Dare Island [2] Carolina Girl

by Virginia Kantra

  “Not good enough, apparently.” Her joke, if it was a joke, fell flat.

  “I never recognized how much you did to cultivate relationships outside the company,” Derek continued. “Now that you’re moving to the agency side, you have a real opportunity to branch out.”

  She had to talk to him, Meg realized. And not about work. “Derek . . .”

  “It’s made me realize,” he continued, smiling at her, “what a good team we’ve always been.”

  Guilt squeezed her throat. “Things change.”

  He nodded. “I know it was a shock for you, leaving Franklin. But I told you that would work out for the best. In this economy, it’s good for us to have two independent sources of income. It’s like we’re diversifying our portfolio.”

  A huff, half laughter, half indignation, escaped her. “Oh, that’s romantic.”

  He frowned slightly. “You’ve never required a lot of hearts and flowers, Meg. That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you. You take the long view. You’re practical.”

  Two men, she thought, staring at him. One prized her for her contacts and praised her for her practicality. The other . . .

  If you’re too busy living for the future, sugar, you’re missing what you could have right now.

  Her mind churned. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. What was wrong with her?

  “Would you excuse me a minute?” she asked Derek politely, as if they were strangers.

  Maybe they were. Did he really see her?

  I have fantasies about you in black leather.

  “Of course.” Derek smiled with the indulgent look of a man who thinks he’s about to get laid. “You go get comfortable.”

  She had seldom felt more uncomfortable in her life. She hadn’t come to New York to break up with Derek.

  But she didn’t want to sleep with him.

  Alone in their bedroom, she faced herself in the mirror. She’d come to New York to resume her rightful place in her old life. And now she was back in her condo with her boyfriend and everything felt wrong. Different. Shaken, she met her gaze in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes fever bright. She bit her lip. Something was ending, something beginning, and she wasn’t prepared for either one.

  She stripped off and folded her scarf—an admitted delaying tactic—and opened a drawer to put it away. Nestled among the socks and scarves was a framed photograph that usually sat on her dresser, a picture of her and Derek taken on that long-ago team-building exercise in Arizona. What was it doing out of sight in a drawer?

  She lifted it out, a sunlit shot of the two of them standing on a mountaintop, the world at their feet. Only now did she notice that they weren’t touching, all their attention reserved for the person behind the camera, more focused on their image than each other.

  She sighed and set the frame gently in its accustomed place. Her reflection watched solemnly from the mirror. She knew she and Derek had to talk. She just wished she knew what she was going to say.

  This relationship isn’t going anywhere?

  It’s not you, it’s me?

  We don’t make each other happy. We haven’t in a long time.

  Yeah, that would go over well. She fiddled with her earring, still stalling. Was she really prepared to throw six years of her life away? Relationships took work. Look at her parents. If two people really loved each other . . .

  Her fingers fumbled with the earring. Did she love Derek?

  The diamond stud slipped from her grasp, bouncing off the edge of the open drawer and under the dresser. Crap.

  Her father’s voice played in her head. If you can’t say yes, the answer’s no.

  Oh, hell, Meg thought. I have to break up with him now.

  She dropped to all fours, cautiously extending her hand into the shadows under the dresser. Relief washed over her as something pricked her searching fingers. There was her earring. She stuffed it in a pocket. And there . . .

  She caught the other object between two fingers and dragged it out. Frowning, she sank back on her heels, staring at the black elastic hair band in her hand. A black elastic hair band with . . . She sucked in her breath. A long, blond hair attached.

  Her hand closed into a fist. Pushing to her feet, she picked up the photo from the dresser and carried both items into the living room.

  Silently, she set them on the table.

  Derek looked from the table to her face, his expression wary. “What’s this?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Isn’t it yours?”

  His dissembling angered her. Maybe she hadn’t been completely honest with him, but she hadn’t lied. “My hair is short. And dark. Someone else has been in this apartment.” In our bedroom. In our bed?

  Derek’s eyes flickered. “I could have done some entertaining while you were away,” he said at last.

  Her world tipped slightly on its axis. She fought to keep her balance.

  “You could have,” she said steadily. “Did you?”

  “It’s possible someone might have left their jacket or . . . a few things in the bedroom.”

  He was deflecting, using hypothetical, conditional statements. She’d heard him use the technique in boardrooms a hundred times. But this wasn’t a board meeting. This was their life.

  Had been her life, she corrected silently.

  She wasn’t going to shriek at him. She wasn’t that big a hypocrite. But she had to know. “Did that someone also shove our picture in a drawer? Or, I don’t know, buy white Zinfandel for our refrigerator?”

  A muscle twitched by his eye. “Don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable? You’ve been gone almost a month.”

  “A month.” The words thumped into her stomach, robbing her of breath. “Wow.”

  “Your sarcasm is hardly helping the situation.”

  Screaming and throwing things wouldn’t help the situation, you bastard. You’re lucky all I’m hitting you with is sarcasm.

  “I’m just trying to understand.” She’d been wrong about him. She’d been wrong about everything, it seemed. “What’s the timetable on infidelity, Derek? Did you wait the whole four weeks, or . . .”

