Pretending with the Playboy

by Tracey Livesay

  He’d seen her friend walking around earlier and was glad she was here. Lauren would need her. “Thanks.”

  “Were you and Edworth arguing?”

  “He was giving me a status update on RichCorp.”

  “I wish the board had agreed to postpone the vote longer, but I guess that wasn’t possible. The free market doesn’t stop for anyone,” she said with a sad, humorless smile.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping it would be enough to stop him from touching her. When they’d awakened this morning, he’d been spooned against her back and the delicate tropical scent that was always a part of her teased his nostrils. For one contented, blissful moment, he’d forgotten the devastation of the day ahead. He’d snuggled her close and thought how glorious it would be to wake up that way every morning. And then a bucket full of cold, stark reality splashed on him and he remembered the upcoming double whammy. Tonight, after Aunt Dorothy’s funeral, he was leaving.

  He’d made his decision the night she’d died. When he realized he’d come to depend on Lauren the way his lungs depended on oxygen. Which couldn’t end well for either of them. She craved a family of her own, permanence, commitment. And he didn’t believe in those notions. Never had. Never would. They’d only hurt each other in the end.

  Knowing he was leaving and heading back to DC, he should have kept his distance from her, but every time her bottom lip trembled, every time her pained stare met his, he drew her into his arms and vowed he’d never let her be hurt again.

  A promise he would personally break.

  “You know what she wanted,” she said softly, her voice a bit hesitant. “She always said she wanted you to take over the company.”

  Acid churned in his gut and he turned back to the view of the back lawn. He didn’t want to do this now. But he had to. He wasn’t going to sneak away like a common criminal. Although he felt like one. “I know.”

  “And I’ve been thinking. You’re going to need my help. I don’t know much about the business, but I know her life and her contacts. I can help.”

  He jerked his head around and gaped at her. “What about your fellowship?”

  She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “This is more important. I’ll stay and we’ll do this…together.”

  His heart pounded in his ears. “No.”

  “I can call the museum and explain—”

  “No. You don’t understand. I’m leaving. I never meant to come home and take over the business. I have my own life—”

  “—back in DC,” she mumbled.

  “That’s right, back in DC.”

  She shook her head. “Carter, you’re grieving. This isn’t the time to be making such important decisions.”

  “I know what I’m doing. Edworth can run the company.”

  “Edworth doesn’t want to run the company and you can’t honestly believe he’ll lead this company better than you?”

  No, but it was the only other option he could stomach. “It’s not my problem,” he said, shrugging halfheartedly.

  She rushed over to him. “I know this is hard for you, but you’re not alone. I’m here and I love you. We can get through this.”

  Love? Panic rendered him light-headed.

  You don’t understand! What am I supposed to do? How do I go on without her?

  His father’s tormented voice screamed at him from his memory. The blood drained from his face and he jerked away from her. “There is no ‘we.’ Aunt Dorothy is dead. The pretense is over.”

  “So everything we shared was just part of the act?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Even the moments when we didn’t have an audience?”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to turn away what you were offering.”

  Hurt shadowed her eyes, but he forced himself to hold her stare.

  Her lip curled and disgust stained her words. “So you’re running away.”

  Her censure stung, but he knew he was doing the right thing.

  “I’m not running away from anything. I’m going back to my life.”

  “You’ve been running so long you don’t even realize that’s what you’re doing.”

  He flinched. Her comment struck him like a dentist drilling into an exposed, raw nerve. He hit back. “I’d rather be running then stuck at a standstill.”

  Lauren yanked her chin back and narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “You call it running, I call it going places and achieving goals. Neither of which you’ve done. You’re so afraid of leaving here, of stepping out of this comfortable little world you control, that you’re willing to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  She gasped and her previously squinted eyes widened. “Fuck you, Carter.”

  And now for the coup de grace…

  “You did and nicely, but I’ve had enough. It’s time for me to move on.”

  “You bastard,” she whispered.

  The pain in her eyes devastated him, but he didn’t back down. He affected his best hard-ass negotiator expression, deliberately raised brow, jutting chin. He was doing what was best for the both of them. “I warned you from the beginning. Marriage, commitment, not for me. Take the fellowship.”

  “I feel sorry for you. You’re a grown man with the stunted emotional maturity of a seventeen-year-old.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m glad Dorothy isn’t around to see this. She had such faith in you. I don’t know why she even bothered.”

  She stormed out of the office leaving him behind.

  Alone.

  Again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Leaving anytime soon?” Marcus asked, coming to stand in his doorway.

  Carter looked up from the contract he was studying and motioned to the stack of files at his left elbow. “No.”

  “They can wait. Pamela can’t. She told me to invite you to the house for dinner and that I couldn’t come home if you weren’t with me.” He jerked his head. “Let’s go.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Did you hear me? I can’t go home without you and Pamela is making beef stroganoff.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I love her beef stroganoff. So if I have to drag you out of here by your thick, obstinate neck, you’re coming with me.”

