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I nod as my heart sinks. I had been engaged, but that relationship was even faker than what I have with Heather. “Do you actually think it was anything like what I have with you?”
Her brows pinch together. “Didn’t you love her?”
I screw my lips up and shake my head. “I’m a dick. No, I didn’t love her. I loved that my dad would stop riding my case and I could get on with life. We didn’t spend much time together. She was arm candy and not much else. We weren’t friends and we barely knew each other. I needed a fiancée and she was the least annoying woman I knew.”
“That’s sad.”
A bark of laughter escapes my lips. "I know. It's disgusting. I'm a terrible person." She doesn't automatically disagree and I guess I deserve her revile. "My life since I left California has been different. I forgot a lot of things. I forgot those afternoons we spent in the library studying together and those evenings we spent walking around campus while we discussed everything under the sun. I don't want to be the person my dad wants me to be."
“Baxter, I don’t have the emotional energy to prop you up again. I did it before. I can’t do it a second time.”
I take a step closer and she stiffens. I don’t deserve her trust. I messed up big time. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to give me a chance. I’ve been bowing down to my dad for years and doing things his way. Don’t toss me out yet. Give me time to adjust.”
Her eyes dip a little, but she isn’t gone…yet. I hold out my hand and she stares at it for a long moment. I’m about to give up when she laces our fingers together and squeezes.
“Brunch, then we’ll make an excuse and head home?” Part of me wants to stay here and get to know her. But staying here would be doing what my dad wants me to do. Heather means more to me than my family’s stupid company where I’d been working since before I was old enough to have a job. My dad wouldn’t ever give in. He wasn’t going to allow me to take over. The sad realization hits. No matter what I do, I’ll never be head of the company.
“Okay, brunch. You’re right, Alisha would be unhappy. We don’t need to crush her just because you’re an idiot.”
I laugh and Heather's gaze meets mine. A balloon of stress pops in my chest and my shoulders drop. I can't lose her. God, I'm such an idiot. I had her in college, but I wasn't ready then.
“Baxter, there’s one thing you need to understand.”
Her statement scares me. I’m not sure if I can take too much more understanding or revelation. I’m a mess, no question, now I just need to figure out how to un-screw myself.
“Yes?”
“I’m not the same impressionable girl I used to be. I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re nice, that’s all that matters.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not a pushover.”
“I don’t want a pushover. I want the woman I see in front of me.”
She lifts a brow. “And who do you think I am?”
“Someone who isn’t going to put up with my shit. You’ll set me straight and tell me when I’m being a jerk. You’re smart, no question. Obviously, you have changed. Allow me to be me without the influence of my dad.”
Her brows lift. “Can you do that?”
"Good question. Before, when we were in college, I thought I had more time."
Heather scratches her neck and sinks her teeth into her lower lip. “We need to go down.”
“Sure. I know we’re leaving today. Can I arrange a time to see you?”
“Let’s make it through brunch and then I’ll decide.” It’s not the answer I want but it’s the answer I’m going to live with.
Maybe I’ve seen it before, maybe not, but sitting down with my parents this time is different. I see them through Heather’s eyes. I don’t want to be like them when I’m fifty. Heck, I don’t want to be like them when I’m thirty and that is fast approaching.
Heather is quiet. I think Alisha notices. In the past, I’ve never cared about anyone enough to stick around and change. My history with women is terrible. I’ve screwed up time and time again. Of course, I usually picked up women who aren’t like Heather. She is real. There is an authentic air about her no other woman I’d dated ever had. Heather was extraordinary.
I hadn’t been paying attention to the chit-chat around the table and when my dad narrows his eyes at me, I’m dumbfounded.
“Well?” Dad lifts his hands like he’s asking a question.
The subject has escaped me and I feel like an idiot. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
