by Elise Faber
“I bet he gets a lot of grandpa comments.”
A smile. “Like you wouldn’t believe. But I think it’s well deserved. His last mistress—he doesn’t even bother getting married anymore—was younger than me.”
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” He sighed and pushed to his feet. “Well, that’s enough about me. It was a dick move to assume that you’d be like them. I’ve seen the custody, alimony, child support thing pan out a half dozen times now.” He raised one palm. “Not an excuse. There was no excuse for my behavior. Just an explanation.”
I nodded.
“I’ll wait for you in the hall. Walk you to your car, if that’s okay? I’d feel better knowing you were—”
“My parents are still married,” I blurted.
He stopped, hands at his sides, and stared at me.
“I haven’t seen my father since last Christmas.” I swallowed. “As for my mother, I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”
Chapter Eighteen
I took a deep breath. Aside from Bec and Seraphina, no one knew this part of the story.
Not my brother. Not my father. Neither of them could understand why my mother had run.
But I did. Intimately.
“You ready for the big guns?” I asked.
“Big guns?”
I swallowed, already feeling a little shaky at the prospect of admitting this. But Jordan had laid his past out for me. He deserved to know why I tended to keep people at a distance.
“You ready to hear why I’m so fucked up?” I asked. “Because it’s a doozy.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do,” I said. “I tend to hide in my own world because of it, and if we’re going to have a baby together, you need to understand why I sometimes engage the hard retreat.” My lips trembled and I pressed them together tightly.
Jordan froze, face serious. He nodded tightly and sat down a couple of feet away from me, back against my desk.
I shifted so my shoulders were resting on the wall below the window.
“Okay?” he asked.
“What?”
“The smell.” He pointed at his armpit.
The tension in my gut uncoiled slightly. “Don’t worry, you’re out of smell-shot.”
He snorted. “I’m throwing away this deodorant as soon as I get home.”
“That would be much appreciated,” I said.
And then there was no avoiding it. I just had to say it. To get it out there.
“I was eleven when it happened.” Jordan’s eyes shot to mine, and I forced my lips into a rueful smile. “Eventful year for both of us, I guess, huh?”
My legs were flat on the ground, still in the heels.
Jordan rested his palm on my ankle, glancing down at me.
I nodded. He waited for me to find the words.
“I was really into gymnastics and I was really good. I’d just moved up a level and had a new coach. I was practicing my splits—it was the one thing he said I was behind on.” I stared down at my hands. “And me being me, I just had to work on it until I had it. I—” My voice broke.
Jordan squeezed my ankle lightly and the touch brought me back to the present. Away from that night. Away from that room.
“The coach took me from the main floor to this room that was walled off from the rest of the gym. No parents went back there. Not that mine would have come anyway. They were too busy with their own lives. They didn’t have time to waste on something as insignificant as their daughter’s gymnastics class.”
“Abby.”
I was shaking, but made my eyes meet his.
“You don’t have to do this.”
I nodded. “I do. I haven’t—I should have done something. I found out about five years ago that he’d gone to prison for molesting girls. But the dates were ten years after he’d done it to me.” A tear streaked down my cheek. “He touched little girls for ten years because I didn’t do anything. Because I believed when my mother told me it was my fault. Because I was too ashamed.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I should have told someone else. I should have pursued it.”
“You were eleven.”
My head dropped to the wall. “I know.”
“Did he hurt you?” Jordan’s words were soft, but there was a deadly edge.
“No. Well, not physically. He had me get into the splits and I remember him kneeling behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders—the coaches did that sometimes, put a little pressure on you to help the stretch—but then he took it further. He slid his hands up and down my arms, down my chest. I hardly had boobs at that point, but I remember him probing, rubbing at what little I had there.” My voice cracked. “I remember freezing. I remember feeling that it was wrong. But most of all I remember feeling ashamed.”
I carefully met Jordan’s gaze, wondering if I’d find the same expression of disgust I’d seen on my mother’s face.
There was nothing there. He was staring forward, unseeing, and not one emotion was discernable in his expression. Not anger or revulsion. Not pity or fury.
Just nothing.
Then he blinked and saw me looking. “What did you do?”
“I told my mother. She said I was making the whole thing up.” I clenched my fingers together. “I found out later that she was sleeping with him.”
Jordan’s chest rose and fell in a long, slow breath.
“She never did anything. In fact, she forbade me from telling anyone. Said I was a slut who’d asked for it.” I swallowed. “I know better now, but it took me a long time to confide in anyone.”
“What’d your father do when he found out?”
“He doesn’t know,” I said. “You, Bec, and Seraphina are the only ones who— It’s stupid, but every time I tried, I just pictured my mother’s face. The disgust. I couldn’t disappoint him that way.” I laughed, bitter. “No, I found plenty of other ways to make him unhappy with me.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It’s true. But that’s a story for another day. I switched studios and ended up quitting gymnastics altogether when he came into the new gym one day as a guest coach. I panicked, lied to my father about losing interest, and shoved the events deep, deep down.” I sniffed. “If only they’d stayed there.”
