Twelve Nights

by Sharon Struth

  About to turn to leave, she paused. “Tomorrow morning at ten, I meet with my senior managers. Care to join us?”

  He glanced at his calendar. “I can make it.”

  “Good. I look forward to it.”

  Beryl disappeared through the doorway, but his remark about not wanting to renew the past repeated inside his head. Isn’t that what she wanted to hear?

  When she woke at the park the second time, her loathing glare and the way she pulled her hand away had sent a strong message. It also shredded the unexpected joy inside him over her words of love and passionate kiss.

  He stood and debated over whether he should run down the hallway, tell her he didn’t mean what he’d just said. Logic quickly prevailed and he returned to his seat.

  Not once in the past fourteen years did regret own him the way it had this past week. Soon enough, Beryl would have another reason to hate him.

  Chapter 5

  On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—

  Five discs that sing. . . .

  Beryl’s hands raced along her laptop keyboard, churning out several paragraphs of her manuscript. Chatter from Saturday shoppers hummed in the air, drowning out holiday background music in the busy bookstore/café. She leaned back and reread what she’d just typed, her subconscious aware fresh brewed coffee wasn’t far away.

  “I never thought he’d ask!”

  “Lemme see that ring again.”

  Beryl glanced to her side. Three twentysomethings took the table next to hers. She tried to block out their chatter.

  “God, it’s beautiful. So traditional and yet with a twist of the modern world.”

  Beryl stretched and glanced at the next table to catch a glimpse of the ring. Four-prongs. Probably more than a carat. A simple yet striking setting. Erik had spared no expense on the ring she’d returned to him, either.

  She shifted in the seat and peered out the shop window, trying to refocus on her work. An old man walking a feisty wire-haired dachshund, who was tugging at his leash and barking at a runner, made her smile. The way she’d smiled far too much during yesterday’s staff meeting that Erik had attended and during their subsequent lunch together. A truly pleasant outing.

  After the strained conversation in his office, the staff-meeting invite was as close as she could get to extending an olive branch. When the meeting had started, her goal was to be herself and less tense. Prove to him she was truly professional. Only, during the hour and a half discussion, Erik had worked his magic. His attentive listening skills failed no one. He’d joked with the staff, complimented achievements, and even offered a suggestion to a long-standing problem. By the end, Beryl had loosened the leash of her old anger and found it easier to be civil. Still, she couldn’t completely forgive him for the way he selfishly ended things years ago. Plus, one rather large loose end dangled: the rumor she might be fired. A string capable of unraveling her entire career with a single tug.

  She yawned, hiked up the sleeves on her Irish cable-knit sweater, and returned to her work, typing for a while without stopping.

  “Somehow I ended up with two blueberry scones. I was hoping you’d share one with me.”

  Beryl pried her gaze from the screen and glanced up. Erik stared back, a grin plastered across his face. Not corporate Erik, but rather weekend Erik, who wore a grainy shadow on his cheeks, faded jeans, and a Harvard sweatshirt.

  “Oh, hey. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “You have great concentration.” He tipped his chin to a plate holding two scones, a steaming stoneware mug in the other hand. “So? Want to share these? They’re blueberry, your favorite.”

  She stared at the plate. “You remembered what I like?”

  “Of course. Now, if I ask ‘do you still take your coffee with milk and two sugars,’ will that secure me a seat at your table?”

  She reluctantly caved to the hope gleaming in his eyes. “Please do, but I just ate breakfast two hours ago. Need to keep an eye on the old waistline, you know?”

  “Your waistline still looks damn good to me.” He lowered the plate and mug onto the table.

  She shut the laptop. “I see your sight has suffered since we parted.”

  He removed his coat and hung it over the chair back. “You never could take a compliment.”

  She tidied some of her scattered papers. This different kind of attention from him made her wish for things she shouldn’t. “What brings you to this side of the park?”

  “Books.” He bit into a piece of his scone, chewed, and swallowed. “I read this place has a decent selection and figured a thriller or spy novel might keep me busy over the weekend.”

  At the nearby table, one of the future bride’s friends let out a squee while they flipped through a bridal magazine. Both she and Erik glanced over for a second and quickly looked back at each other.

  “Speaking of weddings, any other near misses for you?” She grinned, but only to appear like it wouldn’t crush her to know someone else had mattered that much to him. “Most of the men in our age group are married. Kid, dogs, house in the suburbs. The deluxe package.”

  “I could say the same about you. Men must be knocking on your door all the time.”

  “They knock. I answer.” She shrugged. “Work sometimes gets in the way.” She took her mug and stood, suddenly uncomfortable with this kind of openness and mad at herself for raising the topic. “Be right back. I need a refill.”

  She waited in line. Talking with him about marriage unraveled emotions she wanted to rewrap. Long days and nights at the office were what got her through the pain of their broken engagement. Since then, no man she went out with drew forth the emotions in her Erik had, although plenty made good lovers and companions.

  She glanced at their table. He sipped his coffee, looked around. Their eyes met. Lowering the mug, he winked and she automatically smiled. God, he was good at warming her cautious soul. Always had been.

