15. Meg
15
MEG
T he biggest challenge was making the little red flash drive my bitch, and I believe I walked away the victor. The work wasn’t anywhere near finished, but I was chipping away at it, making progress one step at a time.
I knew the tasks Roman assigned to me were less about the work itself and more about testing my knowledge and skills. Honestly, for an empire as massive as the Belmont Trust, their legal department was slacking, to say the least.
It seemed like their main strength was copying and pasting old contract clauses, as if they depended on the Belmont name alone to intimidate any potential legal threats.
That might have worked years ago. It wouldn’t anymore. And definitely not on my watch.
I made extensive notes on my findings and was curious to see how Roman would react. A part of me suspected he would not be entirely surprised, especially since he had once mentioned that the Belmont Trust’s legal department could use some new blood.
When the sun finally dipped into the North Atlantic, I took a tally of my day.
Dream job? Check.
Cool office with a view? Check.
Getting into cringe situations with my new colleague? Double check.
After a brief text exchange with Isabel, just before she went to sleep in France, my conscience had a come-to-Jesus moment.
With every message, I felt the weight of her excruciating heartbreak.
Which did nothing for the guilt already consuming me, because instead of standing in solidarity with her against the two evil Belmont brothers, the first thing I did was drool over Byron Belmont.
Where was my damn honor?
But I also challenge anyone with decent eyesight to take a peek at Byron and swear they did not for a split second imagine his body, all muscle and heat, pinning them to a bed while slowly and carefully removing their panties inch by inch with his teeth.
My breathing had gone a little ragged, and my toes were curling into the plush carpet at the mere thought.
As you probably surmised, things were not going so great in the crush-killing department, so that threw a dark shadow over my otherwise productive day.
But no one could say I wasn’t trying my very best.
While packing up my things, I entertained the idea of popping into Byron’s office to say goodnight. Who knew what the office protocol was around this joint?
But it wouldn’t hurt to be courteous, right? The way I was raised.
And just the thought of seeing him again had the butterflies all revved up, which by the way I researched, and wait till you hear this…
It turned out that the little psychos flapping around inside was the activation of the vagus nerve, which apparently controlled the stomach and got stimulated during moments of emotional arousal, leading to the sensation of feeling “butterflies.”
Emotional arousal, I’ll say.
This didn’t bode well for murdering my tiny crush. Because my vagus nerve didn’t seem to have any immediate plans on calling it quits.
Get a grip, I chided myself. I was a Belfiore. Since when did something as innocent as a goodnight greeting make me sweat like a Catholic schoolgirl inside a confession booth?
I squared my shoulders. This was me, taking control and handling it like a boss. I’d simply waltz into his office, throw out a professional “have a good evening,” and strut right back out.
To demonstrate my fine breeding and good manners and put my conscience at ease.
I slipped into my heels, tried to put order to my black locks without any luck, and considered dabbing my lips with a cherry red before realizing that might come off as trying too hard.
Using the shortcut through the secret passage, I marched toward Byron’s office, hoping for the chill in the hallway to cool down my hot cheeks.
Why were my cheeks hot, you might ask. Hell if I knew. Even with previous crushes, there were no hot cheeks to curb, or tingles blazing up and down my spine, or rapid pulse thrumming in my throat.
My reaction to this man was totally outrageous. Yet I was tempting fate by coming face to face with him again in my gullible state.
And just like that, I changed my mind about saying goodbye. I was about to whirl around and flee back to my office when the door to his office flew open.
At that exact moment, Byron stepped into the secret passage and collided with me as if I were nothing more than a puff of air.
For the third time today, I was nose to chest with the man I was supposed to hate, his hands spontaneously curling into the dip of my waist to keep me from stumbling.
Because you’d better believe I was going to stumble and probably fall flat on my face.
“Ughnmph!” I grunted, ignoring the rush of sensations spiraling through me at being so close to him again. And blabbering like a toddler on a sugar high. “See, wearing heels doesn’t stop this from happening.”
And what did he do? He smiled. And let me tell you about that goddamn smile. Or wait, let me not. I mean, where would I even begin?
For one, it could melt a glacier. And two, it did things to my insides I’d rather not admit to right now.
“Are you okay?” he asked, seemingly with no immediate plan to let me go.
“I…I’m good. We…we have to stop meeting like this, s…seriously.”
Since when did I stutter? I wormed out of his grip and flicked my messy hair back as casually as my nerves allowed.
“Well, I was coming to check if you were staying for a working dinner…” he said. “That’s all.”
“And I was just coming to bid you good night. So, that’s no thanks for a working dinner. Besides, my mom’s making lasagna tonight.”
