The Contract (21 page)

“Were you sad?”

“No.”

“You must have felt something?”

“The one thing I felt was relief. I didn’t have to go places I wasn’t wanted, but sent to for appearance sake. More importantly, though, I didn’t have to pretend to care about two people who never gave a shit about me.”

She made a strange noise low in her throat, bowing her head for a moment. Her reaction struck me as odd. She seemed so upset.

“Since they were still legally married, and their wills had never changed, I inherited it all,” I continued. “Every last dime, which is rather ironic, considering the only time they did anything good for me was by dying.”

“Is that how you afford your lifestyle?”

“Not really. I rarely dip into my holdings. I used it for important things, like to buy this place and to pay for my education. I never wanted the life my parents had—frivolous and wasteful. I enjoy working and knowing I can survive on my own. I am beholden to no one.”

“Is that what you’re using to pay me?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the slight dampness of stress lingering. “I consider you important, yes.”

Again, she bowed her head, her hair falling forward and covering her face. I sat down beside her, and faced her straight on.

“Hey. Look at me.”

She lifted her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes wide, and her hands clutched the cushions of the sofa so hard her knuckles were white.

“Why are you this upset?”

“You expect me to remain calm after hearing how neglected you were your entire life?”

I shrugged. “It’s the past, Katharine. I told you it wasn’t pretty. Still, it doesn’t concern the here and now.”

“I disagree. I think it does, Richard.”

I shook my head. “Nothing will change because I told you my story.”

“Perhaps not for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I’m not surprised.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It explains a lot to me. Why you are the way you are when you interact with people. Why you don’t get close to anyone in your life. And why you don’t let people in.”

I glared. “Don’t start to analyze me.”

“I’m not. I’m stating what I think, that’s all.”

“I don’t want your tears, or your sympathy.”

“That’s too bad, Richard—because you have them both. Your parents were horrible people, and you—no child—deserves to be mistreated or ignored.” She smiled sadly. “But you choose the way to live your life now. You think you’ve let go of the past, but you haven’t. The way you see the world, the way you treat people is colored by how
you
were treated.” She stood, brushing her cheeks. “If you let yourself try, I think you’d discover people aren’t always as horrid as you think we are. Some of us are actually worthy.”

Her words stopped me cold. “I don’t think you’re horrid, Katharine—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m the despicable person.”

“No, Richard. You aren’t despicable. I think you’re lost. You haven’t let yourself feel. Once you do, once you allow yourself to connect to someone, I think you’ll find this world is a much better place. Love doesn’t make you weak. Real, honest love—it makes you strong.”

With those words, she bent down and brushed a kiss on my cheek. I felt the evidence of her sadness on my skin, the wetness of her tears lingering.

“Thank you for telling me. And, for the record, I don’t think you’re anything like your father. You only think so because you don’t know any other way. I think, if you try, you could be a great man.”

She turned and left the room, leaving me with much to think about.

RICHARD

I WAS UNSURE WHAT TO
do with myself after the conversation with Katharine. Her words kept echoing in my head, making me question the truths I held onto for all these years. I felt drained, and I needed to stop the barrage of thoughts, so I changed, hitting my gym. I pushed myself hard, showered, then headed straight to my den. I expected Katharine to approach me wanting to continue the conversation, which I hoped to avoid, but she was busy in the kitchen, not bothering to look my way as I went past.

Waiting on my desk was a plate of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. I stared at the offering for a moment, then with a shrug, dug in as I lost myself in the files I had brought home. It wasn’t until early evening I saw her again.

“Dinner is ready, if you’re hungry.”

I looked up, squinting.

“Richard, you need some light.” She crossed over, snapping on my desk lamp. She shook her head. “And maybe a pair of reading glasses. I’ve been noticing how close you hold things to your face to read.”

I looked down, realizing she was right.

“I’ll make an appointment for you,” she offered, a grin tugging on her lips. “I doubt that falls under your assistant’s job listing, either.”

I had to chuckle, even as I rolled my eyes. When I met with Amy on Friday, listing out my expectations, she had surprised me with her own list. PAs at The Gavin Group were a vastly different species than at Anderson Inc. She was there to provide back up, keep me organized, and even,
on occasion
, fetch me lunch, but she was not there to make me coffee, toast a bagel, or pick up my dry cleaning. To say I was put in my place would be an understatement. She was kind enough to show me the large employee lounge, how to use the coffee machine, and where I could find the bagels and other assorted foods Graham kept on hand for his staff.

Katharine had to leave the room to hide her laughter when I told her the story.

“It’s not funny!” I yelled after her.

“Oh, but it is.” Her dry reply drifted down the hall.

I had to admit, she was right. In retrospect, it didn’t kill me to get up and grab a coffee. It was a good way to stretch my legs. I had a sense Amy would be skimpy with the cream cheese on my bagel, anyway. Katharine always piled it on the way I liked it.

“Christ, I’m getting old,” I grumbled. “Reading glasses.”

She laughed. “Yes, thirty-two is ancient. You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll make them look good.”

I quirked my eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah? Are you saying I’ll look even sexier wearing glasses?”

