Because the smile he gave her was the same blindingly charming smile he gave the rest of the world.
She forced a giant smile of her own. “Sure,” she told him. “That sounds great.”
* * *
“Sorry I’m late.” With her mane of curls looking wilder than usual, Chloe rushed through the front door and plopped down into the booth. “Mmm, breakfast for dinner. My favorite combination.”
Delilah eyed her friend’s large green-and-white cup. “Long line at the coffee shop?” Even if she hadn’t dragged a latte into the diner with her, Chloe’s makeup would have given her away.
Her friend ducked her head. “I can’t help myself. He’s everything I like in a guy. Good-looking, creative, nonconforming...”
“Unreliable, uninterested.”
“I wouldn’t say completely uninterested. He gave me a free upgrade this morning, and extra foam. I like to think it’s because I’m special,” she added, saluting the air with her cup.
“You do know you’re crazy, right?” Like she could judge. Chloe’s barista crush was no worse than Delilah falling for her boss. In fact, it was better since Chloe’s heart wasn’t so deeply involved.
The waitress came over, saw Chloe’s cup and gave them both glares before asking Chloe if she planned to eat.
“And as usual, you made a friend, too,” Delilah remarked after the waitress departed.
“Wow. I thought being snarky was my job. What happened? Bad business trip? I’ve got to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”
“I caught an earlier shuttle.” Per Simon’s request, she added bitterly to herself.
In the end, Josh drove her to Logan, shooting her strange looks the entire way. Clearly he didn’t buy Simon’s excuse about wasting the day any more than she did.
“An earlier shuttle, huh? That doesn’t sound good. Does this mean no Bartlett account?” Chloe asked.
“Actually, Simon stayed behind because Bartlett wanted to meet privately. The invitation sounded very positive. I won’t be surprised if we get a big thumbs-up next week.”
“Really? Why are you so out of sorts then? Seriously, Delilah, you look like someone killed your best friend, and since I’m still breathing, and I managed not to kill Larissa at the bridal expo yesterday....”
“Bad?”
“You don’t know the half of it. There had to be two thousand women at that expo and at least half of them were as wedding crazy as our La-Roo. Do you know I almost had to break up a fight between her and some other bride over color swatches? Color swatches! Our friend has officially crossed over into Bridezilla territory.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Tom will pull her back.”
“Doubt it. He’s less interested than my barista. La-Roo’s going all wedding crazy, and he just lets her.”
“He wants her to be happy, that’s all.”
“Maybe,” her friend said, her frown suggesting otherwise. “Right now, though, I’d rather talk about you being happy. You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”
“What question?”
She was dodging, and both of them knew it. While the waitress’s return kept Chloe from responding right away, Delilah knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. As soon as their omelets were served, her friend would be right back on point.
“Did something happen? Because like I said, you don’t look like a woman returning from a successful business trip. And,” she commented, brandishing a forkful of egg white, “don’t tell me you’re feeling tired. I’ve seen you pull all-nighters and be in a better mood.”
Delilah stared at her meal. “It’s complicated,” she said, borrowing one of Simon’s favorite phrases. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“The beginning works for me.”
“I do that, and we’ll be here all night.”
“Good thing this place has twenty-four-hour service then.”
Delilah smiled. Things would be so much easier if she could simply pretend like always. Only she couldn’t anymore; she was too confused, and too tired of dealing with things alone. Talking with Simon last night showed her what connection could feel like.
“Have you ever thought you’d found your soul mate only to start wondering later on if you’ve made a mistake?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Chloe asked, laughing. “This is me you’re talking to. Picking the wrong man is generational in my family.” Her smile faded. “You met someone in Boston?”
“Sort of.”
“Get out!” Her friend slapped the table, drawing anther glare from the waitress. “Delilah St. Germain had a fling. Now you’re having buyer’s remorse, is that it?”
Delilah’s cheeks grew warm at the blunt description. “I didn’t consider it a fling at the time.”
“We never do. Unfortunately, in my opinion, most men think otherwise. I take it you really liked this guy?”
“And I thought after he...” That’s what hurt the most. Last night, when Simon opened up, she’d felt so close to him only for him to turn around and shut her out again. “I thought we had a connection.”
“Connections only work for phone companies.”
“Little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Is it? Lord knows, I’ve yet to see any instant attraction pan out.”
Delilah didn’t bother arguing the point. Instead, she chose to focus on her half-eaten omelet, poking holes in the surface with her fork and watching the cheese bubble out. “My parents fell in love at first sight,” she said in a soft voice. “My mom never loved anyone else.”
“Really? Wow. That’s actually...”
“Lame?”
“Amazing-sounding.”
“Yeah it is, isn’t it?” Delilah agreed. Which was part of the problem. Growing up in the shadow of a fairy tale made all her other relationships that much more difficult.
