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“Did Clyde ever do an investigation?” That’s what Dane would have done.
“He found a shell company that eventually led back to Rufus Mayhew.” That was her shame. And her broken heart.
A menacing growl rose up Dane’s throat. “I hope Clyde crushed him.” But even as he fisted one hand, he stroked her knuckles gently with the other.
But her story wasn’t over. “I realized right then I had terrible taste in men, and that no matter what, they would find a way to screw me over in the end.”
Except Dane. He’d never screwed anyone over.
“Then I met you on the golf course. And we… you know.” She shrugged painfully. Though it had been only one night, she’d once again chosen the wrong man. Even if she hadn’t known it. Her shock the next day when she’d found out he was the man she was interviewing with had been like a body blow she couldn’t recover from. “But Clyde was leaving, and I desperately needed the job to support my uncle.”
“That’s why we needed the rules, wasn’t it?” Dane said for her. He sounded almost as sad as she’d felt that day.
“It was clear I was so bad at choosing who I slept with that my judgment couldn’t be trusted.”
“But what we did was amazing.” His gentle declaration was both poignant and sweet, thrilling her and saddening her at the same time. He traced a finger across her knuckles. “There was nothing bad or wrong about it. It wasn’t a mistake.”
“I know it wasn’t wrong. And you weren’t one of my bad mistakes.” She shook her head. “But it was never going to work out either.”
Now that she’d revealed her first shameful secret, why bother holding back the rest? “I dated after that, but if anyone got serious, I cut them off.” She slashed a hand through the air. “Just in case I was making another bad decision. I swear, I never told anyone anything about your business.”
He sat back, his dark brows scrunching together. “How could you think I’d ever believe you would? I trust you absolutely.”
“Even now? After what I did for Rufus?”
“You were the innocent. You didn’t do it for him. He was the monster who used you.” He balled his fist. “If he were here…” He let the sentence hang. Then he whispered, “You said you made two big mistakes. Tell me about the other guy.”
“It was five years into working for you,” she said, so softly he leaned in close to hear.
Five years after their night. Five years of their rules. Five years of watching him date so many other women.
It cut her every time she’d set up a dinner date for him or sent roses to another of his ladies. She’d torn herself apart wondering if this one could be the one. But she’d chosen the job and her uncle over anything she could have had with Dane. She’d made the irrevocable decision the day she’d walked in to discover that her prospective employer was the man she’d slept with the night before. The man she would have to work for. The man who was a hot property to every woman who came sniffing around.
And especially to her.
So she’d ordered the gifts and made the reservations and wrapped herself in cellophane so tight nothing could puncture her.
And she’d been doing that for twelve years.
* * *
Dane’s heart tied itself into knots. She’d bared her soul to him, and he knew what that cost her. In so many ways, she was a very private person. He’d never known about Rufus Mayhew. Clyde had never said a word. Perhaps Clyde had thought Dane wouldn’t hire her if he knew. But he would never hold an innocent young woman’s mistake against her, especially when Dane knew how very much Clyde trusted her.
Clyde obviously knew she’d never make the same mistake again. But she’d learned so much more. She’d learned not to trust at all.
If she’d never met Rufus Mayhew, would things have been different twelve years ago? Would they have made the same rules the next morning? Or would they have thrown out the rule book completely?
But Mayhew had happened, and Cammie had received an almost mortal wound. Yet she’d recovered. And she’d remained strong.
She’d said it was five years after coming to work for him before she allowed herself to fall for another man. That would have been before she’d moved Lochlan and sold the house.
Five years. Which made it seven years since the Rufus Mayhew debacle. Didn’t they say things turned in seven-year cycles?
And now it had been another seven years.
She’d never told Dane about this second man, but he’d known something was up. He’d become used to reaching her almost immediately whenever he needed her, even in off hours, but she’d stopped picking up the phone right away. Sometimes she’d even had to call him back. She’d dressed up a bit more, wearing slightly more low-cut blouses—nothing untoward. Her skirts, though still circumspect, had been a little tighter, showing off her curves. Curves he couldn’t help salivating over. She’d worn a little more makeup, and her lipstick had become bolder.
