“Never put stuff like that in writing, baby girl.”
“Yeah, well . . . all it got me was fucked half to death with no better idea of what the problem is. He said it has to be this way. I don’t even know what that means.”
He nodded.
“You act like you get it,” I said.
“I think I get the sex.”
That sent a chill down my spine. “Get-it-out-of-your-system sex?”
“It’s possible,” he agreed softly.
I closed my eyes and let the confirmation slide through me. Then I straightened. “I gotta run. Catch you later.”
* * *
The thing about nightmares was that you couldn’t prepare for them. They sneaked up on you when you were most vulnerable, wrecking havoc and mayhem when you were totally defenseless.
And they didn’t always happen while you were sleeping.
I sat in an agonized daze as Mark and Mr. Waters went over the fine points of the Kingsman Vodka ads, achingly aware of Gideon sitting at the head of the table in a black suit with white shirt and tie.
He was pointedly ignoring me, had been from the moment I walked into the Cross Industries conference room aside from a cursory handshake when Mr. Waters introduced us. That brief touch of his skin against mine had sent a charge of awareness through me, my body immediately recognizing his as the one that had pleasured it all night. Gideon hadn’t seemed to register the contact at all, his gaze trained above my head as he’d said, “Miss Tramell.”
The contrast to the last time we’d been in the room was profound. Then, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off me. His focus had been searing and blatant, and when we’d left the room he’d told me that he wanted to fuck me and would dispense with anything that got in the way of his doing so.
This time, he stood abruptly when the meeting was concluded, shook the hands of Mark and Mr. Waters, and strode out the door with only a short, inscrutable glance at me. His two directors scurried after him, both attractive brunettes.
Mark shot me a questioning look across the table. I shook my head.
I made it back to my desk. I worked industriously for the rest of the day. During my lunch break, I stayed in and looked up things to do with my dad. I decided on three possibilities—the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and a Broadway play, with the trip to Ellis Island reserved for if he really had a desire to go. Otherwise, I figured we could skip the ferry and just check her out from the shore. His time in the city was short, and I didn’t want to overload it with a bunch of running around.
On my last break of the day, I called Gideon’s office.
“Hi, Scott,” I greeted his secretary. “Is it possible for me to talk to your boss real quick?”
“Hold on a minute and I’ll see.”
I half-expected to have my call rejected, but a couple of minutes later I was put through.
“Yes, Eva?”
I took the length of a heartbeat to savor the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you. This is probably a stupid question, considering, but . . . are you coming to dinner tomorrow to meet my father?”
“I’ll be there,” he said gruffly.
“Are you bringing Ireland?” I was surprised there wasn’t a tremor in my voice, considering the overwhelming relief I felt.
There was a pause. Then, “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I have a late meeting tonight, so I’ll have to meet you at Dr. Petersen’s. Angus will drive you over. I’ll grab a cab.”
“All right.” I sagged into my seat, feeling a spark of hope. Continuing therapy and meeting my dad could only be seen as positive signs. Gideon and I were struggling. But he hadn’t given up yet. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Angus dropped me off at Dr. Petersen’s office at a quarter to six. I went inside and Dr. Petersen waved at me through his open office door, rising from his seat behind his desk to shake my hand.
“How are you, Eva?”
“I’ve been better.”
His gaze swept over my face. “You look tired.”
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I said dryly.
He looked over my shoulder. “Where’s Gideon?”
“He had a late meeting, so he’s coming separately.”
“All right.” He gestured at the sofa. “This is a nice opportunity for us to talk alone. Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss before he arrives?”
I settled on the seat and spilled my guts, telling Dr. Petersen about the amazing trip to the Outer Banks and then the bizarre, inexplicable week we’d had since. “I just don’t get it. I feel like he’s in trouble, but I can’t get him to open up at all. He’s completely cut me off emotionally. Honestly, I’m beginning to get whiplash. I’m also worried that his change in behavior is because of Corinne. Every time we’ve hit one of these walls, it’s because of her.”
I looked at my fingers, which were twisted around each other. They reminded me of my mother’s habit of twisting handkerchiefs, and I forced my hands to relax. “It almost seems like she’s got some kind of hold on him and he can’t break free of it, no matter how he feels about me.”
Dr. Petersen looked up from his typing, studying me. “Did he tell you that he wasn’t going to make his appointment on Tuesday?”
“No.” The news hit me hard. “He didn’t say anything.”
“He didn’t tell me, either. I wouldn’t say that’s typical behavior for him, would you?”
I shook my head.
Dr. Petersen crossed his hands in his lap. “At times, one or both of you will backtrack a bit. That’s to be expected considering the nature of your relationship—you’re not just working on you as a couple, but also as individuals so you can be a couple.”
“I can’t deal with this, though.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this yo-yo thing. It’s driving me insane. The letter I sent him . . . It was awful. All true, but awful. We’ve had some really beautiful moments together. He’s said some—”
I had to stop a minute, and when I continued, my voice was hoarse. “He’s said some w-wonderful things to me. I don’t want to lose those memories in a bunch of ugly ones. I keep debating whether I should quit while I’m ahead, but I’m hanging in here because I promised him—and myself—that I wouldn’t run anymore. That I was going to dig my feet in and fight for this.”
“That’s something you’re working on?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. And it’s not easy. Because some of the things he does . . . I react in ways I’ve learned to avoid. For my own sanity! At some point you have to say you gave it your best shot and it didn’t work out. Right?”
Dr. Petersen’s head tilted to the side. “And if you don’t, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes. Worst-case scenario.”
“Well . . .” I splayed my fingers on my thighs. “He keeps drifting away from me, which makes me cling harder and lose all sense of self-worth. And we end up with him going back to life as he knew it and me going back to therapy trying to get my head on straight again.”