Never Got Over You

by Scott, S. L.

  “You, too. I’ve heard so many great things about you and Nick’s dad.”

  Natalie releases me, and they embrace like two friends who haven’t seen each other in ages, hugging each other with genuine emotion attached. Seeing them has me feeling even more sure about our decision to move forward and get married.

  When they step apart, I swear to God my mom has tears in her eyes. She comes to me, and I hug her, whispering, “It’s okay.” My mom has to be the most sentimental person I’ve ever met.

  Until I see Natalie with watery eyes as well.

  When we part, she takes Natalie by the wrist, and they walk together to the other side of the island. Dropping her glasses to the bridge of her nose, my mom then poises her fingers over the laptop keyboard. “When’s your birthday?”

  Oh, no. I’m about to rush over to save Natalie from an astrological reading, but my dad says, “I thought I heard you come in, Nick. Come join me—oh. This must be your girlfriend.” He forgets about me and makes a beeline for Natalie.

  I remember doing the same when I saw her the first time. “This is Natalie, Dad.”

  “Hi,” she says with a little wave. “I’m Natalie St. James.”

  My dad’s gaze skips from her to me just before they shake hands. “St. James? That’s interesting.”

  Instead of having a repeat of this conversation I had with Andrew, I try to end it fast. “It’s a common name in New York,” I reply, brushing off the coincidence.

  Natalie says, “Not that common,” as if I’ve offended her.

  Great, now I’ve pissed her off. Introducing the love of your life to your parents is tricky business. “I meant that Andrew and I had a good laugh that there’s a St. James Place in Monopoly, so we figured it must be a well-known name. Not that it’s common or you’re not original. You’re very special—”

  “Oh goodness,” my mom says, cringing. “I think she gets it. It’s probably best if you just end it there.”

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I then look at my girl, hoping she can read the silent apology in my eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

  My dad says, “On that note, I need to borrow Nick if that’s—”

  “Take him,” my mom says, wrapping an arm around Natalie. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Geez, thanks, Mom.”

  She laughs. “You know what I mean.”

  As I come around the island, I kiss Natalie on the temple. “You’ll be okay?”

  “Fine. Really,” she replies, and I believe her because she looks back at the screen and at my mom, and says, “June twenty-ninth.”

  “Oh, wow. Nick was born on August twenty-ninth, but I guess you already knew that.”

  I make the mistake of glancing back and am hit with a cocked eyebrow aimed at me. “Yep,” she adds, “I knew that.”

  In my best internal narrator voice, I say, “She didn’t know that.”

  How have we never discussed our birthdays?

  We know each other’s ages and other important stuff like how she’s a runner. I know that because she climbed out of bed at sunrise and went for a run before I even woke up.

  If I had known she had those plans, I would have hit the waves at the same time.

  She drinks her coffee with just a hint of creamer and half a packet of sugar. Every time we have sex, she becomes more adventurous, slowly trying new positions, despite the confidence she has walking around completely naked, even in front of large windows where the people on the beach can get a gander.

  See? I know the important stuff.

  I shut the door behind me, finding my brother already sitting on the couch in my dad’s home office. I take the recliner, kicking it back into position. “What’s up?”

  My dad sits at his desk and says, “We finally heard back on the Manhattan Financial deal. John’s fought us tooth and nail on the transition team recommendations to cut some of their pet projects.” He taps something on his keyboard, probably answering emails. He’s always been a half-listening multi-tasker. Of course, he expects the opposite of us. Fully focused on whatever he says. You know, do as I say, not as I do kind of thing. “He’s getting back to us today by five o’clock Eastern.”

  Andrew says, “It’s the final deadline. He’s agreed to cutting three of the four. He’s dedicated to preserving that fourth. I have a feeling it’s personal. We’ll let him have it if he continues to negotiate.”

  “Then why not let him have it now to end this and move on?”

