Chapter 14
Marco
I relish in this moment, as I take her all in.
Her hair is pulled into a messy bun held up by two pencils, and she’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a soft, white button-down paired with a black patent leather heels.
I think she took me up on my offer of buying some new pieces for her wardrobe, along with furniture for her office.
I like spoiling her, even if I have to pretend it’s for business.
These delivery men are taking their sweet time and I wish it was just us. They had called to let us know they were running late, which is why we are still here long after the rest of the employees have gone home. At least this little hiccup has forced us to be alone together. Well, almost.
Erica insisted I go too, but I made an excuse to stay, saying I had to work late.
I mostly have been typing gibberish on my laptop, trying to look busy as she oversees the delivery guys.
She had spent most of yesterday shopping for her new office, which had been so satisfying to surprise her with.
It was hard not to laugh as she pretended not to be impressed.
When I see the delivery men leave to get the next load from the truck, I knock on her door.
She looks up and gives me a faint smile.
A real one. It takes my breath away, but it only lasts for a moment before she realizes her resolve has temporarily weakened because she puts back on her cool exterior.
“Yes?” she asks, turning back to the bookshelf and placing a book in the row she’s started.
“Looks good in here,” I say, looking around the room.
“It’s coming together. I think they just have one more load. My office chair and a lamp.”
“Good, good.”
“It’s late,” she says, almost as a question to why I’m still here, looking at me with a raised brow.
“I know. I’m almost wrapped up with my work,” I lie.
“Mmm.”
I wonder if she buys it.
“I’m starved though. Are you hungry? I can order us some pizza.”
She hesitates.
“If we’re stuck here, we may as well eat,” I say with a shrug.
“Okay. Sure.”
She says it without even looking at me, but at least she accepted the invitation.
“What do you like on your pizza?”
“Anything really.”
“So you’re cool with sardines and pineapple?” I joke, leaning against the doorway and crossing my arms as I wait for her reaction.
She whips her head up and looks up at me with disgust. “Gross.” She sticks her tongue out.
“You said anything.” I laugh.
“Fine. Pepperoni and jalapeno, please.”
“You’ve got it.”
As I call the pizza place down the street, the delivery men bring in the final load.
Once they’re finished, I pull some cash from my wallet and tip them, eager for them to leave so I can have some alone time with Erica.
This time with her is hard to come by. In fact, we’ve hardly been alone together at all.
She seems to avoid me ever since our lunch together at the beginning of the week when she had again pretended like nothing ever happened.
I recognized that jazz song that was playing immediately, and I knew she did too, but she played it off like it was nothing.
“Need any help?” I ask as I watch her try to place a picture frame on a high shelf. I try not to notice the way the hemline of her skirt skims the back of her upper thighs as she stands on her tip-toes, her heels popping out of her shoes.
“Sure.” She sighs in defeat.
I take the frame from her and see it’s a photo of her and her family. Bryce Gunner’s grimace of a smile stares back at me.
“I met your dad once,” I say.
“Oh?” she asks.
“At a conference years ago. He’s an intimidating fellow.”
“Yes, he is.” She laughs softly.
“You know…I’m surprised you’re here,” I say as I gently place the frame on the shelf.
“Why?”
“Because you’re the daughter of Bryce Gunner.” I turn and look at her.
“So?” She looks wary.
“Most people in your position would jump at the chance to work in that kind of family business. Yet you’re here at what was a failing newspaper…”
“I’m not most people.”
She was right about that.
The elevator doors ding.
“I have your pizza here,” a voice calls out.
I’m annoyed by the interruption. It feels like we were getting somewhere, but I’m also starving.
I leave Erica in her office and go to meet the pizza delivery guy.
After I pay him, I carry the large box of pizza to my office, setting it on my large wooden desk.
She carries in some paper plates and napkins from the breakroom.
We both serve ourselves a few slices of pizza and eat in a famished silence.
When my stomach is no longer screaming for food, I wipe my mouth with a napkin and sit back in my chair. I watch as she carefully avoids my gaze. The tension in the room is building and I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I might explode.
“What’s up with you?” I ask, shaking my head frustratedly.
“Excuse me?” she asks, looking taken aback.