  She ordered a fresh latte, waited for the drink, and returned to the table.

  “What about you?” He watched her closely. “Any close second chances on walking down a church aisle?”

  “Only to receive communion. And you never answered when I asked you.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “Nope. Too busy with work and moving around. Hong Kong, Belgium, Switzerland, London. The past four years in Chicago were the longest I stayed in one place since Boston.”

  “I guess ambition was the one thing we had in common,” she said quietly. The reality of the observation hit a tender nerve.

  The muscles of his rugged jawline tensed. “It’s what we both wanted. Right?”

  “Sure.” She dropped her chin to her chest, stared into her mug.

  A few years ago, she’d have said a firm yes and meant it. Now, what she’d forfeited plagued her certainty. A life outside the office. The enjoyment found in a serious relationship. The extended family found in Erik’s mom, dad, and his three sisters.

  She glanced up to find Erik watching her with a curious expression but didn’t take the bait. “What are your mom and dad up to these days?”

  “Dad retired this year.” He chuckled softly. “Mom begged him to do it, and now she’s already ready to kill him because he’s underfoot all day.”

  Her heart warmed, swathed in fondness for the couple. For over two years, they’d embraced her like a daughter, treated her as one of their own.

  He tapped the laptop lid. “I hope you’re not working on a Saturday. Rumor has it even the firm’s president takes the weekend off to relax.”

  She laughed. “I’m not. Not really.”

  “You are or you aren’t. Or . . .” He leaned forward. “Do you still write in your spare time?”

  When it came to her other career, secrecy had become second nature. She remembered it was a hobby of hers when they were together, so trying to deny what she was doing seemed silly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Re
member the piece you got published in a Boston trade journal on women in the workplace?”

  She nodded. “Getting the feature was a big deal.”

  “Damn straight. I was so proud of you,” he said, so sincerely it niggled at the core of her heart. “What are you writing now?”

  “Oh, just . . .” She hesitated. Part of her wanted to share details of her journey to publication. She respected his opinion, and for a period of her life, his approval had meant everything. A white lie might work, though. “I’m trying my hand at a book.”

  “Good for you. Fiction or nonfiction?”

  “Fiction.”

  “Like a business world whodunit about a dynamic chief financial officer who uncovers a run of corporate fraud?” He rubbed the bristles on his chin with his fingers and squinted. “Or how about a coming-of-age story, about a young woman faced with multiple paths?”

  She laughed. “No, but those are great ideas.”

  “Didn’t you tell me once that you’d love to write a romance novel, after you submitted a short romantic story to a contest?”

  “Did I say that?”

  He laughed. “Maybe. It popped into my head, but who really knows. So what kind of book is it?”

  “I’ll tell you if you keep my hobby to yourself. Because if I find out you didn’t, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Hell? From you? I promise not to breathe a word. Scout’s honor.” He held up three tight fingers.

  “Since when are you a boy scout?” She raised a questioning brow so he’d know she was teasing and he laughed. “Anyway, it’s historical fiction. Romantic historical fiction.”

  “History and romance?” He spoke softly and dropped his gaze to her mouth, making her skin warm. “I think it’s pretty bold of you to give it a try. Many wouldn’t. Thank you for telling me.”

  Beryl stared into Erik’s crystal-blue eyes, the intensity of his scrutiny making her heart skip a beat. “You’re welcome.”

  She glanced away. Caution around him would be prudent. Especially after catching a glimpse of Simon Cook’s severance agreement on Erik’s desk. It was the reason she’d phoned a recruiter. The reason she had a plan to get the last word in this corporate match of wits she played with Erik.

  Then again, she could simply ask him right now if the rumors were true.

  * * * *

  “Erik is quite a world traveler.” From across the restaurant table, Samir tipped his head at Erik. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m afraid the scotch Samir’s drinking is making him prone to exaggeration.” Erik grinned at his old friend, happy to be reacquainted with him at this new job. “But, my work has taken me to a number of places.”

  “Lucky you.” Blind-date Chrissy Something-Or-Other blinked at him with her pretty, dark eyes. Classy and confident, she appeared to be around thirty. “Out of all the places you’ve lived, what’s your favorite?”

  “That’s a tough one. How about you? Have you always lived in New York?”

  Chrissy talked about growing up in the Midwest. When Samir had invited Erik to join them at a restaurant in the East Village, he’d neglected to mention his wife’s coworker would be coming to dinner, too. Since he’d arrived, Erik kept comparing his blind date to Beryl. No reasonable man would balk at Chrissy. She wore the latest fashions and carried herself like a woman meant to live in this city.

  Not exactly the fresh, girl-next-door appeal of Beryl, who he’d been drawn to years ago from the second he’d laid eyes on her.

  “Erik? Did you?”

  He blinked away the sour moment and turned to Nicole, Samir’s wife. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Enjoy the time you lived in London.”

  “Oh, very much so. Great city.”

  Not that he saw much of it his three years there. Devastated over losing Beryl, he became singularly focused. Work. Work. Work. Easier than feeling sorry for himself. That time in his life had left him exhausted, an easy way to forget the pain of losing Beryl. It also came with rewards at the office and set the course for his career for over a decade, right up to this return to Global.

