All those years ago, she’d lost her father to death, her mother to grief, her brothers to hate. And then she’d lost him. It had been her one measure of solace, when he’d smashed her already broken heart into smithereens, that he hadn’t known the extent to which she hadn’t been fine. Every year she put all her energy into proving to him how fine she was.
Get him out.She had to swallow twice to speak, and finally met his gaze across the floor of the shop. “I’mfine. And you need to leave.”
“I—”
“You need to leave,” she said, with a calm shedidn’t feel. But if messy anger couldn’t chase him out, calm was the only thing that would appeal to logical Nicholas. “Because the longer you stay, the more likely it is that someone will spot your car. And we both know you don’t want to be seen with the daughter of the man who was responsible for your mother’s death.”
Chapter 3
NICHOLAS RANhis fingers over the curves of her breasts, along the delicate arch of her back, down her crossed legs.
Then he reminded himself he was fondling a fucking doodle on his arm.
He snatched his hand away, grateful the other occupants in the boardroom were too busy arguing to notice him stroking his shirtsleeve. Over the past three days, he’d picked up a washcloth no less than a dozen times, determined to eradicate the ridiculous naked fairy Livvy had drawn on him. Instead, he’d done his best to preserve the fading drawing. Last night, he’d even found himself absentmindedly tracing it as he closed his eyes and pretended he was back in that chair, calm as she ran her small hands over him.
It had been a tiny respite. He hadn’t had calm moments like that in a long time with a woman, and especially not with her. He hadn’t even realized he’d been missing that sort of intimacy until he’d had the barest taste of it.
Maybe you can pretend to have it with your pretend girlfriend, dumbass.
Nicholas picked up his fork and moved the lettuce around in his barely eaten salad. Masculine voices were gaining in volume around him, which meant he needed to forget Livvy and his past, and focus on the present.
Easier said than done.
Talking’s not usually what we do when we’re together.She was right. Aside from gasps and filthy words, they hadn’t truly spoken in a decade. Had he really thought he could calmly ask her about her plans and they could both go on their ways? A fool, that’s what he was.
From the second he’d walked in the door, his brain had taken a backseat to his impulses. She’d poked, he’d prodded. She’d demanded, and he’d reacted.
Reacted in probably the dumbest, most immature way when he realized how close he was to ripping off their clothes and fucking her on that rickety table. His only consolation was not giving his imaginary girlfriend a name or backstory, and that was a thin consolation.
He cringed inwardly. It wasn’t his finest moment, and not only because it was the sort of thing a high school boy might do.
Her skin had turned ashen, her face stricken. He hadn’t seen her display hurt in a long time—only physical pleasure and smirks and mocking smiles.
How would you feel if she’d told you she was seeing someone?
Not good. Nicholas speared an olive. He’d made a conscious decision after the first couple of years to not think about what Livvy might be doing on the 364 nights they weren’t together. He didn’t always stick to that resolution, but he’d done okay, probably because she’d always texted him, an implicit sign of her continuing singlehood. When her last birthday had come and gone, he’d spent more time than he’d cared to admit wondering whether she’d found someone.
He’d had sex and relationships with other women. He’d even stuck it out with one woman for a full ten months. But when Livvy’s birthday had rolled around, he’d always been magically single.
Magically. Sure.
He consciously shelved that thought, because if he went down the rabbit hole of how he’d structured his life around one night a year for the past decade, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to concentrate on anything else.
He should be grateful she’d launched that final grenade at him, or he might have spent more time embellishing his imaginary relationship with a nonexistent woman. There was no danger of any further conversation after she’d invoked their parents.
You don’t want to be seen with the daughter of the man who was responsible for your mother’s death.
Sometimes, when he was able to detach sufficiently from his emotions, he could marvel at how the ripples of a single accident could spread out and affect so many lives.
Nicholas swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Regret and sadness and recrimination ate at him, coupled with longing and lust and affection.
He really was a wind-up man in a case. She’d turned the key and ushered in a host of emotions he hadn’t planned on dealing with.
“Nicholas.”
He looked up from his salad and the olive he’d nearly pulverized with his fork. “I’m sorry?”
Brendan Chandler had two modes of looking at his children: icy disinterest and frustrated impatience. The latter stare was what Nicholas was getting treated to right now. “That’s the second time you’ve zoned out.”
