“We can’t be lovers,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
* * *
Oh, the irony.
If he wasn’t mistaken, Kimber had just suggested an arrangement. An arrangement with the Tin Man.
He’d spent his life making lists, drawing up agreements, arranging his relationships to prevent them from eking into territory beyond his control. For the first time in his life, someone was doing the same thing to him. And, for the first time in a long time, he had no control.
She wanted to categorize him, maintain an emotionless, neutral position where he was concerned. He’d be angry if he didn’t see her point of view so clearly. It’d been his view as well, at least until the redhead before him turned his world upside down. Still, he couldn’t work up the anger to storm out.
He didn’t want what she offered. He didn’t want her living here, keeping her distance from him, working with Mick. But, he amended, he could get over that part if forced. And he didn’t mind discussing and debating topics regarding their child. He wanted to talk about what would be best for their bundle of joy from birth to college—if he or she decided to go. What he did mind, what was tearing his heart in two, was her suggestion to stop seeing each other.
He wondered what she would say if she learned that for him, what they had superseded sex. That he wanted affection more than her body. Hell, he wanted both. For the second time in his lonely, miserable life, he wanted it all and couldn’t have it.
He raked a hand through his hair, closed his eyes, and tried to think of a way out of this. A way around it. He was a smart guy… normally.
If he argued, he doubted she’d welcome the disagreement. He could tell it hadn’t been easy for her to lay out how she’s feeling, and he respected her for telling him so bluntly. He supposed he could go along with what she offered for a little while, then seduce her into seeing things his way. While that would be fun, for both of them, he knew they’d wind up right back here again, at her kitchen counter or his, discussing this same topic. Only then she’d be ten times angrier. He didn’t want her to hate him.
I want her to love me.
At one point, she’d claimed to. Should he remind her of the day she laid across from him in bed? The day her eyes softened as she touched his cheek and told him under no uncertain terms “I love you”? Or had she simply been on the emotional roller coaster of did-we-or-didn’t-we-make-a-baby? And now that they had, she what… decided she didn’t love him after all?
Pain speared him. His own indecisiveness pissed him off. He used to be in control. He knew his limits, was capable of checking his emotions at the door. Now he was all over the place. And not just over a baby—A baby. Would that ever sink in?—but also over Kimber. He opened his mouth to remind her of the day she’d made that promise, that vow he’d been so sure he hadn’t wanted to hear.
But the words “I agree” came out of his mouth instead.
It was the first time he’d ever lied to her. It wouldn’t be the last. Each and every time he saw her over the next eighteen years, whenever he met her new significant other, whenever they exchanged their child, he’d have to pretend he didn’t love her. Hide how hurt he was that they weren’t together, that he couldn’t touch her.
Something told him eighteen years wouldn’t do it. That he might love her forever. And how much worse would it be to see the living, breathing evidence of how compatible they’d been once upon a time? Having a human being, half him, half her, around reminding him what he could have had if their relationship hadn’t started and ended with a list?
“Oh. Okay. Good.” She sounded surprised by his reaction. She’d probably had a speech in queue, probably expected him to stand his ground. Start with talking her into moving in with him again, or argue that moving her store to the Magnificent Mile was the best course of action. He wanted to do all of those things. But to what end? Her decision was made. Even if he could coerce her into one or two things, what would be the point? She’d made up her mind. And he’d make it as easy on her as possible.
“Want to start today?” His voice was neutral, his shoulders pulled down in defeat. Getting through this part was paramount for him, a stage of grief he wanted to get through as soon as possible so he could move on to the next. Her casual response kicked him while he was down.
“Yes. That would be best.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a container of orange juice. “Look, I went to the grocery store.” She smiled proudly. She was taking this better than he was. That hurt.
She couldn’t be more beautiful. With her natural, wavy hair draped over her shoulders and the casual V-necked shirt coasting over her narrow shoulders. His eyes veered to her stomach even though it was too soon for her to have a “baby bump.” Would he be around to see that happen? The thought made his heart sink because he wasn’t sure. She poured a glass of juice and took a drink, and all he wanted to do was taste her lips. Breathe her in for a minute and pretend she hadn’t completely marginalized him or his unspoken feelings.
But he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed.
“Um, okay.” She licked her lips, her eyes bright. Unaffected. “Let me think. We should probably start with—”
“Legal pad?” He had no tone, lacked the energy to fake one. Reaching into his jacket, he extracted a pen and glanced around the room for something to write on. “Lists are what I’m good at,” he added dryly.
Kimber didn’t smile or laugh or offer any acknowledgement of a list before this one. The list. Whatever they had—or had started to have—was over. His gut twisted.
“I have printer paper.”
“Fine.” He accepted the sheets she pulled out of the printer on the kitchen counter. A printer on the kitchen counter.
Why wouldn’t she let him move her into his larger, roomier penthouse? Then she could decorate the office to her preference, buy whatever she needed. Like a desk. For her printer.
But this wasn’t about her having an office or about him providing what she needed. The issue, the real one, is she didn’t want him. He wanted her so badly he thought he might throw up at any moment.
