Because of Them: Heartfelt Romance

by Melissa Macomb

  "Sir, Ms. Rutherford is here to see you."

  Shit. That bitch is stalking me now, I know she is.

  "Five minutes, Andrew, then rescue me." I know my assistant can handle it. This isn't the first time a woman has tried to rope me into a relationship. They all seem to think they're the one that can change me and make me commit. Well, that’s not happening. I have enough on my plate running my business. There's over a hundred people in this building alone that depend on me for the money that puts food on their table.

  If you didn't want her to think you wanted her, you shouldn't have screwed her again last weekend, and the weekend before that, and oh yeah, son, the weekend before that.

  My conscience always talks to me in Dad's voice. He drummed it into me over and over that there would be women who’d want me just for our family's money, and the responsible thing to do is to not give them hope if there isn't any. So far, I haven't met any woman that makes me want to give her hope, so I always limit the amount of time I spend with any one of them. The local society rags love to label me a playboy, but the truth is not that simple. It rarely is.

  I'm still staring at the window, looking past my six-foot-two frame to the hordes of New Yorkers rushing their lives away down below. The smell of her perfume gives away the fact that Katrina Rutherford is in the room. If I raise my eyes, I'll be able to see her behind me in the window. I don't raise my eyes.

  "Bram, aren't you going to turn around and kiss me hello?"

  The last thing I want is to kiss her. What in hell made me go upstairs with her last weekend? I'd been drinking, but I wasn't that drunk. I've never been one of those guys that thinks rules are made to be broken, and I have one hard and fast rule. One time with a woman and that's it. Lately, I’ve broken that rule with Kat. I don’t even know what it is about her that attracts me to her. To be brutally honest, I don't really like her.

  Just get rid of her, son, you've got responsibilities here. And this time stay away from her.

  As usual, my dad’s right. The man died a couple of years ago, but he had a lesson for every occasion, and I've heard every one of them, usually more than once.

  "Kat, lovely to see you. What can I do for you?" I finally turn around to see her practically posing for me in the doorway. She's beautiful, in the way a cold piece of marble is beautiful; you can touch it, feel the smooth surface and admire the color, shape and feel of it, but everything you get back from it will be cold and hard. I watch as she walks toward me with a look in her unnaturally turquoise tinted eyes that clearly says she wants me to fuck her on my desk. Or the floor. Or on the couch. My dick is getting hard just watching the way her short skirt is bouncing up and down, showing me her white thighs. Get a fucking grip, Bramble.

  I need to keep some distance between us, so I sit down behind my large mahogany desk. I inherited it from Dad, and I hope its solid presence will remind me of my responsibilities and keep me from yet again breaking my own rule. Kat isn't going to make it easy though. God in heaven. She’s leaning over the desk, giving me an eye-popping view of her cleavage and the creamy swell of her breasts. Breasts that I remember very clearly dangling above me last weekend. Where the hell is Andrew?

  "Listen, darling, I'm having a dinner party Friday evening. Just a few close friends and my godfather, Thompson Davis. It's only just occurred to me that you and he have never met. Would you like to come along? I could use a tall, dark, and handsome co-host by my side." While she’s talking, Kat comes around to my side and sits her pretty little butt on the edge of Dad's desk. He would be horrified, but I can't stop wondering if she's wearing panties. I know first-hand that she doesn't always. My first instinct is to toss her a reason I can't be at her dinner party, but I freeze when I hear the name Thompson Davis.

  Davis is a man I've been trying like hell to get a meeting with. He's an investor that almost exclusively gives his money to companies run by native New Yorkers who want to expand their market to the wider world. That's me. That's exactly what I'm trying to do. But so far, getting a meeting with Davis has been impossible. I admit that I did know he's Katrina's godfather, but I can honestly say Thompson Davis never once crossed my mind when I was screwing her. But…spending more time with Kat means I can meet Davis. Despite what most people think about me, I don't use women. Any female that goes to bed with me does so of her own free will, knowing full well my reputation, and with no promises or hints from me at anything more than just a good time. They also are very aware that I’m a committed bachelor. Maybe I can risk another night in Kat’s company without giving her hope of something more. In the split second of time that I've been thinking over the invitation, I see the look in her eyes. She knows damn well she's tempting me with something I won't be able to refuse.

