“What’s this?” Bridget asks as we lie entwined in each other’s arms. Her finger trails a circle over a small scar on my chest.
“Nothing,” I hiss, moving her hand away from my skin. Instantly, I regret the move. I didn’t mean to snap at her. I’m just not used to anyone touching me, let alone touching a place that holds a memory like that one. Softly, her fingers touch my hand and give a little squeeze. I lift my head and look at her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern for me.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please tell me about this scar. It obviously hurts you, but if you tell me maybe you will find some sort of peace in the memory.”
I realize I want to tell her. I finally want to open up to another person and why can’t I?
“I was a kid when I got it. I don’t remember much, but what I do remember is I’d fallen and gotten stuck and Spencer saved me.” My back is stiff as I remember my older brother saving me. He was always saving me.
“Saved you how?” Her voice rises.
“When he recounts the story, he says I fell from a tree and got stuck on a branch overlooking the lake at one of our family homes. The branch was about to crack and if I’d fallen, I would’ve drowned because I couldn’t swim.”
Bridget gasps. “Oh my God. That’s scary. Spencer must’ve been quick on his feet to save you.”
“He was. Spencer was always looking out for me.”
Her face softens. “Please reach out to Spencer,” she pleads. “You clearly miss him, Grant.”
“Too much time has passed. What would I even say at this point?”
“Be honest. Tell him you made a mistake and ask for forgiveness.”
“Why should I apologize? My father kicked me out. My brother stole my rightful position. It’s them who should be apologizing.”
“Listen to yourself. Do you really believe the words you’re saying? It wasn’t long ago that you confided in me you made the mistake of marrying Chelsea. So, which is it?”
“I’m done talking about this,” I snap.
“Don’t let your pride get in the way of a future with your family. You’ll never regret saying you’re sorry, but you’ll regret not saying it.”
She’s right. I know she is, but hell if I’ll say it out loud. Pride is something I have in spades. It very well could be my downfall, but I’m not ready to admit that to anyone. Not even Bridget.
“I’m not apologizing.”
“It’s a shame. After everything that’s happened between us, you still feel the need to lie to me. You and I both know your family did what they needed to protect the family. It might’ve been harsh and you may not like it, but think about what Chelsea would have if your dad had given in.”
The thought makes me ill. If Chelsea had her way, she would’ve sunk The Lancaster years ago and taken every last dime.
“All I’m saying is think about it. I could tell in those few minutes in your office that your brother misses you as much as you miss him—despite whatever shit Chelsea’s talked you into over the years. He’ll forgive you.”
It’s me who won’t forgive myself.
“What do we have here?” Bridget asks, eyes sparkling when I step into the elevator, Isabella behind me clinging to my leg. Hiding from the world. When she sees Bridget her eyes light up.
“Hello.” Isabella claps, remembering Bridget.
“Hi, Isabella. You came to work with Daddy?”
“My mommy too,” she whispers.
Bridget looks up at me with wide eyes. “Is Isabella joining us today?”
“She’s my right-hand man for the day,” I say, and Isabella lets go of my leg and steps out to face me.
“But I’m not a man,” she pouts.
“You’re right, you’re not. You’re my right-hand girl. Better?” I smile.
A tiny dimple forms in her cheek and my world shifts on its axis. When Isabella smiles, all is right in the world. She’s been the one constant over the years. As many times as I’ve cared for her scrapes and cuts, she’s mended me twice as much. My heart would be made of stone if not for her. With all the disappointment, resentment, and anger, she’s been the one thing that’s grounded me.
All the anger I have from the events of the morning fade away in her happiness. The elevator chimes, indicating we’ve arrived at my penthouse office. All three of us file out. Isabella runs forward, leaving Bridget and me to follow behind.
“I didn’t realize Isabella was coming today,” she whispers.
“Neither did I,” I hiss, barely able to control my anger. I step past her, but her hand grips mine.
“What happened?”
“What didn’t?”
“That bad?” she asks.
“Worse.” I groan. I don’t even know where to start, and with Isabella in the office, I don’t have much time before she’s asking for something. “Let’s just say the nanny won’t work out and my wife is going away on a trip yet again.”
“Oh, shit. What can I do to help?”
“Are you completely against babysitting?” I ask with a wince.
“I can do that. You have a few important calls today. I’ll keep her occupied.”
All the tension in my body leaves at her words. I’ve seen the way she’s cared for Isabella in a time of need. She has this under control and for the first time today I feel relief. What have I done to deserve this woman in my life?
Nothing.
The truth of that stings. What I wouldn’t give to unabashedly pull her into my arms right now without a single care in the fucking world as to who sees us. My actions in the past make that impossible, now and perhaps forever. I get to live in hell while my wife tours the countryside with yet another fucking fling, leaving me to care for our daughter.
She touches her hand to my cheek and I melt into her.
“Go. Work. I’ve got this.” Bridget’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.
She has a way of making tough situations inconsequential. I have no worries that Isabella will be well taken care of and now I can focus on work. I’ve got a mountain of it sitting in front of me, so I push aside the events of the morning and get to work.
