Beg For Me: Chapter 7

Monday morning arrives. My sanity returns with it.

Whatever that was last night, it won’t happen again. I’m too old for fairy-tales, too practical to entertain what-ifs, and much too smart to do something as stupid as taking a lover who is not only an infamous playboy and fifteen years younger than me, but who also sits on the board of TriCast’s largest and most powerful competitor.

Everyone would think I’d lost my mind.

They’d be right.

As soon as my weekly team meeting is over, I head back to my office and close the door. Then I sit at my desk with my cell phone, ready to compose an apology text to Carter that I won’t be able to make our date tonight after all.

But he’s already sent me a text.

It’s a link to the music video for the Britney Spears song “I’m A Slave 4 U.”

I set the phone screen side down on my desk and stare out my office windows into the bright Los Angeles morning, lost in memories from last night.

“I take it the meeting went well.”

Startled, I look over to find my assistant, Alex, standing beside my desk holding a binder. I have no idea how long she’s been standing there or how she got in.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re grinning.”

Confused, I look at the open door. “Wasn’t that closed?”

“Yes. I knocked. You told me to come in.”

I have no recollection of that, but I’ll be damned if I’ll admit it. “Right. Of course.”

“So what are you smiling so big about?”

“Nothing. I’m not smiling. Nobody’s smiling at all.”

Alex cocks her head and frowns. “You okay?”

I sit up straighter and put on my best no-nonsense-boss-lady face. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. Is that my market share report?”

She places the binder in my outstretched hand. “Sure is. How’d the meeting go?”

I’m about to answer her when a young man walks into my office holding an enormous bouquet of red roses.

“Delivery for Ms. Bianco.”

“Ooo,” says Alex, eyeing the bouquet. “Flowers. Wow, that’s big.” She turns back and grins at me. “Guess I know what you were smiling about now. Who is he?”

Ignoring that, I tell the delivery guy to put the roses on my desk. He navigates carefully across the room, sighing in relief once he sets the bouquet down.

Alex asks him, “How many roses is that?”

“Four dozen.”

She whistles. “That’s a lot!”

“Tell me about it. The thing weighs a ton. But the guy who ordered it specifically said it had to be four dozen.”

“Really? Why? Does that number mean something?”

“Unconditional love, I think.”

When Alex shoots me a look, eyebrows raised and lips pursed, I wave her off. “They’re from my brother. We had an argument. Go back to work, please.” To the delivery guy, I say, “Do I need to sign anything?”

“Nope. We’re good. Have a nice day.”

He leaves, but Alex doesn’t budge. She just stands there examining the flowers with interest, obviously dying to snatch up the little white envelope dangling from a black ribbon on one of the stems.

“Will you please close the door on your way out?”

I turn to my computer and open my email, clicking around and trying to look busy and innocent. My smarty-pants assistant isn’t fooled.

“Aren’t you going to read the card? I mean, I’m sure you must want to know what it says. Seeing how it’s from your brother and all.”

“Alex, don’t be a nuisance. Goodbye.”

With a little laugh, she tuns and heads to the door. “Don’t forget you have lunch with Mr. Hartman at the Polo Lounge at twelve-thirty.”

As if I could forget.

My boss, the CEO of the company, has made lunch together a monthly ritual. He meets with each of us on the executive team separately, a practice I find suspiciously at odds with all his talk of leadership cohesiveness.

As soon as Alex has left and closed the door behind her, I rise and walk around my desk. Standing in front of the massive rose bouquet, I try hard not to smile but fail. My grin is big and goofy. I pluck the card from the little white envelope and read it.

Beautiful Sophia – Thank you for last night. Please don’t cancel our date tonight. A chance is all I’m asking for.

So he’s a mind reader too. Great.

I run the card through the shredder and am about to send Carter a text when my brother calls. I stare at his number on the screen, dreading the conversation.

“Hi, Will.”

“Did you get my email?”

His rude, demanding tone gets my hackles up. “Did you take Mom to the ER?”

“She’s fine, okay?”

“When did you get your medical license? I didn’t realize you were a doctor.”

His exhalation is short and annoyed. “If you think you can take better care of her, be my guest.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. Please, let’s not fight.”

We share a bristling silence that I refuse to break first. Finally, he says tightly, “I tried to convince her to go to the ER. She refused to get in the car. I told her I’d have to call 911, and she told me if I did, she’d tell the paramedics I pushed her down the stairs.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“Yeah. But that’s where we are.”

“Do you think she was serious?”

His sigh is heavy. “Who knows? She’s not exactly all there mentally. Some days are better than others, but she’s definitely fading.”

I hear the fatigue in his voice and am swamped with guilt. “I’m sorry, Will. I know this is tough on you. Thank you for handling everything. I appreciate it, even though I don’t tell you that enough.”

He makes a doubtful noise, but mercifully doesn’t skewer me about my lack of hands-on support.

“I haven’t had a chance to go over the email yet, but I will.”

“Today?”

“As soon as I can, I promise.”

I hear our mother’s voice in the background but can’t make out the words.

Will calls, “It’s Sophia, Ma.”

There’s a pause, then more background muttering.

“What’s she saying?”

“She wants to know when she’s going to see Nick again. Says she misses him.”

I close my eyes and breathe through the band of pain tightening around my chest. It’s an unpleasant feeling to know that your mother prefers your ex-spouse over her own blood.

