Mr. Big

by Delancey Stewart

  “Nailed it,” Oliver whispered as we slid out the front doors of the building into the streaming sunlight of the parking lot. His hand dropped to the small of my back and I looked up at him. He wore a bright, happy smile, the first of its kind I’d seen on his face since we’d met. Business clearly agreed with him.

  “Thanks to you,” I allowed, hoping my complete confusion didn’t affect my voice. I felt a fresh wave of anger and confusion overtake me as he turned the smile to me and we stopped walking for a moment.

  “Your idea,” he said. “Holland…this could be a really big deal for the company. It could…” He rubbed a hand across his jaw, glancing around the parking lot as if searching for words. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” he said.

  I nodded. That was kind of an understatement. “I get it. The company has been vulnerable. This will help.”

  He watched me speak, and I had the feeling he was taking in more than I wanted him to. He opened his mouth to answer, and I cut him off.

  “If you’ll drop me at home, I can get my car.”

  “I thought we might take a few minutes and talk. Maybe grab some coffee? Not at work, though.” Hope lit the dark eyes, but I was too confused to spend another minute with him. I needed some time to think through all that had happened.

  I shook my head and turned toward the car. “I’d better just get back to work. I missed Friday,” I reminded him. “And no one knew about this meeting.”

  “Worried you’ll be in trouble?” He almost laughed as he unlocked the doors and pulled my door open for me.

  I shot him a look. “Yes, actually. Some of us need our jobs and can’t just disappear for months at a time.”

  Oliver didn’t answer, but his mouth closed and he shut my door and slid into the car on the other side without a word. We drove to my apartment in a strained silence, and I pushed the door open almost before he could pull to a full stop out front.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful,” he said.

  I sensed he wanted to say more, but I just shook my head. I couldn’t talk. I needed time to think. I was out of the car, reaching in for my bag when he added, “You did well today. I’ll see you at the office, Holland.” His voice had turned sad, all the executive authority drained from it.

  “Bye,” I said, turning and escaping into my building.

  —

  I didn’t take long to think at home, just paced around inside for a few minutes. Oliver had already changed so many things in my life that even my apartment reminded me of him now. I couldn’t look at my frilly pink bedroom without hearing him call me “duchess” or remembering all that had happened in there. And the piles of notes on which he’d written and doodled as we’d worked that weekend were stacked on my table. His number hung from the corkboard. Everywhere I looked, he was there.

  The bigger issue was his presence in my mental space. My mind couldn’t seem to turn around without running into an image of him, a recollection of him presenting or the way he’d held me close on the Ferris wheel. Or the way his face had cleared as he’d come, braced over me on my bed. I’d allowed him so far into my mind and my life that I couldn’t get a clear corner in which to think anymore.

  Frustration hissed out of me in a sigh as I gathered my things and headed to work.

  Once back at my desk, I paged through the notes I’d written in my spiral notebook from the last sales status meeting, looking for the action items from this morning’s meeting at MLB. In my almost illegible handwriting I’d jotted: CEO situation, potential acquisition? Trey had said this a couple weeks ago and I’d pushed it aside in my worry over my own goals and plans. My mind snapped to Oliver. In my anger about the lie of omission he’d told me, I’d managed to forget everything I knew about the CEO of my company prior to realizing he’d been in my bed. I’d managed to forget what had happened so recently to his parents. I dropped my head into my hands. Oh God. No wonder he flipped like a switch between arrogance and that unnamable sadness and vulnerability.

  I tried to keep calm as my brain chased that reality down a rabbit hole, replaying every conversation I’d had with Hale in the context of this tragedy. It had been only a couple months since the accident when I’d met him, I thought, as I tried to remember everything. No wonder he had been a disaster. All the sadness and pain that haunted those deep eyes made sense now. And then I remembered the conversation we’d had at lunch: I was adopted, actually. But I’ve only found that out recently. When did he find out? Right before they died? Did he find out after they died?

  Oh God. Poor Oliver. The anger I’d felt over his lie dissipated in the face of my sympathy for what he’d been going through.

  I reached for the phone on my desk, but then thought better of it. I stood to go find him, but Trey stepped in front of my desk, a question on his lips.

  “Where were you this morning?” he asked.

  “Client call,” I replied automatically.

  He crossed his arms, looking skeptical. “Holland. You were out Friday; you were out this morning. You’ve been out mentally for months.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been a little bit distracted, I’ve been—”

  “Look, Holl. What goes on in your personal life is your business. But it’s unprofessional to let it interfere with what’s happening here at work.” He seated himself on the edge of my desk and leaned over a bit, as if he were going to offer me some sage advice, or try to comfort me. “I know it’s hard to handle everything. If it’s too much for you, if maybe sales isn’t a good fit…”

  I got the distinct impression that Trey was seconds away from making a comparison between men and women in sales, and I wanted to stop him before I had to leap across the desk and strangle him, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a deliveryman with an overlarge bouquet of lilies in his arms. “Holland O’Dell?” he said.

  “Uh, yes. That’s me.” I stood.

  The deliveryman placed the bouquet at the edge of my desk, forcing Trey to stand again. When the guy was gone, Trey and I both stared at the flowers for a long minute.

