by Naima Simone
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” she murmured with a tiny curl at one corner of her mouth. “Or at least that’s what I hear. Anyway, I thought he broke my heart. But what he—both of them—really shattered that day was my trust. I knew happily ever after didn’t always happen, and yet, I took a chance. A leap of faith. And they showed me what a fool I’d been for believing. They didn’t break my heart; they broke my dreams, my hope.”
Crossing the room in three long strides, Alex knelt before her. He thrust a hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head. She stared into his eyes, shadows flitting through the blue like clouds in a clear, summer sky.
“They didn’t break you. I don’t think anything or anyone could. And whether you loved him or not, he didn’t deserve it. Not when he had you and let you go. So I stand by what I said. He’s an idiotic asshole.” She snorted, and though it sounded a little water-logged, he took it. Cherished it. “You are strongest person I know. The most compassionate and giving. What they did doesn’t reflect on you, but them. Never you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and finally her mouth. “Never you.”
“I didn’t take you for a sweet talker, Alex,” she murmured, stroking a finger down his temple and curving to his mouth. “Thank you.”
“I talk much better with my hands,” he whispered.
“Show me.”
And he did.
Chapter Twelve
Burrowing in her coat against the chilly December wind, Morgan power walked to the entrance of the glass and steel building housing the offices for Lier Industries. She shivered as she pushed through the glass doors, then groaned in pleasure as the warmth hit her cold cheeks.
“Nice seeing you again, Ms. Lett,” the security guard greeted as she strode to the front desk.
“You, too, George.” She smiled, penning her name and destination into the guest log book. “How’re your granddaughters?”
The older man beamed, his brown eyes lighting up. “Wonderful. Ready for Santa Claus to come pay them a visit.”
She laughed. “Who isn’t?” she teased, then with a wave, headed for the bank of elevators. A minute later, she stepped out of the lift onto the executive offices floor. Her replacement glanced up from her computer, a welcoming smile on her face that seemed to cool slightly when she saw Morgan.
O-kay. Maybe she’d imagined that. She’d met Alex’s new executive assistant several times, and the woman had been nothing but polite. But…
“Good morning, Lindsey,” Morgan greeted.
“Ms. Lett.” She nodded.
Oh, there was a definite chill factor. What the hell?
“Is Alex available?”
“Just a moment, and I’ll check.” Without another word or smile, she rose and knocked on the door. She poked her head through the opening and announced Morgan, and Morgan caught Alex’s deep rumble of a voice. Straightening and leaving the office door open, Lindsey turned to Morgan, waving toward the door. “Please go right in, Ms. Lett.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said, casting the other woman another glance.
Maybe the assistant had a rough morning or there was something in her personal life bothering her. Shaking it off, Morgan strode into the office, and closing the door behind her, couldn’t help but think about the first time she’d entered it after he’d bought the company.
They’d come a long way since then.
“I think someone pissed in your assistant’s cornflakes this morning,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
Alex, standing at his window, turned. Her steps faltered at the inscrutable mask on his face and the shuttered gaze that studied her as she resumed crossing the room.
She hadn’t seen the return of this closed-off expression for weeks. Concern and worry crept through her, sending her pulse at a fast trot.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, rounding the desk and approaching him. “Has something happened to Kim?” His sister was scheduled to return from Florida today, but Morgan hadn’t spoken with her.
“No. Kim’s fine.”
He didn’t reach for her, didn’t smile, didn’t kiss her. The concern hiked to a stomach-twisting unease. “Something’s wrong.”
After Saturday night, she’d thought they’d crossed a line where they… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what the hell they were. What did you call two people who were engaged but not really engaged, but had sex and confided in each other like friends? She hadn’t told him she’d fallen in love with him; she didn’t know if she would ever have the courage to confess it. But they had certainly passed the stage where he stared at her like he didn’t know her. What in the hell was going on?
“Have you seen the Herald this morning? The ‘Inside Track’ column?” he questioned instead of answering.
She frowned. No, she hadn’t read the local gossip column for the Boston Herald newspaper. She rarely did because those bitches could be catty and mean as hell. The two woman responsible for the column had written about the love triangle, as they’d called it, between Morgan, Troy, and Cynthia a while back. They’d painted Cynthia to be a sweet woman finding her Prince Charming, and Morgan in the role of evil stepsister who’d gotten what she’d had coming to her. That’d been the last time she’d read the column.
“No. I try not to. Why? Do they have something in there about us?”
Alex contemplated her with that unreadable gaze. Confusion and a growing sense of disquiet slid through her, and she wracked her brain about what could have happened between him leaving her house Sunday night and this afternoon. But nothing. She couldn’t think of anything that would cause this shield of ice just a day later.
“Alex,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply but moved forward to his desk and shifted his computer monitor so she had a clear view of it. For a long moment, she continued studying him, foreboding heavy in the room like a dark raincloud. She obliged him and glanced at the screen…
Horror mushroomed inside her, pushing against her sternum, crawling up her throat, and flooding her mouth. No. She stared at the image. No, no, no.
