by Katee Robert
She smiled. This client tended to take the cautious approach, and he was known for going with his gut when it came to how a man shook his hand. “I thought you might say that, Mr. Reid. Shall I set the meetings up for next week?”
“Do that.” He stood and shook her hand. “Good work, Ms. Wakefield.”
“Thank me after you find the perfect applicant for the position.” One of the three she’d handpicked would fit the bill. All of the men were exactly what Mr. Reid was looking for. It was only a matter of the right personality clicking with his.
Normally, she’d be flying high at this point, knowing that this contract was all but in the bag, but she could barely dredge up more than a flicker of excitement. In the week she’d been back in New York, nothing could touch the sad gray cloud surrounding her. She felt like Pigpen, but without the unfortunate filth.
Her phone rang and her heart leaped for one terrible second before she reminded herself that Brock had no reason to call her. He’d all but literally washed his hands of her. Men that walked out like that didn’t typically come calling afterward.
Even under the crushing disappointment, she managed to perk up a little when she saw it was Julie. “Hey there, girlfriend.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you for days, but life keeps happening.”
“It does that.” She’d picked up the phone more times than she cared to count to call her best friend, but she’d set it down each time without going through with it. Julie was finally happy. It wasn’t on Regan to bring her problems to her door.
She would have loved to go grab drinks with Addison and bitch a little just to let off some steam, but Addison was juggling a few new clients and Regan doubted she’d see her for at least a few weeks. Which was a good thing. It was past time for both Christine and Julie to find their happiness.
That didn’t stop Regan from feeling lonelier than she ever had before.
Julie cleared her throat. “I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t come back to the reception after you left—and neither did Brock.”
From the tone of her voice, she expected some juicy details, and Regan wished she could give them. Sadly, the truth was a whole lot more depressing. “He flipped out. Accused me of scheming to get Logan into bed.”
“Wasn’t that your plan?”
“Initially, yeah.” She reached the street and decided to hold off hailing a cab. The walk would do her good. “I know I thought I had Brock’s number down as a lazy playboy, but I was wrong about him.”
“I know.”
She nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”
“He called Reed this morning. Apparently Brock is actually the founder of the Blue Boat Foundation. And he did it for Reed.” Her voice thickened. “You can’t know how much that means to Reed—to both of us.”
Regan couldn’t believe he’d told Reed, not when he’d basically ripped her a new one when she found out. From that reaction alone, she would have guessed he kept his involvement on the down-low—and that was without knowing how he’d covered his tracks as much as possible so he wasn’t linked to the foundation publicly. It was a mystery—and it’d remain that way because he wasn’t exactly breaking down her door to confess his reasoning to her. “I know. I did a background search on him and found out he was attached to the Blue Boat Foundation.”
Julie was silent for all of a beat. “Then what gives? He’s a saint as far as I’m concerned, and even the village fool could tell that he’s got a thing for you. Why aren’t you banging on his doorstep and demanding he make an honest woman of you?”
“Just because he finally owned up to this with Reed doesn’t mean he’s ready for something like that.” As much as she was coming to realize she wanted it. And not just with anyone—with Brock. He was the only person she’d ever been serious about who actually lightened the load of stress she carried around constantly. “He’s got this underachiever bullshit down to a science. He’s so terrified of coming up short that he’s not willing to even try. Not even for me.”
“Regan Wakefield, that’s a defeatist attitude if I ever heard one. Since when do you give up without a fight?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think straight when it comes to this guy. He’s got me so twisted up, I have a few hives’ worth of bees in my bonnet.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” Julie laughed. “But that doesn’t change anything—you are Regan, She Who Plans and Conquers. You’ve brought terrifying corporate men to their knees without breaking a sweat—or missing happy hour. You’re one of the youngest people in your field to make as much as you do. God, woman, you’re a freaking headhunter. So…go plan and conquer.”
“You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the utter disgust in his voice when he talked to me. He doesn’t want to see my face again.”
“You keep talking and all I’m hearing is a whole lot of excuses and unreasonable fear. Maybe he’ll tell you to get lost…but I doubt it. Either way, there’s only one way to find out, and that’s not sitting on your cute ass and bitching to me about it.”
“I hate it when you get all logical on me.”
“Make a plan and execute it. That should be easy enough for you.”
Regan turned the corner, her mind whirling. She could call Brock, but it was too easy to ignore a phone call and keep on keeping on with life. No, she had to do something he wouldn’t be able to ignore or brush off. She smiled. “I hear Tennessee is beautiful this time of year.”
“That’s my girl!”
Chapter Eighteen
Brock finished typing out his resignation letter and pushed send before he could talk himself out of it. He’d never been more than a figurehead within McNeill Enterprises anyway. It wasn’t as if his father would miss him.
Caine was another story.
He sent a follow-up email to his brother to explain his motivation. It might have been better to call, but he and Caine had grown apart over the last few years. He didn’t know how his brother would respond, and he didn’t have time for a lengthy discussion.
