Page 6 of Beautiful Mistake


  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “I took some time off. My parents pushed me to go back to college. I needed something to focus on. They wanted me to study finance and work in the family business. We settled on a degree in music because I couldn’t imagine not having it be a big part of my life. Later realized I was good at teaching musical composition, so kept going until I finished my doctorate.” He lifted the beer bottle and tilted it to me before bringing it to his lips. “And here I am.”

  “And here you are.” I smiled. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  The moment was interrupted when Al yelled from the bar. “You’re all closed out, Rachel.”

  I turned and waved. “Thanks, Al.”

  “You’re done for the night?” Caine asked.

  “Yep. Do you want me to get you another beer?”

  “No, thanks. I should get going.”

  I was disappointed, even after a long day of teaching and working a full shift on my feet.

  After I said goodnight to Al, Caine walked me to my car. He opened the door so I could get in and held on to the top.

  “By the way, Professor Clarence was the topic of my faculty meeting today.”

  We’d never spoken about it, and I wasn’t sure if he knew I’d been his teaching assistant last year.

  “He was such a good person. I worked for him last year.”

  “I heard that. Your name was mentioned, actually, along with another student’s. You both had him as faculty advisor for your thesis.”

  I nodded. “He helped me pick my topic. It was a subject near to his heart.”

  “You haven’t found a faculty member to replace him as your advisor yet?”

  “No. Not yet. I need to get on that.”

  “I’ll take you on, if you want.”

  The surprises kept coming tonight. “You will?”

  “Think about it.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Caine shut my door and waited for me to start the car. As I pulled away from the curb, I waved one last time and thought to myself, I have a new advisor.

  Caine

  Fifteen years ago

  What the fuck am I thinking?

  I sat waiting in the quiet confessional, not even stoned this week. It was almost one o’clock, and Liam was long gone—like I should’ve been. We’d finished our last day of volunteering an hour ago and yet…here I was, waiting for a little girl who had enough trouble at home and sure as shit didn’t need my ass pretending to be a priest to add to her problems.

  But I couldn’t not show up.

  I had no idea why I’d told the little girl to come back this week to begin with.

  Actually, that’s a crock of shit. The reason had played over and over in my mind every night before I went to bed. I couldn’t get her little voice out of my head.

  Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch with a cigarette in his hand, and I think about not putting it out and letting the house go on fire. That was her confession.

  I wasn’t even positive if thinking about letting someone hurt himself was a sin. But I wasn’t going to let this poor little girl feel guilty over wanting someone who I suspected wasn’t a good guy to get hurt. Fuck that shit.

  I also needed to know what the asshole was doing to make an innocent little girl have those types of thoughts. She should’ve been thinking about ponies and unicorns, not her house catching on fire. My mind automatically thought the worst.

  I was just about to give up—and light up on the way home to clear my head of the shit running through it—when the door creaked open on the other side.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered.

  “Didn’t we talk about this last week? You aren’t sinning by thinking bad thoughts. You’d have to act on them to sin.”

  Of course, that wasn’t true necessarily—the Catholic Church had some screwy rules—but it was the only thing I could do to take some of the weight off her shoulders right now.

  “Alright.”

  I knew from last week that she was skittish on sharing. I’d need to gain her trust if she was going to let me in on whatever was going on at home. So, I started her talking about the first thing I could think of.

  “How was school this week? Do you like your teacher?”

  “It was okay. I don’t mind my teacher so much, but Tommy, who sits next to me, is gross. He always has his hand down his pants.”

  Somehow I managed not to laugh. Don’t we all. “You should keep away from him. He sounds like trouble.”

  “He always smiles at me.”

  “Yeah. He’s no good. What grade are you in?”

  “Fourth.”

  I’d guessed right. She had to be about ten.

  “Did you tell your mother about him?”

  She was quiet for a long time before responding. “My mother died last year.”

  Shit. I’d been afraid there was no woman in the picture, for some reason. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” I paused then added, “She’s in Heaven now. It’s a nice place.”

  “Does the pain stop when you die?”

  “Was your mom sick?”

  I saw the outline of her head through the square-latticed screen opening and knew she was nodding.

  “She’s not in pain anymore.”

  “Is Yoda there, too?”

  I furrowed my brows. “The little green guy from Star Wars?”

  She giggled. The sound was better than music. “No. Yoda was my dog. He had ears that stuck out of his head weird. He died, too.”

  “Oh. Yeah, Yoda is in Heaven with your mom. They’re hanging out.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Is it just you and your dad now?”

  “He’s not my dad.” She answered that question really damn quick. Too quick.

  “Who do you live with?”

  “My stepfather. He doesn’t like me very much, most of the time. But sometimes he likes my sister.”

  “You have a sister? Is it just the two of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your sister older?”

  “She’s fifteen.”

  I had a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. “How do you know he doesn’t like you very much? And what makes you say he likes your sister sometimes?”