The picture. Jesus. It looked bad.
Her and Troy from Saturday night, standing near the window at the end of the hall. From the angle of the shot, the photographer must’ve been outside and, using a telephoto lens, had captured the image.
Troy’s hand cupped her shoulder, and such longing and sadness infused her expression that it tugged at her heart. She knew what the picture looked like. A woman cast aside, but still hurting and in love with the man who’d left her. And that man consoling her.
She quickly scanned the passage beneath that hinted at a possible reconciliation, at how Morgan obviously pined for Troy. Bullshit. All of it. But… The picture didn’t lie. At least not in part. The love and longing had been for real. But not for Troy. For Alex.
With one glance at his empty eyes and aloof mask, she didn’t need an 800 number psychic to tell her he wouldn’t believe her. It made sense now. The assistant’s cold reception, his icy demeanor. It made awful sense.
Still… She had to try and explain.
“Alex,” she said, voice trembling. “That picture. It’s not—”
“What it looks like?” He arched an eyebrow, icicles dripping from his tone. “Don’t insult us both. Can you at least try to be more original?”
She shook her head. Why did she feel like she was fighting for her life here? Because she was. Her life with him. Christ. For the first time, she admitted to herself, she wanted one with him. She longed for the fake part of their relationship to be real. So yes, she was battling against his distrust for them. To have an us.
“I know what it looks like, but I told you the truth Saturday night. He was just apologizing. That’s it. Nothing else.”
“Look at that photo, Morgan,” he stated, and for the first time since she entered his office, she detected emotion from him. Anger. “You expect me to accept what you said and not believe my lying eyes? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
His harsh bark of laughter scraped over her skin. Once, she’d longed to hear him laugh, but not like this. Not that serrated, bitter sound.
“Listen,” he said, turning from her and facing the window again. As quick as the anger had appeared, it vanished, leaving it void. Just a flat monotone. “I don’t blame you for still loving him. You were together for a while, and I suppose you can’t just switch your feelings on and off. But this picture…it changes things.”
“Alex, please. I don’t love Troy. I—”
“Morgan, stop.” His low command that held just a hint of hoarseness cut off her renewed attempt at an explanation. “Anyone who looks at that picture will know the truth. You can’t possibly be in love with me when your heart belongs to another man. It would be useless to try and continue acting as if we’re engaged. It’s over. I’ll still deed the building for Phoenix House over to you…”
Whatever else he said drowned beneath the crashing roar in her ears. Her heart pounded, the thud like an off-key drum beat. This couldn’t be… Denial, hopelessness, despair, and pain—such fucking pain—roiled through her like a dark, lightning-plagued storm.
“I don’t give a damn about the building,” she whispered. And at this moment, she didn’t. As much as she loved Phoenix House, right now, she battled for her future—a future with the man she loved. “This isn’t about the building.” She loosed a short, humorless chuckle. “You convicted me before even trying me.”
“Convicted you?” He pinned her with a furious glare that would’ve made most people quiver at the knees. But she wasn’t most people. And she would have to actually feel to be intimidated. A numbness had crept inside her, sleeting her heart and feelings in a sheet of ice. And she was grateful. “If you want to make me the villain in this, go ahead. But the truth can’t be denied. Especially when it’s splashed across the website for millions of people to see,” he gritted out.
“What are they seeing in that picture, Alex?” she demanded, flicking a hand toward the screen. “A woman who’s in pain, scared? A woman who realizes she’s in love with a man she can’t have? They’re right. All of that was true then, and just as true today. But it’s not Troy I was thinking of at that moment.” Her heart lodged in her throat, and her mouth went dry. Swallowing past the obstruction, she forged ahead, even as fear and a bone-deep feeling of fighting a losing battle sunk in her belly. “It was you; I was thinking of you. Of how, in spite of every sound reason I shouldn’t, I fell for you.”
He stared at her, his flinty gaze uncompromising, cold. “Fell for me?” he repeated, disbelief freezing his voice. “I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming, and I’m a little impressed you came up with it so quickly.” He shook his head. “Not that it matters even if I did believe you—which I don’t. Feelings, emotions—they were never part of this deal. You didn’t hold up your end, so we walk away. No strings attached. Isn’t that what you assured me in the beginning? Like I said, it’s impossible for us to continue on. So this is where we part ways.”
She backed away from him until her behind hit the edge of his desk. “That’s just it? Like nothing happened between us? You think I don’t understand what’s going on?” she rasped. “I know you better than you know yourself, Alex. Push me away before I leave. Better you end it now before I can. Too many people have left you, have disappointed you, and I’m just one more.”
He didn’t reply, but the tick along his jaw telegraphed his answer.
“I love you. Completely. Wholly. Foolishly,” she murmured. He flinched, shock flitting across his face before it hardened once more. But before he could tell her she didn’t, she shook her head. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to believe me. But see, that’s the thing about loving you. I don’t need your permission and for damn sure not your approval. You said Troy didn’t deserve me because he had me and let me go. Well, you don’t, either. Because you have me if you would only accept it. But instead, you’re letting me go. And get it straight. I’m not abandoning you or leaving you like the others. You’re shoving me out of the door, out of your life. This is on you, not me. Yes, you bought that building for me, but you didn’t have to pay a dime for what I would’ve freely given you.”
