Chapter 18 December 18th #2
“I opened my Secret Santa gift,” I tell him, smiling up at him when he peeks down at me in interest. “Humbugs.”
“Charming.”
“I thought so too.”
He points to a small café over the road. “Coffee and a sandwich?”
“Perfect.”
He pushes the door open for me and immediately helps me out of my coat, pulling a chair out for me. “Take a look.” He hands me a menu and goes to hang our coats up, rubbing his hands as he wanders back.
“Tea and the chicken and avocado.” I pass him the menu, but he doesn’t look, instead going to the counter and ordering, returning with the teas and a wooden spoon that has the number nine on it. “This is cute,” I say, taking one of the mini polka dot teapots.
“The wife of a guy who works for me owns it.” Dec offloads the tray onto the table and slips it onto another chair before sitting. “Best sandwiches in town.” He helps himself and pours for both of us. “So what are you cooking for me tonight?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What time do you want me?”
“All the time,” I say, making him smile down at the table.
“I feel the same, in case that needs clarifying.” He pushes my teacup and saucer over and rests back. “I was thinking about tomorrow.”
My cup pauses at my lips. Tomorrow. I don’t know how it’s been three years. I’m both horrified that the time has flown past but also dragged agonisingly slowly, and thankful that this darling man has remembered the date I mentioned to him only once. “And what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking we should do something.”
“After work?”
“No. Take the day off. You don’t need to work to keep busy if I’m keeping you busy.”
Take the day off. I’d never entertain such a crazy suggestion, not on any normal day. But on December nineteenth? “What will we do?”
“Be together,” he says simply.
Be together so that I’m not alone. That lifts the heaviness of my heart a tiny bit. “I signed the acknowledgment letter with the divorce papers,” I declare out of nowhere.
Dec’s eyes fly up, his cup lowering, and he nods, thoughtful for a few moments. “I’ve asked my lawyer to widen the search for my wife.”
I inhale my surprise. “Why did you marry her?” I ask, finally plucking up the courage.
He looks away, scowling at thin air. “Momentary lapse in judgment.”
“And she just left?” Dec didn’t leave her, she left him?
“Yes.”
He’s bitter, and that doesn’t sit well, which is ironic coming from me, I know. But, again, she left him. “What will happen if she comes back?”
“Then I get my divorce quicker.”
“So you want that. A divorce?”
He frowns. “Yes, I want a divorce.” Irritation slips into his tone. “She’s dead to me.”
Dead. Like his father is to him. And yet I know as well as the next person that there’s a fine line between love and hate. He doesn’t truly hate his father. And I suspect he doesn’t truly hate his wife.
I wonder again, with annoying curiosity, what happened between them and why he’s so bitter. Maybe it was simply because she left him. But, again, why would she? He’s handsome, successful.
Cold.
Could that have been why? Mr. Serious was too serious? And yet I’ve seen Dec’s many sides. He’s serious, yes, but he’s also light, sensitive, funny, warm, and a whole load of other things. “What’s her name?”
“Chelsea.”
Just a one-word answer, which is fine because it was a closed question, but something tells me I wouldn’t get more out of him if I tried.
I hate the fierce curiosity in me. I also hate the idea that someone could come along—his wife—and burst my bubble.
Like I said, there’s a very fine line between love and hate, and I’m worried I’m looking at it.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Dec pushes his tea away, his persona not as light and easy as it was before we touched on his wife.
A man walks in, bringing a gust of cold air with him, and I shiver in my chair. Or could that be Dec’s declaration that he wants to talk about something? Because everyone knows when someone says that, the chances are you’re not going to like the topic. “What?” I ask, obviously cautious.
“Your face.”
“My face is fine,” I try not to sound tired, and I know I’ve failed when Dec flashes me a look somewhere between warning and disbelief.
“You didn’t do it at work, Camryn.”
“What?”
“I ran into Thomas.”
I withdraw. “You ran into my boss, and one of the things you talked to him about, taking into consideration the gala was the first time you met him, was my face?” I inhale, something coming to me. “The gala wasn’t the first time you met Thomas, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t. How did you injure your face?”
“I was mugged, attacked, whatever you want to call it.” I grit the words out, and Dec shifts in his chair, his neck tilting mildly, as if he’s subtly cricking it. “I didn’t say because I knew I was stupid for walking home late when the streets were quiet, and I didn’t want you to fuss.”
“Fuss?”
“Be mad with me.”
