"I regret almost everything I've ever said to you," he says, his voice quiet and gruff. "But nothing as much as when I lied about the emails. I was trying to protect you, but … "
"You took advantage of my trust," I hiss. "How is that okay?"
"It's obviously not," he says, looking irritated already. "Did I say it was okay? Have I ever so much as implied that anything I've ever done in my life is 'okay?' It is what it is, Meghan. And I thought you liked me for who I was. I thought you … " He stops, sighing. "The way you looked at me that night, when I sent your mother packing, I swore you loved me."
"Maybe I did." My voice is shaking, and I barely recognize the sound. "For a minute there. When I forgot who you really were."
He rests his head in his hands for a minute, finally raking his fingers through his hair and looking up again. "Do you just want an apology, Meg? Is that why you're here? Or do you still feel something? Does it seem like you're sleep-walking through your life now? Did your heart leap out of your chest, the first time you heard my name since you came to my house? Do you dream about me? Do you wake up moaning my name?" His tone grows softer, and I hate him for trying to evoke all the passion he knows I can't resist or control. "Because I do. I did. That's how it is for me, Meg. I can't forget you. Not that I expected to. But I thought it would be easier to cut and run."
"So what is this?" I'm breathing faster, and I don't know if it's anger or excitement or some fucked-up combination of both. "You give a bunch of money to save the puppies, and show up here all grunge-rock to actually get your hands dirty, and you think that's gonna make everything better?" I starting to get shrill, but I can't help myself. I might actually be losing my mind.
He's exasperated. At least that's a familiar emotion. "I swear to God, I didn't know. Shelly will tell you. I begged her a thousand times, before I came here, every time, to make sure you were nowhere near the place. I didn't want you to find out. Specifically because I didn't want you to think that."
"So why are you here, then?" I want to know.
"Better than drinking myself to death on the kitchen floor," he says. "Which seems to be where I'm headed, otherwise."
"I don't feel sorry for you," I tell him, because I actually do. God damn it.
Adrian sighs. "Good. You didn't answer my question."
"What?" I've completely lost track of what the hell he's talking about.
"Do you still care?" he asks me. "Even a little?"
Tears spring to my eyes instantly. How can I keep playing it cool when he's standing in front of me, looking like that?
"Of course!" I almost shout. "After my mom left, I … " My voice trails off to a whisper, now. " … I didn't think it was possible to feel that way about anyone."
Pain crosses his face. He closes the distance between us, grabbing my arms gently and holding me still while he talks. It's such a subtle gesture of dominance, and I probably shouldn't love it, but I do. I still do.
"Leaving that night was the worst thing I've ever done in my life," he says. "And believe me, that's saying something."
I have to chuckle slightly. "I don't believe you."
"Believe me," he says. "I know I broke your heart that night. And I knew that would happen. I was fucking selfish. I've been selfish my whole life, Meg, which I'm sure you know. But the important thing is that I know. I've always known, but now it's different. I've felt the full consequences of my actions for the first time in my life, and if you don't think it's humiliating to admit that … it doesn't matter. This isn't about me - that's the point. My whole life, everything's always been dispensable. Replaceable. Do you know how many cars I crashed before I even turned sixteen?" He lets out a little bewildered laugh. "And I never hurt someone so badly they wouldn't come back, if I waved my wallet in front of them. My parents always told me to be more careful, but I didn't know the meaning of the word."
He licks his lips a tiny bit, looking down at me, and I feel a rush of arousal I haven't felt in months. It's too much, having him spill so much of his heart, his hands touching me, and so help me, I just want him.
But I know I have to hear what he's saying. I blink, trying to re-focus on his words.
"Until you, I didn't know," he says. "I'll always regret what I said to you, what I did. I was reckless with the one thing that really mattered."
I stare at him, trying to make sense of the storm inside. "What else did you lie about?"
"Let's see." His eyes search my face. "I lied when I said I didn't think it was a good idea for us to keep on sleeping together. I lied when I said it was a mistake, that night when I made your mother disown you. I know I should feel sorry, but I fucking don't. I hope she never speaks to you again. It kills me that it'll hurt you, but I know she's bad for you." A ghost of a smile. "Even worse than me, if that's possible."
"You weren't bad for me," I sob, unable to hold it back anymore. "Somehow, I don't know how, you were exactly what I needed. When we were together, and I don't just mean fucking - I mean just together, as people, when you didn't feel the need to act like my boss … it always felt right."
"I know." He touches the side of my face, with tentative fingers. "I know. It scared the hell out of me."
"Why'd you quit?" I ask, finally.
"Because I don't want to be that person anymore." He says this with conviction, and something twists and bursts in my chest. "I don't know who I want to be, but Risinger Industries is in my past now. Of course it's still in my family, and I'm still disgustingly rich." He smiles a little. "But as much as I can, I'm trying to get away from it. I'm done being careless. I hate being reckless. Most of all, I hate that you'll always look at me and see someone who hurt you."
"Getting rid of the company doesn't change that," I murmur. I can't stand it anymore. I launch myself up on tip-toes, and I kiss him. The noise he makes is surprised, pleased, maybe a little confused, if a muffled sound can convey all of that. But there's nothing confused about the way he kisses me back.
Resting my head on his chest, I can hear his heart beating a million miles a second. When he starts to talk, I can feel his voice vibrating through his ribcage.
"When I met you, you know, I hadn't written anything in ten years. More. My dad hated it. He found all my journals and burned them, when I was twelve. I already had my future in front of me. He didn't want me wasting my time. And that desire I felt when I met you - beyond the obvious, that itch to pick up a pen and let a story flow out of me the way they always wanted to - it scared the hell out of me. It made me angry. It was my father's anger, I realize now. It was the fear of him, still haunting me.
"But I couldn't just ignore it. I meant every word I wrote in that email. You didn't look like the women I'm supposed to want, but you were desperately sexy, and I knew if I let myself, I'd ruin you. So I didn't.
"Instead, I wrote. I let everything out in stories, and not just the ones I published. There were some I didn't dare, because I knew you'd recognize yourself if you ever saw. Like that time the vent in the hallway wouldn't stop rattling and maintenance wouldn't come, and you climbed up on a stack of chairs with a butter-knife to fix it. I never met a woman like you - hell, I never met a person like you. The way you talked to me. Not caring if you hurt my feelings, not sparing a single thought for my ego. Before long, my only fantasy was you, taunting me, with that smile on your face, until I found a way to shut you up." He licks his lips again, quickly. "Sorry. Trying not to get carried away, but it's hard."
I let out a totally undignified sound, and maybe, maybe I get a little bit of snot on his shirt. He doesn't even flinch. It must be love.
"Yeah," I mutter. "I noticed."
There's a moment of silence, with nothing but heartbeats.
"I hated myself for firing you," he says. "I really thought it was the best thing. And I really was just going to give you the slip and walk away, but fuck, Meg … I couldn't help myself. I needed you, one last time. And then I did nothing but worry about you. I knew you'd never accept any help from me, so that was all I could do. As much as it killed me. But I knew, I knew you'd be fine. When Shelly told me you had a new job, I wasn't surprised." He sighs, looking down at me with such softness and concern that he'd be unrecognizable to anyone else in the office. But not me. I've seen it before, in flashes, and felt it in his touch. "I missed you so fucking much."