Take This Regret

  I nearly tripped over my feet when I found my father sitting at my desk, his face twisted in disapproval. “So very nice of you to show up, Christian.”

  Recovering from my surprise, I shook my head and crossed the room to find the paperwork. “Nice of you to let me know you were coming into town,” I threw back at him.

  Standing at the front of my desk facing my father, I rummaged through the files, grabbed what I needed, and shoved them into my briefcase.

  “I just thought I’d pop in and see how things were coming along here.” He waved his hand around the room.

  “They’re coming just fine.” He was already wel aware of this. Sure, we’d had a few snags in the beginning but nothing that wouldn’t have been expected.

  “Doesn’t look that way to me.” I stil ed my frenzied activity and stared down at the man sitting in my chair, staring back at me, his dark eyes gleaming with contention.

  “Care to tel me why I’ve been sitting in this very spot for . . .

  oh . . .”—he glanced at the Cartier around his wrist—“the last three hours while you were nowhere to be found?” I knew my father expected me to live my life the same way as he, tied to the office with concern for nothing but the elevated title he’d given me.

  I refused.

  “I was with my daughter. Do you have a problem with that?”

  He looked as if I’d just smashed a paperweight against the side of his head, reeling with the blow I’d struck him with.

  The shock was quick to morph into fury. He jumped up, his palms pressed flat on the desk. “You hooked back up with that money-hungry little whore? Are you real y that stupid, Christian?”

  The briefcase I held smashed against the wal , glass shattering on the impact, frames fal ing to the floor.

  I’d just told the asshole he had a granddaughter, and instead of thinking to ask her name, he thought of money?

  I couldn’t stand to look at the pathetic man in front of me—his black hair salt and peppered around his ears, only worn that way because he believed it gave him a look of distinction—couldn’t stand to watch him trembling with rage over what I knew was his embarrassment over my bastard child.

  I hated him for it.

  With a shaking hand, I pul ed my wal et from my back pocket and dug out the smal picture of Lizzie I kept there. I slammed it down on the desk in front of him and made a decision I was sure I would never regret. “You can count that as my resignation.”

  I had no idea what I believed anymore, where I stood. A door had been opened, a line crossed, and I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. I knew I’d let it happen, had been a partner to it, had even pushed for it. How easy it would have been to cal my mother or my older sister when Matthew’s phone had gone to voicemail.

  But no, I’d cal ed Christian.

  In the time it had taken him to drive to our house, I’d agonized over that decision, what kind of mistake I was making, and its ultimate effect on my daughter. Did I stil believe he would harm her?

  Then when he’d knelt before her, his worry and tenderness enough to engulf us both, enough to chase away my baby’s fears and assuage the panic pounding against my chest, I’d thought, No. He never would.

  It wasn’t difficult to trace it back to its origin, to the moment I’d sat beside Claire and she’d made me question everything I’d held onto for so long, everything I thought I understood.

  I tensed when a too intimate hand ran down my upper arm and rested on the smal of my back. “Hey, Elizabeth, Anita asked me to finish up for her today. Do you need any help with anything?” Scott leaned over my shoulder and looked at my computer screen. He was so close I could feel his breath against my neck.

  I shrank forward, the movement minute. With mouse in hand, I clicked through the daily closing procedures, brought up my reports for the day, and pressed print. “I’m just finishing up here.” I handed him the smal stack of papers, ending drawer, and key. “Here you go.” Scott was my friend, and I smiled at him in a way to indicate that was the only thing he was. His green eyes glimmered with misunderstanding. He’d been bold of late, his touch no longer a hint of desire, but overt want. He examined the documents for what seemed like minutes when it should have only taken seconds—stal ing.

  Shifting my feet, I tried to remain patient under his scrutiny of both my work and my body while he stood inappropriately close. Al I wanted to do was rush out, grab my phone, dial Natalie, and ask her how the day had gone.

  Today had been Christian’s first day to pick Lizzie up from school.

  “Looks good, Elizabeth,” Scott said as he nodded and took a step back, stil lingering.

  “Great.” I glanced around, hoping for an easy escape.

  “So, uh . . .” He looked back at the papers in his hands before looking back at me. “Do you have any plans Friday night?”

  I grimaced, wishing he would stop continual y putting me in this position, the one where I had to let him down. He was starting to make things uncomfortable between us.

  “Scott . . .” I sighed and looked away, pushing my bangs from my face in exasperation.

  “Elizabeth,” he pled low as a whisper. “I’m tired of waiting.” His dipped his eyes, searched my face. “Please, just . . . try.”

  “I can’t.”

  His voice raised a fraction in frustration. “Why not?”

  “Please, Scott, you’re my friend.” Don’t ruin that, I wanted to beg.

  He stepped back and huffed before he turned and left me staring at his back as he stalked away and into the break room.

  I placed my hands flat against my counter, sighed, and flipped off my computer monitor while I wondered why I couldn’t force myself to say yes. It was just dinner. Why did it have to be such a big deal?

