CHAPTER THREE
As noon approaches, it’s another gorgeous day in paradise. The call with the syrup heirs went well. Maxon and I teaming up surprised George and Vivienne at first, but by the end of the pitch, they saw the benefit.
They want to confer over the weekend, and I’m not surprised. It’s way past quitting time on a Friday night in Vermont. They’ve recently lost their mother, to whom they seemed close. Most people are. Me? I’ll do almost anything to avoid the viper who gave birth to me. But the Stowes are grieving and need extra time to think their decision through.
It’s cool. I have a good feeling business will work out in the end.
Maxon stands and stretches, smiling big, before he holds out a hand to me. “Good job.”
I shake it. “We always made a good team.”
Even Rob looks reluctantly impressed. “I’d heard you two together were killer, but damn. You played off one another, had all the answers. It was like a well-oiled machine.”
Maxon’s marketing guy sounds way more enthusiastic about me being here than he did three hours ago.
“Thanks.” I look my brother’s way. I can tell it felt good to him, too, being together and doing a deal… We fell back into the old rhythms that kept us on top year after year. I have no doubt we could dominate again.
“We’re going to make so much money.” Rob now sounds downright gleeful.
Maxon laughs at the guy. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Rob glances at the time at his phone. “I’m going to Dairy Queen for lunch. Want something?”
My brother shakes his head. “I’m good.”
I shudder at the suggestion. Keeley and her healthy food have rubbed off on me over the last couple of years, and now I rarely want anything else. “Thanks, anyway.”
With a wave, Rob exits the building. I see Britta at her desk. She’s on the phone, jotting notes, nodding and listening intently. Client call. At her left, a bridal magazine sits open. Tape flags in various colors lay strewn around the glossy pages in a semicircle.
“Got another lunch suggestion?” Maxon asks.
“Keeley introduced me to a little place for vegan and raw foods…”
He swallows as if he might be sick. “And she likes it?”
“Yeah. We actually go there a lot.”
He blows out a breath as if he’s worried he’s taking his life into his own hands. “What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
I see the moment my brother decides he wants to be close to Keeley if he can’t be with her. “All right. She said anything new?”
I shake my head. “Her return ticket is scheduled to bring her home on the sixteenth. I won’t know what she’s thinking for sure until she tells me whether or not she’s gotten on the plane. Try to be patient.”
“Maybe I should go to Phoenix.”
“We’ve been over this.” I shake my head. “Don’t do it.” I look over my shoulder at Britta again. “It’s like me rushing that one. A stupid waste of effort and breath. Trust me when I tell you it’s no easier when the woman you want is right in front of you and you can’t have her.”
“I see your point.” Maxon drops his voice. “Don’t confront Britta in the office again.”
“Sorry. She wanted to talk about the Tiffanii thing.” I feel more than vaguely ashamed. “I told Britta the truth, that I voluntarily slept with that woman just once, but she—”
“Seriously?” Maxon looks stunned. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” I fill him in. “I really don’t know how you lived with her for two years.”
“Now that I know what the hell having an emotional connection with a woman means, I don’t either.” He grabs his car keys and phone, shoving the latter in his pocket. “Hey, Britta. We’re going to lunch. Want anything?”
She looks up at us, her stare seeming to pass me over as if I don’t exist. “I brought something. I’ll eat here. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
As we walk toward the door, I see what’s up on her screen. HAWAIIAN TIME WEDDINGS.
Every reminder that she intends to give the rest of her life to another man twists my gut.
Maxon nudges my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
I really don’t want to, but we’ve already hashed this. I can’t push her now. I’ve given her the Tiffanii information she wanted. She’ll have to decide if she’s going to believe—or forgive—me.
My brother and I have a productive lunch and start to talk about other business we’ve got in the hopper, possible ways we might consolidate it in the future. Maxon has some good suggestions for me. I give him possible insight into things he’s working on.
It’s like old times…but better.
In the past, we bonded over our mutual hate of our philandering father. But when we didn’t have the monster around to give us a common enemy, I turned on Maxon. He turned right back. So this is the more mature version of us. It’s nice.
On our way back, I suggest we swing by my business digs so I can move my stuff into my former office, on the other side of the wall from Maxon’s. While I’m grabbing essentials, he calls Britta. Even through the window, I can tell the discussion is heated.
When I emerge again with a box of my belongings and a spare briefcase of papers, I toss it in the back of his car. “How did she take the news that I need her help cleaning out the storage room?”
He looks grim. “She’ll do it.”
But not happily. It’s her job, and Maxon is her boss, so she grudgingly agreed.
“That wasn’t the question,” I point out.