  The waiter brought their meals. Erik ate and listened to the conversation. He wished the afternoon with Beryl hadn’t ended. They had strolled past the West Side’s immaculate brownstones, window-shopped storefronts located in prewar buildings, and stopped at a bench to people watch. It ended only because of tonight’s dinner, one he’d wished he could’ve invited her to join but knew from a work standpoint, it would be the wrong move.

  The waiter appeared at the table, and lifted the bottle in the center. “More wine, sir?”

  “Please.”

  A sensation twisted in his gut, and with it an admission. He could easily fall for Beryl again, an act that would compromise both of their work ethics. If he fired her as planned, though, they could date.

  Idiot. Why would she date a man who’d fired her? A new and painfully agonizing layer piled on top of the personal and professional mess he’d created.

  Chapter 6

  On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—

  Six films a playing. . . .

  “Do you have any questions, Beryl?”

  Doug Morrison, president of the Holder Group and Erik’s former boss, lowered his coffee. He steepled his fingers near his jutting belly, which was slightly camouflaged behind the vertical stripes of a dress shirt. Behind wire-framed glasses, his small eyes watched Beryl with a serious expression.

  She leaned back as the busboy removed her plate. “I was curious about profitability with the overseas divisions. Can you elaborate on what you told me earlier?”

  She folded her hands on the crisp linen tablecloth while she listened. Luck had played a part in this morning’s clandestine, and quickly arranged, meeting. Doug and his wife had already planned to visit New York from Chicago this week for some Christmas shopping.

  Doug launched into an answer, his gaze landing on a piece of toast that he then lifted and lathered with butter. Beryl took the moment to check the room, hoping nobody she knew sat nearby in Palm Court’s gardenlike setting.

  A breakfast interview at the Plaza Hotel wouldn’t have been her first choice, but thankfully she didn’t see any familiar faces. Only the beautiful room, decorated with soaring palm trees, arched doorways, and a ceiling made of colorful stained glass. Holiday cheer came from the addition of red poinsettias in gold baskets.

  After the nice time with Erik on Saturday, she worried this interview was an overreaction to a rumor. On her cab ride to the Plaza to meet Doug, however, she got a text from Darcy. Simon Cook had received his pink slip Friday, after office hours. A tidbit Erik had neglected to mention during their time together this past weekend.

  Doug leaned back as the waiter refilled his coffee. “Well, I’d say that given your experience, you’d be of real value to our firm.”

  “Thank you. I’m certain if I worked for you there are several enhancements I could bring to finance that would benefit your company.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Quite frankly, one thing troubles me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why are we hearing from you now? Two months ago the search firm told us you weren’t interested in making a move.”

  Beryl had expected this question. She placed her palms on the lap of her wool skirt and straightened her back. “To be honest, I found your original interest enticing. Not one I took lightly. In the end, only my loyalty to Global made me say no when the recruiter called me.”

  He stroked the bristles near his chin. “I see. Does your changed loyalty have anything to do with Erik Lindholm’s arrival at the firm?”

  She didn’t blink. “I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I was worried about my longevity there with the change in upper management. So yes, it plays a part. But I’ve always kept an eye on the Holder Group. After all, you are Global’s closest competitor. Which is exactly why I believe I can be of value to your fi
rm.”

  “We were surprised when Erik left us.” He frowned, and his double chin puckered. “Saul beat us to the punch, though. I’m simply not ready to leave my position, and it was the only one left for Erik to take. In fact, you’re smart to be worried about your position. I have a feeling Erik might steal away Matt Quinn, our CFO.”

  “Oh?” Beryl struggled to not seem overeager, but this proved everything she’d been hearing.

  “No proof, but people around the office do talk.”

  She nodded, fully understanding the power of the office gossip chain. Discussing Erik and his staff changes made her uneasy. “Do you mind if we talk about sales a little?”

  “Surely. One of my favorite subjects.”

  For the next half hour, they discussed foreign revenue sources. Finally, Doug asked for the check.

  After he signed it, he stood and extended his hand. “So glad to finally meet you. I’m sure you’ll hear from me soon.”

  “Good. I look forward to it.” She gathered her portfolio and stuck it back inside her leather attaché.

  Walking across the marble-floored lobby toward the exit, she thought about the multiple times she’d come close to asking Erik about the firing rumor. Each and every time, she’d pulled back. Asking him almost seemed to reveal her hand too soon, especially when, despite Erik’s nicer overtures, there seemed to be something he wasn’t telling her.

  The attendant pulled open the door. “Ma’am, can I get you a cab?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  While he flagged one down, Beryl reveled in relief that this interview had gone well. Simon Cook’s dismissal meant at least a third of the rumor was true. Her actions today had taken place in the name of self-preservation. If there was a single lesson she’d learned after years in the corporate world, it was to look out for number one.

  * * * *

  Erik hurried from the company gym. Flinging his bag over his shoulder, he swung into the stairwell to avoid the elevator. He raced up the five levels, with a half hour to spare until the official start of the workday. Thanks to his predecessor, the president’s office had a full-service bathroom, a nice perk.