  In the break room, I gathered my things from my locker and powered my phone, anxious to be in the privacy of my car so I could make the cal . Tension fil ed the room, radiating from Scott as he trained his attention ahead, brooding as he refused to look my way. Selina offered a brooding as he refused to look my way. Selina offered a smal understanding smile, a sympathetic shrug.

  “Night everyone,” I cal ed as I slung my purse over my shoulder and rushed from the room, through the lobby, and out into the cool evening air, the sky grey with overcast. I breathed it in and wondered when things had become so complicated. Walking along the side of the building, I studied my feet, counted my steps, and tried not to think of Christian and his pain that had echoed through my house, cal ed to me, almost caused me to cave.

  It was pointless. He pursued me in my thoughts and dreams—waited against my car.

  I froze when I saw him, a deep ache stirring in my stomach.

  He leaned against my trunk, slouched with his hands deep in the pockets of his dark grey suit, his focus intent on the spot where he dug the toe of his shoe into a smal divot in the pavement.

  “Christian?” I cal ed, startling him, and his anxious face whipped up to meet mine.

  In two seconds, I crossed the lot and stopped a foot away from him. “What’s going on?” My first thought had been worry for my daughter but knew I would have heard from Natalie had something been wrong.

  Christian sat up tal er, crossed his arms over his chest, and jerked a hand through his hair as he bounced in agitation. His demeanor caused the ache in my stomach to swel , transform, and rise in apprehension. The dol he’d given Lizzie lay beside him on the trunk of my car, and he picked it up and handed it to me. “Lizzie left this in my car picked it up and handed it to me. “Lizzie left this in my car today. I thought she might miss it.” He feigned calm, though the tight creases at the corners of his eyes served to belie it.

  I studied the toy with narrowed eyes as if it held some sort of answer. I looked back at him. “Christian?” It was obvious the dol had nothing to do with the reason he sat against my car.

  He groaned and ran his hand through his hair again, the movement causing it to fal in his face.

  “I had a fight with
my dad.” He quaked as he spoke the words, appearing as if his world had been rocked, shattered.

  I shook my head, trying to process why this seemed so pivotal.

  “I quit,” he clarified with a tight nod as if he were trying to convince himself that his action had been the correct one.

  He quit.

  Tears sprang to my eyes, and I stepped away. “You’re leaving?” slipped from my mouth, slow and hurt, more an accusation than a question.

  I couldn’t believe he would do this, not after everything, after I’d welcomed him into my home. I was such a fool.

  Christian appeared confused, which then bled into the same sadness he’d watched me with for the last three months. “God, no, Elizabeth. Of course not.” That sadness thickened as he watched me come to comprehension, watched me wipe away tears of perpetual distrust and then the ones that fol owed that fel with the relief that he was staying.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes shone deep with the promise, intense as they seemed to search mine for understanding—for acceptance.

  I bowed my head and closed my eyes as I clutched Lizzie’s dol to my chest. Would there ever be a day when I would believe, when I’d stop waiting for him to leave?

  I lifted my face to find his. “I’m sorry, Christian.” I regretted my assumption, my knee-jerk reaction, and wished I could take it back and put the focus back on him.

  Once I final y stopped thinking of myself, I realized he’d come here for a reason. He needed support and comfort as he confided in me that he’d quit his job.

  Since the day I’d met Christian, I’d known that working for his father had been what he’d strived for, what had pushed him further, made him work to be the best. While I never agreed with the reasons behind it, I knew how important it was to him.

  And now he’d walked away.

  I felt like a complete jerk.

  Christian cringed with my apology, blowing air through his nose while he shook his head. “Don’t apologize to me, Elizabeth,” he commanded softly as he looked back at me in what appeared complete understanding, his grievance only with himself.

  Taking an unsure step forward, I looked up at him under his partial y bowed head. He had slunk further down against my car, his hands shoved even deeper in his pockets as he kicked at smal pebbles with his shoe.

  “Are you okay?” I asked careful y, searching his face.

  Frowning, Christian pursed his lips as if he were asking himself the same question.

  Final y he shrugged and offered a feeble I guess, though it was clear he didn’t believe it any more than I did.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Richard Davison was probably the least kind, most difficult person I’d ever encountered in my life, but Christian had always just dealt with it. I couldn’t imagine what would cause him to throw it al away now.

  A fiery anger flashed across Christian’s face as he held his jaw rigid. “No, I think I’l spare you those details.” He released a heavy breath, slumped his shoulders and he stared at his feet. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I’ve spent my entire life working toward a place in my father’s firm, and now . . .” He looked up at me, lost.

  I wrestled back the urge to comfort him, to bestride his legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, to wrap my arms around his neck, and to promise him it would be okay.

  Instead, I shuffled a little closer and tapped the side of his shoe with the tip of mine. “Hey,” I urged softly, “You’l figure it out. It’s going to be okay, Christian.” He glanced down at our feet and then back at me with a frown stil marring his mouth. “I’l never make as much working in another firm as I was for my father.” He looked at me as if he were waiting for my reaction, how I felt about this news.

  “Is money real y that important to you?” The question came out low, probing, as if his answer meant everything—

  came out low, probing, as if his answer meant everything—

  as if it would somehow change something inside of me.

  Because almost six years ago, his answer had been yes.

