I stormed out and slammed the door. I was hurt, sure, and felt rejected. But I also knew I was right for all the damn good it did me. I would miss him and wish things were different, but he would regret me for the rest of his life. I knew it. Just as surely as I knew that, even when I got over this loss, I’d never have another first kiss like that again. He had, in such a short span of time, ruined men for me.
I would date. I might even find someone and get marrie, but at night, I’d think of Brent. Something would remind me of him—white wine or an elevator or someone else’s smile. And I’d be right back there, falling too hard and fast in love. That was the one thing I hadn’t told him as a matter of pride. Maybe in time it would become less true. Less painful.
That night I went out. I wasn’t one to wallow. I stayed out until two and even gave my number to the guy I had been dancing with. He had tried to kiss me, but I had shied away. Still, giving him my number had to count as resilience at least a little.
12
Brent
I sat in the cigar lounge at Club Nine Three with Malcolm. I didn’t tell him a single word about Cat. I didn’t need to. Instead, I smoked two cohibas. I drank far too much, long after Malcolm gave up and went home to his wife and baby. I rode back to the office and slept there in my clothes.
She was wrong. I was no coward, but I was sure as hell lonely. Not just lonely, though. The kind of lonely that only she could satisfy. What I felt for her and with her had been too intense, too strange. Too deeply wrong. I couldn’t justify it. I had always been a creature of the mind more than of the heart or the flesh. So when those strong feelings took over, I forced them back into their box. I would not have my life take a drastic wrong turn just for a brief affair, something sordid and ultimately dangerous to my reputation and business. And harmful to her as well, because she was so young and bright and brave, and deserved better than the obsessive interest of an older lonely man who craved her energy and youth and passion. It made me feel like I was a hundred years old and more than a little vampiric. I had to stay clear of her. For her good as well as mine.
The next morning I was up early and ran four miles. I had a conference call about a company I was looking to acquire. Legal contacted me to let me know that the young woman appreciated our support and would accept our first offer without pursuing legal action. “Give her another half million. She deserves more, after the way she was treated,” I said gruffly. I hated all of it, especially paying her off.
Maxwell had fled to California. He had been the reason for my trip to LA. His threats of going to the media with information about me had been silenced. Any information he had would have violated his nondisclosure clause and would have landed him in more hot water than he already was. I personally delivered a signed declaration to his professional organization denouncing his criminal activity and demanding that he be expelled. His reputation was in tatters, and his wife had left him. Criminal charges were pending, with which we were cooperating fully. He was being extradited back east for incarceration pending a hearing. It did my heart good to think of him locked up for what he’d done.
I arranged a dinner with the board of directors to celebrate the resolution of the troubling situation. We shut down a popular Italian restaurant for the party. I was pleased to detail the arrangements for them and to show them evidence of our indemnification in the proceedings. Justice would be served, and Astley Corp would thrive.
Alex, the chairman, made a toast to my handling of the situation. I accepted, then toasted our chief legal counsel in turn. I caught them up on the revisions to our training program and policies. Nate tapped his glass, “I move that we table all discussion of business and have an enjoyable evening,” he said. “Hear, hear!” they said, charging their glasses.
“All work and no play, Brent,” Alex’s wife Linda chastised playfully.
“Makes me a rich man, Linda,” I returned cheerfully.
“Surely you have enough money and power to take a break, find yourself a wife… or husband,” she said, “And settle down.”
“I’m afraid the family life is not for me. I’ll leave that to the lot of you and all your beautiful families. I’ll content myself to be godfather and uncle and buy them all ponies and motorcycles and other things you don’t want them to have,” I said.
“I’m the first to congratulate you on a job well done,” Alex said, “but my wife, as usual, makes an excellent point. You’ve made a sustainable corporation very successful. You’ve attained massive wealth for yourself, not to mention the rest of us. How often does a board of directors tell the CEO he should slow down and enjoy life?”
“When they think he’s old and should retire?” I suggested.
“No!” three of them protested at once.
“Just cut back a little. You have a COO, a CFO, and plenty of executive VP’s who can take some of the workload off of you, give you time to pursue a real life,” Nate said.
“I’m going to Tom’s wedding next week. You’ll all be rid of me for four days. Content yourselves to believing I’m off somewhere pursuing marriage and children instead of on Malcolm’s yacht getting a tan and drinking Patrón,” I said as dinner was served.
We ate and chatted about their vacations and kids and home renovations. Linda’s Yorkie had done well in a state-level dog show, and I admired photos of it. There was a good deal of looking at people’s phones to exclaim over photos of their vacation home, graduating offspring, vintage cars, and large watercrafts. I made sure to make comments and smile at each. I had no photos to display, but I had plenty to be proud of. There was no reason to feel uneasy or left out.
No reason to wish Cat were there with me to make me laugh about which was cuter, the show Yorkie or the old Shelby Mustang. It would’ve been a different experience with her there, lighter and funnier, somehow easier to take. I liked these people and we had accomplished a great deal together in both commerce and philanthropy. We shared goals and memories. Not one of them knew I’d lost a child. Not one of them had favorite elevators. I shrugged and took a drink. I was a little bruised from my near-miss with Cat Sherman, but there was no reason to let that misguided obsession invade every part of my life.
“Why is it you never bring a date to these dinners?” Linda asked.
“I don’t want to share the limelight, obviously,” I said, “and where could I find a woman who understands my first loyalty is to Astley.”
“We all appreciate how dedicated you are, Brent,” Alex said.
“Please don’t make a concerned speech about my personal life. I am where I want to be,” I said.
We all drank another toast to reaching our goals. I stayed until one, picked up the tab and said good night. I was tired of being positive and tired of acting like I was ecstatically happy. If I didn’t feel like my friends knew me well enough, that was my fault for not sharing with them. If I wanted a relationship, I should find someone suitable. If I didn’t like sleeping alone, that could be managed as part of the relationship.
I knew all of that rationally, but my body or my gut or something disagreed because I kept remembering Cat—the way her mouth felt against mine, the smell of her hair, and the taste of her kiss. The small shiver that ran through her when our tongues tangled together. The strength in her hands as she clutched my arms. Something in me wouldn’t let her go.