WORTHY, Part 3 (The Worthy Series) (12 page)

“I’m not sure,” I said. “You’re my only experience with Indian food. Anything that’s even remotely like the bunny chow would be good. I trust you.”

I should’ve heeded Milo all through this ordeal. He had been right all along — a CEO shouldn’t be as involved as I’d been during the investigation. I’d become entrenched, and now that we were done, I couldn’t get out of the mindset of trying to find the linchpin in everything. Maybe, if I hadn’t been so gung ho about the case, it would’ve petered out, and I wouldn’t have been feeling the way I did now.

“I’ll order you the chicken tikka masala,” Milo said, nodding to himself. “It’s a good beginner’s dish for Indian food. The sauce is creamy and the chicken is tender, and we can get it as spicy as you like.”

“All right.” I took a long drink of the champagne, more to dull my senses than to celebrate anything. I wished the bubbles that tickled my palate were vodka instead so I could get drunker quicker.

“Let’s make a toast,” Milo proposed, topping off my glass as soon as I set it back down on the table.

“If we must,” I murmured, but the lawyer didn’t hear me over the chatter of other patrons around us.

“To never losing sight of what’s important to us,” he said. “You’ve taught me a lot about dedication and perseverance, April. I have to admit that in the beginning, I had my doubts about the Wharton Group investigation. But seeing you, how you just kept driving forward, kept pushing everyone around you to keep going, was an inspiration. I hope that I can attack every project after this with the same gusto. Working for you, I know that I will. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I mumbled, clinking glasses with him and downing nearly all of the champagne in my flute in one long draught.

“I like your style,” the lawyer said, grinning. “We should definitely celebrate tonight. We deserve it — especially you.”

Milo didn’t want to know what I thought I truly deserved, but I tried to play along with him. Maybe if I could ignore my feelings for long enough, I could start to believe that I’d done a good thing. Jonathan had been the one to commit the crime, after all. It had just been my dogged pursuit, my vendetta that had finally revealed it. I hadn’t forced him to do wrong, but I had done wrong in the process of the investigation.

Would I ever be able to think that I’d done any bit of good with this? I doubted it.

Our food arrived, and I dipped a torn piece of naan into the fragrant red sauce coating chunks of chicken in my bowl.

“Let me know what you think,” Milo said, watching me lift the tidbit to my mouth.

He definitely didn’t want to know what I was thinking, that I’d made a huge mistake, that I wanted to go to Jonathan and reveal everything and beg his forgiveness. I didn’t even want to be thinking that, so I shoved the morsel into my mouth and focused on tasting and chewing.

The sauce was rich and very spicy. There was a strong tomato base that was offset by a delicious creaminess and a bounty of flavors I couldn’t identify, let alone describe. It was delicious, and I didn’t deserve it.

“Your face is telling me everything I need to know about how you feel about chicken tikka masala,” Milo said, smiling as he dove into a bowl of his own. “I can’t wait to see your expression every time I introduce you to a new dish from this place.”

It had been months since we’d first eaten at Ganesh. Did Milo see us still together months down the road? It seemed like he was in it for the long haul, and something about that turned my stomach. He’d seen the truth. He’d seen me for what I was, but he still gave me another chance. Of course, I’d convinced him to, terrified at the prospect of being alone. I just couldn’t go it alone anymore, and that made me feel even worse about everything. I had to keep dragging people down to join me in my misery. Poor Milo. He should flee while he still stood a chance.

The chicken part of the dish was every bit as tender as Milo had promised, softened by slow cooking and the infusion of the same spices that pleased my tongue. Without warning, I remembered kissing Milo outside of my loft that first night, tasting the curry that still lingered in his mouth after our dinner. Things had been so different then. I hadn’t understood what this undertaking would cost, what it would do to me. I hadn’t cared about anything except my own happiness, even if I knew I could never be happy again.

Milo was nothing more than a distraction from all of my tragedy. I supposed I’d known it all along. I didn’t have any right to be with him. I was poison, and somebody should tell him.

Only every time I tried to start, I just shoved another bite of chicken tikka masala in my mouth. Who cared if it was like throwing pebbles down a deep well? It gave me the smallest amount of comfort each time I tasted that sauce.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat so well,” Milo said as he polished off the last of his serving. I was more than halfway done with mine.

“It’s delicious,” I said. That was the truth, but the greater truth was that each bite kept me from ruining Milo’s life, from telling him that he was nothing to me, that I’d only used him achieve the terrible victory of bringing down Wharton Group through my husband.

“Would you like me to order dessert?” he asked. “Another bottle of champagne? Nothing is too much for a day this special. We should really pull out all of the stops.”

“You know what kind of dessert I like best,” I said, not believing the words even as they tumbled out of my mouth. What was I doing? Did I really have to add insult to injury in this horrible situation? I’d already admitted to myself that I didn’t have any sort of genuine feelings for Milo. Did I really have to go down this road?

Milo covered my hand with his, his cinnamon skin even more cloying in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

“Only if you eat all of your dinner,” he teased, his green eyes shining. “That’s the way to get your dessert.” I wished I could’ve appreciated them more. I wished I could’ve seen the person behind those eyes, not a tool to exact my revenge.

“You’d better finish it up,” I said. “I don’t think I can stuff another bite in me.”

“Chicken tikka masala is even better the next day,” he said. “Not like bunny chow. We’ll box it so you can have another little taste of India tomorrow.”

We left, and as I stood up, I realized the champagne had gone right to my head. When was the last time I’d eaten? I’d been working so hard, reading so many pages of documents I barely understood, that I hadn’t been taking care of myself.