  His brows snapped together in annoyance. “Don’t be naïve, Meg. You can’t tell me that in six years you’ve never strayed. That you’ve never been tempted.”

  She sucked in her breath. “No,” she said slowly. “I can’t tell you I haven’t been tempted. But I’ve never cheated on you, Derek. I wouldn’t do that to you. To us.”

  “Meg, it was a temporary thing. Nothing for you to worry about. It’s over now.”

  Her brain was numb. Her face felt frozen. “Who was it? Did you pick someone up in a bar, or . . .”

  “It was Nicole.”

  “Nicole Hayden? My replacement? Wow. That’s just . . .” There were no words.

  A faint red stained his cheekbones. “She’s not your replacement. Not in the way you mean. She isn’t you, Meg. I’ve learned that now. Really, this whole . . . episode was for the best. It taught me how much you have to offer.”

  She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding. I win the girlfriend sweepstakes, so you’re my prize?”

  Derek frowned. “What do you want me to say? I’ve admitted I may have made an error in judgment. But I’ve moved past it.”

  He hadn’t admitted a damn thing. Not really. And he hadn’t apologized. She thought how different he was from Sam. We can’t go forward until we go back. I hurt you, Meggie, and I’m sorry.

  “You don’t get past something like this, Derek. You don’t audition somebody else to be your girlfriend, and then decide, whoops, sorry, made a mistake. You should have talked to me. You should have told me you were unhappy.”

  “I haven’t been unhappy. And I didn’t say anything because I knew you would blow everything out of proportion.”

  Her heart throbbed in her chest. “How do you blow something like this out of proportion? You cheated on me. And then you
lied.”

  “I didn’t lie. Maybe I wasn’t completely forthcoming, but that was out of respect for your feelings. We’ve never been one of those couples who have to tell each other every little thing.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it. But the words would not come. He was right. Their conversation, like their lives, had always revolved around work. Derek had no interest in her fears and weaknesses, in the secrets of her heart, in the details of her family history. She had enjoyed the reflection of herself that she’d seen in his eyes, polished, professional Meg, sprung into existence as a full-blown adult like the goddess Athena.

  Except that wasn’t her.

  She hadn’t been honest with him, either.

  “You’re right,” she said, picking her words carefully. She wasn’t going to put all the blame for the failures of their relationship on him. “I’m sorry, Derek. There are things I should have told you, too.”

  He thawed slightly. “It’s understandable. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Now that you’re back, we can—”

  “I’ve met someone, too,” she said, plowing ahead. “While I was home. Or rather, I’ve reconnected with someone I used to know.”

  “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  She’d never felt less like laughing in her life. “I don’t find cheating very funny.” She took a deep breath, forcing down her feelings, trying to be fair. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re right. Maybe this is an opportunity for both of us to acknowledge we’re not getting what we need from this relationship.”

  “Then it’s revenge.” Derek shook his head. “Really, Meg, I thought you were better than that.”

  She stared at him, speechless. She needed a drink. She really did. She picked up her wine.

  “But I’m willing to put all this behind us,” Derek continued smoothly. “We have too much invested in this relationship to let a simple misunderstanding get in our way.”

  “Derek, you had another woman in our apartment. I just told you I’m involved with somebody else. That’s not a misunderstanding.”

  “You don’t need to overdramatize this, Meg. Obviously in any long-term relationship both parties are going to fail from time to time.”

  “What do you mean, fail? Are you saying it’s acceptable to sleep around? Derek.” Her stomach dropped. “Have you cheated on me before?”

  He poured himself another drink. “I don’t much like your tone, Meg.”

  She watched the back of his head, the defensive set of his shoulders, remembering all those late nights at the office. All those times he’d turned away from her in bed, too tired or distracted for sex. “Just answer me.”

  He drew himself up. “I don’t choose to dignify your accusations with a response. We’ve always been good together.”

  “That’s it? We’re good together?” A slow-burning rage ignited in her gut. “What about love? What about loyalty? What about simple respect?”

  “I’ve always tried to give you what you need,” Derek said stiffly.

  Her hand tightened on her glass. “You don’t get to decide what I need based on what you’re willing to give me, you son of a bitch.”

  She threw the glass of wine in his face and walked out.

  Fourteen

  CARL DRUMMED HIS fingers on the arm of his leather armchair, The Wall Street Journal disregarded on his lap. The evening market wrap-up flickered silently on the giant plasma screen at one end of the room. “What’s the matter with you, boy, you got ants in your pants? You’re giving me whiplash stalking around.”

  Sam leveled a look at the old man. Carl was frustrated by the doctors’ restrictions, testy over his prolonged convalescence. Fine. That didn’t give him the right to jab at Sam for entertainment like a kid with a stick poking a jellyfish on the beach.

  Sam continued to pace, fourteen strides along the wall of windows overlooking the darkening sea, fourteen strides back. Because if he stopped moving, if he stopped counting, he would start to think. And none of the thoughts beating at his brain were good.

  Seven o’clock, and Meg hadn’t returned his text.

