Beautifully Forgotten (12 page)

L
ucien reread the same sentence for the hundredth time and still he had no idea what was on the page because his concentration was shot. Damn it. He was acting like a fucking adolescent with Darcy constantly on his mind. From the moment she’d stepped into his office, she was all he could think about. How he managed indifference, when what he was feeling was quite the opposite, surprised him. Remembering how it had been between them made him ridiculously curious to know just what she had been doing with her life. Was she happy? Was she where she hoped she would be? Did she regret not meeting him that day? He couldn’t bring himself to ask her, though; there was a part of him that wanted revenge even though her offense had happened long ago. But if he was being completely truthful, there was an even larger part of him that didn’t think he would like her answers.

When Darcy’s headhunter called him about the job, voicing her name, there was no way he wouldn’t have agreed to the interview. Of course¸ he hadn’t handled their first meeting very well because there was still bitterness there. He imagined that meant something, that he still harbored animosity toward her. People say there’s a fine line between love and hate—he was living it.

His mind drifted to the night at Peacock. Watching her dancing with that secret smile on her face had driven him crazy with the need to touch her. He hadn’t realized his feet had propelled him across the club until he was pulling her into his arms. She was the same and yet different and still her body fit against his as if they were two parts of a whole.

He felt guilty about kissing Cassandra in front of her, but he had done it on purpose. Holding Darcy made him remember, and remembering made him angry. The look she had given him from across the club, as if she was acknowledging that she deserved the slight, twisted in his gut. Though he wanted her to take the insult, he was angry that she hadn’t stood up for herself and told him to fuck off. He thought about Darcy’s mother and how Darcy was also looking for the good in the ugly there. He didn’t like how that made him feel.

Seeing her again, all the memories he had pushed into the farthest reaches of his brain came rushing back like a fucking tidal wave. She’d been so awkward when she’d first arrived at the orphanage, a girl who was clearly neglected; but it had been her eyes that first caught his attention, because the twinkle in them hinted at an extraordinary person.

Her arrival coincided with Sister Anne telling him that she was seriously ill, and there was a part of him that believed Darcy was sent to him to help him get through what would be the worst and best two years of his life.

Sixteen years earlier . . .

Lucien sat in the dark corner of the room that served as the dining hall. Meals at St. Agnes were often quiet affairs since food was so efficiently handed out. Just like any good prison, you were given three squares, and if you missed mealtime, you went without. He was grateful for the silence—hearing laughter, when he felt so empty inside, made the anger that was always just under the surface break free from the tenuous hold he had on it.

Sister Anne was sick, apparently had been for some time, but now she was no longer responding to treatments. She was dying. How long she had, he didn’t know, but there was going to come a time when she would be gone.

He didn’t understand how the God that she worshiped could be so cruel. She gave her life to Him and, in return, she got an early death. And what would happen to him? He’d leave, because with her gone there was nothing there for him. He felt the tears, hated feeling weak, and tried to push Sister Anne from his head.

He felt eyes on him; he had for most of the meal, and turned to see a girl staring at him from across the room. Her long black hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, she wore no makeup, and her clothes seemed to be a size too big, hanging loosely from her thin frame.

He watched as she stood and he was tempted to follow her out of the hall, but then she started toward him. When she was close enough for him to touch her, he noticed she held a small cup of chocolate pudding.

She sat down without being invited and pushed the pudding across the table to him. That act of kindness took him completely by surprise and he responded by being more curt than he intended.

“What are you doing?”

“You like pudding, so I’m giving you mine.”

“How do you know I like pudding?”

“I’ve been watching you.”

“What?”

She just smiled at him in response.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“It is the most delicious thing I ever tasted.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “So why don’t you eat it?”

“Because I thought if you had an extra, it would make you smile. I’ve been here two weeks and I have not seen you smile once.” She touched her finger to his hand. “Why are you so sad?”

He didn’t mean to yell, but what did she know? “What the hell is there to smile about?”

A sadness swept her face and Lucien wished he could take back his words. And then she spoke and what she said sliced through him.

“Sometimes it seems like there’s nothing, like when my mom hits me or when I used to have to hide in the basement of our apartment building so that my mom’s friends didn’t come for me when they were done with her. But then every once in a while I’ll see a butterfly soaring through the sky. The idea of that being me—to be free—makes me smile.”

He didn’t understand the feelings this girl evoked in him—a rage that was nearly palpable, but at the same time a tenderness that nearly brought him to his knees. His need to protect her, the caterpillar who was waiting to become a butterfly, was overwhelming.

