Wicked Envy, page 21
He coughs and mutters, “She was an angel. I’ll never go back to my old ways because of her. She’s the one who encouraged me to reach out to you at Berkley.”
“You didn’t think it was a little too late by then?” I ask gruffly, anger starting to rise up within me. His whole life got turned around but mine didn’t.
“I had to try,” he says in a low voice. “And it was stupid. I should have known you couldn’t forgive me.”
“I can’t,” I say stubbornly. “You abandoned your son. That first time out of prison, you went right back to it and never once thought about coming for me.”
“I did,” he says with vehemence. “I did come for you. But I was told the process to get you back was going to take time and money and would be an uphill battle. It was just… easy to slip back into the old lifestyle to make the money, but with that came the using again.”
“Don’t blame the drugs,” I snap.
He doesn’t get exactly angry, but his eyes do narrow on me. “Do you understand addiction? Ever known anyone addicted to drugs or alcohol or gambling?”
I shake my head. Didn’t know a single soul.
“Well, don’t judge,” he says quietly. “Because addiction is a disease, and it’s hard to fight. I was weak and couldn’t fight it for a very long time. By the time I beat it, it was clearly too late, but I never gave up hope that one day we would be reunited. That you could forgive me.”
I let out a deep breath, taking in his words. Deep down, I know they’re mostly true. I know that much of my anger is that of a little boy who stopped having Christmases.
“I know you’ve got to be so angry with me,” my father starts to say.
I spin back on him with an angry retort on my lips, but the look on his face causes it to evaporate. He looks beyond repentant. For the first time, I see him as human.
With a sigh, I rub my hands over my face. When I look back to him, I admit, “Yes, I’m angry with you. But I’m angry with myself because as much as I have loathed you throughout my life, I turned out just like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I wasn’t there for the person who needed me the most. I let my own weaknesses and fears prevent me from being the best possible version of me that I could be.”
“A woman?” he guesses.
“The woman,” I confirm. “I thought you ruined my life, but if I’m honest with myself, once I reached adulthood, I had a fucking fantastic life. Any downfall here recently is squarely on my shoulders, not yours.”
“You didn’t turn out just like me,” my dad says. I blink at him in surprise, because pretty sure that’s why Avril’s in Paris right now. “It took me years to have the strength to correct my mistakes. And they’re still not corrected. But it seems like it’s not taking you that long to figure it out.”
“Took long enough,” I mutter. It’s been a week since she left, but it feels like an eternity.
“You came here to confront me, work out your anger, and have an epiphany about yourself,” my dad surmises. “I hope you achieved that. I hope you have the courage now to go after your girl.”
“I had the courage before I came here,” I tell him. “I’ve already booked a flight out of LAX to Paris that leaves tonight.”
My dad blinks in delighted surprise. “Then why did you come?”
“Because I needed to know why you weren’t there. It was the missing piece to the puzzle. For most of my life, it was just easy to believe that you didn’t love me.”
“Oh, Jesus Dane… never that,” my dad says as he steps toward me with arms reaching out. I have to control myself not to step backward, but he comes to a halt when he senses the awkwardness of the situation. “I always loved you. Even when I was at my lowest and without hope, I loved you. In prison, I dreamed of one day getting you back. And honestly… the drugs helped to dull that pain. It was a vicious cycle I’d give anything to go back and break a lot sooner than I did, because then you wouldn’t have had to live with all those doubts.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t know if I can. He’s a stranger to me, and there’s no trust between us. I can’t just let go of over three decades of bitterness and loathing for this man, but I could try to come to peace with it.
“Maybe when I get back to the States, you and I could have dinner or something,” I suggest cautiously. “Get to know each other a little.”
Tears well up in my dad’s eyes, and he nods quickly. His voice is clogged with emotion. “It would mean everything to me.”
I stick my hand out to him, the only olive branch I can extend right now. But it’s a sincere one. He puts his hand in mine, and we shake.
But then I look down at my watch, and I know I’ve got to head out to catch my flight. Because Avril is really all that matters.
CHAPTER 31
Avril
Clyde makes a noise… a moaning, keening, growling sound. He then head butts the door, and that’s my cue to let him out. When I do, he trots out and down the staircase where someone will open the outer door at some point so he can make it out onto the streets.
He’s been a good companion for me as he’s not overly needy. He comes inside to eat late in the day, and then will sit in my window to watch the back courtyard down below. He’ll sleep on the end of my bed, and then in the morning after I feed him, he’ll head butt the door to go out. I don’t know what he does during the day, although I suspect fighting with other alley cats may be on the agenda given he’s missing half an ear and has scars on his face.
There’s a million things I could do today. I don’t know how many times I’ve visited Paris, but I’ve covered all the major sightseeing that should be done by a visitor. But now that I’m considering making this my permanent home, there’s so much more to discover. Fabron had suggested Les Puces de St-Ouen, which is the largest flea market in the world and because it’s a Wednesday, he said it wouldn’t be overly crowded. But I’m not much of a shopper. I might just wander some streets and eat a good meal, although too much of that and I won’t fit into my clothes. The food in Paris is dangerous to a girl like me who over eats when she’s sad and blue.
