“That’s not true at all.”
“Truth has nothing to do with it. Perception is all that matters.” Tears stung her eyes. “I’ve worked hard for my success, too hard for people to suggest I’m sleeping with you to stay employed here.”
“Those who’ve worked with you know better.”
“Maybe. But, don’t you see? Nobody will judge you. I’m the one they’ll judge.”
Choices dangled in her mind, all paths with no good way out.
He studied her face and finally sighed. “Okay. What’s going on inside your head?”
“If I stay, we can’t date. If I move to Chicago . . . It’s just so far away I can’t see us dating, either.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “We can figure out a way to make this work. Let’s not assume Giana is going to go wild with what she saw. In fact, I could talk to her, try to explain—”
“Please don’t tell her our personal business.” She moved her hands to his chest and pressed gently to move back a step. “I think we need to think this through. Before it hurts too much to end things later.”
“Later? What are you talking about?”
A lump in the back of her throat prevented her from speaking right away. She swallowed. “What if the day comes when you’re forced to choose between me or your job here? Do you know how much it hurt me last time you did that?”
Tears spilled along her cheeks. Using the back of her hand, she wiped them. “I simply can’t put myself through that kind of hurt again.” She moved toward the door.
He grabbed her hand, drew her back to his side. “Come on, Beryl. There has to be a way we can make this work. I did a stupid thing leaving you years ago. Without regard for the rest of my life, I stuck to the path my dad wanted me to pursue, which was wrong. But we’ve been handed a second chance.”
“I understand. Sometimes we let the wrong things lead us. I’m not mad at you. Other factors influenced me not to go with you, too.” She squeezed his hand gently, so he’d understand she did care about him. “But us together, under these circumstances, it’s just wrong. I need time to think. I can’t join you Christmas Eve. Please, give your family my best.” She tried to walk away, but he held her hand tight.
“You’re serious?”
She slowly turned to face him. Sadness swept across his face, ripping her heart down the center. She moved closer to him, put her palm to his cheek. “I love you, Erik, but what we’re doing has made us both compromise our values. I don’t want to be the next sex scandal in the business journals. Distance will give us both perspective, a way to make this work without compromising everything else we believe is right. I’m not saying our being together is impossible, but the way we’re doing it right now is completely wrong.”
His frown deepened.
“It’s the only way I won’t feel ashamed every single time we’re in the same room together. And if you fire me . . .” She looked away so he wouldn’t see the hurt she felt inside.
“Which I’m not, because you’ll go to Chicago.”
She nodded, but couldn’t look at him.
“But there are other jobs.” He spoke quietly.
She met his gaze. “Don’t.”
“You don’t need to go to Chicago to find a job. Manhattan has tons of companies.” Shame flittered across his expression. He briefly closed his eyes. “Oh, God. That’s exactly the same thing you said to me about my job offer in London.”
Any hope inside her sank further. They’d come full circle from that day over a decade ago.
Chapter 11
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Eleven gift cards swiping. . . .
CONS.
Beryl lifted her fingers from the keyboard. Nothing like a good pro-con list to trump the mayhem spinning inside her head. A perfect way to get clarity, especially since her heart and mind couldn’t negotiate after leaving Erik’s office earlier.
She lined her fingers back on the laptop keys, the computer balancing atop a pillow stationed on her lap. The tree she’d decorated with Erik twinkled nearby, a reminder of what was at stake. Pecking away at the keys, she added three options along the side of her analysis: stay at Global, accept the offer in Chicago, stay and find a new job in New York.
Before listing the first pro, she leaned over and took her cell phone from the end table. Once again, she went to the text Erik had sent her moments after she called it quits. The simple message of a heart icon made butterflies stir in her stomach. It also fortified her hope that this comparison might lead to a solution. She desperately wanted to make it work, but not at the price of her self-respect.
She tucked the phone into the pocket of her flannel pants and returned to her game of logic.
Stay at Global. Not leaving held one big pro: she’d already gained the respect of both peers and staff, something that had taken years to achieve. Plus, the firm was a known entity and comfortable. The con? Her position reported to Erik. Dating him was out. Seeing him every single day would be downright painful. Her body went limp and she sank deeper into the sofa, dutifully jotting her observations on the spreadsheet
Sadness gurgled inside her chest as she moved to the next item. Accept the Offer in Chicago. The salary package kept her on par with her earnings at Global, an item for the PRO column. The downside was that she’d need to prove her capabilities all over again at a new firm. These days, she didn’t have the gumption that drove her to success when she was in her twenties and early thirties.
About to move on, she paused. This job contained a hidden pro, one that could easily turn into a con. She could date Erik if she worked at the Holder Group—albeit a slight conflict of interest. The downside came with the staying power of a long-distance relationship. She added the observation to both sides.
She studied the last option. Stay in New York/Switch Firms. A happy lift flittered inside her chest. She’d be near Erik. They could date openly. It might be worth the downside of having to start over again with a new employer. It was almost perfect, except . . .
