“I did.” Beryl straightened her shoulders. Behind her eyes, thoughts ran deep.
He shifted his weight, but it did little to balance his skewed confidence. “Your dad and sister, they’re well?”
“My sister moved down South.” The composure of her expression withered. “Pop passed away last year.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” Chet Foster, a great guy. Beryl had adored him, called him her rock since losing her mom as a teenager. Erik fought the urge to hug her, inappropriate not only in his new role, but also after how things had ended. “Was he sick?”
“Cancer.” Beryl’s stoic frame sagged. “I spent his last week with him, up at the lake.”
She’d soon suffer another blow. Erik’s changes for the company included a few replacements of top management. One person he planned to steal from the Holder Group was Matthew Quinn, the current chief financial officer and VP of finance. He’d all but promised Matt the job, a promise made before he’d realized Beryl currently held the position. Only at this moment, he was almost sorry he—
“Erik?”
He snapped his attention to the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry. What?”
“How’s your family?”
“Everyone is fine.” He couldn’t tell her how annoyed they’d been with him all those years ago, when he’d taken the job over a life with Beryl. “Thank you for asking.”
“Please tell them I said hello. Especially your mom.”
Sadness in her tone reminded him how she’d once said being with his mother was like having hers back. “I will. They’ll be glad to know you’re doing so well.”
She blinked, pressed her lips tight. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back inside. Congratulations again. I look forward to working together.” She started to leave but stopped. “Do me a favor. I’m pretty sure nobody here knows about us. I’d like to keep our old relationship under wraps, if at all possible. I reached this position by working hard, without screwing a single man in power to get here. I’d hate to have rumors start flying now.”
The unexpected comment caught him by surprise. After a moment, he snapped out of his stupor. “Sure. I understand.”
“Good.” She walked away, leaving him slightly tussled on the inside.
He held his head high but couldn’t move, his feet suddenly heavy as cinder blocks. Nothing about being near her again was going to be easy.
Chapter 2
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Two leather gloves. . . .
A blasting horn outside Beryl’s apartment window was the distraction she needed to stop working. Stretching her arms over her head, she glanced to the white-painted brick fireplace in her living room. The mantel clock showed almost six hours had passed since turning on the computer. She saved her work, picked up her breakfast dishes, and went to the galley kitchen.
Taking an apple from the bowl on the counter, she mulled over her surprise at seeing Erik last night. Never in a million years would she have dreamed Erik would step back into her life. Especially not as her boss.
She plunked onto a tall stool at the peninsula. How would she attend meetings with him and act like it was normal? She knew that he slept on his right side, curled into a semicircle. How a decent shoulder rub would soften the edgiest of his moods. She pressed her thighs tight and fidgeted on the stool, recalling how the easiest way to ensure his arousal was to tease the tender area near his earlobe.
“Stop it!” She pounded her fist on the granite countertop and took a hard bite of the apple.
So far today she’d been preoccupied with better thoughts. Her latest work in progress kept her from dwelling on things over which she had no real control. Writing brought her serenity, a breath of nonfinancial air outside of her sixty-hour workweek at Global.
Her day business persona clashed with her out-of-office pleasure, a secret known to very few. A writing hobby that had turned real when she’d submitted a finished manuscript to some agents. Many agents. All it had taken was one offer, and eventually a publication contract arrived. Besides her agent, Beryl hadn’t told anyone but Pop that she wrote under the pen name of Katherine Carrington—or as her author website read, “Katherine Carrington. Bringing History and Romance to Life.”
If they hadn’t lost mom to a heart attack, Beryl would’ve told her, too. She bit more gently into the apple as she eased off the stool. On her way to the bedroom, a quiet ache flittered across her chest, leaving her to wonder what life would be like if Mom were still around.
