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.“I know there’s more between us.”“Like what?” She was so tired.She wanted to go somewhere, curl up alone and try to heal her broken heart.Noticing that one of his dress shirts was on the top of her pile, she lifted it, meaning to put it aside.Instead, bowing her head, she crushed it against her.As protection? As comfort? “Like what, Trent? Name something.Name one thing more.”“Love.”Her gaze jerked up.Had he guessed? Did he know? Did he want her to stay because he felt sorry for her? As obligated now by her feelings as he had been when she was pregnant with his baby? Her fingers tightened on the crisp cotton shirt.“You don’t believe in love.”“What if I told you different?” He made a short, vague gesture.“I’ve seen love around here.Felt it.”So he did know she was in love with him.And he was trying to mirror it back to her.Oh, God, he was good.A good man for taking his responsibilities so seriously.But he’d had other times, more appropriate times, to share his feelings with her, meaning this was just another of his business strategies—tell the opponent exactly what they want to hear.Not that he’d been able to put voice to the words, anyway.“Trent, you don’t look like a man who feels love.You look like a man who sets his mind on something and then sticks to it.But you can let it go now, Trent.You can let me go.”“Rebecca—”“You can’t go through the motions and call it love, Trent.I’m sorry, but you’re too dispassionate a man ever to make me believe it.”And as if to prove her point, without another word her husband walked out of the room and out of the house and out of her life.Without thinking, Trent drove to Crosby Systems and walked past Claudine’s empty desk to retreat to his office.He shut the door behind him and put his mahogany desk between himself and the rest of the world.This was his world, he thought, staring down at the piles of reports and pink slip messages stacked up on the surface.This would always be here to fill his time and give his life meaning.Trent, you don’t look like a man who feels love.You can’t go through the motions and call it love, Trent.I’m sorry, but you’re too dispassionate a man ever to make me believe it.The intercom buzzed.He pressed the answer button.“Yes?”Claudine’s voice lashed him.“What are you doing here?”“I run the place.” He flicked off the button.Another buzz.Angry, like a bee intent on stinging.Latching tight his iron control, he answered again.“Yes?”“What are you doing here today?”What else was there to do? His wife was packing up to leave him, and he’d decided not to stick around and watch.Even if he had told her to stay because he loved her, she wouldn’t have believed him.So what was the point?“What are you doing here today?” Claudine demanded again.“Working, you fishwife,” he told Claudine through the intercom.“Work is what I do.”Since he’d said it, he’d have to follow through with it.He pulled closer to him the nearest file and opened the manila cover.Then slammed it shut.It was a file he’d borrowed from Katie—from Peter, really.His brother-in-law had done exhaustive research on the best strollers, crib mattresses and baby seats.Trent had borrowed it.Now he couldn’t bear having the damn thing in his office.Deciding to have Katie come retrieve it, he buzzed her office.No answer.Fine.He stuffed the plump file at the bottom of the pile on his desk and picked up the next in the stack.But the one on the bottom continued to distract him.A slick magazine article was half sticking out, giving him a glimpse of a stuffed animal.With a curse, he tried his sister’s office again.Again, no answer.He tried her assistant.No answer.He buzzed Claudine.“Where the hell is everybody?” he demanded.Her sigh gusted through the speaker.“Who do you need, boss?”Rebecca.Eisenhower.He needed his life as it had been shaping up to be.He shoved the thoughts from his head.“Where’s my sister?” The file was glowing like uranium.“At home.”“Home? Isn’t she a vice president here? Doesn’t she have something to do that is business-related?”“She’s working from home today, you tyrant.Perhaps you should do the same.”He scowled at the intercom.“You’re fired.Work up the papers.”“Fine, I’ll get right on it next week.Sooner, if you don’t screw your head on straight, Trent.You have another place to be now.Other things to tend to.”“Rebecca wants to be alone.” He couldn’t admit she didn’t want him.Not yet.“She’s upset about the miscarriage.”“Aren’t you?”“Of course.” Yes.But he wasn’t going to think about it.How could another child be lost? No, no, no.His heart was expanding again, crowding out everything in his chest so his breath couldn’t make it to his lungs.Forget about the baby.Forget about everything but work.His gaze caught on that infant paraphernalia file again.He had to get rid of the damned thing.“I have a short errand.You can reach me at Katie’s.”A short drive later, his sister answered her door with words that echoed Claudine’s.“What are you doing here?”He shoved the file folder at her.“I brought you this.” As he turned away, she grabbed his arm.“Not so fast.I want to hear how Rebecca’s doing.How you’re doing.”“You don’t need to worry about me.Rebecca’s leaving.”“What?”What it was, was that he’d been duped again, he decided.Before he’d met Rebecca, he’d been smart.He’d been aware that love was a myth that people like his sister and Peter told themselves to weave something spiritual into their sexual attraction.But then Rebecca had come along.All her softness had rubbed away the hard edges of his cynicism.He’d let himself get vulnerable again—to her, to feeling.It had all gone to hell once he stopped expecting the worst of people, he realized.“Same song, second verse,” he said to his sister.“What?” Then her gaze darted over his shoulder.“We can’t talk about this right at the moment.The police have just arrived.”Trent blinked, then glanced around.“The police?”“My in-laws are inside and some detectives called not long ago, wanting to speak with them.To make a long story short, they’re meeting here.”“I’ll go—”“No!” Katie’s grip on his arm tightened [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]