by Layla Hagen
“My mother sends you her compliments,” Eric says as we sit at the small table in the living room, eating. “I sent her one of your bracelets as a birthday present.”
“When was her birthday?”
“Yesterday.”
“You should fly over and celebrate with her.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll take her and Julie to dinner when I return to Boston. That’s our tradition.”
“She doesn’t like parties?”
He smirks, almost looking amused. “Her idea of a party is a high-brow bridge game with her friends. Julie and I try to get out of them as often as possible.”
“I see. Well, Ava’s birthday is coming up. You’ll see how my family celebrates birthdays. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if the party is still on. It was supposed to take place at my parents’ house….”
“How is your dad feeling?”
“Okay. Trying to blackmail the doctor into releasing him sooner.”
Eric chuckles. “But your family is there almost round the clock. It’s as if he is home.”
“I think he feels powerless there. I think that’s been his problem lately. He wants to prove that he can still do things on his own.”
“Ha! He sounds like my mother.”
A few minutes of silence follows before he says, “Pippa, I don’t want to be pushy, but I think we should talk about tonight. That douche bag—”
“He was not himself,” I murmur.
“Don’t make excuses for him.” His tone is so cutting that I flinch. “I heard what he told you. He made you feel like you were not important, like you were dirt. He deserved getting punched for that alone.”
“I really wasn’t important to him,” I clarify. “Can we change the subject now?”
I rise from my chair, taking our plates and bringing them to the kitchen. Eric follows me.
“It would be good for you to talk about this,” he says, hugging me from behind while I pretend to scrub off the plate on the counter.
“I already talked to you about Terence.”
“There’s more. Why are you afraid to open up to me?”
Slowly, I turn around, fixing my gaze on the top button of his shirt. “Because you’re leaving.”
Eric tilts my head up until I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “That doesn’t mean what we have isn’t real,” he says.
“I know.”
He cups my cheeks between his hands and leans his forehead against mine. “Let me make you happy while I’m here.”
“You are making me happy,” I whisper.
“Then trust me. Talk to me.” His voice is as calm as it is controlled, and I know on the spot that he’s the kind of man who never yells. Good, because I’ve had enough fights that involved yelling with Terence to last me a lifetime. “Don’t close yourself off to me.”
“Can I ask you something first?”
“Sure.”
“What happened to your wife?”
He stills. “Car accident. She was speeding. I’d returned a day earlier from a business trip, and she was eager to meet me at home. Julie was in the car too.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Eric sizes me up and down, his expression unreadable. “I keep thinking I should have been able to protect them—save them, somehow.”
“Eric, it was an accident.”
He shakes his head. “I know. I… My biggest fear is that something bad will happen to Julie.” Silence stretches for a few seconds, and then he smiles again. “Your turn.”
“Talking about my ex puts me in a bad mood. I’d rather show you my good sides,” I say on a playful note, but Eric’s gaze is unwavering.
“First of all, there are no bad sides to you, but you’ve been through good times, bad ones, and ugly ones. All that made you who you are today. I want to know you. I want to know the good, the bad, and the ugly, Pippa.”
I sigh. “You’re so good with words, Eric. Why do you have to be so good with words? It makes fighting you hard.”
“Oh, you want to fight me?” He’s smiling at me now.
I shake my head, leaning with my lower back against the counter. “No. I don’t like fighting. I’m not good at it, if I’m honest. We always talked out our problems in my family. I guess we had to. With so many people, keeping things from each other and bottling tension would have escalated quickly.”
To my astonishment, Eric’s eyes are doubtful. “I have one question. Were you a talker or a listener?”
“Listener and advice-giver.”
“Thought so.”
“You’re good at reading people. Even better than I am.”
“I have my talents,” he answers, a determined look on his face. “But I’m all in. Don’t push me out. I won’t let you.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, I start explaining everything. “A while ago, my lawyer informed me that Terence is appealing the court decision in our divorce. He’s trying to get some money.”
“And?”
“And my lawyer’s handling it.”
“Have you told your family?”
“Yes, I have, and I asked them to stay out of it, which to my surprise they accepted. I am going to ask you the same thing.”
“Okay, but can I give you some advice at least?” Eric asks.
“Sure.”
“You are too gentle. You treat everybody with kindness and respect. Some people don’t deserve that. Sometimes you have to stoop to their level to beat them.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I consider the merit of his words. Maybe I have been too gentle with that moron.
“There’s something more bothering you,” Eric continues.
“I’m trying to figure out if I had a greater share of blame than I like to admit,” I confess.
“What do you mean?”
“He married me for money. But he spent years with me, and I couldn’t make him fall in love with me. What does that say about me?”
“That you were with the wrong man. Don’t for one second think you’re unworthy of love.”
Which is exactly how I feel, of course. It’s scary how easily he can read me, but reassuring at the same time.
“Well, my family loves me,” I say with a smile, “so I know I’m not entirely unlovable.”
