I pour myself a cup of coffee and hike up the stairs.
Soft knock.
Meryl answers. "Come in, dear. Watch your step."
I push the door open. The room is crowded. A nurse, not Vincent but a woman in her thirties, is in the corner replacing an IV. Blake sits on an ottoman. He looks perfect, the way he always does.
The nurse makes a signal to Meryl and sneaks out of the room.
Meryl pats Blake's hand. "Go eat breakfast."
"I'm fine," he says.
"And take a shower while you're at it." She makes a gesture like she thinks he stinks. "Right, Kat?"
"Absolutely."
He kisses her on the cheek. "I'll give you an hour. I love you."
"I love you, too," she says.
Funny, I've never heard anyone in the Sterling family use those words before.
They sound good.
I move aside to give Blake room to pass. His body brushes against mine, waking up all my tired nerves.
I steal his seat. "How are you feeling?"
Meryl motions to her IV. "Fantastic. This must be half morphine. I'm very comfortable."
I let out a half-laugh, half-gasp. Take a long sip of coffee to give myself time to think. "Your room is really clean."
She laughs. "That's a nice look on the bright side. I like that about you, Kat." Her voice softens. "You're so sweet to come see me."
She motions for my coffee and I hand it to her.
"Even if you're in it for the sex." Her expression fills with delight as she sips her java. "You forget the little things in life. They're what matters—the taste of a good cup of coffee, the joy of sex with someone you're mad about—"
My cheeks go bright red. "Jesus."
She laughs. "Believe me, honey. Life moves so fast. You've been busy surviving, I know, but you can't forget the little things."
"Please, no more about sex," I say.
She returns my cup of coffee. "Okay, the cherry blossoms in the spring. You must love those to plan your wedding around them." She folds her hands. "Have you reconsidered marrying Blake?"
"I suppose this is what it would be like if my mom was around—she'd be pestering me about when I was getting married."
Meryl smiles. "I like you together, but you have to follow your heart. I should have done that. I never would have married Orson."
"You didn't love him?" I ask.
"No. I thought I did. But that was hormones talking." She looks out the window at the bright blue sky. "Maybe you're right to stick to your guns."
"I'm sure Blake will be happy." I press my fingers into the porcelain mug. "I hope he'll be happy."
"Make me a promise, sweetheart?"
"Not until I know what it is," I say.
Her expression gets serious. "Give my son another chance."
"Meryl."
"One date. One chance to change your mind."
"It's really not fair for you to ask." I stare into my coffee cup. "It's not like I can say no."
"Like I told you, you have to grab what you want and hold on for dear life." She leans back into her bed. "Now, Blake told me you're applying to schools. I want to hear all about it."
I go over every single detail about my applications—the deadlines, the portfolio requirements, the different cities where I might end up. I even tell her I have no chance of paying without a scholarship.
She listens and responds thoughtfully. It's nice to have someone looking out for me. Even if she won't be around much longer.
We don't stop until Fiona arrives. I excuse myself and spend the rest of the morning working on another vignette.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Meryl sends us to lunch at a nearby restaurant, insisting she needs the time to visit with her lawyer alone.
Fiona excuses herself and disappears in her car.
Blake and I eat at a nearby chain restaurant. Honestly, I don't taste a thing. I'm not even sure what I'm eating.
We walk back home hand in hand. Blake squeezes my fingers until they're white.
I study his expression, but it doesn't help me put anything together. It never does.
At home, Meryl is sipping coffee on the couch with Fiona.
She mutters something about not wasting away in her bed. We all pretend like she didn't remind us she's dying.
We pass the afternoon with coffee and cake, reminiscing about easier times.
Meryl brings up every embarrassing moment from Blake and Fiona's childhoods. The room gets bright with laughter.
The sun sets. We order pizza. I taste everything. The tangy tomatoes, the gooey cheese, the crisp crust. Perfect New York pizza. And rich red wine to go with it.
Meryl waves her night nurse away, asking him to wait in the den. She rearranges the chess pieces.
"Fancy losing to your mother?" she asks Blake.
"No, but I could stand to destroy her," he teases.
"I'll give you a fighting chance and take black."
Blake laughs.
It still makes me warm.
Blake is happy.
And there's love all around us. It's beautiful. Sweet.
Meryl wins every game. We stay at that table, talking and laughing until the wee hours of the morning. Even Fiona is nice to me. No sign she still wants to get rid of me.
Meryl hugs me goodnight. "Whatever happens, honey, it's been great getting to know you."
I know she's gone the minute I wake up. There's something different in the air—an ugly stillness.
I throw off the comforter and rush into the hallway. Blake and Fiona are sitting at the kitchen table. She's crying into her coffee cup, and he's comforting her.
I squeeze the railing. "Is she… did she?"
Blake looks up at me. He nods. "She died around five this morning."
My stomach twists. I scratch at the railing. Tiny flakes of wood peel off under my fingernails.
Meryl is gone.
I force myself to breathe. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. She was happy. She was at peace.
