by Robin Kaye
“Honey, if word gets out that you’re associated with him, you can kiss your job—hell, your career— good-bye.”
“I can’t believe it’s Nick. I mean, the thought occurred to me . . . but—”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Rosalie, other than I’ve got notes in front of me regarding a conversation between Dominick Romeo and the senior VP of finance, as well as the fallout of said conversation. Your boyfriend implied that if we continued to handle Premier, we would lose his business. I don’t need to tell you that Dominick Romeo’s chain of dealerships means more to us than one dealership, even one as large as Lassiter’s. And, if what Romeo said was accurate— and by virtue of your presence at Premier Motors, all evidence points to its validity—Premier is on precarious financial footing. Now just remember. You didn’t hear any of this from me.”
Rosalie’s mind was spinning as she thanked Leisure and hung up the phone. She tried to rub the tension out of her neck, but the effort wasn’t helping. Neither was Nick’s name written in three-inch block letters on the yellow pad in front of her. Rosalie calmly took a red Sharpie out of her top desk drawer, pulled the cap off the marker and drew a thick “X” through the name. Then she picked up the phone and made a call. “Yes, this is Rosalie Ronaldi. I need to speak with Mr. Lassiter. It’s urgent.”
Nick sat at his desk twirling a pen between his fingers, back and forth, back and forth.
Rosalie would be home in a couple of hours. After checking the clock for the hundredth time that day, Nick paced his office, trying to come up with the right words to tell her the truth. He stuck his head out the door. “Lois, is Ty back with Dave yet?”
“No, they’re at the body shop. Do you want me to call for them?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll wait.”
“Nick? I don’t mean to pry—”
“Sure you do.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “What is it, Lois?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. What’s wrong?” She held up a stack of letters he’d gone over earlier. “You were supposed to sign these. What did you do? Take them out of your in-box and stick them in your out-box?”
“I don’t know. I thought I had signed them. Here, I’ll take care of them now.” He moved toward her desk. She dropped the letters, rolled her chair back, and stood.
“Nick, I don’t care about the damn letters, but if there’s something wrong. . .” She came around the desk toward him, giving him the concerned-mother routine.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
She nodded, picked up the letters she’d dropped, handed them to him, and looked doubtful. “Maybe you should take Dave and Lee to your house in the Hamptons for a week. You haven’t taken any time off in ages, except when Lee was sick, and that was no vacation. The beach in winter is so relaxing.”
“I don’t think so, Lois.”
“Ty and I can take Dave, if that’s a problem.”
“No, Dave’s not the problem, but thanks for the offer. I wasn’t thinking when I started bringing Dave to the office. He’s not going to be with us much longer. I know Ty loves him. I’m sorry.”
“Something’s wrong with Dave? Oh, God.” She stepped back and covered her mouth with her hand.
“No.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Dave’s fine. It’s Lee. Things aren’t going well.”
“They aren’t?” She covered his hand with hers. “Oh, Nick. Are you sure you can’t work things out? I thought everything was different with Lee—better.”
Nick shrugged off her hand and went back into his office. He heard footsteps behind him. He should have known better than to think Lois would let this drop. Damn, he was not in the mood to discuss his private life with his secretary.
“You know, if you tell her everything, there’s a chance she might forgive you and take you back. Personally, I’d start with telling her who you are. I mean, allowing her to believe you’re the service manager is almost understandable, especially with your track record with women.”
Nick chose not to mention that he suspected Rosalie knew who he was from the beginning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nick, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve only dated plastic, shallow, money-hungry women. They’ve never lasted more than a month. I’m sure if you come clean with Rosalie before you get caught in your lies, she’ll understand why you didn’t correct her false assumption. Especially if you tell her the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yes. She was the first genuine woman you’ve met in years, and you were afraid she wouldn’t agree to see you if she knew your history with her brother.”
“I was not afraid.”
“Fine. Call it whatever your fragile male ego can live with. Now, the rest is going to be more difficult. You need to make sure she understands that you’d fallen in love with her long before you were aware of her position with Premier.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Telling her that you love her will take the sting out of it.”
Great, first Vinny, now Lois. “But I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“I don’t love her.”
Lois looked up at him. “Oh, God. What is it with men?” Then she nailed him with her ‘don’t mess with me’ glare. “You honestly believe you’re not in love with Rosalie?”
“Lois, you know me. I don’t do love.”
“You don’t, huh? I guess you bring Dave here for your health. And Ty—you don’t love him? He means nothing to you?”
“Hold on. Ty has nothing to do with this.”
“There’s your mother, your grandmother, Vinny and his family, me and Tyler, Dave. Don’t you see? You take care of the people you love. You’re not good with the words, but your actions—they tell the real story. I knew you were in love with Rosalie as soon as I heard you had taken her to see Mike. When was the last time you made a doctor’s appointment for one of your girlfriends?”
“Lois, I like Lee. She’s a friend.” Nick twirled his pen through his fingers. “But I don’t love her.”
