Mikalo's Grace (14 page)

I groaned.

"I am so, so sorry for losing it, Bill."

He held up a hand, a small laugh in his
throat.

"No, no, no. It's high time someone shot down
Miss Abigail White. The hypocrite's had it coming for years.

"By the way, I take it you're staying?" he
asked.

Right. Abigail's suggestion I chuck myself
under the bus for Mikalo.

Yeah, that wasn't happening.

"Don't be silly, Bill. Of course I'm
staying.

And that bitch better watch out 'cause next
time I'm coming armed with a bucket of water, flying monkeys or
not."

He laughed.

"God, I love you," he said between
giggles.

"No," he continued, quieting his laughter.
"What I was going to say the other night, Ronan, was this Mikalo
seems to be the real deal for you. He's kind, he's loving, he's
honest and decent. He's not going to want you for your money and,
dare I say it, I wouldn't be a damn bit surprised if he loved
you."

I laughed.

"Bill, you've spent, what, four hours with
the guy? And that's including interviews? That's a pretty bold
thing to say for someone who doesn't know him. Or us.

"I mean, my god, I've only known him less
than a week. Less than a week! And here I am giving my heart to him
and talking a mile a minute so you won't be able to jump in and
tell me you've chosen someone else."

"We haven't chosen someone else, Ronan. And
what does knowing him for less than a week have to do with
anything?"

"Bill --"

"I'm serious. Say it's been five days, okay?
In five days, you've gone from someone who did nothing but work to
someone who fits work into her life. The way it should be. You've
become someone who truly smiles, who truly laughs, who has real
hope and is sincerely, really and truly looking forward to
something.

"That's a lot to accomplish in five days. And
that says a lot right there."

"But what if I'm wrong and he leaves and I'm
destroyed. Because it would, Bill, it would destroy me."

The tears came to my eyes.

"And that scares the hell out of me," I said,
finishing, wiping them away.

"Then he touched your heart," he answered
quietly. "And that's not such a bad thing, is it?"

I took a deep breath.

"Okay," I said, drying my eyes. "Out with it.
What's the decision."

"We made him an offer," Bill said as he stood
to go. "A very generous offer."

I wanted to shout and scream and jump for
joy.

"So he'll be joining us, I take it," I said
instead, speaking as calmly as I could.

Pausing at the door, he turned and looked
back as he spoke.

"He said he doesn't know. And then he thanked
us and said he'd let us know Monday or Tuesday what he
decides."

Chapter
Thirty-Five

I had run to Deni with the news, of course.
Had been eager to bounce the whys and whats and what is he
thinkings and all those other questions rolling through my head off
her. See what she thought. What her experience was telling her.

In all honesty, I'd rather do that than call
him and leave a message.

Again.

Or send a text.

Again.

Do something else, something different than
what I would usually do.

Besides, no better way to drive Mikalo back
to Greece than by butting my nose in.

Best to hear what Deni had to say.

Right away I knew something was up.

"Mikalo had his meeting," I'd said into the
phone an hour ago. "Blazen made an offer, a generous offer, and
Mikalo thanked him and said he'd let him know Monday or Tuesday.
Can you believe that?

"Anyway, are you free? Can I come by and
just, I don't know, hang out or something? I'm going crazy
here."

A long pause.

"Sure," she finally said, obviously
distracted. "But not the apartment. Meet me at that little diner on
the corner."

"Okay," I had said. "The one near Lexington
and --"

"Oh god no," she interrupted. "The clean
one."

"Gotcha."

And now here we sat, my coffee untouched
before me, Deni working her way through her third cup.

Mikalo was right. Watching her now, I could
see the sadness behind her eyes.

I could kick myself for not seeing it
sooner.

Then again, Deni's advice from nights ago
still ringing in my ears, I was now willingly taking my head out of
my ass and looking around.

It's amazing what you saw when you did
that.

"Talk to me," I finally said.

