She’d done as promised and helped her dad as well. As she hung up the phone, the older housekeeper with pinched lips came into the study. "Did I hear you say that you need a courier? I am on my way to the bank for Mr. Morgan, so I can do that for you."
Rebecca ignored the anxiety a sudden visit from a stranger sent through her and nodded. Bart must trust his staff. "Sure. Let me fill this out." She wrote the number fast and put the check in an envelope she found in her fully stocked desk drawer, then addressed it to the garage.
She was not alone in this house. Not really. Not if Bart had servants. She handed over the check, happy to have handled this request to show Bart that she wasn't always an emotional basket-case. She regretted the fleeting jealousy of Nadia earlier. The poor woman had lost her necklace--an heirloom. Rebecca nodded at the maid, Leya, according to her nametag, and said, “Thank you very much. Make sure to have only William James sign for it, okay?”
The housekeeper put it in her small bag. "I will." She left.
As soon as Leya was gone, Rebecca leapt from her chair and rushed up the stairs. Hopefully Bart was still in his office next to the bedroom. She knocked.
“Come in,” he said.
She entered--he sat at his glass desk, and behind him she had a glimpse of his yacht docked right outside. What a life. She took a seat like she was one of his clients. “The housekeeper, Leya, offered to drop the check off at my father’s on the way to the bank. I just thought I’d tell you before she left in case you didn’t like that plan.”
He closed his laptop and got to his feet. Her gaze went up as he said, “She told me. You talked to your father about his cars?”
Her heart raced. She didn’t know why but she had goosebumps on her arms. She stood to join him as she said, “Yes. I offered six thousand, one thousand for each car. They run, but they aren’t fancy. I can personally guarantee they work great. I’ve tuned the engines myself.”
His eyes widened. “So little?”
Her face felt hot. He'd asked for working cars, not Mercedes. She tugged her ear and wished whatever was sending this panic in her veins would stop. “It was a few hundred more than Blue Book value but my dad will have to replace them, which could take time. I thought that was fair.” Her dad often loaned the cars at no cost if the person needed it.
His cheeks had a slight blush. Barely noticeable, but she’d seen his reaction. “I’m glad.”
She placed her hand on her hip. “Why?”
“I wrote you blank check as a test.” He leaned against his desk--not a problem in the world.
“What!” Her pulse pounded. Seriously? She paced before the window in short, fast steps as she repeated, “A test?”
“You passed.” He didn’t move.
Her blood boiled. She loved him, but he clearly didn’t love her. Not if he thought she’d steal a dime of his money. While he remembered her name in bed, setting her up wasn’t Prince Charming behavior. Her words were like ice as she asked, “What kind of test?”
He circled her, his arms crossed. For some reason he still thought he had the upper hand. What was his problem? “Why did you have Nadia’s necklace in your bag?”
Nadia? Her mind was blank. His ex-lover's necklace had been in her pocketbook? That made zero sense. “What are you talking about?”
“The. Necklace.” He repeated the words like that somehow explained what he was talking about. “I knocked over your bag, accidentally, and found her locket.”
Her bag? The only gold necklace she had was the dove he'd given her. Bart obviously believed that she knew something about it.
She shook her head. "I never saw her locket or touched it."
"How do you explain it being in your purse?"
Rebecca thought back to their huge suite and all of the staff around. "What if one of the maids found it and thought it was mine?"
He said nothing.
It was the only logical answer--then she hugged her waist as she realized that he'd tested her, which meant he'd assumed that she was guilty. Her eyes welled but she blinked back tears. “I have no idea how it got there.”
He stood in front of her. His black shoes were now in between her designer black flats, they were so close and yet, not close at all. He said, “You think housekeeping put the necklace in your bag?”
She massaged the goosebumps that grew on her arms, feeling very inconsequential. Prince Charming was clearly a myth and Bart merely a man who'd had Nadia, and then her, in the same hotel bed. Her mind scrambled to put the timeline together. “It was a hotel, and I was the woman staying with you for the night--after Nadia left, unless there were more in between?” Her tummy rolled.
“There was no one else. Rebecca, you’re the only one I ever brought home.” He stepped back to give her space which only made the trembles in her stomach worse as he said, “I had Leya send Nadia back her necklace, so it’s done now. We can host the party together in peace.”
Every word he spoke spelled out one thing. He wasn’t a prince. She was a fool. He’d never love her. Everything had been just her projecting. Her neck felt tight as she pointed to her heart. “It’s not done. Did you think I stole it?”
He rubbed his chin as if he was judging her. He had a snobbish quality to him that for some reason she'd been willing to overlook--she realized that she would never get by the blocks around his heart. “Rebecca, you and I come from different worlds.”
She did not feel badly about this anymore. Rebecca stepped toward him and adjusted his collar, noting the almond-cedar smell of his designer cologne. “Not that different. Not when it comes to character. Do you think I stole Nadia's necklace?”
He stopped her hands around his collar and placed them on his thumping chest. “It doesn’t matter now. My fears were wrong.”
“Your fears?” She pulled away.
