I smiled. “I think if we give her an incentive, she might do it.”
“She’s always liked the city.”
“Really?” I asked. “Then maybe I can think of something to get her here.” The one thing she wanted was Deacon, but she would never have him. Deacon gave up everything to get out of that marriage. There was no way he would try again, not when he would never love her. “What does she like?”
He was quiet for a long time. “Expensive things.”
Then maybe Deacon could buy her a beautiful place to live…even though she should have more than enough money in her bank account now. “One of the best litigators in Manhattan is a friend of mine. I talked to him about your situation. He said he would take your case and get you legal custody—if you want to pursue that.”
“I already said no.” His tone didn’t turn hostile, but it was definitely abrupt.
“He’s the best, Deacon. I know you’re scared—”
“No.”
I wanted a Plan B if getting Valerie to move here was unsuccessful. Having Deacon move back to California wasn’t an option—at least not for me. “Could you tell me why?”
His jaw tightened like I’d poked a festering wound.
“You don’t have to. I just thought—”
“No.” He took a quiet breath, letting it escape gradually in an effort to relax. “I’m used to people prying, but I know you aren’t prying. You’re trying to help me…like always.” He seemed to be talking to himself, calming himself. He turned back to me. “When my father passed away, it was rough for me. I started to drink a lot…the hard stuff. It became a problem. There’re at least six months of my life I can’t really remember because I was drunk all the time.”
I didn’t react, but I was surprised it had happened, that someone so strong would succumb so completely.
“If I take her to court, she’ll use it against me. Not only will I not get Derek, but I’ll lose all my credibility. My medical license might be suspended even though I was never drunk on the job, and I could get stuck with a reputation that would tarnish all of my accomplishments…even if they happened long before I grabbed the bottle.”
I hated imagining him in that much pain, so disturbed that he had to alter his reality with booze. “Alright. Then we’ll convince Valerie.”
He stared at his hands.
“I don’t think less of you, Deacon.”
“I know…” He released a sigh and looked at me, like he had complete confidence in me. “I know you never would.”
That kind of trust meant the world to me, to see someone so hard become so soft with me, to share his darkest secret without fear of retribution. “It might take some time to get Valerie to come around, but if we play our cards right, we can make it happen. Now that we’ve gotten Derek here once, I’m sure Valerie will let me get him again. And this time, maybe he can stay longer…for a couple weeks.”
“I hope so. A weekend wasn’t long enough.”
“A lifetime isn’t long enough…not when it comes to the people you love.”
He watched me, a slight smile moving onto his lips.
I stared at him for a while, admiring his sculpted shoulders, the muscles in his neck, the way he looked at me. It was easy to get lost in those brown eyes, to be comfortable with that level of profound intimacy.
He was the one to break eye contact. “Tucker told me you stopped seeing each other.”
I hadn’t thought about him since he’d left my apartment. It never felt right, but I’d tried to force it to be right, tried to feel something I was incapable of feeling. “We agreed to be friends. You don’t need to worry about it being weird when we’re in a room together.” Tucker took my rejection so well, like it wasn’t personal at all. It made me realize his jokes and humor were just an aspect of his personality, but underneath that, he was much more mature than he let people realize.
Deacon was quiet.
He’d never asked me about Tucker when we were together, so I was surprised he asked now that we were apart.
“May I ask why?”
That wasn’t a question I expected him to ask—at all. I didn’t even know how to answer it, what the real reason was. It just wasn’t right. “Tucker is a great guy. He’s funny, interesting, kind…but he just wasn’t the right person for me.”
He continued to stare at his hands.
It was quiet for a long time, but not in a comfortable way. Instead, it was tense. He seemed to be thinking. There was that energy filling the room around him the way it did when he stared at his laptop on the dining table—as if he was intently focused on something outside the conversation.
After a few minutes passed, he turned to me. “When are you free for dinner?”
It took me a second to process the change in subject. “Deacon, you don’t have to do that—”
“You’re always taking care of other people. I’d like to take care of you.”
This man made me melt more and more. “I hope you understand I do things for you because I want to, not because I expect anything in return.”
“I do know that. Now I want to do something for you—and I don’t expect anything in return either.”
Three
Deacon
After my driver dropped me off from work the next night, I walked into the lobby and headed past the elevator. The office where Cleo and the rest of the staff were located was in the rear, in a large space with desks, monitors, and couches. I went there now, glad Cleo wasn’t there.
Matt sat at the desk. “How can I help you, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Is Cleo here?”
“No. She’s usually so busy doing errands that she’s rarely at her desk. I can call her for you—”
“No.”
Matt went rigid.
I missed talking to Cleo. I was so bad at this. “Actually, I wanted to do something nice for her…and wanted to know if you have any recommendations.”
“Ugh…” He pressed his lips tightly together as he considered it. “I have to think about it.”
“What do the other clients get her?”
