When I Let You Go (Let Me Book 6) Read online

  “Veronica?” French prompted me, rousing me from my stupor. “Gia just asked what you do for a living.”

  I answered absently, never taking my eyes off Gia’s hand as she interlaced her fingers with Dylan’s. “Oh, I manage a flower shop.”

  “She’s being modest,” French chimed in. “She’s very talented…Makes the most exquisite flower arrangements I’ve ever seen.”

  I looked to French as if he’d sprouted horns. Exquisite? Laying it on a bit thick, no? And who are you right now using that word, the Lord of the Manor?

  Gia cocked her head, smiling in a way that was at once cutting and sympathetic—if that’s even possible. “That’s so darling.”

  Dylan cleared his throat again. He either had a bad case of strep coming on, or he was just as uncomfortable as I was. “She is talented,” he added quietly.

  “And what about you, Gia?” I asked in an effort to sound at least somewhat confident. Up until now I’m sure I was doing a spot-on impersonation of an easily rattled imbecile. “What do you do for a living?”

  She licked her lips, pausing for effect. Cue the damn drumroll. “I’m the global marketing director for Spectra.” When I didn’t ooh and ahh, she said, “Dylan and I are direct competitors.” And with a sly smile Gia added, “Guess Cole Industries is looking to get in bed with the enemy.”

  I cringed and Dylan cringed, because that statement was just…cringe-worthy. French, on the other hand, was now a little star-struck and that was just downright embarrassing. “Wait, you’re Dylan Cole? Cole Industries?”

  Dylan looked away as he nodded, a clear indication to most human beings that he didn’t want to get into it. French, usually a master at reading nonverbal cues, was oblivious. He started in on some inane yarn about how he used Cole Industries sales data in his most recent Advanced Statistical Reasoning and Data Mining course. He stopped blathering a few moments later when he finally caught on to the fact that no one was joining in or contributing to this oh so interesting topic of conversation.

  I suddenly felt small, ridiculous and awkward. I was now ten minutes past being ready to bail.

  “Hey French?” I said, raising my eyebrows, trying to telepathically communicate my immediate need to get the hell out of here. “Before we leave I want to buy a few bottles of this wine for Henry, he’ll love it.” Looking to Dylan, I took a deep breath and said, “It was really good to see you again.” I didn’t say anything to Gia because what was there to say? It hadn’t been even remotely nice to meet her, nor did I hope to see her again soon. None of those parting words fit this situation and it really wouldn’t have been appropriate to say what was really on my mind: Please stay the fuck away from Dylan.

  “Good to see you too,” he said, looking down at our full cheese plate and the bread that was untouched. “Actually we’re heading out now…Already have a case of this stuff in my trunk.”

  He shook French’s hand, but before letting go, Dylan cocked his head and said, “I keep thinking that we’ve met somewhere before. Your face is so familiar.”

  French smiled as he shook his head, doubtful. “I don’t think so, I never forget a face. And I’ve read your professional bio, so I know you never studied at NYU.”

  Dylan’s eyes widened in surprise as one corner of his mouth ticked up in a triumphant smile. “NYU?” he asked, casting a sideways glance my way.

  “I chair the Information and Operations Management Department in the business program.”

  Dylan ignored him then, stepping closer to me. When he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek, he whispered, “You’re a bad girl.”

  I drew in a breath that was more like a gasp when his lips touched my skin; he must have known. Gia caught on too, now locking elbows with Dylan in a show of ownership as she nudged him and they turned to leave.

  I collapsed back into my chair once they were out of sight and proceeded to drain my wine glass. I was focused on subduing the ache between my legs and my staggered breathing, so I barely registered French’s voice when he said, “He seems like a nice guy. Where did you two meet?”

  My response was automatic. “Dylan was Kasia’s boyfriend…He was in love with her.”

  I slapped Gia’s ass once, then twice more as I rode her hard from behind.

  So, you fuck guys who are older than me?