He held her gaze like this was a business deal that was now concluded, and they could move on; no harm, no foul. “That’s all this was. Let’s forget it.”
But it wasn’t so simple. Love required trust. She’d tried to help him, but it had been a test. Her skin grew colder as she stood in silence. Finally she broke their eye contact and shook her head. “I can’t. How was the check a test?”
He put his hands in his pockets and sat on his desk. The small gesture showed how unmoved he was, when to her this moment was like an earthquake that separated them. “I just thought if you were what I feared, a con artist, or a thief, then you’d take more." He raked a hand through his dark hair. "I trusted you enough to hand over a blank check. You could have left the country.”
That wasn’t trust. He wanted to see what she’d do. "That was a safe bet that I wouldn't. I don't have my passport." She pursed her lips and stepped back, closer to the safety of the door. “But what would you have done if I came back with a bigger number?”
He shrugged but his gaze was piercing. “Probably nothing. I don’t want to lose you.”
Ice raced through her and she could barely process what had just happened. “But you have.” If he didn't trust her, how could she trust him?
“What?” He took a step toward her.
Her heart was breaking into a million pieces and she wanted nothing more than to go home, her home, and cry her eyes out. “I love you. You've made it clear you don’t love me, that you can't, and right now I don't think you’re the man I thought you were.”
He stopped six inches away from her but knew better than to touch her. “What?”
She'd moved too fast with everything--from chasing him, to falling in love--but this was too much. He didn’t love her. He didn’t trust her. And he clearly didn’t respect her. With a ragged sigh she said, “I can’t live here. I’m going to finish school--we shouldn't see each other again.”
She flew out of the office but dashed into the bedroom to get her pocketbook.
The dove necklace he’d given her was on the dresser. She picked it up and stared at it. The small diamonds encrusted in it made the gift expensive, but she could
n’t accept it now.
He’d never trust her.
The bedroom door smacked open and her heart raced when she met Bart's angry gaze. She dropped the necklace on the bureau like she’d been caught, and her palms perspired though she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“That’s it?”
The pounding in her veins reminded her that he hadn’t trusted her. He didn’t care. And she needed to somehow be smarter. Her chin trembled, and her insides were like butterflies all wanting to escape at once. “Yes. We’re done now.” She made sure she had her phone, not packing any of the gifts he'd bought her. They could stay for the next girl.
He stepped out of her way to let her pass. “And you can so easily walk out the door?”
Did he expect nothing else? He clearly didn’t care about her and he might never trust her. It wasn’t just his upbringing that made him so distant. It was him--his father had damaged him and only Bart could heal that wound. She lifted her chin and walked forward. “I don’t want anything from you. I pay my own way in life, without taking anyone’s money.”
“Rebecca, wait.” He gently grabbed her arm.
A spark raced through her from his touch. Part of her turned into jelly. If he loved her, then she would do anything for them and their relationship. “Why?”
He crossed the room for her purse and returned with it. “You’ll want your pocketbook.”
No. No. No. She couldn't cry. Her body trembled as she asked, “That’s it?”
He handed it to her and nodded. “Yes.”
“Guess I was wrong about you entirely.” She wiped her tears before he saw her cry and turned to go.
He followed her into the hall. “What do you mean?”
This was the end. She could be honest and not hold her tongue. She swallowed back her tears for later. “I thought… I thought you’d say that you were sorry for insulting me.”
His eyes blazed but she couldn’t interpret his thoughts as he asked, “Is that what you want?”
“Not if you don’t mean it.” She again had to wipe her eyes.
He came toward her but didn’t touch her at all though he was so close that her body reacted to him. “Rebecca, I have never apologized for anything in my life.”
She knew this about him. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t take no for an answer. He was a billionaire philanthropist and a Morgan. She should have known better. Her shoulders dropped. “You are right, and we were raised very differently. I was taught that when you are wrong you apologize.”
He reached for her but she stepped out of his way. He took his hand back and said, “I was taught people like you were beneath me," he winced but continued, "and to never trust anyone without money.”
She sighed. There was nothing she could do. She turned her face away and hoped she wouldn't cry. She needed to get out of the house while she still could. “I see. Well you were wrong about me.”
Behind her he said, “I’m sorry, Rebecca.”
She stilled and hoped against hope that he’d realized he loved her and would tell her so, but silence clung in the air after the words. She let out a sigh and said, “Thank you.”
He took a step to follow her. “You’re still going?”
If he asked her to stay because he cared, she’d stop. She would try and find common ground. She turned but saw how tall and straight he was, how unbending. Her fantasies were just that. “Yes. This is the end.”
He closed the space between them and her lips tingled with hope. He said, “I… wanted this… us to be different than the others.”
“Why?” Every cell in her body alerted, waiting for his answer.
He pressed his forehead to hers and said, “Because I… I’m lonely. I didn’t know that until you showed up.”
And that had nothing to do with her. He didn’t care. She detangled herself and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Well, I’m sure the next woman that comes into your life today will be able to fix that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”
His lips thinned as he stared at her. “I can never be that man.”