When the shadows change in my office, I realize hours have passed, along with several phone calls with investors. It’s been a productive day, thanks to Bridget. In fact, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of either Bridget or Isabella since I left them this morning.
I clean up my email, straighten some documents on my desk, and then go in search of the two best women in my life. Rounding the corner, I stop short when I hear giggles.
“Ready?” Bridget asks Isabella.
Bridget has Isabella sitting atop her desk Indian style with a plate of food in front of her. Pretending to have a tea party. A few of Isabella’s stuffed animals are sitting next to her on the desk and they are both feeding the dolls. After Bridget makes a big show of how much the panda bear is eating, she offers the fork to Isabella, who takes it and places it in her mouth. She chews and swallows, and Bridget rewards her with a large smile.
“Do you think Panda wants more?”
Isabella nods enthusiastically and the routine continues like that for some time. I stand watching how effortlessly Bridget keeps her happy. The two are quite a pair and it does funny things to me. The fact Bridget knows Isabella isn’t my biological daughter but treats her as though she’s the most important little girl in the world means everything to me.
Isabella spies me gawking and calls me out. “Daddy, look!”
“Hi, princess. Did you eat all your lunch?”
“She did,” Bridget says proudly. “We’ve been having a great time.”
“Do you want to come sit in Daddy’s office for a bit?” I throw the offer out, hoping to give Bridget a few minutes break to do whatever she may need.
“Nope. I’ll stay here,” she says, beaming at Bridget.
“We have plans, Mr. Lancaster. Go do your work and leave us ladies be,” Bridget teases.
“Yes. We’ve got plans, Daddy.”
I smile one last time before nodding my understanding and heading back to my office. I’ll start the second part of the day knowing full well my daughter is in good hands. Isabella loves Bridget and I can’t blame her. Bridget is everything.
Seeing Bridget with Isabella yesterday was almost too much. I wasn’t expecting to feel such strong emotions watching them together. It made me want her more and that’s not something I can want without complication.
My door opens slowly and Bridget creeps in and then closes the door. Something is wrong. She won’t look at me as she walks over to place something on my desk, but I notice that her chin quivers.
“Bridget.” Her head lifts up and I can see unshed tears in her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“It’s always about Chelsea,” she whispers.
“Where is this even coming from?” I ask, not understanding what’s going on.
“All everyone can talk about is her. No matter where I am. It’s always how smart she is, how beautiful. She’s like a saint”—a tear drips down her cheek—“and she has you. Does she have to have everything?”
“I don’t know where this came from. Can you calm down.” I stand from my desk and walk over until I’m standing in front of her.
“How could you even want me? I’m not nearly as beautiful or as smart—”
“Okay. Stop. Stop right there.” I take a step closer. So close I can feel her breast heave against my chest. I bend my knees to be eye level with her.
“Don’t you dare compare yourself to her.”
“But—”
“No buts. How could you even think she could be better than you? A woman—no, a mother who can’t even find it in her to love her own daughter! No, Bridget. You’re everything and she’s nothing.”
I let my words sink in. I have a sudden need to brand her as mine. What is it about being with Bridget in the office that ignites me? Is it because it’s forbidden, dangerous?
“On my desk.”
She sits on my desk and peers up at me.
“Elbows,” I demand. “Spread your legs.”
She’s spread out before me like a feast.
I lick my lips and step toward her. Hungry. Desperate to sink into her. To savor and possess every inch of her. It’s been too long. Too many days have passed since I’ve been able to lose myself in her.
“You have a thing about me on your desk. We really need to get a new place for foreplay,” Bridget teases.
“You like to torture me.” A statement. Not a question. Not that I mind particularly. I’d take everything she is willing to give me, torture included.
Her chest heaves. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but she’s not fooling anyone. She’s been torturing me. Swaying her hips, bending over. Pure torture. All so I’d fuck her. I know the game she’s playing and I’m happy to oblige. I pump in and out of her but stop short when my office door flies open to reveal Chelsea.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” she says as her lip snakes up, showcasing her pearly whites. The smile is wicked. Plotting.
I almost want to smile back at her. Ask if her black heart is crushed even slightly, but I’d have to care to ask that and I don’t. If not for wanting to protect Bridget, I’d laugh in Chelsea’s face.
“So this is how you spend your nights, dear husband?”
She slithers over and looks at us still joined together. I can’t pull away from Bridget, not in her state of undress. I can feel her shaking below me, clearly petrified as to what’s going to happen. I stroke my hand down her arm, hoping to soothe her. I won’t let this bitch get anywhere close to her.
“Oh, please. Don’t stop on my account. I’m sure my husband won’t last much longer,” she says to Bridget, and that’s enough for me to pull out, the evidence front and center.
“Get out.”
“Temper. Temper. And in front of the help.” She tsks.
“Out.”
My words bounce off the walls, making Bridget cower underneath me and Chelsea actually look shaken. She turns on her heel and marches down the hall, leaving my door wide-open.
“Fuck,” I bellow. “Fuck!” I pull my pants up and throw my shirt on, ready to storm after her. “Here. Get dressed. I’ll be back after I take care of her.”
Bridget doesn’t say a word, only nods.
Now to deal with my wife and her lack of respecting my space.