“Ah, going home to your cozy family and having the famous lasagna. Lucky you.”
Then my common sense went on vacation, and while I’d love to think it was my good manners taking charge, we all know it was my hormones calling the shots.
“I’ll ask my mom to pack you a lasagna lunch for tomorrow,” I chattered. “If you want.”
He held my gaze with a kind of reverence. “That would be lovely. Please tell her I say thank you in advance.”
“Oh, I cannot do that. The name Belmont is outlawed in our house. Bringing a Belmont man lunch would be like boldly fraternizing with the enemy.”
A pained expression clouded his features. “I hate to ask why.”
I was fairly sure he already knew, but it wouldn’t hurt to share this heavy burden of doom eating me up. “Both you and your brother caused Isabel a great deal of heartbreak. She’s family, and that means you brought grief to all of us. The Belfiores don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”
Byron kept his cool gaze fixed on me and leaned in a smidgen closer, as if he were trying to imprint every word onto my mind.
“Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would," he said quietly. “You have no idea how sorry I am for what I did. And while I can't speak for Roman, I'm almost sure he feels the same way.”
File that under confessions I had no idea how to respond to. The only defense I had against this guy would be if he showed signs of being a prick, and to be honest, so far, he’d been acting like anything but.
A spark of frustration caused my voice to crack. “Just because you’ve decided to wipe the slate clean doesn’t change the fact that the damage is already done, Byron. You weren’t there to patch Isabel together every time things fell apart because one or both of the Belmont brothers didn’t know how to play nice.”
Regret nagged at the corners of his mouth. “Meg…”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
I had managed to hold it together the last few days since Isabel had left, mostly out of needing to be strong for the rest of my family. And it might have been the caring tone of his voice, but suddenly, I felt my defenses crumbling and 72 hours’ worth of bottled-up emotions pouring out.
“ Do you know how long Isabel and I have been best friends? Twenty years. And we’ve practically spent every day of those twenty years together. That’s most of our lives. She’s my soul sister, and you won’t believe the things we’ve been through together all these years. And after all Isabel went through with her mom dying, what did I do? I thought it would be really cool to push her straight into the arms of a billionaire scumbag who took her heart and fed it through a meat grinder. So, I’m basically as much at fault here as the two of you. Now she’s gone and just thinking about her so far away from here and all alone, makes me want to club Roman over the head with a fucking baseball bat. Not to mention how it kills me going to the apartment and she’s not there. It’s all very messed up, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”
I blinked away the tears and choked back a sob, only to meet Byron's gaze filled with genuine remorse.
Which left me wondering what it was about this man that made me comfortable enough to unravel like the end of a fraying rope.
“Shit, I said too much,” I realized quickly. “Please don’t tell Roman I mentioned anything about Isabel being far away because he might figure it out.”
“I won’t,” Byron said, and I believed him.
“I don’t even know why I told you any of this.”
“Probably because you needed to let it out, and who better than the person you don’t care about and don’t need to be strong for?”
My eyes lifted to him, my grit dissolving under his gaze. “That’s kinda perceptive.”
“Blame that little nugget on the one self-help book I found in our library. It was from the 1990’s, so now it makes me wonder who in this house needed some inner confirmation back then.”
Which made me smile. “A mystery lurks within the walls of Belmont Manor. We must investigate.”
Then, he gently brushed away a stray curl from my cheek. His hand cupped my chin, and he locked his eyes onto mine. “I have so many things to apologize for to so many people, but I want you to know that I’m not that guy anymore. And you have no idea how sorry I am about everything. Please tell me you understand that, Megan.”
Isabel was the only person who called me by my full name now and again. Mostly for dramatic effect, so it made me curious why Byron did.
“Nobody calls me Megan.”
“Well, I like the name, it suits you… So, tell me you understand I’m not that guy anymore.”
And sure, I crumpled like a wilting flower under his gaze. What choice did I have but to nod my head yes?
It was time to leave this crying game.
My limbs, however, didn’t get the memo, and we held each other’s stares in the sparse light of the secret passage.
He continued. “Even if things aren't looking so great right now, Isabel is incredibly fortunate to have a friend like you. Not many people can say that. I know I certainly can't."
A minute longer and I might have found comfort in his arms, if comfort was what you wanted to call the boiling cauldron of tenderness ensnaring us in this small space.
That was when Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody started playing from the inside of my purse.
“That will be my mom,” I mumbled, fishing the phone out of my bag.
“ Bohemian Rhapsody …my favorite classic rock song,” Byron said as I managed to accept the call, and the second before I answered, I smiled at him. “Mine too,” I said before putting the phone to my ear. “Hey, mom.”