Unpleasant, but not unbelievable because I feel the same way about her.

Mother-daughter relationships have got to be the most conflicted in all of human history. World wars have been more straightforward.

“Do you think she remembers we’re divorced or is she just pushing my buttons?”

He chuckles. “The odds are fifty-fifty. Don’t let it bug you. This morning over breakfast, she asked if I thought she’d go to jail if she smothered me in my sleep.”

That leaves me aghast. “How awful!”

“When I asked her why she’d say such a crappy thing, she pretended not to know what I was talking about. Denied it completely.”

“That’s either dementia or straight-up gaslighting.”

“It sure isn’t a walk in the park, I know that much.”

I’m surprised things are getting so bad. Our mother’s always been a handful, but this is different. It sounds like Will is right about wanting to get her into assisted living. We might need to be looking into memory care too.

“Okay, let me know when you’ve had a look at the information, and we’ll touch base again.”

“Will do. I’ll call you later.”

“Yep.”

He disconnects without waiting for me to say goodbye, and now I’m annoyed all over again. Why can’t we get along like a normal family? Why do all our interactions have to devolve into poking each other with sticks?

I remind myself that this is as good as it gets. There’s no sense in wishing for the impossible.

I spend a few minutes restlessly pacing the length of my office, then do what needs to be done. Bracing myself for another unpleasant conversation, I dial Carter.

He picks up instantly. “Oh my God. It’s you.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I was literally just thinking I might expire from longing before our date tonight, and you called.”

“Expire from longing? You are getting these lines from a book.”

“I swear I’m not. Besides, that would mean I’d have to actually read a book, and I think we both know that’s not happening.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “You don’t even read Playboy, huh?”

“Do they have words in Playboy? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I bet.”

“The pictures are pretty good, though.”

“Blech.”

He says innocently, “Wait, are we talking about the same magazine? It’s the one with all the nature pictures, right?”

“Nature pictures. Ha.”

“Breasts are very natural.”

“Not the ones in girlie magazines.”

“Good point. But I still think we’re talking about two different things. What’s the one with all the wildlife and the undersea stuff and shots of earth from the moon?”

I think for a moment, ignoring the fact that I’m smiling at nothing. “Are you talking about National Geographic?”

“Yeah, that’s it!”

“They don’t have pictures of breasts in National Geographic.”

“I’ll bet you a million dollars they do.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have that kind of money to throw around.”

“I’ll lend it to you. Then, when I win the bet, you can give it back.”

“Hmm. A tempting offer, but I’m not the betting kind.”

“You just know I’m right, you big scaredy-cat.”

“I’m not a scaredy-cat.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m not!”

“Take the bet, then.”

Shaking my head and sinking into my chair, I laugh again. “Why do I think we could go around and around like this for days on end? No, don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question.”

“I’ve noticed you’re big on those. Wanna know what I’m big on?”

The suggestion in his voice makes me roll my eyes. “Dear God, no. May I tell you why I called now?”

When he doesn’t reply, I prompt, “Hello?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if that was another rhetorical question.”

“Oh, I see. You’re being a smartass.”

“Only because I’m hoping you’ll get mad and threaten to punish me again like you did last night.”

His voice dropped an octave when he said that.

All the air just went out of the room.

Determined to remain steady, I take a slow breath and moisten my lips before speaking again. “I don’t recall threatening to punish you.”

“You said you’d make me get on my knees and beg your forgiveness for my terrible manners.”

Ah, yes. That.

I cross my legs, then uncross them, his words echoing in my ears. Not only the words but also the throaty tone they were spoken in, one of hot, unapologetic desire.

Trying to keep it lighthearted, I tease, “Why does that sound like something you’d like?”

He growls, “Because it is. I’d get on my knees and beg you for anything you asked. Anything, Sophia. Name it.”

My heart turns over. My pulse doubles, and my smile fades.

I can tell from his tone that this isn’t a little game he’s playing. He actually means it.

The problem is that I find that incredibly exciting.

I clear my throat. “Maybe I’ll tell you why I called instead.”

“I know why you called. To thank me for the flowers and cancel our date. Except you don’t really want to cancel. You’re just overthinking it.”

“That self-confidence of yours must really come in handy.”

“It’s not self-confidence. I’m actually very insecure. But you can’t fake chemistry, and no matter how much you wish we didn’t, we have it.”

He lets that sink in for a moment, then says softly, “Please don’t cancel. Please.”

Oh God. Not the begging. The begging will be the end of me.

“Let me think about it.”

“No, that’s the last thing you need to do. Go with your gut.”

“My gut tells me to run as far away from you as possible.”

“Crap. Okay, go with your heart.”

When I don’t respond to that, he whispers urgently, “I have to kiss you again.”

I groan. “Carter—”

“I can’t think about anything else. I can’t focus. I’ve been sitting over here like a caged animal. My secretary probably thinks I’m on drugs. I might die if I can’t kiss you again. Do you want to be responsible for the death of the COO of McCord Media, Sophia? Do you want my blood on your hands?”

He’s being so ridiculous, I burst out laughing.

“There she is,” he says, chuckling. “I knew I’d get you with theatrics.”

“And how. You should’ve gone into acting.”

“There’s no money in it. I’ll see you at six. If you still want to cancel, you’ll have to say it to my face.”

He disconnects, leaving me shaking my head in disbelief.

Unfortunately, I’m still smiling.