Aaron's Will

by DawnMarie Richards

  Dylan’s breath came heavy and gasping as he imagined being trapped in the confines of an elevator for fifteen floors alone with Morgan. He lifted the mug to his lips to ease his suddenly parched throat, but was met with the feel of cold ceramic. He’d long since drained the contents. Placing the cup on the edge of his desk, he raked his fingers through his hair.

  For the last half hour he’d signed one document after another, each one a tether binding him to the one woman on the face of the Earth he most desperately needed to keep distant. The impulse to run made his legs twitch. But Aaron had meticulously made certain Dylan had no choice in the matter.

  And none of it made the least bit of sense. Aaron was not arbitrary. He would have been well aware Dylan had little training and no experience acting as executor of a trust, never mind being left in charge of approximately fifteen million dollars in cash and assets.

  Aaron wouldn’t assign such a responsibility on a whim, but Dylan couldn’t dismiss feeling manipulated.

  “What the hell did you hope to accomplish, Aaron?” he whispered into the quiet.

  Exhaustion settled over him like a leaden blanket. His shoulders drooped and his arms fell heavily to his sides.

  His confusion about Aaron’s motivations was completely beside the point. The real problem was physically distancing himself from Morgan was no longer an option. He had to work with her but, for the life of him, he didn’t know how he was going to manage being in the same building with her on a daily basis, never mind the same room.

  Something had been triggered between them. Dylan wasn’t the least bit confident he knew how to disarm it or if he even possessed the tools for the job. All he knew was he had to try. If this bomb went off the collateral damage would be incalculable.

  Chapter 6

  “Ms. Shore?” Mrs. Lowe’s voice over the intercom seemed loud in the quiet office. “A Mrs. Bennett is here to see you.”

  “Oh?” Morgan straightened in her chair on hearing the name of her unexpected visitor. “Please send her in.”

  Morgan scarcely had time to run a hand over her hair and wipe the shock from her face before Lillian swept into the room.

  “Good morning, Sorella.”

  Morgan got to her feet and came around her desk. Immediately, she was enfolded by the scent of Lily-of-the-Valley followed directly by the arms of the woman wearing the perfume.

  “Lillian,” Morgan was surprised at how easily her new friend’s name came to her lips. “What are you doing here?”

  Breaking their embrace to hold Morgan at arms’ length, Lillian laughed.

  “It is a surprise, yes?”

  “Yes, a very nice surprise. Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

  “Nothing for me.” Lillian smoothed the front of her perfectly pressed dress suit, the motion calling attention to her trim but curvaceous figure.

  “Then let’s sit down.” Morgan indicated the small sofa on the far side of the room.

  Lillian made the simple activity into a passion play. It began with a precision turn, flourished by a fan of silken black hair. Then there was the hypnotic sway of hips beneath fern green tweed. Lillian sauntered like a model, placing the heel of her foot directly in front of the toe of the other in a liquid progression fascinating to watch. Once she arrived at the couch, she ran her hands along the backs of her thighs before sitting, a picture perfect side-saddle with legs crossed at the ankles.

  “Will you join me?” Lillian indicated the sofa beside her.

  “Does that come naturally to you?”

  “Come naturally to me? What do you mean?”

  “Moving like that.” Morgan finally found the nerve to cross the room feeling in comparison like a primate crossing its cage. “It’s like watching a ballet.”

  “What a pretty thing to say.”

  Lillian lowered her head to the side and for a moment Morgan thought it was out of embarrassment. She quickly realized Lillian was looking for something inside her purse.

  “I am the postman today.” Her face transformed by a girlish grin, she handed Morgan a crisp, cream-colored envelope.

  “What’s this?” Morgan wondered aloud even as she slipped a finger beneath the back flap.

  “An invitation. Mr. Bennett mentioned to me how much he misses the parties from when he was a young man and since it is our anniversary next month I’ve decided to surprise him.”

  Morgan quickly read the information on the card.

  “A harbor cruise?”

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “It sounds wonderful and it will give me an excuse to go shopping for a new dress.”

  “Then you will come?”

  “Of course I’ll come.” Morgan laughed, delighted by Lillian’s eager excitement. “But why did you have these lovely invitations made up if you are inviting people in person?”

  “Oh, I posted most of them. There were simply a few, like you. I wanted to be sure.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

  “No, I wanted the excuse. I have not seen you since we spoke at Mr. Field’s memorial and I thought it was time. I’ve heard much has changed in your life.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “I heard you finished your schooling.”

  “I did.”

  “I thought there might have been a celebration.” Lillian sounded disappointed.

  “There might have been if, well, if Aaron were still with us. But as it was, I didn’t even let the Tibbes come out for the ceremony.” Morgan reassured her. “But once I got my diploma in hand, all I could think about was getting back here and getting everything settled. I never imagined all of this.” She swept her arms out, indicating the room and what it represented.

  “You enjoy the work?”

  “I’m sure I will once I actually start doing some. Right now, I’m knee deep in funding requests and fundraising proposals and generally getting myself up to speed. I’m glad I’ve worked here as a summer intern since my sophomore year in high school, but it’s still strange to suddenly be at the top of the organization chart.”