  "Mr. Carter, your car’s waiting downstairs to take you to that meeting across town. If you leave right now, you won't be late."

  Andrew, God bless him. But I need to think about this, so I wave him back out of the room. "Why do I get the feeling you know that I want to meet Davis? If you've engineered this dinner party just to get me in your house, I'm flattered, but I'm going to have to say no. I've enjoyed our time together, Kat, but I'm not looking for a relationship. I thought you knew that." Is that a flicker of anger I see in her face? Kat isn't used to being told no, so it probably is. Tough. The last thing I want to do is co-host a dinner party. Good God. But a private meeting with Thompson Davis…

  "Don't be stupid, Bram. I might be the only person in all of New York City who can guarantee you fifteen minutes alone with Thompson. Can you really afford to piss me off? Just be a good boy and agree to co-host this dinner with me. I promise I won't take it to mean we're engaged."

  I need this meeting with Davis. I know that she knows how much, and I know that she’s exploiting that. But I can't pass it up.

  "Okay, Kat, I'll co-host this fucking dinner party, but I'm giving you fair warning that it’ll be the last time we do anything as a couple. And I do mean anything. I don't want to give you the wrong idea. I'm not a one-woman man. As long as you're cool with that, I'll be there."

  "You think an awful lot of yourself, don't you, darling? Just say thank you nicely like your mommy taught you to. I'll let you know what time to be there."

  I can’t help watching to see if her skirt floats up as she hops off the desk. It did and she’s wearing pretty white lacy panties. Even though I'm annoyed as hell at her, I'm also a man. That cheeky remark about my mother doesn’t sit right with me, though. My mother died giving birth to me and my twin sister Mary, leaving us to be raised by a father who was more involved with his business than raising his kids. Dad tried, I do really believe that, but he didn't understand kids and wasn’t interested in learning. He talked at us like we were his employees. I don't remember him ever spending time with us just having fun. Everything was a life lesson. Which is probably why when I've fucked something up, I hear Dad's voice in my head telling me all about it. Like right now.

  I think you've just sold a bit of your soul for that meeting with Thompson Davis, son.

  Yeah, Dad, I do too. So, I better make the most of that meeting.

  I need to get some work done.

  Between the hangover I have from last night's poker game and Kat's unexpected visit this morning, my brain is on strike. I really need to cut out those work night parties. I have responsibilities and a business to run.

  BGC Industries is a company I started myself when I graduated from college with a degree in engineering. I inherited a small fortune from my mom, my sister and I both did, but neither of us really feel comfortable spending it. Mary, who knows more about these things than I do, thinks it has something to do with the fact that our mother died giving birth to us. Survivor's guilt is what she says it’s called. So other than donations that we both give yearly to charity, the bulk of our mother's money is just sitting in a bank. Then Dad died and with the sale of his company, we were left with more than enough money to make sure we'll never have to worry about anythi
ng ever again. That gave me the safety net I needed to give my own company a go. Last year, I invented a better engine for electric cars, one that charges in less than an hour and is cheaper to manufacture, so when it went public, I made a fortune of my own.

  Now I'm looking to expand internationally. Sure, I could use my parents' money, but I don't want to do it that way. It's a matter of pride for me. That's why I need an investor with deep pockets, and Thompson Davis fits that bill. I also happen to know that he's not only a good businessman, but he's a businessman with integrity. That's a rarity these days.

  It's only two o'clock, my head is banging and I'm not getting any work done anyway. I should just go home, take some aspirin, rehydrate and then try again. With that aim in mind, I press the intercom button on my desk. "Andrew, I'm going to work from home the rest of the day. No calls unless it's urgent." Strangely, Andrew appears in the doorway. The look on his face is one I've never seen before, and I've known Andrew for four years now. "There's a detective, John MacGregor, from Scotland on line one. He says it's about your sister."

