by Lia Lee
As I pass by the door to his den, I hear Derric’s voice. He must have gotten a phone call before he even had a chance to put the coffee on. Even I’m not such a workaholic as to take calls on a Sunday. His gruff, confrontational tone of voice makes me stop in my tracks.
“... and you can call off your hired dick, too, because I’m not seeing her anymore. Tell him he can hang up his trench coat and turn in his little spy-decoder ring and Brownie camera because there’s nothing more to see. I’m here to ensure that ROO-TV is a success. Nothing is going to get in the way of that. It’s my first priority. You think I’d jeopardize the biggest business opportunity Network 10’s ever had for some random piece of ass?” A pause. “Yeah you would, wouldn’t you? Well, think again, shithead.”
A chill sweeps through me and solidifies into an icy shell around my heart. I stand still, clutching the doorframe. Who is he talking to, and who is the ‘her’ in this discussion? I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his words glue my bare feet to the spot. I have to hear more.
“Listen, she works for me, and that’s all you need to know. I’ve played the field pretty loose, but one thing I don’t do is get personally involved with my staff or my clients.” The other party speaks, but it’s too muffled to make out any words. I’m stuck interpreting the one-sided conversation and hanging on Derric’s replies. “How the fuck should I know what her expectations are? I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Of course, I’ll be back in Sydney. I don’t know. When the job’s done, that’s when.”
I will my feet to move, taking slow, silent steps backward until I can turn and run into the bedroom without being heard. My eyes are so blurred with tears I can barely see to get my clothes on right side out. I just hope I can make it to the elevator before Derric finishes his call. I have to leave, like right now. I try to make sense of it all, replaying what I heard in my head. A private detective of some kind has been following us? Why? And how can he say such things—his only priority? A random piece of ass? Is that what I am to him?
It can’t be true, it can’t. Not after all he said on the rooftop! Not after knowing about the baby. But who else could he be referring to? A hideous thought lasers through my brain. Is it possible he’s been seeing someone else at the same time as me, and I’m too naive and blinded by hormones to notice? “She works for me,” he said. Holy crap… is it someone else working at the station? I’m gutted at the notion; even more so than his attestations that ROO-TV is all he cares about, and that nothing will get in the way of its success, not even me. I thought his talk of being a family meant he might stay in New York, but here he’s planning on returning to Oz. My stomach plummets to my toes. What a stupid little fool I am!
I grab my bag and tiptoe into the living room, skirting deftly past the den. Thankfully, I don’t see or hear Derric. I lean on the elevator call button and practically fall into the waiting cab as the doors open. A pitiful sob leaves my throat as I descend the thirty floors to the ground. I’ve been royally conned; romanced into believing he cared—that someone like him, with all the money and women he could ever want at his disposal, would change his whole damn life for some little nobody he knocked up on a one-night stand.
God, I’m pathetic.
“One thing I don’t do is get personally involved with my staff or clients.” Dammit, those were my words from the beginning. Where there was business, there was to be no pleasure. I can’t even follow my own rules! It’s time to change them. I’ll show him he’s not the only one who won’t get personally involved.
Chapter Fourteen
Derric
Worth a Thousand Words
I can’t believe this is happening.
Again.
How can a person virtually disappear in an age of constant connection, of cell phones and Facebook, GPS and Google Earth? Impossible, yet Mila Churchwood seems to have accomplished it.
It’s been nearly a week since I last saw or spoke to her, and I’m about to lose my mind. I can understand her getting freaked out by my temperamental tendency to smash and break things when angered, but I thought we’d sorted that. I couldn’t tell her the real reason for my outrage that day, and I never will. The hurtful ill my father had spoken of her will never reach her ears, I’ll make sure of it. Even if it means never seeing or speaking to Steven Faris again; even if it means he will never meet Mila or his own grandchild.
