Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (29 page)

M
icky tackled
the next couple of weeks the same way she responded to every crisis, burying herself in work before going home to hide from the world with her dog. She hadn't spoken to Nick since the foursome rode to the airport in near silence. She left him at the curb in front of the airport, unloading her own luggage.

"Don't bother, Nick. I've got it," she had said when he tried to help her.

She told him that she wanted him to go away, but he wasn't giving up. He texted her everyday. He left her voicemails every other day. He sent her flowers, which she promptly redirected back to him.

Taryn had volunteered to be her personal redelivery service, carrying them up half a dozen floors to the reception desk of Winston Stratford. He could romance his office since his job was so important to him.

The apparent misery in Nick's messages grew exponentially with each phone call and text Micky ignored. Micky had nearly felt sorry enough to call him back until her boss called her into his office to let her know that that the merger with Midsummer would be announced after Thanksgiving. Once again, Ben swore her to secrecy.

"Any leak of this could jeopardize the deal," he reminded her.

Micky had marched back to her office, fuming at Nick once again for jeopardizing her job. His betrayal hung over head. Nothing seemed to pull her out of her funk. Even the prospect of Thanksgiving dinner at Pete's failed to please. Her father, Pete Llewellyn Sr., had announced he was coming to town along with his newest girlfriend. Everyone paired off except—once again—Micky.

No matter. When the day came, she pasted a smile on her face and loaded up the wine Clarissa had asked her to bring, braving the impending snow with the courage of a soldier. Micky hoped the two bottles of tart Riesling, a bottle of Beaujolais, and a bottle of Merlot would go with the turkey and whatever sides Clarissa produced.

The spread for their late-day lunch far exceeded anything Micky and Pete had ever produced themselves. Clarissa surrounded a perfectly brown turkey with gravy, pecan cornbread dressing, brown butter mashed potatoes, cider-braised collard greens with bacon, and green beans with cremini mushroom sauce. Throwing calorie counts out the window, Micky sampled a bit of everything, twice.

"You'll have to roll me out here," she commented.

"I know. Everything was so incredibly amazing," Glory, Pete Sr.'s thirty-two-year-old girlfriend, said. Micky forgave Glory's copious use of the word "amazing" because, in the case of Clarissa's food, it suited.

"We still have dessert. I made two pies, Dutch apple pie and bourbon sweet potato. We have ice cream and fresh whipped cream," Clarissa announced.

"I think I'm going to have to wait before I attack that pie," Pete Sr. said.

"Me too," Micky agreed. "Why don't I help you guys clear the dinner plates and then we can rest up for dessert?"

Micky hopped up and her father joined her in stacking plates and carrying them into the kitchen. Clarissa followed. "There's not too much left. Pete already washed most of the pots and pans," she pointed out.

"Then we'll take care of it in no time. Now, shoo. After all the work you put into dinner, there's no way we're letting you clean." Micky motioned her out of the kitchen.

Glory wandered in, volunteering to dry dishes. Pete and Clarissa took advantage of the help and flopped down on the couch to watch a movie.

"So, tell me what's going on with you, Micky Mick," her father said, using the nickname he'd given her as a child.

"Nothing much. I went to Paris a couple of weeks ago for work."

"Paris? That sounds
amazing
," Glory said. Micky smiled, ruefully. Her dad liked them young and enthusiastic, but not necessarily bright. Micky observed the shock of Glory's bright auburn hair and her meticulously crafted makeup layered on a face that didn't move. At all. Glory already invested heavily in Botox and fillers, which had the opposite effect of making her look older.

Micky loaded the dishwasher and tried to remain objective over her sixty-six-year-old father's love interest. She had been pleasant during dinner and complimentary of Pete and Clarissa. Who knew? Maybe theirs was a love match for the ages.

"How long were you there?" her father asked.

"A week. We worked most of the time, but we took a couple of days to relax after."

"We?"

"You remember my friend Taryn who came to work at my company a few years ago? Her fiancé flew over." She pursed her lips and said no more.

"Oh. Three of you? That had to be awkward," Pete Sr. commented, earning him a glare and a head shake from Glory. "What? Paris is romantic. They're engaged. Throwing a third in the mix is strange."

