by R. R. Banks
, I have bigger things to worry about right now,” I say. “The last thing I need is to deal with your bullshit on top of it.”
He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall beside my classroom door. He lifts his chin defiantly and clenches his jaw. Carter always was a stubborn ass, and I see that hasn't changed one iota.
“Not going anywhere,” he says.
I let out an exasperated breath and stare at him. He looks back at me defiantly – though, there is a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I shake my head, and ruthlessly stifle the smile that threatens to cross my face. There's something about his persistence that fills my heart with a small sense of happiness. It's frustrating as hell, but it's also kind of adorable at the same time.
Smiling would only encourage him. And I have no intention of making anything easy on Carter. At all.
“Fine,” I say. “You can stand out here in the hall all day for all I care. You’re only wasting your own damn time.”
He gives me a little wink and looks at his watch. “I've got nowhere to be today,” he says. “That's the beauty of being the founder of my firm. I can do whatever I want.”
“Yeah, if I recall, you were doing that before you owned some fancy financial firm anyway.”
“Yea,” he replies. “Though, now I have the kind of money that means I really can get away with it.”
“You're frustrating as hell, do you know that?”
He nods. “I seem to recall you used to like that about me.”
I roll my eyes and open the classroom door, the chorus of my kid's voices teasing me, echoing into the hallway. I look back to see Carter smirking at me, but he hasn't moved an inch. Stubborn jerk.
“I'm going in now,” I say.
“I see that.”
“I'm not going to dinner with you.”
“You said that.”
“Which means you can leave now.”
“Not going to do that,” he response smugly. “Not until you change your mind and agree to have dinner with me.”
“Not going to happen.”
He shrugs. “Okay. See you after class, teach.”
I roll my eyes and close the door, shutting him out. I fully expect that he's going to be gone the next time I open that door. Surely, he's not going to leave his company high and dry without him, just to get a date out of me. Would he? Has his stubbornness grown to those kinds of levels?
I shake my head. Not my problem. Not my concern. He can do what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants it. He is after all, his own boss. It's his company, and if he wants to leave his employees there without him, while he stands in the hallway outside my classroom just to prove a point, so be it.
“Ms. White?” Jenna says.
“Yes, Jenna?”
“He's really hot,” she says. “If you're not going to date him, will you at least give him my number?”
The class erupts into laughter, and I can't help but join in. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I laugh right along with them all the same. She seems so earnest and sincere in her request, that I can't help but smile at her.
“Nobody is dating him,” I say. “Especially you, Jenna. At least wait until you're at least 10 years older.”
“You should go out with him, Ms. White,” another student, Melissa calls out. “I mean, you do know who that is, don't you? It's Carter Bishop, the –”
“I'm well aware of who he is,” I say.
“Then you know he's loaded,” Melissa presses. “Why not go out with him just so he can buy you nice things? I would.”
The class erupts into laughter again and all I can do is shake my head. “Okay, listen,” I say.
“Enough about my dating life. Time to focus on your –”
“Class is almost up, Ms. W,” Emilio says.
I glance at the clock. “Shit,” I say. “Okay, clean up your areas, guys. And don't forget that you have homework due on Monday. And remember to keep working on your proposal presentations. They're not due after the Christmas break, but don't put it off until the last minute. Please. Enjoy your long weekend, guys.”
They grumble but laugh – and of course, offer me all kinds of unsolicited advice about why I should date Carter Bishop. If they only knew about our past together. If they only knew the heartbreak and pain he'd caused me. But, I can't share that with them. It's none of their business, and it's entirely inappropriate anyway.
The bell rings and their voices immediately pick up, becoming a dull roar, as they burst out into the hallway, leaving me there smiling and laughing to myself. It's the last class of the day, so I drift around the room, cleaning up what they left behind – my usual ritual. They're good kids, but they're still kids. Their idea of clean greatly differs from mine.
I take my time, straightening up all the easels and folding up the drop cloths. After a few minutes, I realize that I'm dragging my feet and taking more time than is probably necessary. Certainly, more time than I usually do. And it's because I'm afraid that Carter has made good on his word and is still in the hallway, and the last thing I want to do is to go out there and face him.
More than that, I'm afraid, because even though I want him to leave, some small part of me hopes that he didn't. That hopes he's still out there, waiting for me. As frustrating as he can be – as he is – I can't deny that I want him.
And I don't want to leave the room because some small part of me is afraid that when I open the door, he won't be there.
But then, that cold voice of logic that runs around in my brain tells me nothing good will come from having dinner with Carter. I'll only be opening myself to more heartache and suffering than before if I go out with him, because this time, I know who he is and what he's done.
Nothing good is going to come from getting involved with Carter Bishop again.
I'm so lost in my own head that when the door opens, I jump, and drop the bundle of supplies in my arms. Carter rushes over and picks them up as I stand there, gaping at him like a fool. Shocked that he's somehow still here. By the time he straightens up, I think I've sufficiently composed myself.
