The Man Who Has No Heart (Soulless 2)

But I still dreaded talking to her.

Why did she get Derek full time just because she was the mother? Why couldn’t I have him? It wasn’t fair.

I told my assistant not to bother me before I picked up the phone and called her.

It rang a few times before she answered. “Hey, Deacon.” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it was guarded, like she had no idea where this phone call might lead.

I forced myself to be polite, calm, and friendly. “Hey, Valerie. How are you?”

“Derek just got home, so I’m very happy. He told me he had a good time.”

We were already off to a better start. “Yeah…we had a blast.”

“Your assistant seems like she really wants to make you happy.”

I was quiet for a while, processing every moment I’d had with Cleo, the way she was there for me in a way no one else had ever been—not even my own wife. “Yes…she works really hard.”

Valerie was quiet.

I cleared my throat. “The reason why I’m calling is…to say thank you.” I shouldn’t have to thank her for letting me see my son. It was ludicrous. But according to the book, it was better to defuse tensions rather than escalate them, even if the other person was wrong. “Thank you for working with Cleo to make that happen. I was really happy to spend the weekend with our son. He’s…the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She was quiet for a while, as if she didn’t expect me to say that. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me too.”

I wanted to ask when I could see him again, but I knew I shouldn’t rush it. Just end the conversation on good terms.

“So, you guys went fishing?”

“Yes.”

“Derek won’t stop talking about it,” she said with a laugh. “Said he can’t wait to do it again.”

I wanted to do it every day. “Well, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to say thanks…”

“Alright, Deacon. Goodnight.” She didn’t hang up.

I listened to the silence, hoping to hear Derek in the background, but it was quiet. So, I ended the call.

Two

Cleo

That weekend had been exhausting.

Flying back and forth to California had been no picnic—even in first class.

I left the office early on Tuesday because I needed a break. I went home to a filthy apartment and crashed on the couch, watching TV while waiting for my pizza to be delivered. I didn’t even change into my sweatpants. I just took off my skirt and lay on the couch in my panties.

I didn’t give a damn.

My phone was on silent because I wanted to take some time off from the chaos of my job, even if it was only for a few hours. While I loved my job, got so much satisfaction out of making people happy, I wished I had more time for myself. I wished there were another me running around just to take care of me.

A knock sounded.

“Yes!” I got off the couch and pulled on the sweatpants sitting on the floor. I opened my wallet and fished out some cash before I opened the door to the delivery man.

But it was no delivery man.

It was Deacon.

Oh. My. God.

I was expecting the pizza guy, so I had baggy sweatpants on the bottom, a wrinkled blouse on the top, and my hair was a mess because I plopped down on the couch and didn’t move.

I wasn’t sexy like him, walking around the house in just sweatpants without a shirt, hot even when his hair was messy.

When I lay around the house, I looked like shit.

I stared at him, not knowing what to say, humiliated he was seeing me at my worst.

And to top it off…he had flowers.

He stood in jeans and a shirt, his muscled arms stretching the fabric of his sleeves, the cords under his skin. His hair was styled as if he took a shower and got ready before coming by to see me. He stared at me with that intense gaze, focused on my expression without blinking.

I was so distraught, I didn’t know what to say, how to be confident when I didn’t feel it.

When the silence stretched long enough, he spoke. “I went by your office, but you weren’t there. Matt told me you went home early.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, discreetly trying to fix it even though I didn’t have a mirror.

“Is this a bad time?”

If he asked a question like that, I knew I must be behaving strangely. “No…I just wasn’t expecting company. Sorry.”

He looked at me like he didn’t notice anything was wrong, like he didn’t care about the sweatpants sagging around my hips, the fact that my blouse was wrinkled, or that my hair was all over the place. “I know this is nothing compared to what you’ve done for me, but…” He looked down at the flowers, an arrangement which had been made by a professional florist, filled with pink roses, thick stems of eucalyptus, white lilies, and other subtle splashes of color.