Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (34 page)

He turned to smile at me. “By now, I should know better than to let them outvote my wiser self, but so they did, and so here we are.”

“And where we are is in a relationship, right? And people in a relationship support each other –at least it’s supposed to work that way, although I’ve sure as hell been burned on that one before. Anyway, that makes your problems my problems, right? Therefore, your panic attack problem is now my problem too, so tell me about it.”

“I know nothing about relationships, Ashley – in fact, I find them utterly confusing and quite frightening.”

“Earth to Devon, everybody finds relationships confusing and scary – now, tell me about our panic attacks, okay?”

“Lovely Ashley, can you at least understand that I want you to see me as someone worthy of you, and therefore a far grander creature than I am? Can you see that I am terrified of displaying any weakness or flaw to you, terrified that you will desert me once you realize what a fraud I am?”

“Panic attacks aren’t weakness.”

“They certainly feel like weakness to me.”

“Devon, do you remember all those months of ‘special project’ meetings that led up to what happened this morning? Do you remember how on edge and trembling with nerves you were for those meetings, how I had to anchor you by keeping right at your side and holding your hand?”

“God, yes. I felt like such a useless –”

“Shush up, your girlfriend’s talking here – relationship rule number one, never interrupt your hot love monkey when she’s babbling on about your relationship, okay?”

Damn, there was that heart melting smile again. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate when he smiled at me like that? “Understood, wise Ashley. Proceed.”

“Anyway, those meetings were private, with only your own people around you, so you could afford to be all jittery – but this morning? This morning was the real thing, with the real enemy right in front of you and everything on the line – and you know what?”

“I know I felt truly dreadful.”

“I know you that this morning when it counted, you were a rock. You were the steel at the heart of the universe, your control was perfect, you owned the room, you looked and acted like every penny of your umpteen bazillion dollars – Uncle Sheridan and I knew what was going on underneath, but all the bad guys saw in you was a humongous boot heel coming down to stomp them flat. That was not weakness, Devon, not one bit of it – that was as much strength concentrated in one person as I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“And a few hours ago, when I barely recognized you?” His smile turned faint and wistful as he stared down at the floor.

“A few hours ago, when the threat was long past and the victory most firmly won, that wiser self of yours decided it was safe to let all your other selves indulge in a freak-out, and so the hell what? That was strength too, knowing when to let go.”

I paused to pull my thoughts together, while I glanced around the darkened theater. The screen had gone dim, the vintage popcorn machine supplying the bags of white-cheddary goodness stood in the shadows by one end of the couch, a full service Depression-era soda fountain loomed in the darkness at the other end, and I somehow felt the weight of all those rows of seats rising behind us.

It was quiet, too, without that swirling, creepy soundtrack echoing from the hidden speakers …

“Ashley, your father abandoned you when you were five years old, correct?”

Oh hell, not this, not now.

“I told you that in your office, the day we first met – so what does that have to do with your panic attacks?”

“He played the part of a father for as long as it amused him, and then he deserted you and your lovely and brave mother, never to be seen again – was that the way of it?”

I felt the tears starting, forced them back, forced myself to stay on point. “Yes, it was just like that – I woke up the morning after my fifth birthday, I wandered into the kitchen looking for breakfast, and I found Mom sitting at the table crying her eyes out. I didn’t know what was going on, so I climbed into her lap and started crying too. She hugged me to her so hard I could barely breathe, and then she started talking. I was too young to understand much of it, I just got the fact that Daddy was gone and he wasn’t coming back.”

“And you never saw him again?”

“Not a visit, not a phone call, not so much as a lousy card now and then – he just vanished off the face of the earth without a shred of an explanation.”

I sniffled, fought hard to keep the sniffles from developing into full-blown crying, and plowed onward. “I found out the explanation when I was a little older – surprise, surprise, it turned out he’d been a tomcatting bastard for years before he met Mom, and when he got bored with settling down, he left us and went right back to fucking his way through life, just as if nothing had happened, as if we’d never existed …”

Tears poured down my face and Devon pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around me, holding me, keeping me safe. I cried against his chest, hiccuping and sobbing, as he held me ever tighter, shutting out the world where fathers treated daughters like litter, like things to be tossed aside when they became tiresome and inconvenient.

After a few minutes that felt like a few years, my crying jag subsided into sniffles, nose-wiping, and general embarrassment.

Way to look like a big whiny idiot, Ashley.

Devon didn’t mind, though. He loosened his hold on me long enough to run his hands up and down my back while he murmured into my hair, and then he pulled me in once more. He tucked my face into the hollow of his shoulder, he rested his chin on top of my head, he held me safe within the circle of his arms, and he waited with the patience of a statue.

Pull yourself together, kid. You’re supposed to be fixing him, remember?

I sniffled and coughed, and pasted a couple of thoughts together. “I did see his lawyers once – or maybe they were his family’s stable of lawyers, I don’t know. I was, um, about eight years old, maybe?”

“What a cowardly troll, to send lawyers to speak in his place.”

“I remember there were four of them, sitting across a polished oak conference table from us, shuffling papers and glaring at Mom – and when she explained that she didn’t want Dad’s money, she just wanted him to see me once in a while, or even just acknowledge that he had a daughter … I’ll never forget it, they all just turned and stared at me through their wire-rimmed glasses, stared at me as if I were a bug, or a piece of shit they just stepped in with their perfect shoes …”

No, you will NOT start crying again.

“He threw away twin treasures when he left you and your mother, my Ashley.”

“Threw us away, never looked back, never paid a dime of support – his only contribution was to let us keep living in that shoebox of a house, and he and those vulture lawyers thought he was such a generous prince of a guy for doing even that much.”