  She was quiet. “I should go. Benny is going to come home from work soon. He gets mad easy.”

  “Benny? Is that your stepfather?”

  “Yes.”

  I wanted to know more, but I definitely didn’t want to be the cause of her getting in trouble.

  “Come back next week. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Rachel

  On Friday afternoon, I took more time than usual getting ready. I’d always liked school. It gave me things to focus on when I was feeling unsteady. But these days, it definitely wasn’t my studies that I looked forward to.

  Caine’s office door was open when I dropped by unannounced. We made eye contact, and he used the hand not holding the cell to his ear to point to a chair opposite him in front of his desk. I listened to one side of his conversation while I looked around his office.

  “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  He listened and then rolled his eyes. “I would prefer you didn’t do that.”

  There was a woman on the other end of the phone. I could hear the pitch of her voice even if I couldn’t make out her words. I tried to act like I wasn’t paying attention, checking out the art on his walls and the books on his shelf, but I was definitely listening.

  “Ellen Werman and I are not going to be a couple no matter what table you seat her at.”

  Pause.

  “Because I have a penis, and Ellen doesn’t care for them, Mother.”

  Pause.

  “Okay. I have to go now. Someone just came into my office. I’ll see you soon.”

  After he hung up, Caine let out a deep breath and tossed his phone on the desk.

  “Is it just your penis Ellen doesn’t like, or peni
ses, in general?”

  He smirked. “Ellen has been out since eighth grade. My mother is the only person on the planet who still doesn’t get it. She’s my father’s business partner’s daughter. We’re good friends, but my mother’s had her heart set on us getting married for the last thirty-three years. She’s called me four times to talk about the seating chart at some charity event my parents host every year, and it’s not for two months. I should have just told her I couldn’t wait to sit next to Ellen and left it at that.” His phone started to buzz again, and he swiped to ignore it. “Do you have an extra-help session this afternoon? I thought that was on Thursdays.”

  “It is. I just wanted to come by and tell you, if the offer is still open, I’d really appreciate if you would take over as my thesis advisor.”

  Caine leaned back in his chair. “It’s about time. I was starting to think you were going to turn me down.”

  More like I didn’t want to look desperate. “Well,” I teased. “I did have to consider my other offers.”

  “Is that so? Guess I should consider myself lucky then.”

  I grinned. “Guess so.”

  “Why don’t you email me what you’ve done so far. I’ll take a look at it, and we can sit down and go over it one day next week.”

  “Okay.” I dug my iPhone out of my purse. “What’s your email?”

  He slid his phone over to me on the desk. “Put your number in. I’ll text you my contact information to save.”

  After we exchanged details, I caught the time on my phone. “I better run.”

  Caine eyed me suspiciously. “Date?”

  “No. They’re having a TA get-together tonight, and I told Ava I’d go with her.”

  He nodded. “Have fun. Be safe.”

  The next morning, I’d just gotten out of the shower when my phone buzzed, indicating a new text. I finished towel-drying my hair and grabbed my glasses. I was surprised to find it was from Caine. It was the first text we’d ever exchanged, and my body stirred as I read it.

  Caine: Do you still visit Umberto on Sundays?

  Even though I’d emailed him my thesis-in-progress last night before going out, I hadn’t expected him to read it so soon. It made me excited and nervous at the same time. I was proud of my work with Umberto, but my rough draft contained a lot of personal thoughts and notes. Having Caine read it made me feel vulnerable.

  Rachel: Yes, every Sunday.

  Caine: I’d like to join you, see the study you’ve been working on first hand.

  My pulse increased. Get a hold of yourself, Rachel. It’s Professor West working on a thesis with a graduate student, not a sexy man asking you on a date. He didn’t even find it proper for me to fraternize with undergraduate students. Yet any contact from him made me feel like an excited teenager whose phone finally rang after hours of waiting for the cute boy to call. God, I’m pathetic.

  Rachel: That would be great. You’re welcome any time.

  The dots jumped around as I waited for his response.

  Caine: How about tomorrow?

  Rachel: Sure. I usually try to arrive at ten so I don’t interrupt his daily activities.

  Caine: Try to arrive at ten…is that code for somewhere between ten and noon?

  Maybe. I grinned down at my phone.

  Rachel: Lucky for me, Umberto isn’t such a stickler for punctuality.

  Caine: I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty.

  Rachel: At my apartment?

  Caine: Unless that’s a problem. If you prefer to take two cars, I can meet you there.

  Rachel: No. One car is great. I’d like that.

  I gave Caine my address and then got dressed and ready for work. Though the day seemed to drag on forever, the smile I wore didn’t leave my face at all.

  I wasn’t sure of the proper protocol for your boss picking you up at home. Did I go outside at nine-thirty or wait for him to ring the bell and invite him up? The answer was decided for me at twenty after nine when my buzzer sounded, and I wasn’t finished getting ready yet.