  “Maybe whatever’s distracting you has resolved itself,” he suggested. “Looks like he’s pretty damned sorry.”

  “It’s not guy problems, Trey,” I snapped.

  He stepped back, raising his palms in a sign of surrender. “Just saying.” He took another step away and I thought maybe we were done, but then he turned back around. “Holland,” his voice was a low whisper now. “Miss any more work and we’ll be having this chat in my office, and there will be a very different outcome.” He indicated the flowers, and then walked away.

  I pulled the card from the bouquet, ignoring the interested stares of those sitting around me.

  You are amazing. —Oliver

  I tucked the card into my pocket and sat back down, pulling out my phone to text Oliver.

  Me: Can we talk?

  Oliver: Tonight?

  Me: Now?

  Oliver: Did you get any deliveries over there yet?

  Me: Thank you for the ridiculously oversized bouquet.

  Oliver: Too much?

  Me: A little. The queen might be underwhelmed, but anyone else…

  Oliver: What about a duchess?

  Me: Talk?

  Oliver: Drink after work?

  Me: Fine.

  Oliver: Twisters?

  Me: 6pm.

  Oliver: See you then, duchess.

  Chapter 13

  Oliver

  We were out of the parking lot after the MLB meeting and back on the freeway before Holland spoke. I glanced at her as I drove, trying to get a read on her thoughts, her feelings. I’d been less than honest, and I knew she was pissed about that, and I hadn’t given her enough time to really let me have it. But then there’d been the meeting. I was still riding on a wave of adrenaline coming out of the MLB offices. It had gone as well as we could have hoped. I had very little doubt we’d be hearing from them inside the week.

  I was going to go back to work. The suit, the meeting�
�hell, even just getting a haircut and shaving properly—it had all activated the part of me I’d let drop out of sight a long time ago. In the past days with Holland I’d had a flash of what had gotten me involved in this company in the first place. Repurposing the designs and presenting our solution felt a lot like the first eager conversations I’d had with Adam, when we’d envisioned Cody Technology together. The success we’d just had—had just created ourselves—assured me that I was capable. Maybe even smart. And it made me think that maybe there was a chance I could helm this company—that I had actually been more than a figurehead, even before I left.

  Being in that meeting, having that powerful feeling surging through me, with Holland at my side, had been like nothing I’d felt before. I’d been strong, capable, and pretty fucking close to complete, despite my questionable parentage. Some key parts of my life had snapped into focus as I’d walked to the front of that boardroom. I wasn’t going to let those go again. And one of those things was Holland. We were an amazing team.

  I wanted to talk, to recap, maybe relive a little of the glory we’d just shared, but Holland’s mood had darkened. She practically leapt from the car when I pulled up to her apartment. My hand was on the door latch, and I was about to follow her, to demand she talk to me, but I thought better of it. I’d dropped a bomb on her Saturday, and hadn’t heard from her for the rest of the weekend. It had been hard, wondering what she’d been thinking, but I’d handled it, knowing that as long as she didn’t tell me I shouldn’t come to the meeting, everything was fine.

  But as she practically stormed from my car into her building, things were clearly not fine. She’d presented well—she’d been graceful and smart, articulate and so fucking sexy. But she’d been angry, too, and she had every reason to be.

  As I pulled away with the beginning of a dark spot marring my newfound happiness, I hoped I hadn’t already ruined everything. We needed to talk. But she needed to be ready.

  I couldn’t help sending the flowers—it was an instinct, and I’d been trained in these things by my dad. By Adam. He was the ultimate romantic, according to Sonja. And I’d been an eyewitness to his grand gestures on many occasions. I’d even sent Holland’s flowers myself, though Pamela had given me the florist’s number.

  “Good to see you back, Oliver,” she’d said, smiling as she handed me the number on a Post-it note.

  “It’s really good to be back,” I said. I meant it.

  Everyone left me alone that first day for the most part. Rob stuck his head in and said hello, surprise written in the arch of his brows, the width of his eyes. But he didn’t say anything else.

  When Holland texted that afternoon, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding, and as I crossed the busy street to meet her, I couldn’t help the way my soul lifted. Light filled me when I thought of her—even when I thought of the angry way her eyes had flashed at me that morning. I’d take her any way I could get her.

  I found her seated at a table in the corner, a martini glass balanced in her hand. I smiled, ready to have a civilized conversation over a drink. Holland had other plans.

  “You fucking lied to me,” she said quietly, not looking at me. “You didn’t even tell me your real name.” She stared into her martini glass and I felt like I would do almost anything to feel her crystal gaze on me again.

  “Holland…” I thought about what to say. “I’m sorry” would sound trite, too small a sentiment for what I felt for hurting her. I couldn’t explain why, but Holland O’Dell had become very important to me in a ridiculously short period of time. It wouldn’t be going too far to say I cared more for her than anyone else in my life. Knowing I might have ruined everything before it had even gotten a chance to begin made me want to tear apart the bar. I looked around, feeling desperate. “Holland,” I started again. “I made a shitty choice. And I don’t want to give you excuses about why…but I wonder if maybe you’ll be willing to give me a few minutes to explain.”

