Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3)
Page 24
I revel in how awesome that felt.
“Bea, no. Why? I know your father died, but—” His eyes widen. “You don’t need the money.”
I shake my head. “That has nothing to do with this. I just need time to think about what I want in the future.”
“It’s not about McCain getting the job, is it? Because, honestly, it came from upper management. My hands were tied.”
They weren’t tied for two years.
“No, Tim. I just need to do something for myself.”
“All right. I’m sad to see you go, but I can’t make you stay. Write me a letter of resignation, and email it to me. I’ll shoot it over to Human Resources.”
I nod.
“Thank you, Tim.”
He says nothing, no fight to keep me. The bastard is probably happy to see me go. But he won’t be when he finds out where I’m going.
I open the door, and there’s Dylan again, waiting for me. The man is persistent. I’ll give him that. I walk into my cubicle, and he follows.
“Let’s go talk.”
I hold up my hand. “I’m not upset, Dylan. Well, I am, and I’m mad that you kept it from me. You preach about trust, and honesty, but you didn’t do that with me, and it hurts.”
All the cubicles silence around us, and I don’t really care if they overhear now because I’m leaving. This must be why people hate work romances.
“Bea, I just didn’t—”
“Want to hurt me. I know that, but it doesn’t change that you purposely kept something from me. I just need time.”
Dylan nods and steps out of the cubicle, sulking back to his own.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says over the wall.
I don’t respond.
I type up my letter of resignation and email it to Tim, copying Human Resources. I’m packing up my bag when my phone rings.
Mom.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer immediately, pleasant and nice before she senses how upset I am.
“Hi, baby. What is this about your father’s Will?”
“Oh, I wanted to talk to you about it, but face-to-face. When are you returning?”
“Not until after New Year’s. Hey, why don’t you join me for Christmas?”
I think about it because I had visions of Dylan and I spending our first Christmas together. We’ve already decided to open our gifts the day before we leave for the McCain’s. The expensive watch I bought him is hiding in my sweater drawer.
But I need to face the heartache she’s caused me.
“Perfect. I’ll see you in a day or two.”
Dylan stands up. “What? No.” His face forms in a range from confusion to anger.
“Where are you?” I grab a pen and paper to jot it down.
“Bea!” Dylan’s face is getting redder. He takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
She tells me where she’s at and even agrees to meet me at the airport. It’s amazing what this woman will do for money.
I hang up the phone and quickly button my coat, but Dylan’s there when I turn around.
“You’re not leaving me for Christmas.” He’s almost demanding it.
I place my hand on his chest. God, I love him.
His eyes are filled with anguish, and I know I have to reassure him.
“Dylan, I need to do this by myself. I will make it back as soon as I can, but my issues with her need closure.”
He backs away, granting me the space I asked for once again.
“Thank you. I’ll be back, and we can talk then.” I kiss his cheek and hightail it out of the building.
Bea
FOR THREE DAYS, I’VE BEEN hiding in a hotel room in Rome. My mom didn’t pick me up at the airport, like she promised, because of the guy. She doesn’t want to admit to her man that she has a twenty-five-year-old daughter. In her words, it makes her seem like a cougar.
She was supposed to meet me the past two nights to talk, but she hasn’t showed. Part of me wonders if she got wind of what happened with the Will. I’ve contemplated going back home for a few days, but I keep talking myself out of it.
I meant every word I said to Dylan. I will come back, but I’m not ready yet. It hurts that he lied, even if I know the reason he did it was to spare my feelings. I mean, I knew he was the golden boy from day one. Anyone could have predicted this would happen. It’s just that he lied, and I need to forgive him instead of what I usually do, which is run.
Dylan: Hey, beautiful, look at me.
A picture of him, naked, on his childhood bed follows his message.
Me: I’m not sure who you meant to send this to, but I’ll be your beautiful.
I laugh because Dylan’s been constantly sending me pictures and texts for the last three days. He misses me, and it only deepens my heartache.
Dylan: Here’s something to imagine tonight.
I laugh when a picture of his cock comes into view.
Dylan: Hop on a plane, and you can have the real thing.
He’s being so sweet and giving me the space I need, but I’ve abused that niceness for the past few days. My mom isn’t coming, and I’m not busy with putting my issues with her to a close. I’m diverting and hiding from my feelings.
Thinking twice, I dial his number.
He answers immediately. “Are you back yet? I miss you.”
I smile. “I need to talk.”
“Oh.”
I hear him moving, and my guess is that he’s sitting up in his bed.
“It hurt me, Dylan.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just—”
“Don’t do it again. Whatever it is, I want you to tell me. Whether it hurts me or not. You can’t decide what’s best for me.”
He releases a breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
Oh, that just made me feel lighter, and I can still have what I want in my life.
“Thank you. Now, come home.”
I laugh, and he doesn’t.
“Man, that felt good. To just forgive you.”
“I know it was good for me, too. Now, come home.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I should have stayed and talked it out.”
