16. Byron
16
BYRON
M eg stood before me in the secret passage, heartache dripping from the edge of her voice. And I couldn’t shake this strange urge to comfort her, to shield her from whatever was zapping her spark.
Which, in case you missed it, happened to be the Belmont family.
Nelson was right, Meg wasn’t as tough as she made herself out to be. And that unexpectedly cut deep, realizing I had played a part in her unhappiness. And Isabel’s.
If only I’d known the impact this whole terrible business had on Meg, maybe none of today would have unfolded the way it did. I would have been more thoughtful and not pushed boundaries.
Or so I liked to believe.
The only sensible thing to do at this point was to keep things professional.
But being "friends" didn’t seem much more realistic, either. After all, what do you think was running through my mind as I watched Meg head back to her office?
I wanted to haul her back and into my arms and slant my mouth over those succulent lips. I wanted to take my time exploring every inch of her delectable body until she was aching for release. And when she finally reached her breaking point, I wanted to feel her shatter and unravel like a loose thread under my tongue as my name rolled over hers.
And yes, I wanted to hear her come.
So, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s not what you want to do with just-a-friend.
The fact that our musical tastes were similar wasn’t all that mind-blowing, but the problem was that she kept ticking off the boxes. Soon, I’d run out of boxes for her to tick off, and she’d be creating new ones of her own.
It had become very important to talk to Libby about all this, and after going through the new security protocol with Steven, I finally left Belmont Manor in my new Range Rover.
Being the next CEO of the Belmont Trust came with its own set of rules, and once my role became official, security was going to be way tighter than what I was used to.
Leaving the house would be more involved than simply getting in a car with a couple of security guys in tow and going wherever I wanted to.
So, I decided to enjoy the little bit of freedom I had left until then.
I anticipated that the door to Dr. Libby Philip’s brownstone office would be open, welcoming my arrival. But to my surprise, it was not.
I pressed the intercom button, which chimed a soft bell. Moments later, Libby's soothing voice came through the speaker.
“Yes?” she said as if we didn’t have an appointment at exactly 8 pm on the dot.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. My shrink was playing mind games, the disgraced lover exacting sweet revenge.
“Libby, it’s me.”
“Can you be more specific…?”
“Seriously?”
The door clicked open, and I strode down the hallway. Framed artwork lined the walls, while intricate crown molding traced the edges of the ceiling, a nod to the building’s classic architectural heritage.
It struck me as odd that I’d never noticed these details before. Yet now, I was keenly attuned to every element of my surroundings, as if my senses had been heightened after becoming a new man.
A grand door at the far end of the hallway led to Libby’s private office. I’d always used that to bypass the receptionist. The door was unlocked, but this time, I was greeted by an empty room.
I took a seat on the very plush couch where I’d seduced Libby quite a few times, and I wondered if there was an actual chance of overcoming the awkwardness of our history.
“Byron,” Libby said, entering from a side door.
I immediately stood up with my charming, practiced smile. She leveled a biting smirk back, her gaze traveling over me, no doubt gleefully picking up on my battered physique. “Well, you look worse for wear,” she said, her voice ice. “I can't imagine who you could possibly have managed to piss off enough to end up looking like that.”
What was the saying about Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned ? This was going to take some diplomacy. “Libby…”
“Don’t Libby me. Please sit down.”
I waited until she took the seat opposite the couch before I sat down, the Belmont gentleman’s etiquette hammered into me from an early age.
As she paged through a notebook, deliberately ignoring me, I observed her at leisure.
Nearing fifty-five, she was a striking woman—perhaps a touch too slender for my preference, but her sharp wit more than compensated for the lack of curves.
To say nothing of seeing this perfectly put-together woman slip out of control under my touch…even as she lectured me about why engaging in a sexual relationship with a patient (me) was unethical, illegal, and unprofessional.
More than once, I had to reassure her while kissing her erogenous zones that our relationship didn’t cross boundaries because, truth be told, I wasn’t really a patient.
For me to continue getting funds from the trust to fuel my lavish lifestyle, Roman insisted I see a psychiatrist. And what better choice than the lovely Libby?
“I could lose my medical license,” she’d murmured, usually when she was on the brink of a spectacular orgasm. “Not to mention the damage it would do to my reputation.”