“I’m saying nothing. Your ego is big enough. Dinner is in the kitchen if you want it.”

With a snicker, I switched off the light, following her to the kitchen, still wary. Some of my clearest memories of my childhood were of my parents’ constant disagreements. My mother was like a dog with a bone, refusing to give an inch. She would harp away at my father who would eventually explode. I was worried Katharine would attempt to pick up the threads of our earlier conversation, but she said nothing. Instead, as we were eating she slid a paint chip my way.

“What do you think?”

I studied the greenish color. “A bit feminine for my taste.”

“It’s for my room.”

“If you like it, then go for it.”

She slid another one to me, and I picked it up. The deep claret hue was strong and vibrant. I liked it. “For?”

“I thought the wall around the fireplace. To anchor the room.”

Anchor the room? What the hell did that mean?

“Just the one wall?”

“I thought I’d paint the others a deep cream.”

I could live with that. “Fine.”

A swatch of material appeared next. It was tweed with the same claret color woven in it and the deep brown of the sofas. “What is this for?”

“A couple chairs for the room.”

“I like my furniture.”

“I do, too. It’s quite comfortable. I thought I would add to it; change it up a little. They would look nice by the fireplace.”

“What else?”

“A few pillows, some other touches. Nothing major.”

“No frills or girly shit out here. Do what you want in your room.”

She grinned. “No girly shit. I promise.”

“Who is doing the painting?”

“What?”

“Who did you hire?”

“I’m doing it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

I turned in my chair, indicating the vast space. “These walls are twelve feet tall, Katharine. I don’t want you on a ladder.”

“My room has regular height ceilings. I like to paint. Penny and I did it together, and I’m pretty good at it.”

I tapped the top of the counter with one of the paint chips. How could I make her understand she didn’t have to do these things anymore? I kept my voice patient as I tried again. “You don’t have to paint it. I’ll pay to have it done.”

“But I like doing it. I’ll be careful.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Paint your room, and we’ll discuss this one when it’s time.”

“Okay.”

Another swatch of material caught my eye. Leaning over, I picked it up, fingering the thickness of the weave. Bold navy and brilliant green plaid woven on a rich background. I held it up, studying it. It didn’t look like something for either room.

“Do you like that?”

“I do. It’s striking. What’s it for?”

She looked down at the table, color bleeding and gathering under her skin.

“What?”

“I thought maybe you might want your room done when I finished the others. I saw it and it reminded me of you.”

“I look like plaid?”

“No,” she answered with a small laugh. “The colors, they’re like your eyes. The green and the blue mixing together—such an amazing combination.”

I had no response, but for some reason, I felt as if I was the one blushing now. I pushed the swatch her way and stood. “We’ll see how the rest comes out. Anything else?”

“I, ah, I need to move my clothes in the closet. I don’t want paint getting on them.”

“My closet is massive. I don’t even use half of it. Hang your stuff in there. There are some really high rods—your dresses can go there.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you.”

I inclined my head and went back to the den. I mulled over the conversation in my head, chuckling when I realized how domestic the whole thing seemed. Discussing paint chips and material over dinner with my wife. I should have hated it.

Yet, somehow, I didn’t.

Thunder rolled, and the clouds hung low and heavy overhead. I turned my chair, gazing outside into the darkened skies of the late afternoon. Grimacing, I rubbed the back of my neck, recognizing the telltale signs of a headache. They were rare, but I knew the beginnings of them well—the unexpected storm the determining factor.

The office was calm that afternoon, the usual hum of activity absent. Adrian had left on a last-minute business trip, Adam was with clients, and Jenna was out of the office. Graham had whisked Laura away for a surprise weekend, and the rest of the staff was busy within their own spaces.

In the time I had been at The Gavin Group, I discovered a completely new atmosphere in the business world. The energy was still high, the place buzzed with voices, meetings, and strategies, but it was a different sort of energy than had been at Anderson Inc. It was positive, almost nurturing. As Graham told me, they worked together as a team: administrators, PAs, designers—everyone was involved and treated equally. Amy was as important of an asset as I was. It took some getting used to, but I was beginning to acclimate myself.

With a sigh, I realized I was acclimatizing myself in other ways. Before Katharine, I worked late nights, attended many business dinners, and dated a lot of women. When I was at the condo, I used the gym, watched the occasional TV program, and entered the kitchen only to grab a coffee or a plate for the evening’s takeout dinner. Otherwise, I spent the time in the den working or reading. Seldom did I have company; and it was rare I brought a woman home. My condo was my private space. If needed, either we went to her place, or I rented a hotel room. The rare time my relationships lasted longer than a few dates, I invited them over for dinner, but they went home at the end of the evening, and they never made it up the staircase.

Now, business dinners I attended, Katharine was on my arm, and the table filled with my colleagues, their spouses, and of course, the Gavin family.

One such dinner, I’d looked up, meeting the frosty glare of David across the room.

I knew David had heard of my marriage, and my name was not to be spoken in the hallowed halls of Anderson Inc. I found his anger entertaining. I tightened my hand on Katharine’s shoulder, causing her to look up at me.