Page 22 of Promise Me Forever

“You two are done though, yeah?”

I nod, unable to bring myself to say it aloud. The reality of the situation is that we have to be done. I’m not the kind of guy who nails his secretary. I don’t even like to associate with the other partners outside of business hours. I don’t exploit people, and that’s the end of it.

Nathan downs his Scotch and licks his lips. Then he brushes a nonexistent crease from his suit pants and stands. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Yeah,” I reply, looking up at the ceiling. “I was a bit of a jackass, but she basically agrees that it’s over, all in the past. One hundred percent finito.”

“You sure about that, buddy? Because the way you talked about her… It seemed like it was more than a one-night stand, honestly.”

“No. It wasn’t. You know me, Nathan. I don’t do relationships. They’re too damn messy. Look what happenedafter one night. This won’t be going any further, and I promise we’ll work through it. I just needed you to know.”

I also needed to talk to someone about it, and Nathan is my go-to guy. He doesn’t know everything about me—we all have our secrets—but our relationship has always been solid. This little incident obviously hasn’t helped the way I often feel like I’m in his shadow, no matter how hard I work. Here I am, back in New York and busting my ass for our firm, and I still somehow manage to feel like a fuck-up.

“All right,” he says, grabbing his jacket. “If you two think you can handle it, then do whatever you think is best.”

I stare up at him, suspicious. “Well, that’s a complete one-eighty. What happened to moving her?”

He glances at his watch. “You’re right. It’s the wrong way to go, both morally and legally. Look, you don’t need me to tell you what to do, Drake. You don’t need me to hold your hand. This is your firm as much as it is mine, and I know you wouldn’t do anything to put it at risk.”

That’s true, but it’s good to hear that he trusts me. Seeing Amelia again today dredged up a whole load of confusing emotions, but he’s right. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize what Nathan and I have built together. Work is everything to me; this firm is everything to me. I’ve had a much longer relationship with my work than I have with any woman, and that’s always been fine by me. I don’t see anything or anyone changing that, not even the woman who has occupied my thoughts since I first met her. That stops now. Amelia Ryder is my secretary and nothing more.

Chapter

Ten

AMELIA

“So, how was it?” Mom yells as soon as she hears me close her front door. I hang up my coat and plaster on a happy face. She doesn’t need to know all the complications. She only needs to know that it was great.

It’s not exactly a lie—some of it was great. Some of it was a roller coaster of anxiety and sexual tension, but that definitely falls into the don’t-tell-Mom category. I can just imagine.Oh yeah, it was fine—apart from the fact that my new boss is the guy I banged at Emily’s wedding, and he makes me weak at the knees every time he looks at me.Nope. I’m gonna stick with the sanitized version of events.

Our house is tiny, tucked away in a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn. Mom always worked hard, sometimes holding down three jobs to make ends meet. Despite that, I never felt like I went without anything. There was always food on the table, clothes on my back, and a whole lot of love. We never had a lot of money, but I didn’t feel deprived. My friends all loved coming to my house, and not once did I wish for a different childhood. When I was younger, I would have liked to have known my father, but she never talked about him, and Ihad to accept that. The only time she ever got upset with me was when I pushed to know more, and these days I’m at peace with it. She’s loved me hard enough for two.

When I got my full ride to Harvard, I was full of dreams. I was going to work in finance or start my own business or find some way to make it to the top. And when I did, I vowed, I’d move her out of this tiny two-bedroom and into someplace grand.

“Don’t be silly!” she always said, laughing. “I’m perfectly happy here. This is the home where I raised you. It’s always been full of laughter and love, and I have great neighbors. Why would I want to leave?”

In the end, it was Chad who started his own business and me who supported him during those tough early days. When he was doing prestigious internships, I worked as an office temp to pay the bills. It all felt worth it once he began to succeed, but I discovered during the divorce that he wasn’t quite as high-flying as he led people to believe. His investment company was in debt, and the house we bought together in Philadelphia was mortgaged to the hilt. I ended up leaving the marriage with very little, and I didn’t even mind that. It felt like a fresh start, and I was relieved to have no tangible reminders of our years together.

Now I have my shiny new job at James and James, and things are looking up. I need to focus on that rather than the complications with my boss.

I head into the space that doubles as a living room and dining room and find her curled up on the couch. She’s tiny, my mom, five-foot-nothing as opposed to my five-six. I get my dark hair and hazel eyes from her, though, although her locks are striped with silver these days.

I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. “It was great, Mom. Really great. I’ve got such a good feeling about it. I stopped by Wanda’s, picked us some cannoli to celebrate.”

“Pistachio?” she says hopefully.

“Of course. Do you even know me?” I tease. “You want it now?”

“Maybe a little later, babe,” she replies, and I can tell she’s trying to hide how sick she feels. Her breathing problems are steadily getting worse, and she needs to use more medication every month. There’s a little table next to the couch that’s now full of pills and inhalers and the mask she uses to boost her oxygen levels. It all leaves her low on energy, which she tries desperately to keep from me.

“Are you feeling okay, Mom?” I ask, sitting next to her and taking her hand in mine. “You know you don’t need to pretend for my sake, right?”

“I’m fine, Amelia—I’m more interested in your day. Did you figure out all the important stuff, like where the break room is and the nearest place that does great coffee? Were the people nice? Were there any snot-buckets?”

I laugh at the silly word. For as long as I can remember, she’s used it to describe snobs, starting with some of the people she used to clean house for, then on to some of my Harvard acquaintances. The James brothers are clearly super rich, but does that make them snot-buckets? No, I don’t think so. That particular title is reserved for the kind of stick-up-the-ass types who look down on others because they’re less wealthy or have lower social standing, and I don’t get the impression that either Nathan or Drake buys into that.

“There are probably a few lurking around somewhere,” I say. “It’s a big building, and it is a law firm, so it’d be strange if it was entirely snot-bucket free. But so far, so good.”

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