Come to Me Again

by Leah Atwood

  “Yes, oh. Did you plan on telling me that you’re friends with Maisy?” An undercurrent of resentment lined his question.

  She chewed on a fingernail. “Eventually.”

  “How could you befriend her?” His fists curled, and the need to punch something was almost overwhelming. “After what she did to me, how?”

  “It’s been four years, Dominic.” She wouldn’t look at him. They both knew time wouldn’t heal the wounds Maisy inflicted on him.

  He jumped up, inadvertently knocking over his chair in the process. “Is that all anyone can say? ‘It’s been four years’ like that’s supposed to make it all better? Erase the fact she’d rather break our engagement than lose her daddy’s money?” His breathing turned ragged. “She told me I wasn’t good enough, that I never would be.”

  Roxy flinched. “I know, but Maisy isn’t the same person she was then. She’s changed, matured.”

  “It still doesn’t change what happened.”

  Silence permeated the air until Roxy extended an arm, laying a hand on his arm. “No, it doesn’t, but I also know she would redo that day a thousand times over if she could.”

  “Why was she in town?” He tightened his jaw, aggravated that he’d asked.

  She removed her hand and twirled her thumbs, again not making eye contact. “She moved back to Dillonton.”

  Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself so his answer wouldn’t sound angry. “You could have warned me, sis.”

  “I just didn’t think. If you’re that against it, I won’t talk to her anymore.”

  “No.” Goodness knew Roxy hadn’t had a lot of friends in her life, and she obviously saw something in Maisy. “She’s your friend—just leave me out of it.”

  The light on the sandwich maker turned off, and Roxy lifted the lid. Carefully, she picked the grilled cheese up by an edge and slid it onto a plate. “Here you go.” She set the plate in front of him, then sat in a chair. “Will you promise me one thing?”

  “Depends. What is it?”

  “If she ever comes to you, give her a chance.”

  “A chance for what?” His brows crinkled, scoffing at the idea.

  “Whatever she needs.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not a promise I’d be able to keep. Seeing her at the grocery store was bad enough.” As if she’d ever approach him needing anything, anyway. She’d made it perfectly clear he had nothing to offer her.

  “Please.” Roxy’s blue eyes pleaded with him.

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because I care deeply for both of you but know you each carry scars on your heart.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He rolled his eyes—he couldn’t help it.

  “I'm serious.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not saying you should try to get back together with her or anything like that. All I’m asking is that you give her a chance. If not for yourself, then for me.”

  The vagueness of her request annoyed him, but he couldn’t say no. It went back to the promise they’d made each other thirteen years ago. “If the opportunity were ever to arise, I will, but only because it will make you happy.”

  Chapter 2

  Vincent Rothchild wasn’t a large man, but that didn’t prevent him from projecting an imposing image. Gray eyes had the same penetrating effect as the bullets that matched their hue. His black hair was interspersed with distinguished silver locks and trimmed to a perfect cut at the expense of several hundred dollars. He was a ruthless businessman—respected by many but feared for the power he yielded.

  He was also her father.

  Maisy Rothchild stood outside his home office and sucked in a heavy breath, bracing herself for what might come. At twenty-three years old, she still hadn’t discovered the key to earning her father’s respect, let alone love. One thing was certain. Something was amiss. He only summoned her when he had something important to discuss. Nine times out of ten, the result was a combination of disappointment, anger, or frustration—all on her end.

  Her heart beat fast like that of a newborn kitten. She raised a single hand, fisted it, and knocked on the daunting, darkly stained door.

  “Come in.”

  Even from outside the room, she could hear the preoccupation in his voice. The door groaned as she opened it, the hinges crying from years of holding up the heavy piece of carpentry. Her father sat at his desk, his head bent, looking at a paper he held in his hand. He didn’t look up at her.

  She crossed the room, navigating around the Persian rug that was for display purposes only and upon which stepping was not permitted. Two burgundy armchairs with brass studded trim sat in front of the executive desk, but Maisy didn’t dare breach etiquette by sitting down before she was invited.

  Her father laid down the paper he’d been studying. “Have a seat, Macilynne.”

  The use of her given name made her cringe. It was a fine namesake—she shared it with her maternal great-grandmother—but she preferred Maisy. No one but her father ever used her full name anymore. “Yes, sir.”

  She lowered herself into the chair, not leaning in to the comfortable backing, but maintaining a rigid form. Anything less would welcome a lecture from her father regarding proper demeanor.

  “The new year is here.” He rose from the seat, slowly and with his palms pressing against the desk. “What are your plans and goals?”

  “I plan to continue my work at the community center and aspire to earn a director position as one becomes available.” She overlapped her hands, resting them on her lap. “Mrs. Cohen is rumored to be retiring in April, which will open an opportunity.”

  “I see.”

  His slow nod sent chills down Maisy’s spine. Years of reprimands kept her from squirming in her seat, but she was increasingly uncomfortable, waiting for the ax to fall. “Many staff members believe I have an excellent chance of filling her vacancy.”

  “You won’t be working at the community center much longer.” Her father came to the front of the desk, resolve written in his set jaw.