  Carter let his pen fall with a slap against the stack of papers. “I appreciate the invitation, but if you think I want to spend an evening watching you and Pamela in connubial bliss—”

  “I wouldn’t say another word of that sentence if I were you.” The easygoing smile slid from Marcus’s face, leaving the ruthless businessman on display.

  “Fuck!” Carter shoveled his hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair. What in the hell was wrong with him? Why would he antagonize his friend? “Sorry.”

  Marcus strode into the office and perched on the edge of his desk. “You’ve got to get yourself together. You’ve been here two weeks and you’ve barely left this room.”

  “Cut me some slack. My aunt just died.”

  “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

  It was about refusing RichCorp and dishonoring his family’s legacy. But mostly it was about Lauren. He missed her with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. Everything about her, the way she laughed, the way she smelled, the way she called him on his shit. His chest burned and he rubbed it with his fist. Why wouldn’t these feelings go away? The fact that they hadn’t diminished, but intensified, tortured him.

  “It won’t work. She wants the one thing I can’t give her.”

  “A winning season for the Chicago Cubs?”

  Carter silently thanked his friend for trying. “No. A commitment.”

  “Commitment is easy when you’ve found the right person. Maybe that’s not her.”

  How smart she was—she had a Ph.D!—how dedicated and loyal she’d been to Dorothy, how she looked when she came in his arms… “She’s perfect.”

  Marcus clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a
good man, Carter Richardson, and I’m proud to call you my best friend, but right now, you’re being an ass. When I was suffering similarly your words helped me, so I’m going to return the favor. If you love her, nothing else matters. Don’t let her get away because you’re afraid.”

  He bristled at the suggestion. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Really?” Marcus’s voice softened. “Relationships don’t have to end, Carter. People don’t always leave.”

  His vision clouded with specks of red. Marcus’s words set off a grenade of anguish that burst through all his mental defenses and laid him bare. “Yes, they do. And anyone who doesn’t know that, who doesn’t let go when it’s over, they’re fools. My father was a fool. He didn’t know relationships ended. He didn’t let my mother go when she died. If he had, maybe he’d still be alive. He would’ve stayed and not left me when I needed him the most.”

  The words sat in the air, fallout from the explosion.

  “After all these years, are you still angry at your father for dying?”

  With his rage spent, he felt deflated. He looked down at his hands. Was he still angry with his father? Did he view his father’s grief over his mother’s death and his subsequent wasting away as abandonment? Was he afraid of committing to another person out of fear that they would abandon him, too?

  “She said I was running away.” He uttered the words with wonder, as if for the first time, he actually understood their meaning.

  “Are you?” Marcus prompted.

  He nodded slowly. Lauren was right. He’d been running for years. It wasn’t even a conscious decision anymore. It was like he was on auto-pilot. He wanted to get away from Chicago, so he picked a university in California, a state on the other side of the country. He didn’t want anything to do with the family business, so he went into law, even though he had a joint degree in law and business. And when the kiss of a young girl knocked him on his ass, he pushed her away and fled as fast as his legs could carry him in the opposite direction.

  He was still the marathon man. He wanted RichCorp. The family business meant more to him than he’d ever imagined. But he’d pre-rejected it, out of fear. Told himself he didn’t want it.

  And Lauren. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and the importance of that realization scared him shitless. Because the pain of losing her could drive him catatonic. Because maybe he could understand a little of what drove his father to do what he’d done.

  So he’d run.

  “I fucked up. Big time.”

  “Glad you finally realized it.” Marcus reached a hand into his suit jacket and handed Carter an envelope. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” he asked, still disoriented by the axis shift his life had just taken.

  “It’s for you. I received it a few weeks ago and I was given specific instructions on when to deliver it to you. Next to Pamela, you’re the closest person to me, so don’t be offended when I say I hope I won’t see you here tomorrow.”

  Carter tapped the envelope on the desk. “I’m sorry to leave Pearson Enterprises in this situation. I’ll come back in a few weeks, get the department in order, and discuss my replacement with you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Now” —Marcus exhaled deeply and straightened his jacket—“I’m going home to my beautiful wife.” He pointed a finger at him. “You better pray she lets me in.”

  When the door closed behind Marcus, Carter looked at the envelope. His stomach fluttered. With shaking hands, he ran his fingers over his aunt’s loopy scrawl. He opened the envelope, unfolded the letter, and read.

  My Darling Carter,

  I’ve taken a page from Lauren’s book and prepared for a number of contingencies. If you’re reading this letter it means I didn’t make it through the clinical trial. Dr. Tye informed me that was likely, but I convinced him to up my chances for the family’s benefit. I knew once I declined chemotherapy, I wouldn’t have many days left.

  Some people may have been afraid when faced with that inevitability. For me, there was only peace. I had time to get my affairs in order. I wanted the people I loved most taken care of. Not financially, although my lawyers will be contacting you soon about my will and the estate. No, I’m talking about emotional care. Love.