“Nothing,” he said with a chuckle. “Barely a thank-you.”
I was an asshole like everyone else in the building. “She runs my life so well that I wanted to do something to make hers easier.”
“Well, she always complains about never having time to take care of her place, to do the dishes, laundry, stuff like that, since she’s always here.”
When I’d stopped by her place, I’d noticed how uncomfortable she was, as if she didn’t want me there. Her place wasn’t what I expected because it was so disorganized. There were papers scattered everywhere, clothes on the floor, the dishes were piled to the top of the sink. It didn’t seem like her personality to be that way, so once Matt said that, it all made sense. If I weren’t rich, I’d have to do those things myself too, and since I was so focused on my work, I’d probably never get around to it. “Could I pay for her to have a housekeeper?”
“Like, every week?” he asked in surprise. “Or just a one-time thing?”
“Weekly.” She worked all week and did stuff for me on the weekends. She literally had no time to take care of herself.
“Wow…that’s really nice of you.”
“Is there a way we can start tomorrow night? I’m taking her to dinner, and it would be nice if the apartment were done when I dropped her off.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I can take care of that for you.” He turned to the computer and pulled up my file. “I can just add the housekeeping hours to your existing one?”
“Sure.” I didn’t look at those bills. Cleo did.
“Then you’re all set. I’ll handle everything.”
I nodded then turned away.
In black slacks and a gray collared shirt, I was ready for dinner.
I wore one of my nice watches, having a collection of a few of them. My beard had been shaved, and I wasn’t eating dinner at the usual time since we were going out. I sat on
the couch and put on my dress shoes.
A knock sounded.
“It’s open.” I slipped on the other shoe with the shoehorn.
Cleo’s heels tapped against the hardwood as she entered the condo. She stopped next to the couch and looked down at me.
I finished adjusting my shoe before I raised my head and looked at her.
All of her.
She was in a skintight black dress, a halter top cut low in the back. It hugged her hips, stopped at her thighs, revealing the tanned and toned legs underneath. She wore high heels, her nails French tips.
I cleared my throat and rose to my feet. “I’m ready.”
“Great.” She wore her mother’s earrings and bracelet, and she had a black clutch in her grasp. She smiled at me, completely oblivious to how stunning she looked. She carried herself like she was in her usual attire, like it was another day at work.
We left the condo and took the elevator to the lobby. My driver was there, so we got into the car and drove away.
My hands rested on my thighs, and I looked out the window, seeing the city lights pass and cast a glare over the glass. I hadn’t gone out to dinner in a really long time, couldn’t recall the last time it had happened, in fact. I took Cleo to work dinners, but those weren’t restaurants, and they were social events I was forced to go to.
But I hadn’t taken a woman out for a meal in years.
Cleo held her clutch in her lap as she looked out the window.
I glanced at her then turned away, appreciating her more after I’d talked to Matt. He was so talkative and asked a lot of questions. He didn’t read my mind the way Cleo did which made the conversation a chore.
It was never like that with her.
We reached the restaurant then walked inside. It was a swanky bistro, a new place that had opened up a few weeks ago. The wait list was months down the line, but Cleo had managed to get a reservation for this evening.
We were led to a table near the window.
I moved to her chair and pulled it out for her.
She was a little surprised but smiled through it.
I took the seat across from her, a glowing white candle in the middle of the table. The lights were low, giving it a dark and moody atmosphere. The window gave us a view of the street corner, of the people who passed on their way to dinner. The menus were heavy and made out of wood, and the ice water on the table had wedges of lemon stuck to the rim of the glass.
Before we’d even picked up our menus, the waitress came over to take our drink orders. “My name’s Tess. I’ll be taking care of you guys this evening. First off, are we celebrating anything special? Anniversary?”
I stared at her, unsure what to say.
Cleo took over, giving a slight laugh. “No. Actually, this is my boss. He wanted to take me out to dinner after I completed a big project for him.”
“Aww.” She turned to me, wearing a long black dress. “That’s very sweet. Well, that’s a special occasion if you ask me.” She turned to the wine list. “Can I open a bottle for you?”
“A bottle seems like too much,” she said. “I’ll just have a glass. White. Whatever you recommend.”
She turned to me. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll take a glass of the Bordeaux.”
“Excellent choice. I’ll let you guys get settled.” Tess left the table.
“Red?” Cleo asked. “I’ve only seen you drink white.”
“I’m going to order a steak tonight.” I usually had chicken or fish, but since we were at a nice place, I’d decided to have something different. I never went out, so I may as well enjoy it.
She grabbed the menu and took a look. “I can’t believe you decided so quickly. Everything on here looks great.”
I’d decided before we even got here.
She rested her fingers under her chin as she held up the menu, all but her chin visible.