Why won’t she love me?
Whatever. That conversation wasn’t happening. Pressing his lips together, he vowed to compartmentalize. He laid out the paper and jotted down a header. Communication.
He wrote a second header: Custody.
The word made him so sad he wanted to die.
A third column he titled Privacy.
This is how arrangements were done. He knew because he’d set the terms for an arrangement with Lissa. With Megan. With Natalie. The three girlfriends he’d had since Rachel had ruined his heart. Although, now, the title of “Heart Ruiner” could be awarded to Kimber. She’d not only destroyed his heart—hey, he had one, go figure—but she would continue to destroy it for years to come. He traced the line of her delicate neck to the arms that had once held on to him like he was her port in a storm.
You deserve this.
He did. He deserved this hurt. For attempting to marginalize her. For ignoring his true feelings each and every time he sank into her body. For lying to her right now instead of admitting how unfair this was. For both of them.
For the three of us.
But he couldn’t change who he was this late in the game, could he? If he was Evan, he could swear and yell, and slam doors, showing his feelings through overzealous behavior. If he was Aiden, he’d have the right words, be brave enough to tell Kimber the truth, and bare his heart.
But Landon wasn’t his brothers. He was stuck with his own personality. An air of control, a penchant for order and organization, and a past that had primed him to expertly execute the arrangement Kimber had asked for.
And that’s what he’d do.
Because he loved her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kimber didn’t know what sucked worse. That Landon hadn’t argued with her or that he’d made a plan with so much efficiency it masqueraded as relief.
Only he hadn’t been r
elieved… she didn’t think. He’d been almost cold. His usually bright eyes had been shuttered; flat and dark. Emotionless. Now that she thought about it, he’d avoided her eyes the entire time they talked, despite her attempt to lighten the conversation with a gentle joke here and there. He’d simply kept his eyes on the sheet of paper in front of him and filled in the blanks.
Did I do the right thing?
She studied the agreement now, sliding her fingers over his neat penmanship. In one part he’d requested copies of the doctor’s bills and prior knowledge of any special visits or emergencies. He’d been very amicable. They’d agreed on most things, to her surprise. And the items they hadn’t agreed on weren’t deal-breakers.
Which made her think they really would have been good together. But maybe she misread him. Maybe his amicability, his distance, had everything to do with his concern for their baby, not her. If he cared for her at all, would he have allowed her to make this list in the first place?
Something felt wrong. Then again, every time she’d trusted her feelings, she’d made a mistake. She thought of Glo, her mother, Mick. Everyone around her agreed single motherhood was better than staying with Landon. And since she couldn’t trust her own feelings, she had defaulted to the people closest to her. Her hand strayed to her stomach. She had more to think about than herself.
Her heart ached as she pictured Landon at the door before he left. His face wasn’t set in stone like it had been earlier, but his eyes were as expressionless as before. “If your insurance doesn’t cover something, will you let me help?” he’d asked. Asked instead of demanded. Which was likely why she’d agreed.
At least we have guidelines, she thought the next day while spacing the hangers on a rack in Hobo Chic. Their new list wasn’t as fun as the original list they’d worked their way through. The list of ten ways to curl her toes and make her feel like a woman. Cherished. She’d asked him to cherish her that first night, and oh, he had. He had every day. Until yesterday.
“Whoa, sweetheart.” Neil stepped in her range of vision, and she blinked at his overly gelled hair. “You’ve been zoning out at this rack of peasant dresses for a while now. Either you’re about to get your Little House on the Prairie on, or your mind is on someone tall, hot, and wealthy.” He lifted a manicured eyebrow.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
Neil’s expression clearly revealed his thoughts, but he spoke them, too. “Whaaaaat?”
“May as well tell everyone. It’ll be obvious soon, anyway.” If not by her expanding belly, then by the way she’d been inhaling rocky-road brownies from the bakery across the street. If she wasn’t careful, that could become a seriously bad habit.
That evening, over another of Jilly’s SinSational brownies, Kimber worked a pencil down the sketchpad on her lap. One of her favorite hobbies before she’d opened her store had been designing her own clothing. She used to create her own patterns, too, though she’d never worn any of her creations. They’d been more for fun than function. Yet another dream that hadn’t come true.
She took another bite of her brownie, brushing crumbs from the page, watching as the dress appeared almost magically. Whenever a vision was in her head, getting it from her brain to paper happened seamlessly, in a flurry of motion. Drawing complete, she finished the rest of her brownie and admired her work, adding in a line here or a shadow there to finish it off.
One of my better ones, she thought without an ounce of bragging. She used to believe at one point she’d be designing dresses like these for the Lissa Francines of the fashion world. She’d pictured her creations prancing across the catwalk while she watched from behind the curtain.
Man plans and God laughs. Ain’t it the truth?
After the snafu with fashion royalty Karl Kingsley, and her eventual shunning from the fashion world, Kimber had slunk away, beaten and bruised. None of it mattered now. Even if she would entertain the outrageous possibility of reclaiming her passion for design, she was in no position to act on it. Not now. Not with a baby on the way. She’d be lucky to maintain her current schedule and care for an infant full-time. Although Landon would have partial custody. She’d never take that from him. He’d make an amazing father.