“Forgiven. Come home.”
“Dylan, I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”
“Okay. Thanks for apologizing. Please don’t run away next time. Come home.”
I laugh, falling back onto my plush hotel bed.
“I haven’t talked to my mom yet, but she’s supposed to come tonight. We’ll see. She’s ditched me two nights so far.”
It feels good, being able to talk to him.
“Babe, sometimes, people aren’t worth your closure. Maybe you just need to release her from your life.”
I hear the tentativeness in his voice. He doesn’t want to upset me, but he’s trying to be truthful.
“You’re right. I know.”
“Come home, now.”
I know he’s right, and I need to be with the ones who love me. “Okay, I’m coming.”
“Really? I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I’ll text you when I know my flight.”
“Hey, Bea?” He stops me from hanging up.
“Yeah?”
“I love you. Always remember that. I only lied to spare your feelings. I never wanted to hurt you. Please be assured of that.”
His sincere voice makes me wish I were able to pull him in for a hug and sprinkle kisses all over his face.
“I know, baby. I love you, too.”
“Now, come home. Text me.”
“I will.”
I hang up the phone and grab my suitcase that’s mostly packed since I’ve been on and off about going home. I’m in the bathroom, rustling up my toiletries, when there’s a knock on my door.
Leaving my toothbrush on the counter, I peep out of the hole and open the door.
“About time,” I say.
In she walks in some skimpy get-up. I mea
n, her tits are practically hanging out, and her short skirt stops right under ass.
“How old does your guy think you are?”
“Thirty-three.” She shows me her porcelain whites.
“Where is he?”
“He’s down at the bar, waiting for me.”
How nice of her to want to spend time with her daughter. The words of my wise boyfriend ring in my head.
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase then. Dad wrote me a letter, and he told me that I wasn’t his daughter. I’m going to do you a great favor and forgive you.”
I grab my suitcase because I’ve wasted too many years waiting for her to be the mother I dreamed of.
“Oh. Well, do you want to know who your father is?”
God, I’m not sure I even thought about that. Do I want another parent figure to fail me?
“Did he know about me?”
She looks down at her stripper stiletto heels and back up to me. It’s the first genuine look I’ve seen her give me in years.
“Yes.”
“Then, no, I don’t. I wanted to come here for closure, but things will never change between us. I wish you luck, Mom, but I have to make my own life.” I fling my purse around my body, hold my computer bag, and lift the pull hold on my suitcase.
“What does that mean? Will I not be a part of your life?” She almost looks panicked.
“I’m not sure. It depends on if you want to, but I’m not here to be your punching bag or your psychologist when you divorce. I’m your daughter. You can decide what you want to do.”
I walk toward the door, ready to let go and stop my heart from breaking each time she reenters my life.
“Wait, Bea. Sweetie?”
I stop, that unfilled void thinking that maybe she’s stopping me because she wants to convince me to stay. That we’d go to dinner and talk all the shit out. Then, we’d go shopping tomorrow and do lunch and maybe the spa.
“What about your father . . . Hugh’s will?”
I suck in a deep breath to hold in the urge to scream. Looking completely composed, I turn around. “My father, Hugh Vitron, left everything to me.”
Her face falls.
“Bye, Caroline.” I wave good-bye, and the hotel room door slams shut, leaving my previous life behind me.
Bea
DYLAN’S GTO STOPS AT THE Rolling Hills Cemetery. It’s a nice spring night. The birds are chirping as the sun falls down past the hill the cemetery is named after.
“He’s here all the time,” Dylan remarks.
The last three visits, Wayne has been here, too. I wonder how often he comes.
“I know. I can’t imagine.”
Dylan turns off the ignition. “Me either.”
We share a look that expresses how much we love one another and how we can’t imagine losing the other.
We climb out of the car, and Dylan waits while I walk up the hill by myself. I’ve brought Dylan with me each time I’ve come because I need him afterward. All the times I was hell-bent on being independent and doing things by myself, I never figured out that I could have both. Him and my independence. Our new situation works out for him, too, because he can still be there for me.
Wayne must hear me coming because he turns around from planting the new tulips decorating my father’s grave.
“Hi, Bea.” He raises his hand to Dylan.
“Hi, Wayne. How are you?”
He nods, still clearly struggling. I’m disappointed I never saw them together as a couple.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” I ask.
A smile eases on his face. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to get your paperwork together.”
“Me either.”
He nods toward Dylan. “Does he know?”
“Not yet. I’m telling him tonight.” I cross my fingers. “Wish me luck.”
He brings me into a hug and pulls back. “You don’t need luck, Bea. That boy loves you and he will be happy.” He studies the flowers.
“Beautiful,” I remark, admiring the array of colors under Hugh Norris Vitron, Father, Son, Brother.
Wayne knew the people in charge of the headstone and had them add Father for me without June knowing, saying my father valued that role in his life the most.
