The Woman Who Thought She Could Keep Me

I reached past Charlotte and pressed the intercom.

"Five minutes," I said.

Her receptionist hesitated, then replied, "Of course."

Charlotte looked up at me.

"You don't work here."

"I'm improving the service."

"By answering my phone?"

"By giving you five minutes without it."

Her fingers were still holding my shirt. She noticed and let go, slowly.

I didn't kiss her in that office. Not because I didn't want to. Because she'd just learned that four years of hurt had been manufactured, and I wanted the next thing between us to be something she could choose without a room full of ghosts.

"Tonight," I said.

"What happens tonight?"

"Dinner. The one I should have taken you to."

Her expression changed.

"Four years late."

"I'll pay interest."

"You couldn't afford my rate."

I smiled. "Let me try."

She looked at me long enough to make me wonder whether I had asked too soon.

Then she said, "Eight. And wear a shirt with buttons."

At the safe house, Summer supervised my preparations. She sat on the bed while I tried to find a clean shirt without opening the drawer where I kept documents about Kane.

"Mommy likes blue," she said.

"She told you?"

"She wears it."

An excellent source.

I selected the blue shirt.

"Is this acceptable?"

Summer nodded, then frowned at my shoes.

"Those are dirty."

I changed them too.

Charlotte appeared in the doorway wearing a black dress that left her shoulders bare. Summer looked pleased with both of us.

"You can have dinner," she announced. "Nora and I have pizza."

"Then we've made the wrong arrangement," I said.

Charlotte held out her hand.

"Come on, mechanic."

We went to a small restaurant whose owner knew Miles. There were security people outside, but nobody stood beside the table, and Charlotte could see the entrance without having to turn around.

I had arranged the details with her security chief. She noticed.

"Thank you for asking him instead of deciding everything yourself."

"I'm collecting good habits."

"You'll need somewhere bigger to keep them."

We ordered. For the first time since she'd arrived at the garage, we spoke without Summer needing something or a phone carrying bad news.

She told me about becoming CEO after her father's death, about older executives who called her little girl until she cut their expense accounts. I told her about my mother teaching me to fix a bicycle because she couldn't afford another one.

"So the mechanic part is real," she said.

"Very real."

"I thought you might be acting."

"You can't act your way through a broken transmission."

She laughed.

Then she asked about my injuries.

I told her about the recovery house, the months lost, and the humiliating first walk to a bathroom that had seemed farther away than any border I'd crossed.

"Miles stayed?"

"Yes."

"You have at least one good friend."

"He charges for the privilege."

She reached across the table and touched my wrist.

"I'm glad he stayed."

I turned my hand beneath hers.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

After dinner, we walked to a private terrace overlooking the river. Charlotte had brought a light jacket but didn't put it on. She leaned against the railing, watching the water.

"I used to imagine running into you," she said. "Sometimes I was very composed. Sometimes I threw something."

"What did you throw?"

"Depends on the year."

"I'm glad I got the composed version."

She turned.

"You got the version that had a child standing behind her."

I accepted that.

"What did you imagine?" she asked.

"Finding you happy. Thinking I should leave before I made it worse."

"You really had no faith in me."

"I had too much faith in my ability to ruin things."

She stepped closer.

"I'm here now. Stop answering for me."

I brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"I've been trying to decide whether I want to kiss you or make you apologize again."

"We have time for both."

She caught my collar and pulled me down.

The kiss wasn't tentative. There were years in it, and anger, and a familiarity neither of us had managed to forget. I held her at the waist, feeling the moment she stopped bracing herself and leaned into me.

When she stepped back, she was breathing harder.

"You remembered that too," she said.

"I remember everything about you in that house."

Her expression softened, then sharpened again.

"That's very unfair."

"I know."

She smiled despite herself and rested her forehead against mine.

At the safe house, Summer was asleep. Nora took one look at us, collected her book, and announced that she was going to the guest cottage.

Charlotte thanked her without looking away from me.

We went upstairs. At her door, she turned.

"If you leave before breakfast, I will find you."

"I believe that."

"And this time I'm not bringing a folder."

I kissed her again, laughing against her mouth.

She pulled me inside and closed the door.

Later, she lay against me with the lamp on. I gave her the old ribbon. She held it between her fingers, tracing the frayed edge.

"I bought another one," she said. "Summer lost it in the garden."

"You can have this one back."

She placed it on the bedside table.

"I think I'll keep you instead."

I looked down at her.

"That's a larger commitment."

"I'll manage."

In the morning, she stole my shirt again. This time I watched her walk to the bathroom without reaching for a phone that might tell me to disappear.

The phone rang anyway.

Arthur Voss.

He had heard Owen was no longer working for me.

"Kane contacted Sutton," he said. "They're arranging something at the charity reception your Charlotte is attending tomorrow. I thought you should know."

I sat up.

"What kind of something?"

"He wants to humiliate her in public. Force you to come out of hiding."

Charlotte stepped into the room with two cups of coffee.

I took one and told her exactly what Arthur had said.

She listened, then set her cup down.

"Then we go together. And this time, Connor, I want the truth before we walk into the room."