Without any warning, Eric swipes me off my feet, lifting me in his strong arms, and walks toward the couch as if I weigh nothing. We walk too close to my shelves of books, though, and when my foot collides with a book that’s sitting too far out, a bunch of books fall to the floor. Belatedly, I realize it’s my stash of romance novels. Eric puts me down and makes a grab for the books.
“What are these?” he asks playfully.
“Books,” I say quickly. Tiptoeing around him, I brainstorm for the best way to distract him, but by the look of intense concentration—and almost insulting incredulity—on his face, I know it won’t be easy.
He scans the covers. “Bare chest, abs, couples kissing… I’m sensing a theme here.” His eyebrows, which were already arched, now threaten to get lost in his hair. “More abs, and is that a—?”
“Give them here.” I snatch the books from him and put them back on the shelf. My entire face feels hot and flushed, and Eric chuckling behind me doesn’t help the situation.
I swirl around on my heels, facing him. “Do not mock my romance books, or you will not get laid tonight.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Warning you.”
“Must you be reminded who’s in charge here?” Eric’s gaze is so intense it makes all my lady parts tingle. He oozes too much masculinity.
“You’re presumptuous,” I say, but lick my lips nervously when the intensity in Eric’s gaze doesn’t lessen. “Don’t mock the books.”
“I’m not mocking,” he says, with an amused expression. “Just wondering what I’m up against.”
“Ah, don’
t worry. You more than measure up to all the hotties on those covers.”
“I see.” His lip curls into a smirk. “So, when you say you’re spending a cozy night in, this is what you do?”
“A girl’s got to indulge,” I say with a shrug.
Eric takes a step in my direction, towering over me as he slides his thumb under my chin and lifts my head. “Indulge in me.”
“Sounds like something I can do.”
He nods, picking me up in his arms again. “Let’s resume our previous conversation. You, Pippa Bennett, are the easiest person to love, and any man who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”
“Ah, I have a feeling I’m about to be showered with compliments.”
“Anything against it?”
“Not at all. Please work in many ‘beautifuls’ and ‘funnys’ with it too,” I instruct.
“I was going to start with that.” He laughs and lowers me on the couch. I immediately move over to one side, making space for him. Lying next to me, he says, “Then I would’ve added that you’re smart and the warmest person I’ve ever met.”
“Are your complimenting services available for hire?”
“They’re free for you.”
I poke his chest, smirking. “Nothing is free.”
“You can pay me with sex.” A devilish smile inches its way across his face.
I offer him a peek of my boob. “Is this payment enough?”
He purses his lips, as if seriously considering his words. “I might need to see the other one to make up my mind. And possibly that sweet ass of yours too.”
“Did you just compliment my ass? You’re cheeky.”
“Hey, I call it like I see it. And you have a perfect ass.”
“I do?” I ask coyly, suddenly ridiculously pleased with myself. God, this man knows how to make me smile. “Is that why you’re staring at it every chance you get?”
“I do,” he admits, and we both burst out laughing.
“I should buy clothes that put it more on display to see if it has the same effect on everyone else.”
He pulls me in to a hug and climbs over me. “You will do no such thing.”
“Can we negotiate?” I tease.
He traces my jaw with his fingers, spreading my legs with his knees. “You are mine, Pippa. There’s nothing negotiable about it.”
He kisses me deeply, cupping my face with one hand. I revel in the warmth of his body and the power of his lips, all the while trying to forget there is an expiration date to this.
Chapter Sixteen
Eric
“Dad,” Julie says on Saturday morning, “we need to talk about something important.”
I blink, placing my cup of coffee back on the table. The scrambled egg I ate for breakfast feels like a stone in my stomach. Nothing good ever comes from the words ‘we need to talk.’
“I’m listening,” I say.
Julie places her elbows on the table, frowning at me. Her own plate of scrambled eggs is still half-full, and she’s seemed lost in thought all morning.
“Do you think I will ever have a brother or sister?”
I jerk my head back. “What?”
My daughter sighs, placing her head in her hands, looking troubled. “I always wanted a sister. Or a brother. I have two girls in my design class who are sisters, and they do everything together. I mean, I know I couldn’t do everything with a sister, if I had one right now, because she’d be tiny, but I could do things for her. Like buy her clothes and read her stories. Then when she grows up, I can look out for her. She probably wouldn’t want me to hang out with her, because when she’ll be twelve like I am now, I’ll be twenty-four, which is ancient.”
Julie is now talking to herself more than to me, which is just as good, because I am utterly speechless. My gut clenches. She would have had at least one sibling if it weren’t for the accident.
“So, what do you think? Any chances of me having a sister or brother?” she presses.
“I didn’t know you wanted one until two minutes ago.”
Julie crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you want more kids?”
“Yeah,” I find myself saying, and I realize I didn’t know I wanted that until I said it out loud. To my astonishment, this seems answer enough for Julie because her frown morphs into a smile. She leaps off her chair, rounds the table, and hugs me. I wrap my arms tightly around her.