She found her cold-weather running pants in a heap on the chair, and removed her sweatpants to slip them on. At her dresser, she dug out a thermal shirt and a thick NYU sweatshirt. About to pull the shirt over her head, she spotted copies of her two novels on the shelf in her room. What if her real name were on the binding?
So many times she’d wanted to stare her usual caution in the face and threaten to toss it out the window. Caution, however, was what made her a fine chief financial officer, so she let restraint guide her to one conclusion: if people in the office knew of her romance writing, they might not take her role as a higher-up in the firm as seriously.
So far, nobody had figured it out. Only once had she slipped with her real name during an interview, but the short piece was buried in a newspaper’s archives.
The jarring ring of her phone unsettled the apartment’s quiet. She grabbed her sneakers from the floor and dashed to the kitchen, lifting the cordless handset from the wall. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Darcy yelled over the loud rumble of a truck.
“What’s up?” Beryl sat on the sofa edge and slipped on her sneakers.
“You joining us tonight? We’re doing charades—loser has to do a shot. It won’t be fun unless you’re there.”
“Don’t you remember what happened when we did shots with Pictionary? By night’s end, a chimp could’ve drawn better than me.”
“Imagine what’ll happen with charades.” Darcy giggled.
“What time?”
“Sevenish. Oh, before I forget. My mom wants to know if you’d like to spend Christmas with us again.”
Beryl’s second Christmas without Pop. Sadness pressed a heavy hand to her chest. “Can I let you know?”
“Sure. Are you going to your sister’s house? At least it’ll be sunny and warmer in Florida. Hell, maybe I’ll go to her house.”
“No. I was thinking of spending time at Pop’s place. Skyler thinks we’ve been hanging on to it too long. Since she’s not local, it leaves me to get the ball rolling with a real estate agent.”
“It’s such a cozy place and the town is so quaint. Are you sure you want to sell it?”
“No.” The desire to have one foot in her childhood home was in direct conflict to her sister’s feelings. Beryl wedged the phone handset between her ear and shoulder while tying her sneaker. “I’ve thought about buying out Skyler’s share.”
“You should. Visiting this summer was fun.”
“It was.” Beryl had fond memories of the visit to Blue Moon Lake one weekend with several friends from Manhattan.
She went to the coat closet and found a warm wool hat. “I’m about to go out for a run. I’ll bring some wine and munchies.” She hung up and pulled the hat over her head.
Slipping a key and ID inside a zip pocket on her running pants, Beryl headed out the door and exited the brownstone at street level. Several blocks later, she reached Central Park West. Towering building fronts now held large pine wreaths decorated with red ribbons, and shoppers hurried along sidewalks of the wide avenue carrying shopping bags from department stores. The season had crept up on her, as it did every year.
Once her earbuds were well tucked in, she turned up the volume on Mozart’s Eine kleine Nachtmusik, and took off down the path. Time to think about a place where she was stuck on her writing work, not Erik’s return.
* * * *
Erik crossed Fifth Aven
ue and ran past the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where several large banners draping the building’s front flapped from a gentle breeze. Near the large steps, a bell-ringing Salvation Army worker stood near a collection bucket, not far from a Toys for Tots truck. At the entrance to Central Park, just beyond the museum, he headed inside.
His running routine had taken a backseat to the move and starting a new job. If he ever wanted to run a half-marathon again, he needed to get out here more. Focused, he made decent time around a circular path that surrounded several ball fields. Veering down another path, he took shallow breaths and wove past other pedestrians, out for more leisurely pursuits.
During dinner at the gala last night, Beryl had remained neutral. Pleasant and professional. Nobody would’ve ever guessed they had once been lovers, or one step from becoming husband and wife. Others might have been fooled by her act, but her overdone smiles were a sure sign she wasn’t at ease.
His time spent at Global’s Boston office seemed like a lifetime ago. He smiled to himself, remembering how a miscalculation on a commission payout was the fate-filled event leading him to her. Not quite love at first sight. More the way Beryl had charmed him with her thorough knowledge of how the commission system worked, leaving him wanting to know more about the pretty accountant with hazel-green eyes who took her work so seriously. Especially because she seemed so unaffected by him, unlike many of the other women at the office.