I stared, watching the way the candlelight hit her face, watched the way her painted lips rubbed together as she took her time making a decision. Since her eyes were down, her eyelashes covered the top part of her cheeks, dark, thick, lustrous. Her fair skin was unblemished, a beautiful complexion that indicated she drank a lot of water and very little caffeine. She had such soft features, almost like a doll. Her brown hair was in curls, and right now, she had it down over one shoulder, thick and wavy. Despite the curls and hair spray, I suspected her strands were soft, easy for fingers to slide through.
She set down her menu. “You know, I want the steak, but I also want the gnocchi…so I’m just going to do the gnocchi.”
Tess returned with our glasses. “Did you decide?”
My eyes stayed on Cleo.
She went first. “I’m going to have the gnocchi. The asparagus is fine.” She handed over her menu.
Tess turned to me. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the steak medium well.” I handed her the menu. “She’ll have the same. Bring the gnocchi as an appetizer.”
Tess didn’t question my orders and took the menus before she walked away.
I kept my eyes on Cleo.
She looked surprised. “Wow…this is the nicest date—dinner—I’ve ever been on.”
“Get what you want.”
“That’s a lot of food…”
“Take it home with you.”
She nodded. “Very good point. I don’t cook much, so it’ll be nice to have something to throw in the microwave.”
Better than the frozen burritos.
She brought her wine to her lips and took a drink, the color of her lipstick smearing against the glass.
I didn’t touch mine. With my forearms on the table, I looked at her, comfortable, relaxed. There were very few people I could be myself with, to just sit there with an intense expression on my face without talking. My short conversation with Matt had been overwhelming because he said so many words but took too long to get to the point. Cleo wasn’t like that. She made every word count, didn’t prolong the conversation by rambling on. She never once questioned my behavior, accepting me for being different from everyone else. Even my conversations with Tucker were difficult at times because I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say.
She picked up a piece of bread from the basket and ripped off a chunk. “Ooh, this is the best bread I’ve ever had.”
I didn’t touch it.
She took a few bites before she looked at me. “So, where are you going to take Derek when he comes back?”
My son was the easiest thing for me to talk about. “Hayden Planetarium.”
“He’ll love that,” she said with a smile. “Especially if we do a private tour. He can have all the time that he wants.”
“We can do that?”
She smiled. “Haven’t you learned that I can do anything by now?”
I smiled back. “You’re right.”
Her lips fell immediately, her eyes turning serious. The bread was still in her fingertips against the plate. “You have a really nice smile. You should do it more often.”
My lips relaxed into their usual position. “Doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“I think it does. Just under the right circumstance.” She started to eat her bread again.
The waitress brought the gnocchi and set it between us.
“You’re going to help me with this, right?” She grabbed the spoon and served the pasta onto her plate, next to her bread. “A man should never make a lady eat an entire plate by herself.”
When she was finished, I scooped some onto my plate. The pasta was slathered with olive oil, cheese, and a sprinkle of parsley. It was good, a nice change for my taste buds from my usual diet.
“Oh man.” She finished her bite. “I think this is the best thing I’ve ever had.”
I chuckled. “You just said that about the bread.”
“No, I said it was the best bread I’ve ever had.”
“So, is this the best gnocchi? Or the best thing ever?”
She sighed. “
It’s definitely the best gnocchi. But I think it might be the best thing ever—besides desserts.”
“You like sweets?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I don’t.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually not like them? Or you just have the discipline not to eat them?”
I ate the last piece off my plate. “Sugars serve no purpose to the body, other than spiking blood glucose, insulin, triggering fat production, causing diabetes… So, I just stay away from it.”
“What about everything in moderation?”
“It’s fine. I’m just not one of those people. When the food serves no purpose, I have no desire to eat it.” Sometimes people teased me about it, asked me a million questions about my dietary preferences, and it got so annoying that I just ignored the questions altogether. But it didn’t feel that way with Cleo.
“You had cake on your birthday.”
“Yeah…special occasion.” That memory would live forever in my heart, my brain taking a snapshot of the moment, memorizing the sound of the crickets in the grass, the way the fire cast a glow over my son’s face, the way my chaotic world stood still…for just a moment. “I was actually happy.”
Her eyes softened slightly. “Are you not usually happy?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been happy in a long time…” The last five years of my life were a terrible blur I wanted to forget. Derek was the only aspect that gave me any kind of joy, happy moments in a sea of depression.
Instead of telling me I should be grateful for everything I had, she seemed to understand it. “I read an article that said the more intelligent you are, the more likely you are to suffer from depression and sadness. And the less intelligent you are…the happier you are. Ignorance is bliss, I guess.”
I nodded. “I don’t get any stimulation out of social relationships, and since that’s the key to happiness, that’s always a deficit. The one exception to that is Derek, but he’s not here, so…” I didn’t mean to bring down the conversation with my typical somber self-reflection.
“You seem to get along with Tucker pretty well.”
“Yeah, for the most part.”
The Man Who Has No Heart (Soulless Book 2) Page 2