“You should finish your breakfast,” I tell her after she pulls away.
“I’m not hungry anymore. Can I go to my room and finish the homework for my design class until Pippa arrives?”
“Of course, but only after we clean the table.”
She doesn’t object; instead, she dutifully brings her plate to the kitchen. Ms. Blackwell is free today, so it’s the two of us until Pippa arrives. She’s been over at our place a couple of times lately, and I like having her here.
***
Pippa arrives around lunchtime, holding a box of sweets in her hands. This woman’s smile is contagious. I can laugh just seeing her laugh, and that is perfectly fine by me.
“Hello, stranger,” she says. “Long time no see.”
“C’mere.” I pull her inside the house, closing the door, and give her a smooch.
“Eric, won’t Julie see us?”
“She’s working on something on her computer. The house could collapse and she wouldn’t notice.”
I press her against the door, planning to kiss her thoroughly.
“Watch it.” She holds the box above her head with so much care you’d think she had diamonds inside. “You’ll ruin the cupcakes.”
I take the box out of her hands, placing it on the nearby table, then resume pinning her against the door. This time, I grab her wrists with my hand and hold them above her head.
I drag the knuckles of my free hand down her cheeks, cupping her jaw. “Cupcakes. Somehow, I feel like I’m not a priority for you.”
“That is absolutely not true. You have a tiny, dirty secret that’ll always make you a priority.”
“And that is?”
She pushes her knee gently between my legs, smiling coyly.
“I can’t believe you called my dick tiny. He’s offended.”
“I can’t believe you talked about your penis in the third person.”
“He deserves an apology and some love,” I continue.
Pippa grins, grinding her hips against me, the little vixen. “Fine, I’ll do that later. I’ll whisper my apology to him.”
“Why whisper?”
“Because it’s between him and me. You’re not allowed in on our secret conversation.”
I eye her for a brief second, then kiss her hard. She gives in to my kiss, sighing in my mouth. She tastes like sugar, and I smile as I realize she probably ate one of the cupcakes on the way. She’s fucking adorable.
After we pull apart, I kiss her cheek and the tip of her nose. That’s when I notice the vulnerable look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I love spending time with you. You make me feel like a pampered princess, even when you’re not trying.”
I take advantage of this brief moment of vulnerability, caressing the side of her neck. “That’s the way it should be, Pippa. You deserve nothing less.”
“Dad,” Julie’s voice resounds from the bedroom. “Is that Pippa? I heard the door.”
I smile. “She just arrived.”
With that, both Pippa and I head into the living room. Julie walks in with a huge orange plastic box in her hands.
“What’s that?” I ask. I’m one hundred percent sure I’ve never seen that box before.
“Supplies,” Julie replies simply. “Pippa, are you ready?”
Pippa nods. She and my daughter sit on the living floor, opening the orange box and rummaging through it.
“I’ll be in the study for about three hours,” I tell them. “I have a conference call with Boston.”
Neither Pippa nor Julie looks my way, so i
t’s safe to say neither will miss me.
I return to the living room two hours later, looking forward to sprawling on the couch for the remainder of the day. I want to enjoy a few hours with my girls, maybe watch a movie. When I open the door to the living room, I do a double take.
There’s glitter everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Pippa and Julie stop midchat, greeting me with startled expressions.
“Dad, we thought you wouldn’t be back for another hour,” Julie says, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like an accusation.
“I know this looks like glitterland right now, but I promise you we’ll clean up,” Pippa says, almost breathless.
Glitterland? More like glitterhell, but I bite back the remark and say, “Looks like the two of you are having fun.”
At this, both Pippa and Julie smile. “We are,” Pippa says.
“Yeah. We’re making mock-ups for my design class,” Julie explains.
I have no idea why that requires turning my living room into a pool of glitter; however, if it makes both of them so happy, then I’ll drown in glitter if I have to. I make my way to the couch, but even that is full of tiny, sparkling bits.
“Aren’t you a little too old for glitter, Julie?” I ask.
My daughter gasps, as if I’ve spat an offense of the highest order.
Pippa crosses her arms over her chest. “You can never be too old for glitter. I love it.”
“Of course you do,” I reply. She and Julie exchange glances then both grin, which can only mean one thing: they’re planning a move against me. I eye the two of them, trying to figure out what it’ll be. Come on, Callahan. You’re a damn CEO. Think fast. What are they planning? My mind comes up with nothing. It seems I’m no match for these two masterminds.
“Your dad deserves a lesson,” Pippa says.
“I agree,” Julie answers.
The two of them dig their hands in the box, and before I realize what’s going on, they attack me. I tumble back on the floor and they fall over me, shrieking with laughter as they fill my pockets with glitter, dripping it everywhere on my clothes. I burst out laughing as well, and soon the muscles in my stomach begin to hurt.
