Wealthy Playboy (Cocky Suits Chicago Book 7)

by Alex Wolf

  You have to get back home.

  I look away. “I truly am sorry for what happened. I’ve been a mess. But I really have to get going.”

  I start to walk past him, and suddenly his mouth is fused to mine. The second it happens, it’s like heaven, and I kiss him back very briefly, before breaking free.

  His mouth lingers next to my ear. “I’ll be happy to help you deal with your family emergency in any way I can but, Meadow?”

  He pulls back, and I stare up at him, still halfway stunned from the kiss.

  “Fight it all day long, but you’re mine. I want everything. I won’t stop until I get it. We both know the universe is random chaos and fate is bullshit, but the two of us seem to be an exception. I’m here, and I will always be here, for however long it takes.” He stares right into my eyes. “That is a promise.” He turns away and walks off, disappearing into the crowd of people streaming past us.

  I stand there, brainless, just staring in the direction he walked, and I lift a finger and touch my lips where he just kissed me.

  Fucking fuck.

  Wells Covington

  This woman is infuriating, in the best kind of way.

  I can do a Fourier series in my head, but I can’t figure out Meadow Carlson.

  Family issues?

  Why the hell would she have family issues if she’s hidden her entire past from public view? It doesn’t make any sense. I need more information. I need goddamn data. Dominic Romano fucked me out of a weekend on my yacht. I know there’s more to be had than what he has provided.

  I stand up and pace back and forth in my living room. No, I know that’s not true. It’s not at all unlikely that Meadow has made the information impossible to find. I think she’s the only person I’ve met who’s more intelligent than me, and she’s definitely more tech savvy with her network of blogs and media content.

  My impulse is to think she’s just afraid of whatever this is we’re doing, afraid to commit. But I can tell from the look in her eyes. I could tell the second I kissed her. There’s something going on, and I’m getting half-truths. I’ll find out what the hell it is.

  I have to. I’m drowning when she’s not next to me. I can’t breathe without her.

  There’s an emptiness inside me that makes me want to rage, that depresses me, that reaches into my stomach and twists every time I think about her, and the reality we can’t be together sets in. I refuse to accept it. It’s not an option.

  Orson walks in from the hallway. He quickly surveys the information laid out in front of him, me brooding around the room. “Everything okay, sir? Work issues?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  He remains completely still, but his eyes roam up and down. “Meadow issues?”

  I nod, because there’s no way in hell he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s a smart man. “I don’t really have any—” I look away then back at him. “Experience with this kind of thing. You ever been infatuated with a woman?”

  Orson walks over and takes a seat on the couch. “Once. A very long time ago.”

  I flop down on the sofa next to him and sigh. “It’s brutal. I don’t know why it bothers me so much.”

  “You’re used to problems you can solve. Having all the variables, ordering them correctly, and making an assessment.”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  He smiles. “That doesn’t work here. You’re dealing with forces that have no order, pure chaos. That’s what makes it beautiful.”

  “So poetic,” I say in a half-mocking tone.

  He laughs. “Maybe it’s because she shows your weaknesses, magnifies them, makes you vulnerable.”

  “Weaknesses?” I laugh.

  He nods. “Yes, there’s no doubt you’re an outlier when it comes to analyzing investments, amassing resources, cataloguing a library in publication order. Love does not follow those rules. It’s far more special than industry, buildings, politics, capital, intellectual property.”

  “Whoa.” I hold up both hands. “Let’s not get carried away with the goddamn L-word.”

  I expect him to laugh at the joke, but he looks right at me and just stares.

  All the air leaves my lungs, deflating me in my seat. “I sound like such a pussy. I feel like one because I can’t figure this out. I want to solve her.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t need to be solved.”

  “What? Everything is a problem to solve. That’s how the world operates, that’s how life exists. It’s how it evolves, solving problems.”

  “Then perhaps you need to boil it down, like you would with any other problem. I don’t think you’ve been approaching this like you normally would with a problem, because love—” he stares at me when he says it, “—is irrational.”

  I stand up almost immediately and point a finger at him. “You may be on to something.” I pause and stare at him, then draw a blank again. “All these damn feelings involved. What do I know? There’s pain in her eyes. I can feel it every time I look at her. Something is going on, and she doesn’t want to let me in. Says she has a family issue.” I walk around and none of it means fucking anything. I have no clue. The answers don’t come to me. My brain is just—idle, a blank canvas. I want to scream.

  Orson says, “Is there something she cares about that you control? Maybe start with that?”

  I freeze in my tracks, and the information highway in my brain opens up, full bore traffic, nothing but bandwidth. Just like that. My eyes widen, and I say, “Fuck me.”

  “I’d rather not, sir.”

  My shoulders bounce as we both laugh, and I finally compose myself. “I’ve been so goddamn blind. It was right in front of me. I know what to do.”

  Meadow Carlson

  Dad and I have gotten along extremely well since our talk after Mom’s stint in the hospital.