  She couldn’t still be in meetings. Didn’t everyone in New York knock off early on Fridays, split for Connecticut or the Hamptons or something?

  She was probably back in her condo. Or out to dinner. He hoped to hell she was out to dinner.

  Because even the mental image of her squeezed into a booth with that faceless fuck Derek, giving him her attention and her smiles, was better than the idea of her being home—in bed—with the son of a bitch. They’d been together six years. Chapman would know all her favorite places. Where to take her. Where to touch her.

  Maybe she hadn’t returned Sam’s text because she was so fucking happy with Derek. Derek is my boyfriend.

  Maybe she was better off with Derek. He’s perfect for me.

  Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing. Brooding. Maybe Derek should die.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  The question broke the rhythm of his pacing at his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder at Angela.

  His stepmother smiled almost apologetically. “When your father gets like this, I fix him a bourbon and branch.”

  He was not like his father, making life miserable for everyone around him. He took his hands out of his pockets, dredged up a smile. “No, thanks, Angela.”

  He should find Matt, get a beer. Matt owed him one anyway. She hurts you, she lets you down, I’ll buy the beer.

  Except Matt knew Sam had driven Meg to the airport. He would know Sam had let her go.

  What a pussy.

  He should have said something to stop her, Sam thought, resuming his track of the carpet. Not from going to New York, but from going back to him.

  Oh, he’d talked a good game. All that stuff about telling her how he felt, about not making the same mistake twice. Bullshit. When he got to the line, he’d choked. Later for us, then.

  He could talk about his feelings from eighteen years ago, the mess of teenage lust, panic, and regret he’d been back then.

  But he’d totally dropped the ball on telling her how he felt now. Because everything he felt, everything he’d wanted to say to her, made him sound like a crazy stalker or a whiny loser or both.

  I don’t want him touching you.

  Don’t leave me.

  “Heard from Walt Rogers today,” Carl remarked.

  Sam’s shoulders tightened. Maybe the old man had the right idea after all. Right now Sam would welcome anything that would distract him from the thought of Meg with Derek, in their apartment, of Derek pulling Meg close, putting his hands all over her smooth soft skin . . . Maybe a fight with Carl would take his mind off his troubles.

  He glared at his father. “So?”

  “He wanted to know if you were serious about this crazy scheme of yours.”

  “If you’re talking about the fish house, I’ve already met with the architects.”

  Carl nodded. “Herb Stuart gave me a call.”

  Well, that figured. There wasn’t anything that happened on the island, anything connected with the industry, that wouldn’t get reported to his father eventually. “I spoke with Ed Parker, too.”

  “Parker’s got some good ideas,” Carl said. “But he overpromises. Stuart delivers.”

  Privately, Sam agreed with Carl’s assessment of the two architects. But . . . “The Parker Group has more experience with low-impact development,” he pointed out.

  “A man can adapt his plans. He can’t change his character.”

  Sam nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

  “Walt says you’re taking preliminary drafts to the zoning board.” Carl sent him a sharp look. “Not letting any grass grow under your feet, are you?”

  “I don’t see any reason to wait,” Sam said. Not with his father’s six-month deadline hanging over his head. “I want the town’s cooperation. And I want input from the watermen.”

  “Well, they’ll give you an earful.” Carl drummed again on his cha
ir. “Let me know if you need to set up a preapplication meeting with the Division of Coastal Management.”

  Sam glanced at him, surprised. For forty years, Carl Grady had played politics, worked deals, and finessed regulations, forever altering the local landscape. With a few choice words, a couple of well-placed phone calls, he could smooth Sam’s way. Or completely undercut his efforts.

  “I thought you were sitting this one out,” Sam said.

  “I can still work the damn phones.”

  Angela looked at Sam in silent appeal, her eyes wide with Botox and concern. Sam felt a twinge of affection for his stepmother. She really did care about the old goat.

  Don’t upset him, the doctors said.

  “I’m not questioning your connections,” Sam said. “I’m just curious about your motivation. Why would you help me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s still my name on the project. Unless you’ve changed that, too,” Carl grumbled.

  “All the paperwork says Grady Realty and Development. But if you’re not careful, you’ll be giving me control of the company and a house.”

  “Might be the best bet I ever lost,” Carl said.

  Everybody wins, Meg had said. Your father gets a great development with the Grady name on it. The watermen get a working fish house. The island preserves a piece of its heritage and stops shedding jobs. And you get . . .

  A chance, Sam thought.

  “It’s good to see you finally giving a damn about the company,” Carl continued. “Committing for the long haul. Showing some fire. A man’s got to go after what he wants.”

  The satisfaction in Carl’s voice set Sam’s teeth on edge. He’d experienced firsthand the cost of his father’s hard-assed, hard-charging approach to business and to life. Three failed marriages. Four failed heart valves. That wasn’t Sam’s style. It was easier, better, to play it cool. A lifetime of dealing with his father’s rigid standards and high expectations had taught Sam to play down his own ambitions and emotions. Less hurt, less disappointment that way for everybody.

  But this time he cared. It unnerved him, how much this project mattered. How badly and publicly he could fail.