But I don’t know what’s gone wrong this time. Everything seemed perfect, better than perfect, after that night on the roof of her apartment building. I’d told her how I felt, how much I wanted us to be together, and it was the truth. She said she wanted that too, and we were moving in together. Two days later, she’s pulled another runner on me, and I’ve got no fucking clue why.
Could she have gotten cold feet? Did the idea of making things permanent scare her off? Isn’t that what she wanted to hear? I don’t get it. She won’t answer my calls. She won’t answer her door. She hasn’t been to her design studio all week. Her assistant steadfastly guards the gate to the back offices and claims neither Mila nor Claire is available whenever I’ve shown up there. Suddenly I’m persona non grata.
If she thinks for one minute I’m going to walk away from my child, she’s thought wrong. If this is some ploy, or some advice from a crooked lawyer, to garner some sort of financial settlement... Shit. Now I’m starting to sound like Steve. A shiver of distaste ripples through me.
That doesn’t even make sense. Mila knows I’ll support her and the baby in every way; I’ve told her that. Neither of them will want for anything, ever. To top it off, my worry over her whereabouts has turned me into a miserable tyrant at the station—which brings up yet another problem. Is Church & Strait going to walk out on me, too? That would set us back weeks looking for another design firm. That is just not on. I have to find her and get to the bottom of this, now.
Since I have a legitimate business interest, Church & Strait owes me answers. I’m going down there one last time, tell the receptionist to take a walkabout, and break down the bloody wall to Mila’s office if I have to. I’m not leaving without an explanation. We have a contract, and I have an army of lawyers to back me up. I just hope I won’t need them to enforce some kind of parental rights. Sweet Jesus, don’t let it come to that.
I arrive at the office with a full head of steam, demanding to speak to the managing partners. The anger in my voice and savage look on my face is enough to make even bulldog Terri back down.
“One moment,” she says quietly, picking up the handset of her desk phone and punching in a few keys. “Claire? You’d better come out front. Before I call the police.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of all the empty threats I’ve received, calling the cops on me is by far the emptiest. I step back a pace and, in a few seconds, I see Claire walk through the door leading to her and Mila’s personal offices. She closes it behind her and fixes me with a glare as deadly as Medusa’s.
“I’d appreciate you making an appointment, Mr. Faris, and to refrain from threatening my employee. Why are you here?”
“You know bloody well why I’m here.”
Without dropping her murderous gaze, Claire motions to Terri. “Would you mind running over to Lump & Grind, Ter. Tall caramel macchiato... decaf, please.”
“Sure,” Terri says, apparently glad to make an exit and skirting a wide circle around me.
“Where’s Mila,” I say as the door clangs shut. It’s not a question.
“None of your business. She doesn’t want to see you. You might as well get on a flight to Sydney right now.”
I flash an evil grin. “I’m not going anywhere, and it flaming well is my business. You’re forgetting we have a contract. Not to mention she’s carrying my child.”
“Whom you don’t give a shit about,” Claire says, practically spitting the words across the room. “All you care about is your lousy kangaroo network.”
“Oh, you’re in my head now, are you? You’re out of line. How would you know what I care about, or
whom, or how deeply? Let me talk to Mila.”
“No. I won’t let you hurt her anymore. She’s not here, anyway.”
“What have I done to hurt her?” I ask, throwing my arms wide. “Christ woman, I love her. I want to have a family with her, and she bolted like a thief in the night. You’d better tell me where the hell she is.”
Claire blinks, her poison stare faltering. “You love her? You’ve got a shitty way of showing it, asshole.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
Claire shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re a real piece of work. She heard you say it— that the network is your only priority, that nothing’s more important, and that she’s just some easy lay that you can discard when you bugger off back to Australia. Only you’re not just leaving her behind, are you? A baby too, you heartless prick. Now get out of my office.”
