Page 89 of The Perfect Mistake

“That wouldn’t be wise,” I say. “It would be better for you to focus on your retirement. You just bought the Aspen lodge, didn’t you?”

He frowns. “You don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Promise me you’ll reconsider it,” he demands. “Mark won’t retire for a few months, yet. I’ll make the rounds, hear what the others think. I have no doubt that they’ll accept my candidacy.”

My hand fists on my desk. “I’ll consider it,” I say.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Good. Now, for family matters. Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away. Are you planning on hosting, or shall I?”

“Whatever you’d prefer,” I tell him.

“Mine, then.” He looks past me to the wide windows. “Will you invite Connie and her husband?”

I want to shake my head at his pettiness. “I think that’s up to you, if you’re hosting.”

“Mm-hmm. But you’ll mention it to her.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Good. And give me an update on her.”

“She’ll be at the board meeting,” I say.

He doesn’t reply, just gives me an annoyed glance. I’m not playing ball today. I know it’s pissing him off, too, but I can’t find a single part of me that cares. Not disappointing him had been mine, Connie’s, and Nate’s main purpose our entire lives. But he stepped away, retired. He’s the one who made that decision, and I wish he’d give up this attitude, too. But I bet that’s the one thing he’ll take with him all the way to the grave.

“She’s great,” I say. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her, and she’s doing fantastic work with the Foundation. It’s a great outreach resource for Contron, and it’s raising our charitable profile.”

He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat. “Good. That’s good.”

“You should call her and chat, or take her out to dinner.”

Dad’s eyebrows lower. “She’s the one who married a Thompson without telling us.”

“You’re the one who still hasn’t congratulated your daughter,” I shoot back.

He harrumphs. Rises from his chair with a low groan. “You’re in a mood today,” he says.

“Am I?” I ask pleasantly. “Hadn’t noticed.”

He leaves, no doubt to chat with the executives still here from his time. I rub a hand down my face and think of what Connie had asked about Dad. How he was different before Mom died. Where he is now.

Would Willa or Sam be sitting in this chair thirty years from now? And would I be pestering them in the same way? The thought isn’t a pleasant one. It lodges in my mind like a thorn, and I reach for my phone to drown out the pinprick of pain.

She’s texted back.

Isabel: Yes, that’s where I left off. Think you can stand-in for the hero?

Gladly. Even if standing in for him is all I’m going to be able to do. Because I’m not a hero in a romance novel, and certainly not hers. Nobody would craft their dream man with this much fucking baggage.

Alec: Tonight, I want you to tell me why that sex scene on a boat that you highlighted turned you on so much, and I want you to do it while you’re riding my face.

I hit send, and imagine her receiving it. Reading it. There’s a shyness in her that’s adorable, but it’s only about the verbalization of her wants and needs. I know her imagination is wild. The scenes in the books she highlighted for me told me more than enough.

Public sex. A quickie at a party, hard against the cabinet. Going down on a woman at the kitchen island. Rough sex, smooth sex, massage sex. And everywhere, dirty talk-filled the pages, with the heroes declaring how much they needed to fuck.

I didn’t know women wanted that, but Isabel has taught me in no uncertain terms that she likes it. Wants it. Wants to be wanted, and Lord knows I do. It’s the easiest part of my day, being with her. It shouldn’t be. But it is. I’ve never been this preoccupied with a woman before. The comparison with Victoria stings, and brings back the guilt I’m doing my best to suppress. I can’t hold all the thoughts in my head at once.

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