by Melissa West
I tried to remain quiet for fear that I would say what was really on my mind, but as soon as I released a breath, the words tumbled out. “You are that man. To me, you’re him.”
He laughed sarcastically, sat down on his coffee table, and ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends before peering back up at me. “Trust me when I say I’m not, and no amount of time will change that. You need to ask yourself if you’re still okay with this.”
A buzzing sound filled my ears, radiating through me until it found my heart, slowly but surely ripping it apart. I thought I was alone before, surrounded by family and friends, but never feeling the warmth soak in like it should. And then Aidan came home with me, and suddenly I felt it. I understood. I wasn’t alone, I was just missing a vital piece of the puzzle, and now I had that piece, and I didn’t want to give it up. I didn’t want to feel cold. I wanted him, all of him.
“I’m not okay with it.”
“Then you have your answer.”
The words hit me like an arrow to a bull’s-eye.
…
I woke the next morning to the feel of dried tears on my cheeks, my pillow cradled in my arms, and Lauren asleep beside me.
I’d spent all night trying to figure out if Aidan and I were over or if this was a fight. And if it was only a fight, what did it mean that we were fighting over something that wouldn’t change? I wanted to call him and say I was sorry, beg him to forget everything I’d said. But in the same breath, I wanted to call him and scream at him. I wanted him to admit that we were different, see the changes in us as a step forward instead of shutting it down without even a discussion.
Sure that I couldn’t figure anything out before a hot shower and two—okay, three—cups of coffee, I turned on our coffeemaker and slipped into the shower, careful to be quiet so Lauren could sleep. But when I stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, I found someone else sitting on my bed.
My gaze locked on Aidan, dressed in jeans and a navy plaid button-down, his hands threaded together as he stared back at me. “Lauren let me in. I hope that’s okay.”
I stopped a few feet from him and crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t sleep last night. Did you? I kept replaying our conversation over and over, and through it all, I couldn’t make sense of a thing. I don’t know what I’m fighting here.”
A part of me wanted to go to him, to slip into his arms and say we could work things out, somehow, someway, but nothing had changed from last night. I still wanted more than he was willing to give. “You don’t have to fight anything. Just ask yourself what you want. It’s an easy question.”
“It’s anything but easy. What I want isn’t in line with what I should want. What I feel isn’t in line with what I’ve always thought of myself or my life or my future. I can’t make it all fit in my head anymore, and the harder I try the more it scares the shit out of me.”
I drew a breath and exhaled slowly. Why couldn’t he see that this was easy? I wasn’t asking for a marriage proposal. I just wanted to know there was room for possibility, that our future wasn’t already set.
“This doesn’t have to be so hard,” I whispered as I took a step closer to him, the distance too great for what I had to say next. “What do you want, Aidan? Just tell me what you want. Because I think it’s pretty clear what I want, and as tough as it is for me to admit it, the decision isn’t mine. It’s yours.”
“But you see, you’ve already made the decision. That’s the problem. No conversation. No prelude. One minute we agree to this and the next you insist on that. First with Thanksgiving, then the conversation after and talk of Christmas. All in a few days’ time.”
I shook my head, frustration sparking again. “I invited you home because I know what it’s like to feel alone, and I wanted to show you the kind of home and family you deserve. I didn’t mean for it to become…for it to be…”
At that his gaze dropped. “I know. Which was why I should have said no, but I…”
“Couldn’t? That should tell you something.”
He stared at me, the gold and amber tones in his eyes shining brightly back at me. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want it to end.”
“Then what do we do?”
Aidan stood and started for me, taking my hands and running his thumbs slowly back and forth over my palms. “I talked to my father’s assistant again. He’s not doing so well. She asked me to come see him.”
“I think you should go see him.”
His gaze lifted. “What if you went with me?”
I jerked back. “What? You said we shouldn’t invest in each other’s lives. You said—”
“I know what I said. But I’m asking you to go anyway. I need you there. Please…go with me.”
I watched his expression change from worry to sadness and knew that I couldn’t deny him this. Who knew if his father would survive another attack? Aidan needed to be there, to say whatever he needed to say to him, and if my being there ensured he wouldn’t live the rest of his life in guilt, then so be it.
“When do we leave?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The drive to visit Aidan’s father proved to be full of tense silence. I tried to start a conversation, then another. Tried to find music that would soften the mood. But the lines creasing Aidan’s forehead never relaxed.
We pulled down a long driveway to a mansion overlooking the canal in Quogue. “This is his house?” I asked, unable to look away from the ginormous house before me. Worn wood and stone covered the two-story exterior, set off by vibrant white trim around large windows that were sure to bring in fantastic lighting.
Aidan followed my gaze up to the house, his hands still on the steering wheel. “One of his houses.”
A part of me wanted to ask how many houses he had if this was merely one of them, but then I took in Aidan’s pained expression and instead asked, “How long’s it been?”
