Outwait Page 7

“So you’re telling me right now that this takeover might not be all that hostile after all?”

  I can picture his shrug, his soft brown eyes, his floppy brown hair as he delivers the news. “I’m telling you we lost more revenue last quarter than we did all of last year. People want a change. Baker’s not thriving like it once was, and this way’s easier. It’s letting your dad go while keeping his pride intact. It’s getting someone new at the helm without an inside job full of backstabbing and hate. We can blame it on King.”

  Tears prickle my eyes. “So my dad’s out either way,” I say flatly.

  “It’s what our biggest stakeholders want.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Let’s talk when you get home.”

  “How long have you known?” I repeat my question, but this time each word is punctuated through gritted teeth.

  “A board member came to me for legal advice. I can’t discuss it, least of all over the phone.”

  “Who?”

  “Sylvie…”

  “Who?” I repeat.

  “Attorney-client privilege.”

  “Bullshit.” My voice is sharp. I almost never cuss in front of William. He doesn’t like it, thinks it’s unladylike or something. “Whoever it is isn’t your client if they were discussing Baker with you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’re using a weak defense.”

  “Attorney-client privilege isn’t a weak defense. It’s not just my duty, it’s also the law.”

  Anger washes over me. “How long has this been going on?”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  William is stubborn, and I know that’s his final word on the subject. There’s no more fighting him.

  “Fine. I have nothing further to discuss tonight, then.”

  “I want to hear about your dinner.”

  “And I want the details about the people who think my father is incompetent in his position. Guess neither of us is getting what we want tonight.” I end the call and toss my phone onto the bar, and then I pick up my glass and chug down the rest of the red liquid in a most unladylike fashion.

  I definitely should’ve gone with Carson for just one more drink.

  My phone lights up on the bar, but I ignore it. It’s William calling me back. We never fight, so this is uncharted territory for us. I’m tired of being agreeable all the time, though. I’m feeling extra irritable tonight, and I’m not sure if it’s the wine, the fact that I haven’t slept in two days, or the conversation I just had with William.

  I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t actually any of those things, though. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the fact that I let Carson walk away when I shouldn’t have.

  *

  You know what’s really stupid? That movie Snakes on a Plane. I’ve never seen it, so maybe it’s not stupid, but I hate flying and I hate snakes. Why would anyone ever put the two together in one movie? It’s like a damn nightmare.

  When the plane touches down safely on the ground in San Diego, I decide not to go to the office straight away. I should. I missed a day of work yesterday, and today’s work has already started as I’ve flown across the country.

  Instead, I drive from the airport to the house I share with William. I know he’s at work, and I’m not ready to face him after our conversation last night—or after the subsequent calls he made that I ignored.

  What he said hasn’t stopped replaying in my mind, and my entire “business” meeting with Carson hasn’t stopped replaying in my mind, either.

  Since it happened last night rather than just a few hours ago, I’d like to say I’ve gained a little perspective on the situation through the distance of time.

  I haven’t, though.

  Typically when things happen that upset the balance of my life, I’m able to look at them with logic. I’m a pragmatic person to a fault, which is why William and I get along so well.

  Well, my pragmatism and the fact that I’m willing to lie down for whatever makes William happy, apparently—something I didn’t even realize until I started butting heads with Carson last night.

  He ignited this fire inside me, and not just a fire to fight for my company—a battle I’ve already lost. He ignited things I didn’t know were dormant, and as I walk through the door into my home, I still can’t stop thinking about him.

  I should see William everywhere I walk in this house. We bought it together last year. We’d been dating for a year when he first brought up the idea of living together. I spent all my time at his place anyway so it made sense for us to live together, but we wanted to start from scratch. We wanted a place that was ours—not his that I moved into, and not mine that he moved into.

  The painting we chose together at an art fair on the street hangs in our entryway. It’s a black and white abstract of some undefined metropolitan area. We both loved it because it could be San Diego, where I grew up, or it could be Seattle, where William originally hails from. It could be any city, really, and it somehow screams heart and soul through its ambiguity. It tied together our individual pasts and paved the way for a future together.

  I look away from it, feeling guilt and shame as I walk down the hallway and into our kitchen. For the first time in the two years since we started dating, I’m questioning whether I want to be tied to him. I’m realizing things about us that have never been called into question, and it’s terrifying.

  I’m a planner, always have been. My future was decided the moment William and I got together. I’d marry him within five years. I’d wear a white dress and we’d get married in the church I attended every Sunday of my childhood. We’d have two kids within our first few years of marriage. They’d go to the same church.

  It’s formulaic, it’s logical, and it’s perfect.

  I never even considered an alternate plan. Why would I ever need to when I was perfectly happy with the roadmap I created?