  You fuck your teacher?

  This was my inner dialogue, punishing Veronica for pushing me away, for letting me think I wasn’t good for her, that I was too old for her. Out loud I groaned Gia’s name on my release. I wasn’t afraid I’d yell out the wrong name because in a way, Veronica would always be Gia to me.

  I could scarcely focus on a word this Corporate Barbie version of Gia was saying on the drive back from the winery to her place. She was in a rented beachside cottage in Amagansett that while tiny, probably set her back more than a quarter million for the season. Cecilia and I had a place in Southampton, but I gladly threw that in to sweeten the pot during the divorce proceedings. Cecilia was pleased and I wasn’t much for the Hamptons anyway—to me it just didn’t compare to the Vineyard.

  Gia was the first woman I was seen out in public with since the divorce was finalized three months ago. Were we dating? I don’t really know. I was trying my best to be into Gia, into anyone for that matter, but I was quick to find something wrong with every woman I met. Dylan Cole, appointed New York’s most eligible bachelor once again, had no shortage of women to choose from, but lately I’d become exceedingly choosey. And now as Gia rolled over with a sated look and reached for her cigarettes, I was overcome with disgust.

  “Didn’t know you were a smoker,” I said, making no effort to hide my distaste. “Don’t expect me to kiss that filthy mouth of yours.”

  “I hardly ever smoke!” Wide-eyed, she tossed the pack back into the nightstand drawer.

  “Sorry,” I said, realizing I must sound like a dick. “I just can’t stand the taste or smell of it.”

  “Understood.” She smiled, adding, “You’ll be good for my health. Come on, Dylan, you feel like a swim?”

  I watched her walk naked from the room to the plunge pool that sat just outside the bedroom on a private patio. She was perfect, if you were grading Gia on her body alone. Anyone else in their right mind would also say her face was flawless, but her smile, her eyes—she just didn’t do it for me.

  “Sure,” I answered as she looked over her shoulder, beckoning me. But I really wanted to tell her not to change any bad habits on my account. It was already Sunday afternoon and Gia wouldn’t be seeing me again once I hit the road back to Manhattan before dawn tomorrow.

  Thankfully, she was based in Los Angeles. Not that I really cared, but it was a plus knowing that avoiding her wouldn’t be much of a problem.

  “All right, don’t laugh, but I’m just throwing this out there.”

  I groaned, certain that whatever Tom was proposing was going to make me want to hurl.

  “Darcy booked our Cape May week for mid-August. She thought you might want to go.” In response to my hearty laugh, he said, “Wait, asshole, let me finish.”

  “You could tell me that the house next door was chock full of centerfolds and I still wouldn’t want to be trapped on vacation with five happy couples and the, what, thirty kids they have between them? I’d have a better time at the Branch Davidian complex.”

  “It’s only four couples this year and you know you’re grossly exaggerating the number of children we have.”

  “Jake and the kids aren’t coming?”

  “No, he thought it was too soon for the kids. The place would remind them of Kasia too much, and not in a good way.”

  “What do you and Darcy think about that?”

  “I totally get it but Darcy’s upset. She’s concerned that our kids will lose touch. But she also understands that it’s his call and he knows what’s best for them. Jake planned a family trip with their cousins instead.”

  “How are they doing?”

  “I was out with Jake a few wee
ks ago. Caleb and I met up with him in Brooklyn for a few beers. I gotta say, he looks like hell. He’s always been fit but he’s lost a good amount of weight…Looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s been getting back to work, though, and I think that’s good for him.”

  “Are they all right financially?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, dismissing the idea in a way that made me feel relieved. “His business basically runs itself now and he’s done very well. And Kasia…Her net worth alone will make it so that her children won’t ever have to work a day in their lives if they don’t want to.”

  I felt proud of my girl all over again. She really did it—started something from nothing and turned it into a brand that was a household name, if you had any fashion sense.

