Chapter 39
RHETT
Ilooked at her standing there in that yellow top that made her look like sunshine. I felt something inside me break. The anger I had been carrying around all day suddenly deflated, leaving nothing but exhaustion and regret in its wake.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess it is goodbye. It’s for the best. We both know it.”
I could see she was fighting back tears. The sight of it made my chest ache in ways I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t do emotions and drama. I loathed weepy people in general.
But she was different.
“Clem, I need to say something before we walk away from this.”
She looked up at me with those green eyes that had gotten me into trouble from the very beginning.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
I cleared my throat, shutting down my own emotions.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you tonight.
Taking my anger out on you in the kitchen, being a complete asshole to everyone because I was hurt.
That wasn’t professional, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to you. ”
“Rhett—”
“Let me finish.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. “I’m also sorry for showing up at your house last night like some kind of stalker with expensive gifts, trying to pressure you into something you clearly didn’t want.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want—”
“Yes, it was.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the freckles across her nose.
She rarely wore makeup in the kitchen. It was smart.
I had seen more than one woman come out of a service looking like she’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.
“And you know what? You were right to end it. You were smart to walk away.”
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What do you mean I was right?”
I looked down at her, memorizing the way she looked in the dim alley light, knowing this would probably be the last time I’d see her like this—close enough to touch, looking at me like she cared.
“Because you deserve better than this,” I said simply.
“Better than having reporters chase you down dark alleys. Better than having your family’s reputation dragged through the mud because of who you’re sleeping with.
Better than having to choose between what you want and what’s right for everyone you love. ”
“Rhett, that’s not—”
“It is exactly that.” I stepped back, putting distance between us before I did something stupid like pull her into my arms. “You deserve someone who makes your life easier, not harder. Someone your family approves of. I don’t want you dealing with someone who comes with a lifetime of baggage and federal investigations. ”
The tears she’d been fighting finally spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. I wanted to wipe them away, but I kept my hands firmly at my sides.
“You deserve someone who can take you to dinner without worrying about photographers,” I continued, my voice getting rougher with each word. “Someone who doesn’t have uncles named Big Sal showing up at charity events like they’re auditioning for The Sopranos.”
She laughed despite her tears, which somehow made it worse.
“You’re going to do great things in the culinary world, Clem. You’re good at what you do. I’m not going to bother you, but if you ever need anything, you can reach out. I’ll try and help.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Inside, I was completely shattered. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted to be with this woman.
She made me feel safe. Like I could let my guard down and just be myself without worrying about who might be watching or what they might think.
I wasn’t thinking about my dad or my sordid family history.
Fuck, I was losing my edge.
“Come on, let me walk you to the street. You shouldn’t be back here by yourself.”
We walked slowly. I got the feeling she wasn’t eager to rush away. I wanted to savor every last second I had with her.
“I was going to head home,” I said when we reached my waiting limo that had been brought around to the side.
“Do you need a ride? My driver can take you home after he drops me off or I would be happy to take the trip with you. I was just planning to go home—alone. Conroy and Simone are off doing their thing.”
I was rambling. Did I sound like I was hoping for pity? That wasn’t what I wanted. But I did want to prolong our goodbye. There was no way Desman was going to let me anywhere near her again.
“That would be great, actually.”
I opened the back door and was prepared to tell Phil we were making an extra stop but I discovered the car was empty.
“He’s probably still inside,” I said. “He usually sits in back with the other drivers and staff.”
I gestured for her to get in. I slid in behind her.
“He’ll be out soon. Want a drink?”
“Sure,” she murmured.
I opened the small fridge and pulled out the bottle of vodka I had been looking forward to all night.
She raised an eyebrow and laughed at the bottle, shaking her head. “Vodka? Really? That’s your special treat after a high-pressure service?”
“Don’t judge,” I said, with a half-smile. “This isn’t just any vodka.”
I reached into the small compartment and pulled out a bottle of pomegranate juice and some lime wedges. “This is my grandmother’s recipe. Well, sort of. She used to make this drink with whatever cheap vodka my grandfather could get his hands on, but I’ve upgraded the ingredients.”
I mixed the vodka with the pomegranate juice, adding a squeeze of lime. The deep red liquid looked almost black in the dim interior of the limo.
“My nonna called it ‘liquid courage,’” I continued, handing her a glass. “She said it was the only thing that got her through family dinners when all the men were arguing about business.”
Clementine accepted the drink, studying the dark liquid. “Your grandmother sounds like she was a smart woman.”