“Yes, it looks good, if I must say so myself.” He brushes his hands together. “Well, I’ll let you have at it, sweetie. See you tomorrow.” Wayne collects all his gardening supplies and starts down the hill.
“Thanks, Wayne, for making it so beautiful.”
“I loved him. He deserves it.”
I sit on the grass, looking at his name. “So, I wanted you to be the first to know—well, besides Wayne because I needed his help—I’m opening my own firm.” I roll my eyes, taking another confident breath. “I’m asking Dylan to come on as partner. I’m not sure you’d agree with it, but I want it to be our company, not my company. Like you said, many don’t get the means to be an entrepreneur, and I think he’d make a great one.”
I glance down, finding Wayne and Dylan talking. He’s relaxed against his car with his arms crossed, laughing and smiling.
“Oh, and I’m taking good care of Wayne. We’re having him over for dinner this weekend. I haven’t heard from Mom, so I’m guessing she’s happy somewhere or too bitter to contact me. Either way, I’m happy, and that’s what matters, right?”
I rise to my knees, kissing my hand and placing it on his headstone. “I’ll be back next week. I love you, Dad.”
I begin my walk down the hill where Dylan is waiting for me, and I find Wayne’s BMW driving away. Odd that I have a better relationship with my dad now than I did while he was alive.
“Ready?” Dylan asks, wiping the stray tears that spilled down my cheeks.
I nod, and he guides me around the car, opening the door and letting me in.
“Thank you for coming.” I smile.
“Stop thanking me. I’m glad I’m invited.”
I take a deep breath.
He shuts the door, and when he climbs in, he starts the ignition and looks over. “Where to now, milady?”
“Can we check on the building? Supposedly, they are painting today.”
He smiles. “Sure thing.”
Dylan
I park the GTO in the parking garage next to the building where Bea’s starting her company. I’m still at Deacon and enjoying it, but I miss seeing her. Not to mention, her leaving was a huge hit for the company.
I hold her hand as we walk by the few shops before her office building.
“Wait.” She pulls me back to a store window front. “That’s it.”
It’s a simple charcoal-colored couch. Nothing different than the ones that I swear, we’ve looked at twenty times.
“The one?” I question, relieved that I’ll actually have something to sit my ass on to watch television.
“Yes!” She pulls me into the store.
I hand the guy my credit card.
“I was going to buy it.” She pouts.
“You searched long enough, and it makes you so happy. Let me buy it.”
She cuddles up to me, blinking her devilish eyes. “Thank you, sweetie.”
It’s a hard pill to swallow when your girlfriend inherits billions. I can’t say there haven’t been times when I’ve felt like less of a man because I can’t buy anything she can’t herself. Bea always insists that she’s still herself and very much insists to be wooed.
After the couch is bought, we enter her office building. She’s filling the top floor with the opportunity to expand to the level down if her company grows bigger than expected by next year. She owns the entire building from Hugh’s estate, and the lease of the company below is up next year.
She inserts the keys and opens the door, turning on the lights that were installed last week. No painting is done, and I shake my head.
“I can’t believe they didn’t paint,” she whines.
Buckets and brushes are scattered on the ground, but the walls are completely white.
“White after white. This is ridiculous.” She goes over to the bucket, trying to open it but struggles with popping the lid off the industrial-size bucket.
“What are you doing?” I walk over to her, but she ignores me.
“We’re going to paint.”
I glance down at my black slacks. “I don’t think so.” I look at her in a sundress. “We aren’t dressed for this.”
“Stop being a diva, and help me open this can.”
“Bea—”
She holds up her hand. “Just open it.”
I shake my head, and open the paint can.
She smiles. “Thank you, my strong, lifesaving man.” She gives me a chaste kiss.
“I aim to please.” Reluctantly, I move toward the brushes.
“Wait, let me make sure this color goes. Can you check the walls in the break room to see if they’re painted?”
I narrow my eyes. “Doubtful. Why would they start with the break room?”
“Just go. Please,” she whines.
I figure if it gets me out of painting for a few minutes, then fine.
I’m on my way back, and when I turn the corner, Bea’s standing there with a box in her arms.
“Are we onto project two so soon?” I ask.
Her eyes flick to the wall.
My vision follows, and in gray paint, she’s written, McCain Zanders Advertising.
I look from the wall to her, and she’s smiling wide.
“So?” she asks.
“What are you saying, Bea?”
She puts the box at my feet and steps back again. Inspecting the box, I see it’s full of office supplies, including a giant pile of Post-it notes.
“Be my partner. We can run this together. Fifty-fifty.” She bites her lip.
Damn, if this isn’t the best offer, but I can’t accept this from her.
“I can’t put in half, Bea. This is you, and you don’t need me. I’m happy at Deacon.”
“I know, Dylan. But I want you here . . . with me. I think we’d be a pretty powerful team, and we could make something of this company.”
This opportunity is one that only happens once in a lifetime. I figured I’d be an exec at a top-notch firm one day, but to own my own? To have a say in what happens? There’s no comparison.