Severe depression that makes the person feel like they should kill themselves,” she said.
“Which family member?” he asked, not liking the sound of her secret.
“My mom. She has medicine she can take to control it, but it makes her sort of a vegetable so she hates it. My childhood was a roller-coaster ride and we could never discuss Mom’s periods of blueness. That’s what she called it.”
“What about your dad? Surely, he said something to you,” Conner said.
“Not really. He was at work most of the time and he was the one we’d hide it from. I’m an only child, so it was just my mom and me at home,” Nichole explained. “When I was little my dad traveled a lot for business and that always brought on my mom’s depression.”
Conner remembered the one thing she’d said earlier that he’d let pass. “Did she ever try to kill herself?”
Nichole pursed her lips and turned to look out the window. He could see the reflection of her drawn face in the car window as they passed under the street lights. “Once. My dad had to be called home. I was fourteen. He didn’t travel after that and my Aunt Mable moved in with us to watch her while he was at work.”
“Did that help?”
“Yes. She’s much better now,” Nichole said. “See, it wasn’t so bad. It’s not like she hit me.”
“Well, it’s good that you weren’t physically abused, but you still saw things that no child should. Who found your mom?”
“When she tried to kill herself?” Nichole asked.
Conner nodded. He suspected that she had, but he wanted to hear the story from her lips.
“I did. I … I thought she was sleeping and tried to wake her. When I couldn’t I panicked and called my dad. I told him everything. He took control and called 911. I just sat on the floor next to my mom holding her hand. It was really horrible,” Nichole said.
Conner put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her and then drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, but thanks. Dad and I had a long talk about everything and after that Mom was much better. You know,” she said, turning to look up at him, “it was then I realized if he’d known from the beginning how bad Mom was when he was gone, he would have stopped it sooner. That helped me decide to be a reporter. Maybe I can find out some facts that will spare someone else.”
Conner wondered about that. It had been a reporter who’d uncovered his father’s second family and that had hardly helped him or Jane. The only thing that could help in those situations were adults who behaved like adults. Parents who understood that their first duty was to their child. Something his father hadn’t ever understood.
“I’m glad that you found a career that could help you,” Conner said and he meant it. Though it was the one thing that was keeping her from being his.
The car slowed to a halt in front of a walk-up apartment building.
“We’re here,” she said.
Conner grabbed her wrist before she could open her own door to get out. “I’ve tried to get you out of my mind.”
“Me, too,” she said.
He smiled. “Would you please consider negotiating with me again? I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep or even have a moment’s peace until we get this resolved.”
She nibbled her bottom lip and he leaned in to kiss it.
“Stop chewing your lip to bits. You know you want to figure out something between us.”
“I do. Want to come up and have a drink? We can discuss it in my living room instead of in the backseat of your car,” she said.
“Yes, I would like that,” he said.
Randall got out of the Rolls and opened the back passenger door. Nichole slid out of the car. Conner joined her on the sidewalk, telling Randall he could have the rest of the night off.
“Um … how do you plan on getting home?” she asked.
“A cab.”
Conner followed Nichole up the three flights of inside stairs to her apartment. When she unlocked the door and opened it, she stood there, hesitating for a minute. He knew that once they moved forward into her place, something would change between them.
This would be the first time they’d been somewhere private together. Not his mother’s party or his office or his sister’s apartment, but Nichole’s home. And there was the promise of intimacy in that.
Nichole figured that of all the men she’d invited back to her place, Conner was the most dangerous. He wasn’t one of her just-for-fun guys, that was for sure. She couldn’t even blame that on him. She was the one who wanted something more.
She’d like to say it was because of the chemistry between them, but she knew the mere chemistry was for boy toys. What made her want more with Conner was the depth she’d glimpsed in him. She knew there was more to him than met the eye and her subconscious was driving her to uncover this man’s mysteries.
She led him into her apartment, which was a respectable size for New York but not nearly as large or glamorous as Jane’s had been. She put her keys on the table in the hallway and as soon as he entered she closed the door behind him.
“Welcome to my home,” she said. “I’ve had enough alcohol tonight so all I’m serving is soft drinks or coffee.”
“Coffee sounds great,” he said.
“The living room is through there,” she said, pointing down the very short hallway. “Make yourself comfortable while I get the coffee. Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Both,” he said.
She walked away without looking back. She needed to regain her focus, maybe recall that she was trying to find out about him, not tell him every detail of her own life. But she knew that, somehow, if talking to him about her past helped him relax and eventually trust her, then she’d bare it all.
Hell, she’d seriously considered becoming his mistress for the story. Now she thought it might have been easier to sleep with him than to reveal the parts of herself she’d rather keep hidden.
She had one of those Keurig machines and absolutely adored it. She made coffee at all hours of the day and night now, and she could change blends without having to throw out the entire pot of coffee. Willow called the Keurig her dealer. And Nichole had laughingly agreed that coffee was definitely her drug of choice.
She made two cups in the matching I ♥ New York cups she’d bought when she’d first come to the city as a student. She put them on the serving tray that had been her grandmother’s, then placed the sugar dish and creamer next to the cups, along with spoons and napkins, and finally made her way to the living room.
She’d heard if you didn’t look at a full cup it wouldn’t spill, but the path of coffee stains on her carpet from the kitchen