  I tell myself I’m doing it for Mom, to make her feel better around us, but I know it’s not totally true. Every time I look at him, he wins me back a little more. Maybe he has changed. Maybe he’s not really the asshole he turned into before. Perhaps his investment firm was an addiction. I know it was. I try to rationalize letting him back in. I tell myself he was sick. He became obsessed. It’s not so different from a drug addict relapsing, or an alcoholic or gambler.

  He needed treatment, support, and I cut him loose and wrote him off because I didn’t define his issue as a disease.

  That’s not how I would treat anyone else who suffered from addiction. I have charities and investments that help those very people, but when it came to my own family, I didn’t see the writing on the wall.

  Then, I remember how he crushed me. Crushed my mother.

  Regardless, I’m starting to feel a little normal again, like a part of me has returned, completed what makes me, well, me.

  We sit around the living room, waiting impatiently while the hospice doctor is in with Mom for a visit. We can’t bring ourselves to even speak. I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  This is torture, and I know soon, Mom will be gone, and Dad will be the only family I have left. Then, he’ll be back in prison, and I’ll be all alone. I wish we had more time for this little experiment with him back in our lives, with her happy and healthy, instead of it being so forced. That’s how it was supposed to happen, if it ever happened at all.

  Dad and I sit there, trying to appear hopeful, even though we both know what’s about to happen. Mom has been declining fast. Headaches, dementia-type symptoms, mixing up our names, sudden bursts of irritation. I think some of it is the steroids they’re giving her, and some of it might be the tumor growing.

  I’ve never believed in a higher power. It’s always seemed silly, something us humans created to help ease the cycle of life and give us a sense of purpose. But like all humans, I succumb to that need and pray over and over I get some more time. Maybe we get a miracle, despite the odds I’ve calculated meticulously from the second I found out about her diagnosis.

  The doctor walks out of her
room, and Dad and I leap to our feet and stomp toward him. I almost feel a little sorry for the guy. His face tells the whole story, though, confirms every instinct I had and hoped against. I know Dad sees it too.

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Wish I had better news, but I don’t think she has much time left. I’ve started her on morphine to help ease the pain.”

  Dad and I both do our best to hold back the tears.

  The doctor takes a deep breath. “This conversation is hard, but my recommendation to you would be to go ahead, say goodbyes, those types of conversations. If there’s any end-of-life paperwork you need ironed out, I would get that done. I honestly cannot say when cognitive capacity may be gone, but my guess would be soon. Again, I’m very sorry.”

  I sniff hard and nod. “O-okay, thank you.”

  “Yeah, th-thank you,” says Dad.

  “I’ll have some additional paperwork for you guys, but it can wait. Just be with her as much as possible, get every second you can. We’ll make her comfortable.” He gives Dad a pat on the shoulder, then walks past us to the front door.

  Dad and I stand there for a minute, both dreading walking through that door. I know my mother has told me constantly not to beat myself up, but I’m seriously hammering myself like a boxing speed bag right now.

  I always had this picture of us; me growing old, working less. This mental image of sitting on the deck, drinking wine, going to Italy or France and checking out the young waiters together, her living into her eighties or nineties.

  Fuck cancer.

  Dad hesitates for a second, and for the first time in a long time, I feel terrible for him. In my heart, I know how much he loves my mother, how he hasn’t even looked at another woman since he met her. He looks like he’s going to hang back and let me go in first, but I reach down and take his hand, and lead him into the room next to me. Even with everything between us, I don’t want to do this alone, and I know he doesn’t want to either.

  The second he sees Mom his hand starts to tremble.

  She rolls her head over to look at us and still manages to smile when her eyes catch me holding his hand. It’s literally about the only thing that gets me through this moment.

  “Hey, guys.”

  I sniff again and do anything I can to hold back the tears. Dad’s a damn mess, trying to do the same. We make our way to the bed, and Dad walks around and sits next to her. Each of us take one of her hands.

  “I’m dying.” She says it like she’s already at peace with it.

  It’s so crazy to me. Dad and I are the scientific brains, the ones who should be able to accept this, and we’re struggling the most. Mom has always been this way, totally resilient, so accepting of whatever comes her way while Dad and I always fought against life, problems, the laws of the universe, no matter what.

  I wish I could be more like her.

  Even on her deathbed, she’s so strong, stately almost.

  “What did the doctor tell you?” I say.

  “Everything he just told you, I’m sure.”

  Dad can’t even bring himself to speak yet, so I try to do enough talking for both of us.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She lightly shakes her head. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I have no regrets, and I’m not dead yet.”

  Dad pulls her hand up to his face and kisses her knuckles.

  She stares at him for a long moment, like she’s struggling to think, then says to him, “Don’t blame yourself for this. I know you will, but what you did has nothing to do with this, okay?”

  He looks away.

  “Robert, look at me.”

  Slowly, he turns back.

  “You are the love of my life. You were always the only one.”

  Dad’s lip quivers, like his words are caught in his throat. “I would do anything to do it all over again.”

  “I know,” says Mom. She looks at me, then back at Dad. “You still have time to make up for things. Please, both of you, that’s the only thing I want. For you to forgive each other. I always knew my purpose was this family. I screwed up as much as anyone too. We all did. But the best thing I can do is use this situation to bring us back together before I’m gone.”