And I would chuckle and say, “Then we should stop immediately!” before she urged me to continue my quest.
Libby delicately cleared her throat, plucking me from my reverie.
“So, Byron,” she stated. “Would you care to enlighten me as to why you so urgently need a therapy session at this late hour? Did you discover you had a conscience, or did your demons finally catch up when you weren’t looking?”
I might have flinched. “I’m not a learned doctor, but something tells me a cynical question like that isn’t one a therapist should ask a vulnerable patient right off the bat.”
With a slight tilt of her head, she straightened her back. “Vulnerable, oh please… Cut the crap. Why are you here?”
This was uncharted territory for me, asking for help in navigating my feelings.
I’ll say this about being an asshole, all it takes to deal with emotional turmoil is simply brushing it aside or twisting it into a ‘poor-me’ mindset without a second thought.
If I had any lingering doubts about my mental transformation, sitting here in Libby’s office of my own volition was all the proof I needed that I was on the right path.
Of course, I didn’t blame her for sounding uncompromising, so I smiled, not averse to begging for her good grace.
“First off, Libby, I want to apologize to you. My actions during our sessions were abhorrent, if not completely dishonorable. I put your integrity and reputation at risk mainly for my own benefit. Even if you’re not willing to forgive me, I beg you to at least accept my apology.”
She stared at me as if I’d surprised her into silence. I noticed a subtle shift in her posture, softening from offensive to more agreeable.
“Apology accepted,” she said eventually. “Although you are hardly the only one to blame. Admittedly, as a woman, it’s a bit humiliating to fall prey to your shrewd charm. And as a psychiatrist, I'm ashamed of having jeopardized my reputation and, more importantly, my ethical and moral standards.”
“Well, no one will ever know. As for our time together, I enjoyed every moment. You are a lovely woman, and it’s left me with good memories. I hope they have done the same for you.”
“You should have stopped at the apology, Byron. Now you’re trying to placate me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
I became a little irked. I might be many things, but I wasn’t a liar.
“If I didn’t mean it,” I told her, “I wouldn’t have said it. Besides, what was there not to love… Sex is like food. A fast-food burger fills an urge. But eating a well-prepared meal and drinking good wine fills a soul. You are Confit de Canard with a Red Bordeaux on a rainy evening. And it doesn’t get more gratifying than that, now does it?”
A faint chuckle escaped Libby. “You and your food fetishes. But I’ll take it as a compliment. And if you’re still vying for my forgiveness, you’re doing an excellent job. And not that you were wondering, but I have met someone quite wonderful, more age-appropriate…and more importantly, someone not pretending to be a patient.”
“I hope he treats you well. You deserve the very best, and I mean that.”
We both let that thought settle before I finally took a deep breath, a little more relaxed now that Libby showed signs of mercy.
She leaned forward. “I haven’t seen you in more than six weeks, but you do seem like a different man. It almost feels like I should re-introduce myself to this stranger before me.”
“Try waking up to this new me every morning,” I said. “It has its moments. No more wondering what I did the previous night that might lead to a potential lawsuit or tarnish the Belmont name. So that’s a nice change.”
She casually slid her notebook onto the small table beside her. “I’m curious, when exactly did the shift happen? I mean, we're not talking about a new haircut here. We're talking about a total personality overhaul.”
She was going straight for the throat. I paused to collect my thoughts, memories of that day flooding back.
“The day my father had his stroke during our argument,” I told her. “I believe that night was the first flicker of regret I started to feel for being the loathsome prick that I was. So, it took another few weeks and doing a few more despicable things for my regret to bloom into full realization before I finally extracted my head from my ass.”
Libby sat back, shifting into full shrink mode. “Let's start with that day, Byron. What was the argument about?”
The topic felt heavier than I'd expected, but I knew we had to begin somewhere.
“Actually, it wasn’t different from any other argument we’d had before. I wanted to be part of the business, but my father never considered me what he called an “asset” to the Belmont Trust. An asset … All I ever wanted was for him to see me as his son. But I never truly fit in, and never got his respect. You’d think life would be easier when people expect so little from you. But not so much. Then I realized I’d squandered thirty years in this world doing nothing of value, and if I wanted my father’s respect, I needed to start earning it.”
“So, this is what brings you back to my doorstep, for me to help you resolve all these complex emotions you suddenly face after ignoring them for so long.”
