CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“CONGRATULATIONS,ROSALIND.”
Rosalind blinked and refocused on the couple seated on the opposite side of the massive walnut desk.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Robert T. Nettleton nodded, his smile wide and bright. At sixty-three he was still an attractive man. His silver hair was cut just long enough to be combed back from a broad forehead touched with only the faintest wrinkles that made him look distinguished rather than old.
Ms. Kimberly Thompson sat to his right. Sharp angles and a strong jaw went against traditional standards of beauty. But it was an arresting face that, coupled with her quiet confidence and Mona Lisa smile, made one look twice.
Nettleton slid the signed contract out of the envelope. His smile broadened as he stared down at Griffith’s signature. Rosalind waited for a sense of victory, of accomplishment.
Nothing. Nothing but the persistent numbness that had settled over her like a shield when she’d walked away from Griffith’s room.
“You’ve always been an asset to this firm, Rosalind.”
Really?Even when you threatened to fire me?
“Thank you, sir.”
“Which is why we’d like to offer you the position of midlevel attorney.”
His words washed over her. The words she had been working toward for the past two years.
In a flash, she saw the next five years. No weekend jaunts to Europe as she worked longer hours. The couple of trips she took home every year becoming fewer and further between even though she would be making more money to cover the cost.
No pleasurable afternoons reading on a patio. Indulging in a sun-drenched picnic.
It hit her all at once.
This isn’t what Mom wanted. She wanted you to do what made you happy. She thought this would, that’s why she pushed you so hard. She wanted you to have the financial security to do whatever you wanted. Whatever made you happy. To have options.
“Rosalind?”
She looked up to see Nettleton watching her, the smile still in place but a faint crinkle between his brows.
“Sorry, sir.” She shook her head. “I just...”
Temptation flared, bright and blinding for one spellbinding moment. To take the safe choice.
And then it disappeared. Where had it gotten her before? Lonely. Overworked. Heartbroken.
“This is what I thought I wanted. But recently, I’ve come to realize that I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not.”
Robert sputtered. “You’re quitting.”
“Yes.” Rosalind smiled. “Yes, sir, I’m submitting my notice.”
“You can’t just quit the most prestigious—”
Kimberly silenced her colleague. She gave Rosalind a slight smile before shooting Robert a cold gaze that made his continued objections fall silent. “What will you do now?”
“Take a break. Go to Maine and visit my family.” She glanced out the window at the clouds scuttling over the London skyline. Even on stormy days, England had become home. “Then come back and start my own firm.”
Kimberly blinked. And then she smiled, a true smile that stretched from ear to ear.
“It’ll be a lot of work.”
Robert muttered something under his breath, but Rosalind ignored it.
“It will be. But I’ll get to work with the kind of clients that got me interested in doing this.” She grinned. “And I’ll get to call the shots.”
She walked out of the office with her head held high. Each step she took buoyed her confidence, until she was fairly brimming with it.
Was she scared of the uncertainty, worried about what the next phase of life had in store for her? Absolutely. But she would get to tackle it on her own terms with her own dreams leading the way.
She should call her father. Tell him she was coming home for a visit. Tell him in person about the momentous decision she had made.
Two weeks.
Two weeks and she’d be free. Free to take on the next phase of her life on her own terms.
She reached into her pocket for her phone. Her fingers brushed something smooth and cool. Her heart twisted as her hand closed around the small white stone Griffith had given her on their walk. She’d nearly left it behind but at the last second had tucked it into her pocket when she’d changed back into the clothes she’d worn to the chateau. Then forgotten about it as she’d drifted through a haze of heartache as she’d traveled back to England.
She pulled it out now, let it lay flat on her palm. The man could have bought her rare paintings, diamonds, a private jet.
But the rock, a simple token that had made him think of her, meant more to her than anything else in the world he could have bestowed upon her. The urge to call him, to tell him he had been right, that she had finally broken free and decided to take the risk of being herself, nearly won out.
Until she remembered his face when she had walked away. The cold hardness in his eyes, the resoluteness in his clenched hands. She truly hoped he would find peace. Would come to terms with who he was and who he could be.
But he wasn’t ready. Not for his past and not for his future. Which meant he wasn’t, and might not ever be, ready for her. Self-doubt had her wondering if she wasn’t enough, if her love wasn’t enough.
