His Brand of Passion

‘She told you?’

He nodded. She’d been honest with him. She’d been vulnerable. And he hadn’t, not really. Now was his chance—and it frightened the hell out of him. ‘Where is she?’ he asked, and Millie told him.

Zoe smiled at Robert, the little boy who had been coming to the community centre for several months now.

Today he had made some encouraging strides; he’d drawn a picture of his family, including his father, taking care with the minute details: the sun shining, the smiles on their faces, the buttons on their shirts. Then he’d stared at it for a long moment and said quietly, ‘I wish it was like that.’

Zoe’s heart had contracted inside her and she laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder. I wish it was like that too, Robert, she thought. At least acceptance was part of the grieving process, and both she and the little boy were grieving.

Now Robert had gone and Zoe was just clearing up the art supplies scattered across the table. The centre would be closing in a little while. She felt someone watching her and, stiffening slightly because the centre’s doors were open to whomever chose to walk inside, she turned to glance at the doorway to the art room…and stopped in shock when she saw it was Aaron.

She should have nothing to say to him, she told herself numbly as he came forward. She shouldn’t even acknowledge his presence, not after the way he’d treated her. She turned back to the table and scooped up a handful of crayons, her fingers shaking, and dropped several.

Aaron reached over and put the dropped ones in the basket. ‘Hello, Zoe.’ She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She concentrated on the crayons and Aaron finally said quietly, ‘I’d like to talk to you.’

‘There are no words you could say that I want to hear.’

He was silent for a moment and Zoe didn’t dare look at him. ‘Perhaps I could draw a picture,’ he finally said, and she sat back, folding her arms.

‘A little art therapy? It can work wonders.’

‘Then let me have a go.’ He sat down at the table, looking incongruous in his business suit. Zoe watched as he took a piece of paper and a couple of crayons. As with everything, he worked carefully, diligently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he drew a couple of stick figures.

‘Very nice,’ she said, sarcasm edging her voice. ‘Who are those supposed to be?’

‘Me.’ He pointed to the sad-faced stick figure in the centre of the picture. ‘You.’ She was another sad-looking stick figure in the corner of the picture.

‘I’d say that’s about right.’

He glanced up from the paper. ‘I’m no artist, Zoe, but I would like to talk to you. I sincerely regret what happened between us the other night.’

‘What happened between us? That suggests shared responsibility, Aaron—and, as I recall, it was all you. I just sat there like a lemon.’ Bitterness spiked her words. If she had to have her heart broken, couldn’t she have acted a little stronger, a little more in control?

‘You’re right,’ Aaron answered. ‘I acted like a complete bastard and I want to apologise. And explain. Will you please let me?’

She stared at him for a long moment, indecision warring within her. She’d never been in this scenario before; no one had ever come back, wanting to explain or apologise. Part of her wanted to stay strong and another part desperately wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘But the centre is closing. Let me clear up and we can go outside.’

Aaron helped her put away the art supplies and mop the floor, neither of them speaking beyond the basics, and a few minutes later they stepped out into a beautiful late October afternoon.

They walked in mutual, silent agreement towards Washington Square, the leaves above them crimson and gold.

‘So,’ Zoe said when they’d reached a park bench. She sat down, her arms folded, legs crossed, her position one of defence. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘I shouldn’t have asked you to leave the other night.’

‘Asked me to leave?’

‘Kicked you out,’ Aaron amended. ‘That phone call—the one I took—was a voicemail message calling an emergency meeting of my board of trustees.’

She frowned, not really getting it. ‘Why?’

‘Someone has been secretly buying up shares in Bryant Enterprises for a while now. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on it, but the other night he called the meeting and basically had me fired.’

She straightened, her mouth nearly dropping open in shock. ‘Fired?’

‘Basically. He replaced me as CEO. I no longer have a role in Bryant Enterprises, or a majority of the shares.’

