Brock stopped in mid-shot, his anger slowly fading. “I didn’t even tell you what I said.”
Jack snorted. “You didn’t need to. I know you, man. I’ve known you. I’ll continue to know you. And selfish is all well and good. I’m fuckin’ selfish myself. But even I know better than to do what you undoubtedly did. And you did. Didn’t you.”
Brock looked down at his shot glass, thinking of his words to her.
You’re not alone, sweetheart. I know I told you I’m not into commitment, and I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you.
“I did,” he admitted gruffly, having a hard time believing it in hindsight. “I was just so panicked. Meagan called me and I dropped everything and ran to be with Erica. And then I got there and she looked so small and broken, Jack. Damn it.” He slammed a fist on the bar and waved the bartender’s questioning glare away. “All I wanted to do was hold her tight and promise her to fix things. I’ve never felt that way before. Ever.”
“And it scared the shit out of you.” Jack nodded, clapping a hand on Brock’s shoulder and getting to his feet. “I don’t want to leave you to drink alone, but I have a date.”
It felt like the entire world as Brock had known it was imploding from the edges. “You? A date?” He stared at his best friend, who’d never said the single-syllable word before without making it sound like a substantial curse.
“With Angie,” Jack said sympathetically, shoving a few bills in front of Brock to take care of his tab.
“Angie?”
“You broke her heart too. Who knows. I might do the same. But I’m going to go try not to tonight, anyway. Night, man.”
Jack walked away, leaving Brock gaping after him through the bar’s thick, smoky haze.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before a long-legged beauty with eyes like hot, hungry coals, and breasts so full it was a miracle her shirt didn’t pop, sidled onto the stool beside his.
“Hey, handsome.”
Brock barely gave her a glance. “Hi.”
“You look like you could use a dance,” she offered, waving at a corner of the room where some people had created an impromptu dance floor.
He shook his head. “No. Sorry. Really not interested.”
Apparently as unused to be turned down as Brock himself was, the woman persisted. “I’m Naomi. Love troubles, I’m guessing?”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Not even close. That would involve love, and I have no love in my life.”
As he spoke the words and saw the sympathy cross Naomi’s face, he realized what he’d said. And it was true. He had no love in his life. No family. No friends besides Jack, who most days was hit or miss. Not even any real acquaintances outside of work. What he had was an endless list of women he could contact at a moment’s notice for a one-night stand. He had women, yeah. And work. Plenty of that. And money. Tons of it. So much he didn’t know what to do with it.
Except … he did it.
“You’re right.” Brock nodded and got up, gesturing at the bartender. “Buy the lady as many drinks as she wants. Any her friends might want, too. Put it on my tab.”
Naomi frowned, defeat sitting poorly on her pretty features. “Where are you going?”
“To show some love with the only thing I have a whole lot of.”
Chapter 13
Three Months Later
“See to it that you get it done!”
“Yes, Mr. Cornwall.” Erica sighed as she walked back to the kitchen, her arms loaded down with a tray full of dirty dishes. As she bumped open the door with her hip, the heavy, humid stench of a 24-hour diner in full swing hit her hard.
She made her way to the back to drop off the dishes, and as she walked, she tuned out the ache of her back and neck and arms and feet as she often did, by replaying the final moments before she’d walked out of Brock’s life forever.
It felt trite and melodramatic now, but at the time she’d felt she had to take a stand when she’d discovered that he’d gone ahead and pried into her father’s affairs, somehow illegally finding out what medical treatment he needed, then paying for it. Even after she’d specifically told him not to do it, he had, and that had been the last straw. She’d told him so at the office, in front of half the eavesdropping staff, watching the stunned look cross his face before she’d walked out and never gone back.
“I wouldn’t mind a billionaire of my own,” Gabby, her only friend at the diner, quipped as she and Erica crossed paths, she on the way to the kitchen, Erica on her way back to the main floor. “At this time of my night, my feet start screaming for money as much as mercy.”
Erica gave her a rueful smile and went about her job efficiently, bussing tables even though she was ostensibly a waitress. With no waitressing experience under her belt, the only way Cornwall had hired her had been when she swore to do anything at all. Brock had paid for her father’s bills, and there had been nothing Erica could do to change that. Frankly, it would have been stupid to try, after the fact. Her father was getting the best possible care and even then, there were days when he was doing well, then there were days when he was back at death’s door. Every time she thought that he was going to pull through and be able to go home with her, something would happen and his health would take a turn for the worse once more. It seemed like a never-ending nightmare that she could never wake up from.
But though Brock had paid for all the bills he’d assumed would come with treatment, he hadn’t realized the extent of the care. Those were the bills Erica now labored to pay off. She’d started by selling her car and now caught the bus to work. Regular night shifts, and she just barely managed to keep a roof on her head and the extra medical bills up to date. Food was a hit or miss, but she rarely wanted any after scraping people’s leftovers all day. That had been Cornwall’s deal. He’d hire her, and he’d pay her marginally better than minimum wage, but she would do anything from scrubbing toilets to waitressing. And she did.