  “What do you mean?” she asked in her calmest voice. Neutrality was difficult to maintain but necessary to survive. Dad would pounce on any perceived weakness.

  “I’ve decided you’ve dallied long enough at the center.” He reached behind himself and retrieved a stack of papers. “When you go in for your next shift, you’re to give your two weeks’ notice.”

  Anger seethed through her, partly at herself for not anticipating his latest control tactic, but mostly at her father for his continued assumption that he could dictate her life. “I assume you have another job already lined up for me?”

  “Control your attitude.” He crossed her arm and gave her a reproachful glare. “In two weeks, you will come work for me and take your rightful place in the business.”

  “No.” To her amazement, the single word sounded definitive and steady. Only one of which she felt at the moment.

  His cheek twitched on the top of his jawline. “I indulged you too often over the years. On this one thing, you will obey me.”

  An undignified snort erupted before she could stop the exclamation. The tight grip she’d held on self-control loosened considerably. “How, exactly, have you indulged me? Every facet of my life you’ve taken under your dictation.”

  Flames of fury ignited in his eyes. “I’ve given you every opportunity conceivable so that you’d have a privileged life.”

  She matched his glare with one of her own. His opportunities had nothing to do with providing the best for his children and everything to do with exerting control over their lives. Both her hands gripped the arms of the chair and she pushed up to a standing position, letting her hands fall to her side. “At what cost?”

  “Dramatics don’t suit you.” He sat on the edge of the desk and heaved an exasperated sigh, one that Maisy found more insulting than his wrath.

  There was nothing else to say. Arguments with him were pointless, but this time, she wouldn’t cave to his demands. She was twenty-three years
old, and she might be four years late, but she would stand by her own choices. “I’m not quitting my job, and I will not work for you. Although I can appreciate your efforts to improve my life and the opportunities you’ve presented, I need to make my own way.”

  Her placating words had little effect on his countenance. “Heed my advice or you’ll be sorry, Macilynne. You’re young and impulsive, as you’ve demonstrated in the past.” He paused, as though daring her to contradict him. When she didn’t take his bait, he continued. “Though my actions seem harsh and unyielding, they are in your best interest—with maturity, you will understand that.”

  “I understand plenty.” Before her composure weakened, she turned and strode from the office, her shoulders squared and head held high.

  She took deep breaths as she walked down the hall. Her knees were weak, her legs numb. Descending the stairs, she clung to the wrought iron banister. She’d stood up to her father, but there would no doubt be repercussions.

  At the bottom of the steps, she glanced down, noticing the shine of the marble floor. It must have been polished recently. The temperature inside the house was a comfortable seventy-six degrees, but a suffocating feeling clamped her throat. She rushed outside and onto the veranda, into a wall of cold January air. The briskness revived her ease of breathing, and she stepped off the porch.

  She took another few steps and turned to look at the house. Pinching her eyes shut, she willed herself back to childhood. If only for a second, she wanted to recapture that feeling of wonder she’d had as a young girl, when she’d sat on the soft green grass of the front lawn and imagine herself in another century. The Rothchild house was one of the few antebellum homes remaining in the county, so it wasn’t a far stretch of the imagination.

  Life was happier then when Mom was still alive. Dad had always been intense, but Mom had balanced him, brought smiles to his face. After she had died, his drive multiplied, and his sole focus became expanding his real estate business. His son and two daughters were all but forgotten except as heirs to Rothchild Realty and holders of the impeccable family name.

  Her oldest sibling, Levi, was Dad’s favorite because he did everything according to the plan. After graduating from Duke, he took over the Wilmington office. Two years later, he married the daughter of a state senator, whose connections had landed the company several lucrative contracts. Levi never went against their father’s wishes, and Maisy always thought it was because the two men were so much alike. She loved her brother but had never shared a special bond with him.

  Maureen was the second child, born right in the middle of the six-year gap between Levi and Maisy. Married to a lawyer who came from old money and with whom she wasn’t in love, she tried desperately to win Dad’s approval. It would never happen, and Maisy hurt for her sister because she understood the heartache.

  In the aftermath of mom’s death, the relationship between Maureen and Maisy had suffered as they competed to win their father’s attention. Over the years, the bond had been restored and flourished after the dissolution of her and Dominic’s engagement. Maisy had been heartbroken, regardless of her resolve that she’d done the right thing. Many teary nights had accompanied the weeks and months after, and Maureen had stood by her side through it all, except she didn’t know the truth about the broken engagement and why Maisy had left Dominic.

  With the memories taking a path Maisy didn’t want to proceed down, she opened her eyes to reality. Her gaze landed on the spacious house with four two-story columns that had greeted guests for two centuries. Magazines had featured it on their covers on more than one occasion, but Maisy knew it was an empty shell, no matter that it was packed with expensive furniture and relics. A real home would be filled with love, or it was nothing more than a place to sleep.

  Or a prison.

  A quick palpitation made her heart shudder. It absolutely wasn’t fear. If she repeated that enough, maybe she’d start to believe it was true, but for the moment it was a total lie. Would her father carry through with the veiled threats, if she didn’t leave her position at the community center?