“Where can I put these?” he asks.
I point to a table near the supply cabinet in the back. “O - over there is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
I watch him walk to the table, giving myself a swift mental kick in the head when I catch myself checking him out.
When he turns back, I look away, doing my best to put on an air of indifference. An air of neutrality that says I don't really care if he's here or not – basically, a total lie.
“I figured you would have left by now,” I say, doing my best to sound haughty and annoyed by his intrusion.
He sets the supplies down on a table and turns to me again, a small, satisfied smirk on his face. He slips his hands into his pockets and starts to cross the classroom.
“You know me better than that, Darby,” he says. “When I want something, I don't give up very easily.”
“And what is it you want, Carter?” my voice suddenly losing some of the bored indifference I've been trying so hard to foster.
As he steps closer to me, I catch a subtle whiff of his cologne. It's heady and intoxicating, just like Carter. I breathe deep and feel my eyes start to flutter. Then I catch myself and clear my throat, putting on the sternest expression I can muster.
Carter gives me a smile. If he noticed me swooning, he at least has the decency to avoid commenting on it.
“Well, for starters, I want to take you to dinner,” he says. “After that, I guess we'll have to see.”
“This really isn't a good idea.”
“There's a lot of things that don't seem like good ideas that turn out to be great ones in hindsight,” he says. “Look at Steve Jobs. Einstein. Picasso.”
“Yeah, they're all dead,” I say. “Not great examples. Though, I will give you points for the Picasso reference. Cheap points but points nonetheless.”
He chuckles, and the low, rumbling sound fills my ears and m
akes me weak in the knees.
“Doesn't mean they didn't have at least some good ideas,” he says. “They all seemed to turn out okay, right?
I laugh. “Yeah, I don't think this is one of those things.”
“You won't know until you try.”
“I have tried,” I say. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, and all that. I still haven't fully recovered from the third-degree burns you gave me last time, Carter.”
“That was the past, Darby,” he says. “And like I tried to explain before, it's not what it seemed like at the time. Not that it made you hurt any less –”
“No, it didn't.”
“I want to atone for that mistake,” he says. “Believe me, it was the worst mistake I've ever made in my life. I'm sorry.”
My heart jumps right along with my stomach at his words. My heart wants to believe him. Wants to rush straight back into his arms. My brain though – my brain can really hold a grudge. And I'm caught somewhere in between these two warring parties, not sure which way to go. Not knowing which way is right.
Carter sounds sincere, and I really want to believe him. At the same time, he's also proven that he can't always be trusted with my heart.
Which makes me doubt him. I'm overwhelmed, and my head is such a mess, I want to scream, and punch him all at the same time.
“I don't know, Carter.”
“Do you need me to get down on my knees and beg for a chance here, Darby?”
I laugh and shake my head. The idea of Carter down on his knees is too funny to not laugh at. But then, as I stand there giggling, he does just that. Carter Bishop falls to his knees before me. The man who does not kneel before anybody, is now kneeling before me. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer, his eyes pleading with me.
“Darby White,” he says. “I've made some terrible mistakes in my life. I've done very wrong by you. I'm begging you – literally begging you right now – for a chance to make good on those wrongs I've done. I'm begging you for a chance – just one chance – to make up for the things I've done. To properly apologize.”
I cover my mouth with my hands, unable to stop the laughter that's bubbling up and out of my throat. The actual image of Carter down on his knees is a lot funnier than the pretend image that ran through my head a moment ago.
“And you think taking me to dinner will right all those wrongs?” I ask.
“I think it would be a start,” he replies. “An actual conversation might do wonders for us, if you give me a chance.”
“There is no us, Carter.”
He shrugs. “No, not right now,” he says. “But this is a crazy world and the only constant is change. That's the old saying, right?”
“You are impossible,” I say and shake my head, though I can't seem to get the smile off my face. “Get off your knees.”
“Not until you agree to have dinner with me,” he says. “And as I hope you now know, I tend to keep my word about things. You wouldn't want your kids coming into the classroom tomorrow to find me here down on my knees waiting for an answer, would you?”
“The kids won't be here tomorrow,” I say. “It's a flex day for the teachers. Long weekend for us.”
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, that might be a problem. But, once you're back in session, I give you my word, that I will come around here every day.”
I honestly can't recall the last time I've laughed as hard or as genuinely as I am right now. Carter has always been able to make me laugh, and it’s disturbing that I feel myself falling back into it again so easily.
“Fine. Dinner,” I say, shocked to hear the words falling out of my mouth, “but, this is not a promise of anything. Nothing. I'm simply having dinner with you. Period. In fact, you should probably get used to the idea that I'm only going for the free food.”
Carter gets to his feet, a wide smile on his face. He looks like a man who'd just scored a major victory and is basking in the glow of that win. It unsettles me just a bit, because he has the same look in his eye that Mason gets when he's regaling me with his tales of his latest courtroom victory.