“Pain has a way of resurfacing.”
I nodded. “That it does.”
We were silent for a long moment before Jordan spoke again. “I’m admitting defeat on the whole starting over thing.”
I laughed. “I didn’t realize you were still stuck on that.”
“Like a dog on a bone.” He squeezed my ankle again. “How about instead of starting over, we move forward?”
“Throw out that deodorant, and we’ve got a deal.”
Jordan was quiet as he walked me to my car. The air was cold and our breath blew white clouds as we crossed the parking lot.
I would have been just fine on my own getting to my car, but honestly, I was glad he was there. It was dark and I felt raw on the inside after sharing so much.
Given the tentative way he held himself, I suspected he felt the same way.
“Thanks,” I murmured when we got to my car. I pulled the handle and the car unlocked with a beep.
“No problem. So . . .”
“Give me your phone,” I said, reaching into my purse and snagging mine. “I’ll get your number and text you with the information about my next appointment with Dr. Stephens.”
It was a peace offering. And perhaps a way to move forward like he’d suggested.
Jordan rocked back on his heels. “See, here’s the thing—”
I flushed, shook my head, shoving my cell back into my purse. “Oh. It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I just thought—”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” he said. “I threw mine away after I sold the company.”
“You threw away your phone?”
“Not you too,” he said, rolling h
is eyes. “Everyone is so glued to those damn things these days—and believe me, I used to be one of those people—but when I sold the company, I promised myself that I would take a break from all that. That I’d look up from my screen every once in awhile.”
“I get that,” I said. “But what about an emergency or if you really need to get a hold of someone?”
He smirked. “Don’t know if you know this, but nearly everyone on this planet has a cell phone.”
I laughed. “Okay, so you can’t give me your number. How are we going to communicate to do this moving forward thing?”
“Landlines?”
“I haven’t had a landline in years.”
“Reasonable point,” he said. “Email?”
“Which you could access better from a phone,” I teased.
He leaned against my car, close enough to make my stomach flutter, but far enough to not trigger my bloodhound of a nose. “What’s with the phone obsession?”
“Cell phones are great,” I said, espousing on the merits of phones rather than investigating the underlying attraction that never seemed to go away when Jordan was near. “They play movies and hold thousands of books. You can text. And maybe even call someone on it.”
He laughed. “All of that is true. So tell me,” he asked, “what’s your favorite book?”
“Which is like the world’s hardest question!” I said, turning to match him, my shoulder resting against the driver’s side window. “But if I had to pick one”—I reached into my purse and pulled out a worn paperback—“it would have to be Pride and Prejudice.”
“What do you like about it?”
I ignored the fact that we were having this conversation in the parking lot. That both of us should get into our cars and go home. I focused on nothing aside from the fact that he seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
“I guess I love that deep down Darcy and Elizabeth are perfect for each other, no matter that their circumstances and personalities attempt to keep them apart.”
“Hmm.”
“Now you sound like Heather.”
He laughed. “Can’t have that.” His fingers laced with mine. “So tell me, how is it that you can’t find your keys, but you can find your phone and book in that black hole of yours on the first try.”
“Priorities, I suppose.”
His thumb brushed against my palm. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
My heart leaped. Did I want him to? Did I dare risk pursuing something with him? Our situation was already complicated enough with the baby and now work. Not to mention the fact that our fathers hated one another. “O-oh. I—”
“I’m not going to because”—his lips twitched—“Satan’s deodorant, and I don’t want to get puked on again.”
“That was not my fault.”
He brought our laced hands up, pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “I’m not saying it is. In fact, I think if we’re going with pop culture references, wouldn’t all of this be my fault?”
“Yes,” I grumbled. “It is your fault. Well yours, and also the manufacturer of my IUD since they promised baby-free sex and then didn’t deliver.”
A gust of cold air blew around my legs, up my skirt. I shivered.
“I should let you go,” he said. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah,” I said.
But I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. I wanted to talk to Jordan all night.
“See you Monday?” he asked.
I nodded then winced. “Though I should probably turn in my resignation. With our relationship and your sister working here, not to mention the puking and the whole falling-asleep-in-the-conference-room thing, I didn’t exactly make a good impression on my first day.” I wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself. “That’s not even considering the interaction with Diego.”
His face went thunderous. “What happened with Diego?” Then he waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll find out from Stan.” He squeezed my hand. “Who, by the way, can arrange an escort to your car if you’re ever here late and I’m not and you’re uncomfortable. Not that you would be uncomfortable working here, or want me to walk you to your car regularly. Or, well, that you couldn’t take care of yourself. I just meant if—”
“Jordan.” He stopped talking. “I understand.” A beat. “Thank you.”