She watched the table in front of her, her
gaze lost somewhere in the milky black of the steaming coffee.

"I love you so much, Ronan," she whispered
quietly, her hand quickly rising to wipe away her tears.

Whoa. Deni was crying.

That never happened.

Shit.

"I love you, too," I said, my hand snaking
across the table to touch hers.

"He said no," she then said, taking her hand
from mine as, with both hands, she lifted the cup to take a long
sip.

"I just want you to know he said no," she
repeated.

Another sip.

"Okay," I said, not sure who said no and when
and why.

"It's important to remember that," she
said.

"It might help if I know who --"

"Mikalo," she interrupted, her eyes once
again gazing into her coffee. "The other night. At the party. I
offered myself to him, Ronan. Offered my heart, my soul, my body.
My desire. My sex. All of it. I offered myself to him and he turned
me down."

I was shocked. I didn't know what to say.

She continued.

"It was not because I'm not beautiful, he
said. And it wasn't because I wasn't desirable.

"It was because I wasn't you," she finished,
her eyes on mine, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You ... I'm sorry, I need to catch up," I
finally said. "You offered yourself to Mikalo. At the party. You
hit on him, offered to go to bed with him, and he said no. And this
upsets you?"

"Oh you Ivy League idiot," she said with a
small laugh. "I'm not upset because he said no. Like the proverbial
dog chasing that proverbial car, I doubt I'd know what to do with a
delicious piece of meat like him if I ever caught him.

"No, I'm upset because I betrayed you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she said. "Oh. I feel horrible
because I betrayed your trust, betrayed our friendship, betrayed
your love for me and mine for you, all because you're piping hot
hunk of a man charmed my panties off."

"He charmed your ... I'm sorry, what?"

"Not literally," she answered, impatiently
putting the cup back on the table. "His kindness, his laughter, his
jokes, that fucking hot accent of his. He didn't intentionally
charm me, Ronan. He wasn't trying to bed me.

"It's just that he's so goddamn fuckable.
Hell, you know that, right?"

I nodded.

"And yet there I was, a famous beauty with
more goddamn money than she'll ever need in my fucking Park Avenue
duplex and he still said no.

"Because I wasn't you.

"So," she finished, picking up the cup again
and taking yet another sip, "think of that the next time you worry
about him banging some other broad."

She looked out the window, avoiding my
gaze.

I paused.

This was Deni. My best friend in the world,
Deni. She knew my secrets, she knew my hopes and dreams. Had held
me when I cried and celebrated with me when I had succeeded. Was
the first person I called with big news, both good and bad.

I loved her. Loved her humor, her honesty,
her laughter and take-no-bullshit attitude. Loved how she cut to
the chase and got to the heart of the matter in minutes. Loved how
she saved me from my myself, always insisting I be better than I
was before. Make better choices, work smarter, dream bigger, never
give up even when I was dead tired and beyond lonely.

"I forgive you," I said, those three words
the easiest I'd said in ages. "I forgive you."

Her eyes still out the window, the tears
fell, her chin trembling as she quietly sobbed.

And then, Deni being Deni, she shook it off
with a shrug, dried her eyes and pushed her coffee away.

She looked at me and smiled a small, grateful
smile.

"Thank you."

"Our friendship is bigger than this," I
said.

"It is," she agreed, nodding.

"But listen and listen well, little girl,"
she continued, her eyes locked on mine. "If you fuck this up and
let Mikalo get away, I will personally make your life a living
hell.

"Do not screw this up. He's
once-in-a-lifetime, Ronan. Once-in-a-friggin'-lifetime.

"And some of us," she finished, lifting her
menu and snapping it open, "don't even get that."

Chapter
Thirty-Six

"My English, maybe it is bad," Mikalo was
saying as he sat behind the steering wheel of our rental. "But
express, it means quick, no?"