“So you think this guy from Boston was love at first sight?”
Delilah thought back to her very first day when Simon walked into her life. “I thought so, but I’m beginning to realize what I thought was love was really infatuation. The more I got to know the real him, however, the harder I fell.”
“Wait a minute.” Chloe frowned. “I thought you met this man while you were away.”
“Told you this was complicated.”
“All right, now you have to start at the beginning. What’s this man’s name?”
Afraid to look her friend in the eye, Delilah continued poking holes. “Simon Cartwright.”
“Our boss?”
Delilah nodded.
Chloe sat back, her face the picture of disbelief. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.”
“I can’t believe.... For how long? I mean, how long have you had a thing for him?”
“Four years.”
“Since orientation?”
“Afraid so.”
All of a sudden a piece of fried potato smacked her in the face. Looking up, Delilah met Chloe’s brown glare. “Four freaking years and you didn’t tell us? What gives? I thought we told each other everything.”
At the sound of her friend’s hurt voice, Delilah cringed. Chloe had every right to be angry. She had held back. “I guess I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“The truth blowing up in my face.” She thought about all the years she had protected her mother. “I guess I’ve gotten used to keeping a part of me locked away,” she said. “It’s easier to deal with thoughts in my head than say them out loud and deal with the fallout.”
“You should know we’d never judge you, no matter what the thought.”
“I know. I’m sorry I never said anything.”
Chloe reached over and covered her hand. “You didn’t do any
thing I haven’t done myself. Other than fall for our boss, that is. Even I’m not that crazy. But the stuff about you keeping everything inside? That’s old news, my friend.”
“It is?” How?
“You don’t think La-Roo and I didn’t notice you never have problems while we complain about everything?” Chloe explained. “We always figured if a problem got big enough you’d let us know.”
A lump rose in Delilah’s throat. She’d never realized. Looks like she finally had a problem big enough. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“We’re friends, Del. We’ll be here for you no matter what. Although, you do know I’m going to have to tell Larissa about this, and we’ll probably talk about you behind your back.”
Delilah’s smiled despite her watery vision. “Of course. What are friends for?”
“You also know that I’ll be compelled to mock Simon now every time his photo’s in the paper.”
“You do already.”
“I mean mock more.”
“Okay.” What little appetite she’d had disappeared, and she pushed her plate aside. “I can’t believe I made such a stupid mistake.”
“We can’t help who we fall for. Take it from someone who knows.”
Maybe not, but she could help acting like a lovesick fool. Simon didn’t have relationships that lasted longer than a couple of weeks. What made her think she would be any different?
Needing something to keep her hands busy, she plucked a sugar packet from the holder and ground the paper between her fingers. The grains slid back and forth, sharp and rough.
“I think I’m in love with him, Chloe.”
Correction. She knew. She fell hard and for real at the pool Saturday night.
“Does Simon know how you feel?”
“Does it matter?”
“I think it does. I mean...” Her friend sat back and appeared to seriously think about her words. “This isn’t like my thing for the barista. You’re not the type of person who throws the word love around easily. If you’re saying it out loud, I’m going to guess you’ve got good reason. There must be some kind of emotional connection between the two of you.”
A connection? She’d held him while he shook, witnessed him letting his guard down. Was that because there was a bond or had she simply been convenient?
So many questions and so few answers. Maybe coming back early was a good thing, after all. Gave her space and time to think things through.
“If you’d asked me last night, I would have told you yes. This morning, I’m not so sure.” She tossed the sugar packet aside. “At least I’m not so sure it goes both ways.” When it came to Simon, she wasn’t sure of anything.
“Have you asked him?”
“No.” Like always, she’d been too worried about the fallout to do anything but pretend.
“Well, I’m no relationship expert, but I’d say talking to him would be the first step. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the woman to unseat Finland Smythe.”
“They broke up last week,” Delilah told her.
“Oh, for crying out loud, why am I always the last to find these things out? Seriously though, I might not be a big believer in soul mates and fate and all that, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see my friends prove me wrong.”
She looked Delilah in the eye. “You deserve to be loved back.”
The lump Delilah had been battling in her throat returned, larger than ever, making her eyes water. “You, too,” she whispered, giving her friend a watery smile.
“That’s what friends are for,” Chloe replied, her brown eyes shining, as well. “By the way, for what it’s worth, Cartwright doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
For the first time all day, Delilah didn’t feel so alone. She reached over and gave Chloe’s hand a squeeze. “Neither does the barista.”
CHAPTER NINE
“NICE SKIRT.”