This is no game and I'm not some prize to be won.
“Great,” he says. “Then I'll pick you up at seven.”
“Tonight?”
“No time like the present.”
“I can't,” I say. “I have – things to do. I have to resubmit a stock order and –”
“You need time to eat too,” he says. “You have to learn to take time for yourself.”
“Spoken like a man who has the money and luxury to afford the ability to be able to do that,” I say.
He scoffs at me. “You're not hurting for money, Darby,” he says. “You don't even have to work if you don't want to. We both know that.”
“I also have a responsibility to my kids,” I say. “I have to make sure they have the tools they need to be successful.”
“And they will,” he replies. “Trust me. They will. Now, I'll see you at seven.”
Before I can rebut him again, he turns and walks across the room. He's whistling to himself as he pushes the door open and disappears through it. Did I really just agreed to have dinner with Carter? Tonight? What in the hell was I thinking? Hadn't I told him not tonight? Why in the hell am I going out with him tonight then?
My head spins as I look down at myself and slowly realize that I need to get home and start getting ready.
I may not know what in the hell I'm doing, but I'm going to make sure I look damn good doing it. Torture and taunt Carter with something he obviously wants, but is never going to get.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
11
Carter
“Which color tie?”
I'm standing in my walk-in closet, looking at my tie rack, totally perplexed by what is usually a very simple choice. I look at myself in the mirror, at the dark blue slacks, blue button-down shirt, and the blue jacket sitting on a hanger, and suddenly don't like anything I'm wearing.
“You look fantastic,” Shelly says, as if reading my mind.
“Don't you think the gray one –”
“No,” she says. “That one is great. Christ, Carter, I've watched you put on three different suits. Please don’t make me suffer through another one.”
I laugh, but give her the finger. Shelly has been my personal assistant for more years that I can count. She's great. Like Rupert, she's always willing to give me the unvarnished truth about anything and everything – and she often does, whether I want it or not. She’s no shrinking violet, that's for sure. It's one of the things I love and respect about her the most.
Some guys like to surround themselves with nothing but people who will grovel at their feet. And although I do need people who will do the job when, and how I say to do it, I take great pains to surround myself with people who don’t put up with bullshit, and have the stones to call me out on my own.
I feel like having plenty of dissenting voices in the room is how I keep my edge. I have employees who continually challenge me, push me to do better, and help me refine my ways of thinking. Although I'm damn good at what I do – I'd even go so far as to say I'm one of the best – I also know that I'm not infallible. I make mistakes. I let my ego get out in front of me sometimes. I'm human. It happens.
Having contrary voices in the room with me, though, helps to mitigate some of those mistakes. It keeps me in check and helps prevent me from doing something stupid or reckless. I know a lot of guys in the industry like to claim all the credit themselves. They like to thump their chest and proclaim themselves titans of industry. But, the truth of the matter is, you're not going to accomplish shit without good people at your side. That's just a fact.
I get a lot of the credit because my name is on the company letterhead, but I know without the crew I've assembled, I probably wouldn't be running a multi-billion dollar shop.
“Okay fine,” I say. “Blue suit. Blue shirt? Or is that too much blue?”
Shelly sighs
and turns me around. She looks me up and down. She'd come in to get my signature on a stack of papers, but I'd roped her into dressing duty. This is my second shot to make a good first impression on Darby and I don't want to blow it because I show up looking like I got dressed in the dark. I want to look good for her. It's very important to me.
“White shirt, metallic green tie,” she says.
“Green?”
“The color brings out your eyes.”
I take the tie off the rack, hold it up next to my face and nod. “Yeah, I guess you're right,” I say. “Good call.”
Shelly laughs. “Jesus,” she says. “I never thought I'd live to see the day when playboy Carter Bishop lost his fucking head over a woman.”
“I haven't lost my head.”
She gives me a very pointed look, letting her eyes drift down to the pile of clothes on the ground at my feet.
“Oh, really?” she asks. “I'd hate to see what this place looks like when you actually do then.”
“Nothing wrong with wanting to look a little snappier than usual,” I say.
“You always look snappy,” she says, chuckling to herself. “This takes snappy to a whole new level.”
I laugh and quickly change my shirt, dropping the blue one on the ground and putting on one of my white dress shirts.
“She must be really special for you to be going to such extremes,” Shelly says. “I've never seen you so fussy over a date before.”
I can't keep the smile off my face. “Ever heard of the one that got away?”
She smiles wide, looking genuinely pleased for me. “This the one that got away, huh?”
“Yep. That's her.”
I finish dressing and turn around, holding my arms out for Shelly to inspect. She walks around, picks off a few pieces of lint, and the nods.
“You look very pretty, sweetheart,” she teases.
I laugh. “Thanks.”
She looks at her watch. “You better get going if you're going to pick her up at seven,” she says. “No woman likes a man who isn't punctual. And that goes double for the woman you're trying to impress for the second time.”