  I felt like I was wheeling, searching for something to grasp, something that would click with her and bring her back to me. I was looking for anything that might indicate I hadn’t already lost her.

  And then her eyes snapped to mine.

  “Oliver,” she said. Her voice was soft and lush and I wanted to wrap it around me. Her chest rose as she breathed, and the rhythm of my heart accelerated. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked down again. “This is hard,” she continued. “Because I am really angry at you. But also because of what you told me, and what I know about everything that has happened to you.”

  She’d put all the pieces together. I braced myself for the sympathy, hoping it didn’t go the other way—the misplaced honor granted me as CEO. Few people could avoid one or the other. I watched her, waiting.

  “But it doesn’t fucking excuse lying.” She met my eye, a fire burning in hers that felt like a challenge, that made me want to pull her into my arms and let her take out her anger on my body. “This was important to me,” she said through clenched teeth. “You can’t even begin to understand how important. I don’t have a clear shot, Hale—fuck, Oliver, whatever the hell your name is! I’ve had to work really fucking hard for everything. And this feels like…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Now it feels like even if this happens, I didn’t do it myself.”

  I waited, but she stayed silent after that, her chin pointed down and her eyes squeezed shut. “Holland, this was your idea. I just lent a hand.”

  “You took over,” she said. “And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

  I let that sink in and tried to decide what tack to take. “Look,” I said. “We did this as a team. We ironed out the technology application together, and we took the meeting together. Smart business involves knowing your weaknesses and finding someone on your team who balances them. That’s exactly what we did.”

  “That’s what you did,” she said. She still wouldn’t look at me. “I didn’t get a choice in the matter.”

  “I offered to let you go alone,” I reminded her quietly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again and her words were so quiet I almost missed them. “I needed your help.”

  That was it, then, that was the issue. She hated that she had needed help. “That is not a weakness, Holland. We all need help sometimes.”

  When she said nothing, my blood began to pulse faster through my veins, and I considered whether I still might lose her over this.

  “Holland,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice from rising with my frustration. “I needed help, too. I just wasn’t as graceful about asking for it. I was spinning, and the thing that stopped me was you. Your idea. The chance to make a real contribution again to something that actually mattered.” I watched people move around inside the bar as my mind spun. “I mean, it mattered to me. You were working on something that reminded me of who I used to be, and you gave me a chance to be that guy again for a while. The fact that you didn’t know exactly who I am, where I fit—that let me just be myself.” I shook my head, taking a breath. Holland’s face was inscrutable, her bright eyes staring into space. I shrugged, unsure what to think or feel. “I’m sorry if it felt dishonest, but I was never purposely deceitful. After everything that’s happened to me, lying is one thing I cannot tolerate. And it’s something I’ll never do.”

  She raised her chin slightly, and I knew she’d heard me. She sniffed and turned to face me, her eyes less furious than they’d been.

  “There’s nothing wrong with needing help,” I continued. “In business, in life. The key is trusting the right people to help, and we made a good choice in trusting each other. It’s going to pay off.”

  We sat a moment longer, saying nothing, and then her face softened and she said, “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be.”

  She reached across the table and took my hand. In that moment, every fear I had fell away. Every sound in the increasingly busy bar faded to a pleasant background hum, and all I could see was Hol
land—those clear blue eyes holding my own. “You told me you were adopted. I understand what it feels like to know you weren’t…wanted.”

  Her voice trailed off, but her fingers stayed on mine, warm and comforting. And her words…I didn’t know exactly how to respond. One part of me wanted to scream that no one in the world had ever been more wanted than she was. I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone more…but I knew that wasn’t what she meant, and casting her words into a sexual realm would cheapen them. I just kept my eyes on hers, letting the words sink in. She was right. Someone had decided I wasn’t enough, long before I’d ever had a chance to prove them wrong. It was a dark thought, one I hadn’t let myself focus on much since finding out.

  “It doesn’t mean anything about you, though.” She squeezed my fingers softly. “I’ve had a lot of years to think about that. Someone made a bad decision, got into a situation they couldn’t handle. It doesn’t make them a bad person, and it doesn’t mean there was anything wrong with you.”

  I got the impression she was talking to herself as much as to me.

  “What matters is what happened afterward.”

  Her face crumpled for a split second and then cleared.

  “Holland…” It felt like my heart might split in my chest at the sadness written in her eyes.

  She shook her head and pulled her hand away. “No, sorry.” She took a long sip of her drink and then sat back in her chair, putting distance between us, or maybe just getting distance from the topic. “The point is, I get it. It’s a hard thing to get your head around, no matter how much time you have to think on it.”

  I nodded, wanting to do so much more. I hated the hurt I saw on her face, the question that lived in those eyes. How had anyone ever let her go?

  “I’m just saying…to find out so late…that would be hard.” She cocked her head to the side. “When they told you, how did they explain waiting so long?”

  For a split second I couldn’t speak as the truth welled up in my throat, choking me. I swallowed hard and chased the bile with a sip of whiskey. “They didn’t tell me. Ever. The lawyer did when he went through the paperwork.”