Best of Bosses 2008(131)

‘Look,’ he began, ‘I’m…I don’t know how to say this…’ He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head, suddenly restless and uncomfortable. ‘I’ve never said this to anyone before…’

Rose, having screwed up every ounce of courage she possessed to tell him what she had to and as quickly as possible, breathed a silent sigh of relief that he was doing the talking. Okay, it was just a case of putting off the inevitable and it was cowardly, but she relaxed just a tiny bit.

She was also curious, even though she didn’t want to be. She hadn’t come to his office expecting to have a conversation, or at least not until she had told him about the pregnancy and then conversation probably wouldn’t quite describe what she imagined would follow. Recriminations, accusation, bitterness—nothing that she would classify as conversation.

‘Said what?’ she asked, bewildered.

Even more bewildering was the expression on his face. Gone was the easy self-assurance she associated with him. In its place was uncertainty and hesitation, which was as perplexing as the dark flush that stained his cheeks.

She almost forgot what she had come to say when he walked towards her and dragged his chair round so that he could position himself right next to her, on her level.

‘I…’ he began. ‘I…I’m glad you’re here…’

He didn’t look glad. In fact, he didn’t look anything, at least not anything she could identify. And if he really was glad, then she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a sentiment he would be harbouring for very long.

‘I…the past few weeks, Rose…’ He once again ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from her. ‘Not good.’

In a flash, she knew where he was going. He had probably assumed that she had come to his office with a view to taking him up on his offer for her to live with him and was now, against the dictates of his pride, going to repeat the offer because he still wanted her. Want, want, want! The most distasteful and egotistical word in the universe.

She closed her mind off to her memories of him. It gave her strength to think that this man, whatever he said, hadn’t wanted her enough to take their relationship that one important step further. She had declared her love and that, psychologically, must have led him to assume that she would return, grateful for the crumbs he could throw her.

‘I’m not here to talk about that,’ she interjected quickly.

‘You don’t understand, Rose. I need to talk about it. I need to talk about what a fool I’ve been.’ He reached out and took hold of her fingers, idly playing with them, obviously, she thought, unaware of what that simple, inoffensive gesture was doing to her insides. She stared, fascinated and dry-mouthed, at his long brown fingers as they fiddled with hers, and gulped.

It was amazing that he couldn’t guess the reason for her visit. Astute as he was, his mind was obviously not programmed to think the unthinkable.

‘I let you go,’ he said quietly, looking directly at her. ‘I let the woman who loved me go.’

Rose didn’t want to be reminded of that. ‘I’m not here to blame you, Nick. You did what you had to do and there are no hard feelings. I haven’t come to discuss the past.’ She made an effort to slide her hand out of his grasp but his fingers tightened on hers, clasping them into submission.

‘I’ve always thought that love was a complication, something of which I had no need. I enjoyed women but I didn’t want them clambering into my private life and interfering with it. My goals were set and there was no place for cosy nights in and joint holidays in Italy with the eventual two point two.’

Which snapped Rose back to the present like a bucket of cold water.

‘No. I gathered,’ she said coolly.

‘I was…mistaken…’

It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink in, then her thoughts were adrift, bobbing about in confusion as she tried to assimilate that telling, wrenched remark.

‘I…beg your pardon?’

‘I was mistaken,’ Nick said simply. He felt a weight lift off his chest. Whatever dire news she had come to break, then she would know how he felt and it was something he should have said a long time ago. Courage, he was discovering, was something he had measured using all the wrong tools. Courage was this. Telling the only woman he had ever loved that he loved her.

Rose wasn’t sure what she was hearing. She knew what she wanted to hear.

‘You’re playing games,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Please.’ This time she succeeded in withdrawing her hand, which she held up because, riveting though his disclosures were, she couldn’t trust herself not to start believing them, and hadn’t he already made it perfectly clear that he was not in the business of love? What would he do to get her back into his bed? she wondered. Seduce her with words he knew she wanted to hear?