“What?”
“Since you saw him. How long since you saw your father?”
He sighed. “Four years. We’ve attended some of the same advertising events, but I’ve always managed to escape without speaking to him directly.”
“Does he know you’re coming?”
“Yes. He doesn’t appreciate surprises and prefers to stick to a strict schedule. When I was a kid, we had breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at six thirty every day. Like clockwork. And if something happened to cause a delay, Mom would hear about it for a week.”
I stared down at the clock on the dash. “It’s one ten. Are we late?”
His mouth curved into a small smile. “Yes. I wanted to prove a point.” He drew a long breath, then peered back over at me. “Are you ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
Running his hands down his slacks once, he then pushed from the car and walked around to my side, opening the door for me and helping me out. The front door opened even before we made it past the second step to the flagstone porch.
A petite woman in her early forties greeted us. Her black hair was swept back into a low ponytail, and she was dressed in a narrow pencil skirt and white blouse. She looked as though she’d either just returned from the office or was heading there now.
“It’s nice to see you again, Aidan,” the woman said, reaching out a hand.
Aidan took it and kissed her cheek. “Whitney, this is Cameron, a friend of mine. Cameron, Whitney is my father’s personal assistant.”
I nodded a hello to her. “It’s nice to meet you.” But as I studied her, I wondered why a personal assistant would be required to stay at her employer’s vacation home. It reeked of inappropriate behavior, but I knew better than to ask Aidan about it later.
“He’s sitting out on the patio. This way.”
I stepped in ahead of Aidan and tried not to gawk at the beauty that was this house. The two-story foyer boasted a vintage-looking chandelier, the wall to o
ur right a large painting of a single sailboat out in an expansive ocean. The painting was decidedly sad, and it made me wonder if there was more to Stuart Graham than appearances and history might suggest. Of course, it could have been a decorator’s choice and have little to do with the house’s owner.
The foyer led to a large living room with floor-to-ceiling windows, a giant wide-screen hung over a stone fireplace, and white bookshelves rose on either side of the fireplace, both filled with books that appeared much older than the house itself. An ornate rug tied the room together, and two white leather couches sat around the rug in an L-shape. Beyond the furniture and books, there were three wall hangings on the opposite wall from the fireplace, but no photos of people, family, or friends. No photos of Aidan. I wondered if Aidan noticed this as well or if he even cared.
Whitney led us past the kitchen, all stainless steel and granite and as large as half my apartment. Maybe all of it. Lemon and sage and other seasonings I didn’t recognize hit my nose, and my stomach rumbled despite my effort to push aside my hunger.
“We’ll eat in a few minutes. Is that okay?”
Embarrassed, I nodded. “Of course.”
She opened a set of French doors to a flagstone patio that matched the porch, and immediately her face lit with a smile that was far too unnatural to go unnoticed. Still, my gaze followed hers to the man sitting in a white wicker chair, his eyes focused on the canal.
“You’re late,” he said.
Whitney started to reply for us when Aidan waved her off. “We’re okay.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she retreated into the house, closing the doors quietly behind her.
“This is Cameron Lawson. Cameron, Stuart Graham.”
At that his father’s gray eyes lifted to mine. His hair had long since turned white, and though his skin held the remnants of a tan, today his face was as pale as his hair. “Lawson? Any relation to Jeremy Lawson?”
“No, sir. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He nodded, then threaded his hands together over his stomach and continued his stare over the water. Aidan seemed to understand that response better than me and motioned for us to sit in the matching wicker love seat beside his father. A glass table, trimmed in wicker to match the rest of the set, sat in front of us, and within a minute, Whitney returned with a tray of tea and water.
“It’s sweet,” she said to me, pointing at the tea. “Aidan mentioned you were in Alabama before, so I thought—” Stuart cleared his throat and Whitney froze, then backed away, an apologetic expression on her face before she disappeared back into the house.
“What, she can’t even speak in your presence? She’s your PA, for Christ’s sake.”
Stuart cut his eyes over to Aidan. “If you came here to argue, you can leave.”
Aidan released a slow, patient breath. “I came here to check on you. To make sure you’re okay.”
“I don’t need you checking up on me. I’m fine.”
Aidan huffed loudly, and I placed a hand on his leg, hoping to settle him. We’d just arrived, and already they were arguing. “I’m the only family you’ve got, and you suffered a nearly fatal heart attack. Your doctor said it could happen again.”
“I see. So you came to talk about your inheritance.”
“What? You think I came here for your money? You think I need your money?”
“You sound like your mother. Stubborn to the bone. Everyone needs money.”
Aidan’s jaw locked. “You don’t get to talk about her. Do you understand? You are never to talk about her. She loved you, did everything for you, and you left without a backward glance.”
Stuart’s gaze held on Aidan. “She could never do anything for herself. Like most women. Needy. Insecure. It was exhausting.” His eyes drifted to me before returning to Aidan. “I would have expected you to learn this by now. After all, we’re exactly the same. Isn’t that what the article in Businessweek said? ‘Like father, like son.’”