Claire’s words pierce me like a sniper’s bullets, felling me on the spot. Fuck. She heard me. It all makes sense now. I remembered I’d gotten up to put the coffee on after we’d had that incredible morning sex. When I checked my phone, there was a missed call from Steve. I should have ignored it, but I’d had enough of all his bullshit. I called back and told him exactly what he wanted to hear, so he’d back the fuck off. Anyone listening would completely get the wrong idea and, apparently, Mila sure did. God, she thought I was lying to her all this time—brushing her and our baby aside and getting ready to split. No wonder she took off.
“I’m going,” I say to Claire, making for the exit. “But you have to believe me, none of what she heard is true. I have to see her, Claire. I can’t lose her over a stupid misunderstanding. Please. Tell me where she is.”
***
They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. If Mila doesn’t believe what I say, I hope she’ll believe what I do—make her see the truth with her own eyes. It took some doing, but Claire finally caved in and said that Mila hadn’t left their apartment all week and that she was actually quite worried about her state of mind. If it would take one last intervention to help her, even if it was to make a clean and honest break to get me out of Mila’s life, Claire was prepared to do it.
I didn’t know the first thing about planning for a baby’s arrival, but the registry clerks at Macy’s were eager to be of help. What I couldn’t fit into shopping bags they arranged for delivery by truck for the next day. This evening Claire assured me she would stay at home and be on hand to let me in—since she knew Mila wouldn’t.
I can barely fit through the hallways of the building with all the gear I’ve brought along. An elderly lady steps out of one door and promptly shuffles aside when she sees me coming.
“Oh my,” she exclaims. “You must be very anxious to become a daddy. Congratulations!” She eyes my load of parcels as I pass by, bags and boxes scraping the walls. “My goodness, are you expecting triplets?” she says, smiling.
Triplets? Hell, I’m not even adequately prepared for one baby, let alone twins or triplets. But the thought makes me smile. I’d be three times as happy. “No ma’am, but I’ll work on that for next time.”
I arrive at the girls’ apartment and maneuver a hand free to knock on the door. To my surprise, Mila answers. She stiffens at the sight of me, and her eyes go wide like a rabbit that’s come face-to-face with a predator. Her gaze flits like a bird over the mountain of gifts I’m clutching onto with every finger.
“Hi. May I come in? These are getting heavy,” I say, a sheepish grin on my face.
Claire appears at her side, her eyeballs bugging out as well; I didn’t let on exactly what I had planned. She takes hold of Mila’s elbow and draws her back from the open doorway. “Let him in, Mils. I think he has something to say.”
Mila complies but doesn’t take her eyes off me. I can’t tell if she’s angry, happy, sad or just plain gobsmacked. Claire disarms me of a few packages and sets them on the floor as I edge my clumsy way through the narrow frame.
“I’ll... be getting the laundry,” she says and slips out of the apartment, giving us some privacy.
“W-what is all this,” Mila says as I unload all the bags and boxes into a gigantic ring around her. She looks almost frightened, and it stabs me in the heart to think I’m someone she could ever be afraid of.
“It’s a public service announcement. Or more like an emergency broadcast,” I say. “Since the audio isn’t working, I thought I’d better try visual communication.” Mila inspects the mountain of clothes, toys, baby bottles and newborn-sized diapers, picking up each item and examining it, not saying a word. Her silence is killing me. “Do you like them? Will they be enough?”
She sorts through a stack of outfits packaged on tiny hangers, stopping at a little denim jumpsuit, and clutches it to her chest. What sounds like a painful sob leaves her lips, and she raises her face to meet mine. Those exotic hazel eyes that captivated me from the very first day are brimming with tears, glistening in the warm light from overhead, her wild curls shadowing her face.
“Enough for what? A farewell gift?”
What? She thinks I’m still abandoning her and trying to soften the blow, buying my forgiveness with presents? Dammit. She’s got it all wrong, and it’s my own bloody fault. I’ve been such a coward. I reach down and practically yank her to her feet. I don’t mean to be rough, but this has gone far enough.
