“Maybe not Alabama, then.” I acknowledged. “Trying to turn me off?”
“No.” She snorted. “I never knew I turned you on.”
“You didn’t know that last night, Ms. Waldron?” I thought about how hot she’d looked the night before. She’d been a ten. Today she wasn’t a ten, but if I was honest, that didn’t stop me from being attracted to her. Abby Waldron had an energy about her that was fun.
“So what are we working on that is so important this morning?” She changed the subject.
“I need to dictate some letters to you for several Scottish companies I’m thinking of going into business with, and time is of the essence.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Hopefully, she bought it. “So, you studied English?” I asked. “I saw that on your resume.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “With a strong focus on British literature.”
“And now you work as a secretary.”
“Not many jobs you can get with an English degree.” She gave me a self-deprecating smile. “They didn’t tell me that in college.”
“And your parents didn’t tell you?”
“They wanted me to be happy as opposed to rich.”
“Can’t you be both?”
“I don’t know. Are you both, Mr. McAllister?”
I was about to say, “Of course,” when I realized that that wasn’t in fact true. I was pleased with how much money I had. I enjoyed the power my position gave me and everything my status afforded me, but I wasn’t exactly happy. Not in the sense of the word that she was meaning. “I have a lot of money,” I said dryly. “I can buy happiness.”
“Do you really think that?” she asked, her eyes resting on my face and studying me in a way I found extremely uncomfortable.
I looked away from her; she saw too much, and I didn’t like it. “Why is that bad?”
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,” she said softly and then smiled. “That’s Shakespeare, from Hamlet.”
“You like Shakespeare?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“People who didn’t enjoy school.”
“You hated school?” She looked surprised, and I could see her wheels turning. “But why?”
“If you’ve never been the odd one out in a classroom, then I feel happy for you.” I kept my tone even. “I had no parents, I wore clothes from Goodwill that didn’t fit, my hair was cut by random foster dads. I changed schools every year for ten years, I didn’t even learn the alphabet until I was seven.” I stopped. “Those are just some of the reasons why I didn’t fit in. Not all of us grow up in picture-perfect families, learning to love literature.”
“I never said my family was picture perfect.” She frowned. “Don’t act like you know me.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” she retorted, and I laughed. I laughed because that was the very last emotion that I wanted from her. That was something I hated to see in other people’s eyes. Pity, sorrow, uneasiness. As if I was less than because I’d had a hard childhood. I was glad that she was still treating me the same way. I was sure she’d be shocked to know she was the only one I’d ever admitted even half of this to.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I’m a billionaire.”
“Do you think that that’s all there is to life? Money?”
“No.” I stared into her earnest light brown eyes. “But I’d like to hear what you think life is about?”
“We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out,” she replied.
“Shakespeare again?”
“No. Winston Churchill.”
“So you’re hiding behind an old English war hero.”
She made a face. “He wasn’t just a war hero.”
“You don’t think he was a war hero? You don’t think he single-handedly ended World War II?”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a hero. And of course not.” She shook her head. “He needed the allies—de Gaulle of France, President Roosevelt, Harry Truman, Stalin, and Chiang Kai-Shek, who were all in opposition to Hitler and Mussolini and the other Axis powers.”
“You know a lot about World War II.” I was impressed.
“I do. I minored in history. I know it sounds morbid, but war fascinates me.”
“Fascinates you?”
“Well, yes, in a way. I actually like to watch a lot of Italian cinema from that time. The films are filled with propaganda.”
“We become strongest, I feel, when we have no friends upon whom to lean, or to look for moral guidance,” I said solemnly. “Benito Mussolini said that. It’s one of the quotes I live by.”
“So are you telling me you’re a fascist, then?” She looked surprised.
“Of course not.” I shook my head. “I didn’t even know what fascism was until I was in my early twenties.”
“Fascism is scary,” she mused. “To think that one dictator can brainwash an entire country of people into believing that their nation or race is more important than anything else.”
“We see it in countries all over the world.” I blew out a breath. “How did we get into such a deep conversation?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and more curls fell out of her bun. “I suppose we can’t always go back and forth about what an asshole you are.”
“You never answered my question, though.”
“Which was?”
“What do you live for? What are your goals in life?”
“You’ll just laugh if I tell you my ultimate goal.” She turned away from me and immediately stumbled slightly.
I grabbed her and pulled her towards me. “Careful,” I said as I stopped. I could feel her heart racing as she gazed up at me. I let go of her, but she didn’t move. “You were about to trip over that rock. I didn’t want to see you face-first on the ground.”
“Thanks,” she said in a soft voice. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I live for love,” she said, her fingers playing with the hem of her sweater.
“Sorry, what?” I was distracted by her smell. There was a sweet rawness to her scent and it captivated me. I wanted to bend down and sniff her hair.
“My goals in life center around love. I know it sounds girly, but I truly believe that the world runs on love. Most people would say money, but I believe people only want money because it helps them find love. I don’t care about money. I just want love. Sweet, unadulterated, happy, blissful, pure love.” She beamed up at me, a light in her eyes I’d never seen before. “And you can laugh at me if you want, but it’s my truth.”
“And have you found this love?” I realized I didn’t even know if she had ever been in love before. I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t pining away for someone.
“No.” She shook her head and sighed. “Not yet.”