Except she knew it had nothing to do with how much she loved him, even if she hadn’t told him so directly. Until he could accept himself, love himself, nothing would ever be enough.
Sadness wrapped bitter fingers around her heart and squeezed. She clenched her eyes shut, let herself experience the grief for a heartbeat.
Then pushed it away. Now was not the time for mourning.
She tucked it into her pocket before continuing on to her desk. Nostalgia hit, memories flickering through her like an old movie reel. The plant on the corner of her desk, the first thing she’d added on her first day. Meeting her first client as an associate attorney. Calling her parents after her first win in court.
Her lips curved into a sentimental smile. She wouldn’t regret her time here. But in two weeks, when she would walk out of Nettleton Thompson for the last time, she would be looking to her future.
Griffith stared out the window at the London Eye. The massive structure, white against the deep blue of a summer sky, slowly rotated. He’d ridden it plenty of times before, had even reserved a luxury dinner for an actress he’d enjoyed a weekend fling with.
But now, as he watched it turn, all he could think about was Rosalind and the ride she’d never gotten to share with her mother.
In the first few hours after she left, he had managed to focus on business, returning to the reports he had neglected in the days they had indulged in their brief but wild affair. But when he’d slipped into his bed that night, her scent had assailed him, drifted up off the pillowcase and summoned memories of her body wrapped around him as he’d driven himself deep inside her.
He’d ended up in a barren guest room on the second floor. But even glancing at the window as he’d fallen asleep, seeing the moonlight stream through the glass, had reminded him of her naked body awash in silver as she waited for him on the balcony.
Realizing that almost every room held some memory of her now, he’d made arrangements to leave for London the following day, walking across the bridge and to the edge of the road where he managed to get enough of a signal to reserve his private jet. It had been then that he had learned Rosalind had never shown up for her flight the day before. She must have purchased her own ticket back to England. It had stung, even if he understood why she had done it. Admired her for it.
He had known their separation would be painful. Had mentally prepared himself for it.
But no amount of preparation had kept him safe from the constant barrage of memories: a sip of wine on the plane reminding him of their cliffside picnic; the site of a rosebush making him think of the tender way she had stroked the rose petals in the garden, and her slow smile as if she had realized for the first time there was more to life than work, more than chasing after others’ dreams instead of her own.
Time, he told himself. He just needed time. His relationship with Kacey had been his longest to date. But his time with Rosalind had been the most emotional, the most he’d ever allowed himself to get involved.
A few days had felt like a lifetime of knowing her. Of course, it would take time to let go.
Except instead of getting better, it was only getting worse.
He managed to get through the days. He returned to the office a week after arriving back in London. The meeting with his executive board had gone better than he had anticipated, with only a couple casting curious glances at his scars. A few of the staff members had had stronger reactions to his new face. Widened eyes, quickly looking somewhere else, even a gasp from an intern. He’d mostly ignored it, and in the case of the intern, had surprise himself by offering the young woman a slight smile and a comment of It is a little jarring when you see it for the first time. She’d stammered out a quick apology. Then they’d moved on.
It had been a little strange to discover that he had missed the daily interactions that came with being in the office. He’d been steeped in grief and isolation so long that he hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed casual greetings, small talk with his secretary and the myriad of meetings that filled his day.
The nights, however, were hell. It was at night, in his penthouse in Knightsbridge, where his mind inevitably turned to Rosalind. What was she doing? Who was she with? And, the most pervasive: Was she happy?
Three weeks after she had walked down the drive and out of his life, he’d received a call from Mr. Nettleton directly, thanking him again for working with the firm and offering to represent Griffith’s estate as the firm had represented his father’s. Griffith had agreed to a meeting, surprising Nettleton when he had declined the attorney’s offer to come to him and instead making the trip down to the law firm. It had been there that Griffith had discovered Rosalind had quit.
Even as he silently cursed Rosalind’s decision to leave, mourned the chance to see her one last time, pride surged inside him. Whether she had taken his words to heart or discovered what she’d needed to make the decision on her own, she’d done more in the three weeks they’d been apart than he’d done in over a year. She’d taken charge of her life, made some hard decisions and moved on.
And what would he have done with that last meeting anyway? Apologize for how he’d ended things? He’d thought it would be the pain in her eyes that would haunt his dreams. The stricken look on her beautiful face when he’d taken the special moments they’d shared and ended them, swiftly and ruthlessly.