"It wasn't just the three of us. I had a friend fly over as well."

"Oooo! A male friend?" Glory asked.

"Yes. But he's…We're not together," Micky explained, focusing on scrubbing sticky bits of homemade cranberry sauce from a plate.

"What's the deal there? A guy who flies over to spend time in Paris sounds pretty together. What, is he gay?" Pete Sr. questioned gruffly.

"No. He's not gay. We were seeing each other, but we're not now."

"What the hell happened in two weeks?" her dad probed.

"I don't think she wants to talk about it Pete," Glory interjected.

"No. It's fine. I found out that he lied about something, and it didn't sit well with me."

"He was cheating? He had a wife like the last one?"

"Dad, please. I don't want to talk about that." Micky shot Glory an embarrassed look.

"Well, what did he lie about?"

"We started dating, and then he had a work thing come up that involved my company. He used our relationship to get information to help him at work."

"What a slime! Dating you just to get dirt! Amazing," Glory chimed in.

"That's not exactly true. We were dating before. Still he got information out of me and Taryn without our knowing and used it for one of his clients. He's an attorney."

"He stole information?"

"Not exactly," Micky sighed. "He was doing all this behind my back."

"Huh. Pretty slimy," Glory said. "Some men are just like that."

Glory went on to tell her own story of woe about a horrible ex-boyfriend. Micky found it odd how easily she talked about her exploits in front of her current boyfriend, but then her father's relationships often made no sense to her.

Once they were done with the dishes, she and her dad carried bags of trash outside. Micky threw a blanket from the couch over her shoulders and carried out the recyclables. Fat flakes of snow had started coming down with greater speed and volume, but it wasn't as cold as she expected. Still, she hoped she wouldn't be stuck here overnight with her father and Glory.

On their way back into the house, her dad stopped her.

"Talk to me. I'm going to grab a quick smoke," he said and pulled a dented soft pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Micky had given up lecturing her father about his smoking. She watched him light up in silence.

"This guy you were seeing. Was it was serious?"

"It was getting serious. He's been hounding me since we got back, calling and messaging. He keeps saying he's sorry. People who screw up are always full of apologies."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're adopted," he said. Micky scowled.

"That's not funny. Why would you say that?"

"Calm down. I don't mean anything by it."

"That's a crappy thing to say, and you know it. Telling me to 'calm down' only makes it worse."

"I'm sorry. Your mother and I jump into love, and even if it doesn't work out, we enjoy the ride. I wish you could enjoy the ride more. That's all. You might be happier. There's more to life than work."

A smoldering rage burned in Micky's throat. Maybe it was fun ride for them, but it hadn't been for her. Their free-falling roller coaster of love and marriage left her with a constant ball of fear coiled in her gut. "I don't see what's enjoyable about being lied to."

"Did he lie to you, or did he made a mistake, Micky? Can't you at least give him a chance to make it up to you? You're never going to get through a relationship without disappointment. What matters is that he knows he screwed up. He's working overtime to get you back. What's the worst thing that could happen if you cut him a break? You'll end up right where you are now."

The worst thing that could happen would be that she would fall in love with him. Completely in love with him. That would leave her much worse for the wear. She wasn't sure she could take that heart-piercing pain again. "I won't be the reason this didn't work out. Maybe instead of blaming me for not being forgiving, he could have not done this to me in the first place."

"He's not blaming you, is he? I guess that would be me," he sighed. "I get the feeling this is more about that than anything else. Don't punish yourself to spite me."

"That's not what I'm doing. I don't want to talk about this anymore. You don't understand, and I should have known better," Micky said, hugging the throw blanket tighter around her and looking through the window to her brother and Clarissa inside.

"Does he love you?

"I don't know."

"Did you ask him?"

"How can I? He does this thing to me, and I go crawling back, asking him if he loves me. That's insane."

"It's not insane if you love him."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "He lied."

"You keep telling yourself that, Micky. Be right and be alone, or decide to be happy. No one can be as perfect as you want them to be."

