Outwait

by Lisa Suzanne

  I want to put up a fight, but I don’t. I’m too tired, and frankly, I don’t particularly want the argument. So, like a good little girlfriend, I lug my suitcase up the stairs all by myself. Jerk didn’t even offer to carry it up for me.

  I have to remind myself that it’s because he’s busy cooking me dinner. It was an oversight. He’s focused on doing something nice for me, so he forgot to offer to do another nice thing for me. I actually read a study that proves that men aren’t like women, that they can’t multitask the same way. They can only focus on one major thing at a time, and for William tonight, that was dinner.

  I shouldn’t let it excuse the fact that he didn’t help me with my luggage, but I do. Come to think of it, I tend to forgive a lot of little things—far more than I should.

  I shake off those thoughts. I came home tonight with the intention of patching things up with William, of moving forward with him again instead of living in the same house and avoiding him.

  If I can let the big thing go—the thing where he kept truths from me that I deserved to know—if I can get past that, I can get past the suitcase thing, too.

  I unpack my bag and return to the kitchen. He’s stirring the sauce, and I slip my arms around his waist from behind. I lean up and press a soft kiss to his neck. “Thanks for dinner. It’s really sweet of you.”

  He turns around and pulls me against him. “You’re talking to me.” He sounds surprised.

  “I am.” I lean my head back and he gives me a soft peck on the lips.

  “Is this… Are you…” He doesn’t know how to form the question he really wants to ask: Are you over it yet?

  “I’m still mad at you, William, but I don’t want to be. Can we just move forward with no secrets, please? Can we try to put this behind us?”

  He nods. “Yes, of course, but you know I don’t keep secrets from you.”

  “You did.”

  He shakes his head. “I told you, that was attorney-client privilege.”

  I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath before I explode. Clearly forgiveness over this situation just isn’t in my DNA, but I force myself to overcome it. I love William.

  And if I keep reminding myself of that, maybe I’ll start to remember why—and, more importantly, maybe I’ll start to believe it again.

  I clear my throat. “Let’s eat.”

  “Go sit,” he says, like he’s taking care of the world when he’s actually doing a simple task that I do for him pretty much every night of the week.

  I sit, and he proceeds to serve me dinner. A loaf of my favorite crusty bread sits on the table—he thought of everything.

  He sits and starts eating while I twirl noodles around my fork. I take a bite, and it’s not half bad. Maybe William and I should start splitting the cooking duties.

  Even as I think it, I know it’ll never happen. This is a special and rare occasion.

  “So what did you do all weekend?” I ask.

  “I worked yesterday, and then today I went to the store to buy everything to make dinner, and then I made dinner.”

  My snarky and mean brain wants to ask, So preparing one meal was an all-day task?

  I refrain.

  “What’s going on at work?”

  He shrugs. “The takeover is set to happen within the next month.” He lowers his voice as if that’ll soften the blow.

  “How do you know?”

  “The board has already been selling off shares. It won’t be long.”

  “Have you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Why not?”

  I want him to say it’s because he can’t do it to my father, to my family. I want him to throw up a defense that’s worthy of my forgiveness. I want with everything I have to get us back to normal.

  But he doesn’t answer, and that’s my answer.

  He must be holding out for more money. He’s always been money-driven, but it was never an issue before. We both worked hard for our money. Baker Media is a fairly big company and my parents have always done all right for themselves, but they’ve instilled a work ethic in me. They didn’t hand anything to me; they made me work for it, even if it was working for their company in a position I might not have gotten without my last name. They have a trust set up for me, and I know they’ll always take care of me, but I haven’t touched any of it. I’ve always wanted to earn my own way, pay for my own car and my own house and my own things, even if I’m paying for it with the money I earn from my family’s company. It still feels untaintedly mine.

  “Why not, William?”

  “Can we talk about something else? It seems like you always get so angry when we talk about work, and I just want to have a nice dinner with you tonight.”

  I nod. “Fine.” I rip a piece of crusty bread in half. The poor bread never even saw my frustration coming.

  William even offers to do the dishes after we eat, so I relax on the couch and scroll through my work email.

  There’s one from Carson. The subject line says “Business Dinner”.

  I delete it without reading it. I don’t need any more complications.

  CHAPTER 19

  CARSON

  My first stop the following Thursday is, once again, King Contributions.

  “Two weeks in a row? This must be some kind of record,” Carter says.

  I glare at him. “Have you sent numbers to Paul? He’s got a team working on the best way to integrate King Contributions with Baker so we don’t look like sharks to the community.”

  “I had Kaitlin send them over Monday.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s going on with you?” Carter asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem even crabbier than usual. Not getting enough sex?”

  “Fuck off.”

  He chuckles.

  “I just missed my asshole brother,” I say.

  “Good one. Why are you really here?”

  I shrug. “Needed some salty sea air.”

  “Something wrong with the Atlantic? Coney Island is like a half hour away.”

  “Too touristy. I needed some Pacific.”