“Let’s just say that if you don’t act like a pushy prick, we might be okay.”
Right. How do I not behave like myself?
When we hit our shared office, Rob is at his desk with some noise-cancelling headphones, whipping up something on Photoshop. Maxon gives me a head bob toward Britta, who’s in the storage room, loading knickknacks from the table into boxes. Holy fuck, now that I’m really looking at the place, it’s obvious my brother has become a pack rat and shoved everything in this room since I left. If the mountain of crap fell on her, she’d be buried alive.
I jog in. “Hey. I’m here.”
“Sorry your throne isn’t ready yet, your highness.” She doesn’t even look at me.
I clench my jaw and remember restraint. I’ve earned her anger. Now I have to be patient enough to let it burn out. “I don’t expect you to clean this place alone. It’s going to be my office, so I’m perfectly happy to do the heavy lifting. Anything ready for me to carry out yet?”
Britta pauses. Apparently she can’t think of a snappy comeback for that. “That box over there.”
When she points, I cross the room and grab it, then haul it past her and out the door. “Any ideas where to store this?”
Since most of the box’s contents are day-to-day items, she suggests we shove them in the little cabinet under the coffee bar so they’re within quick reach.
After that, we start tackling the stuff choking the rest of the room. I can use the long, mango-wood table carved with traditional Hawaiian elements and one of the desk chairs on wheels. But around the perimeter, binder after binder of Maxon’s files, stuffed into a half dozen mismatched floor-to-ceiling bookcases, line the walls.
This stuff will take all afternoon to pack.
“Hasn’t my brother ever heard of scanning a document and storing the paper off-site?”
Britta actually suppresses a smile. That’s the first time since laying eyes on her again I’ve managed to coax a reaction from the woman that’s not hostile. I wonder if she’s thought about our earlier conversation. Does she believe me at all?
“I mention that to Maxon all the time. But no. Every six months, we’re buying another bookcase and a pile of binders, then pulling an all-nighter to file everything so we can find it again when hell freezes over. I mean, when someone requests documentation,” she says tongue in cheek.
I chuckle. Britta always had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. It’s one of the things I love about her.
“Well, now it has to go somewhere else,” I point out.
“Do you know anyone who could help us scan and store it quickly? This place has become a cave since we covered the windows with all these shelves. I’d love it if we Craigslisted these units and never saw them again.”
“I do know someone. Consider the document storage done. I’ll talk Maxon into selling the bookcases, too.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a long pause. We share a lingering look. A flush crawls up her cheeks.
Then, as if she remembers I’m the villain in this story, she looks away, all business again, and shuts me out.
Fuck. “Do we need more boxes?”
“No. You can go. I’ll get the paperwork out of here. I don’t need your help.”
I saunter closer. She has no escape since I’m standing between her and the door, and a bookcase looms at her back. I won’t touch her. But I’ll make it clear that she can’t brush me aside professionally. Personally? Well, she should know that, too. I’ve put her on notice.
“You’re going to get it. We work together now. You’re not lugging boxes that, all together, weigh hundreds of pounds. I’ll help you pack. I know you like things done methodically, and that’s not my strong suit. So you direct. I’ll take action.”
She glances at me, then casts her gaze to the shelves and the reams of paperwork closing off the shadowy room. “Since it will go faster that way, fine. But don’t talk to me.”
The last thing Britta and I need between us is silence. “Can we just take a deep breath? I’m sorry if I upset you this morning. Hell, if it helps, I’ll apologize again for everything I did when we split up. I wish I could take it all back. Whether it sounds farfetched or not, what I said earlier is true. Every word.”
She grabs the nearest flat bit of cardboard and assembles it into a file box, taping the bottom until it’s sturdy. “It really doesn’t matter.”
“It does. And you’re fully aware of that. Let’s stop pretending. Whatever you want to know about everything I’ve thought or done before, during, or after us, just ask. I’m an open book. I will lay it all out, no matter what.”
She rears back. “Why would you do that?”
Because I love you seems like the wrong thing to say when she’s wearing a suspicious expression and some other guy’s ring. “If I want to be in Jamie’s life, you have to trust me. You have to know I’ll be truthful, that I’ll be here, and that I’m not leaving. So if spilling whatever details you need to hear will convince you I’m serious and help you believe in me again, I’m ready.”
I know she won’t ask about my sex life today or even tomorrow. But it’s coming. If we’re ever going to reconcile, she’ll demand to know. And I have to be ready for the fact it will be ugly. Then I’ll have to convince her—somehow—that no one before or since has or ever will mean more to me.
Tall order.