  He shook his head, so slow, the movement fil ed with comprehension of the root of my question. “No, Elizabeth . .

  . not anymore. I just need you to know things might be different now.”

  Once again, Christian blurred the lines of who we were as my mind final y caught up to why he was here, where his concern laid.

  He wanted my approval as if we were a family and there was a family decision to be made.

  The step I took back was slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to place some distance between us before I completely lost myself in this man. I swal owed down some of the emotion, desperate to lighten Christian’s distress and at the same time desperate to distract myself from the need I felt to reach out and comfort him.

  “Are you asking me for a loan, Christian?” It came out rough, il timed, though I couldn’t help but giggle over how ridiculous my attempt at cheering him up sounded.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he chuckled through his nose. “You never know, Elizabeth, you never know.” A ful smile broke through as he looked up at me, his expression relieved. “Thank-you.” I smiled back at him softly, it becoming harder and harder to hide the love I’d kept for him for so long. I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded, wishing I could offer him something more than another exhausted goodnight, Christian.

  “Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his eyes warm as he stood up. He reached out in a smal wave before he turned and got into his car parked next to mine.

  I couldn’t move as I watched him go.

  “That’s the reason you won’t say yes?” I jumped when the harsh, hurt voice hit my ears. I twisted to look over my shoulder to find Scott standing near the wal of the building, shaking his head in injured disappointment. “You’re taking that asshole back, aren’t you, Elizabeth? After everything he’s done to you?”

  I gaped at Scott, his beautiful face flushed with anger and disbelief. I swal owed down my urge to defend Christian, remembering how many times I’d maligned Christian as I’d cried on Scott’s shoulder. Did I real y expect him to think wel of Christian?

  “No.” I shook my head, quick to counter Scott’s assertion. I knew what it must have looked like to him—

  what it had felt like to me.

  “No,” I said again to convince both Scott and myself. I wasn’t taking Christian back. I couldn’t. He’d caused me too much hurt, and I’d never survive another broken heart like that.

  “No?” Scott asked, his tone skeptical, chal enging,

  “Then have dinner with me.” He pushed away from the wal and stepped forward. His voice lost its bite as he implored,

  “Just once, Elizabeth. If you don’t enjoy yourself, then I

  promise I’l never ask again.”

  I wanted to tel him to go to hel , to ask him how he thought he had the right to manipulate me this way.

  Instead, I gave in. I persuaded myself that it was only dinner, that it wasn’t that big of a deal, that there could never be anything between Christian and me again—and I told Scott yes.

  The ful -length mirror in the corner of my bedroom mocked my stupidity as I stood before it smoothing out the white blouse and black skirt that fel just above my knees. I was anxious, agitated. My thick, blond waves had been transformed into a mound of curls, my eyes lined, lashes coated, and a thick sheen of clear gloss across my lips.

  “You look pretty, Mommy,” Lizzie said. She sat with her legs crisscrossed on my bed and grinned while she watched me get ready.

  I smiled halfheartedly back at her through the mirror and slipped my feet into a pair of black pumps, fighting off another wave of guilt.

  As the last three days had passed, realization had slowly seeped in, acceptance of the real reason I’d agreed to this date. For two years, I’d been successful at dodging Scott’s affections, at putting him off, and in one weak moment at Christian’s feet, I’d panicked. I’d felt
the need to prove to myself that I was stronger than the surging emotions I felt for Christian, stronger than the need for him that was threatening to boil over.

  Now I readied myself for a date I didn’t want to go on—

  prepared myself to lead on a man who’d only ever cared for me and been my friend.

  The doorbel rang. Lizzie jumped from my bed and flew downstairs in anticipation of her father.

  I grabbed a light jacket and my purse, my hands shaking as I shrugged the coat onto my shoulders. Il at ease, I sighed and glanced one last time in the mirror before forcing myself to leave my room.

  Hovering at the top of the stairs, I watched Christian kneeling in the foyer with our daughter in his arms, his face buried in her hair. For the first time on a Friday evening, he was not wearing a suit but rather jeans and T-shirt, a stark reminder of his choice to leave his father’s firm just days before.

  Taking a shuddering breath, I descended the stairs, tentative and slow, as if my subconscious believed if I were quiet enough, I’d go unnoticed, my compulsive, irrational actions overlooked and unseen.

  Of course, Christian looked my direction. His face spread into a timid smile, his eyes appraising as he took in my appearance. “Hey, Elizabeth.”

  “Hi.” I held onto the bannister, reticent to take another step. I felt so exposed, as if he could see right through me, could decipher my intentions.

  “You look real y nice.” His face flushed with the compliment, self-conscious, but he pressed on. “Are you going out?”

  Maybe he could.

  Swal owing, I nodded and took the last step into the tiled foyer, my mind working for a way to explain myself, a way to justify what I was getting ready to do. Another part of me insisted I didn’t need to give him an account of myself, but somehow tonight that line of reasoning felt wrong.

  Before I could answer him, there was a light tapping on the front door that sat only partial y closed. Scott peeked through the crack, pushing the door the rest of the way open with a smal bouquet of handpicked flowers in his hand.