  Sitting forward, Andrew says, “Because, Counselor, it’s not good business to let your opponent win.”

  Hearing him call me that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

  Then he adds, “There’s an out clause in the contracts of these business loans. We don’t need his permission. We’re just trying to be fair and let him walk away with the full deal. It’s a brokerage house. They are a nice addition to our company, but they don’t grow wealth the same way.”

  “Don’t fuck them over. They seemed like decent people.”

  My dad says, “We don’t fuck people over, Nick. We can’t afford to humor business owners who don’t have the ability to grow to the next level of sustainability. Acquiring Beacon is our next plan, not artisan pasta making or personal shopping for rich businessmen. Those aren’t our specialties. We’re focusing on what CWM does best. Build wealth. Business is business. If you start getting personal, you’ll lose your edge.”

  I’ve done everything I was told to do growing up. Follow the Christiansen plan to a T, even down to attending Berkeley Law. But lately, I’ve started to second-guess what I’m even doing here. I say, “Maybe that’s why I never fit into your plans. I don’t have an edge.”

  “You have a great legal mind, son. We all have talents we bring to the table.”

  I keep thinking about Natalie and how much she struggles to keep her dream afloat. Given the right conditions, she’s blooming like a plant. Ultimately though, business is business when money’s involved, and if it doesn’t fall within our guidelines, then it’s time to streamline. I’ve heard that my whole life. “Yeah, I guess it’s best to cut the losses.” Not wanting to be gone from Natalie for too long, I say, “I should get back before Mom discovers Natalie and my star signs aren’t compatible, and I get dumped for something ridiculous like that.”

  My dad chuckles. “That is a weird coincidence on the name, though. You sure there’s no relation to John and Martine St. James?”

  I don’t rush for the door, but I’m heading for it when I reply, “I think Natalie would have mentioned if her parents just sold their family business, especially to mine.”

  “Natalie St. James,” Andrews says, causing me to turn back. He sits forward, resting his forearms on his legs. Staring at me, he creases his brow. “Wasn’t that his daughter’s name?”

  “Who’s? John’s? I’d remember that.”

  He says, “Natalie and Jackson St. James. You were right there, Nick, when he showed us the photo.”

  I try to recall John’s daughter, Jackson’s sister, but I’m drawing a blank. The call from my mom comes to mind, though. “Was this when Mom called?”

  “I saw the photo. I’d recognize his daughter.” Andrew stands and hurries to the door, rushing out.

  Oh, shit. I run. My mind is muddled with jagged-edged pieces of the puzzle not fitting together. Praying to God we didn’t just buy her family’s legacy without her knowing a thing, I need to beat him there to soften the blow or explain why we’re acting like maniacs.

  I practically slam into the back of Andrew when he stops just inside the living room. His eyes are set on her, narrowed, and he’s already shaking his head. Keeping my voice as quiet as possible, I ask, “What’s the name of the company John’s fighting for?”

  Andrew looks at me curiously. “STJ Co. Why?”

  Without taking a breath, I push past him, wanting to protect her from this news. It’s going to destroy her. I don’t understand how it got this far without her having prior knowledge or why her paren
ts didn’t tell her. I can only speculate that they were trying to protect her as well.

  She looks at me concerned and then turns toward my brother and Dad who remain with distance between us. Andrew’s solemn expression is easy to read.

  Fuck. Why would her parents keep this from her? From memory, John St. James had said that his daughter wasn’t interested in the company, so I guess it makes sense why she doesn’t know about the takeover. But will she feel as though she’s been betrayed by being kept in the dark? There’s no way around this now that she’s here. Staring at my brother and then my dad, I shake my head, pleading through the silence that’s engulfing the room. “Please let me.”

  Natalie looks up at me innocently. “Let you what?”

  My mom glances at the three of us, and then says, “What’s happened?”

  I reach for Natalie, thinking it might be best if I tell her alone, but then she pulls her phone from her back pocket and glances at the screen. “My mom’s calling.”