‘But…’ She shook her head, still stunned. Aaron spoke so flatly, without any emotion at all, yet it sounded like everything had been taken away from him. ‘What did that have to do with me?’ she asked at last. ‘Were you just angry?’

‘Ashamed,’ Aaron corrected quietly. ‘But to understand why I need to go back a little further. I told you a bit about my father—how he singled me out from an early age to take over the company. My whole life was oriented towards that—every exchange, every conversation was a lesson in duty and responsibility. I had to be tough, above petty things like relationships.’

‘That’s what he told you?’

Aaron shrugged. ‘That was my life. My brothers went to boarding school, I went to boot camp—military school starting at age seven. They had skiing and beach holidays. I went to training courses and had extra lessons. It was the price of being the oldest son.’

‘But that’s awful.’

‘It is what it is. In any case, I idolised my father. I wanted to be like him: confident, in control, powerful.’ He paused, his expression darkening. ‘And then he died and I discovered it was all a lie.’

What I didn’t like was being lied to. Over and over again, so my whole life was built on nothing but deception. Now she was starting to understand why he had said that.

‘How was it a lie?’ she asked quietly.

‘He wasn’t in control at all. The business was bankrupt and he’d given away money and shares to a bunch of mistresses—one in particular who took everything she could.’ Bitterness roughened his voice. ‘I promised myself I would never be like that. Never let a woman—or anyone—take my focus away from the business. Never be weak.’

Zoe sat back against the bench, realisation rushing through her. ‘And when I asked you not to take that phone call, that’s what you felt you were doing.’

‘Not just the phone call. Everything—asking you to move in with me, to marry me, going to St Julian’s to see you and be with you…In that moment it all felt like weakness.’

She blinked, her throat tightening. ‘I see.’

‘I don’t think you do.’ Aaron took her hand. ‘I’ve been fighting weakness all my life, Zoe, trying to be strong, to seem strong. I never told anyone about the company’s troubles, not even my brothers. I took it all on myself when I was twenty-one, which in retrospect was a ridiculous thing to do.’ He shook his head. ‘And today, when I left my office for the last time, I realised I felt relief. I’m glad to be shot of it all, to finally be free. To be free to be weak.’

‘You could never be weak, Aaron,’ Zoe whispered. ‘You’re the strongest man I know.’

‘I’m weak with love,’ he said. ‘I’m in love with you, and it took me a long time to realise it. To accept it. Maybe I fell in love with you the first time you stole my phone.’

She laughed, the sound wobbly. ‘I doubt it.’

‘But I love you. And I’m not afraid of it now.’ He paused, squeezing her fingers. ‘I can only ask you to forgive me for treating you so terribly. I knew you’d been hurt before and I acted just the same. I’m so sorry, Zoe.’

Her throat was so tight now she could barely speak, and yet her heart was full, so wonderfully full. ‘I forgive you,’ she whispered.

‘And do you think you could take another chance on me? This is new territory for me, Zoe, and I admit it’s still scary. The honesty, the emotion.’ He gave her a shaky smile. ‘The love. But I want to try…with you.’

Zoe swallowed. She could hardly believe she was hearing Aaron say these words. Yet she did believe them, so very much. And she want to try again, even though trying and loving were scary—for both of them. ‘I love you,’ she said softly. ‘And, yes, I want to try with you. I want to more than try, Aaron. I want this to work.’

‘It will work,’ he promised as he took her in his arms. ‘As long as you give me lots of chances to make mistakes and say sorry.’

She smiled as he kissed her. ‘I promise,’ she said. She kissed him back, stopping as his phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Are you going to get that?’ she asked, and he smiled.

‘Not a chance,’ he answered, and deepened the kiss.

EPILOGUE

Three years later

ZOE STOOD NEXT to Aaron in the church and watched with a swell of both love and pride as he cradled their tiny daughter. Camilla Anne Bryant was three months old, and today was her christening.