Even now, he drew the authority of the room without having to speak or even move. His eyes were stony, his jaw set in a determined line. Something in the way he sat in that chair, as if it were his throne and he were king of us all.
That he could even come close to dominating a room with my mother was a feat of its own. And the fact that he hadn’t said a single word was a testament to that authority.
My mother, however, had barely stopped talking. My guess was that she felt that shift toward him and was grappling to get it back on her.
“I think we can all agree that this lawsuit is frivolous and unconscionable, Mrs. Bower,” the Bennet lawyer said. “You took advantage of Rosemary Bennet when Longbourne was in disrepair with a deal that you knew would sink them. In exchange for Bower’s monthly wholesale flower purchase, you snuck in a clause that bound them to a noncompete no judge will back up. A noncompete, which is only binding on the loosest of terms. Are you saying you’re going to put your money and weight behind something so trivial?”
“I’m saying that nothing has changed,” she said before her lawyer could, her back straight and nose in the air. “You called this meeting, but if you really believed you could convince me to change my mind, you’ve wasted your time. Longbourne is under contract with me. You breached that contract and thus damaged my business.”
“Longbourne is not a threat to you, and it hasn’t been in a decade.” Marcus’s voice was calm, controlled, commanding. “This lawsuit will do nothing but cost you money.”
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “It will do a great deal more than that.”
“Is that a threat?” Marcus asked, and his tone sent a chill down my spine.
But she smiled that smile reserved for the cameras or the cover of her magazine. “You Bennets have always had a flair for the dramatic.”
Something in him tightened. “You’re suing us for a pittance in the hopes that it’ll sink us. I wouldn’t say we’re the ones being dramatic.” His gaze slid from my mother to her lawyer.
To the dismay of her lawyer, Mother answered again, “Longbourne was promised five thousand dollars per month in exchange for flowers from your greenhouse. But you were not to compete with Bower. Your little flower shop grossed two hundred thousand in one quarter, which is expressly forbidden by the contract your mother signed. You’ve kept your business running illegally—”
“Not illegally,” I said over her, “because this contract is unethical—”
“And so you will pay me the overage or the agreed upon two million dollars for breaking the contract ahead of schedule. We are prepared to take this all the way to the end, Mr. Bennet. So think long and hard about what you’re willing to sacrifice for your honor.”
“I’ll do that,” he said flatly as he stood, prompting us all to stand.
Fruitlessly, I willed him to look at me. To make some kind of contact, anything to give me a glimpse into his thoughts. But there was a blank space where I should have been.
No one moved to shake hands. Mother stood straight and proud, a cruel smile on her lips as she watched them leave.
It wasn’t until the door closed that Mother and her lawyer sat. I, however, stood numbly at their side, caught in indecision. Because my only chance to talk to him slipped away with every second.
“Well, that went well,” Mother said cheerily before she and her lawyer launched into their strategy to take down the Bennets.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, adrenaline zipping through me, the decision made.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked, her cheer instantly gone.
“To the restroom,” I lied. “To … clean myself up a little.”
“Too late for that, dear,” she said with snide superiority. But she turned to the lawyer again, dismissing me.
My heart climbed up my esophagus and into my throat as I hurried around the table.
I didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what I’d say as I rushed through the bullpen of cubicles. The open space afforded me a view all the way to the front desk, but I didn’t see him. Panic overwhelmed me. I had to catch him. He would never text me—of that, I was certain. I wouldn’t see him again until we had another meeting. This was it, and I couldn’t seem to stomach letting him go.
I hurried toward the elevator without a thought, wondering over the likelihood of finding him. And I was too consumed by my thoughts to see the large, long hand reach out from a conference room and grab me by the arm.
He pulled me into the darkness and closed the door behind us. If I hadn’t known it was Marcus the second he touched me, I’d have picked it up when met with the scent of him—clean soap, a hint of spice, the smell of rain. For a string of heartbeats, we stood there in the dark, his hands still on my arms and mine resting on his chest without knowing how they’d gotten there.
“Did you know?” he finally said, his voice both tight with suspicion and tinged with hope.
“I didn’t. I had no idea. Please, believe me.”
A quiet sigh and a softening of his grip. “I do. I don’t know why, but I do.”
Neither of us knew what to say. Or maybe we did but didn’t want to.
“What are we going to do?” I breathed into the blackness, knowing when I spoke how he’d answer.
“The only thing we can. We say goodbye.”
Emotion seized me at the truth of it, squeezing my heart out of my throat and into my stomach. “Of course,” I said. “It would never work, would it?”
The stroke of his thumb on my arm had me wishing with a deep desperation that I could see his face. “I can’t see how.”
It was unbearable, being so close to him, my senses on fire as I mourned what would never be. I grieved the impossible future of his company, of his kiss.
The thought struck me, the proximity to him conjuring flashes of imaginings. I wished I’d kissed him before we’d known. I wished we’d had just a moment, just one moment together.
It was then that I realized I still could. Because this moment wasn’t over yet.
I drew an unsteady breath. “If that’s all it is to be, can I ask something of you?”
A pause before he answered, “Tell me what I can do.”
“Kiss me,” I said with a terrifying bravery.
His hands found my jaw, my cheeks, framed my face, the shape fitting in his palms as if one were cut from the other. But he didn’t come closer.
“Please,” I whispered. “If this is all I can ever have, please leave me with this.”
I could feel the longing in his fingertips, riding his breath, in the warmth of his body against mine. But as the seconds ticked past without an answer, dejection took the place of my hope.
It was his nose that first reached me, that strong and straight nose brushing the bridge of mine, first one side, then the other. My tingling lips felt his breath, felt the space he occupied without touching as anticipation locked my lungs, fisted my hands around his lapels.
One moment of indecision or persuasion or both.
And then he gave up the fight.
A soft brush of his lips against mine, a drag of connection as if he were charting the topography of my mouth for posterity. And when he was satisfied, those lips captured mine and held them captive.