“And Heather already told me she wouldn’t accept your resignation.”
“What?”
He nodded, pushed up to standing. “So there’s that. You’re working here and that’s final.”
I gave him the look. “Are you pushing it? Or just trying to be funny?”
“Maybe both?”
I huffed good-naturedly. “Men.”
“We’re exasperating, I know.” He released my hand and I ignored the fact that I missed the warmth of his touch. “So Monday?”
A nod. “Monday.”
He opened my door. “Good night, beautiful.”
He waited until I was buckled in with the engine started before turning away and walking back into the building.
I couldn’t help but feel as though a piece of my heart went with him.
Chapter Nineteen
Jordan strode back into the office and used his badge to enter the security office. Walls of television screens showed cameras from all angles. Every elevator. Every hallway. Every entrance and exit.
Stan glanced up from his desk, unsurprised since he’d been able to watch Jordan’s approach the entire way. The light from the computer monitor made RoboTech’s security chief’s skin appear pale and ghostly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”
“Don’t let Heather hear you say that,” Jordan said with a smirk. He skipped the pleasantries. “What happened with Diego?”
Stan sat back in his chair. “He took the bait.”
“Damn. I liked that kid.” Jordan sighed and leaned against Stan’s desk. “Any word on where he’s trying to share it?”
Stan shot him a look. “Shouldn’t I be discussing this with Heather?”
“Probably.” He crossed his arms. “But discuss it with me too.”
“Same buyer as three months ago. Wants specifications for the drone.”
“And did Diego get them?”
“The ones we planted?” Jordan nodded. “Yup. I’ve got my guys trying to track the buyer. They’re slippery as always, but the transaction has got to be clumsy if the hormone-riddled moron was using it as fodder for picking up girls.”
“Girls?”
Stan shook his head. “Girl. Not plural. Abigail Roberts.”
“He hit on Abigail?” Jordan’s voice was a growl. Pathetic, but there it was.
“Who wouldn’t?” Stan asked. “Not only is she gorgeous but that body—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Stan froze, eyes narrowed as he studied Jordan. “Something we need to discuss?”
“Nope.”
“Abigail is a nice girl,” Stan said.
“And how would you know?” Jordan said. So what if it sounded like an accusation? Who the hell was Stan to say such a thing?
A flash of humor crossed the other man’s face before it went blank. “I worked security for her father about five years ago. Doubt she remembers me since she wasn’t around much. But it’s kind of hard to forget her . . .”
“I’d be careful with your next words.”
“You’ve got a big ego, O’Keith, if you think you could take me,” Stan said, amused. “But that’s not what I mean. There’s something vulnerable about her. I didn’t like seeing the hurt in her eyes.”
Neither did Jordan. Especially when he was the cause of it. “Yeah.”
“Her dad is kind of a dick.”
Jordan snorted. “I know the feeling.”
“That you do.” A pause. “So the specs?”
A frustrated breath. This whole thing was a fucking mess.
“They won’t do the buyer any good. They’re flawed and incomplete.”
“You know that,” Stan said. “I
know that. But the rest of the staff doesn’t. And they’re getting pretty ballsy if they’re entering Heather’s office to steal information.”
Jordan rose to his feet and thrust a hand through his hair. “Keep the last two around for a bit, see if they get pinged and are stupid. It might give us the information we need.”
“Might not,” Stan countered. “It’s a risk.”
“We’ve got to plug the leak.”
“Thought you were supposed to be on a beach right now. That this all was Heather’s problem.”
“Things change.”
One brow went up. “Not that much.”
“It’s complicated.”
A smirk. “It’s a girl.”
“Abby is not a girl—” Jordan grimaced at the omission.
“So, Abby, is it?” Stan’s smirk grew into a grin. “You know what your father would say about that.”
“Something disgusting, no doubt.” He sighed. “I knew the interest from the Army was a bad thing.”
“It’s a profitable thing, from what I understand.”
“But at what cost?” He shook Stan’s hand, headed for the door. “They never bring anything except frustration and heartbreak.”
“How’s Hunter?” Stan asked just as Jordan reached the threshold.
“How do you think?”
The last thing Jordan saw before heading up to his office was Stan’s face creased with sadness.
He knew his own face was a mirror image.
“Done,” Jordan announced, pushing into Heather’s office. He was bleary-eyed, hadn’t left his desk except to grab food and pee since Friday evening.
He hadn’t had a weekend like that in a long time, and though he was exhausted, it came with exhilaration. He’d figured out the issue with the code, and he’d finally finished the program. It was running flawlessly.
His previous position as CEO hadn’t allowed him the joy of finding a problem and then a solution and following both to their fruition in a long, long time.
And the action brought with it a sense of completion he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
Okay, that wasn’t quite right.