  For you, it’s Lauren. I knew it before you did, although none of us knew before her. You took your parents’ deaths so hard. Especially your father’s. It took me a long time, but I finally understood that you’d internalized his actions and used it to convince yourself that loving and commitment were negative experiences. I can’t tell you that the choice your father made was the right one. But it was his choice. And it doesn’t portend anything about love in the real world. Everyone handles things differently.

  Clearly, I needn’t have worried because you were able to look past all of this and realize Lauren was the one for you. I could’ve saved myself the effort of sending her to DC to get you, and everything else I did afterward, like making sure you went to RichCorp on the day of the emergency board meeting and forcing the engagement party.

  So now you know why I felt no fear at my passing. Because you and Lauren were taken care of. In the past six weeks I’ve seen the best of you both. It’s not a coincidence that you bring that out in each other. What you have found is rare and special. Nurture it always.

  Love,

  Aunt Dorothy

  Carter let the letter fall onto his desk, stunned. Everything fell into place, like a completed cascading tile puzzle. He remembered all the times he’d refused her invitations to come home, of how she’d resorted to having him talk to Lauren on the phone. He thought about Lauren showing up on his doorstep and the papers he’d had to take to RichCorp. The board meeting where he stepped up to run the family and the engagement party where she’d given their marriage her blessing before all of Chicago society. Aunt Dorothy’d had a hand in all of it.

  His aunt had spent considerable time and effort leaving him a legacy that included a successful company, a loyal family, and, most importantly, an incredible woman. It was quite a gift.

  He wouldn’t waste it.

  Lauren sat in the conference room at RichCorp, her three-inch stiletto-clad foot tapping beneath the table. She picked up her phone, pressed the home button, and pursed her lips. The meeting should have started ten minutes ago. She tried to ignore the surreptitious glances she was receiving from the other members of the board. No doubt they wondered what she was doing here. Edworth sat on her left, tired and resigned. He knew, but had chosen not to share the information.

  Interesting.

  Where was Bill Morgan? He could get this show started. She had a plane to catch, and if this meeting didn’t start soon, she’d have to leave before doing the one thing she’d stayed to do. For Dorothy.

  She touched the manila folder sitting on the table before her. Her shares of RichCorp. She still couldn’t believe Dorothy had left her a portion of her RichCorp shares. It wasn’t much and it wouldn’t stop the merger, but it would be a symbolic gesture for the record. And she was all about the symbolism these days.

  She supposed she should thank Carter for that. Just thinking his name caused a boulder-sized lump to lodge in her throat. He’d said some hurtful things after Dorothy’s funeral. And for the first few days afterward, she hadn’t been able to think of him without this painful pinch that started in her heart, then radiated outward and increased in intensity. Sophie had sat with her, offering comfort, fro-yo, and the willingness to burn Carter in effigy. But around day four, the pinch began to hurt slightly less and she was able to focus on what he’d said and not what he’d done.

  You’re so afraid of leaving here, of stepping out of this comfortable little world you control, that you’re willing to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Had she been afraid? And if so, of what? Despite what he thought, she’d never been afraid of achieving her goals. She’d gotten her undergraduate and doctorate degrees in art history, had applied for a prestigious fellowship, a process
that had demanded numerous trips to New York for interviews, all with an eye toward becoming the curator of a modern art collection, either in a museum or gallery. It had been a long, difficult process, but she was on the verge of making that dream come true.

  So why had she been so willing to give it up for him? It had taken some serious soul-searching but she realized her self-esteem issues went further than her body image or what she chose to wear. It was about her self-worth, her value, something she’d lost when her parents died and she’d become an orphan.

  The day she’d gone shopping with Sophie, her friend had called her Dorothy Junior, and that moniker had irked her for a long time. More than fitting in, had she given up her style because a part of her believed if she dressed and acted like Dorothy, Dorothy would let her stay? Similarly, had she offered to give up her dream and stay with Carter because she thought that was the only way he would love her?

  It galled her now, how she’d wasted years living in fear of being judged and abandoned by the very person who’d always offered her nothing but unconditional love and acceptance. In Dorothy’s honor, Lauren had spent the past couple of weeks giving serious consideration to what she wanted, not what she thought Dorothy would want for her. And without an inkling of a doubt, she knew it was the fellowship. The funny thing was, she knew, with a sudden crystal clarity, that if Dorothy had known about the fellowship, she’d have urged Lauren to take it.

  The other thing she wanted involved a certain man-child, but sometimes the things we want aren’t necessarily good for us. Guess she’d have to teach herself the gummy bear lesson all over again.

  The door to the conference room opened and Bill Morgan finally entered. Thank God. The sooner this meeting started, the sooner she could vote her shares and leave. Being here was akin to being surrounded by the spirits of Dorothy and Carter. Both reminders were still too painful.

  Bill circumnavigated the large table to take the position at its head.