She reached for the doorknob, knowing she needed to make her escape. Emotions were coming too fast to handle; those emotions were trying to surface. “Do you have any idea what I do for a living, Lucas?”
He shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.
“That’s what I thought. You weren’t in touch with what I was doing.” She sighed again, her words empty of criticism, full of resignation.
“Aside from everything else that happened between us, Lucas, I didn’t tell you I was pregnant because I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have listened to me. Listening to me simply was not on your agenda then. Maybe I could have forced you to listen, but…how? I never figured out a way. Anyway,” she said, seeking a positive note, “I appreciate that you listened today. This was important, too.”
Opening the door, Rachel was nearly flattened by the huffing figure of her father-in-law as he stormed into Lucas’s office. “Damn you, Rachel! What the hell do you think you’re doing here?! You left my boy—you’re out of his life! There’s nothing for you here!”
Rachel couldn’t help it. She stared at this vile individual, this repulsive creature—this man who had been instrumental in causing her so much grief, his features distorted by hatred—and by something else she didn’t want to contemplate but which she recognized anyway. She owed this man nothing. She thought of being polite, then dismissed the idea. In spite of herself, Rachel burst out laughing.
“Oh, Arnold,” she said, shaking her head, “you haven’t changed a bit! And you know what, Arnold? I’m not happy to see you, either. But I’m not the least bit interested in anything you have to say, so—save it.”
“Dad,” Lucas cajoled in hushed tones, “don’t speak to Rachel that way. You’re in the corridor, for God’s sake. Everyone’s listening.” He was embarrassed, for all three of them.
“Oh, Lucas,” Rachel cut in, tsk-tsking at his foolishness. “Give it up, will you? Your father has always spoken to me like that, sometimes even worse. Everyone has always listened. Except for you.” She sobered suddenly. “Somehow you never noticed.”
She looked again at Arnold Neuman, then back at his son. Her husband. The father of her child. “This is your father, Lucas. This is what he is.”
With that, she turned on the high heel of her black pump and headed toward the elevator. She stepped inside and the doors closed promptly. Not quickly enough, however, to drown out her father-in-law’s parting words: “Yes, get out of here! And don’t come back! We don’t need your kind in here!”
Rachel leaned back against the cool stainless steel wall of the elevator. Only then did she notice she was trembling.
Lucas grabbed his father’s arm, propelling him inside his office, out of the corridor and away from prying eyes. And ears.
“Are you out of your mind, Dad?” He glared into his father’s flushed face, noticing how flat his black eyes looked. “How could you talk to Rachel, or anyone else for that matter, in front of the entire staff that way? This is a place of business, isn’t it?”
His father chuckled smugly, slapping Lucas on the shoulder in good-ol’-boy camaraderie. “Oh, don’t work yourself into a lather, boy. There’s no reason for you to defend Rachel, you know. It’s nothing but the truth.” He made to leave the room. “Like she said, it’s nothing I haven’t said to her before.”
With that, Arnold Neuman left Lucas’s office.
No, she doesn’t belong here, Lucas acknowledged silently. But not the way you mean it, Dad.
Lucas didn’t quite know what he meant by that thought.
There it was again. Lucas couldn’t draw a breath. He wasn’t sure what it was, but knew he had first felt it when he’d seen Rachel’s name on his appointment calendar. He’d felt it when she’d walked into his office. And he’d certainly felt it when she announced that they had a daughter.
He walked over to his desk, grabbing his lighter and reaching for the cigar he’d discarded earlier. He put it in his mouth, watched as the lighter’s flame flared. Somehow, it just wasn’t what he wanted, even if his gripping ability had returned. He dropped the lighter on his desk and tossed the cigar back into the ashtray.
Instead, he walked over to the window, gazing out at the expanse of Scottsdale that spread before him, eyeing the mountains visible in the distance. He raked his hands through his springy black hair, ultimately linking them on the top of his head. Seeing Rachel again had thrown him, no doubt about it.
“God, she is beautiful.”
There…it was said. The words had not left his head since Rachel had walked into his office. He’d been utterly unprepared for it. Maybe saying the words would chase the thought away.
It didn’t.
She was always beautiful, he thought, but now…
He shook his head and took a deep, ragged breath. He tried to shake off his unsettling thoughts, tried to calm the stirring of his body that seeing her again had caused, was still causing, if he was honest about it. He knew she’d felt it, too.
When he’d touched her, just for that instant, he’d felt a shaft of heat knife through his arm, electrifying something inside him. Utterly brief physical contact had done that. Desire, instantaneous and fierce, had fired through him, body and soul. He’d felt her respond, felt that flash of awareness, he was sure he had, especially when she’d finally looked up at him. Her eyes had hinted at her deeper feelings then, the only moment in their entire meeting when her guard had been down. He was sure of that, too.
Maybe there’s hope, he reasoned, if a little touch like that draws that kind of response.
Damn, where did that thought come from? Hope for what? Seducing her? No, Lucas, don’t go there. Hell, he decided, you’d better find yourself a woman. It’s obviously been too long.
He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, willing his thoughts in a less dangerous direction.
He’d never seen Rachel dressed like that—so professional, he decided. So composed and serene, although she’d always had those qualities. He contemplated her outfit: bright red, a color that suited her. Fitted, not hiding her curves but not emphasizing them, either.
What would her job be? He wondered, startled that he really didn’t know. She’d asked if he knew, but she hadn’t told him.
He shook his head, shoving his fists into the pockets of his custom-tailored pants, rocking back on the heels of his Italian-made shoes.
“At least now I know why she looked tired,” he spoke aloud. “God, she has a right to be.” The words hit him hard.
Guilt gnawed at him. He pushed it away. He didn’t want to think about what Rachel had gone through, facing their daughter’s illness. If he did, he had to justify to himself the fact that she’d been alone—as if he had no role in her unofficially single status. As if he had in no way contributed to her circumstances. That felt like an acknowledgment of responsibility toward someone else, and he didn’t like to think about that. After all, she’d been the one to leave. She’d brought her single status upon herself. As for him, well, his first responsibility was to himself. Wasn’t it? The mantra his parents had always