A group of rowdy customers walked in and Erica rushed to wash her hands before going to attend to them. “Gentlemen,” she greeted them as cheerfully as she was able. “What can I get started for you this evening? Some coffee?”
The largest man in the group, a good 300 pounds, at the very least, gave her a slow once over and Erica groaned inwardly, knowing exactly how this was going to go. “I know what I want to get started, sweet cheeks.”
Keeping her smile grimly in place, Erica repeated, “Coffee? I just made a pot. Why don’t I go ahead and bring you all some.”
“That’s not the some I want,” Lardo drawled, eyes lingering on her breasts.
“That something is taken,” she replied with as much false warmth as she could muster, and waving her hand with its fake wedding band. Sometimes that did the trick.
Lardo laughed uproariously and slapped his friend on the back, almost sending him straight into the sugar stand. “Bring us coffee, sugar tits.”
Swallowing a sigh of relief, Erica turned to go, only to feel a hard, firm squeeze on her left cheek. It was all she could do not to scream, but she needed this job. Between this night shift and a temp position doing data entry, she was making it. It wouldn’t always be like this, she vowed to herself, as she poured four cups of coffee with shaking hands and fought the urge to poison them with the toilet cleaner she’d been using earlier. She had interviews. Seemed like next to nobody was hiring, but she at least had interviews.
One day, I’ll get on my feet, she promised herself, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve before returning to her only customers for the evening. If she was extra nice to them, they might even leave a nice tip.
“Here you go. Fresh, hot coffee,” she chirped, placing a mug in front of each burly man.
“I’m pretty hot, baby,” a guy with a bad case of cystic acne, somewhat covered by a scraggly beard, informed her. “Want to feel how hot?”
“Married,” she said again, waving her hand once more. “My husband gets awfully jealous and you boys wouldn’t w
ant me to get in trouble at home, I’m sure. Now. What sounds good for dinner?”
There was a jingle behind Erica and she called out, “I’ll be with you in just a minute. Have a seat anywhere you’d like,” before looking at her customers.
“I’d like to eat you,” Acne informed her, his eyes directed to the apex of her thighs.
She clenched her hand around her pen, praying for control of her temper. “Our blue plate special is blackened catfish and a side of jambalaya. I highly recommend it.”
“How much for a taste?” Lardo pressed, darting a meaty hand out for another hungry squeeze.
“Honey, I am way too expensive for you,” Erica said sweetly, praying that her slip of the tongue didn’t elicit a tantrum.
Instead, he seemed to not even hear it, so intent was he on feeling her up no matter where she stood. And if she moved to the left, Acne was there. If she moved a little further, the silent men she’d dubbed Red Nose and Yellow Teeth, took their turns.
At her wits’ end, she heard the jingle again and turned, not seeing anyone. Apparently her other customer had been uninterested in waiting around. Erica glanced at the clock 5:45 a.m. She just had to make it till 6:30.
Pasting a sickening grin on her face, one she felt all the way to her gut, she refocused on her table and on trying to get some kind of a dinner or breakfast order out of them, without stabbing them all with the surprisingly sharp butter knives.
Chapter 14
Brock racked the last weight and headed for the shower, every muscle in his body aching. As he scrubbed off, he ran over his mile-long list for the afternoon. The new personal assistant he’d hired was a competent kid and kept him on track most of the time, but some days even Adam couldn’t keep up with Brock’s jampacked schedule.
Ever since losing Erica—because he’d long ago realized that that was exactly what her departure had been, a total loss for him in more ways than one—he’d buried himself up to his neck in more work than he’d seen since he first started the business. The only time he gave himself a break was at lunch, where he allowed for 20 minutes or so to eat, and a full hour to workout. It was the only thing that was keeping him marginally sane, even if he came in at 7:00 a.m. or stayed till 10:00 p.m. to compensate for that time.
He’d designed the gym so it had actual closets instead of just lockers, and one of those closets, his own personal one, held fresh suits, one which he now donned before starting toward the elevator and the office once more. As he walked, Erica’s face floated before him and he firmly put it aside. For weeks, he’d been furious at her for humiliating in front of his whole office for doing something nice. Something he thought he’d done out of love, until Brock had finally realized that Jack had been right all along. Bribing people to get information about Noel Samson’s necessities had really been more about assuaging his own guilt at his behavior. He’d brought Erica on, seduced her—even if there had been two to that tango, he knew very well who had been the more experienced and manipulative of the two of them—and then broken her heart at a time when she’d needed her whole focus to be on her father. Then he’d done it a second time, trying to buy his way out of relationship prison, and she’d called time on him so fast that his head was still spinning.
He missed her, Brock reflected as he walked into the office, straightening his tie. Missed seeing at her desk. Missed seeing her in the conference room and the hallways. Missed watching her walk by his office, totally focused on some errand or other—
“Earth to Brock.”
He jolted back to reality, seeing Angie standing before him with an exasperated expression that suggested she’d been trying to get his attention for a while.
“Sorry. What’s up?”
She nodded at his office. “Can we talk in private?”