  I pressed the intercom. “Caine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Third floor. I’ll buzz you up.”

  I hit the button that unlocked the main door to my building and opened the door to my apartment. When Caine stepped off the elevator, I took a deep breath to try to hide my reaction to his appearance. He was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen, but even in a simple, fitted navy polo and jeans, he still managed to look sexy as hell. I realized it wasn’t the clothes he wore, but the way he wore them that seemed to work for me. He had a quiet confidence and casual elegance that I found extremely attractive. The stubble he tended to sport by mid afternoon was clean-shaven, and even though I really liked the scruff, his tanned skin and the strong lines of his jaw were just as hot.

  He looked at my wet hair. “I can see you’re ready on time, as usual.”

  “You’re early.”

  Checking his watch, he raised a brow. “It’s nine twenty-four. You’re going to be ready in six minutes?”

  I opened the door and stepped aside, rolling my eyes. “Just come in.”

  Caine grinned and stepped inside. Of course, the man always smelled amazing, too. I wasn’t sure if it was aftershave or cologne, but he had a masculine scent that was distinct and woodsy. It sparked a desire I hadn’t felt in a really long time, and for a second, I considered sticking my nose in a can of coffee beans to stop the assault on my body. That would have been interesting to explain my way out of.

  My apartment wasn’t very big, but it was clean and decorated in a shabby chic way that I loved. Caine looked around, taking in the crazy different patterns all over the place. Each chair at my small kitchen table was different. Two of the walls in the living room were painted deep red and lined with art or photos framed in matte black, while the other walls were nude and stark.

  After a minute, he nodded.

  “What?”

  “This fits you.” His tone didn’t indicate whether that was a good thing or bad.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels like you should live here.”

  “Because it’s a little crazy?”

  His lip twitched. “Maybe.”

  My hands went to my hips. “What exactly does your apartment look like?”

  Still surveying everything around him, he seemed to give my question some thought. “It looks like anyone could live in the place. Lots of white, black, and stainless steel. I’ve lived in my house for five years and never realized it says nothing about me until I walked in here.”

  Hmm. No idea what to make of that. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  Caine smiled. “You should. It was meant that way.”

  I had been just about to get dressed when the bell rang, and I completely forgot what I was wearing until Caine’s eyes reminded me. He wasn’t leering or anything, but I watched as his eyes did a sweep up and down my body, and I felt exactly where they lingered. The sheer T-shirt I was wearing left little to the imagination, and my nipples had hardened as he stepped off the elevator. Watching him check me out, I could feel them saluting through the fabric.

  “Okay…I’ll…uh…go finish getting ready. There’s coffee brewed in the kitchen, if you want.”

  I disappeared into my bedroom. The outfit I’d planned on wearing seemed suddenly not good enough for Caine West to appreciate, and I wound up changing three times before I even started to dry my hair and swipe on some makeup. When I was finally ready, it was close to ten o’clock. I thought I’d find Caine tapping his foot, but instead he still seemed intrigued by my apartment. I found him studying the framed pictures on the wall.

  “I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.”

  “It’s fine. I helped myself to two cups of coffee.”

  “Oh, good.”

  As I dumped my thesis files and notes into an old leather tote, I noticed Caine had stopped in front of a framed black and white photo.

  “Is this
your mother?”

  I’d looked at it so often that I knew every nuance in the photo, even without looking. She was sitting on a swing in the yard of the house I grew up in, a white daisy tucked behind her ear. Her smile sparkled so wide, I sometimes used it to brighten my day.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. She was.”

  He turned to me and studied my face. “You look just like her.”

  “Cancer,” I blurted out.

  I had no idea what possessed me to say it. To this day, I don’t think I’ve spoken about her to anyone but my sister. I’ve been friends with Ava since we started undergraduate school five years ago, she was my roommate for years, and she has no idea what my mother died from. It wasn’t a secret; I just kept a lot of things bottled up.

  I stared at the photo. “Ovarian.”

  Caine put his hand on my back and gently rubbed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I cleared my throat and pointed to a different picture. “This is my Aunt Rose and Uncle Nate—my mom’s sister and her husband. They raised me and my sister after…well, they raised us as their own after Mom died. My father wasn’t in the picture from the time I was an infant.” Even though I’d opened the bottle voluntarily, I wanted to cork it. “You ready? They serve lunch at twelve-thirty, and I don’t like to interrupt Umberto’s routine.”

  “Just waiting on you. As usual.”

  “Do you need to be back at any specific time? Sometimes I take a break and write my notes while he has lunch and does an activity or two. Then I go back and finish up.”

  “Nope. I’m yours for the entire day.”

  I liked the sound of that.

  Rachel

  Caine drove a stick shift, a little old Porsche that had been meticulously maintained. I don’t know anything about cars, but I suspected it was a classic and had more value than a new one. It seemed to fit him—expensive, yet sexy and understated.