Reckless Abandon (3 page)

I wipe off the mirror when I step out of the shower. 
God, I look like shit
.  Something catches my eye on the floor. A bottle of lotion has fallen behind the toilet, but I don’t recognize it until I smell it; then fresh wounds mar my insides. I stare at myself in the mirror, searching for some sort of resemblance to the man I thought I was and the man my parents raised me to be. Instead, a hung over, brokenhearted liar scoffs back.

“I couldn’t have fucked that up more if I tried.”

“You’ve got that right.” Rachel unapologetically enters my bedroom again.

She’s more pissed than hurt about the blackmail. We’re working on a plea deal, and Rae demanded that our lawyer negotiate Max and Bill’s mandatory presence at the meetings so she could tear them apart. She’s mostly angry that I hid it from her.

My sigh fills the bathroom as I hang my head. “Rae ...”

“Well Jesus, Bowan! Every single piece of this could have been avoided if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to try to teach those fuckers a lesson!” Tired tears crawl down her face as she continues, “I really do appreciate what you put yourself through to protect me. I do. But, quite frankly, I might have been less embarrassed if they’d just posted those pictures. Instead, my big brother thinks I’m a spineless child who needs protecting.” Her accusations bounce off the frigid tile.

There’s nothing I can say to her. She’s right. Again.

She takes a breath and looks between the lotion and me twice before stepping over the threshold to the bathroom. She carefully removes it from my hands and studies the label.

“Hmm, lemongrass and cardamom,” she inhales the scent, “this has November written all over it. Did you just find this, or did you get all psycho and buy her lotion for your own emotional cutting?”

“She left it here, I guess.” I brush past her and head to my closet.

“You don’t like it when I say her name, huh?”

“What’s the point? It was a week and a half of my life and she’s made it quite clear that it’s over.” My tone is short. My hangovers have started to dress themselves up in anger.

“You’re a child.” She leaves my room, but spares me by not slamming the door this time.

As I dress, I hear Rae open the main house door and speak in muffled tones with someone, and finally a car pulls away from the house. I do my best to get myself together. Khakis and a button down black short-sleeved shirt—no tie—is a vast improvement over my sweats and t-shirt wardrobe of the last week. I think absentmindedly that Rae’s right, and I will need to get a ton of work done today in order to avoid having to go to the meeting Friday. Em
ber will be there. She’s coming
back
here and isn’t hiding from me—unless she’s seen the email I sent to her boss, giving her reassurance of my absence. I shake my head, resolving to think more about it later.

When I get downstairs I head directly for the kitchen to take some Advil; it’s the only way I’ll make it through the morning. Rachel is standing by the sink, surveying my impending liver damage through X-rays of empty whiskey bottles that line the counter. Her eyes are empty, and her face is blank. This isn’t good.

“Rae, just get out of here. I’ll clean this up and meet you at the office. Did I hear you talking to someone down here?” I swallow the Advil and pray for the bricks in my head to crumble to dust.

Rae moves to the foyer and starts putting on her coat. “Yeah. Ainsley.”

“Ainsley was here?” I ask, following her.

“She’s been sniffing around since the night everything went down.” Rachel stares crossly at me, her hand on her hip.

Ainsley sent several text messages when the story about the blackmail broke all over the news. When I ignored them, she came to the house. I told her none of it concerned her. She must have found out one way or another that November was involved, which explains her eagerness to reconnect, yet again. I learned quickly after my parents died that Ainsley Worthington is a force to be reckoned with as far as grief is concerned. She thinks her tight little ass will cure all that ails. Well, it won’t for me. Not this time.

“I’ll see you at the office in a few.” I head upstairs to grab my laptop.

“Fine, just don’t do anything stupid between here and there. Can you manage that?” She doesn’t wait for my answer as her anger echoes in the squeal of tires down the driveway. 

November will be here Friday.  Shit.  I have to talk to her.  We’re in love.  We promised forever…

* * *

“Great, Turner’s here,” I mumble to myself as I throw the Audi in park. He wasn’t around at all last week, giving me a much-needed break from November’s ex-boyfriend.

Maybe he was with her
.  I slam my door at the thought and head into the office, dodging sympathetic glances from the receptionist.

“Spencer.” David nods his salutation as he walks into my office and shuts the door.

He’s always called me Spencer, even when all my friends started calling me “Bo” in high school. He was my father’s best friend, so I don’t think he’ll stop with the “Spencer” any time soon. He studies me with sad eyes. Eyes that look like my father’s—grey pools that intensify the disappointment I already feel.

“Morning, David. Are we set for the legal briefing today in preparation for Hope’s arrival on Friday?” I think I sound convincing enough, until I watch David’s nostrils flare with a frustrated sigh.

“Son, what happened?” He sits. He’s not leaving until he has an answer.

David’s aware of the blackmail, but the details regarding Ember have been graciously absent from his questioning, until now. So I tell him. Everything. His eyebrows raise at all the right parts; his head shakes at the others. I’ve never been this open with David before about my personal life, apart from things about my parents. As a rule, I’m not open at all—music’s always been my way of dealing. But, since taking over this organization, I’ve been doing a lot more talking. David’s the closest thing to a father I have left, and right now I need guidance.

“What do you mean you stopped calling her?” This is the detail he’s choosing to focus on. I remain still and scan the room for a respectable answer. His face tells me there isn’t one.

I clear my throat. “Uh ...”