The receptionist’s compliment caught Delilah off guard. Were her clothes that predictable? She could almost hear Chloe and Larissa saying yes. Then again, she was the one who picked the pink tiered skirt this morning instead of pants. In the back of her mind, she had this crazy notion that changing up her wardrobe might make today go her way. After all, she’d been wearing a dress the first time Simon opened up to her. Maybe seeing her legs would inspire him to open up again.
The young woman handed her the daily sign-in sheet. “Wow, this is a first,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve ever arrived after Mr. Cartwright before.”
What? “Simon’s already here?”
“Uh-huh. Showed up a half hour ago.”
Sure enough, his heavy black scrawl topped the list. Terrific. The one day she needed time to compose herself was the one day he decided to skip the pool.
“Did he say why he was here so early?”
“No, but he was in a mood. Barely said two words.”
And he usually he made a point of greeting everyone. Not good.
Of course, she reminded herself, his mood could very well have nothing to do with this weekend. That didn’t stop her stomach from churning during the elevator ride.
She, Chloe and, later, Larissa had spent a good chunk of the evening talking about what happened on Saturday night. But while she loved her newly discovered support, there was still one secret she didn’t share: Simon’s history. She’d lost sight of his traumatic confession in the haze of lovemaking. Looking back over the night, she wondered if the distraction wasn’t on purpose. Simon would naturally want to bury the unpleasant memories again. Out of sight, out of mind—wasn’t that his motto? Meanwhile she’d been too spellbound to think clearly.
She wasn’t stupid though. She knew that one admission, no matter how difficult to make, wouldn’t erase the scars.
A swear word spit from her lips, loud in the empty space. Every time she thought of what happened, she wanted to scream. Those boys took so much from Simon. They took his dignity, his innocence, and for what? Some stupid team prank? How many other boys suffered the same violation? How many suffered and didn’t have the strength Simon had to rise above the trauma? Then again, she wasn’t sure Simon realized how much strength he had. Certainly didn’t seem to, based on the comments he made.
His doubt was what made her the most apprehensive.
The elevator doors opened and she found herself entering chaos. A half dozen employees were already scrambling, many still wearing their suit jackets. That never happened during hot summer months. Managers were sitting in cubicles rather than in their offices.
Simon sat at the creative administrator’s desk with a phone tucked under his ear. As soon as Delilah saw him, her heart took a tumble. He had his jacket off. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled back, showing off his tanned forearms. It was her favorite look for him. It showed him as a man in his element.
She waited until Simon finished his conversation, before giving a small cough to get his attention. He looked up. Their eyes locked, and Delilah watched a series of emotions play out. Embarrassment, sadness and something else. She wanted to say regret, but it flashed by too quickly for her to say for certain.
“Good,” he said. “You’re here.”
The receptionist was right; he wasn’t smiling. He had the intense look of focus he got whenever there was a crisis.
Before she could blink, Simon headed down the hall toward his office, forcing her to hurry to catch up. “What’s going on?”
“Evidently my father, as well as a couple other board members, had dinner with the mayor last night and pledged pro bono support for city hall’s new witness intimidation campaign.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” A successful campaign would give CMT a lot of visibility.
“They want the campaign to coincide with the Martin Santiago trial.”
Delilah nearly stumbled on her heels. “They what?”
Martin Santiago was a high school honor student who’d been shot while buying fruit at a corner market. Despite the fact the crime occurred in broad daylight, the police had a hard time making an arrest, largely because the suspects, two well-known gang members, had intimidated witnesses. Timing-wise, the high-profile trial was the perfect time to launch a new initiative. There was only one problem.
“Didn’t I read in the paper they were picking jurors this week?”
“Yep. Which means we’ve got forty-eight hours to create and implement the campaign.”
“Holy smoke.” All the craziness began to make sense. Simon’s father didn’t just volunteer the agency’s services, he volunteered them for a Herculean task.
“A couple people from the mayor’s office are on their way over right now to give us more details. We’ll meet with them, then we’ll brainstorm with the creative team.
“This is going to be an all-hands-on-deck kind of day,” he said. “Everything else has to take a backseat.”
Everything else meaning their personal situation. He no doubt welcomed the situation.
They reached his office at the same time their discussion ended. Without work to talk about, they were left standing in awkward silence. So different from Saturday night when whispers and touches flowed freely.
“How did your meeting with Bartlett go?” she finally asked.
“Good. Promising. I think we’re his first choice.”
Dear God, he sounded so businesslike he might as well cut her off at the knees. “That’s wonderful. You must be pleased.”
“Like I said yesterday, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
Delilah noticed his hand resting on the doorknob, ready to close her out. Not yet. Trembling, she covered his fingers with her own.
Time ticked slower while she waited for him to react. He didn’t speak. But he didn’t move his hand away, either. Finally, he turned in her direction. His tortured eyes found hers, and for a few seconds the connection they forged in Massachusetts burned strong.
The Man Behind the Mask Page 12
