all the riches in the world and died with nothing of real value?
The more I ruminate on the old bastard, the more I realize I couldn’t be sad about this if I tried. But not because I’m cold and unfeeling—but because I already mourned the loss of his relationship over a decade ago.
Calder Welles had three great loves in his life: women, money, and WellesTech. A classic narcissist, Calder was a self-indulgent man child who often prided himself on undercutting the little guys. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted, and that included faking an illness and lying about impending business deals. An avid bullshitter, Calder was skilled at appearing to be a family man …
I stop and place the pen down.
I can’t say that. I wish I could, but I can’t. I’m supposed to make up some bullshit that paints him in the best light possible, so we can remember him in all his overinflated-ego-glory.
Ripping the paper from the legal pad, I crumple it up and toss it in his trash.
If Keane were here, she’d probably know exactly what to write to minimize the amount of ‘asshole’ in my tone and maximize the amount of light we’re casting on a man who doesn’t deserve a single flickering neon bulb.
Lifting the receiver to my father’s desk phone, I dial Marta.
“Hi, Calder,” she says, voice stuffy. She hasn’t stopped crying since he had the heart attack earlier this week. I told her to take some time off, but she insisted on staying because, “It’s what he would’ve wanted.”
“Have you heard from Aerin today?”
I was going to stop by her place again today and try one more time to get her to hear me out, but I thought I’d run by the office first on the off chance she came in.
“No, sir, I haven’t,” Marta says. “Do you want me to call you sir? Your father always liked it, so …”
“Do you know where she is?” I ask.
She releases a nervous hum. “I don’t. But she did drop off a letter this morning with the overnight security guard. I put it in your mailbox. I can bring it to you’d like?”
“That won’t be necessary, Marta, but thank you.” I cradle the receiver and head to the mailboxes, grabbing the plain white envelope with my name scrawled in cursive on the front. Ripping the side, I pour a carefully folded letter into my hand, my heart crawling up my chest as I read.
A resignation letter.
She knows she can’t quit—not that I’d bother Legal with this, but still. She’s well aware. Why would she do this?
Shoving the letter in my pocket, I head to the elevators, stopping at Marta’s desk on the way.
“I’m taking the rest of the afternoon,” I say in passing.
Her brows lift and her manicured hand covers her chest. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
They all think I’m insane for coming in the day after my father’s death, but their concerns are none of my business. In fact, I couldn’t care less.
As soon as I get to the main floor, I enter Aerin’s brother’s address and order a ride.
“Aerin.” I knock three times, loud and hard, but not aggressive enough to send nosy neighbors to their peepholes. “Aerin, I know you’re in there.”
I don’t.
I don’t know where the hell she is.
I’m bluffing.
I knock again, only on the third pound of my fist against the door, it swings open. On the other side is a scowling version of the girl who drives me crazy in every sense of the word.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. Skintight black yoga pants hug her thighs and a pale violet Grateful Dead t-shirt with a generous scoop neck finish off her look. Her hair is messy, piled at the top of her head with tendrils framing her freckled face.
I wish I could tell her how fucking sexy she looks.
“What’s this about?” I hold up her letter.
Aerin shrugs. “I resigned. You were going to fire me anyway.”
“You’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever known,” I say. Her hand moves to her hip as she studies me. “And I’ll admit, you’re right about most things, most of the time. But you’ve never been so wrong about anything in your entire life.”
“I saw the text, Calder. It said you were ‘free to fire me.’”
I offer an incredulous grin, shaking my head. “Why wouldn’t you let me explain?”
“What makes you think you deserve an opportunity to explain?” Her hands lift before slapping against her thighs and her voice is raised. “I’ve done nothing but be there for you. I refused a dying man’s last wishes out of loyalty to you. And this is how you repay me?”
I smirk. It’s kind of cute watching her rant, but as soon as she’s done, I’m setting her straight.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” she snaps. “Seriously, Calder, why would you want to fire me? And after I told you I had plans for my earnings?” Her fingers massage her temples. “I’ve never felt so deeply betrayed by anyone in my life. And the worst part? I was starting to fall for you. Hard. At first, I thought you were nothing like your father, now I’m not so—”
“—don’t say it, Keane. Don’t you dare fucking say it.”
She squares her shoulders, pressing her lips together.
“My father lied,” I say. “About his illness. And about the Samuelson offer—which was the sole reason I agreed to come on board in the first place. He’s an egotistical prick, and if you think I’m anything like him, then tell me now so I can set the record straight for you.”
“He wasn’t sick?” Her nose scrunches.
“Nope. The timing of the heart attack was … ironic, I guess. But I confirmed with Lisette and his team of doctors that he had no underlying issues he was being treated for, chronic or otherwise.”
“Wow.” She glances down, stuck in the moment. “All right, you going to answer my question or what?”
“I was going to fire you, Keane, because I wanted to date you.” I say.
She’s quiet for a second. “Okay, but I don’t understand.”
“I know how uncomfortable it made you, how unprofessional you felt,” I say. “And I didn’t want to be another Welles executive, banging his assistant on the weekends. I wanted something real, Aerin, because you’re the realest thing I’ve ever known.”
“You couldn’t have waited two more weeks?”
“No. I couldn’t. That’s ho
w crazy I am about you.”
Aerin keeps her distance, her arm flush against the open door, just a couple of feet between us, though it might as well be an ocean.
“I was going to pay you out for the second half of your contract,” I say. “Maybe replace you with a temp. I know you were bored as hell, Aerin. It was torture for you. After everything you’ve done for me the past couple of weeks, I figured you could use a break from the grunt work. That or I’d be happy to find some executive-level duties to keep you occupied.”
“Calder …” She tries to speak but nothing comes out. And then her dark eyes seek refuge in mine. “It’s too much. You don’t need to buy me out. You don’t need to give me anything. All I wanted was you.”
“Wanted …” Past tense.
“I’m flying back to LA on Saturday,” she says. “I think it’s for the best if we go our separate ways. All of my client contacts are on the West Coast. And I don’t love New York. Everyone’s so moody and serious, and you can’t even see the sun half the time because of all the buildings …”
She goes on, listing the tiniest, most mundane reasons she couldn’t possibly see herself living here.
“Keane,” I cut her off. “You’re scared. I get it. You have your perfectly little orderly life back in LA. New York represents the unknown to you, chaos, but I promise your business will flourish just as much if not better than it would in LA. And if you miss the sun? We’ll hop in my plane at a moment’s notice and go somewhere warm.”
“Two weeks, Calder. You’ve known me two weeks. How can you stand here and promise me the world when you hardly even know me?”
“Because I know enough to know you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Because you keep me grounded and because when I look at you, it’s the only time I’ve ever believed everything’s going to be okay.” Fuck it. I step into her apartment and she lets the door close behind me. “We’d be so good together, Keane.”
I cup her cheek in my palm.
“And what if we’re not? What if we destroy each other?” she asks.
“I would never destroy you,” I say before winking. “Hell, I might even let you organize my apartment again if it’d really mean that much to you.”
P.S. I Dare You (PS Series Book 3) Page 13