Leave it to her father to make opening up her heart sound so simple. He'd never understood how much it hurt to be disappointed by someone who took her feelings for granted. If he could recognize how hard that was on her, then their relationship wouldn't be as strained as it was. Micky stormed back into the house, slamming the door.

"Sorry," she said to her brother. She went to the Pete's master bathroom, needing space and privacy to think.

She hated to be a cliché with her mistrust of men boiling down to daddy issues. How many times in her childhood had she hoped her father would show up and he didn't? How many times had he promised to put her first, but then a woman came along that caught his eye? Was it so wrong that she wanted an honest and dependable man? Once a man showed you his colors, you had to believe him. Didn't you?

Micky sat on the edge of the tub, gripping her knees. With one act, Nick had shown her who he was. Of course, she'd seen more of Nick than the lie. She'd seen his devotion to his family. She'd seen his humor. She'd seen how single-minded he got when he wanted something. He'd wanted her. He still did. After Eric, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't accept any more deception into her life. She wanted love that was
real
. She didn't know what she felt for Nick, or he for her.

Against her better judgment, she missed him. She missed his flirty texts and the way he answered his phone by calling her "beautiful." She'd fallen for the sincerity of his charm. Micky chastised herself. Was she that easy?

A soft knock on the door pulled her out of her own head.

"Are you okay in there?" Clarissa asked.

Micky rose and opened the door. She and Clarissa sat on the bed.

"Talks with my father usually send me into a tailspin," she explained.

"I saw you two outside. It looked a little intense."

"He's telling me to throw caution to the wind and give Nick another chance. Apparently, I am rigid and unforgiving."

"That's not true. You've been hurt. That makes you gun shy. You have to ask yourself if you think there's a chance that this could still work out. What do
you
believe?"

Tears filled Micky's eyes. "I feel like I have to have standards. I have to make sure that Nick knows he can't lie to me. If I take him back, what does that say?"

"Forgiveness isn't a weakness. Who is he? That's the question. Forget what everyone else has to say. What does your gut say?"

Micky wiped the tears from her eyes and sat still with her eyes closed. Her gut wasn't reliable. Her gut wanted to call Nick and invite him over so she could bury her face in the crook of his neck and feel his arms around her. Her gut was lusty and prone to self-delusion. That was the issue. It wasn't about Nick. Micky didn't trust herself. Could she make the right decision? If it all fell apart, could she pick herself back up again and move on?

"My gut wants a man I can trust so I don't have to feel this way," Micky said. "Nick could be that guy. I don't know. I haven't talked to him since we shared a ride to the airport in Paris. I do miss him."

"Now that you've both had time to think, maybe you should see him. Look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. You'll know whether he's sincere."

"Will I?"

"Yes. You've got your eyes wide open, and we've got your back—Me, Pete, Taryn. Even your parents. Hell, even Lila."

Micky laughed. "Lila, huh?"

"She's growing on me. Underneath it all, she loves her family. She means well."

"You're a saint."

"I'm in love, and she's Pete's mother. I won't let her run me off. I'm made of sterner stuff than that."

"That which doesn't kill you, blah blah blah. Right?"

Micky admired Clarissa's self-faith and wondered if she could say the same about herself. Micky had come through hard times before. None of it had killed her. But then, she'd never fallen as hard as she had for Nick, either. With a groan, Micky promised to call him, and Clarissa hugged her. All she wanted was for love to be easy. Was that so hard?

O
phelia the beagle
sniffed Nick's shoe, and Nick hoped he passed muster. Micky had gone into the kitchen to get him a soda. Finally, he had a chance to talk to her. When she'd called him the night before, she'd even insisted on seeing him in person.

He shifted from the edge of the couch to settle back on the plush cushions. Ophelia must have decided he was okay. She jumped up on the seat next to him and laid her head on his leg, promptly falling asleep.

"She's a softie," Micky said, setting a glass of soda on a coaster in front of him and sitting in a side chair angled toward him so she could look him in the eye.

"She's adorable." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, navigating around Ophelia's head. Nick watched Micky run her fingers through her ponytail for the tenth time since he'd arrived. He cleared his throat. "How was Thanksgiving?"

"Good. Yours?" Micky asked.

"Good. I saw my nieces and gave them their presents from Paris. Good call on the art sets. They loved them."