  The four of us look at each other, and then I say, “You can take it on the terrace if you’d like privacy.”

  She nods, and I show her to the door, opening it for her. Just before it shuts, I hear her say, “Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

  Turning back to my family, I say, “What the fuck?”

  “Nick!” my mom scolds, anger firing in her eyes. She rests her palms on the stone counter and angles to my dad. “What the fuck is happening, Corbin?”

  Andrew is usually the first one with a smart-ass comment, but he scrubs a hand over his head and sits this one out by moving to the living room sofa.

  My dad comes closer, glancing toward the terrace, and then whispers, “Natalie is the daughter of the former CEO of Manhattan Financial.”

  “Layman’s, please,” my mom says, staring at him and tapping her fingers impatiently.

  He replies, “The company we just bought in New York. That’s Natalie’s family business.”

  Her mouth falls open, but then she clasps her hands in front of her chest, grinning wide as the day is long. “Destiny.”

  “No, Mom. Not now.” My gut twists, watching my girlfriend . . . my fiancée through the windows. I’m unsure of the implications of this bombshell, but from what I have gathered, Natalie has been content in her discussions with her dad regarding business. Why would he sell it without telling her?

  Will she blame me for making this deal happen? For being a part of it at all? For being the messenger or for not putting one and one together with their last names from the beginning. Although, now that I think about it, should I have questioned things more? I did see her coming out of the same building I was entering—where her family’s company’s offices are located. Be rational, Nick. There are nearly nine million people in New York City.

  “I need to tell her.” I start walking toward the back door, but every step has a thousand pounds weighing me down. “Without an audience.”

  Andrew says, “The truth is, you didn’t know.”

  “Will that matter?”

  Nodding his head, he says, “It should. Good luck, little brother.”

  With my hand on the doorknob, I look back. My mom says, “Destiny will always find a way through a misunderstanding.”

  “She’s going to think I’m lying.”

  “You have to believe in each other, and it will always work out how it’s supposed to.”

  Call me a New Age fanatic. I’ll be anything the spiritual guides want me to be as long as I don’t lose Natalie. Believing in the power of destiny and ready to fight for us to be together, I open the door.

  “What?” She stops pacing, rearranging the phone against her ear as if she heard wrong. “Mom, say it again . . . No.” When she turns around, her eyes land on mine. “No. No. No. Please tell me everything will be all right. That he’ll be okay.” The sunshine catches in her tear-laden eyes, and fear fills them right after. “I’ll come home. I’ll catch the first flight . . . I love you, too.”

  Her hand lowers with the phone to her side just as tears roll over the barrier of her bottom lids. “Nick . . .”

  “What is it?”

  She rushes against me and wraps her arms around my middle. I’m quick to envelop her body, wanting to protect her from whatever upsets her. “I have to go. He had a heart attack.”

  “Who?”

  “My dad,” she says, softly crying against my chest. No. “My mom said he was rushed into surgery and can’t tell me anything more at this time.” She looks up. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I lead her back inside, and my mom hurries over, taking her into her arms. Shooting me a dirty look, she consoles Natalie. “It will be okay.”

  “Mom, her dad had a heart attack.” I can tell my mom feels bad when her expression turns to shock. “Oh, no.” She reaches for me in apology, rubs my arm as consolation for the dirty look and assumption. I say, “I’m going to fly back to New York with her tonight. Do you mind packing her stuff at the bungalow and shipping it back for her?”

  She holds Natalie’s face. “I’m so sorry, honey.” Stepping back, she adds, “You two go, and I’ll overnight your belongings.”

  “Thank you,” Natalie replies with a wobbling lower lip. “I’m sorry to have to leave like this.”

  “No. No. Don’t be, honey. We’ll see each other again.”

  I hadn’t noticed that my dad and brother had gathered around to lend support until Andrew says, “You guys can head out, and I’ll call to arrange a flight.”