“Steady, there,” Milo said as I stumbled a little on a broken bit of pavement. He took my arm, and I hated the comfort that touch imparted. I didn’t deserve a lick of it. “Lots of architectural faux pas between Ganesh and the parking lot.”

The ride from the restaurant to my loft was too short. I tried in every way I could to broach the subject of maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for Milo to come over to my place, to celebrate what he thought was our victory the way he thought I’d want to. But everything seemed way too hurtful. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt this wonderful man, even though I already had, even if I’d been doing so one way or another from the start of our relationship.

This was just the latest betrayal in a long string of them. I should’ve let Milo walk out of my office and life forever when he’d tried to before. It would’ve hurt, but it would’ve been better to get it over with then without this added complication, this little number we were rocketing toward.

“Cocktail?” Milo offered as soon as I unlocked the door to the loft.

“Always,” I said, “but I’ll fix them.”

Milo’s cocktails for me always tasted weak. I liked to be able to identify the exact flavor and tone of the poison as I poured it down its throat, not the sweetness that disguised it.

“Not too strong for me, please,” he said.

I stared at the art we’d bought together that was hanging on my wall. Somehow, it made the loft seem even emptier even as it tried its hardest to brighten the place up. I’d purchased the modern drabbling on canvas with the same hope as I’d had at the beginning of my little endeavor, and now it didn’t seem right that it was hanging on my wall. I’d wanted to fill these walls with art — or Milo had, maybe — but there was no number of paintings that could hide the emptiness inside of me.

“You took the file from the office?” Milo asked, hefting my purse and looking at me with an inquisitive expression. “Do you think that’s safe?”

“No one knows I have it except you,” I said, giving Milo his drink and wishing he wouldn’t touch my purse. “I just wanted to go over a few more things before we pull the trigger. Make sure all our ducks are in a row.”

“Believe me, all our ducks are definitely in a row on this one,” he said, then pouted a little bit. “I still wish we would’ve gone public with it today. The news networks would’ve thanked us for it. There was absolutely nothing else going on in the world. It would’ve been epic.”

“I still think it’ll be pretty big news whenever we release it,” I said, gulping at my cocktail that was more vodka than mixer. “I just want to go over it again, make sure that we haven’t missed anything.”

“You’re the boss,” Milo said, apparently caving in to the fact that I couldn’t be argued with about the Wharton Group investigation. No one had ever swayed me one way or another on it.

“Anyways, I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” I said, hoping he’d just put the purse down and walk away from it. The file it contained was dangerous. I was half a mind to shred it, while the other part wanted me to lock it away in a security box somewhere or something.

I realized that, with both of my inclinations, the file would never see the light of day. Would that be the best thing out of all of this? Would that solve all of my problems — to squash this and just let Jonathan wonder for the rest of his life if it was ever going to be released or acted upon? That almost seemed like a fate worse than going public with the information.

“I would’ve thought that this file would be the only thing you wanted to talk about,” Milo said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “In fact, I thought I’d have to do something pretty extreme to get you to shut up about it.”

He set my purse back down on the couch, and my chest loosened a little bit. There. That was better.

“I think you’d better show me just what you thought you were capable of doing to silence me,” I said, suddenly eager for the distraction. Anything to stop thinking about that stupid file, the stupid investigation, and stupid Jonathan. Anything.

Milo grinned as he set his half empty glass on a side table, and I mentally shook my head and clucked. That was alcohol wasted. The man always seemed to forget about his drink the moment it was out of his hand. I knew where mine was at all times — usually because I was clutching it.

He kissed me softly, then more demandingly, probing my tongue with his. Just like the first time, I could taste the remains of our dinner on his tongue, but it turned my stomach this time rather than arouse me. It was too creamy, too rich, too much. I almost gagged but kept it to a shudder instead.

When our lips parted, I chased the kiss with another gulp of liquor.

“Is something wrong?” Milo asked, peering at me.

“Not at all,” I said. “Let’s take this celebration to the bedroom.”

A quick trip up the stairs and we were on my bed, pawing at each other and trying to unbutton buttons, unzip zippers, and unbuckle buckles. I was still trying to get that taste out of my mouth, trying to avoid lingering kisses, trying to pretend that everything was all right, that I was somehow at peace with the direction my life had swerved toward.

I would never be happy again. That was all right. I really didn’t deserve my happiness. I’d lost that when Jonathan had doubted me, when he’d chosen to believe Brock, to believe I was capable of betraying the man I loved.

Jonathan had been right all along. I was very capable of betraying the man I loved. I was doing it now, naked, pressed up against Milo in my bed.

“Stop thinking,” Milo breathed. “Just feel.”

If only I could. If only I could. I tried to focus on his hands on me, but they didn’t have that same magic as before. Each time he passed over my breasts, rubbing the palms of his hands over my hardened nipples, my body still shivered in response, but I couldn’t turn my mind from my despair. I was just going through the movements, and it wasn’t fair to either of us.

“Let me make you feel good,” he said, his mouth on my breast, his kisses trailing lower and lower until he was kissing the lips between my legs, suckling on the tender skin down below. I arched my back each time he lapped at my pussy, each time that tongue delved into my entrance, and all I could think about was the first time that my husband had shared this experience with me.

Why couldn’t I just forget as easily as Jonathan had forgotten the whole first part of his life? Why couldn’t I just as easily forget him, forget all the pain I’d experienced because of him? Forget everything?

Right now, I wanted nothing more than to wake up and not know who the fuck I was. Jonathan never realized how good he had it when he had a blank slate and the ability to rebuild himself as anything he wanted to be. I would kill for that kind of chance.

“Is it not good?” Milo asked, looking up at me from between my legs.

“What?” I realized that I hadn’t been arching or even moving at all. Mired in my own thoughts and regrets, I doubted that I’d even been making a sound.