And yes… I’m still so very sad and blue. It’s why I haven’t accepted the position with Révéler yet. I can’t be making major decisions when I’m having such emotional extremes. At one moment, I think I’ll be okay. It might be when I’m walking by a flower stand over on Rue Amelot, and the brightness of a sunflower makes me smile. But the next moment, I could see a young couple holding hands and I’ll break down into tears over my loss.
I’ve already made one major decision while under extreme emotional distress, and the only thing I can do is believe that it was right. I still don’t see how I could ever stay at Caterva and see Dane day in and day out, not having what we had. Or God forbid, seeing him with another woman like at The Wicked Horse. I’m pretty sure coming to Paris was the best thing for me. I’ve got so much money in savings that I could stay here for a few years without working and be fine, and maybe that’s just what I’ll do. It’s definitely an option since I’m just not sure about the job at Révéler.
It’s not that I don’t think I’d be a great fit, because I know I would. It would probably be more challenging to me and, of course, the money can’t be beat. But I don’t know if I want to stay in this industry. There’s something painful about having been part of one of the best biotech firms in the world that was poised to make a major medical breakthrough, and then suddenly not being a part of it anymore.
Which brings about a slew of other options. Once word had gotten out about my resignation from Caterva, I’ve had a few headhunters reach out to me. There’s been some interest from some other major corporations that have nothing to do with biotech, and I could start looking at that as a course for my future.
Regardless, today is about deciding what to do in Paris, the city I love and may be a permanent resident of soon. Shopping or eating?
My stomach growls and my heart calls out for a chocolate pastry.
My common sense just tells me to go for a walk, so I can at least have some exercise if I’m going to eat through my depression.
There’s a knock on my door that startles me since I’m still standing with my hand on the knob from letting Clyde out. I open the door so quickly the man standing on the other side is startled and actually jumps back.
I smile, and he holds out a white box tied with red ribbon to me. “Delivery for Miss Avril Carrigan.”
“That’s me,” I tell him as I accept the box. I don’t need the stamp of the logo for my favorite pastry shop on the top to know what’s inside. I can smell the chocolate croissants coming through the thin cardboard, and the warmth from the bottom of the box tells me they are fresh out of the oven.
The delivery man smiles and turns away. I shut the door and bring the box into my small kitchen, setting it on the counter.
I stare at it dubiously, figuring it’s just one more way Fabron is trying to butter me up to take the position at Révéler. We’ve had a few dinners together, another tour through the facility, and he’s had some of his executive board take me out for some wining and dining. But swear to God, he might be able to buy me off with confectionary delights.
Deciding to practice some self-control, I take a shower. I linger over my hair and makeup, deciding if I’m going to go out walking around Paris, I’m going to look good doing it. I put on a pair of black capris, a white blouse, and a zebra-print scarf around my neck. Tying my hair back into a low ponytail and adding bright red lipstick, I decide I look the part of a Parisian resident. I slip on a pair of comfortable black flats and head toward the door where my purse hangs on a wall hook beside it.
As I pass the kitchen counter, I look back at the box of pastries. I haven’t had breakfast yet, and my stomach growls loudly.
With a sigh, I give up every bit of self-control and decide to have just one. Or maybe half of one.
Torturing myself, I decide to make a cup of coffee first. This requires boiling water so I can use my coffee press, and that only makes my stomach growl harder since I’m starving for a chocolate croissant.
By the time I have the coffee pressed, poured, and adequately doped with sugar and milk, I’m practically slobbering over the box. I remove the ribbon and lift the lid.
The chocolate croissants and what look like mini-custard tarts aren’t what I notice first, but rather the square white envelope. I pull it out, figuring to find a short message from Fabron telling me to enjoy them. It will be a low-pressure sales pitch. I set the card on the counter and reach for a pastry.
I make myself eat it slowly, picking up bits of crust that flake off and licking my fingers to catch drips of chocolate. I sip at my coffee in between bites, making myself enjoy the slow pace by which I’m enjoying my breakfast. My life has always been in such a frantic rush, having a million things to do and not enough time to do it in. It’s hard not to just wolf it down and run out the door.
When I finish, I close the box up. I rinse my cup out and wash my hands. Strolling back to my room, I take a few minutes to brush my teeth again and reapply lipstick.
Heading back toward the door for a second time, I snag the envelope from the counter and open it. There’s a card inside that’s plain on the front. When I open it up, my heart immediately starts pounding as I recognize the handwriting.
I’m here. I’ll be waiting at the cafe where we first held hands.
Dane
I try to suck in air, but my lungs won’t work. I stumble a few feet back, coming up against one of the armchairs in my living room. Pressing the card to my chest, I stare blankly at my door.
Dane is here?
For me?
What does that even mean?
I pull the card away and read it again. I can glean nothing from the two lines he’d written. How did he even know I’d be home on a Wednesday morning and what my favorite pastry shop was? Although knowing Dane and his headstrong ways, he probably called up Fabron and demanded to know if I’d taken the job and then probably used his considerable resources and money to hack my credit card, which would show an embarrassing amount of purchases at Milo Couvreur Pâtisserie.
