Christmas at the Castello(7)

And that was the crux of it. It was why she'd left. Her husband's  brutal summation of their marriage echoed in her ears, the  matter-of-fact, cynical tone he'd uttered it in making her cringe all  over again. "In his speech," she said huskily, "he said that someone  forgot to tell him that sometimes love isn't enough. That you can love  someone madly, blindly, but it still isn't going to work if you can't  accept each other's flaws and imperfections."

Beth leaned forward and clasped her hands. "He's right. Sometimes love  isn't enough. Sometimes the passionate, intense affairs like you and he  have had are the hardest to sustain. They just don't lend themselves to  ordinary life."

A fresh wave of tears pooled at the back of her eyes. A part of her  didn't want to accept that that could be possible with her and Coburn.  But the rational, self-preservative side of her said she must.

Beth squeezed her hands tighter. "I was in the room the night you and  Coburn met. I remember what it was like watching you two... It was  electric. But that kind of passion? It can blind you to reality."

A reality she had to accept now. Coburn didn't love her anymore and she  had to move on. If it had been closure she'd been looking for as she  walked away from everything she knew, tonight he'd given it to her. As  brutal as it had been, Coburn had actually done her a favor.

"You're right," she said, grabbing another tissue and blowing her nose.  Pushing her shoulders back, she gave her best friend a decisive look.  "This was the eye-opener I needed to walk into that meeting tomorrow and  do what I need to do."

Maybe when she was thousands of miles away from Coburn she might  somehow be able to banish the shame she'd felt tonight when he'd looked  at her as if he'd just finished servicing another of his bimbos. Because  if she didn't, she might hate him forever.





  CHAPTER THREE

"WELL, THAT WAS REFRESHING."

Coburn ignored the sarcasm in his older brother's voice and kept  walking toward the elevators. The board meeting had run long and he was  late for his meeting with Diana and the lawyers.

"Don't get me wrong," Harrison continued, keeping step with him, "I  love how progressive you're being. God knows we need a more flexible  vacation policy, but how do you think it's going to work when all our  employees decide to take the same day off? We have critical processes on  the supply-chain side."

"That won't happen." Coburn threw him an annoyed glance. "Employment  experts have done studies on it, and it's clear in most workforces  self-ownership of deadlines will regulate all that."

"And self-regulation will be top of mind when the Christmas holidays  hit?" Harrison frowned. "You saw the board in there. You're pushing hard  and fast to make changes here, Coburn. You have a different vision, a  different style of leadership. But you need to let them catch up with  you."

"They will." He jabbed the call button for the elevator. "And they'll  be thanking me when our employee satisfaction and productivity numbers  are up."         

     



 

"If they don't revolt first."

He gave his brother a quelling look. "I thought you were going to let me run this company my way."

"That was before you started spouting nonsense about no formal vacation  policy and the need for badge levels to incent employees. This isn't a  video game we're playing. It's a Fortune 500 company our family has  spent a hundred years building."

"I get that." He stepped on the empty arriving elevator and Harrison  followed. He got the pressure that was on him. He got that he was  following his godlike brother in the analysts' eyes. He got all of it  until he was sick to death of it.

Harrison shook his head at him. "You make me nervous."

"Don't be." He pushed the button for the executive floor. "Focus on  your campaign. Shake people's hands, pretend their babies are cute. I've  got this."

The elevator swished upward, revealing a panoramic view of New York. A  long silence followed. "Are you sure," Harrison ventured carefully when  he eventually broke it, "your emotions aren't a little...off with this  divorce on your plate?"

Coburn glanced at his watch. "Happening in minutes. In fact, I'm fifteen of them late."

"That doesn't answer my question." His brother exhaled on a long sigh.  "She'd kill me if she knew I was saying this, but Frankie says you  haven't been yourself lately."

"I have a lot on my mind."

Harrison fixed him with that trademark deadly stare of his. "Do you still care for her?"

And wasn't that the question of the day? He'd told himself he didn't,  had convinced himself he was long over his marital fling. But last night  had proved him an exemplarity liar. To hijack his toast to Tony and  Annabelle with that speech that had come out of nowhere? To sleep with  the woman he was intent on wiping from his memory to bring some closure  to that part of his life? Insanity.

"I am over her," he told his brother, hoping that saying it out loud  would make it so. "Making this divorce official is exactly what I need  to move on."

His brother's gaze raked his face. "Good. I hope it gives you some perspective."

"To what?" He and his brother were gradually restoring the close  relationship that had defined their younger years after a decade of  being at odds with each other following their father's death. But lately  Harrison's preachiness was rankling him. "Do you think I should settle  down like you and have the beautiful little nuclear family? You know how  much that appeals to me."

"Actually," his brother drawled, "I was thinking more along the lines  of what will make you happy. I don't think you have been for a long  time, Coburn, and I'm not just talking professionally. Climbing an  avalanche-prone mountain is not thrill-seeking-it's self-destructive."

Yes, but on those truly brutal parts of the climb when his limbs felt  as if they were going to fall off and he was so cold he thought he might  expire, his head had felt devoid of anything, numb to the pure  satisfaction of what he'd accomplished. It was addictive.

He lifted a shoulder. "My mountain-climbing days are over if the board  has anything to say about it, so your worries are null and void there."

His wife's walk on the dangerous side? Not so much. He'd be lying if he  said he hadn't come home and done an internet search on the African  country she was going to be working in after his hour-and-a-half-long  walk through the streets of Chelsea last night. What he'd found he  hadn't liked. Diana was putting herself well within the reach of the  rebels who were causing havoc for the government. Who were known to use  kidnapping as a bargaining tactic. He hadn't slept a wink.

Harrison turned to face him as they stepped off the elevator. "Use this  time to figure out what you want out of your life. We only do this  once. You have a fresh start to work with."

He lifted his chin and met his brother's stare. "Since when did you get so philosophic?"         

     



 

"Since my wife got hold of me," Harrison admitted with a rueful smile. "I like it, actually..."

Coburn watched him walk away. Now that the aliens had taken his older  brother and replaced him with that man, he thought maybe he'd consider  his point as he strode toward Frankie, who gave the conference room  Diana and the lawyers occupied a pointed nod. It was true. A fresh start  was exactly what he wanted out of this divorce, and it was exactly what  he was going to get. Now.

"So sorry," he murmured, striding into the glass-and-chrome conference  room with its magnificent views of New York. He kept his gaze firmly  away from his soon-to-be ex-wife and on the stiff, expensively suited  lawyers who were five hundred an hour apiece.

Chance Hamilton, his lawyer, made an awkward joke about this divorce  not going anywhere. Jerry Simmons, Diana's very proper, blue-blooded  Harvard grad, stood and shook his hand. His wife remained seated, her  eyes fixed on the windows. His guts twisted. She wouldn't even look at  him.

"So," Jerry began as Coburn sat down beside Chance, across from Diana,  "shall we do a final review of the terms, starting with property?"  Diana, who looked like something out of Madame Tussauds wax museum,  moved her lips in what he assumed was agreement.

"Fine." He added his assent as he continued to study his wife, despite  his better instincts. Only Diana could look her most beautiful in a  simple white shirt, slim dark jeans and a floral scarf. Her dramatic  dark features and hair made adornment unnecessary, something he'd always  found vastly appealing versus the made-up showpieces he came across at  most of the social functions he attended.

Her beautiful hair was caught up in a knot today as opposed to last  night's wavy curls, her makeup minimal, designed to cover the shadows  beneath her eyes, but it hadn't quite worked. Hands that lay in her lap,  constantly clenching and unclenching, were the only sign that she felt  anything at all.