"I thought they might."

"How's the family?"

"Good. My dad flew in with his girlfriend. Her name is Glory, and she's three years younger than I am, but she was nice. It was fine. He's convinced that I should give you another chance."

Nick exhaled in relief at finally getting to the topic at hand. "Is that working for me or against me?" Nick asked. The look on her face as she spoke about it didn't bode well.

"I don't know, Nick."

"I'd apologize to you again if I thought it would make a difference. That's all I know how to do."

"I don't need an apology. I need an explanation. Tell me why you did this to me."

"I've been on one track in my life for almost five years. Graduating at the top of my class and making partner in the firm meant everything to me. Nothing else mattered. Until I met you."

"That's awfully romantic."

"It's true."

Micky huffed and slanted her eyes at him.

"It's true," Nick repeated. "Every mistake I've made in the past year has been because I was working to impress the partners and our clients. And this one client is one major piece of business I brought into the firm."

Nick hedged his words, horrified at the full truth and unable to say it all out loud. He'd whored himself.

"I don't get what that had to do with me."

"The client," Nick began, "isn't just any client. He's my ex-fiancée's father, and things have gotten complicated. I was already afraid that once he found out that Vivienne and I weren't getting married that he'd pull his business. He threatened as much when we started having problems."

"Sleeping with women to get what you want again."

"That's not how that happened."

"You keep saying that what's happening isn't what's happening," Micky barked. "It's like either I'm crazy or you are. You cozied up to one woman and to get her father to do business with you, and then you cozied up to me to make sure he stayed."

"I know that's what it must look like. When I met Vivienne, I didn't know her father or her family. It was only after we started dating that she suggested I approach him to hire my law firm. It seemed simple. We were together. We were getting married. Then…it fell apart."

"She left you."

"Yes, and he threatened to move his business if we didn't get married. That wasn't going to happen, so I focused on getting him this deal. I was wrong. I never should have leveraged you for information. I got caught up in my own push to finally be successful. To prove that I belonged in the world of movers and shakers."

Micky's expression softened. "Chasing acceptance from people like that is never worth it."

"I know that. I should have known that all along. My mother's been telling me that for years."

"She's smart."

"She is. You know, when I was a kid, she worked double time to pay for me to go to summer camp one year. All the other kids came from these highborn families. Rich kids. Their parents were businessmen, lawyers, and doctors. My mom was a maid, and my dad was dead. When parents weekend came, she drove down to see me. One of the kids saw her, and recognized her as one of their housekeepers. For the rest of camp, all they did was tease me about my mom. Everyday, I'd go into the mess hall, and the one kid would ask me how many toilets he thought my mom scrubbed that day. I ignored him and he kept on about my being poor and being one of the 'discount kids' who got to go to the camp. I walked right up to that kid and said, 'I may be poor now, but one day, I'll be rich, and you'll always be a dumbass.' And I hit him. Right in the jaw."

"I guess that's one way to shut him up."

"I guess. It wasn't even about being jealous. I just wanted to prove that I could make something of myself and take care of my mom, so she'd never have to scrub another toilet. I thought all I needed was to reach that goal and get what I wanted. I don't even know what I want now. Except you."

"You hurt me. You lied. You know why that gets to me. When I met you, I didn't know what to make of you, but I heard you talk about your family. I saw you with your nieces. I thought you were someone who valued people and family over money or status or a good time."

"I am. I did a stupid thing. I can only promise you that I'll never do anything like this again. That's done." Nick scooted toward her and reached for her hand. When she didn't pull away, his heart lifted.

"I need some time to think about this."

"Okay. Can we at least keep talking?"

She tilted her head and looked at him without smiling, her face blank, brows crunched. "Okay."

"Will you keep the flowers that I send you? The receptionist at the office is wondering why I'm sending myself bouquets."

"I don't want flowers or gifts or a big show, Nick. I want truth."

"Okay. I can make this up to you."

Micky said nothing else.

Nick leaned over and kissed her hand, then let it go. Before he could sit up, she ran her fingers through his hair, filling him with exuberance. As long as she cracked open the door to her heart, Nick would push through.