“Syd, wait––”
“I gave you every chance to back out…” I shook my head in disgust. “Who are you, Scott?”
I watched him pull it all back––the desire, the remorse. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, his features defaulting to neutral. “The man you blackmailed into marriage.”
I walked out of the bathroom, bid Jan goodbye as I exited the house overlooking the valley, and never once looked back when the Blackstone jet went wheels up two hours later.
Chapter Twelve
Scott
“How ’bout a burger?” Laurel shouted from behind her desk.
I barely heard her. I was much too busy staring blindly at the desktop computer screen in my office and thinking about my wife. At least, I hoped she was still my wife. She could very well have been filing divorce papers. My gaze slid to the iPhone resting on my desk. I owed her an apology. I picked it up, put it down. I’d been doing a lot of that lately.
“Scott! Burger?”
I hadn’t slept in ten days. Ten days that felt like a goddamn eternity. Remorse was a heavy weight to bear. I was practically suffocating under it. Moreover, my house was too quiet, it didn’t smell like freshly baked muffins, and there was no one waiting at home for me at the end of a long day. Even Jan was giving me the cold shoulder. The last made no sense and I made a mental note to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.
Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone without a word from her. Not even a text. I had no idea where or whom she’d spent them with and it bothered me, constantly nagging my conscience, a feeling which kept company with the restlessness that kicked in the moment Jimbo phoned to say the Blackstone jet was safely in the air.
Undermining her had been a crappy thing to do. With some distance, I could see it for what it was: petty and childish. Because, had my life changed for the worse? No, it hadn’t. My ego had taken the hit and it could sustain plenty without incurring any permanent damage. And she was right. It’s not like I hadn’t been given a choice. I could’ve turned my father down, let him sell off the land. And yet I hadn’t. Instead, I’d taken my frustration out on the one person who didn’t deserve it.
“Scott! You deaf? What do you want for lunch?”
I had no intention of apologizing for what had happened in the bathroom. Hell no. I wasn’t the only one swept up in the moment. Whatever was going on between us was definitely mutual. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. It had been that way from the start, since Devyn’s wedding all those years ago. It made even more sense now. We were two hard people constantly striking against each other. Sooner or later we were bound to cause a spark. All I could hope for was that I didn’t catch fire. She could deny it all she wanted but chemistry of that magnitude didn’t come around often and deserved to be explored. Now if I could only convince her of that.
My finger hovered over the messages icon.
“I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were pining for her,” Laurel’s voice cut in. That brought my head up. I shot her my customary have you lost your mind look, and as usual, it did nothing other than encourage her to continue. “Oh my gee oh dee, are you?” A divot formed between Laurel’s brows. “I think you are.”
“He’s pining for her,” Ryan casually claimed while he dropped his ball cap on the coffee table and sank onto the couch. I hadn’t even heard him come in. He stuffed the last of the muffins Sydney had baked in his mouth while I struggled to contain a bout of possessiveness. “Damn, she can bake,” he muttered around a mouthful of my fucking muffin.
Twelve-year-old girls pined. I didn’t pine. “The only thing I’m pining for is some silence and employees that mind their own damn business.” I pointed to his face. “And those were for me.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Smirking, Ryan turned to face Laurel. “He’s definitely pining for her.”
“Don’t you two have something better to do other than worry about my love life? Like maybe some actual work?”
“Interesting that you call it a love life,” Laurel mused.
“I caught that too,” Ryan added.
It wasn’t enough that I was losing sleep over what had happened, that I felt bad enough to consider getting on the next flight to New York, I had to take shit from my friends too.
“Is somebody going to go pick up lunch or what?”
I wasn’t pining. I mean…maybe, I…well, no other way to put it––I missed my wife. I missed seeing her face. I missed knowing she was there at night, just beyond the wall, even though I couldn’t touch her. That being a particularly problematic aspect of the situation. I missed the wife I’d been trying to get rid of. God had a sick sense of humor, but there it was.
My cell rang. The Star Wars main theme played. I had little doubt that an ass chewing was coming for the way I’d treated Sydney and I deserved it.
“Hey, Dad.”
“On the second ring. I’m flattered. I’ll make this brief. I’m throwing a party next weekend to announce my retirement and celebrate your wedding. The entire board of directors will be there and so will you––needless to say, on your best behavior. The Public Library. Eight p.m. Don’t be late.”
Under normal circumstances I would’ve argued, which always led to an eventual albeit reluctant capitulation. I didn’t bother this time. I needed to see Sydney, wanted to see her, and Franklin had just handed me the perfect cover. Though I’d never admit it to him. Just because I loved the old man didn’t mean there wasn’t a constant struggle for the upper hand between us. I was still mad at him for muscling me into this arrangement and I wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll be there.”
First time in years those words felt good on my lips.
Sydney
“BLT or turkey club?”
I glanced up from the park bench in Bryant Park I was huddled on to find Frank standing over me looking as elegant as ever in his long navy cashmere coat. I needed to get out, get some fresh air even though it wasn’t particularly warm. Wyoming had spoiled me and being stuck inside all day had become nearly intolerable. I’d been back in New York for two weeks, and between all the work I had to catch up on and the holidays, we hadn’t had a single private conversation. And we desperately needed one.
He held up two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.
“Turkey club,” I answered with a smile. Taking a seat next to me, Frank crossed his long legs and handed me the sandwich.
“Thank Christ––” He unwrapped his and bit into it, moaning. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you said BLT.”
“I knew you wanted it.” Side-eyeing him, my smile grew wider.
“So…you haven’t said much since you got back. How did it go?”
This conversation needed to be handled with care. For better or worse Scott was a Blackstone and he would always be, and Frank loved his family more than anything. Even more than the company he’d built from the ground up. Despite what Scott thought.