“Meg, baby,” my mom said, “I need to put the lasagna in the oven. When will you be home?”
Even if the phone wasn’t on speaker, the silence made her voice easy to hear.
“I’m on my way, but it will be at least another hour,” I told her. “Why don’t you guys go ahead and eat.”
“No, why would we do that, we’ll wait for you,” she said. “Pops will be home tonight, so we can all eat together. I made double lasagna and tiramisu, so you’ll have lunch for the whole week.”
The stubborn lump in my throat wouldn’t quit. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” I managed to say. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay, I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
I ended the call and glanced up at Byron, who looked at me with a sense of awe. "Your mom sounds wonderful," he said.
“She is wonderful. I mean, don’t mess with her or anyone in her family, but yes, she’s amazing. And now it looks like you and I will have lasagna and tiramisu for lunch. You’re in for a treat.”
“And who will you tell her the extra lunch is for?” he asked carefully.
“I’ll just tell her it’s for a friend.”
And there was that smile again. “A friend,” he said. “I like the sound of that.”
Okay, wait. Let’s hit the pause button for a moment…
Now, if the whole "friend" label sounded to you like a death blow to this crush, let me assure you, it wasn’t.
Not even close.
My biggest fear now was that the stupid crush had nine lives, and I hadn’t even made a dent in the first one. I plastered on my brightest smile. “Anyway, good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I walked back to my office, I could feel his gaze searing a trail along my body, setting every inch of me on fire.
At the door to my office, his voice echoed in the small hallway. “Wait…what’s your second favorite classic rock song?
I swung around on my heel. “You first because if it’s the same as mine… Well, it would all be too damn weird.”
“How so? Bohemian Rhapsody is probably half the world’s favorite rock song.”
“Like I said, you first.”
“Fine. Hotel California .”
Silence settled between us. You could hear a potato chip drop as his face etched into a burning question. But I let him wait those few extra seconds, savoring his anticipation.
“Hmm. Hotel California is my third favorite. Can I leave now?”
“Not until you tell me what’s your second favorite.”
“Now you’re pushing your luck.”
“All you have to do is tell me, and you’ll be free to go.”
“Okay. Whatever. Imagine by John Lennon.”
He stared at me for a while before he smiled. “Good night, Meg. Enjoy your evening,” he said, his voice vibrating down my spine.
It was my turn to watch him leave, and you bet I drank in every inch of him until he disappeared from view.
Back in my office, I leaned against the closed door, feeling lighter. As if something heavy had finally loosened its grip. Maybe it was saying things I’d kept inside for too long. Or maybe it was the fact that Byron genuinely regretted the person he used to be.
Either way, it felt like a shift, and I couldn’t decide if it was a step forward or just me staggering into a whole new mess.
My phone dinged with a text.
Byron: Imagine is my third.
And staggering into a whole new mess it was.
Me: Glad we could have this talk. G’night, Mr. Belmont.
Byron: Goodnight, Miss Belfiore.
I texted George for my ride, but since he was already off duty, a man Isabel had baptized The Terminator, had the distinct displeasure of driving me home.
He held the back door of the Navigator open, his gaze fixed on me as I stepped from the south wing, his expression unreadable.
I beamed at him because I’m not a snob. “Hi.”
He was caught completely off guard, and it was painful to watch him try on a smile. “Evening, ma’am.”
“Are you serious? Do I look like a ma’am?”
“Well, you sure don’t look like a sir to me.”
It would’ve been funny if he were joking, but I wasn’t so sure he was.
I rolled my eyes and glanced upward, catching sight of a figure standing at the window on the second floor, where Byron’s office was.
And who do you think was watching me leave?
An unexpected thrill rushed over me. Not that it did anything to settle the confusion wreaking havoc in my mind.
I slid into the backseat, and credit where credit was due—the Terminator picked up on my frazzled state.
“There’s a courtesy bar in the seat divider, help yourself,” he said as his gaze dipped to my stained breast. “Soak that spot in a mixture of baking soda and cold water. It will take the stain right out.”
So, The Terminator just gave me a stain-removing tip before shutting the backdoor in my face. Unexpected, sure. But after this day, it was the least of my concerns.
I feverishly reached for the courtesy bar, and by the time we passed through the massive black gates, I was sipping a Bloody Mary, trying to wrap my head around how the last ten hours had been nothing like I expected.
And honestly, I couldn’t decide how I felt about any of it.
I stretched my legs out over the backseat, exhaustion finally took its toll, and I was so ready to surrender to the warmth and comfort of going home and being with my family.
And to ignore the rush still tingling my limbs at the thought of Byron Belmont, the man I was supposed to hate.