CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“You’re right, Son. I’m not happy you lied. I’m not happy you made up a whole pretend engagement. And I’m not happy you felt you had to be anything other than yourself in order for me to have what I want.” He stops to squeeze my shoulder. “But I did raise you right, because to do what you just did is all I could ask for.”
“I’m glad to do it, Dad,” I say, and soon it will start to feel true. I’ll pour my heart into it, because God knows, I need to get my mind off Charlotte. Maybe I’ll even let her buy me out of the bar so I won’t have to see her anymore. Seeing the woman who broke my heart every day will sting like a yellow jacket with rabies.
Dad claps my back, then tugs me in for a hug. “You’re a good guy. I’m proud of you for owning up to this, and for trying to fix it.” He lets go, parks his hands on my shoulders, and sighs happily. “But I’m not going to let you.”
I knit my brow. “Why not?”
He laughs. His eyes twinkle. “Because you saved me. Because I was racking my brains when it was my turn at bat, trying to figure out how to get out of this deal gracefully. I was having second thoughts about selling to that pompous, chauvinistic pig in the first place, and you gave me the perfect out.” He points to his paper shredder on the floor, and brushes one palm against the other. “Good thing the papers weren’t filed.”
A smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt since Charlotte chopped up my heart, julienned it, and ate it for a snack.
Fine, maybe that’s dramatic. But the organ in my chest is pulverized. My dad’s grin, however, doesn’t hurt. “He really was a pig,” I say, with a quirk in my lips.
“He was completely disrespectful to women, to his wife, to his daughters—I can’t have the Katharine’s legacy carried on by someone like that.”
“No, you can’t. Leave it to us for a little bit longer as we find a better man, or woman, to sell it to,” I say, and a burst of pride courses through me. I’m proud of my dad for making this choice.
He clucks his tongue. “Here’s the thing. I already found someone.”
My eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yes. Not to sell it to.” He stops to roam his eyes over the office and then to the door, as if he’s reflecting on all that’s beyond. “But to run this place while I kick back. I’m not ready to let Katharine’s go, even if I am completely ready to work less.”
“Okay.” I ask tentatively, “Who is it?”
But the instant the words make landfall, I know who it is. Something in my head clicks, like a lock sliding into place. I snap my fingers. “Nina! You asked Nina to take over day-to-day operations?”
He nods and beams. “And she said yes.” He taps his finger against the papers on his desk. “That’s what I was working on when you came in. Her new contract. She’ll be CEO of Katharine’s, and I’ll remain as founder and owner while I sail across the seven seas with your mother.”
“You are such a romantic,” I say, shaking my head in admiration. “She’s perfect for it. She’s been with you from the start, and no one knows the business better.”
“Exactly,” he says, then strides over to his couch by the window overlooking midtown Manhattan. “But since I am a hopeless romantic, and since I have been happily married for thirty-five years, and since I know a little something about what women want, let’s talk about how you’re going to win back Charlotte. I saw the way the two of you look at each other.”
He pats the couch. I sink down next to him, my limbs heavy. “Love the thought. But she made it clear she’s not into me.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“Did she, though?” he asks quizzically.
“I believe her exact words were, ‘It was never real.’”
“Those were her words. And generally speaking, I believe a man should pay keen attention to a woman’s words. But sometimes actions speak louder, and what did Charlotte’s actions tell you?”
An image of her yanking off her ring mocks me.
“That she doesn’t feel the same,” I say bluntly. No point mincing words. He saw the same thing.
Or maybe not. He tilts his head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “I saw a woman who put her heart on the line for you.”
I stare at him. His words don’t compute.
“I saw a woman who took the fall for you,” he continues, gesturing from him to me. “You and I both know that Charlotte didn’t ask you to be her fiancé. You asked her. She said yes to you. She wanted to help you. And today, she wanted to help you, too. It might not have worked the way she intended, but she was trying to save this deal because she cares about you. She was trying to help you stay out of trouble by throwing herself under the bus.”
Something comes alive inside me again.
Not an alien, or anything weird like that, but a racing heart, a spiking pulse, a thrilling possibility.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath, cycling back through the day, the morning, last night. The sandwiches, the noodles, the whiskey. The broken rules, the jealousy, the pure, private moments of bliss and connection. Last night, and the way she said she was falling. How she looked when she was naked on top of me.
I grab the collar of my T-shirt and tug. Whoa. It’s hot in here. Not my brightest move to linger on a sex memory.