Except it hadn’t been the pain. No, it had been that one aching moment when she’d looked at him with unabashed longing and resignation.
You’re the only one who sees yourself as a monster.
A knock sounded on his door.
“Come in.”
Alicia Hunter walked in. Even though she was nearly sixty, Alicia still commanded attention whenever she walked into a room, including the executive board she had served on for over thirty years, most recently as chair. From her trademark pant suits in vivid, jewel-toned colors to her short cap of silver hair that showcased her smooth dark skin and polished cheekbones to perfection. Her leadership and knowledge of shipping were legendary but so was her signature style.
That she had also played hide-and-seek with him when his father had brought him to the office as a child had added an amusing touch to their working relationship.
“Welcome back, Griffith.”
“Thank you.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You look good.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed as her gaze swept him from head to toe, assessing with a touch of maternal warmth. “Word is you’re actually talking to people.”
“I talked with people before.”
“Not like this. You were always respected around here.”
“But not particularly well-liked.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t a matter of liking. You just didn’t do much to get to know the people who worked for you.”
Because he had been focused on other things. Namely himself.
“Something I’m working on.”
“It suits you.” She moved to his desk and set her tablet down so he could read the screen. “The press conference is in twenty minutes. Daniel and I will be onstage with you,” she said, referencing the chair of the board of directors.
“Good.”
The public relations department had recommended a formal press conference to announce Griffith’s official acceptance of his position as CEO of Lykaois Shipping after returning from his sabbatical. An event made more crucial after the media circus following Kacey’s interview.
He’d known that something like this would be coming, had resisted the idea almost as much as he had resisted signing the contract accepting his inheritance. But now, as he glanced back out over London, he felt something deeper. Determination.
He’d experienced an unexpected sense of homecoming when he’d walked into the lobby on his first day back. He’d wondered if his emotional investment in Lykaois Shipping would change once he was surrounded by people again, by the company that bore his father’s mark everywhere he looked.
Thankfully, he’d discovered that while there were still currents of grief and regret beneath the surface, they didn’t weaken his resolve or his feelings. He did care about this company. His company. The people who worked for it. The legacy his father and grandfather had crafted.
As he’d assimilated back into the environment over the past few weeks, his determination had only grown. On the few occasions he had experienced uncertainty, he’d squelched it. He could, as Rosalind had said, wallow in his own fears and misery. Or he could do something about it. And at least with the company, there were tangible measures of success he could look to, numbers and reports to create a foundation he could build from.
He slid some written notes over to Alicia. “Thoughts? Public Relations approved it. But I’d appreciate your eyes on it.”
She picked up the paper, read through it quickly. “It’s good.”
“But?”
“You don’t talk about your father a lot.”
He looked down at his desk, splayed his fingers across the surface. The same desk his father had worked from. His grandfather before him. Months ago, the significance would have been lost on him. But now he recognized it for what it was, the meaning embedded in the faint scars, the streaks in the polished wood.
If he applied himself enough, focused on the company instead of himself, he would be at least half the leader his father had been.
“I don’t think he would care for being included in any speech of mine.”
The silence felt thick, heavy. His eyes flickered up to find Alicia watching him.
“What a thing to say.”
Anger shimmered through him.
“Excuse me?”
“He was proud of you, Griffith.”
He barked out a harsh laugh. “Yes. Proud of his overindulgent son.”
“He blamed himself.”
Stunned, his head snapped up. “What?”
“Your father blamed himself for how you dealt with your mother’s death.” Alicia sighed, her shoulders drooping as if she’d been carrying a heavy burden for a long time and had finally let it go. “He told me that his family didn’t talk much about their feelings. More of a soldier-on attitude.”
Griffith remembered that well. He’d never doubted his father’s love for him, for his mother. But he had overheard, more than once, his mother encouraging him to talk to her, to share the bad along with the good.
“I still made my choices.”
“Yes. And he let you. He didn’t try to talk to you, get you counseling, anything.”
“I doubt I was in a place to listen.”
“Eventually, no. But I remember those first few months, Griffith. You were obviously grieving and depressed. And Belen, as much as he loved you, didn’t know what to do. He just assumed you’d buck up. By the time he realized how bad it was, you’d...found another way to cope.”