Britta doesn’t say anything as she mounts a step stool to reach the top shelf of the first bookcase. The labels on the spines of the binders indicate these are the first of the files Maxon stacked up after I left. She thinks she’s climbing level with the top shelf on those slender stilettos?
While I admit the view of her gently curved ass is really fantastic, hell no.
“Let me get those.”
As I reach around her and grip the first binder in chronological order, I brush against her body. At the contact, she teeters. Automatically, I steady her with my hand to the small of her back. At the touch, fire blazes through me, zipping down from my chest and up from my toes to settle in at my cock and start a vicious throbbing.
Britta whirls around with a scowl, taking me in with one glance. She sees the bulge behind my zipper. I’ve got no way to hide it. I’m not even going to try.
She pins me with an accusing glare. “Don’t touch me.”
Because sexual harassment suit. Right.
When I’m sure she has her balance again, I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “All right.”
“Don’t even think about me.”
That’s never going to happen, and I won’t make any promise I guarantee I’ll break in the first thirty seconds. “Come down from there. I’ll hand you the binders on the top. You can put them in the box in whatever order you want. No touching.”
But fuck, how I want to. The urge to peel off that button-down blouse and see if the bra she’s wearing underneath is really as creamy and lacy as this light suggests is ripping my restraint to shreds. I want to see her body. I ache to feel her skin against mine again.
No one has ever been quite as intoxicating—or as soothing—as Britta. It took me three years and an embarrassing number of hookups to realize that no one ever will.
She looks warily between the top shelf, still a tippy-toe reach away, and the box on the table. Then she huffs. “All right.”
“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” I tell her. “And this is one of the few times being six three comes in handy. Folding myself in your old compact definitely wasn’t.”
She doesn’t smile at my lame attempt at humor. Instead, she looks over her shoulder as she descends the footstool. It goes against my grain not to help her. To be clear, I’d also help a two-year-old or your grandma, as well. I particularly don’t want Britta stumbling in those crazy-sexy heels, so I stand nearby until she’s on solid ground. Then I fold up the stool and hand her binders, one after the other, in a slow procession.
This is my time alone with her. I need to make the most of it.
“I saw the picture of you and Jamie in the hospital when he was born. You looked really happy. And beautiful.”
She pauses, one hand poised over the top of a box. I see her thinking. Maybe she’s finally deciding to share something with me about my son. Or maybe she’s merely willing to tell me what I want to know so I’ll fuck off sooner.
“The first time I held him, I was amazed,” she murmurs. “That little round face, the eyes he couldn’t quite open, and the red cheeks. Your chin. But I… There are just no words to describe the moment he was put into my arms. I felt a love unlike anything I ever imagined.” She goes quiet for a moment. “I appreciate you making him possible.”
I wish she wouldn’t thank me. I had the easy part.
I also wish I’d been there, that I knew what it was like to hold him. “Tell me about his birth. Please.”
Though Britta doesn’t want me closer to Jamie, I’m hoping she’ll cave to my sincerity and share the details.
She lets out a long breath. “He was born July tenth at three twenty-four a.m. It was a Thursday.” She shakes her head. “There are parts of the twenty-four hours before that I remember so clearly and others things I can’t recall at all. I went to work Wednesday morning. I’d been up for days cleaning, washing, organizing. Nesting, my doctor called it. About lunchtime, I told Maxon I thought I was having contractions again. He didn’t pay me much attention. I ruined his fourth of July with false labor. I think he’d found a hot tourist who liked Grey Goose almost as much as he does. But he left her to take me to the hospital for nothing. So the day before Jamie was born, Maxon wasn’t keen on blowing off the deal he was trying to close for another nonevent.”
I’m a little irritated with my brother for not taking Jamie’s birth more seriously—until I remember that he was there, I wasn’t, and I should be fucking grateful he took care of them in my stead.
“You insisted on going to the hospital anyway?”
“Yeah, about four thirty. Labor seemed to be progressing.” She gives me a wry grin. “And for whatever reason, the minute I arrived, my contractions stopped. My doctor said it’s common, but I’d dilated enough that they wanted to keep me for a few hours. Maxon and I played some cards. I called my mom so she could try to move her flight up. Jamie was a week early.” Her grin becomes a full-fledged smile at the memory. “He was so eager to be a part of the world. The doctor broke my water at a little after one a.m., which is when everything got real. And painful. Then, after a lot of pushing and sweating and cursing, Jamie came. He’s been surprising me ever since. You know the rest.”
No, I know facts. Britta added to my library of knowledge about our son. But I want more. I want to know what it was like to be there, holding her hand, watching him take his first breath, let out his first cry. To hold him myself when he first opened his eyes. To greet the child Britta and I made in love together.