  I laughed as I said, “I can’t imagine Mazur-Wozniak offspring ever thinking it was acceptable to live a life of leisure.”

  He was laughing too. “True. When Jakub and little Tomasz were around eight and six, they set themselves up with a lemonade stand on the sidewalk outside the Cape May house. No one even told them how to do it, it’s like it was second nature to those kids.”

  “I can believe it.”

  “So before you shoot me down cold again, just consider it. Mick and Caitlin are coming—no kids there—and Rene is bringing one of her producer friends down from the network. She’s single and Caleb said she’s hot.”

  “Tempting, but it’s still a no.”

  “All right.”

  “Thanks for asking though.”

  “Want me to see if Caleb can set something casual up? Maybe you can meet this girl over drinks at their house?”

  “Not looking for a set-up. Just not looking right now, period.”

  “I saw a picture of you online with that woman from Spectra.”

  “Nice, stalker.”

  “In your dreams, dickwad. It was on a business blog. Something about,” Tom paused, gagging like he was choking on a dick, “a merger of some sort?”

  “Yeah…I merged, I came, I conquered—or whatever that saying is.”

  “She seems like an interesting person. That’s a pretty big position for someone in their early thirties.”

  I nodded. “Gia’s no joke. She’s attractive and she’s got balls the size of Texas in her professional life. She’s just not for me.”

  “Are you missing Cecilia?”

  “No.” I didn’t even need to consider the question. I didn’t miss her at all. “It sounds terrible to admit this, but I never missed her, even early on in our marriage when she was away or I was traveling. I was never in love with her. The day the divorce papers were delivered, I felt nothing but relief.”

  “There’s someone out there waiting for you, Dylan. I know that.”

  “There definitely is.”

  And now that I know Veronica is fair game, I’m not wasting any more time. I’m going after what I want.

  No one stays in the city during the month of August.

  Let me amend that statement: No one with scads of cash to throw down on obscenely expensive flower arrangements stays in town during the month of August. So it made sense and it was well known among our customers that H&A closed shop for a few weeks every summer.

  I decided on spending the break in Rye with Alex, Henry and Hyacinth. The property was on Long Island Sound, it had a pool and a tennis court. In other words, it was a five-star resort in my book. And I wanted to spend the break with my family, not French and his daughters.

  We met a few nights before he was set to leave for Maine with the girls, and he knew what I was going to say before the waiter even set the menus down.

  “You’re thinking it’s time for us to part ways?”

  “Am I that obvious?” I shook my head, feeling awful. “Have I been terrible to be around these past few weeks?”

  “No…I just knew you were having some serious second thoughts.” When I went to speak, he held up his hand. “I’m a lot older than you are, Veronica. I knew it would be a problem for you at some point.”

  “No! It’s really not about age, French. It’s more like I’m not ready to take on everything you need me to be. This probably makes me sound like a rotten person, but I’m not ready to be a part of your life as a parent, to be a part of the girls’ life too.”

  “If that was the only issue, then I’d try to reassure you, tell you I’m prepared to keep that part of my life separate from what we have. But I can tell it’s more than that. This has run its course for you, hasn’t it?”

  “I care about you.”

  “I know you do,” he said, squeezing my hands when he reached across the table. “And I’ll be here waiting if you change your mind.”

  “No, you’ll be scooped up by someone else in no time. And I have a feeling that person will be a lot better for you than I am.” Now it was my turn to silence him when he went to protest. “No, French, you’re a good father. Eventually that whole keeping your life compartmentalized-thing wouldn’t work for you.”

  When the waiter came back to take our order, we looked at one another and smiled. “Just a check for the wine,” French said. “I think we’re going to call it a night.”

  “Look at you go, girl!”

  Hyacinth took her first steps a month ago, and just a few weeks later she was now boogying across the great big lawn in their backyard. She looked over her shoulder every few moments and flashed a crazy smile, like she still couldn’t believe how awesome this new trick was.

