Page 18 of Faking With You

“I was born and raised in London until I was fifteen. When my parents separated, my mom moved out of the city and my father sent me to a boarding school. When he decided to open a new branch of his company in Vancouver and move here, he brought me with him, sending me to a new boarding school. He hated that I played ice hockey, but he let me keep doing it so I wouldn’t fight him about moving here. Even though the school was here in Vancouver, I didn’t see him much, which was all well and good. I attended university for business and started working for my father’s company. He moved back to London around the same time I started at the company.”

I nod, taking in everything he’s saying, but I roll my lips together because it doesn’t really answer my question.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, not exactly wrong, just that was like a summary of your life. I want to know about your childhood.”

He stares at me thoughtfully for a few moments before asking, “Like? Why don’t you give me an example.”

I wipe my mouth with my napkin and settle it in my lap. “I was born in Vancouver. My parents are Eliana and William Pierce. My father is a tax lawyer, and mother is an accountant. We spent every Sunday going to church in the morning followed by a full day of family activities. We played board games, attended concerts, went to museums, those kind of things. Myparents are the reason I’m so competitive at board games, they never let me win. Math was always my favourite subject, probably because I was good at it. Numbers made sense to me. My parents were, are, very conservative. They were always checking what I watched on TV, who my friends were, looking into every aspect of my life. There were things we just didn’t talk about because it was taboo in my house. I kept my friendships away from my parents because in the fifth grade they told me I couldn’t be friends with my best friend anymore because she was a bad influence. All she had done was dye her hair an unnatural colour, and it was too much for them. I found refuge in books because my parents had no idea what they could contain. I read almost a book a day by the time I hit high school. My parents still live in our family home. I don’t get out to visit them as often as I should, but walking back into that house is like thrusting me back into my childhood.”

“Are your parents' beliefs what lead to your...resolution?”

I nod. As uncomfortable as the rest of this conversation may be, it’s important that Mac know. “Yes. They were very anti-sex growing up. Pushed the sex should be saved for marriage mantra at me. I believed it for a long time because that was the only information I was being fed. I took an anthropology course on sex, gender, and culture and was fascinated. I ended up doing a lot of research and stepped away from my parents' beliefs. But at that point it was also not a subject I wanted to talk about openly. My best friends don’t even know I’m a virgin. Talking about sex is still not easy, but I don’t hold the same taboo views I did. I’ve gotten better about listening to others talk about it, sharing their stories and experiences, but I don’t think I can.”

He takes my hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it and then holds it on the table, his thumb slowly moving over the back of it.

”Like I said, I was born in London. My father is English like you saw when you met him, but my mom is Scottish. My first name is a family name she insisted they use. I’m an only child, which I’m not sure is a blessing or curse. My father wasn’t around much growing up, but I was close with my mom until she left when my parents separated. My father refused to let me go with her. I spent a lot of my childhood doing things with her. She was really into art and would take me to art galleries and classes. By the time I was a teenager, I wasn’t half bad. When she moved out, I stopped painting. My father didn’t approve and it lost the joy it had when I would do it with my mom.”

Sadness fills me at the thought of Mac losing something like that. Not only did he lose his mom, but he lost his connection to her, too. His father already made me wary, but hearing this makes my feelings towards him harden.

We move our conversation to something less heavy, and when I walk to him to the door to say goodbye, he grips my chin and leans down for a kiss. When I close the door behind him, I fall against it. I think I may be in some deep trouble when it comes to Mackenzie Carrington.

CHAPTER 15

Mac

“Mr. Carrington, there’s a woman named Eliza here to see you,” my PA says through the phone system.

My brows shoot up in surprise, but I’m pushing out of my chair and making my way to my office door right away. When I pull it open, Eliza is standing in front of Penelope’s desk with a hesitant smile.

“Eliza,” I say as I walk to her, dropping a chaste kiss on her lips before taking her hand and telling Penelope to hold my calls. The look on her face tells me she was not expecting any of this, but she nods and clears her throat, saying, “Of course.”

Eliza follows me into my office, and I lead her to the chairs in front of my desk. She lays her jacket over the back of the chair and places her purse and a canvas bag on the floor as she sits. Today she’s in one of her sexy-as-sin pencil skirts with a blouse tucked in at the waist and a pair of heels that make her legs look amazing.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask as I take the seat beside her.

She runs her fingers along the hem of her skirt before meeting my gaze. “I figured if we’re doing this right, your girlfriend would potentially pop by your office with food.” She reaches into the canvas bag and produces a container with baked chicken and vegetables and places it on my desk. “Plus I wanted to thank you for Saturday.”

“I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for.”

“Um...” She adjusts in her seat. “For taking it slow. I know it was the right call, and I’m not sure I could have made it myself.”

I grab her hand and run my thumb over the back of it. “I’m going to do what I can to make sure we do this the right way. I need you to be sure about everything we do.”

She smiles and nods. “Well, I should be going. I just wanted to drop this off for you.”

Her response is like whiplash. I’m not ready for her to leave yet. She just got here.

“Stay.”

“I can’t. I’m supposed to meet some coworkers for lunch. I’m already late because I wanted to drop this off.”

I can’t in good conscience ask her not to go, but maybe she’ll let me join her and I can eat this for dinner.

“Why don’t I join you?” The question comes out sounding more like a statement, though, as I stand. “I can eat this for dinner, I’m sure I’ll be stuck in the office until late, so it will be nice to have.”

“You want to come to lunch with my coworkers?” she asks.