“What happened to your mom?”

“Nothing. She has a new boyfriend that was paying me more attention than her, so she sent me here.”

Lucien had some choice words for her mom, but instead reached for his spoon.

“I won’t be able to eat all of this. Maybe we could share.”

Her smile took up her whole face. “You’re a terrible liar, but I’d like to share it with you.”

He handed her the spoon with an answering smile. “Thanks, Caterpillar.”

Darcy sat at her desk, but as hard as she tried to forget the scene at Peacock a few nights ago, it was right there. She had been right. She had half a mind to walk into his office and tell him to fuck off, but that wasn’t the professional way to handle a conflict. She was pondering drafting a harshly worded e-mail when he appeared in his doorway.

“Darcy, could you come in here, please?”

Shock rendered her mute for a minute. It was almost three weeks since she had started and the only time he’d asked her into his office was the day he spouted off instructions at her like she was a willful child. What pearls of wisdom would he impart today? It was curiosity that made her get to her feet and follow him into his office.

Lucien decided he needed to start acting his fucking age. Darcy was his employee, really way overqualified for the assistant position he’d offered her, and he owed her common courtesy. And while he could feed that bullshit to himself all he wanted, the real reason he wanted to reach out was because he missed her. She had sought him out and maybe she was fourteen years late, but she was here and she was trying.

He sat across from her and he took a minute to study her, knowing his scrutiny would serve two purposes: it would give him a minute to enjoy the view and, at the same time, his blatant staring would piss her off. Yes, he was going to try to make an effort, but he was only human after all, and the dig was a small one, but a very gratifying one when he saw her eyes narrow ever so slightly at him.

“I was a bit of prick the first time I called you in here. Hours are flexible as long as you’re putting in eight and that includes an hour for lunch.”

He didn’t miss her look of surprise, nor did he miss the skepticism burning in her gaze. He couldn’t blame her for it. How to lighten the mood? And then, remembering their banter as kids, he tried to think of the most absurd instructions to show her he’d been rude. “When you arrive, I expect the coffee to be started since there’s nothing I like more than a nice cup of steaming hot coffee in the morning.” He hated coffee, and he suspected she remembered that. Seeing the humor in her eyes, he continued on with his list of completely bogus instructions.

Darcy sat back and listened to the litany of bullshit coming out of his mouth and had to stifle the need to laugh. She couldn’t lie; it was nice seeing this side of him again. She thought he had lost it. Had he felt guilty for his actions at Peacock or was it possible that he felt something besides indifference toward her? Either way, she intended to enjoy this lighter side of Lucien.

When he wasn’t brooding, he was even more beautiful. She half listened and used the opportunity to just stare. She remembered those lips. Even at seventeen, he’d known what he was doing. Jealousy churned in her gut over all the women he’d later used those lips on, even realizing it was she who had pushed him away. Karma was vicious.

“Are you listening, Ms. MacBride?”

“Yes, Mr. Black, the stapler should always be on the left of the desk and the tape dispenser on the right. Though I would like to point out that I am left-handed and so it’ll be a bit awkward for me to be constantly reaching across myself to get to the tape.”

His lips curved ever so slightly and the sight of it was like a hit from a defibrillator. He looked at her rather magnanimously before he said, “Well, I suppose I can give you some leeway regarding the tape.”

“They should throw a parade in your honor,” Darcy countered with the same generosity.

“Do you think this is a joke, Ms. MacBride?”

“Not at all, Mr. Black. I assure you I am giving your instructions all the attention they deserve.”

She saw him bite his tongue and knew he was trying to keep himself from laughing. His tone sounded mildly disinterested when he asked, “You know how to type, yes?”

She lifted her two pointer fingers and wiggled them at him. “Taught myself.”

“Touché. There’s a file of correspondence that needs to be typed up. Once you’re done with that, we’ll take it from there. That’s all.”

Darcy stood and started from the room when Lucien added, “Welcome to the team, Darcy.”

She turned to find him staring at her, and the look in his eyes made her heart move into her throat. It wasn’t Mr. Black welcoming Ms. MacBride; it was Lucien welcoming Darcy.

“Thank you . . .” She almost added “Lucien” but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She turned and walked out of his office with his name left unspoken between them.

At lunchtime, Darcy decided to slice up an apple to go with her sandwich, but she wasn’t paying attention because her thoughts were on that small smile that Lucien had given her. She hadn’t expected humor; she’d been prepared for him to be harsh and cruel, but not silly, decreeing where the tape dispenser should be placed on her desk. She chuckled and the knife slipped, slicing into her finger.