“Son, I saw you and Travis through some boneheaded things in high school, but this takes the cake.” Travis is David’s son, my best friend. He moved to Colorado after high school before enlisting in the Marines. He was in Iraq for a while, came home, and now he’s in Afghanista
n.
He’d probably kick my ass for screwing things up with Ember.

“She’s really pissed, David.”

“Seems she has cause to be. All the more reason not to leave her stewing for a week—a state away, no less! Anyway, we’ve got to get to the meeting, but you better call her. Before Friday. Even if she doesn’t answer and you have to leave her a voicemail. She’s a nice young lady and deserves at least that.” He doesn’t await my confirmation of his orders before sauntering out of my office and heading down the hall.

I follow him after the minute it takes to prepare myself to see Adrian Turner for the first time since he dropped me off at my house a week ago.

“Ah, there he is. Let’s get to it, shall we?” David nods in my direction, but my eyes immediately fall on Adrian, whose face gives nothing away other than business.

Business it is, then. For the whole meeting we discuss how well our public handling of the blackmail has gone. The legal team breathes a collective sigh of relief at the news that The Hope Foundation still wishes to continue with collaboration. They’re truly the only organization worth collaborating with, and it would have been a mess if they’d backed out. At the end of the meeting, everyone leaves in a flash, except Adrian, who takes his time gathering his papers.

The room feels a lot more crowded than it did minutes ago. I clear my throat, and he raises an eyebrow in my direction before his eyes follow.

“I trust you’ll be here on Friday to oversee the collaboration contract?” This is what I open with—what other option is there?

A smug smile changes his face. “Of course.”

“Listen, Turner,”
here we g
o
,
“thank you for driving November back to Barnstable…” I throw my sweaty palms into my pockets, disbelieving I’m even having this conversation.

“No worries, Cavanaugh. Glad I could help her.” He inflects a little more on “her” than I care for, and I feel jealousy reach for her box of matches.
             

“All right then, see you Friday, I guess.” I turn for the door before his voice stops me.

“Bo.”

I turn on my heels to see him standing with fire in his eyes, but the rest of his face is calm.

“Leave her alone.”

Without a verbal response I shake my head, huff through my nostrils, and return to my office.

Like hell I will.

Ember

It turns out I only needed one night to scream and throw things. Two days later I’m heading to work, mentally preparing for the trip to Concord at the end of the week, when my phone rings. I don’t make a habit of talking while driving, but a quick glance at the Caller ID tells me I don’t know the number, so I absentmindedly answer.  I never know where my parents might be, after all.

“Hello?”

After a second of silence, I have to repeat myself.

“Hello?” I try again.

“November.”

Bo. Shit.

I never learned his number because he put it in my phone to begin with. My face flushes as my heart stumbles over itself. Thankfully, I’m pulling into the parking lot at work.

“November?” I haven’t heard his voice since kicking him out of Adrian’s hotel room. In a flash, I feel everything I’ve been pushing down for the last week.

“Bo...hi.”

“Thanks for answering.” The hope in his voice mainlines to my gut and sends a lump to my throat.

I realize I don’t know if I would have answered had I known. “I didn’t know it was you.”
             

“Oh.”

“So, what’s up?”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to talk to you...before Friday.”

Shit.

“I thought you weren’t going to the meeting on Friday.” If I keep my words to business, maybe I won’t burst into tears as I walk into the office.

“Avoiding you won’t help DROP, or us.”

Us? Seriously?

Monica’s talking to our receptionist as I walk in. She stops mid-word when she sees the look on my face.

“There isn’t an ‘us’, Bo.” With that, Monica follows me to my office.

“Ember, please, I need to talk to you.” He takes a deep breath.

“Well, since you’ll be there Friday, I guess I’ll see you Friday.” Behind me, Monica clicks her tongue and gasps.

I don’t hear anything for a few seconds. I’m growing impatient with the pace and content of this conversation.

“Hello?”

“OK. See you Friday,” he concedes easily, perhaps not wanting to push his luck.

“Bye.”

Before I can even turn around, Monica starts in. “What. In. The. Hell?”

I arch a pissed-off eyebrow. “Bo says we should talk before the meeting on Friday.”

“Ha! You’ve ignored his calls for days, he finally gets you on the phone some-damn-how, and he says you need to talk? If he wanted to talk so bad, he should have driven his ass down here after you.” She crosses her arms in front of her as if something I’ve said offends her.

“Monica, h
e clearly respects me enough to
not
drive down here. Lord, can you imagine the shit-show he would have caused if he’d shown up at my place when Adrian was there?” I run both hands frantically through my hair in an effort to calm the inner storm.

“Respect or not, looks like you’re band-aiding it now.”

“What?”

“Ripping off the awkward conversati
on band-aid. We’re working with
his
organization, Ember. It’s not like he can hide in his dark castle forever. And, frankly, neither can you. If you’re grown up enough to work together, then you’re grown up enough to have a proper break-up and boundaries conversation. We’ll leave early on Friday.”

“Gee, Mom,
thank
s
.
”

“I’m serious. No use pretending he never existed.”

Shut up
.
“Yeah. Band-aid. All right, get the hell out of here so I can get some work done.”

She leaves, and I briefly consider throwing something. Instead, I call Adrian. His absence over the last few days makes me miss him. Not just his
company and his kind words, but
hi
m
.
Adrian Turner has a presence; a presence that heats you from the inside out, a presence that was once all mine. While I’m still sore in all the right places from my heartbreak, I’m human enough to acknowledge the steam coming from Adrian’s gaze when we’re in a room together.