A knock on the door interrupted Nick’s explanation, which was a good thing, because he’d run out of reasons he didn’t love Rosalie—he just didn’t, that’s all there was to it.
Lois shook her head and reached for the door. Good, she was finished telling him how he felt. Women. They think they know everything. Before she opened the door, she turned. Shit.
He took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.
“Nick, I’m warning you. If you let Rosalie go, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it. Don’t you see how lucky you are? This could very well be a once in a lifetime chance at true love. Don’t let it go without a fight, because you’re too stupid and closed-minded to admit the truth. You are not your father. Get over it already.”
Nick was happy to hear the door slam behind her. Thank God that was over. He signed the letters, threw them in his out-box, and waited for Ty to bring Dave back. He wanted to go home, spend the night with Rosalie, hold her, make love to her, and ignore the internal countdown to his own personal D-day.
When Rosalie entered the apartment, everything looked the same as it had that morning, but it felt different. It felt like it had before she’d met Nick, only cleaner.
She shrugged off her coat, threw it on the couch, and sat on it. Nick had his running shoes placed neatly by the front door. The Frisbee he’d bought for Dave leaned against the wall in front of them. Nick’s Polar fleece running jacket dangled on the hook next to where Dave’s leash usually hung. His cell phone charger was on the buffet. He’d put it next to hers and neatly stowed all the cords. Everywhere she looked, Nick was there.
Rosalie had come home early, because she needed to change for her meeting with Mr. Lassiter Sr. She’d never been to the Harvard Club, but knew her dress-down, Friday business-casual garb wouldn’t exactly blend. She started stripping on the way to the bedroom and threw her clothes on the bed. Opening the closet, she picked o
ut her best suit with the matching silk shell. Nick’s clothes hung beside hers. His shoes were placed on the floor like little soldiers all lined up. She pulled on her skirt, stepped into her lucky shoes, turned, and faced the bed. The book Nick had been reading lay on the bedside table on his side of the bed. Oh, God. When had that become his side? When had they chosen sides? Rosalie slipped the shell over her head and shrugged into her jacket before sinking onto the bedspread of the expertly made bed. She opened the drawer, and sure enough, everything in there was Nick’s. He’d moved in. They were living together. When had that happened?
She was living . . . Hell, who was she kidding? She was in love with a man who’d spent their entire relationship lying to her. All this time, she’d kept telling herself he was lying about his identity because of his money, when from the get-go, she’d been nothing but a cog in the wheel of a master plan to take over Premier Motorcars. Shack up with the interim CFO and have all the information you need at your fingertips. God only knew what he’d learned. All those nights she’d brought home her computer, her files, Premier’s financials. How could he do this to her?
Nick came home and vacuumed the living room. He’d had a miserable day at work, trying to figure out what to say to Rosalie.
He considered kidnapping her. He could get her in his car with Dave and come clean going eighty miles an hour down the Long Island Expressway. But with his luck, they’d get stuck in Friday traffic, and he wouldn’t put it past Rosalie to get out and tell him to go screw himself. No, that wasn’t a good plan. Even if she did calm down by the time they got to the beach house, the glitz of the Hamptons might be too much of a shock.
Maybe he should take her to his brownstone. At least it was close to what she knew. No. He didn’t want to look like he was trying to buy forgiveness, and his place was a little over-the-top. He should never have let what’s-her-name decorate it. Sure, he’d hired her to decorate before he slept with her, but as soon as they’d started sleeping together, she acted as if she were decorating her future home. At least she had good taste. Expensive, but good. Now, instead of a home, he lived in a showplace. Not that he spent much time there.
He looked around Rosalie’s apartment. Here, he felt comfortable, at home. That settled it. He’d stay put and talk to her. He’d tell her everything, and if he lived through the aftermath, maybe she’d forgive him. Then they could . . . what? He didn’t know. Keep doing whatever it was they were doing.
Dave kicked his food bowl. The poor guy was hungry. Nick looked at his watch. Shit, it was six-thirty. No wonder Dave complained. Nick fed the dog and checked the answering machine and his cell phone for messages. Nothing.
He went to vacuum the bedroom and saw the disaster. Rosalie had come home and gone out again. She usually left him a note or told him what was going on, but for some reason, she hadn’t.
He settled in to wait for her. She was always home by eight.
Nick put away the clothes Rosalie threw on the bed and started cleaning the bathroom. He checked his watch. It was almost nine.
Worry set in. He chided himself about it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He called her cell phone and left a message on her voice mail.
Nick opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He took the bottle opener out of the drawer and his favorite mug out of the freezer and poured the beer before making himself a sandwich. He ate his sandwich at the counter and began cleaning the kitchen. After a few minutes, Dave whined, went through the living room, and lay down beside the door. Even the dog knew something was wrong.
It was ten when Nick started fighting panic. He’d run out of things to clean. If something had happened to Rosalie, no one would know to call him. He went to her desk where she kept her address book and thought about calling her parents, but what would he say? “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ronaldi, it’s Dominick Romeo. Yeah, that’s me, the one who got your son arrested. Well, I’ve been seeing your daughter, and she’s missing. Do you know where she is?” That would go over real well.