  After hugging my mom, I tell him, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  My dad sneaks in, “It was nice to meet you, Natalie,” before we head for the door. She’s polite, even when distressed, thanking them for their hospitality.

  There’s never a good time to head to LAX but rushing there in an emergency adds a whole new layer of stress. We’re quiet in the SUV while she texts with her brother. A faded blue car with a rusted bumper that’s covered in dings cuts me off, causing me to swerve. Natalie’s phone flies from her hands to hit near her feet, and she braces herself against the dashboard. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry. This asshole just fucking cut me off.”

  She stares ahead, and then asks, “Is it safe to reach down?”

  We come to a stop, and I reply, “Yes.”

  Her fingers fly over the screen, resuming to text. When she pauses to look around, I’m tempted to tell her about the deal. I just don’t know if now is the time. I’m still filled with a million questions about why her family didn’t let her in on it and is still keeping her in the dark after the fact.

  Technically, nothing’s been confirmed. My brother saw a photo behind a guy’s desk, and that’s what we’re basing the future of my relationship on?

  He’s certain she’s one and the same since he noticed her enough to call her hot. As if she can read my mind, she sets her phone on her lap and rests her elbow against the window. “My brother will have a car waiting at the airport.”

  “Your brother . . .” I leave it open-ended, hoping she picks up the hint to fill in the rest.

  “My brother, Jackson.”

  Well, fuck.

  27

  Natalie

  Nick’s been staring out the window for most of the flight. Granted, I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, but still. I’d like him to push.

  I roll my eyes at myself, mad for making him jump through hoops to read my mind. My shoulders fall because it’s not a test or anything. I’d tell him anything if he asked.

  I push the empty glass away because the rum didn’t do anything to lift my spirits. I don’t even laugh at Nick’s pun about alcohol. He tried to cheer me up, knowing how much I love a double entendre and his use of alcohol and spirits. It was funny, but my heart hurts too much to laugh. If I lean into any feeling too far, I can tell I’ll swing the other way and be a crying mess on the floor of this plane.

  Please let my father be okay.

  But Nick deserves better than what
I can give, so I need to make it right. I reach over and slip my hand into his, which is on his leg. He glances over, the warmth of his soulful eyes caressing my heart in a simple exchange.

  Tilting my head, I rest my cheek on his bicep. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be. You did nothing wrong. We all process trauma differently.” He lifts the armrest and wraps his arm around me, kissing the top of my head.

  I slide closer, my seat belt giving enough to let me burrow in the comfort of his warmth. Tilting my head up, I study his profile—the straightness of his nose and cut of his jaw, the several days’ old scruff, and those dark lashes that make me envious. His tan skin and the raised veins running down his forearms and over his hands.

  Handsome used to be the word I used most often when I thought of him. It’s what fit so well from Catalina when I lingered in the memories of that weekend. But now it’s loyalty and kindness, caring, and thoughtful.

  Nick didn’t have to fly back to Manhattan with me, but here he is without giving it a second thought. He just acted on instinct to support me. There’s nothing more I can ask for in a partner than someone who puts my needs before his. It’s not even something I knew to look for based on my experiences. But now that I’ve seen it’s possible to have something even remotely close to what my parents share, I believe I can have that too.

  Our fingers fold together. I promise to do the same for him—be there when he needs me, support him, love him endlessly. “I want to marry you and be your wife.” Saying the words so frankly and to the point has them sounding different to my ears. It’s as if I’ve bared some part of myself. But with Nick, I’m not vulnerable. I feel strong, ready to fight for what I want.

  I want him.

  A small smile works its way onto his face, and just like the sun filtering through the clouds and sneaking in the small window, it brightens my day. His arm tightens around me, and he kisses my head. I love it when he does that. Against the top of my head, he whispers, “I want to be married to you and to be called Natalie’s husband.”