  Mama hen Rachel was never more than a few paces behind. It was overkill, but I understood her need to believe that everyone around her was safe, was going to be all right—was going to live. So rather than remind Rachel that Henry and Alex had basically baby-proofed every square inch of this three acre property, I let her hover.

  This was a girls’ weekend. I was technically in charge, even though Rachel was doing all the heavy work, while the daddies got a much needed night away from diapers and baby food. Jake was off fishing with his boys.

  The best thing about this weekend? I love Hyacinth, truly, but every time Hyacinth went down for a nap or when she settled into bed nice and early at seven, I got some quality time with Rachel. And while I came armed with no shortage of fun activities that would keep her mind off of her troubles, it turns out she wanted no part of baking brownies, painting each other’s nails, or applying some very believable looking temporary tattoos—thought Jake would get a good scare when he saw those. No, Rachel only wanted to curl up next to me and hear stories about her mother.

  “Tell me everything you remember, Veronica,” she said. “I want to know what my mother was like when she was younger.”

  “Well, you have to understand, Rachel, I was much younger than your mom. It’s almost like she was my aunt instead of my cousin.”

  “Kind of like how you and me are?”

  Huddling in close and giving her a squeeze, I said, “Yes, exactly like how we are.”

  So I told Rachel everything I remembered. I told her about going to Broadway plays with Kasia, feeling so grown up sipping Shirley Temples and eating tea sandwiches at the Carlyle afterwards. Kasia never took us to hokey tourist traps like the ones cluttering the streets of the theater district. No, New York with Kasia was an adventure because she knew all the best little secret places. After outings in Central Park, she’d take us to a nearby restaurant that made the best gnocci and had bocce courts in the back where old men played this unusual game while razzing each other in Italian. On cold days, we hit her favorite fondue restaurant. The interior was the closest I’d ever come to being inside a Swiss chalet, and the menus were written in French. Kasia would encourage us to order in French as she pointed the items out on the menu to the baffled waitress. I remember they had these plush round banquets and I loved sliding into those booths. On the chilly walk there, Kasia would take one of my hands and one of Olivia’s, sticking them into her coat pockets, warming our hands in hers; the anticipation of the last course, a chocolate fondue wit
h bananas and pound cake for dipping already on my mind.

  I did not tell Rachel that I went there this past winter on my own one day. I walked back and forth that stretch of Fifty-fifth Street, wondering if I had the wrong address when I couldn’t find it. I stood outside a Five Guys as I searched the address online, sadness weighing me down like a bag of bricks when I discovered our special place had boarded up its alpine shutters more than a decade ago. Instead, I suggested we make fondue ourselves. Rachel and I dipped our strawberries, bananas and marshmallows into a pot of melted chocolate, laughing ourselves silly as we watched our favorite movie, Elf, in the middle of the summer.

  I couldn’t give Rachel her mother back, but I could dedicate myself to becoming an awesome aunt-cousin. I would surround her with the same goodness and love that her mother had once showered on me.

  Closed for the month of August. Seriously? It would be another four weeks before I could see Veronica again.

  I stood on the sidewalk outside the shop for a good five minutes taking this setback in. I came here without knowing what I was going to say to her, how I’d explain this casual pop-in. I wanted to come in that first Monday after our awkward encounter at the winery, but I held back. If I was reading her correctly, Veronica was into me and I wanted, needed to play this right.

  Hell yes, honey, I saw the way you shifted in your seat, practically collapsing into it after I inhaled the skin on your neck. And I nearly reached down to give you some relief, desperate to touch the skin on your thighs exposed in that short sundress. I saw the way you looked at Gia’s hand when she latched onto me like a spider—you wanted to slap her hand away just like I wanted to slap that jerk’s face when he smiled at you like you were the best thing on the planet—possessive. And I almost laughed out loud taking in your face when your man fawned over me. You wanted to scold him like you would a child. You felt just like I did, wanting those two annoying pests to fade away into the background so that we could be together.