Sandy - Vested Interest

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I wish I could express how deeply sorry I am.”

“I know you are. I can see it. I wish you could step back and let me help. We could work this through together. Slow down and take our time to—”

“No.”

Her voice was firm. She had made up her mind, and I had no choice but to accept her decision.

“Well then, I guess lunch is over. I guess…we’re over.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“Funny, I never took you for a coward, Sandy.”

“What?” she gasped.

“You are. I think you’re scared of what you feel for me. I think it frightens you so much that you’re using your dead husband as an excuse.”

“Go to hell,” she seethed.

“Oh, I’m already there.”

We glared at each other, our pain bleeding into the air.

She straightened her shoulders and wiped her cheeks. “The office…”

I laughed without humor. “Of course you’d worry about that. Don’t think about it. I won’t cause you any embarrassment. I’m well aware of who would win that fight. I won’t bother you—we’ll just go back to being coworkers.” I snorted with derision. “I think that will be easier for one of us than the other.”

Her muffled sob made me feel horrible. My anger drained away, leaving hurt and pain behind. I gentled my voice.

“Just promise me something, Sandy.”

“What?”

“If you change your mind, come and see me. I promise, I’ll listen.”

Then I bent and kissed her damp cheek.

I wasn’t sure whose tears I tasted.

I hurried away before I could find out.Saturday, I taped up another box, nodding in grim satisfaction. Packing was going well. I had been at it every night this week and all this morning. I had to stay busy. It was the only way I could deal with the hurt and the pain that hit me in waves. I wasn’t sleeping much, so I was at the office early and coming home late, wishing at times I had never decided to sell the house.

But there wasn’t anything I could do about that now. The fact was, perhaps a new place would be a fresh start in every way now. No memories of Anna or of Sandy would haunt me there.

At least, I told myself that.

I bent to lift another box when the doorbell sounded, and I set it aside to answer the door. A courier waited, handing me a large, flat parcel. My heart fell when I saw it, knowing full well what it was. I signed for it, then carried it to the living room. I set it on the sofa, carefully unwrapped the box and the packing material, and stared at the contents.

It was a print of the painting Sandy had loved at the museum. I had purchased a copy and had it framed and paid extra for fast shipping. I had planned on giving it to her as a surprise, hoping she would want to hang it in my new place and come visit often to see it.

Except now, she wouldn’t be coming to my new place, and I wasn’t certain she would want this gift, even if I gave it to her in the context of friendship. She’d already given me back the shawl I bought her—still in its wrappings. I’d found it on my desk when I returned to the office from a meeting. I had stared at it, unsure what to do, then simply put it in the trunk of my car and left it there. It was too painful to bring inside.

That odd ache was back in my chest when I woke in the mornings, if I was able to sleep at all. Only this one was new and fresh. Deeper in some ways. Anna had no choice but to leave me. Sandy walked away. I knew I needed to stop thinking about her.

Yet, I couldn’t.

We had been cordial and professional the rest of the week after she broke things off with me. As a rule, we didn’t often have much interaction, so if I didn’t see her every day, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. This week, however, I constantly had papers for Bentley to sign, invoices for Maddox, and reports for Aiden to go over. It felt as if I was in the executive area several times a day.

Sandy was polite, courteous, and removed. She always waved me in or let whatever partner I needed know I was waiting. She offered coffee and a blank smile, her voice carefully neutral.

It broke my heart to see her increasing fragility appear before my eyes. She looked wan and tired. Broken. It reminded me of how she looked after Max died, and once again, there was little I could do to help her since it seemed I was the cause of her altered state. She didn’t want my comfort, even though I was desperate to give it to her.