One little thing gnawed at her. A petty thing, and yet, she couldn’t disengage from the idea he wouldn’t do the same for her when she’d once made the suggestion.
Sacrifice.
The word lolled inside her head, and she tried to embrace the ironic taste. Foregoing her career for a man she loved would be a sacrifice. Some women would call her crazy for even entertaining the idea. Others would gasp, saying it would be worth it for a man like Erik. To make this choice, though, it needed to be done with ab-so-lute willingness to sacrifice. Regret later wasn’t an option.
Beryl’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She removed it, surprised to see Darcy’s name on the display. “Hey, Darce.”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“Let me guess. Rumors are flying that I’m having an affair with Erik?”
“You are?”
“No. I just . . . What am I not going to believe?”
“One of my staff just texted me. Tracy, a recruiter.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s the one who found Erik’s assistant during our search. Tracy and Giana are friendly on Twitter.”
“That’s nice.”
Darcy snorted. “Let me finish. Tracy claims Giana just posted a tweet with a link to a story that says you write historical romance novels under the name Katherine Carrington. I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell me about it.”
Darcy continued talking, but Beryl had stopped listening, her skin going cold. Giana had heard the conversation, at least the parts Beryl worried about.
“Yoo-hoo. You there?”
“What? I’m sorry. I’m just shocked.”
“Is it true?”
The walls around Beryl shrank closer, with no obvious escape route. “It’s true.”
“Why haven’t you told anybody?”
She considered Erik’s similar reaction. For the first
time since getting published, she considered how her worries might not have real merit. “I had reasons. Do a lot of people see Twitter?”
“It depends on her followers.”
Beryl let out a long sigh. “Oh, Darcy, I screwed up on that interview and mentioned my real name. I’d hoped it could stay a secret.”
“Why? You’re crazy. This is cool. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I really do love writing and am proud of my work. I hid it because I wanted my coworkers and staff to see me as their CFO, not someone who romanticizes the world.”
“Maybe you should do a little more of that, hon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tracy also said Giana sent her a message hinting that you and Erik are involved.”
Beryl groaned. “Shit.”
“Wait. It’s true?”
“Was true. We decided to take a step back today. Please don’t judge us. We both know it wasn’t smart.”
“There was history, so I guess it’s different.” Darcy quieted, silent with her own thoughts. “So what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. That YouTube video will be taken as proof if the dating rumor gets around. Hopefully none of this will go outside of Global.”
Darcy quietly said, “Hmm, well there’s one more thing.”
Beryl shut her eyes, inhaled deeply. “Let me have it.”
“When Giana tweeted the story, she tagged the Wall Street Journal and New York Times.”
Numbness seized Beryl’s body. Nothing under her control could stop the gossip mill from spinning out of control, the hand of social media making it worse.
One step from crying, she felt her muscles relax and she laughed.
“It’s funny?”
“No, but I surrender. At this point, I might as well share my weight, age, and how I voted in the last election. I’ve nothing left to hide. Thanks for the warning. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She hung up. Tomorrow at the office would be horrible. Christmas Eve was always a quiet day, with the office closing early. Productivity would be nonexistent. Most staff socialized and shared holiday sweets, waiting for the early day to end. The perfect time to discuss a juicy new story about the CFO’s moonlighting job as a romance author, plus her fling with the new company president.
A strange calmness suddenly settled over Beryl as a ready solution entered her mind. While still holding her phone, she rose from the sofa. On her way to the bedroom, she searched her contact listing for Erik’s number. She needed to sort out this mess. Alone and away from where her problems resided.
At her closet door, she reached up to the top shelf and removed her overnight bag.
Erik’s phone went straight to voice mail.
* * * *
Steel-gray skies hovered over the city, which came awake no matter what the glum atmosphere. Erik stuck one hand in his trouser pocket, yawned, and took another lazy sip of coffee. Payback. Poetic justice. Irony. All words that kept him tossing in his bed last night as he considered how things ended yesterday with Beryl.
Overnight, a reality he didn’t want to believe had sunk in: his original decision to replace Beryl as CFO made everything about their personal situation worse.
It had prompted her to interview with his old boss.
It made their intimacy all the more gossip worthy.
Sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places. A saying he’d heard years ago, the meaning suddenly bright as the sun. He’d made the wrong choice walking away from their life together. This second chance with her was as extraordinary as lightening striking the same spot twice. No matter what the sacrifice, the job as president became an empty vessel on a voyage without her in his life.
There was only one way to truly make it up to her.
Nerves roiled in his gut over his solution. Hopefully, she’d get the message he’d left on her office phone a half hour before to stop by to see him right away.
“Supposed to get snow today.” Samir stood in the threshold of Erik’s office doorway, overcoat hanging open, carrying a large Starbucks cup in one hand, briefcase in the other. “I’m driving up to Poughkeepsie for Christmas Eve. You traveling?”