“I am mad.”
“I’m okay. It’s done, I won’t do it again, and now we need to talk about how you know Thomas.”
“I’m buying his company.”
I sit back sharply, like an arrow through my stomach has pinned me to the back of my chair. “What?”
“It’s not a done deal yet.”
“Yet?”
“We’re still in negotiations.”
I stare at Dec across the table, my mind blank, as a waitress appears beside us, smiling, two plates in her hands as she looks between us. “The Prawn and Marie Rose?”
I rise from my chair abruptly and pace across the café, pulling my coat off the hook. “Camryn,” Dec calls, the sound of his chair legs scrapping the wooden floor screaming. “Wait.”
I hurry out, swinging on my coat. He’s buying the company? He’s buying the fucking company I work for, and he chose to hide it from me?
“Camryn, come on.”
I throw my bag onto my shoulder and walk with purpose up the street.
“Camryn.” His feet crunching into the snow get louder as he gains on me, and I stop and swing around, finding him struggling to get his coat on as he jogs. “Do not follow me,” I snap, and he halts and backs up immediately, surrendering, shaking his head on a loud exhale.
“Cam—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Let me exp—”
“Sir, your bill!”
I look past Dec, seeing the young girl from the café waving a piece of paper. “Fuck it,” he snaps, reversing his steps. “Wait there.”
As soon as he disappears into the café, I walk on, and I don’t stop until I make it back to my office, turning right out of the elevator and making a beeline for Thomas’s office, not bothering knocking, barging in, still in my coat and boots. “You’re selling the company?”
With his phone at his ear, he stills in his seat, pure dread engulfing him. “I’ll call you back,” he says, hanging up.
“What’s going on, Thomas?”
“How long have you been seeing Dec Ellis?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“When you’re feeding him information that’s driving down the value of my company, it’s my business, Camryn.”
“What? I’ve not told Dec a damn thing about your company.” Now is apparently a good time for my mind to remind me otherwise. Oh my God, have I been used to get inside information on TF Shipping?
“He’s slashed his offer, and then I found out he’s seeing you. Coincidence?”
Good question. “How long has this been going on?” I ask.
“A few months.”
All the pieces start to click into place, and I seriously do not like the picture it’s building. I’ve known Dec for a few weeks. Fell in love with him in a few weeks. “Did you plan on selling up all along?”
“No, not all along. Just until some bazillionaire came along and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“So what’s the fucking point in me being here now?”
“There is no point.”
“Then why am I?”
“Because I was too scared to fire you.”
I recoil, and Thomas smiles awkwardly. “Are you firing me now?”
“Well, that’s debatable. If Ellis keeps driving his price down, I’ll continue with the original plan to float the company and tell him to go fuck himself. But I don’t know if I can trust you, Camryn.”
“Did he tell you he was seeing me?”
“No, but it was pretty bloody obvious when he asked how you were after injuring yourself at work. So how did you injure your face, because you told him you did it here, and you told me you fell over on your way home from work.”
“Do I have a job?” My voice is so tight, and my throat aches.
“It’ll have to go to the board.”
I laugh coldly. “You mean your wife and son?” That’s a no, then.
Jesus Christ. Reality’s playing a cruel fucking game with me.
I need this job. Especially now my newfound source of distraction has been taken away.
And that’s the only reason I don’t fly off the handle and tell Thomas where to shove his job and instead walk out calmly.
Dec fucking lied to me. Used me. I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable, and now I just look like a fool.
Problem is, I didn’t allow it. Dec somehow drew out the old me, and then he gave me hope to cling to.
And now he’s taken it away.
Hope. What a fucking joke. It’s just a burden on one’s destiny.
Just when I don’t think my day can get any worse, I make it home and find Dominic loitering outside my building. As much as I tell it not to, my stomach drops, my steps faltering. “The papers are in the post,” I say, passing him, armed with my keys.
“That’s not why I’m here, Cam,” he replies, making me still. “Can I come in?”
“Why?” I face him. “Has guilt kicked in?”
“I don’t feel good about this.”
“You don’t feel good?” I ask. “If you’re going to own your shit, Dominic, own it. Say you feel awful. Horrendous. How about you feel really fucking shit? How long have you been together?” I ask, like I need more blows today. “She must be what? Eight months?”
“Thirty-eight weeks.” Due any day. I suck back the impact of that hit. The hit I absolutely asked for. “Look, can I come in? I don’t want to do this out here.”