  My heart jumps in my chest. Andrew's voice is drowned out by a loud ringing in my ears. Blindly, I reach for the phone and must have punched the button for line one because all of a sudden, I hear a man thousands of miles away tell me that my sister and her husband have been killed in a car accident.

  "Are you sure?" What a lame-ass thing to say. But I have to ask.

  "Aye, Mr. Carter. We have identification for both of them. That's where we got your number. You're on your sister's phone as the emergency contact."

  "They're both?" I can't even say it. I can't even ask out loud if they're both dead. That will leave the twins orphans, oh my God.

  "Aye, they're both deceased, I'm sorry to say."

  "What about the kids?"

  "The kids? There are no children in the vehicle. Are you saying there should be children with them?"

  I think back to the last conversation I had with Mary. She called me a few days ago, said something about going to Loch Ness for a weekend getaway. Thank God. I remember now that it was a romantic getaway. No kids.

  "No, no, I remember now she said she and her husband were going on a romantic weekend without the kids. They'll be home with their nanny. What will happen to them now?"

  "I can't really say, Mr. Carter. Social Services will get involved and a judge will decide. Likely if they have no relatives here in Scotland, they'll go into foster care. You'll have to check with Social Services once they're in the system."

  My skin goes cold as I think about how Mary would react at the thought of her babies being taken into the foster care system. I can't let that happen.

  "I'll be in Scotland within the next 8-10 hours. Leave them with the nanny until I get there. Then they'll have family there.” I remember that I’m not talking to one of my employees, and belatedly add, “Please."

  I hold my breath waiting for the detective to answer me back. I have no earthly idea what the rules are in the UK, but I do know I have to make sure my niece and nephew are taken care of. It's up to me now.

  "I'll wait to notify Social Services until I file my report, but that's the best I can do, Mr. Carter.” There’s a short pause during which I assume the detective is thinking over his options. “You should know, however, that I have a reputation for being slow to file reports. It may not get done until tomorrow morning. But it won't be any later than that. Understood?"

  "Yes, and thank you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible." Thank God for that. I hang up the phone. Mary. My twin sister. My best friend. I'm all that's left of our family.

  No, that’s not true. I’ve got two little children depending on me. I have to get moving.

  I bought a private jet last year when I had to fly frequently back and forth between New York City and Silicon Valley. I look at my watch and calculate how long it will take me to get packed and to the airport.

  "Andrew, ready the plane for a trip to Inverness, to leave in exactly one hour. Cancel everything or move it to at least next week. I don't know how long I'll be in Scotland." Oh, Mary. I can't think of Mary right now. I have to get to the twins. Luckily, I’ve had lots of practice over the years at numbing my feelings.

  3

  Tessa

  There's a reason most workplaces have rules against employees dating each other. Work today is going to be awkward as hell. I'm just glad I'm over that twenty-four-hour bug I had. If I had to call in sick that would really set the tongues at work wagging.

  I'm sure Mitch won't tell anyone about what happened, because it’ll make him look bad, and Mitch doesn't let anything tarnish his Golden Boy image. Also doubtful is Gloria making it public. She is, after all, still married. But it’ll be obvious to everyone that Mitch and I are no longer engaged once someone notices I'm not wearing my ring. Then, in the absence of an official explanation, people will make one up. That's how the world works. I guess I should talk to Mitch and establish a story we'll both tell everyone. I really don't care about protecting his reputation at this point, but the last thing I want is to be the topic of obscene gossip around the hospital.

  He tried to call me once that night, but I didn't answer. I couldn’t. I let it go to voicemail, and even now, two days later, I can’t bring myself to listen to it. I don't want to hear his voice and I really don't want to hear his excuses. There’s no excuse for what he did to me. Thinking about it now, though, I guess I probably should’ve tried to talk to him before we see each other at work. I'm just still so hurt and angry I can't think straight. It's too late now.