  “I can only imagine the difficult of taking on so much responsibility. What about your co-workers?” Lillian leaned forward, her voice hushed conspiratorially. “Are they being helpful to you or…?”

  “Absolutely,” Morgan interrupted, making Lillian smile before straightening. “They couldn’t be nicer.”

  “And where are you living?”

  “Aaron left half of Seascape to me, so I’m back at home.”

  “With the young Mr. Field? Is he behaving himself?”

  “Behaving himself?” Morgan was taken aback by Lillian’s unflinching question. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Sorella,” Lillian informed her. “I saw. Everyone saw. At the memorial service, when you helped him out of the limousine, on the front steps of your home and, again, when we all were inside. Surely you knew.”

  Morgan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. Everyone saw, Lillian had said. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She’d thought the Tibbes and Dylan had concealed and diffused Philip’s outrageous actions before anyone had realized how out of control he had been. Evidently she had been fooling herself.

  Morgan felt Lillian’s warm hand cover hers. “I’m sorry. I’m not telling you to upset you. I only wanted to know if you are safe in the house with the young man.”

  Slipping her hand out from under Lillian’s, Morgan rose and crossed the room to perch on the corner of her desk. “I’m perfectly safe at Seascape.”

  “Of course, perfectly safe.”

  But Lillian’s tone left no doubt she was unconvinced on the subject of how perfect or safe things were. Morgan averted her gaze, concerned Lillian could somehow deduce the disquieting nature of her relationship with Philip by looking into her eyes. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Lillian finally dispelled it.

  “And what about Mr. Drumlin?”

  Morgan leaned forward gripping t
he edge of the desk.

  “Mr. Drumlin?” The break in her voice completely ruined her attempt at indifference. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since the morning Aaron’s will was…”

  Simply mentioning that morning brought a hot flush to Morgan’s cheeks and her breath came heavy through her lips. Her eyes went to Lillian’s face. She watched nervously as her altogether too astute guest’s expression went from one of polite curiosity to pointed inquiry.

  “Really?” Lillian’s bright green eyes seemed able to pierce any and all of Morgan’s defenses. “I had heard Mr. Drumlin was put in charge of the Foundation’s finances?”

  “Yes,” Morgan allowed warily.

  “Well it is curious.”

  “Is it?”

  “I am certainly not an expert, you understand, but I believe I have learned a thing or two from my husbands. Mr. Drumlin is, in effect, the CFO of Field Foundation, no? And you are the CEO. Wouldn’t it be expected the two of you would need to work closely together, especially now, at the start of things?”

  Morgan opened her mouth to deny Lillian’s assertion, but found herself pressing her lips together. She had been dealing with so many things, there hadn’t been time to give much thought to the absence of interaction between the two of them. In fact, the few times she had allowed herself to think about Dylan had only resulted in bringing up the disturbing memory of those mortifyingly out of control, erotic moments in his office. As a result, she usually tried very hard not to think about him.

  “He’s avoiding me.” The abrupt truth of it made Morgan drop her head.

  “Hmm, how strange. I’ve never known Mr. Drumlin to shirk his responsibilities.”

  “Something happened…” Morgan hesitated.

  She and Lillian were largely strangers. Sharing the intimate details of what had happened with Dylan seemed, at best, ill-advised and, at worst, reckless. But the enticement of divulging her heavy secret to someone, someone who might actually be able to help her make sense of it, was immense.

  There was the whisper of silk followed by a comforting touch on Morgan’s shoulder.

  “Sorella,” Lillian implored gently. “Come tell me.”

  Taking Morgan by the hand, Lillian led her back to the sofa. Once they were settled, Lillian retrieved her purse from the floor and, snapping it open, located a tissue and pressed it into Morgan’s palm. Then she sat quietly. An aura of understanding patience seemed to encircle Morgan.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” she faltered.

  “Start at the beginning,” Lillian offered gently.

  Not wanting to recount what had happened in the limousine with Philip even though it had been the catalyst for what had followed, Morgan offered a fib.

  “I don’t really know how it started.” She dropped her chin finding it difficult to meet Lillian’s compassionate regard. “Dylan asked to see me in his office when I arrived for the reading. He hadn’t seen me since the memorial and he had questions, like you, about Philip.”

  She could only hope Lillian would accept the hastily concocted explanation for why she and Dylan were alone in his office in the first place. When there was no question or comment, she thought it safe to continue.

  “We had an argument.”

  “An argument? About what?”

  Morgan took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping against hope Lillian wouldn’t pursue the matter.

  “I don’t really remember. It doesn’t matter because it wasn’t the argument. It was what happened after or, rather, during it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. One moment we were having a rather heated discussion and the next we, well,” Morgan groaned at both the memory and in recounting it. “In the next we were kissing and groping, practically devouring one another.”

  “Fighting and then kissing? In Mr. Drumlin’s office before the reading of Mr. Field’s will?”

