His Secretary:Undone(37)

"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."