He had a plane to catch.
Stress should have been crippling right now. His dad never missed an opportunity to belittle him, but the old man wouldn’t be thrilled with him quitting. Maybe he’d threaten to disinherit Brock. Maybe something else. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if he’d never threatened those exact things before. Before now, he’d always caved or toed the line of doing the bare minimum to get the old man off his back, and his dad had always backed down.
He was done dancing to the beat of that drummer. If realizing that was enough to push his dad over the edge and make him finally follow through on his threats, then so be it. The man had to do whatever it took for him to sleep at night.
Brock was ready to finally start living his own life.
Mercy Aalgard, the face of the Blue Boat Foundation, had been thrilled when he called. The work he’d put in up to this point had been cut down by his ability to carve out spare time around working for his father. Now he was free to devote all his time to pushing the Blue Boat Foundation to the next level. She already had office space in their headquarters in New York waiting for him.
So, for the second time in his life, he’d made a decision without worrying about what his father would think. The first had been creating the Blue Boat Foundation, but even that had been colored by what his father would think. Now he was finally leaving behind the baggage of his family and moving into the future.
He felt so unburdened it wasn’t even funny.
Who knew all it would take was turning his back on his old life to set him free?
Now there was just one last thing to be put to rights. Regan. He pulled onto the highway and double-checked the flight time. Still plenty of time to get there and checked in. He hoped she’d give him the opportunity to apologize and explain before she slammed the door in his face.
Colton was right. The longer he thought about it, the clearer that became. He’d been jud
ging her based on the actions of other important people in his life, all without giving her a chance to tell her side of the story. If he hadn’t gone off half cocked at the reception, they might be together right now. He wouldn’t be poking at her absence in his life, and hating the empty feeling taking residence inside him.
He wanted to try again. With his new position in New York, he’d actually be close enough to put a real effort behind it. He only hoped she didn’t tell him to fuck off and then run to the police claiming stalking.
Brock shook his head. Who was he kidding? Regan wasn’t the type of woman to let others fight her battles. She could have made a general in another life. If she didn’t like what he had to say, she was more than capable of telling him exactly that…and kicking his ass to the curb.
His phone rang and he almost ignored it—it was probably the old man or Caine calling—but some instinct made him check the caller ID. Holy shit. He nearly fumbled it trying to answer. “Regan?”
“Where are you?”
“You called.” He was so relieved to hear her voice it took him a few seconds to catch up with the question. “I’m in Tennessee.” Where else would he be?
“No, really? And here I thought you’d flown to the moon in the last week.” She took a shuddering breath, some of the strength leaving her voice. “So, did you know you live in the woods? Like way out here. What the hell is wrong with you? Who chooses to live surrounded by rabid animals who are only too happy to eat your face off?”
How the hell did she know… Brock slammed on his brakes and nearly fishtailed off the highway. Thank God no one else was on the road or he would have caused a wreck. “Where are you?”
“I’d think that was obvious. I’m in your front yard, engaged in a staring contest with a squirrel.”
“Do not move.” He jerked the wheel and flipped a bitch in the middle of the road. “I’m coming.”
“I’m not moving. I’m pretty sure this little beast will go for my throat the second I do. So…hurry.”
…
The squirrel moved, and Regan shrieked and dropped the phone, but the blasted thing just scurried up a tree. She scrambled for her phone, terrified to take her eyes off the massive trees that stretched over Brock’s house. The second she did, that thing was going to attack from above. She just knew it. The entire tree shook as those little monsters ran through the branches, and she gave the phone up for a lost cause and dived onto the front porch.
At least this way she could see her death coming.
“Calm down, crazy. The squirrels are not going to murder you.” She backed up until she was pressed against the front door. “Probably.” If she had her phone on her, she’d call Julie and let her best friend talk some sense into her until Brock got back from wherever the hell he was. The only problem was that her phone was currently sitting out by the tree.
Even as she watched, the same squirrel scurried down the tree and grabbed it. “Oh my God.” That was fine. She could just buy a new phone when she got back to civilization. That little freak could keep it.
The minutes ticked by, and she refused to take her eyes off the trees around her. She could do this. She could wait, right here, for Brock to show up. She would not wuss out and flee to her car.
Mostly because those little bastards were no doubt waiting to attack from above the second she walked out from beneath the porch.
A car came hurtling around the corner, kicking up a giant cloud of dust behind it. It skidded to a stop in front of the house, and Regan pressed a hand over her mouth as the dust caught up with the car and rolled over her. She sneezed, wishing she’d just been smart and called Brock in the first place. Why did she think it was a good idea to fly down here and show up on his doorstep unannounced?
Oh yeah, because Julie pushed her into it. She’d have to make sure to thank her best friend in the most imaginative way possible the first chance she got.
Brock threw open the car door and rushed around the front bumper. When he caught sight of her, he stumbled to a stop. “I thought you’d seen reason and taken off.”