What would that be like? she thought with a dart of pain to the chest. She pictured him cradling their child, murmuring softly to him in the dark and shushing him to sleep. Just envisioning Landon in a rocking chair, their tiny child in his large, capable hands, had a lump forming in her throat.
She wouldn’t get to witness those nights. She’d miss the moments where he learned to be an amazing dad. And he would be. She’d seen the evidence when he was with Lyon. He loved his nephew, had spoiled him rotten. He’d do the same or more for their baby.
With a sad smile, she imagined what would have happened if she’d said yes to his offer. Yes to the idea to moving her store, moving in with him. To having a partner at her side when she became a mother, the most difficult job on the planet.
But she hadn’t said yes. She’d refused. She’d opted to work and struggle and keep up with her apartment, the business, and the schedule, and be a full-time mom. Because if their story didn’t have a fairy-tale ending, she couldn’t bear tearing her child away from him. Leaving angry, fighting for custody, being embittered like her mom or fading away like her dad.
Landon had been right about one thing—probably many things—but at the moment she’d grant him the one. Kimber needed help. She’d have to hire someone else to work at Hobo Chic in her place. She’d have to lessen her hours. That would cost money, time. Sacrifice.
She would sacrifice. Because she knew what waited at the end of the road if she stayed with Landon. She knew what became of a relationship that started and ended for the sake of a child. With her emotions and hormones wreaking havoc in her body, how could she trust her heart? How could she believe that she and Landon could have—against all odds—formed an unbreakable, forever bond in such a short span of time?
She couldn’t.
And because she couldn’t trust herself, she would have to trust the people around her who loved her. Her mother, Gloria. Neither of them had a thing to gain by steering her in the wrong direction.
She glanced at her drawing again—at the smooth lines of the skirt, the arching ruffles over the neckline, the marks meant to emulate winking rhinestones—tore the page from the sketchbook, and crumbled it in one fist.
A tear slid down her face, but she wasn’t crying about the lost opportunities of her youth or about the life of motherhood she’d chosen with open eyes. No, the regret swimming in her stomach had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Landon.
And how much she would miss him. Her heart said she loved him… and more than anything she wished she could allow herself to believe it.
* * *
“I’m leaving in an hour,” Landon told Evan over the phone. He closed the boardroom door behind him, leaving his capable team in charge while he was away. He wouldn’t miss Lyon turning seven for anything. Not even a Cheez-Bitts account.
He ended the call and allowed himself to feel a modicum of pride at successfully breaking into the food industry. Windy City had helped Downey Design have a reputation for being capable of selling the common man’s brands.
The memory of landing the Windy City account brought with it memories he’d prefer to forget. Like the moment he and Kimber had eaten potato chips in his bed. The way he’d shoved a handful into his mouth and she’d laughed as she brushed crumbs off his body. The cute way she wrinkled her nose and smiled whenever he did something she didn’t expect.
Way to go, bonehead. You’ve tied a painfully present memory to something you can’t escape for the rest of your days. Windy City’s brand was everywhere. Every local sandwich shop, grocery store, the framed ads adorning the walls of his office building. He studied the ad for the jalapeño ranch flavor hanging outside his office, his thoughts on Kimber.
He hadn’t spoken to her since he left her apartment that
night. She’d e-mailed him about a doctor’s appointment she had coming up. He’d entered it in his calendar, unsure if she wanted him there, but he planned on showing up anyway. If for no other reason than to catch a glimpse of her when she walked outside. If something went wrong, even if it didn’t, he wouldn’t let her go through her pregnancy alone. He was here for her. And if that didn’t matter to her, it mattered to him.
After an uneventful flight to Osborn, Ohio, he drove to his father’s house with the radio loud. But like during the plane ride, he couldn’t keep his mind off Kimber. He turned the rental car onto his father’s street, when his phone rang.
Lissa? What the hell?
He pulled the car over at the end of the street, a few houses away. No way did he want Dad overhearing this conversation… whatever it was about.
He cleared his throat and answered with a curt, “This is Landon.”
“Hi. It’s Lissa. Francine.”
“I don’t think a last name is necessary.”
“I know. I just.” A sob. “I need to talk to you.”
Despite all he’d been through with her, despite the fact that she’d left him, despite that she’d made him a publicity stunt, he felt for her. He may not have been in love with her, but he’d cared about her. Caring wasn’t something one could simply turn off. Not even him.
“Carson left me, Landon. He went back to his fat ex-girlfriend.” She sobbed again, the sound muffled by sniffling.
“I’m sorry.” He meant that. Which surprised him. Whatever bitterness he’d harbored while watching the amateur video of Lissa sliding lips with Carson had vanished. No, not vanished. Had been absorbed. Kimber had taken it from him. Soaked in his ambivalence, the hardness that had made him a terrible partner in the past. She’d infected him with her softness, her vulnerability.
The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance) Page 22