  “I know, I know. It sounds so sordid. It was sordid.”

  Morgan hazarded a peek and was troubled to see Lillian trying rather unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “No, no. It is only I suspect why Mr. Drumlin is avoiding you. What you’ve told me, it is as if you are speaking of some other man. The man I know would never allow himself to lose control as you’ve described. Never.”

  “That’s what I said to him after.” Morgan swallowed. “After it was over.”

  “Ah. And how did your, ah, assignation end?”

  “We were interrupted. Dylan’s assistant called us into the reading. And Dylan,” Anger returned at the memory and tears of frustration blurred Morgan’s vision. “One second he’s on top of me, kissing me like he couldn’t stop if he wanted to and the next he can’t bring himself to look at me. What am I supposed to think?”

  “What do you think about it?” Lillian asked, a curious twinkle in her eyes, but her face, once again, projecting no more than serene interest.

  “I don’t know what to think. I’ve got lots of theories and they go round and round in my head until I think I’ll go crazy.”

  “Would you allow me to tell you what I think?”

  “Please, Lillian.”

  “We both know Mr. Drumlin is a man who prides himself on professional and personal control. And it is rather obvious to me from what you’ve told me, you unsettle him a great deal. I believe Mr. Drumlin is avoiding you because he doesn’t trust himself with you. Interesting, no?”

  “Not to me.” Morgan’s breath hitched in her chest. “To me it is confusing and frightening and, most of all, it’s cruel.”

  “Sorella.” Lillian folded Morgan into her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan managed between sobs.

  “Hush, hush,” Lillian crooned, the caress of her hand over Morgan’s hair a soothing comfort.

  “I love him.” Morgan’s voice dropped to a whisper as she confessed the secret she never thought she would say aloud to another human being. “I’ve loved him almost from the moment I met him. It took me a long time to recognize it for what it was and not some stupid teenage crush. Then, when he broke off contact with me, I struggled to come to terms with it. But I did. I had to let go. I had to let him go.”

  “My poor Sorella,” Lillian commiserated.

  After some moments, Morgan pushed back. “What was he thinking?” she wondered.

  “Mr. Drumlin?”

  “No, Aaron.” Morgan raised her eyes to look toward the ceiling, blotting the tears from beneath her lashes. “His will, it’s changed everything.” She twisted the damp tissue in her hands. “Two months ago my plan was to finish my master’s program and start living my life. I guess I thought I might come back to work at Field Foundation, but I intended to start at the bottom, work my way up, maybe get my own place after a time. Now I’m the executive director of the company I interned at last summer. I’m half owner of a seaside mansion with a man who feels I cheated him out of his birthright. And I’m financially tied to another man who has let me know in no uncertain terms he has no interest in being attached to me in any way. Why would Aaron do this to me?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Field never would have wanted to cause you pain, but he must have had his reasons, don’t you agree? And as to Mr. Drumlin, I don’t know the particulars of your past relationship with him but judging by what you’ve told me today I can only assume things have changed between you. It seems to me Mr. Drumlin wants you quite badly.”

  “I don’t think you’d say so if you’d seen his face when he heard he would be administering the Foundation’s trust. He knew it would mean he’d have to work with me. He looked like he’d been given a death sentence.”

  “Maybe so, but it only makes me more certain I am right. You unsettle him. I think you might even frighten him.”

  “What’s he got to be frightened of? I’m the one who’s going to end up hurt. And there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Sorella!” Lillian scolded, making Morgan jump. “You are not helpless.” She cont
inued in her usual measured manner. “Mr. Drumlin would like to avoid you? Do not let him. Do not give him the time to rationalize his feelings for you. Make him face you. If, as you say, you love him there is, of course, the possibility you may get hurt. But you don’t have to wait for it to happen to you. Make him deal with you.”

  “How, Lillian?” Morgan asked, excited by the possibility of curbing some portion of her careening life.

  “Well…” Lillian paused, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Is there a reason you cannot schedule a meeting to discuss the finances of the Foundation?”

  A broad smile curved Morgan’s lips.

  “No…there isn’t. No reason what so ever.”

  * * * *

  By the time Dylan realized someone was at his door, the knocking had become incessant. Still, he couldn’t seem to make himself rise from his position, splayed across the length of the russet leather couch in the center of the living room.

  It had taken a long, hot shower and three trips to the bar in the far corner of the room before he had finally felt any measure of relief. He was being haunted. Haunted by images of Morgan, in his office, in his arms, beneath his body. He’d suffered through days of knowing she was only as far away as the opposite side of the building, every hour more hellish than the last.

  There was the damned knocking again.

  Without moving, Dylan glanced toward the sound. It didn’t matter who it was, he was in no mood for company. He got up, but headed back to the bar. He had the decanter in hand when there was another knock followed by a familiar voice.

  “Darling, I can hear you moving about in there.”

  “What the hell?” He complained even as he made his way to the entryway on unsteady legs.

  Needlessly checking the peephole, he smiled in spite of himself. He stretched up to hook his hand over the top of the door as he opened it.