  “But you hate flying.”

  “No shit, but I love San Diego, and you’re here.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I really believe you came here to see me.”

  I shrug, and he laughs. We talk business, and once I get my work obligations out of the way, I make my way over to the Baker Media building.

  This feels an awful lot like last time, but it’s different. I am different.

  “Is Rob available?” I ask the receptionist.

  She checks her screen. “He’s in a meeting for at least another half hour. Would you like to wait, or would you like me to see if one of the other executives is free?”

  I clear my throat, wondering if the VP of operations might be free. “Another executive would be fine.”

  She glances at her screen again. “Hang on just a few minutes and I’ll see who is available. Would you like a water or anything while you wait?”

  I shake my head.

  “Take a seat and someone will be right up to talk to you.”

  A man walks between the chair where I sit and the receptionist’s desk. I immediately don’t like something about him, but I can’t put my finger on what it is other than a gut feeling. It sort of looks like the guy who had his arm around Sylvie in the parking lot that day, but I was so focused on her that I didn’t really notice him. He looks at me and looks away without a greeting.

  I hate people like that. He doesn’t have the first fucking clue who I am. I’m about to take over this company, and this bitch doesn’t even have the decency to say hello to me? To nod his head in my direction? If he knew who I am, he would.

  “Have a good lunch, William,” the receptionist says.

  William.

  It’s a common name, but it’s one that’s been on my mind for the past couple weeks.

  Sylvie never said they work together, but I sudden
ly know this is him, and suddenly I feel about a hundred times more confident in my pursuit.

  I hear the receptionist make a call and hang on her words for a clue about who she’s calling. “Are you free for a meeting?” There’s a pause, and then she says, “Yes, I’ve got someone up here who would like to speak with an executive.” Another pause. “Thank you.” She hangs up and looks at me. “She’ll be right up.”

  She.

  What if it’s her?

  I suddenly feel nervous. I feel like this was a big mistake. I feel like I might be sick.

  What the fuck are these strange feelings? The only time I ever get nervous like this is when I have to confront someone. I remember nearly getting sick on the sidewalk after my meeting with Rob Baker. I feel like I might get sick right here in the office, and this isn’t even technically a confrontation.

  I spot her immediately when she turns the corner. Of course it’s her.

  She’s stunning. She’s wearing a tight gray skirt that stops just before her knees, and her shapely legs that extend from the skirt land in a pair of black heels. These heels are taller than the ones she wore when we met, giving her height and maybe a touch of confidence that might not otherwise be there. She wears a black button-down shirt with sleeves that stop at the elbows, and the fabric is stretching across her luxurious breasts. It’s tucked into the skirt, and a large black belt narrows her waist.

  My memories didn’t do justice to the beauty that’s rounding the corner with shock in her eyes. She nervously tucks some hair behind her ear and her mouth forms an O of surprise before she stops short.

  “Carson,” she whispers.

  I stand. “Hi Sylvie.”

  We stand and stare at each other for a few beats as what I can only describe as an intense heat passes between us.

  She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had some business in town and was hoping to meet with your dad.”

  Sylvie looks over at the receptionist. “He’s in a meeting,” she explains.

  “I…uh…” Sylvie trails off.

  “Should we talk in your office?” I ask, desperate to break the tension but more desperate to get her alone.

  “Um…sure. Yes. Come on back.”

  I follow her down a series of hallways until we arrive at a large corner office. Her desk is organized chaos filled with paperwork and books and binders.

  “Have a seat,” she says. She stands by the door as I walk in, and then she shuts it behind me.

  Maybe I’m completely delusional, but in my eyes, the fact that she closed the door means she wants privacy.

  That’s funny, because that’s exactly why I’m here—for a few private moments with Sylvie Baker.

  She sits behind her desk—a power play. She’s in the dominant position sitting behind her desk in her spacious corner office while I’m the guest here. I’m not sure what to say, and I’m hoping the words will just magically come to me.

  “What do you want to talk to my dad about?”

  “I only said that because the receptionist was listening.”

  Sylvie looks confused.

  “I only said I was here to see your dad because of the receptionist,” I clarify.

  She still looks confused.

  “I came to see you.”

  Her hand flies to her chest in surprise. “Me?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. Well, then, what can I help you with?”

  “You never responded to my email, so I figured I’d come ask in person. Go to dinner with me.”

  She lets out a breath that sounds like half chuckle, half frustration. “God, you don’t give up, do you?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’re awfully cocky.”

  “So I’ve been told. Will you join me for dinner while I’m in town?” I came all this way to see you. I want to say the words, but I hold back.

  “No.”

  I draw both of my brows in and give a rueful smile. “This sounds awfully familiar.”

  “Then take the hint.”

  “How’s William?”

  She averts her eyes to the window for a beat.

  Breaking eye contact—the number one signal that someone’s about to tell a lie.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is he?”

  She presses her lips together. “Why are you really here, Carson?”

