Her decision wasn’t going to go down well.
“Charlize?”
She glanced up at Lia, who stood framed in the doorway. Charlize’s head spun from looking down so long.
“Yeah?”
“The girls and I are taking lunch if you’d like to join us?” Lia asked warmly, as if she might honestly believe—or perhaps hoped—she’d get a different answer this time.
Lunch. Charlize’s stomach clenched on a pang of hunger. She’d not eaten a thing and her brain had just about reached maximum absorption. Charlize glanced out the window then back to Lia’s beaming face. Connor’s words rang in her mind, as clearly as if he’d just whispered them in her ear. This time she listened.
She was the goddamn boss and she’d eat lunch with whoever the hell she liked.
* * * * *
Six hours later she opened her front door and then turned to wave at Jason before she went inside. He waved back but his car didn’t move. She had no idea if he planned to stay outside all night. She toyed with asking him to stay inside but no—she was done with live-in babysitters. She locked the door behind her and toed off her shoes. Her aching arches pressed deliciously into the cool floorboards. She flexed her toes and winced. Too long in heels. Especially since she’d caved and gone to visit her dad—kinda forgiven him a little since he’d taken his caregiver back. She knew him and that was as close as he got to an apology, even before the stroke and breakdown.
She missed him. She’d gotten good at missing people. On his good days she could remember the father who’d at least tried in his own abrasive way to raise her after her mother had left. Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket and she pulled it out.
Could we talk privately—not at work? Rebecca.
Charlize studied the message. Rebecca. A clerk from accounting. She’d been at lunch. It’d been awkward at first, the six other women at the table obviously not sure how to act around her but Lia had broken the ice with her good-natured rambling. Had flat-out asked if harassing the new security personnel would be considered sexual harassment given that they didn’t work for Halifax. Apparently Jason’s backside had been taunting her from her seat in the reception area and harassment was in order.
Before long, between bouts of laughter, Charlize realized they all should have been on the same side from day one. She’d tried to get to know a few of the women, handed her card around. But she hadn’t expected anyone to contact her so soon.
She fingered a reply into her phone, setting up a breakfast date before work the next day, then wandered into the kitchen. A large pink box on the counter halted her. Her heart flipped. Someone had been in her house without her knowledge.
Gregory?
A chill seeped over her skin. She licked her lips and looked around. The house was quiet—that still, airless kind of silence. Charlize shook her head. More likely it’d been Connor. He still had a spare key. She’d become used to having someone else in the house in such a short time. She listened to the quiet and her chest panged with the need to have him there again. She walked to the box and tugged at the ends of a bountiful white bow. The ribbon cascaded over the marble countertop.
The lid slid off easily. A dull gold key and folded card nestled on top of layers of tissue paper. She picked up the key and squeezed it in her palm. Looked as if she didn’t need to worry about asking for it back. She held it to her chest and exhaled deeply. How freaking ridiculous…why should she care that he’d returned her key without saying a word? Why did it hurt so damn bad to know he was officially out—couldn’t enter her home without her letting him in? She’d asked for this, after all.
She shook her head and opened the card, not sure how she’d cope with more apologies, more sweet words that lured her toward caving in.
In case you decide to stop hiding.
Charlize’s lips tightened. Seven words. Nothing else, just a cryptic message. She tore open the tissue paper and stared dumbly at the contents.
Glistening violet fabric.
A deep, luminous shade she recognized at once—a shade she’d seen shimmer against her skin. She could still feel the heat of Connor’s gaze on her as she turned in it. Her cheeks warmed and she pulled out the dress, let the skirt fall to the ground and held the bodice to her body.
A greedy little part of her wanted to put it on, wear it now and to the awards night ceremony. The part of her that wanted to look pretty—to look like Connor’s girl. Her cheeks went from warm to scorching hot and she piled the gown back into the box and shut the lid.
Stupid.
She was Charlize the CEO—not pretty Charlize the owner’s daughter, not Charlize the lawyer’s finance, not the trophy girlfriend. He still didn’t get it. She’d go to the awards night next week on her own, in her boring black dress. Because that’s what people expected of her. And she intended to meet those expectations—then exceed them like a boss.