I missed everything.
I shove down how much that chokes me up. “What did he weigh?”
“He was a big boy. Nine pounds, four ounces. Twenty-two inches long.” The fond curl of her mouth makes my heart swell. It’s so obvious she loves Jamie with every bit of her heart. “The nurses called him their little linebacker. He came out with a full head of dark hair and an appetite that wouldn’t quit.” Then she seems to remember herself—and her animosity. “That’s it. I was there for thirty-six hours. Maxon took me home. My mother flew in from Chicago for a week. And we’ve been fine since.”
But not happy? I don’t ask because if she’s less than sublimely thrilled with her life, she won’t admit that to me. “Thanks. I know it must seem awkward, telling me about my own son’s birth years after the fact. Believe me, no one regrets my absence that day more than me.”
She pauses, as if she can’t quite decide whether to open this conversational can of worms. “I called. I left messages. I even went by your office, but Sheila told me you were ‘sick’ and couldn’t see me and…” She waves her words away. “It’s done. It’s over.”
Despite her attempt to convince me the past doesn’t matter, I hear pain in Britta’s voice.
“I was irrational and angry. I went out of my way to avoid seeing you or hearing about you. And I can never tell you how sorry I am.” At the time, I couldn’t stand the thought that the one person I’d invited into my life—into my heart—had sold me out for her own gain.
After being taken for a ride a decade ago, I could barely handle the thought that I’d somehow allowed it to happen again.
She gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement but doesn’t say a word. Obviously, she thinks that’s the end of the conversation.
It’s not. “I intend to be a good, steady father to Jamie. I know I didn’t learn much about that from my own…but I’m beginning to understand wanting what’s best for your kid. I know that’s what you want, too.”
“Jamie’s needs always come first, Griff. They have to.”
During our conversation, she’s filled up a pair of file-organizing boxes with binders. She pauses to close them up and slap a label on each. I stack them on the far edge of the table so they can be scanned and stored off-site later.
Britta thinks I’m too busy moving the box to pay attention to her straightening her skirt with a little wriggle that has my cock hardening again beneath my fly. But I’m never going to be too busy to see her, watch her, catalog her every movement.
We continue organizing the room, but now it’s quiet. That bothers me. So does the seeming lack of air conditioning back here.
But that gives me an idea…
She’s so determined to insist that our relationship is dead. Since Maxon gave me the inside scoop, I know she still loves me. Once upon a time, Britta couldn’t resist gawking at me. I’m still attracted as hell to her. I’m dying to know if it still works both ways.
Yeah, maybe I should leave it alone, especially since we’re in the office and she’s just started to defrost. But no guts, no glory, right?
I toe off my loafers and peel off my socks.
“Um…what are you doing?” she challenges.
“It’s stuffy in here. Aren’t you hot?”
As I unbutton the cuffs of my dress shirt, Britta double-checks to make sure her blouse is still fastened at the neck and tucked into her skirt, covering every inch of skin possible.
“I’m actually comfortable.”
Bullshit. I see a sheen of perspiration at her hairline.
Good. I’m about to turn up the heat. “Oh, well… Maxon has to be the only guy on the island who still loves the suit-and-tie thing. Dumb ass. I’ll be ready to carry on here in a second.”
With a hint of a smile and a raised brow, I tackle the buttons down the front of my shirt, unfastening one after the other—never taking my eyes off her.
By the time it’s open to mid-chest, Britta isn’t breathing. She’s frozen. Staring. Watching my fingers move lower and lower…
Slowly, I yank the tails from my dress pants and pull the shirt open wide.
She snaps out of her haze. “Stop! I have a fan.”
Without waiting for my reply, she darts out of the office. I lean around the corner and watch her hightail her gorgeous ass to the coffee bar. I grin as she plucks up the device gathering dust. Nothing about her reaction says unaffected. She might tell herself she hates me…but she still wants me.
A moment later, Britta dashes back into the room, holding the little oscillating fan by the neck. But I’m already naked from the waist up, smiling her way.
She stops. Her blue eyes go wide. If her stare were a physical touch, she would be caressing me everywhere.
I saunter her way and take the fan from her grip. Our fingers brush. A fine tremor works through her body. I’m so damn heartened by her response. She gets to me the same way.
“Thanks.” I nod, in no hurry to put distance between us. “I’ll get this going.”
“Put your shirt back on.” Her voice sounds slightly pleading.
I like it.
“Why?” I play dumb. “No one will see me back here except you, and you’ve seen it all.”
“But…I-I don’t think—” She sighs in frustration. “This is an office, not a strip club.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t dressed for physical labor, so I’m adapting. My chest isn’t bothering you, right?”