  “There are rumors about your father.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I feel like this is something she should know.

  She narrows her eyes at me, but her poker face is spot-on. “What kind of rumors?”

  I shrug.

  She runs her hand through her hair and tugs at the end in frustration. “Don’t give me that. What rumors?”

  I clear my throat. This is a personal matter for her, and I want to make sure I handle it sensitively. “My CFO has been working closely with your board, and rumor has it they’re worried about your father’s health.”

  “He’s fine,” she snaps.

  “As fine as William?”

  I watch her carefully for a reaction. Women tend to act on emotion no matter how logical they are, and while I can tell she’s a shrewd businesswoman, I’m prying into private personal and family matters—into situations that seem to be far from fine.

  She lets out a breath and looks away from me again, but I can see that her eyes have misted over. “Remember how you gave me that piece of yourself?”

  I nod, because I know exactly what she’s talking about. She swipes at her cheek. I can’t tell from my angle, but that might’ve been a tear.

  She looks at me desperately for the briefest of moments. “Can you promise this is off the record?”

  I furrow my brows in concern. “Of course.”

  “He made me swear not to tell anyone, and I haven’t, but it’s killing me. I have to talk to someone about it, and you’re the exact wrong person, yet somehow you’re also the exact right person.”

  I huff out a grim chuckle. I know the feeling well. “You can tell me. I swear it’s between us.”

  “He’s not well. The rumors are true. No one knows what’s really going on.”

  “What’s really going on?”

  She takes a deep breath. “He has Parkinson’s.”

  “Oh, God, Sylvie. I’m so sorry.”

  She swipes her cheek again. “Why am I telling you this?”

  The urge to take her in my arms and comfort her is so overwhelmingly strong that I almost get up out of my chair and go to her. I’m not sure she wants that, though, and I’m also not sure it’s my place to provide her comfort. I stay in my seat even though it takes every last ounce of self-control I have.

  I shrug and shoot her a sympathetic smile. “Because we’re somehow connected. Because we know nothing about each other except our darkest secrets.”

  “That pretty much defines it.” She picks up a pen from her desk and fiddles with it.

  “My grandfather had Parkinson’s. He still lived a long life.”

  “But what kind of life?” she asks quietly. “I’ve researched the disease. He’s not going to get better.”

  “No, he won’t. He’ll get progressively worse, but it’s just a body. His mind will still be there.”

  “How am I supposed to watch my dad—my hero—as his body starts to fail him?” She’s whispering the words, and I know she’s speaking her biggest fears aloud for the first time. Just as I chose her to confess my deepest secret to, she’s choosing me.

  And even though Lauren said I need to outwait the lawyer, this sort of feels like I’m outplaying him. This conversation between Sylvie and me isn’t part of the game, yet I’m emerging the victor.

  “You love him like you always have. He’s the same person, but he’s probably terrified. He won’t let you see that, though. You don’t ignore it and you don’t pretend it isn’t happening, but you move on with life as normal and you let him take your arm when he’s unsteady.”

  She swip
es at her cheek again, and the pang in my heart is almost too much to bear from this side of the desk.

  She sniffles, and just as my legs are about to push up from the chair to go to her, she nods. “You’re right. God, you’re smart.”

  I flash her my best panty-dropping grin. “I know.”

  “And you’re an arrogant ass.”

  My grin deepens. “I know.”

  She laughs, wipes under her eyes one last time, and draws in a deep breath.

  “You know, my grandfather joined a support group at the hospital, and he always said it was the best thing he ever did.”

  “Thanks. I’ll mention it to my dad. Did you come all this way to ask my dad if he’s sick?”

  I shake my head. “No, I had other business in town.” Namely, you.

  “You should probably get to it.”

  “I’ve already been to King Contributions. I’ll also be visiting family while I’m here.”

  I can’t read her response. I lean back and cross one leg over the other so my ankle rests on my knee.

  “Don’t get comfortable.” She’s flipped a complete one-eighty on me. Just a second ago, she was all tender and sweet while she spoke of her father and her fears, and now she’s back to bitch mode. All I did was lean back and cross my leg.

  “I don’t know that I could ever be comfortable in your presence.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her brows draw in and she looks angry.

  “You throw me completely for a loop, Sylvie.”

  Her eyes soften. “Well, Carson, the feeling’s mutual.”

  “Talk to me about the staff here.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. If you take over this company, you can learn it for yourself.”

  I raise a brow. “Tough words, Ms. Baker. Also, it’s cute that you said if rather than when.”

  “If you refer to me as cute again, I will have security remove you.”

  I laugh, because even though she says the words, she says them lightly. “My apologies, cupcake.”

  She looks like she’s ready to throat-punch me. “I swear to God, Carson…”

  “I’m sorry about what’s happening here. Because we know each other’s secrets now, I feel like I should tell you that the final steps are in place for the takeover. It’s out of my hands. My legal team is working with your legal team, and my CFO is finalizing negotiations with your major stakeholders.”