“Listen to me,” I say, standing nose to nose with her, my voice dry and hoarse with emotion. “I love you, Mila Churchwood. I love what you are, what you do, and that you’re having my baby. There’s no amount of gifts I could bring you that would compare to the gift you’ve already given me. I want you, I want a life with you, a family, our family. I can’t wait to be a dad.”
Mila trembles in my grip, tears spilling down her face. I pull her against my chest and slip my arms tight around her.
“I know I haven’t told you much, but my own father was never there for me, or for my mother. I spent most of my life hating him after she died. He doesn’t trust me, hell I don’t think he even likes me, let alone ever loved me. I’m never going to make that mistake.”
“But I heard you on the phone.” Mila sobs. “I heard you say...”
“I know what you heard. And it was complete bullshit, all of it; a load of crap so deep even Steven Faris couldn’t shovel it. He thinks I can’t handle this job and tells me so every chance he gets. I didn’t mean any of it, Mila, I swear.”
“So, you lie to him? If you can lie to your father, you can lie to me.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Mila, and I never will. I only told him what he wanted to hear—to get him off my neck until I can prove him wrong, and make ROO-TV the best thing Network 10 has ever done. Then I can tell him go fuck himself, and live my life the way I want to—with you.”
“But where?” she asks, still sobbing. “You’re going back to Australia; I need to stay and have the baby here, in New York. My business is here...”
“We can live anywhere, love. Anywhere you want. I can work from the station here. If New York is where you want to stay, then that’s where we’ll be. I’m not going anywhere without you. Just say you forgive me, and that you’ll give me another chance... give us a chance. I love you, Mila. I’m sorry I took so long to realize it.”
I look into her eyes, searching for her answer; the answer I need to hear. Because if she doesn’t forgive me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Her head gives a tiny shake. “Oh, Derric, of course I forgive you... if you’ll forgive me for being such a little fool, and for jumping to conclusions when I should have talked to you about everything.”
“I do,” I say, tipping her chin upward. “I do.”
Our lips meet in grateful passion, a kiss that burns away the past and forges the future in its flames.
When we finally break it, I chuckle softly. “Say, I think we’re getting really good at this apology thing.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Fantastic! Oh, that’s great news... I knew yo
u’d land that contract, Claire. You’re the best branch manager ever.”
Claire’s lively laugh tinkles merrily over the phone connection. “I’m your only branch manager, Mils. But I’ll take the kudos all the same.”
“Well, you deserve them. You’re not only a brilliant designer but a top-notch businesswoman. I couldn’t have left the New York office in better hands.”
“Damn right. Things have pretty much exploded here since the Best Media Design award we won for ROO-TV last year. Good thing we found some great talent to join the team to make up for losing you. How’s it going in the Sydney office?”
“It’s busy,” I say with a sigh. “I’ve picked up two new clients this week already. I’m going to have to hire another designer here, too. It’s hard keeping up when you have a three-month-old in tow.”
“I’ll bet. How’s Elijah doing? Doesn’t that surfer bum father of his help you out around the house? You should get him off his rich, lazy ass to lend a hand once in a while.”
As she speaks, Derric walks by me, his designer board shorts slung low across his hips. My palm strokes the curve of his sexy butt as he passes. “I’ve got better things to do with that ass.” I chuckle.
“Watch it, woman,” he teases. “Hands off unless you mean business; there are children present.” He moves off and continues packing what seems like a hundred bits and bobs into the industrial-grade diaper bag he’s bought as we get ready to go out.
“I know it’s real late where you are, so I better let you go, Claire. Miss you tons,” I say.
“Miss you too. Take care of that family of yours. Bye.”
I disconnect the call with mixed emotions; I miss my friend and the excitement and bustle of New York City, but life moves on, and our company is expanding. It’s what we worked for; I shouldn’t feel sad, and I know Claire is enjoying running the show.