And, whatever happens, it was great getting to know her.
It really is going to be okay.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Everything blurs together.
Blake takes over organizing.
I sit on the couch, staring at my sketchbook like it will offer some comfort. It does, but it's not enough.
Fiona is a wreck. She stays in her room so no one will see her cry. It's an admirable strategy.
I manage to sleep a little.
In the morning, I manage to eat a little breakfast. Drink a little coffee. Change into the black dress I brought for the occasion.
I even manage to listen to a few eulogies at the funeral.
Meryl told me to find what I want, and grab it, because no one else would give it to me. Because that was the only way I'd ever get it.
I owe it to her to try.
A man in a suit taps me on the shoulder. He's in his fifties. He looks every bit the quiet suit.
"Miss Katrina Wilder?" he asks.
I nod.
"You're a named beneficiary of Miss Sterling's will. Please come with me."
"Yeah, sure." My senses catch on slowly. I'm a named beneficiary. That means Meryl left me something in her will.
I follow the lawyer through a crowded hallway, to an office in the back of the building.
Blake and Fiona are already inside.
Fiona isn't wearing her wedding ring.
Maybe she's okay with the divorce. She must know it's what her mom wanted.
Blake's eyes catch mine. They bore into mine. They demand everything I have to give.
I swallow hard. "Hi."
He nods back. "Hi."
The lawyer clears his throat. "Miss Wilder, please, take a seat." He motions to the empty chair.
I sit.
He shifts behind the desk and pulls out a contract. "Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Crane."
"Miss Sterling," Fiona corrects him.
"
Of course, Miss Sterling. You know that your mother left most of her estate to charity."
They nod of course.
"But there was a last-minute change," he says. "To add Miss Wilder as a beneficiary."
"What?" Fiona's eyes go wide. She looks to Blake really?
He shrugs how should I know?
"Miss Sterling, your mother left you the house. With some instructions." He reads a passage from the will. "God knows, Blake isn't going to grace my home with children. Fiona, sweetie, it's yours. Enjoy it. Find a new man, one a million times better than your soon-to-be-ex-husband and fill it with love."
She wipes her eyes. "Thank you, Larry."
The lawyer, Larry, I guess, nods. "Mr. Sterling. I'm afraid Meryl left you nothing of material value. Only the chess set."
Fiona laughs but not in a smug way. It's more like she appreciates how much it meant to them.
"Miss Wilder—" he looks me in the eyes. "Let me read this." Larry looks at the will. "To my new friend Katrina Wilder, I leave two hundred thousand dollars. Sweetheart, I hope you'll use that money for your college education, but it's yours. Go out and grab what you want."
My heart skips a beat.
Two hundred thousand dollars. That can't be right.
"Miss Wilder." The lawyer is staring at me. "Are you going to be okay?"
I must be blushing. I must be beet red.
Everyone is staring.
And I'm not breathing.
I'm…
Two hundred thousand dollars.
That's ridiculous.
That's a fortune.
That's everything.
I force words from my lips. "Can you read that again?"
He begins. "It's two hundred thousand dollars, Katrina."
Two hundred thousand dollars. All the money I need for college.
Larry continues. "I can go over the details of the charities if you'd like."
"No, thank you." Fiona stands, brushing her perfect black outfit smooth. "I should get to the house for the memorial." She looks at Blake. "Are you coming?"
"I'll meet you there." He waits until Fiona leaves then turns to me. "Are you okay?"
I adjust my dress. "I will be. Are you?"
"I will be." He stands and offers his hand. "Can we talk?"
I take his hand. "Okay."
Blake nods a goodbye to the lawyer and whisks me out of the room.
We go to the diner around the corner. It's a greasy spoon place. Vinyl booths. Checked tile floor. Big plates of fried eggs, hash browns, and bacon.
Blake holds the door open for me. He motions to one side of a long, red booth.
It's the next best thing to pulling out a chair. He really is a gentleman.
Somehow, he doesn't look out of place here. Even in his two-thousand-dollar suit.
He nods to the guy behind the counter like they're old friends.
I pull my cardigan over my chest.
His eyes meet mine. "Is that the winter formal dress you mentioned?"
I nod. "It's a funny chance to wear it."
"Yes, but it suits you."
"My chest?"
His laugh is sad. "Yes. But the rest too. It's—"
"Beautiful and understated?"
"You're already bored of my clichés. We're practically married."
My laugh is nervous. I unwrap my silverware and play with my fork. "It's weird wearing a party dress to a funeral."
"It wouldn't be. Not for Mom. She'd love that dress."
"Because of my boobs?"
"Yes. But because it's beautiful. Because it's for a party. That's what she wanted. She wanted us to celebrate her life instead of mourn it."
"A lot of people say that."
He nods.
"But it never really works that way."
"No. It doesn't."
Our server interrupts. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee," Blake says. "And the tilapia special." He half-smiles. "Best tilapia anywhere."
The guy nods damn straight.
"I'm sold." I hand the guy my menu. "And an iced tea."