After one date, their free time was rarely spent apart. Six months later, during a stroll in the Common, he’d known he’d someday propose to her when she’d stretched up and sniffed at his neck.
“New aftershave?”
“It is.”
She’d waggled her brow. “I like. Sexy, babe.”
He liked that she noticed the little things. How she’d remember his favorite ice cream was Swiss Almond Fudge or when he wore a new shirt. She’d made him feel special, and he’d worked hard to do the same for her.
A runner shot passed him, and Erik checked his time. He knocked off the daydreaming, and for several minutes, kept pace with another runner up ahead. Her shorter stride and good posture showed perfect form. He averted his watchful eye to her nicely formed derriere. Mmm, nice, too.
Half his concentration went to running. The rest, he devoted to the delicate sway of the stranger’s curves. He pushed himself to get closer but kept a healthy distance. Soft curls bounced around the edges of her wool cap, showing her slender neck and a little mole on the back. Just like Beryl. He slowed down. What if it was?
He debated, trying to decide if moving closer was wise. She had every reason to view him as an adversary. As did the entire Global board. Some of them would be replaced by Erik’s own people. That’s how the game was played at this level. It wasn’t personal.
The runner glanced to her right, and he caught a glimpse of her profile. Beryl’s profile. Jesus, what next? Was he going to find out they lived in the same building, too?
“Slow down, asshole!”
Erik glanced back toward the angry voice. A bike barreled straight toward him. The cyclist didn’t pause. Instead, he swerved to avoid Erik, his speed so fast the hairs on Erik’s nape jumped. Anger took a backseat to his stunned heart.
Erik barely had time to gather his wits before a young child darted into the biker’s path. To one side of the bike, a couple pushed a stroller and to the other, Beryl continued to jog.
“Look out!” Erik screamed at the split second the biker swerved to avoid the child. He clipped Beryl’s side. She let out a quick gasp as her feet lifted off the ground. Her limbs flailed as the force hurled her toward a tree. Erik stared in helpless horror. She hit the ground, avoiding the tree by about a foot.
Erik rushed to the lawn, the accelerated sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He curled his fist, staring down the path where the cyclist was already out of sight. Kneeling alongside Beryl’s limp body, Erik caught his breath as terror gripped him more tightly than he could ever recall.
“Beryl. Can you hear me?”
Nothing. A small crowd stood around them. “Someone, call nine one one!” Erik shouted.
“I already am.” A tall guy with his skateboard tucked under his arm held his phone near his ear.
Erik returned his attention to Beryl. He yanked off his glove and pressed his fingers to the cold skin near her pulse point, relieved to get a beat. One that not only revived a sensation in his own chest, but drowned him in emotions long forgotten. So strong that he wished he’d never walked away from her years ago.
Her eyes flickered. She shifted her torso and turned her head from side to side, all without showing any obvious pain.
“Beryl, honey. Are you okay?” He ran his hands along the upper part of her arms, hoping to warm her body.
She blinked, and a second later, her lids slowly lifted. Sleepy eyed, Beryl stared at him. She smiled, slow and genuine.
“That’s my girl.” He cupped her cold cheek with his palm. “An ambulance is on the way.”
She studied him, the smile not faltering. Not like last night’s hidden coldness, but with warmth leaving him intoxicated by her happiness. A strand of hair pressed against her cheek, the rich chestnut color shimmering with a hint of amber in the daylight. He reached up, pushed it aside, and smoothed his hand against her creamy complexion. She lifted her arm with great effort, the smile vanishing with her struggle. The pads of her fingertips touched his cheek, taking a slow sweep to his jaw. Her smile returned. Happiness gurgled inside Erik’s chest.