“He didn’t at least give her the title to the house?”

“Oh, hell no – the lawyers insisted on the deed staying in his name, as if that crappy little place was some precious family heirloom that couldn’t possibly be turned over to peasants like us. Not to mention that since he retained ownership, he could kick us out any time he felt like it, and those lawyers made certain Mom was well aware of that possibility.”

“How on earth could any court let such a situation stand?”

“By listening to whoever spent the most on lawyers, and that was Dad – Mom didn’t have a dime to spare for legal representation, so she got just exactly squat out of him. Sucks to be poor, huh?”

I should have felt weird saying that to one of the richest men in the world, but I didn’t. I could say anything to Devon, somehow, no matter how weird or self-pitying or bitchy it was.

Devon understood.

“Ashley, may I say something to you?”

I rubbed my nose and sniffled. “Sure, go for it. After all, if you don’t chime in and say something now, I’ll start in on how pretty much every guy I’ve ever been with has dumped me too – usually when they got tired of the novelty of boning a fat girl – and then I’ll get into babbling about the starring role of comfort food in my life, and we’ll both end up weeping tears of boredom.” 

I burrowed deeper into the comfort of his arms. “Man, I meant to be drawing you out on what the deal is with these panic attacks, and I end up just whining about the ancient history of my own problems; honestly, big guy, what the hell’s wrong with you, that you’ve saddled yourself with such a weird, needy girlfriend?”

Devon chuckled. “I have saddled myself with a woman who is bold, beautiful, and the owner of a wicked sense of humor – and against all odds, she seems to be quite fond of me, a miracle for which I am endlessly thankful.

“As for what I was about to say … Ashley, after your father left, you and your mother supported each other against the whims of the world, and you grew up strong and brave in her keeping. Other men have come into your life and mistreated you, but you have kept your strength, your humor, and your ability to love – you survived all your father did to you and all that life did to you, and you became the strong and lovely woman I know today.”

I laughed a little, somehow, and hugged him even tighter – if I hugged the guy any harder, I’d be behind him. “This Ashley you’re talking about sounds like one badass bitch; are you sure that’s me, really?”

“I am sure beyond all doubt that my Ashley is as badass as they come.” He held me in silence for another endless minute; when he spoke again, his voice was crisp and decisive.

“Ashley, you wish to know when and how my panic attacks began, correct?”

“I need to know that, Devon. I know it’s not easy for you to talk about, but –”

“You have done so much for me, both tonight and in all the time that I have known you, sweet Ashley, so I promise I will do you one better than telling you when my panic attacks began – I will tell you when everything began.”

He clamped his arms around me, and this time I knew it was for his comfort, not mine.

“Ashley, in the truest sense, your life began when your father left you.”

He paused, pulled in a deep breath, and whispered into my ear.

“Mine ended when my father came back.”

23. Mama

Devon took me to an eighth-floor balcony to tell me about the day Kevin Killane crashed into his life, since we both needed some air – me in particular, once I glanced over Devon’s shoulder to see that the theater seats behind us were occupied by mannequins.

Take my word for it, there is something major-league creepy about making a weepy confession to your boyfriend, only to look up and see row upon row of pale plaster mannequins dressed in high-style twenties fashion sitting behind you in the darkness, their blank faces glowing in the light from the movie screen – mannequins who are also somehow staring at you, despite the fact that they don’t have eyes.

“Devon, if you feel the need for an audience to watch movies with you, you do know that most guys would invite friends over to fill the seats, right? Not fake plaster people, although I will admit these ones are snappy dressers?”

“I believe most of them are constructed from polystyrene, actually, although some of the classic collector’s models are –”

“People collect mannequins?”

“People collect everything, Ashley, including fake people”

I somehow knew he’d start going on about all the warped stuff he collected if I let him – anything to delay the uncomfortable topic of whatever the hell his dead and unmourned dad had done to blow up his life – so I suggested we move to a new venue.

I had my doubts when Devon assured me that we’d enjoy a marvelous view of the mansion’s gardens, greenhouse, and duck pond from a balcony on the eighth floor. The cold day had turned into a freezing night, and balcony-sitting sounded like an adventure in frostbite – but I guess I should have known that his balcony would be glassed in, heated, and decked out with a selection of antique 18
^th
century furniture.

As we nestled together into the plush cushions of a silk-upholstered couch for two, Devon summoned Mrs. Hadfield. She showed up a few minutes later with grilled mayo-free BLT sandwiches topped with peanut butter and banana slices, glasses of orange juice and ice water, a plate of oatmeal-walnut cookies, and strict instructions for me to not let the boss sit up talking all night – after all, he needed his sleep, he never thought of himself, and he also ought to hire more evening staff, because humoring his taste for disgusting sandwiches at this ungodly hour was not part of her damn job.

Take it from me, if Mrs. Hadfield became the housekeeper for Valhalla, she’d have all those fierce Viking warriors and Norse gods toeing the line and scared as hell of her in nothing flat.

Our food covered most of the small glass-and-bronze table that stood in front of the couch, and Mrs. H’s grilled concoctions were as tasty as off-the-wall sandwiches could manage to be – not my favorite munchies, but hey, any sandwich in a storm.

The view of the greenhouse and gardens was magnificent, as advertised, with the security spotlights keeping the night at bay. As for the unoccupied duck pond, Devon explained that the ducks spent the fall and winter months living in a heated artificial pond in the greenhouse; his regretful tone indicated that he felt this was no more than the most basic sort of Spartan winter housing that a respectable duck could be asked to tolerate.