I couldn't help but smile. He was teasing me
as we sat at a dead stop in bumper to bumper traffic on the Long
Island Expressway.

"And this," he continued, his hand gesturing
to the stopped cars around us. "This is not so quick, I think."

And then he smiled.

God, I loved him.

"It was your idea, big guy," I said, teasing
him back.

It was true. He insisted I take a three-day
weekend and join him at a friend's house in Southampton. Trusted
the clean air and ocean breeze and sand would be a nice change from
the concrete and traffic of the city.

"It is a small house, my Grace," he had said.
"Nothing fancy. But, still, very nice."

"Of course," I had said. "I'd love to."

And I could do it, the Byzan documents no
longer my problem. Or at least not for the next two or three weeks.
Didn't these people realize I was damn good at my job? Didn't they
think I'd discover they were hiding assets in the UK? Houses,
ownership in companies, race horses. I mean, really? If you can't
hide it from me, you sure as hell couldn't hide it from Uncle
Sam.

So, while a UK solicitor unraveled how much
there was and what kind of complications it would cause for the
Byzan's US interests, I could breathe easy.

And that's exactly what I was going to
do.

For the next three days, at least.

Until then, we sat in traffic.

He reached over and held my hand.

"They gave me an offer," he then said. "You
know this."

I nodded.

"And?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"I do not know, my Grace."

The car in front of us moved.

"We go now," he said happily as he
followed.

The car in front stopped. As did we.

"And now we stop," he said with a frown.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"We'll move soon enough," I assured him.
"They must have traffic in Greece."

"In Athens, of course," he answered. "And it
is like this, yes. But outside of Athens, in the country and the
beaches, up in the cliffs where the sky is so blue ..."

He stopped and looked out the window.

The brief warm spell we'd been enjoying had
ended, the chilly air and grey skies of Fall returning with a
vengeance.

"You miss home," I said quietly.

Nodding his head, he sighed.

"And your family."

At this, he simply shrugged.

"I love my family, yes. But I have love here,
no?

"And we move," he said as the car once again
crept forward only to stop several feet later.

"We are stopped."

"So," I said, "this job, will you accept
their offer?"

"There is much to consider."

"Yes," I answered. "There is. It's not an
easy decision or one you should take lightly. A lot of work, a lot
of changes. Moving far away from home."

What was I doing? I asked myself. Talking him
out of it?

Rein it in, Ronan. Relax, stop trying to
"help", and shut your pie hole.

"You are right, my Grace."

Oh shit.

"There is much to consider. But there is much
for me here already."

Again his hand snuck over to find mine,
taking it with a squeeze and holding it.

"But you know," I said quickly. "New York is
great. A lot to do, a lot to see. Great people. And you have
friends. A lot of friends here. Plus, if you love beaches and sun,
Miami is only a few hours away. Nice place to spend a long,
leisurely weekend.

"There's so much here, Mikalo. And the Firm,
it's a great place."

"Yes?"

He glanced at me.

"Yes," I said, the word sounding hollow. "Yes
it is."

There was no response, Mikalo sitting quietly
as he rolled my words through his mind, squaring it up with his own
impressions, his own opinions.

"This time, with the sand and the water and
the quiet, it will be good for me. To think. To decide. To listen
to my heart and my head."

He looked over at me, a smile on his
face.

"And my Grace will learn to trust."

The car in front of us moved.

"We are going somewhere, I think," he said as
his eyes turned back to the road and he crept forward.

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

He had lied again.

The house we pulled up to was anything but
small or "very nice".

It was astonishing, a one-story, sleek,
modern box of glass and rich wood. Of luxurious furnishings and
gleaming dark floors. Of large modern art and priceless sculpture
and a large open fireplace anchoring the space.

From one of many glass walls, you could see
the sand of the beach and, were you to slide this wall open --
which you could do with the press of a discrete button -- and step
onto the marble patio, feel the spray from the water.

"Who is this friend?" I couldn't help but
ask.