  I walk onto the surgery ward and look at the schedule for the day. I love my job and I know I'm good at it. The top surgeons, which includes Mitch, often request me on their teams. Today, though, I see that I'm only scheduled for a few simple procedures. None of them are with Mitch. That's very unusual. The first one, though, is with Mitch's best friend, Dr. Weathers. Great. The two wronged partners. We can form a club. It's one o'clock and my shift is just starting. The surgery with Dr. Weathers is scheduled for two o'clock. Well, there’s always plenty that needs to be done. I look for Mitch’s name to figure out when I might be able to have a private word with him but see that he’s just scrubbing in for a complicated procedure that’ll probably take a good few hours. I can’t say I’m sorry to get to put off that conversation for a while.

  I feel my phone vibrate in my left front pocket. It's a withheld number, which I normally don't answer, but for some reason today I push the button and bring the phone up to my ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Is this Contessa Stephenson?" The accent is strange, but familiar. I know I've heard it before. Maybe on a tv show?

  "Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?"

  "This is Detective Inspector John MacGregor in Loch Ness, Scotland. I'm ringing regarding your brother, Roman Stephenson, and his wife, Mary Stephenson. I regret to inform you that they were killed in a single car motor vehicle accident. You’re listed as your brother's emergency contact in his phone."

  "What?" I didn't just hear this stranger tell me that Roman and Mary are both gone. I didn't. My mind splits off from what he's just said and lingers on his accent. Downton Abbey. That's it. He sounds like the Irish guy that was the chauffeur who married into the rich family. But he's Irish, isn't he? Not Scottish. Roman and Mary are in Scotland. There must be a mistake.

  "I'm required by law to inform you that they will be taken to the morgue in Inverness where they’ll remain until a funeral home or mortuary is authorized to remove them to their establishment. Do you have any questions for me?"

  "I don't know, what am I supposed to do?" I almost drop the phone as I remember the twins. "What about the babies? Are the twins ok?"

  "I believe so, Miss. The only occupants of the car were Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson. This will be investigated, of course, but at this time there is no reason to suspect it was anything other than a single-car accident. The driver took his eyes off the road or fell asleep at the wheel. I really need to g
o now, Miss, but if you have any further questions, you can direct them to the West Inverness Police Station."

  Where are Abbie and Archie? I sit down in the nearest chair and try to clear my head. I can't think about a mangled car somewhere in Scotland, holding the crumpled bodies of the only people left in this world who truly know and love me. Think, Tessa. What did Mary say when you talked to her last week?

  I remember now. She was all excited because she had planned a romantic weekend away, just Roman and herself, at a cottage on Loch Ness. The kids are staying with their nanny. Mary had talked a lot about how busy Roman had been ever since they moved to Inverness. She said they really needed the time to reconnect. Thank God they weren’t all in that car. I realize that I'm crying when I see the concerned looks of the strangers in the waiting room across the hall. They're waiting for their loved ones to get out of surgery and here I am, a nurse, blubbering away in front of them. They probably think I've just lost a patient or something. I have to get out of here.

  I have to go to the children. What will happen to them now? I'm all the family they have left, except for Mary's brother. He'll be next to useless. As far as I know, he's never even met the twins. Mary talks about him like he walks on water, but in my mind, he's a jerk.

  God, can they really both be gone?

  I'm crying again. I’ve cried a lot in the last few days. I need to get a hold of myself. I need to get to Inverness and take care of my niece and nephew. They're orphans now, just like me.

  I stop by my supervisor's office and tell her I'm taking a few weeks off. It's rare that I take any sick days and I only take holidays when I'm told I have to "use 'em or lose 'em." Everyone’s very sympathetic as word makes the rounds about the accident. All thoughts of talking to Mitch are on the back burner. I really don't care anymore what he tells people about us. All my attention is focused on getting to my niece and nephew.