“Clutter?” she supplies.
“Exactly,” I admit.
Celeste nods. “Harry certainly loved the finer things,” she recalls. I gesture for her to make herself comfortable, and the two of us sit down on opposite sides of the desk. Somehow it feels safer to have the furniture in between us, though I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. She’s a sixty-five-year-old widow, for Pete’s sake, not a comic book supervillain. But things have always been frosty between us—and I don’t blame her.
After all, I’m a living, breathing reminder that while she was giddily anticipating her wedding day, Harry was off… Well, giddily getting acquainted with my mom. Talk about putting a dampener on a marriage. Celeste and Harry found a way to make it work, and by all accounts were very happy together, but still… I’ll always be a symbol of that betrayal to her.
And she’ll always be a symbol of how I was never meant to be a part of Harry’s world.
As if she’s reading my mind, Celeste smiles at me a little uncertainly. “Liam,” she says, her voice soft, “I think I owe you an apology.”
That takes me aback. “An apology?” I echo, shaking my head like an instinct. “For what?”
“For…” She trails off, folding and refolding her hands in her lap. “Well, for all of it, I think.”
I frown. “I don’t think I understand.”
Celeste sighs sadly. “We never quite got to know each other, did we?” she asks. “And I’ve only got myself to blame. We got off on the wrong foot, certainly, but that had nothing to do with you. You were a child. Innocent. My relationship with your father was… Complicated…” She trails off for a moment, then seems to collect herself. “But that had nothing to do with you.”
It’s the closest she’s ever come to addressing my parentage directly, and I can honestly say I never expected her to say even this much. “You were never cruel to me,” I remind her. “You’ve been… perfectly civil.”
“But that wasn’t good enough, was it?” She gives me a faint smile. “And that’s something I truly regret.” She sits back in her chair, considering me for a moment. “You remind me of him, do you know that?”
Hell, this woman is full of surprises today.
I blink. “I do?”
“You do. You’re a hard worker. You’re smart as a whip. And you’re quite charming, when you think nobody is paying attention.” She smiles at me then, almost girlish. “I do owe you an apology, Liam. I owe you thirty years’ worth of apologies, in fact.”
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not always the fastest to pick up on others’ emotions, but two things are immediately clear even to me: one, that Celeste is still grieving the loss of my father deeply, and two, that her regret is achingly sincere.
“Apology accepted,” I tell her, and I’m surprised to discover that I truly mean it. I’m not holding onto any hard feelings, toward her or toward my father. I suspect I have Eliza to thank for that. “It’s all in the past.”
I clear my throat then, motioning to the desk as I steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Actually,” I tell her, “I’m glad you stopped by. There are a few investor reports I’d love to go over with you, and—”
But Celeste shakes her head again. “Oh, Liam, that’s fine,” she says, waving a hand. “I don’t want to get bogged down in the details. Whatever you think is best for the company and the people who work here is what we should do. I trust you.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised again.
“Of course,” she says, reaching out across the desk and laying a manicured hand on my arm. “I love books, and I love Sterling, but to be honest, it was always Harry’s thing. I’ll be happy to move on. That’s why I brought you in to begin with. I know you’ll think rationally about what makes the most financial sense without getting wrapped up in sentimentality.” She smiles. “Personally, I’m going to enjoy my retirement. Take up gardening, do some volunteer work. Maybe take a cruise.”
“That sounds nice,” I lie, but hey, some people actually think being trapped in a confined space on a vast body of water is fun. “You’ve earned a little time to relax.”
Celeste smiles. “You know,” she says, “I think I have.”
Eliza knocks on the open door just then, a vision in black cigarette pants and a silk blouse that shows off her toned, graceful arms. “Hey, handsome,” she says with a smile, then steps all the way into the office and notices Celeste. “Oops!” she says, her cheeks pinking up. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
But Celeste only smiles. “We’re all done here,” she promises, standing up and brushing some imaginary crumbs off her dress. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Can’t complain,” Eliza admits.
Celeste looks back and forth between us, a knowing smile playing across her lips. “No,” she says, “I’m sure neither one of you can.” She slings her purse over one elegant shoulder. “Take care of yourselves,” she says.
“What was that all about?” Eliza asks once she’s gone.
“I think she wanted to… Make amends?” I shut the door and fill her in on our conversation. Eliza perches on the edge of my desk, listening carefully and asking questions. It’s new to me, to have someone to talk about these kinds of things with. I like it so much more than I ever would have guessed.
“Well, that’s lovely,” she says when I’m through. “It’s almost as if Harry left you two to take care of each other, in a way.”
I smile. “That’s a nice way to think of it.’
“Yeah, well,” Eliza says, smiling back. “I’m a nice girl.”
“Not that nice,” I say, standing up and wrapping a hand around her waist, pulling her body flush against me. Her lips open under mine, my tongue probing her hot, wet mouth. I’ve just found the hidden zipper on her sleek black pants when my assistant buzzes through with a call.
“Marcus Briggs on Line 2!” she chirps.
I sigh. “It’s the financiers,” I tell Eliza, surprised by my own unwillingness to be interrupted. Before I met her, there was hardly anything I’d rather do more than work. “I have to take this. But I can find time for lunch, if you’re around?”
Eliza nods. “Lunch,” she echoes, then wrinkles her nose flirtatiously. “And maybe dessert.”
She waggles her fingers in a wave before shutting the door behind her. I sit down at my desk and pick up the receiver. “Liam Sterling,” I say.
“Sterling,” says the voice on the other end of the line, his posh accent all Kennebunkport by way of Hong Kong. “Briggs.”
“Briggs, hi,” I echo. I glance out the window of my office at Eliza, who’s stopped at the admin desk to chat with Rachel. Just for a moment, I let myself enjoy the view of her from behind. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“No problem,” Briggs says. “I wish I was reaching out with better news.”
I’m so busy gazing at Eliza that it takes his words a moment to register. “I’m sorry?”