He’d call her friends, except for one problem. He didn’t know any of her friends. How could he have been with her for so long and never have met her friends? The only one she had spoken of was Gina. That was it. He’d call Gina. Gina knew him.
Nick didn’t know Gina’s last name, so he went through every name in Rosalie’s address book until he came to Gina’s. He felt three times a fool when he dialed the number, but it was either that or start calling hospitals.
“Hello?” barked the man who answered. Man, if his voice matched his body, Nick wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley.
“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but is Gina there?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Dominick Romeo. I’m a friend of Rosalie Ronaldi’s. Is Gina there?”
“Yeah, hang on.” Nick heard him knock on a door, then the sound of a hand going over the mouthpiece.
“Hello?”
“Gina?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Gina, it’s Nick. I’m sorry to call so late, but Lee isn’t home, and she’s always home by now. I’m worried about her. Do you know where she is?”
“Did you try her cell phone?”
“Christ, Gina, of course I tried her cell. Voice mail picks up. She always leaves a note when she goes out. She didn’t leave one tonight. She didn’t call to say she’d be late.”
“Okay, calm down. She probably went out with friends or something. Did you try her parents?”
“No. I don’t know them, and I don’t know any of her friends. You’re the only one I’ve met. Did she say anything to you at work about having plans?”
“No, but she acted a little strange.”
“Define ‘strange.’”
“She left early, and she didn’t say where she was going. Did you two have a fight or something?”
“No. Things have been tense, but she seemed fine.”
“Tense? Why tense? Nick, I told you what I’d do to you if you ever hurt her, remember?”
“Gina, I don’t have time for threats. Are you going to help me find her or not?”
Gina said something in Spanish and then schooled her tone. “I’ll call Rosalie’s sister on her cell. I think I have the number somewhere. I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks, Gina. I’m at home.”
“Whose home? Yours or Rosalie’s?”
“Rosalie’s.”
Nick hung up and waited.
At midnight, Nick sat on the sofa, imagining Rosalie dead. He could hardly breathe. Gina had called him back after talking to Annabelle and Rosalie’s parents, and he knew no more than before.
Nick had called every hospital in Manhattan and Brooklyn, but none had a record of anyone fitting Rosalie’s description. Gina called every half hour, and every time the phone rang, he answered, thinking it was Rosalie. Every time it wasn’t, he felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. The minutes dragged like hours, the hours like weeks.
A little after three, Dave barked. Nick heard the snick of the lock, then Rosalie walked in. She didn’t see him at first. She tottered in as if she were walking barefoot over broken glass, throwing her coat in the vicinity of the couch and her handbag on the table. When she flipped the light on, she saw him. He heard her gasp.
She’d been out with God knows who, while he’d been calling hospitals, picturing her floating in the East River, dreading the phone ringing, and praying it would. She was alive, thank God. Relief rolled over him, and then anger filled the void. He wanted to kill her for putting him through eight hours of hell. He wanted to hold her and never let her go. He wanted to handcuff her to him, so he’d never again have to wonder where the hell she was. Oh, yeah, and he wanted to punch something.
He rose, his body feeling as if Rosalie had thrown him out of a speeding truck and backed over him a few times for good measure. He went to the closet, got his jacket, and passed her on the way to the door.
“Nick.” She reach
ed out and touched his arm.
One look, that’s all it took. She dropped her hand to her side and stepped back. Nick walked out without a word.
He stood on the sidewalk, fighting for breath. He hadn’t known a body could hurt so much without being hit by a bus or shot. Pulling his cell phone off his belt, he punched in Gina’s number. Hell, he’d called her so many times that night, he’d memorized it.
“Nick?”
“Yeah, she’s home.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, as far as I could tell.”
“Where the hell was she?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“I can’t. I left.”
“Where are you going to go at three in the morning?”
“Home, I guess.” Christ, he’d just left his home. His home was with Rosalie.
“Nick, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to let you know she’s okay. I’ve got to go.” He hit the end button.
Nick walked. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. All he knew was if he was still moving, it meant he was still alive.
Nick looked as if she’d stabbed him, and then he looked . . . gone. She’d barely made it to the bathroom before tossing her cookies. The phone rang; the answering machine answered. She heard Gina’s voice. She didn’t care.
Rosalie’s meeting with Mr. Lassiter had been illuminating. She hadn’t known what to think, so she spent the rest of the night sitting in a pub and trying to make sense of what she’d learned. She had no trouble believing the story of Nick in Juvenile Hall—it explained the bad boy persona he wore so easily. Rosalie knew about Nick’s mother and grandmother, but the news about his father . . . well. He’d never mentioned a father or the lack thereof. After spending time with Mr. Lassiter, Rosalie had no problem seeing a young Dominick Romeo looking up to the man, but she did have trouble believing that Nick was ever a rival or jealous of Jack Jr. No, there was more to the story than that—not that she’d probably ever hear the truth.