“Exactly what I was hoping you could help me do, yes.”
I didn’t have to tell her about this insane infatuation for the strange woman who’d meandered into my new life. Not yet. All in good time.
I chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. How could a guy like me, who had an easy life handed to him on a silver platter, make things so complicated? There are people in the world with real problems.”
She mulled that over for a moment. “You’re trying to simplify human nature. Don’t. Whatever one's position, life is complicated, and we’re all just a mix of human flaws. Some people handle them better than others, but what matters is being willing to understand them. The fact that you’re doing that now is a positive sign.” She stood up, all business. “And since you’re here... I take it a whiskey will be in order? It seems we have a lot to talk about.”
So, over a couple of hours, I spilled my guts. Libby asked some questions, but mostly, she just let me talk.
Who knew it would be so liberating to unburden one’s soul.
When I was finally done, I felt like I’d finished a marathon. “The only suitable penance for my kind of behavior has to be a million Hail Mary’s and some serious flogging at dawn. Are you certified to dish out a penance, Libby?”
That earned me a soft laugh. “You’ve apologized to those most affected by your previous actions, which is important,” she said. “But what matters just as much is recognizing that you need to keep moving forward—finding new reasons every day to avoid falling back into the old version of yourself.”
“Easier said than done,” I admitted. “What guarantee do I have that I won’t fall back? Just today, I wanted to turn rancid on Roman’s assistant, and I had to put the mental brakes on to stop myself from doing that.”
“What about him made you angry?”
“First off, he’s a condescending little prick…”
“Well, nobody likes a condescending prick, so you were perfectly within your rights to be irritated.”
“Secondly, he made a pass at my new co-worker. I mean, he knew her for five minutes and invited himself to a lunch date with her.”
Libby frowned. “And?”
“What do you mean, and ? I’d barely introduced him before he pounced on her.”
“Perhaps I’m misunderstanding here, Byron. Why would you care if she agreed to have lunch with him? What was so wrong about that?”
The answer to that was buried somewhere in all these new feelings I was trying to sort out, and it was impossible to pinpoint, let alone articulate in a way that made sense.
An all-knowing expression infiltrated Libby’s charming features. “Unless of course, you were jealous…”
My apologies for scoffing at that ridiculous idea.
“Why would I be jealous? I only met her this morning. And sure, she’s different from the women I used to associate with, I mean very different, and in a good way, you know. Actually, she ticks off every one of my boxes, and let me tell you that’s a terrible thing under the circumstances.”
Libby bit her lower lip, the way someone did when they wanted to keep from laughing. “And why is it a terrible thing?”
“For one, we’ll be working closely together…”
“A lot of romances happen in the workplace—”
“And two, even if she doesn’t find me completely disgusting, she’s still holding on very tightly to a grudge.”
“What kind of grudge?”
“She’s Isabel’s best friend. The woman I told you about, the love of Roman’s life.”
There was no ignoring the implication, and Libby gasped delicately . “Now you’re entering the very sacred territory of the sisterhood bond…” she said sympathetically.
If I was hoping for some miraculous reassurance that this strange feeling would vanish in twenty-four hours, I was about to be sorely disappointed. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
She was still suppressing a smile. “I hate to say it, but as hard as I try, it’s just...difficult to picture you as a man in love.”
“Okay, I’m definitely not in love. It’s only been a day.”
“Ever heard of love at first sight?”
My heart sank. So, this was a common experience, common enough to have a name. “Please tell me this feeling will go away soon.”
This time, Libby burst out laughing.
“Well, I’m glad you think this is so funny,” I grumbled.
“I wouldn’t get too anxious about it if I were you, Byron. Infatuation is a fleeting attraction that feels intense but is often short-lived. In simple terms, this will likely all blow over in no time.
“Oh, thank God,” I said.
Not that I was entirely sure I wanted it to simply blow over.
She held her glass out to me. “Your turn to pour. Then, spill. Now I’m curious—what kind of woman has managed to snare Byron Belmont’s undivided attention?”
Making my way over to the hidden bar, I noted how much less pain I was having while moving around.
I poured us both another whiskey and handed Libby hers. “Well, her name is Megan Belfiore…and she’s quite something, like no one I’ve ever met.”