“I see that now.” She nodded and this time she didn’t shed a single tear.
“I’m sorry.”
She couldn't go back--she straightened her spine but glanced over her shoulder. “See? That’s twice now you’ve apologized. I guess I got something from you after all.”
He put his hands in his pockets and said, “The driver will take you wherever you want to go.”
Hollow didn’t begin to describe her. She ached at the loss of what might have been. She accepted the driver’s offer to take her to her house. It might not be grand, but it was hers and she’d be safe there.
Chapter 16
Perhaps Bart should have stayed in Italy and never come to Miami.
Or bought this place. He paced his house again and glanced at the walls.
Who honestly cared that he could thumb his nose at his father now that the man was dead?
Perhaps it was stupid to think he could move here and not feel small.
And partly unwanted.
Bart's shoulders slumped like they had the day his mother had died. Sorrow had engulfed him.
This was similar. He stepped into the bedroom--Rebecca haunted the place.
The bed smelled like her.
The shower still had her ghost in the droplets of water and her rose and lavender scent.
Everywhere was Rebecca and yet she was gone.
His doorbell rang and he pulled himself together.
It was time for his family to help him celebrate his first Miami home. Hopefully they would help him forget Rebecca, and love, and trust, so that he could be himself again.
Gio arrived with a bottle of his personal wine from his villa and his smiling bride, Kiwi. Lorenzo carried a fruit tray. Anthony brought his usual scowl and nothing else. And then his sister, Aurelia, beaming joy as she balanced a cheese selection. She was last, but the moment she entered, she asked, “Bart, where’s Rebecca?”
The rest of their brothers and Kiwi found seats on the sofas in the living area.
Bart crossed his arms and said, “She left me.”
“She left you?” Aurelia pushed the cheese tray at him.
He put it on the side table, closed the front door, and motioned for Aurelia to join the others. “Yes. It’s fine. Come in.”
“And you’re fine?” She didn't budge.
Aurelia had been Rebecca’s friend for a long time, but only because their father had cruelly stolen her away. He ignored the pinch in his neck and said, “I know she was your friend, Aurelia.”
“Was?” She stepped back like she’d just seen a monster. Her chin lifted. “Always will be. Bart, you're just like our father.”
“What?” He placed his hands on his chest as if shot. He never wanted to be his father.
This was why he was better at not letting any woman near his heart. Rebecca had used a blender to destroy his when he’d told her himself that he didn’t even have one.
Aurelia's wild dark chocolate waves shook around her red face. “I'd hoped I was wrong but if you’re fine and don’t care about her then you treated her exactly how our father treated our mother.”
He scoffed. “I never kidnapped her child.”
She turned to leave as she said, “You used her and broke her heart.”
The opposite was more true, but he’d never say that. His sister’s comparison to their father tore at his gut. “I… I’m sorry you see it that way.”
“I have to go.” She twisted the knob and opened the door. “Goodbye, Bart.”
His spine was like ants marched up his back. Was this the last time he’d see his own sister? The hollowness inside him grew as he imagined himself and his father--the same. It haunted his dreams.
The click of the door closing behind his sister was like another bullet, but this time aimed at his head. This wasn’t good.
He stumbled and sat in the living room with the rest of his brothers and wished their moth
er was alive. She’d probably like Rebecca’s surety and her devotion to her father.
Gio poured the wine for all of them and when he handed Bart a glass, he asked, “What did you say to our sister that made her run so fast?”
Aurelia saw herself as Melissa, Rebecca’s friend. But the rest of his brothers had no divided loyalties. They’d have probably done the same in the situation as he had. He perked up and stared at the four of them gathered on his sofas. “Rebecca and I broke up today.”
Gio handed the last glass to Anthony and then asked, “Why? She seemed into you.”
Everyone here would understand. He sat straighter. “She said I was like our father.”
Anthony didn’t blink. “What’s wrong with that?”
His stomach clenched. Their father wasn’t anyone to emulate. The day their mother threw Mitch out of the villa and spit on the dirt outside the door, when prior to that she'd always been a lady, replayed. Her face had been distorted, red like Aurelia’s just now, and she'd screamed words he didn’t know she knew. How did Anthony not pick their sainted mother’s side in that? “He hurt people.”
Anthony drank his wine like that didn't bother him. “And got whatever he wanted.”
And destroyed people in his way. Bart started to explain, “Our mother-”
“Had a temper,” Anthony interrupted. “Our father left her-”
“She left him, Anthony,” Lorenzo corrected.
Anthony held the stem of his glass higher as if bored. “I don’t remember it that way.”
No one else said anything, but they all drank more of the wine.
The silence grew more pronounced with every sip. Lorenzo broke the heavy moment when he asked Anthony, “Have you found Jennifer?”
“She’s not speaking to me.” He gulped his last sip of wine like that somehow washed away his feelings.
Gio refilled Anthony’s cup. Bart’s stomach knotted. No one here had come to his defense about how wrong the comparison was between him and their father. His skin crawled worse than if he'd fallen into a pile of snakes.
Secret Admirer (The House of Morgan Book 13) Page 13