She pushed away from the desk and rounded it. Hungrily, she studied him. Noted every striation in his grey eyes, every curve of his stern mouth, every crag and angle of his face. Because this might be the last time she saw him, she needed to memorize every facet and detail.
“Admit it,” she said, the tears barreling down on her abrading her voice. “You were waiting for this. Well, congratulations, Alex. Now you’re alone. You have what you wanted. But not what you needed. I hope you enjoy it.”
She pivoted and strode across the room and out of the office.
Just make it outside. To the car. That sheet of numbing ice was melting, and she couldn’t be in this building, in his vicinity when it happened. But the car. Yes. Once she got inside, then she could crack in half and cry. But not in front of him. She refused to give him that.
He might have her heart, but he wouldn’t have her tears.
They were hers alone.
Chapter Thirteen
Alex knocked on the door of the South End condo, Kim’s temporary home in Boston, worry a hard knot in his chest. She’d returned from Miami on Tuesday but had called into work the last three days. Kim not showing up to work was alarming enough, but she also hadn’t been answering his phone calls. His worry was careening toward fear.
He couldn’t lose her, too…
Shit. His jaw clenched at the reminder that he’d already lost one person in the last week. Morgan. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t exorcise her from his mind. It’d been five days since she’d walked out. Leaving him.
He’d been the fool believing that for just a second—wishing for just a second—that the ending would be different. If he’d remembered it, held tight to it, he wouldn’t find breathing to be like serrated glass.
He knocked again, this time harder. And let the bite of pain radiating from his knuckles to his wrists suck away some of the pain that had been riding him like a saddled horse for seven days. Five days of minimal sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, he saw Morgan’s face, ashen, her full lips firmed into a sad, straight line, blue eyes dark.
“Admit it. You were waiting for this. Well, congratulations, Alex. Now you’re alone. You have what you wanted. But not what you needed.”
Her.
She’d meant he needed her…her love. He couldn’t erase those words from his head, either. They, more than any they’d said to each other that night, haunted him the most.
“I love you. Completely. Wholly. Foolishly.”
The black hole that had opened up in the pit of his stomach the moment she walked out of his office yawned even wider, deeper.
She’d said she loved him. He’d refused to believe her then and fought to continue disbelieving her now. How could she…love him? They’d known each other less than two months. Had danced a waltz of I like you/I don’t like you for half that time. And how could he forget Troy? She claimed not to have feelings for her ex-fiancé anymore, but she’d been prepared to marry him. And those pictures…the longing on her face, the sadness…they hadn’t lied.
Fuck.
Whipping around, he stalked down the hall, scrubbing a hand over his head.
This building had to have a manager on call. He’d convince him or her to open Kim’s apartment…
“I wasn’t aware a stomach virus required a house call.”
He pivoted, spotting his sister standing in the doorway of her condo. Dressed in a long robe, her arms crossed over her chest and her dark hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, she did appear ill. As he neared her, he noted her dull, grey eyes, the smudges underneath them, and her pale skin. Yet on closer inspection, the glaze in those familiar eyes weren’t from sickness or fever, but pain. The kind he’d been on a first-name basis with this last week.
“What’s wron
g?” he barked. Cupping her shoulders, he studied her wan, tired features, restraining himself from giving her a little shake to speed up the reply. Fear tainted his mouth like he’d sucked a wet penny. Metallic. Dirty. “What’s the matter?”
Stepping back into the apartment, she swept an arm out. “I don’t delight in giving the neighbors a show, so come on in.”
He entered, closing the door behind him, his gaze never leaving his sister. Her arms remained wrapped around herself, almost as if in defense. Or maybe, holding herself together. It required every scrap of his admittedly ragged self-control not to demand an explanation. He’d never seen her this…worn down. Defeated. The word whispered through his head. Experience had taught him, though, commands didn’t work with Kim. She turned stubborn. Another Bishop trait…or flaw.
So he waited. Impatiently.
“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, following her into her living room. From the blanket and pillow on the couch, and the box of tissues on the table, she’d spent most of her time in this room. The television mounted on the opposite wall played some kind of action movie with racing cars and explosions, but no sound emanated from the set.
“I’m fine. But you look like shit.” She arched an eyebrow as she sank onto the couch, and he lowered to the chair adjoining it.
“Save the compliments. I’m here about you. If you’ve been sick for three days, I’m not trusting your self-diagnosis of a stomach virus. But,” he said, leaning forward and tapping the bottle of half-empty Scotch next to the tissue box, “considering your form of medication, I’m surprised you’re not on your ass.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated on a sigh, the weariness weighing down every syllable.
He snorted. “Don’t bullshit the bullshitter. Now tell me. What’s. Wrong?” Then softer, “You’re worrying me.”