He leaned closer to her face. “You’ve fallen, hon. Just relax.”
Her head lifted and without warning, she brushed his lips with a kiss. She parted her lips and traced his lower lip with her tongue. Logic hinted he should back off, but her tender teasing brought forth all the desire he’d ever had for her. As she slipped her hand behind his head, his instincts took over. Every kiss they’d ever shared drove him to respond, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, as if they’d never been apart.
She broke away, stared at him with great seriousness. “I . . . I . . .”
“It’s okay. Rest.”
Her eyes rolled back into her head, but she fought them until they opened wide. With the slow parting of her lips, Beryl struggled to speak and finally managed to utter her full message to him. Before he could reply, her head dropped to the ground and she slipped back into an unconscious state.
With the memory of her kiss etched on his lips, Erik found himself unable to move, stunned by the words she’d just spoken.
* * * *
Sirens. Voices. Beryl shivered. Something wasn’t right. Pain pierced her shoulder. A hard surface rested beneath her. She struggled to open her eyes. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, blue skies, clouds, tree tops . . . Yes, she’d been out for a run. Thinking about her story, listening to Mozart. Someone had yelled, just before a pain struck her. . . .
“Anybody catch a look at the guy on the bike? You, with the phone.”
She slowly pivoted her neck.
Erik kneeled at her side, staring at a man standing on the edge of a crowd and holding a phone. “Any chance you got the accident on video?”
“Yeah, I’m positive I did.” Phone man stepped forward, a young child at his side. “I was recording my son when he ran in front of the bike.”
“Mind sticking around to show that to the police when they arrive? It might help track the guy who hit her.”
“No problem.”
Beryl gathered she’d been hurt, but how? “Was I in an accident?”
Erik turned to her and smiled. “Good. You’re awake again. An ambulance is on the way,” he said softly.
Ambulance. She shifted. Pain pierced her temple. About to lift her hand and rub the spot, she became aware of Erik’s warm fingers wrapped around hers. “What happened?” She gently tugged her hand away.
He glanced down, furrowing his brows. “You were hit by a cyclist.”
She cautiously lifte
d her head off the ground, ignoring the ache in her neck. “Why are . . . Do you live near here?”
“Upper East Side. Do you live nearby?”
“West side. A cyclist?”
“Going way to fast. After he hit you, he didn’t stop.”
She shut her eyes, this whole thing like a dream. “And you just happened to be hanging around?”
“I was out for a run. Not far behind you. I tried to warn you, but everything happened so fast.”
She opened her eyes. “I’m fine and don’t need an ambulance.” She hoisted herself onto her elbows. A large crowd had gathered in a circle around them.
“Um, you woke once before.” His mouth twisted, a strange unease about him.
“I did?”
“Do you remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just waking now, and a pain in my shoulder.”
He nodded slowly. “It’s where you landed. I’m glad you’re conscious, able to move a bit. When the ambulance comes, I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
“It’s not nec—”
“It’s not a question.”
She closed her eyes and dropped her head back onto the ground, too tired to argue.
Chapter 3
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Three fancy pens. . . .
Beryl hung her suit jacket behind her office door, her mood somber as she started a new workweek. It was the start of a new era at Global Business Solutions.
Outside her office window, a sunny blue sky and puffy clouds formed a blanket over the steel, concrete, and glass buildings. She tried to picture her days without Saul but couldn’t. Worse, she imagined her days with Erik. He would evaluate her performance, attend many of the same meetings, and wander the same building, making casual run-ins with each other unavoidable.
She sat at her desk and reached to start the computer. Beneath her silk blouse, her arm ached in the spot where she’d slammed onto the hard ground. She spun her leather chair sideways to see out the window, rested her head against the high back, and sipped her coffee. Strong. Perfect. Exactly what she needed to lift her emotional fog and erase the image of Erik’s concerned face, one she hadn’t been able to shake all weekend.
Twelve Nights Page 2