“Stop this.”
Stunned, he sat up. Her words came completely out of left field, especially following what they had just done and the things they’d said to each other while doing it!
Struggling to ask, he stuttered, “Babe, you ... you ... don’t really want to ... break up? Do you?”
She shrugged off his touch to her arm.
“Yes, I do. We want different things in life. I want to go to Paris?alone?and pursue my dreams without having to compete with Pemberley for your attention. And you shouldn’t have to compete with my schooling, either. William, it’s the right thing to do ... for both of us.”
“Says who? Me? You? This is bullshit. We made plans, Lizzy.”
“We did,” she blubbered. “But they’ve changed.”
“Lizzy, stop! Listen to yourself. These aren’t your words. You wouldn’t say this shit to me. You don’t honestly believe this crap you’re feeding me, because I sure as hell don’t!”
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t feel it.”
He shut down, turning his face away from hers, heart crashing to the floor. “I ...” he didn’t know what to say, couldn’t beg, couldn’t speak.
Weeping, she said, “Maybe one day ... we’ll meet again, and we can give us another chance, but right now you’re too focused on building your career, and I’m too focused on building mine!”
Stunned, he blurted like a ten-year-old, “But you pinky swore!”
Lizzy raised her hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry ... .It was beautiful while it lasted. We just want different things in life. I have to think of myself for a change, not everyone else. It’s why I came to New York and now, why I’m leaving for Paris.”
“You’re running away. Don’t run from me, of all people.”
Turning her back to him, she rose from the bed, stumbling to the chair for her clothes.
“That’s it? After everything we have promised and done? It was all meaningless? I feel so fucking used!” he barked.
“No, not meaningless. I will never forget the time we shared.” She scooped up her clothes then ran into the bathroom, leaving him sitting in the bed—alone, naked, and in absolute darkness.
That was the last time he’d seen her ... until last night.
The thing is, he would have given it all up just to be with her and make her happy.
Monday, June 16, early morning
Annoyed and unable to sleep at two in the morning, Darcy sat at his kitchen bar, scrolling through news articles and financial reports, attempting to distract his thoughts. Maybe they’d bore him, dozing him off for another three hours before hitting the gym, but blue light and memories worked against him. Not to mention that half the articles were about “the Darcy heir to Pemberley Capital” punching some drunk at the Bingley wedding. One would think the well-heeled alcoholic groom taking a leak at the cocktail hour would get the headline, but that wasn’t even mentioned.
Apart from trying to jog his memory about the wet dream, thoughts of Lizzy only reminded him of the pain he’d felt losing her the first time and subsequently again feeling that same penetrating loss.
Business emails proved equally as frustrating. Amanda’s deep dive into La Tempera’s financials cut another hole in his heart. Based on the email recap, Lizzy was bleeding money, having overextended herself to buy the gallery a year ago. Her financial trouble didn’t surprise him, given that Wickham was part of her life, but what did concern him was the amount of debt she carried. It would take forever to get out from under water. Based on what he’d seen of the gallery and its history in Tribecaestablished by Guy Bernard, it had all the right components for success but needed a strong business manager at the helm. Lizzy was a creative, not a money girl, even if she had made a killing waitressing at Cavalleria and taking on other side jobs to sock away the money for her dream of schooling in Paris. He also did not doubt that she was good at what she did in the gallery, given her exceptional talent and great eye. The current exhibit, which netted a sizeable twenty-percent commission, showcased her discerning taste, and it pleased him to learn the gallery’s fine art mission statement. What annoyed him was the niggling thought that he should help her.
Scrolling past another AP news article, he stopped on one that took him back in time. The proverbial missed bullet. In hindsight, Lizzy had been right and for that alone, he owed her the millions of what would have been the worst investment in Pemberley history: recycled PET waste fashion, a fad now proving to be problematic in the green initiative. Reading the first paragraph claiming ‘Greenware an Environmental Nightmare’ took him back to seven years earlier.
His least favorite aspect of his line of work was the shmooze; his father excelled at it, but he did not. He hated bullshitting, hated putting on a show to sell people on him or Pemberley Capital. He shouldn’t have to. In his opinion, it demonstrated a lack of confidence and disingenuity. His business and financial acumen and delivered results should be enough, but here he sat in one of Manhattan’s swankiest Italian restaurants, discussing a potential offer to an upstart his father thought could use his expertise. Further, he wasn’t so naïve as to see that the mission before him was payback for “pissing away a productive day at the office for a wasted lunch, playing around at your mother’s silly art class.”
Cliff Giles, a suave, talkative clothing designer in his fifties, sat across from Darcy, bragging about how he climbed Mount Kosciuszko at the age of twenty and his dreams to turn discarded plastic bottles into one of the hottest style and eco-friendly trends in history. He wanted to laugh in the guy’s face. C’mon, plastic bottles into fiber? Admittedly, Darcy had no fashion sense or knowledge about rPET, but Pemberley had the cash and the right team to crunch the numbers and R.o.R on this one. Sustainability was the hot-off-the-press trigger word everyone was spewing, so, maybe it was an unconventional avenue worth pursuing but did the trend have longevity to make it worth the investment? He’d research the forecasts and profitability margins, then determine if it was valuable enough to spend the company’s time and money.
But, in the first ten minutes of acquaintance, it became clear that the brainchild of Zero hadn’t done his own deep dive. Sure, he had a vision to take recycling to the next level. Most great companies began with a seed, but the guy’s name brand wasn’t Armani or even Levi’s. Failed fashion fads from a nonentity could leave Pemberley on the hook.
“So, you see, I absolutely need Pemberley Capital to be the first out of the gate with this,” he said, standing beside the bar as they waited for their table in the reserved room.
“How much are you forecasting to complete your vision?”
The guy grinned. “Sustainable textiles aren’t cheap. I’m looking at multi-tiered processing in Sri Lanka. To do it right, I’m seeking a solid investment of three point five million.”