Her stare is still glued to my torso. I’m damn grateful my gym habit and my love of surfing have kept me lean, muscled, and tan.
“Why would it?” She sounds a bit like she’s swallowed her tongue.
“Good.” I’m working hard not to laugh. “Where’s the nearest electrical outlet?”
When she points weakly, I bend to plug the little device in. I can’t tell for sure, but I suspect she’s staring at my ass.
As I press the button to begin the soft breeze, she shakes her head suddenly as if to clear it. “I’ll, um…empty out these bottom shelves. Can you tape me up a few more boxes?”
Is that how she’s going to avoid looking at me? Escape the chemistry sweltering between us again?
Good luck with that, angel.
Britta bends to the bottom of the first bookshelf, all but perching her butt on the backs of her heels as she reaches forward for the first volume on the left. The back slit in her skirt parts, revealing the soft skin between her knees and inner thighs. Another inch or two and I’d know the color of her silky panties.
Despite the fan, the temperature in here doesn’t feel cooler at all.
My gut clenches. My cock jumps. I’d accuse her of playing my game if I thought she was intentionally trying to tease me. I’m frustrated as hell, but I know I can’t tug her into my arms and kiss her—or any of the countless other things I’m fantasizing about. For now, I simply have to console myself with the knowledge that she’s aware of me again, not just as Jamie’s dad but as a man. Over time, I’ll rebuild our rapport and wear her down until she’s mine again.
I slap together a few boxes so I’m ready as she hands me more binders from the first bookcase. Finally, we finish emptying the sucker.
After securing that box shut, I stack it with the others. “One shelving unit down. Five to go.”
Britta glances my way, trying not to look panicked. I can almost hear her thoughts. I have to spend hours trapped in a small room with my half-naked ex I have the hots for? Well, she didn’t think the last part, I’m sure. But it’s true.
“Maybe we should call it a day,” she suggests.
I shake my head. “I have to be productive first thing tomorrow, so we’ve got to finish now. In fact, we might have to stay late. Want to order in some Chinese tonight?”
She looks horrified by the notion. “No. I’m not a naive twenty-year-old anymore. That trick won’t work on me.”
What? “That was never a trick, and we genuinely have work to do before I can set up an office in here.”
“I have to pick Jamie up by five thirty.”
“Oh. Right.” Feeling stupid for not realizing that, I lift the storage unit and maneuver it to the corner so it’s not impeding windows or the door.
I feel Britta watching every flex of my shoulders, arms, and back. “Yeah. H-he has a…um, playdate. At the park, ah… A boy. F-from our…”
She can’t finish a sentence. Since my back is to her and she can’t tell…well, I admit I’m preening.
Once I release the bookcase, I turn to her and brush my hands together. “Neighborhood?”
She swallows and jerks her gaze away. “Yeah. H-he’s been looking forward to this. I can’t miss it.”
A million thoughts circle my brain, but the most cogent is that I want to see Jamie. And this may be my opportunity.
I learned to be a ruthless bastard from the best—my father is an absolute artisan at getting his way. So I consider how I can coax more information out of her about where they’ll be and use the knowledge to my advantage. “Won’t it be dark by the time you get back to Kihei? It’ll be tough to play outdoors. Unless the facility is inside?”
“No. The park is well lit. I’ll watch him.” She frowns. “If you’re thinking that’s dangerous, I’d never let anything happen to him.”
“Hey, I have no doubt you’re a great mom.” I’m in no way accusing her of endangering or neglecting him. Hell, that’s the last thing I’m thinking.
“I really have tried.”
“Some years might separate us, angel. But I know you always give your all to the people you love.”
Why the fuck couldn’t I remember that when it counted most?
“I take good care of him, Griff. I always will.”
“I’m sure.” I brace my forearm across the top of an empty box and sidle closer. “Let me go with you tonight, meet Jamie. We don’t have to tell him who I am yet. We can—”
She’s already shaking her head. “He’s not ready.”
“You’re not ready,” I accuse, then bite back my frustration and a whole bunch of words I’ll regret.
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you crashed back into my life. I haven’t had time to decide what’s best for my son or figure out who you are now. I…” She frowns at me like she’s grappling to cope. “I’m not convinced you’re ready to be a father or that you wouldn’t walk out again. Or try to take Jamie from me.”
I shake my head. “You’re his mother. He needs you.”
“He does,” she agrees. “But you should understand that trust, once broken, is never easy to mend.”
Yes, of all people, I know that.
She turns away. I can’t argue with her when she’s right.
But that’s not going to stop me.