  What she’s saying is so damn difficult. I hate the man next to her, and yet I love him at the same time. How is that even possible?

  They both stare at me, as if this all rests on my shoulders, but what am I supposed to do? Mom could basically be gone any day at any moment.

  I look at Dad then back at Mom and say, “I’ll try. I promise.” I don’t want to lie to my mother and tell her everything will be fine. That’s not fair, it’s not who I am. I kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll give you two a few minutes.”

  I know if I sit there, I’ll do all the talking and Dad will be a pile of mush. This will force him to say the things he needs to say to her.

  “I love you, sweetie.”

  I break down in tears and hug her. “I love you too, Mom.”

  I wait until I’ve stood up, turned around, and my back is to her before I cover my mouth. I just need to get through the door, then I can break down. The worst part is I feel so terrible for my mom, but I’m just so mad at myself. So angry at the world in general. This wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  I walk from the room and close the door, but I can’t even move once it’s shut. My feet are like concrete, like giant magnets attached to the ground, my legs too heavy to lift. I want to hit the wall so hard it breaks my fingers.

  I stand there for a second, and I hear Mom start to talk. I shouldn’t stand here. Shouldn’t listen in on this moment between them, but I can’t move.

  “I never saw things playing out like this.”

  Dad’s still a blubbering mess. “I kn-know. I’m so sorry.”

  Mom’s tone changes drastically. “You should be sorry. Did you see your daughter?”

  My eyes vault open the second it happens. Never in my life have I heard my mother speak to my dad this way. She never talked down to him, ever, anytime I was around. When he went away, she always defended him in front of me. It drove me nuts. Who is the woman in there? Is it the cancer?

  “Do you know how many years I spent jealous of the connection you had with her? How close you were with her? I couldn’t relate to her, be what she needed me to be. She was just like you. A mother is supposed to have that kind of relationship with her daughter.” She continues through her teeth. “But I never got angry about it. I was happy. And you threw it all away. You destroyed us. I’m not even mad about what it did to me. She deserved her father. She deserved better. And if you don’t fix the mistakes you made, right those wrongs, she’s going to end up just like you.”

  I realize I’m leaning in a little close to the door. The tears are gone now.

  “I know. I’ll try.”

  “Do more than try!” Mom pauses for a moment. “You g-got her during the best y-years.” Mom’s voice cracks. “She adored you. Lived for you. No matter how much I loved her, she always wanted her dad. Always. But I never hated you for it. As long as she was smiling, had joy written all over her face, even if it was for you, it made me happy. All I want is for her to be happy. She works too much. She isolates herself from the world. You’re about to be all she has left. You got the years when she was young, and you get the last years too, and it’s not fair, but it is what it is. You’ve been given a gift, twice. So, if you fuck it up, I will come back and haunt you from the grave. Are we clear?”

  I didn’t realize my mouth could drop open any farther when Mom says ‘fuck.’

  It’s one of the most emotional moments of my life, and I’m just stunned. In a daze. I never really knew she felt that strongly about me, or anything really. I always knew she loved me, that she tried as hard as she could, but I never really knew exactly how much she loved me, how much she sacrificed because of that love, until now.

  Nothing she said is incorrect, either. I’ve always loved my mother, but it was always a dif
ferent connection than with my dad. Mom tried as hard as she could to understand me, but she just never really did.

  “I won’t mess it up this time. I promise.”

  “Good.” Mom sighs. “Sorry, that had to be said while I can still think and talk.”

  “Don’t apologize. I needed to hear it.”

  “You’re a good man. Cursed with too much intelligence and too much impulse, but I know you love us. And I know how much you love her. I’m sure you’ve punished yourself enough already, but she may punish you some more, and you will take every last ounce of it with a smile.”

  “I will.” Dad pauses, and it sounds like he laughs a little, trying to deflect with humor like he always does. “You’re pushier than I remember.”

  “Oh nonsense, I was the only one who could keep you in line. That’s why you married me.”

  Dad sniffs a little. “It’s true.” He pauses. “You’ve told me everything I can do for Meadow, and I give you my word I won’t fail again. I can’t. I know what I need to do, that lesson has been learned. But what can I do for you?”

  “Hold me for a little while. I want to remember what it was like when we were young and stupid and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The whole reason we have our little girl in our lives.”

  Dad adjusts on the bed, and I can’t help but realize I’m smiling a little. It’s like I just learned my mom is a whole different person. Someone she couldn’t show me because it was her job to raise me. A strange feeling of comfort comes over me, but I walk away to the living room and sit down on the recliner, thumbing through my phone.

  I should feel bad for listening in, but I don’t. It was exactly what I needed. I needed to know that side of her. When I got older, moved out of the house, my mom did become more of my friend, but I know she’ll probably never open up to me the way she did with my dad. I just—in this moment—I feel like I did when I was a kid, and I forgot just how goddamn good that feeling is, and how much I’ve missed it ever since he went away.

  I want them to have their time together. She deserves it, to have a man who loves her hold her in his arms.