A delicate way to put it, he thought in self-disgust.
“He loved you, Griffith. Even when you were at your most self-centered, you never let that bleed into your professional life. You accomplished a lot at a young age.” The look she directed his way made him feel like he was five and had just been caught sneaking into the conference room to play with the projector. “Think. Do you really believe your father would have left you the fortune he did, or an international company, if he didn’t think you were capable?”
Before he could reply to that astonishing bit of logic, an assistant from the public relations department arrived to walk them down to the conference.
Minutes later Griffith was outside the front door of Lykaois Shipping, stationed behind a podium on an elevated stage as dozens of cameras flashed.
Instead of pushing the world away, retreating into his isolation, he stood and faced them.
He read his official statement. He paused at the end, took a breath.
“I hope to not only serve my employees and our clients, but to do my father proud.” The improvised words, torn from his heart, were rough with emotion. “To honor the legacy my family has created.”
Alicia placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezed. He acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod in her direction before turning his attention back to the reporters. Tried to stop looking for Rosalind amongst the sea of faces.
And failed.
He hadn’t thought she’d be there. Why would she be? He’d pushed her away. Had told her in no uncertain terms they were done, that he didn’t want to see her again.
Yet a foolish part of him had still hoped he would find her watching, encouraging him with that beautiful, confident smile of hers.
The first few questions were routine. Plans for future expansion, the exploration of adding a route through the Northwest Passage. One bold reporter asked about Kacey, a question Griffith deftly handled by arching a brow and replying with “I don’t see what that has to do with shipping,” much to the amusement of the others in attendance.
“Mr. Lykaois, what are you looking forward to in the coming year?”
His lips parted. Several answers would have been more than appropriate. But none of them felt right. None of them were right.
Because when he thought about the next year, his thoughts had nothing to do with Lykaois Shipping. They centered around a woman with unruly curls and a sunny smile who had fought her way through grief and still managed to find the good amidst the bad. Memories slipped into dreams of mornings spent on the patio of the chateau, afternoons exploring the neighborhoods of London he’d always avoided because they had never been wealthy enough to catch his interest. Dreams of a wedding, a ceremony that had never interested him but now made his heart twist at the thought of gazing down into her face and saying vows that would join them forever. And dreams of the life after: children, supporting Rosalind a she pursued her goals, hands joined through the ups and downs of life.
The crowd quieted. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Cameras clicked. The world watched as the answer became clear.
Rosalind.
He loved her. He loved her and he wanted to be with her. When he’d thought about the possibility of a future with her, it had been clouded by pain, by the habit of avoiding emotion for years, by his fear of hurting a woman who had seen the best in him even when he couldn’t.
But when he stripped away all of that, when he answered the simple question with the simplest answer, it was Rosalind.
“There are several new initiatives we hope to focus on in the coming months. Some I can’t speak to as the...details have not been hammered out yet. I will say that, as has been reported in the news, my father...” His voice caught. The lights flashed. “My father worked hard and, as I’m sure you’ve heard, left me with a substantial fortune. I’ll be exploring ways to put that money to good use.”
“No more champagne and caviar?” someone from the audience called out.
Griffith’s chuckle cut through the mix of shocked murmurs and awkward laughter.
“Yes. But in moderation.” He paused, then smiled. “Someone recently showed me there are more important things in life.”
The questions came, fast and hard. He deflected, smiled as he stepped back from the microphone, ignoring the barrage of shouts as he allowed the assistant to guide him, Alicia and the other representatives from Lykaois Shipping back into the building.
It was only a few minutes later, even though it felt like hours, that he walked into his office and closed the door.
And finally confronted the realization that had nearly knocked him off his feet during the press conference.
What happened between us...that meant something to me.
His time with Rosalind had meant something to him, too. More than anything else in his life because he was in love with Rosalind. He loved her and wanted a life with her in it. Couldn’t picture an existence without her in it.
And he’d forced her out of his life.
He quelled his panic, reined in his fear. Yes, she might reject him. That was her choice. But if he didn’t ask the question, if he didn’t tell her how he felt, what he wanted, he would never know.
He thought about calling, showing up at her flat.
No. Rosalind deserved something more. Something worthy of a fairy tale.
He picked up his phone, dialed his executive assistant.
“I need you to make a reservation.”