Aidan swallowed hard, his hands clenched tightly around his knees, like he needed something to grasp to keep from losing it. “Look, it’s been a long time since we talked. I came here because I didn’t want the last time I saw you to be us pretending we were strangers at an expo.”
“Aren’t we strangers? I can’t remember the last time you were here, the last time we spoke without yelling.”
“And whose fault is that?” Aidan spit out. “But I’m trying here.”
Stuart turned to his son for the first time. “No, what you’re trying to do is protect your conscience. Well, consider it cleared. And if you came here for some last-ditch moment with me, some hint at fatherly advice, then here it is: I’ve got more money than I can spend, and yet I sit here dying with a weak heart. How is that for irony? You go ahead. Conquer the advertising world, and at the end of the day, at the end of your life, you’ll be just like me. Married to some spineless woman, with a half version of yourself for a son, and a successful empire that at the end of the day all amounted to nothing.”
Aidan stood slowly, like he was seeing his father clearly for the first time. “You know, I always had hope that you would change. That you’d see the error of your ways and become the kind of man I could respect. But no, you are and will always be a self-centered bastard. I came here to try to do the right thing, but I can see that’s not possible with you.”
Whitney had just come out with our lunch, but Aidan was done. He took my hand, beckoning me to follow him, then stopped beside her. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. Let me know if you need anything. But don’t ask me to come here again.” Then he closed the door behind us, me fighting to keep pace as we left the house and slipped back into the car.
“Aidan,” I said. “We came all this way. Shouldn’t you—”
“Did you hear what he just said?”
“Yes, but he’s your father.”
“So what?” He tossed his hands in the air. “So fucking what? He has never once acted like a fucking father.” He focused out the car window, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his anger. “I can’t believe I let Whitney talk me into coming here. This was a mistake. And he’s right. We’re the exact same, him and me. Which is why I never should have—” He stopped suddenly and swallowed hard before putting the car in drive.
My insides buzzed with dread. “Never should have what?”
His broken gaze turned on me. “I’m not capable of being anything more than that man you saw in there. I’ve wanted success more than anything, just like him. I crave it. And I refuse to drag you down that path.”
“You didn’t drag me anywhere. I want to be here.”
“I know. But maybe this isn’t healthy anymore. Maybe we should…”
“What?”
Aidan stared back out the windshield. “I’m leaving for London tomorrow for three days.”
“You’re leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure I could leave. But now I think maybe it’s good timing.”
“Good timing? Are you saying you want to take a break?” My heart hurt with each word, but as I watched Aidan struggle through this tiny visit with his father, I wondered if this was too much for him. For me. I wanted to focus on my career, just like him, and suddenly, all my thoughts were revolving around this man, hoping beyond hope that he would see us clearly. That he’d want to fight for us.
“No. But I want you to think about this and if it’s really what you want.”
Crossing my arms, I settled back into my seat without responding, afraid to look at him for fear I would show just how much this hurt me.
How could two days have changed so much?
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You are not going to believe what I just heard,” Alexa said as she slipped into my cubicle. Monday came too quickly, and even though I knew I needed to put on a happy “my life rocks” face, I couldn’t ignore how sad I felt. Aidan left for London with a quick text that he would miss me, but I refused to a
llow the words to settle in my heart like they should. I didn’t want to focus on what he felt for me, and I for him, when it could all be over the moment he returned.
I spun around in my chair and peered behind her to make sure no one was walking by. “What did you hear?”
She lowered her voice and leaned in. “They want Aidan to take over the London office.”
The pen I’d been twirling in my hand dropped from my grasp, and I scrambled to pick it up from the ground—along with my jaw. “The London office? I thought he was just going for three days?” She had to be mistaken. Aidan would have told me. Right?
Her eyebrows threaded together. “How did you know he’d be gone for three days? No one seemed to know where he was this morning other than Dorothy and Gayle.”
Shit. “Oh, um, he mentioned it in our last meeting,” I said, hoping my voice sounded even.
Alexa shrugged. “Well, I’m betting he’s over there to talk about the move. I bet he’s already accepted it. And who could blame him? I can only imagine how much money they’re offering.”
“There are more important things than money.”
She laughed. “Yeah, like what? At least for him? He’s single. There’s nothing keeping him here. He’d be crazy to turn it down.”
I opened my mouth to argue with her and realized that there was nothing to argue—at least not for work Cameron. Work Cameron shouldn’t care what Aidan did. She should be as interested in the gossip as Alexa. But in the moment, all I wanted to do was call him and ask if it was true, if this was the real reason for our arguments the last two days. Was he trying to find an easy out so he could go to London without any guilt? And who could blame him for wanting the job? He’d control that office, make more money, and further prove to his father that he could be successful without the Graham name.