  She pivoted and stormed to her car, seething with renewed anger. That he manipulated her and Maureen throughout their lives was bad enough, but why did he have to draw others into his devious schemes? If she crossed him, innocent people would suffer.

  She couldn’t live like that, not anymore. Even if it hurt, she had to put an end to it and pray everything would work out in the end. Opening her door, she laughed, a blatant mocking sound. God had never answered her prayers in the past. What reason did she have to believe He would start now?

  The leather seats of her high-end luxury coupe were still warm from the ride to see Father. She started the engine and drove off faster than she should have. Time and distance couldn’t put space between her and her dad soon enough. Her nerves were still raw from running into Dominic last week, and now the meeting with her father.

  Boundless possibilities ran through her mind as she imagined what consequences her father might exact. Distracted from driving, she navigated a sharp turn too fast, and the car jerked into the left lane. Her breath caught in her throat.

  The car propelled forward at an angle, careening toward a line of trees bordering the road. Turning the steering wheel in the direction the car was going, she regained control, only to see a truck speeding in her direction. She gulped and rapidly moved to the proper lane, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.

  The breath she’d been holding expelled, and her tight grip on the steering wheel turned her knuckles white. An adrenaline rush from the near accident slammed into her, and her chest rose and fell in tune with her rapid, uneven breathing. She spotted a dirt road ahead. Slowing down, she eased off the main road. Realizing it was an ATV trail, she shifted into “park” and pushed the door open.

  Native trees stood proud on either side of her, their branches bare until spring when they would produce new life. Dry and brittle fallen leaves layered the ground with shades of browns and tans. The earthy scent of burning wood drifted to her nostrils.

  I wish I was curled by a fire, with a book, to escape this day. Maisy leaned against the headrest. The combination of fresh air and deep breathing exercises calmed her until her shaking hands stilled and her mind cleared of what-ifs. She tuned out all worries regarding her father, vowing not to think about it until she was off the road.

  She took one last deep breath, rolling her hands from her chest to shoulders as she sucked in, and then outward as she slowly exhaled. After closing the door, she gripped the steering wheel again and looked in her side mirrors, and then rearview. There was no sign of anyone or any vehicles. She put the car in reverse and inched the tail end of her car onto the road until she could straighten out and shift into “drive”.

  A mile down the road, she turned up the radio’s volume, switched through the stations until she found one playing a song by a sassy, female country singer. Her grip relaxed and she returned to her usual position, one hand at the steering wheel’s top and the other tapping against the bottom to the beat of the music.

  She sang along, pretending it was a warm summer day and not thirty-nine degrees outside. The song ended, and a local furniture store’s commercial invited listeners to come in for the sale of the season. Several more ads ran before another song played. All it took for Maisy to recognize the song was a few beats of instrumental introduction. Her fingers itched to change the station, but she couldn’t.

  Thoughts of Dominic flooded her within seconds of the first line being sung—memories of senior prom when they’d swayed to this very song during the last dance. Later, when prom had ended, they’d driven to the beach and talked the night away. As the sun eased above the horizon, she’d sat on the bumper of his 150 while he knelt on one knee and proposed.

  They were so young and in love then. Everyone said it wouldn’t last, but it would have had her dad not interfered. She knew with certainty their love would have survived and seen them through. She knew that because
four years after their broken engagement, she still loved Dominic.

  When she’d seen him at Lenny’s, the fact became indisputable. The years had been kind to his appearance. Gone was the lanky boy she’d befriended as a scared six-year-old, replaced by a man with well-defined muscles. His sandy-blonde hair was cropped short in a stylish cut, no longer long enough to flirt with his shoulders. The mildly crooked angle of his nose was a souvenir from the time he’d fought Danny Delong for spreading false rumors about her.

  Those days were hiding in the past now, only to surface for trips down memory lane, which she tried to avoid. Except, today, she was failing miserably at that. Her father’s decree an hour ago drew out all the reminders of what he’d cost her. Sure, she’d made the final decision, but he’d maneuvered her into a corner guaranteed to end her relationship with a man he’d deemed unworthy.

  Maisy leaned up, catching a glimpse of her frowning face in the rearview mirror. Dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there that morning hollowed her cheeks. She needed a friend, but the only one who would understand was Roxy, and Maisy couldn’t handle seeing her right now. The simple fact she was Dominic’s sister would cause more emotional upheaval than Maisy was willing to accept today.

  There was no one to whom she could turn. Not many of her current friends knew about Dominic. None of her friends from high school had understood her love for the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. When she’d left with him for Nashville, many of them had turned their backs on her. Good riddance, she had thought with a steadfast refusal to let anyone dissuade her from the relationship. The rest of the friends she’d naturally grown apart from, except for Angela, but she was out of the country.

  After she’d left Nashville, returning to North Carolina was too painful, so she attended college in Washington, D.C. Her dad had pulled strings to have her accepted into George Washington on short notice, one of the few times she’d willingly asked him for help. At GW, she’d taken summer classes to accomplish earning dual degrees in a reasonable time—one in business and one in human services. Despite her grueling workload, she’d had an active social life, but she’d purposely not told anyone about Dominic.