  What if there’s a detour on that road? Construction I hadn’t expected leading me to a different route?

  What if Carson King takes over Baker Media and becomes my boss?

  Will I take more time with my makeup? Will I dress differently? Will I work harder and seek his approval?

  How much will things change?

  I pull a bottle of water out of our refrigerator as I look around the kitchen. It looks exactly as I left it. Not a single dish is out of place. Not a single cup sits in the sink. William is a neat freak, and if a dish were ever to be left behind rather than making its way directly into the dishwasher after use, it’d be mine without a doubt.

  Call me crazy, but maybe I want to leave a dish in the damn sink once in a while.

  And maybe I want a boyfriend who’s willing to stand with me and stand up for my family rather than spouting off about rumors and siding with people who are against us.

  I feel weird about my dinner with Carson. I feel sick that I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s not just him that’s been on my mind, it’s his words, everything he said—not just his confession to me that he doesn’t want to run King, and not just the part about giving a piece of himself to me, but also the part about waking up from a long sleep, about seeing in color now because of me.

  I think of the black and white painting in the front entryway of the home I share with the man I’m supposed to love.

  Carson has no idea how true those words rang for me, too. Just one dinner with him doused me in color. It brought vibrant hues to a life that had been so black and white, and now that I’m seeing all these different shades, I’m not entirely sure I want the black and white life I’ve become accustomed to.

  Carson isn’t the man that would side with me—in fact, the whole reason I met him in the first place is because he’s siding against me—but I don’t hold it against him, not the way I hold it against William. It seems odd that the exact same offense is acceptable from one person and not from another, but Carson is doing what’s best for his family business. He’s doing what his father asked him to
do. He’s doing what he thinks is right for his thousands of employees.

  William, on the other hand, is backstabbing his supposed future father-in-law. He’s claiming bullshit attorney-client privilege so he doesn’t have to give me the truth.

  For the first time in the two years I’ve been with him, I wonder if I should be with him. I wonder if what he’s doing is enough to validate a breakup.

  I push away those thoughts.

  Never once in our relationship have I ever doubted what we have, and this has to just be because we happened to have a little argument on the same night I had dinner with a very attractive man.

  A very attractive man who, I remind myself, is going to take my father out of his position as president of Baker Media and acquire the company my great-grandfather started nearly a century ago. Baker Media will cease to exist because of him, and I’m powerless to stop it.

  But I’m also powerless to stop my thoughts, and today they’re centered squarely on Mr. Carson King.

  CHAPTER 10

  SYLVIE

  “Hi honey.” William walks over to me and leans down for a kiss, but I ignore him in favor of the paperwork on my desk. He steps back like an injured puppy, but I can’t be bothered with his dramatics.

  I missed a full day of work yesterday plus several hours today, and now I have to play catch-up.

  “Hi,” I mumble, my eyes not moving from the paper in front of me.

  “Can we talk?”

  “We can talk tonight at home. I have work to do.”

  He clears his throat. “Are you angry?”

  I finally set down the paper I’ve been studying. I rub my forehead, and then I look up at him.

  He’s William. He’s solid and true. He’s handsome, and of course I’m attracted to him, but when our eyes meet, there’s no fire. There’s warmth and there’s love, but there’s no passion.

  “I’m about ten miles north of angry.”

  He sighs. He hates metaphors, but I don’t care. He sits in one of the chairs facing my desk. “I apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For how I handled our discussion last night. For not waiting to talk to you in person.”

  “You’re apologizing for the wrong thing.”

  “Then I’m sorry for whatever you’re mad about.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That’s a real sincere apology, thanks.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  Heat prickles behind my eyes, but I refuse to let tears fall right now. “You’re supposed to love me, William. That means unconditional support.”

  “Of course I support you.”

  I shake my head. “No, you don’t. If you did, you’d have stood up for Dad. You’d have talked to me the very second the rumors started. You’d have fought to keep this company where it belongs. Instead, you’re siding with the enemy.”

  “I handled things wrong. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Words aren’t going to fix this.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I think I need some time.”

  “For what?” he asks, his voice cautious.

  “To be away from you.” My words sound harsh as they pass through my lips, but he deserves worse.

  “I’ll give you the afternoon, and we can talk over dinner.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be enough time.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  He must really hate this. The neat freak in him wants every single aspect of his life tied up with a pretty little bow, and I’m throwing things completely off balance.

  He stands, confusion written all over his face, and I feel the tiniest bit of victory that I put that confusion there.

  That victorious feeling leads immediately to guilt and shame again, and then Carson flashes through my thoughts and it all starts over in some vicious cycle I can’t control. For once, I’m not sure I want to control this part of my life.