“You’re mad at me, but I don’t know for which reason. The fact that I bought out the paper or because of what happened between us…”
She presses her lips together tightly as she looks at me.
I’m sure she’s mad at me for both, but I can’t help but think she’s holding a grudge over the latter.
I do feel bad for what happened. I had purposefully lied about who I was and that probably left a bad taste in her mouth.
Now that I think about it, she probably thinks I lied to get information from her to use to my advantage.
It sure looks like it now that I’ve taken over the paper.
I wonder if she would understand that I lied to her because it’s what I always do.
It’s easier when people don’t know who I am.
I can just be a normal guy, rather than someone people want to get their hands on for the wrong reasons.
She has to know how that feels. She had carefully omitted her last name too.
The way I had to find out she was Bryce Gunner’s daughter through her file makes me think we are the same in that way.
It makes me regret leaving her even more that morning, after the night we shared. The night I still can’t get out of my head and has been even more vivid now that I see her almost every day. It’s torture of the best kind knowing I have seen what lies under her clothes. Felt her. Kissed her.
When I woke up next to her, I planned on coming clean and telling her who I was.
There was something about her that made me want to be honest. Made me want her to stay, and I never wanted that with the woman I slept with.
My one-night stands hardly ever even lasted until morning.
I usually had some excuse like I had to work early or had a red eye flight to catch for a business trip. With her, it was different.
Which was why leaving her was so hard, but when I got that call from the hospital, nothing else mattered.
My mother had suffered a heart attack and was going into surgery.
I didn’t have time to think, let alone say goodbye, before I was out the door and on my way to her.
After staying most of the day in the waiting room with a pit in my stomach, I was able to join my mother in the recovery room where I held her hand for hours.
When I finally got back to my penthouse around 9 p.m., I found it empty.
I felt stupidly disappointed, but wasn’t surprised that the woman in my bed had left when she woke up alone.
I looked around for any sign of her, maybe a phone number or an email, but there was nothing.
She was probably too upset at me for leaving without a goodbye.
I didn’t blame her, but I didn’t think she’d still be holding onto that anger a year later.
She’s sitting there in silence, looking beautiful and perplexed, and I just want her to say something. Anything.
“Look, I’m sorry I left you that morning in my apartment. The night I had with you was incredible. Like I can’t get it out of my damn head. It’s like it’s consuming me. And it’s driving me crazy that you either don’t remember or are acting like you’ve never met me.”
Her green eyes find mine. “I remember,” she murmurs.
My heart stops for a moment. All the doubts I had about her forgetting about me wash away.
“I remember you lied about who you are,” she says, her voice narrow.
I feel a knot in my stomach.
“It wasn’t why you think. I try to keep a low profile. It’s easier that way.”
“Easier to get information for your business conquests.”
“That’s not why.” I shake my head. “It’s hard to trust people when they know you have something to offer them.”
She looks at me quietly.
“I get that,” she says softly, her eyes trailing up to the framed photo of her family on the shelf before looking back to me. “Why did you leave that morning?”
“There was a family emergency. I had no choice.”
She lets out a laugh through her nose and I know she doesn’t believe me. It does sound like a poor excuse, but I don’t want to get into what really happened. My mother, Rose, is someone I hold close to me. Talking about her health issues is just too personal. Too painful.
“It’s true,” I say adamantly.
“Okay, so why didn’t you call?” She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, waiting for an explanation.
“Call?” I ask in confusion.
“I left my number.”
“You did?”
I think back to the night I came back. I never found a number, and I looked over the apartment several times for any trace of her.
“I left it on your pillow.” She’s looking at me like I’m an idiot.
“I never saw a number.” I furrow my brow thinking about how it could have just disappeared, but then I think of something. The maids came that day, just like they do every Saturday. They must have accidentally thrown it out or put it in with the laundry.
“Right,” says Erica, unconvinced.
“I swear. The maid must have tossed it. Trust me, I would have called. And I should have looked you up. I just got so wrapped up with this acquisition. Your old boss gave me one hell of a fight. Work just got so ramped up…”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair frustratedly. I know it probably sounds like I’m just running off excuses. I just wish she could see that that night meant something to me.
“Let’s just forget it,” she says.
“Is that what you want?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she says with a shrug. “The past is in the past. It’s best we leave it there.”