My mind goes to the first time Dane and I ever held hands. It was our trip to Paris with Andrew almost seven weeks ago. I was in a three-way relationship with two men, and there was something so intimate about Dane and I holding hands outside of Andrew’s presence. It was almost like a dirty little secret or something, yet it was so special at the same time. It was after we had stopped at a little cafe outside of our hotel and he invited me to go shopping. We stood up from the tables and as if it was oh so natural, he took my hand in his. My heart tripped hard from the romantic gesture, and I knew I was starting to fall in love with him.
An overwhelming need for some stability courses through me, so I rush to my purse and nab my cell phone out of it. I quickly dial Andrew, not caring that it’s almost one AM in Vegas.
His voice is groggy and thick when he answers. “Hello.”
“Andrew… did you know Dane was coming to Paris?”
I can almost envision him sitting straight up in bed, rubbing his eyes to try to wake up. “He’s in Paris?” he asks.
That answers that. Andrew didn’t know.
“He just had pastries delivered to my apartment with a note for me to meet him at a cafe we’d been at before.”
I can hear Andrew yawn and his voice becomes a little clearer. “He sent me a text a few days ago and said he was going to L.A. for some business, but didn’t tell me anything more.”
“Well, he’s here in Paris,” I say with utter redundancy, but probably because I still can’t believe it myself.
“Why lie about going to L.A?” he muses. “Unless…”
Andrew trails off, and I wait for him to pick it back up. But he doesn’t, so I say, “Unless what?”
“Late last week… I went into his office to check on him, and he had all the stuff you had put together on his dad spread out over his desk.”
“His dad lives just north of San Diego, though,” I point out.
“Yeah, but if he was going to fly to Paris, the nonstops are out of LAX. He could have just flown in there and used a rental car to make a quick visit south to see him.”
This makes sense, but it still doesn’t answer the question as to why he’s here. If Andrew didn’t know he was coming, he’s going to be no help in giving me some guidance.
“What else did you two talk about last week?” I prod.
“Top secret,” Andrew says firmly. “I don’t share that stuff, and you know it.”
“What was the gist of the conversation about?” I demand angrily. “I get not sharing exact confidences, but I need something, Drew. Don’t let me walk in blind when I see him.”
“So, you are going to go see him?”
“I don’t know,” I whine. “I wish I knew why he was here.”
“What did his message say exactly?”
I hold the card out and read it to him. Andrew mutters, “Cryptic much?”
“Drew… what’s happened since I left? How did he react to my resignation?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask those questions every day we talked,” he murmurs.
I grimace. Every time Andrew and I were on the phone together, I had to literally bite my tongue not to ask about Dane. It made it easier for me to imagine that he’d gone on with his life and wasn’t looking backward. If I could envision that, then I could perhaps move on with my life as well.
“The resignation stunned him,” Andrew says quietly. “I went straight to the office and handed it to him. He didn’t say anything really. After that, we didn’t talk about you, but he was having a really rough time. I finally confronted him last week when I saw that stuff about his dad on his desk. While I’m not going to tell you what he told me, I’d say that he’s done some major soul searching, Av. You should walk out that door right now and go see him.”
Lifting a hand up, I nibble on my thumbnail. It’s a nervous habit.
“What if he’s just here to get some closure?” I ask him. “What if he’s just here to apologize and wish me well?”
“What if he’s there to tell you he’s the idiot I told him he was?” he counters pointedly. “What if he’s ready to give you the world?”
“He can’t,” I whisper. “He said so himself.”
“People can change, Avril. If they want to. I think the fact he flew to Paris is probably an indication that something big has changed within him.”
I hedge because I refuse to get my hopes up. “Maybe.”
“Just go see him,” he tells me firmly. “And then call me after and let me know when the wedding is.”
“I’ll call you later,” I say distractedly, not having any more clarity after talking to Andrew than I did before I picked up the phone.
After I disconnect, I walk back into the kitchen. Taking the pastry box, I flip the top and pull out another croissant along with two custard tarts. I put them on a plate and walk back into my living room. I choose the armchair by the window that Clyde sits in, and I curl myself up into it.
Then I eat and think about what to do.
CHAPTER 32
Dane
I trudge up the steps to Avril’s third-floor apartment. I’m not in the best mood as I’ve sat at that stupid fucking cafe for two days now, and she hasn’t showed. This morning, I decided enough was enough and came to her apartment.
If the big question to Avril is, “Will you give me a second chance?”, then I guess I have my answer. Her not coming to meet me speaks volumes.
Still, I’m not leaving Paris until I see her. I’ve spoken to Fabron, and he’s verified she still has not accepted the job he offered. He was also quite the smartass, telling me to get my shit together and either make things right, or let her go so he can work on her some more.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I look to her apartment door and the nerves hit me hard. If Avril has indeed decided I’m not worth the effort, then my life is about to get very grim after she says it to my face.