“She was the smartest person I ever knew,” I said, mixing my own drink. “Tougher than any of the men in my family, including my father. Every Sunday after church, I’d stand on a chair in her kitchen and she’d show me how to make pasta from scratch with my mom.”
I took a sip of the drink, feeling the familiar burn followed by the sweet-tart finish. Throughout the service, I pictured me and the drink sitting in my penthouse.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
“It’s good. I’m not big on vodka, but this is good.”
I took another drink. “Tonight was a huge access.”
I watched her take another sip of my grandmother’s recipe. Even if everything else between us was falling apart, at least I could share this small piece of my family history with her.
“Your dad must be thrilled about tonight,” I said, trying to keep the conversation neutral.
“The event exceeded all expectations. More money raised than projected, great media coverage, no scandals or disasters. He’s probably already planning the next phase of the soup kitchen project.
I know he said he was hoping to open more locations.
With the money made tonight, I think that’s going to happen sooner rather than later. ”
Something flickered across her face—guilt maybe or discomfort. She looked down at her drink instead of meeting my eyes.
“I haven’t actually talked to him since yesterday,” she said quietly.
I frowned. “What do you mean you haven’t talked to him? Tonight was his baby. The whole reason we’ve been busting our asses for weeks.”
“I know.” She took a larger sip of the vodka. “I’ve been avoiding him, actually. After our conversation yesterday about… everything… I just couldn’t face him tonight.”
“What exactly did your father say to you?”
She stared out the tinted window at the venue entrance where staff members were still filtering out. “He was disappointed in me. Said I’d been reckless, that I had put the whole project at risk for a fling.”
“You know that’s bullshit, right?” I would have a word with Desman. He could be pissed at me, but how dare he try and put this on Clem? She did nothing wrong.
We sipped our drinks in awkward silence.
I pulled out my phone to call Phil. “I’ll tell him we’re ready to go.”
“Wait.”
I stopped and looked at her.
“Can we talk first?”
There was a part of me that said I needed to separate us. I was struggling to keep my hands to myself. I was desperate to touch her. The back of the limo felt way too small.
“Sure,” I said and put my phone on the small bar surface.
She took a shaky breath. “For what it’s worth, this really was a wonderful month. I learned so much from you, Rhett. I’m grateful I had the opportunity and all the experiences with you. The cooking ones aside.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “Aside from the cooking, huh?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did know. I knew exactly what she meant, and it made this whole thing so much worse. We had chemistry that was combustible.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Of course.”
“If the media wasn’t involved, and the sponsors hadn’t pulled out, if none of that external bullshit existed, would you give this a shot?”
She was quiet for a long moment. I watched her expression. I tried to read her but it was impossible. Finally, she gave a slight nod.
That small movement hit me harder than anything she could have said. It was the slightest glimmer of hope.
“One last kiss?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Before it’s over?”
She put her glass in one of the cup holders. I did the same.
She moved toward me, climbing into the seat where I was. When our lips met, it was like coming home and saying goodbye at the same time. The taste of the drink on her lips and tongue made me groan.
Her hands fisted in my sweater, pulling me closer. I forgot about everything else. The media and the sponsors could fuck off. Her father’s disapproval didn’t mean shit. There was just Clementine, soft and warm and kissing me like she was drowning and I was air.
“Rhett,” she whispered against my mouth. The way she said my name broke something open inside my chest.
“I know,” I said because I did know. I knew this was goodbye, and I knew it was killing both of us. I knew we were about to do something that would make it so much harder to walk away.
But I also knew I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t have this moment with her.
I slid my mouth from hers and over her jaw. She made the softest sound when I kissed the curve of her neck. The partition between us and the driver’s seat was up, the windows tinted dark just in case Phil did return. For just this moment we could pretend the outside world didn’t exist.
“Are you sure?” I asked, even as my hands mapped the familiar territory of her body.
“I’m sure,” she breathed. “One last time.”
I kissed her with everything I had, pouring all of my want and frustration into the connection between us.
Her lips were soft and warm, tasting of pomegranate and something uniquely her.
When she made that small sound in the back of her throat—the one that had driven me crazy in Chicago—I lost what little control I’d been clinging to.
My hands moved to her waist and pulled her into my lap.
“God, I want this,” I murmured against her mouth, my voice rough with need.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp. The touch sent electricity straight down my spine. “Me too,” she whispered back.
I traced the line of her jaw with my lips and then back to that spot under her ear. Her pulse was racing under my tongue. Everything about her response told me she wanted this as much as I did, consequences be damned.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, but her actions contradicted her words as she tilted her head to give me better access to her neck.
“Probably not,” I agreed, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. This was our goodbye, and I was going to memorize every second of it.