“I can’t do this, Holden,” she said, her voice barely audible. She didn’t even have the strength to look him in the eye when she spoke, so she stared down at the Persian rug instead. Deep in her bones, she’d known she couldn’t last in this position, not when she was lusting after her boss this way. Things were getting complicated. He’d just fired one of his most prized men because of her. “I’ll have my resignation on Mr. Phelps’ desk tomorrow morning.” She rose and started toward the door.
“Wait. Lucy, wait.”
She paused without turning, not sure whether she was willing to face him because she really didn’t feel like crying in front of him and was but a breath away from doing so.
“Take this.”
Bracing herself, she turned around just as he grabbed the smaller box from the nightstand and slowly came forward to hand it to her. She didn’t even look at it, all her attention focused on him. His face was shadowed by the lamplight as he stood a few feet away from her. The mellow light etched his handsome features in deep, strong angles and shadows that made him look like a mystical prince of darkness—one that was getting angrier by the second, with flaring nostrils and tightening pectorals.
“Take it,” he demanded, nudging her with the box.
When she didn’t move to do so, he fairly shoved the box into her hands and she instinctively clutched it to her chest.
“Open it.”
No matter what he said, she was not going to open it. She was already starting to feel like some sort of kept woman, and accepting anything from him at this point would only make her feel worse.
“I said open it.”
“I don’t want anything from you, Holden!”
Growling, he yanked the box from her hands and tore it open. She sucked in an audible breath when he pulled out a beautiful long dress shimmering in a light yellow fabric, with nine large circles resembling coins scattered over the lower part of the skirt, each one embroidered with a central five-point star.
“Nine of Pentacles.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy asked, lifting her gaze to his.
“The woman said you’d just been in the store. She said you were the Nine of Pentacles.”
Lucy suddenly felt like swooning. “You—you went to the costume shop to buy me this dress?”
Her hands shook as he handed it to her, his fingers lightly brushing hers. “It’s supposed to be a costume. For the benefit tomorrow.”
“But…what about Miranda?”
“I cancelled.”
If he’d put a bullet through her chest, Lucy was sure it would have hurt less. She’d accused him—wrongly so—and she’d misjudged and abused his character. Could she do anything worse today—could she do any more damage on this horrible, horrible day? She’d nearly been raped, quit her job, and gone ahead and fallen in love with Patrick Holden.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed into his eyes. He stood with his hands fisted at his sides, his face fierce and cautious and gorgeous. She deeply regretted not having bought him a prince costume, with tights and crown and everything, because right now, all she wanted was to put on this silly, princess-looking costume and fling herself into his arms, pretending they could live happily ever after.
“Go with me, Lucy.”
His words were not a command, they were a gentle plea from him as a man, and the tender way he spoke them made her want to weep.
“Holden, I…” Her voice cracked, so she swallowed past her tears and said, “Thank you. I’d love to go.”
He hesitated, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides, as if he were aching to touch her but didn’t want to. It was better that he didn’t, because the slightest gesture on his part would have crumbled down the frail little wall of fortitude she’d erected and sent her bu
rsting into tears.
“Pick you up at eight?” he asked softly.
Lucy swallowed hard and nodded. Then she clutched the costume to her chest as if her life depended on it and went home.
Five
Holden missed his donuts.