  I stare at the door after he leaves, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I can’t be positive because the emotions are fresh, but even though I just put a huge wrinkle in my roadmap, I felt like a bit of a weight was lifted when the door closed behind him.

  *

  I manage to completely avoid William at work for the rest of the day, but I’ll have to face him when he gets home. He often gets home after me because he goes to the gym after work every day, and I’ve always sort of liked that quiet time after a long day at the office. We both work more than the standard eight hours a day—I typically put in ten to eleven, and he does the same—but there’s always that little gap of time when I can sit at home by myself and enjoy the peace before I get dinner started, or before I text William with what to pick up on his way home.

  He eyes me apprehensively when he walks in. I’m sitting on the couch, leafing through a catalogue. I haven’t started dinner for him, nor did I send him a text with what to get. I had a salad when I got home and didn’t bother with a meal for him. I’m curious to see what he’s going to do here.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asks.

  “You’re on your own,” I say.

  He sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I avoid pointing out that that was a question, and instead I just nod my head wordlessly.

  “How long are you going to hold this against me?”

  His question is interesting, and it strikes a chord of anger in me. I set the catalogue down on the cushion next to me, and I fold my hands into my lap. I stare down at my hands for a few seconds before I shift my gaze to him.

  “How long am I going to hold what against you?”

  He motions between the two of us. “This thing you’re mad about.”

  “What am I mad about?”

  He shrugs. “Our phone call?”

  “Is that a question? Or do you actually know why I’m upset?”

  “Our phone call. I know you’re mad about the whole attorney-client thing.”

  “William, if that’s why you think I’m mad, you’re straight-up stupid.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I have to be honest with you, Sylvie, now I’m a little mad at you for calling me stupid.”

  “Then be mad.” I knot my fingers more tightly together as if I’m drawing strength from my own grip. “I think it’s complete bullshit that you’re siding with stockholders over my dad.”

  “You know how I feel about that sort of language, and that’s not what this is.”

  “Yes it is.” I unknot my hands. “You said there are rumors, and you withheld that information from me. You said people expressed concerns to you, and you didn’t share those with me. We’re supposed to be a team, William, but you kept information to yourself and didn’t bother to tell me what was going on in my own goddamn company.” By the time I’m done speaking, my hands are clenched tightly at my sides.

  “Sylvie, calm down.”

  I point a shaky finger in his direction. “Don’t you dare tell me how to feel.” My voice is a hiss that’s sort of scary even to my own ears. I like this power.

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You have every right to be angry.”

  “You’re damn right I do. And you know what, William? There are a few things I know that you don’t, too, and it scares me that we can so easily keep secrets from one another.”

  “Then let’s not keep secrets.”

  “That’s really cute coming from you.”

  He looks defeated. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know, William, but I think maybe it would be best for us to take a little break.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I want some time to myself to figure out if I can trust someone who keeps secrets from me.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Then how come I am?”

  He walks toward me and sits beside me then rests
his hand on my knee. I look at it with disdain. “Sylvie, this is us. Let me apologize for the way I handled things and let’s make up.”

  I shake my head. “That would be so nice and neat, wouldn’t it? But no, that’s not how this is going to work.”

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  Carson’s face flashes through my mind for about the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours. Am I looking for an excuse to be mad at William? Am I looking for an out because I feel something for someone I don’t even know? Or has this been a long time coming and I just didn’t see it until he did something that proved to me where his real allegiance lies? “Nothing’s gotten into me. I’m angry, William, and I need some time to either get past that or not.”

  “So you’re saying we could be over?” He’s ever the lawyer, calm and cool under pressure, and a big part of me wants to see him crack. He won’t, though.

  “I’m saying it’s bullshit that people are spreading rumors and hoping for a takeover so they don’t have to deal with my dad.”

  “You know how much I respect your father.”

  “Do I? I thought I did, but I’m pretty sure I don’t really know anything about you.” I stand. “I’m going up to bed. I’ll be sleeping in the guest room.”

  “For how long?”

  I shrug. “Until I’m ready.”

  I leave the room, but before I’m out of earshot, I hear him ask, “Ready for what?”

  If he has to ask, he really is clueless.

  CHAPTER 11

  CARSON

  I roll over and run my hand along the white Egyptian cotton sheets covering my bed. The other side of the bed is cool because it remained empty all night.

  It’s been empty for the past six nights, actually, and before anyone assumes it’s because we’ve done it at the woman’s place, that’s definitely not the case.

  This is the longest damn drought I’ve gone through since I was hit with pneumonia a few years ago.

  My mind has been elsewhere.

  I don’t want to be with a random girl whose name I don’t even know. I don’t want to be with someone I have no connection to, and the fact that I don’t want that is what’s most puzzling to me. That’s what I’ve always wanted—ever since the first time.