Surprised, Brock nodded. “Sure. Come on in.” He held the door and followed behind Angie as she walked inside.
He closed the door and started to take a seat when she stopped him, holding out an envelope. Confused, Brock took it and stared down at the printed label.
Angela Varvatos
Letter of Resignation
“Angie,” he said in shock, looking back up at her. “What—why—okay, I didn’t see this coming.”
“You haven’t seen anything coming since Erica left,” Angie informed him wryly. “You’re lost, Brock. Own it.”
“Oh, I do,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as he looked at the envelope once more. “Believe me, I am fully aware that my path got lost three months back. Why, Angie?”
“Why are you lost, or why am I quitting?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I was a total bitch to Erica. Did you even notice that?”
“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”
She nodded. “You’re the best at your business, but you suck at human relationships, Brock. I’m really not much better, which is one of the reasons I’m leaving. Life is too short to be playing the jealous games I’m good at. There’s gotta be more.”
“Jealous?”
She rolled her eyes. “Duh. I wanted to hand this personally to you for two reasons. One, because you were a good boss. A bastard of a guy, but unintentionally for the most part, I think. And two, because I might be able to help you out.”
“Help me out with what?” he asked tersely, getting tired of being put in his place so often by so many, so recently. He’d already admitted his mistakes. The world could now stop throwing them back in his face, thank you very much.
“I bumped into Erica last week.”
Brock turned from his desk, where he’d been about to walk over to. “What?” Something inside him that had been dead for months roared to life, and it wasn’t his libido. Not entirely, anyway.
“I saw her accidentally, and I’ve been debating ever since whether I should let you know,” Angie replied.
Brock was over at her side in two seconds flat, his hands on her shoulders. “Angie. Where is she? I have to know. She won’t answer my emails or my texts. Her landlord has no idea where she went. All my money won’t get me answers about where she’s staying, even when I have an idea of what facility her father is being treated at.”
“And you really, really want to know, huh,” Angie mocked him slightly. “Because the girl stole your heart from the minute she walked into this office. I’ll tell you, but on one condition only.”
“What?” he said desperately. “Anything. You want a nice severance check, even though you’re not being fired? Done.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” she said with a laugh, “but you’ve got to quit with throwing money at people who care about you. We’ll still care, even if you don’t shove cash our direction, Brock.” For the first time in his memory, Angie’s eyes were soft, instead of hard as flint. “And I do care about you, even if you’re so lost in your misery that you don’t even notice this.”
She lifted her hand, displaying a prominent engagement ring.
For a moment, Brock just stared at it, before look back at Angie’s face. “Jack proposed?”
She nodded. “Maybe I’m going to end up with him where I did with you. Maybe not. But I’m going to take the risk that I won’t. Say it, Brock.” It was her turn to put her hand on his shoulder, as he tried to come to terms with how he’d tuned the world out so completely that even his best friend’s very serious relationship had escaped him. “Just say the words about Erica, and I’ll tell you where she is.”
“I love her,” he blurted out, the words that he’d so feared, for so long, falling out so naturally that when they did, they seemed to hang in mid-air. “Angie, I fucking love the woman. I need her like I need to breathe, dammit. I broke her heart, and then she carved my own out with a fucking spoon.”
Angie smiled. “Think you can tell her that without all the four-letter embellishments? Girls think it’s more romantic without. Just sayin’.”
“Yes! Tell me!”
When she did, Brock lingered only long enough to hug her hard, apologized for
being a total ass time and time again, and then booked it out of the office, calling out to Adam as he ran past, “Cancel everything for today.”
He had an appointment that mattered more than anything else on the agenda. In fact, he had a totally new agenda. It involved telling the woman of his dreams that she was his everything.
Chapter 15
“Erica …”
She sighed and looked up from the pan she was scouring to a shine, seeing the sympathy etched on Gabby’s face. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Lardo’s back. Alone this time. And he’s asking specifically for you.”
“Shit,” Erica yelled, dropping the clean pan back into the sink with a loud clang. “He’s been here six days in a row. I’m going to run him through, Gabs. I swear.”
“Murdering customers is inadvisable,” Cornwall said dryly, and Erica jumped and spun, not having realized her boss was in the kitchen.
“Sir! I’m sorry,” she stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair.
“Just get out there and show that man as a good a time as is legally possible,” her boss ordered, stalking away to harangue the chef about something or other.
“You said you have an interview this Friday, right?” Gabby said, as Erica fought the urge to scream and simultaneously cry.
“Yeah. This is the last one at the accounting firm. I don’t know why they’d have any interest in me, with no practical experience, but I guess the internships and the few months at Brock’s office count for something.” Saying his name hurt as always, but Erica didn’t let it stop her. She scrubbed her hands clean, put a clean uniform blouse on, from the stash she kept in the breakroom—not that she ever got a break—and headed out to do battle.
Lardo’s enormous face split into a huge grin as she walked over to him and stood with her pen poised over her pad, keeping as much of a distance as possible between them.
“Ain’t you going to say hello, sugar tits?”
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