"You got it." He looks to Blake. "I'm so sorry about Meryl."
"Thank you," Blake says.
"She was a great woman."
"She was," Blake says.
The guy walks away, shaking his head like he can't stand how unfair life is.
I fold my napkin into a triangle. "She was a great woman."
Blake smiles. Really smiles. It's not joy exactly. It's more like he's relishing his memories of his mom.
I feel the same way. It hurts like hell that she's gone. It's been three years since my parents died, and that still hurts.
But there's more than hurt in my gut.
There are happy memories everywhere.
For the last three years, I've been pushing everything about my parents aside—the pain and the joy.
I can't do that anymore. I need to feel it, all of it, even if it hurts as much as it feels good.
Blake's fingers brush my palm. "You okay?"
"I will be." I pull my hands into my lap. "I'm sorry you lost her."
"Me too."
He drifts into thought about something.
I play with the hem of my dress to keep my attention here. This might be the last time I ever see Blake. I'm going to remember it.
"Stay with me tonight," he says. "I'm going back to the penthouse after the memorial."
I hold his gaze. It's like he's looking deep inside me.
Usually, that makes me feel off-center. Picked apart. But not today. It feels okay. It feels right.
It feels like he really sees me. Kat. Not Super-Girlfriend, but the girl under the makeup and the highlights and the fancy clothes.
I stare back, trying to find the man under the expensive suit and the expression of steel. There are hints of him. He's hurting, and not just over his mom.
For once, I recognize his expression.
He's lonely.
I take a deep breath, weighing my options. "I'll be okay."
His facade cracks. "I know you will. I won't."
"Oh." My heart thuds against my chest.
"I don't want to be alone." He shakes his head "Fuck that. I'd rather be alone than with anyone else." He presses his palm against the table. "I want to be with you tonight."
Oh my. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly "You mean for—" I swallow hard. "—sex? Or for something else?"
"Whatever you want." He presses his lips together. "As long as I can spend tonight with you."
I adjust my dress. It doesn't offer any clarity.
He's hurting and I want to wipe that away. I want to help however I can.
I want the comfort too.
I stare back into those piercing blue eyes. "Okay."
His sigh is heavy with relief. "Thank you."
"It doesn't mean anything. We're not together."
He nods. "Of course."
"Here ya go." The waiter drops off our drinks. "Sugar's at the end of the table." He turns back and he's gone.
I take a long sip of my iced tea.
Blake may be softening. He may have affection for me. But that's not enough.
I'm going to be with someone who is madly, passionately in love with me. Not just someone who finds me pleasant company.
Blake stirs his black coffee. He takes a small sip. His eyes focus on me. "I promised Meryl something that first morning."
"Did you offer or did she ask?"
"She asked."
"Of course she did." A laugh escapes his lips. He shakes his head like he can't believe how ridiculous she was. "You don't have to honor it."
"You don't know what it is."
"Still."
"I want to." Deep breath. "I promised her to give you another chance. One date."
Something flashes on his face. Concern. He shifts back slightly. Wraps his fingers around his coffee. "I hope this doesn't count."
I shake my head. "Would be awfully tacky to do it the day of he
r funeral."
"She would have liked that."
"She would have liked it if I married you without a prenup, divorced you, and got half your shit."
He laughs again. A big laugh where his lips curl into a smile. He throws his head back. Slaps his hands against his thighs.
His laugh is still the best thing I've ever heard.
"No," Blake says. "She would have loved it."
"Did you tell her about our deal?"
"You did."
My chest tightens. How the hell does he know that?
"It's okay," he says. "In the end, it was for the best. She died thinking someone cared about me. That's what I wanted."
"Right. Of course." I bury my attention in my iced tea. Cared. I cared about him. If that's the story he wants to tell himself, fine. "What exactly did you tell her?"
He makes eye contact. "That I cared about you and wanted you to be happy."
There's that word again. Cared. God, what an ugly word. It's the worst word in the English language.
"Tomorrow," he says. "For our date. We can start in the morning." He watches me closely. "If your schedule permits."
That's another joke. I think. He's terrible with jokes, but I kind of love it.
I nod. "Tomorrow is perfect."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Blake's apartment feels different than it did last time. It's colder. Sparser. More utilitarian.
This might be the last time I see it.
Or him.
He presses the door closed and clicks the lock. "There are clothes in the spare room if you'd like to change."
"Clothes or my clothes?"
"Ashleigh picked them out for you."
"No. I'm okay in this." And I don't really want to wear the clothes his assistant picked out. That only reminds me about the all business nature of our arrangement.
"You hungry?"
"A little."
"I'll make something." He moves into the kitchen.
I wander around the sparse living room. This one, huge room must be a thousand square feet. God, this place must cost a fortune.
It's a lot to give up for a little thing like love, but there isn't a doubt in my mind.
Gorgeous apartments are nothing compared to that perfect, safe feeling of someone's arms around you.
Damn. I'm waxing poetic. But at least I know where I stand.
Dirty Boss Page 49