“Yeah, I’m heading up to Larchmont to my mom and dad’s place after we close the office. If snow is bad, I’ll take the train.”
Samir nodded. “Got a sec to talk?”
“Sure.” Erik went to his desk and settled into the leather chair, surprised when Samir shut the door before coming over.
Samir’s brows bent and seriousness owned his expression, so unlike his usual light demeanor. He put his briefcase on the floor and sat across from Erik. “Are you on Facebook?”
Erik waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t have time for that.”
“I figured.” Samir chuckled. “Well, I’m friendly with a few people from the office on the site. This morning, several of them posted something unusual. Thought I’d give you a heads up.”
“Oh?” He tried to play it cool, but his heartbeat picked up.
Samir sipped his coffee. “Surprising is more like it. It’s an article going back a few years. An author interview with a romance writer, Katherine Carrington. The piece said her real name was Beryl Foster.”
“This was on Facebook?” He processed the leak’s magnitude, plus Beryl’s reaction. “Can you show me?”
Samir lowered his drink and took out his phone. A few quick taps, and he handed it to Erik.
Erik scanned the article, an interview with a small newspaper in California done three years ago. “Who put this on Facebook?”
Samir took back the phone and played with it for a bit. “It started with one of our service managers, but it’s been shared a few times by people I’m Facebook friends with. There’s really nothing wrong with what they shared. Everyone wrote positive comments.”
“She’ll hate that this is out,” Erik mumbled, speculating how this could have spiraled out of control.
Giana. Twice she’d been nearby when privacy of his relationship with Beryl was out in the open: once while he talked to his sister and again when she walked in on them.
“This question will sound strange, but is there any possibility this ties back to something my assistant might have put on social media?”
“Let me check.” Samir fiddled with the phone for a long minute. His dark brows rose. “Ah! Not such a strange question. It originally appeared in one of Giana’s tweets that got fed to her Facebook page.”
“I’m not sure what you said, but this isn’t good.”
Samir watched him, his dark eyes showing concern. “Mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Shoot.”
“Is it true you and Beryl were serious? Like engaged-and-living-together serious?”
Erik leaned back in his chair and avoided Samir’s stare. If this was out, how long could he run?
He made eye contact with his friend. “It’s true. Did you see that on Facebook, too?”
“Nah.” Samir grinned. “Plain, old-fashioned gossip spreading from the Boston office to here after the video from the park a few weeks ago. Are you two considering a reunion?”
“I wish I could say yes.” Erik sat normally and folded his arms on the desk. “Samir, I don’t know what the hell to do. When I accepted Saul’s offer, I didn’t know she still worked here. Now I wish we’d never ended things years ago.”
Samir stood. “For what it’s worth, I can see the two of you together. You’re a lot alike.”
Erik chuckled, his first morning laugh. “I guess we are.”
“I’d better run, get a few things done before I leave. Merry Christmas.” Samir left.
Erik called Beryl’s office again, but she didn’t answer. He unplugged his cell phone from the charger and turned it on. This morning he’d gotten up and found the battery dead. As the phone came to life, he saw he had a voice mail. A glance at the call log showed Beryl had trie
d to reach him at eleven last night, after he’d gone to bed.
His pulse raced, hoping she’d reconsidered her decision. He dialed her number and held his breath as he listened.
“Hi, Erik. I found out tonight that Giana overheard a lot of our conversation. She’s using social media to get out the word on an article tying my real name to my pen name. Plus, she’s beginning to talk to people about her suspicions we’re dating. I guess I’m not surprised. Only sorry things are falling out this way.
Anyway, this call is to wish you a Merry Christmas. I won’t be coming into work tomorrow—it’s a short day at the office, and I’m thinking some time away is a good idea. Time to think. Please give your family my best. I will talk to you . . . soon.”
She didn’t hang up right away, but then after a weak sigh into the mouthpiece, the line clicked and went dead.
He tried to return the call, but it went straight to voice mail.
Chapter 12
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Twelve nights dim-summing. . . .
Beryl squinted as dim daylight peeked through floral café curtains in the window of her childhood bedroom. The silence of the country house almost seemed louder than the sounds she’d wake to each morning in her Manhattan apartment.
Driving here last night had been tiring, but a forecast of morning snow in Northbridge had left her with no other choice. A chill remained in the two-story, A-frame house, even though she’d turned up the heat when arriving at one AM. She pulled the patterned quilt closer to her neck and tucked her legs to her torso.
The décor in this room made her question her taste as a teenager. Tame buttercup-yellow wall color proved a sharp contrast to the five hip dudes on the Guns N’ Roses poster near the door and the Madonna shrine on her desk. Back then she’d been in search of an identity, like most teenagers.
A shelf over the desk held books, tennis trophies, and photographs of smiling high school friends. Beryl studied her senior photo, where she held her head high to enter the journey of young adulthood with pride.
Twelve Nights Page 9