“More like a squirrel had dragged my body into the woods to feast on like it just did my phone.” Now that he was here, none of the things she’d practiced saying seemed to fit. So she let herself drink in the sight of him, from the faded jeans to the black T-shirt that hugged his biceps. But no smile, and he hadn’t exactly rushed over and swung her around romance-movie style, either.
He took another step closer. “I’m glad you weren’t murdered by a cute forest animal.”
“That means a lot to me.” Good Lord, this was ridiculous. She wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. She’d come down here for a reason, and it wasn’t to talk about killer rodents. “I didn’t sleep with Logan, or anything with Logan. The most action he saw from me was the waltz, and even that was pretty mild.”
“I know.”
She froze in the middle of planning out the rest of her argument. “What?”
“Colton told me Logan had eyes only for Sophie. So I reckon he didn’t have much time for you.”
“That lack of time was a mutual thing. You see, I’m pretty into this hot Southern guy. No one else will do.”
He’d gone completely still, watching her with unreadable dark eyes. “Oh really? He sounds like a lucky bastard.”
“Well, that’s the thing. He had the wrong idea about me, and we both said some pretty shitty things, so I’m not sure he’ll have me.” He didn’t say anything, didn’t react, didn’t give her a damn thing to work with, so she just kept talking. “I know the distance is going to be an issue, but I’m willing to fight for you. I need to know if you’re willing to fight for me, too.” Because this had to be a two-way street. She couldn’t do all the work and beg him to love her.
No matter how close she was to doing just that.
“I’m moving to New York.”
Regan stared, sure she’d heard him wrong. “What?”
Now Brock moved, closing the distance between them until he stood directly in front of her. “I quit my job. I’m going to officially step into the position waiting for me at the Blue Boat Foundation. It’s something I should have done five years ago when I started it up.”
In all her guesses over how this would play out, she’d never once stopped to consider that he’d do that. “That’s… Oh my God, Brock, that’s amazing!”
He smiled, the sight of those laugh lines making her knees weak. “Yeah, well, it’s time to grow up and let go of my emotional bullshit. Plus, I hear there’s this hotshot headhunter in New York who has a thing for Southern boys.”
“Did you, now?” She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as he leaned down.
“I screwed up, Regan. Really screwed up. I flew off the handle and accused you of all sorts of shit I had no right to. I’m so goddamn sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you so you’ll give us a second chance?”
She licked her lips. “I think there might be something wrong with your hearing, Scarlett. Because I pretty much just declared my intentions toward you. Second chances are on the books.”
His lips brushed hers. “Forgive me? I’ll spend the foreseeable future making it up to you.”
And people said dreams didn’t come true. Regan slipped her arms around his neck. “I forgive you.”
He kissed her, pulling her against him, and it was even better than she remembered. Brock moved them, pinning her against his front door as he took full possession of her mouth. Before she could fully sink into the kiss, he pulled back. “I promise I’ll keep you safe from nature, and I’ll put your ass on a treadmill at the end of stressful days. I know you’re more than capable of handling your business, but if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my days taking care of you.”
“That goes both ways.” She kissed him. “I’ll show you the ropes of the big city. It’s a far cry from this hellhole surrounded by trees.”
Brock laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You know what
also sounds like a plan? Getting me off this porch and into your bed.”
“That, I can do.”
Epilogue
“Hey, darlin’.”
Regan looked up and forced herself to smile as Brock came through the door of their apartment. Even as distracted as she was, she couldn’t help checking him out. With his slacks and fitted dress shirt that he’d partially unbuttoned at some point on the way home, he was something else. New York looked good on him.
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Shit. She should have known that he’d immediately pick up on her tension. She should have just called Addison to sit with her, but she hadn’t been able to pick up the phone. The only person she wanted to be around was the same one she wanted to smack silly, because if her suspicions were right, this was mostly his fault.
Mostly.
“Regan, you’re scaring me.” He dropped his briefcase on the floor and came to sit next to her on the couch. “What’s going on?”
“So, funny story.” She tried to sound cheery, but it came out flat. God, what were they going to do? They’d only been together seven months. Seven seriously amazing months—like, almost too good to be true, amazing—but seven months all the same.
And she was about to ruin it. She took a shuddering breath. “Remember New Year’s Eve?”
A faint smile caught the corners of his lips. “We drank too much and had sex in the bathroom of the bar.”
Had sex without protection. “Yep. Six weeks ago.”
She saw the exact moment he understood, his gaze dropping to her stomach and then flying back to her face. Regan held her breath, waiting for him to put some distance between them or accuse her of…something. To do something. Because she was half a second away from losing it completely.
But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he reached out and pressed his hand to her stomach. “A baby.”
“Well, that’s the thing. I’m too much of a chickenshit to take the test and find out for sure.” She motioned at her purse lying on the coffee table. “I bought like five of them, but…”