Mr. Wrong Page 7

  He’d asked himself the same question. “Look, I don’t know. All the PI did was investigate the man himself. My guess? The ovens are made to do what they’re doing. He’s got someone in on the mess with him. A fire enthusiast, someone who knows how to do controlled burns. They look the same as normal ovens only they’re not. That’s how I’d do it, anyway.”

  They were silent for minutes. She didn’t speak, neither did he, and the longer the quiet went on the more it seemed to press down on him. If she was still his wife, he could fix this. But she wasn’t. Fixing Dahlia’s issues wasn’t something she’d told him she wanted him to do. He’d gone as far as he could without crossing a line. And maybe it made him a coward, but he needed to breathe before he went caveman and started to insist she let him take over her life.

  He stood. “Hey, listen. I’m in some pain.” And I have to get away from you before I offer to do something dumb such as take care of all of your problems. “So I’m heading upstairs, take a pill, stretch. Stay as long as you want to. We can have dinner if you want. I don’t know what you want to do.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “Do you think I’m the stupidest woman you’ve ever met?”

  “No.” He thought she’d made some huge mistakes. “When we got together, we were children. Then we were in college when we got married. What a stupid, wonderful, crazy move our love affair turned out to be.” He loved to think about the long giddy drive to Vegas they’d taken, drunk on being in love. “We didn’t make it long after because grown up stuff threw us. Mostly my fault for not listening although you were also not talking.”

  She stood. “I really screwed up my life, Cristian. Twice now. First with you, then with Duke.”

  “Be that as it may. When you left there were a whole slew of things I could not seem to manage in my life, things which I never knew you were taking care of. I hardly knew how to dress myself.” She’d always picked out his outfits, known how he should look and what clothes he needed purchased. Dahlia had run everything in their lives. It had been a full year before he had come running for air after drowning in the list of things he didn’t know how to do. “You’re an amazing designer. Those restaurants, I mean, I only saw two of them, beautiful. You didn’t know what you should have been doing when you met Duke, how to check him out. Third times a charm. Get it right. What you do next will define you.”

  She didn’t crumble, didn’t fall apart. “I want to sink him. I want to throw him from a train. I want to…report him to the fire marshal.”

  Good girl. “So get on it.”

  ****

  Dahlia dragged herself into her small apartment and then fell into bed. The last three weeks had been long. Duke’s arrest and the subsequent fraud and criminal charges the DA had brought against he and his three friends had been levied and her former business partner spent his nights and days behind bars. She dug her head deeper into her pillow. It didn’t get more comfortable and the ease of sleep wouldn’t take her.

  She wasn’t facing jail time. Good news. The bank wasn’t coming after her for the whole of the loans. Good news. What they wanted was exactly half her life savings. Semi-good news.

  Her restaurants were closing. The financial planner she’d sat with had shown her unequivocally they couldn’t stay open. They were all shutting down immediately, and the contents, a lot of which had come directly from her own post-divorce storage locker, were to be sold at auction to help pay the fee from the bank. Bad news.

  She groaned. The pivotal point was she wasn’t going to jail. She wasn’t winding up on the street although she likely would lose her apartment. The rent was going to be too high, considering she didn’t have a job to support it. What she had left of her savings would go too fast if she stayed where she was. Where was she going to go?

  Her cell rang and she rolled over to answer. Who called? Her friends were there for her, helping her when they could. Cristian checked in via text message every other day. She wished he reached out more. He’d already done so much for her, and she’d been responsible for causing him so much pain. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, ask for more.

  The screen told her Cristian called and she managed to make her shaking hands answer. “Hi.”

  “I saw the news report online about the restaurants closing. You okay?”

  No. No. I’m not okay. I don’t think I’ve been okay since I left you. Why had I thought I needed to? Why hadn’t I hollered at you until I made you listen? “I’m fine. The story only broke an hour ago.”

  “Google alert.”

  Oh, of course. “Cristian, I…” She stopped talking because there really was nothing to say.

  “Do you have a passport?”

  His question, seemingly out of nowhere, made her sit straighter. “I don’t think running away to Mexico will make my worries go away. I’m not in any personal trouble. However, if I don’t pay my due, I’ll see the inside of a jail cell.”

  “I’m not suggesting Mexico and the life of a fugitive.” He laughed. “Although thinking of you the lam is funny.”

  “I couldn’t manage Austin on my own. I certainly am not living on the wrong side of the law.”

  He sighed. “You managed Austin fine. Everyone makes mistakes. Don’t let them eat you. I asked about the passport because I wanted to know if you wanted to take a trip with me. To Paris.”

  “To Paris? You’re going to Paris?” He sounded tired. She hadn’t realized at first. She’d been so preoccupied with her own shit his exhaustion had escaped her notice. He’d returned to work for the first time since his accident days earlier.

  “There is a symposium going on about oil rights. I understand you’ve been busy, probably avoiding the news. My company merged, and I got promoted to partner. I need to go and represent us. I thought if you had a passport, I’d take you with me. When I’m not working, we could spend some time together—and you can wander the city and look at the architecture and artwork while I am.”

  She gripped the phone tighter in her hand. “I can’t afford Paris. I’m giving up my apartment.” Dahlia really wished she hadn’t let the last bit slip out.

  “Obviously, if I’m inviting you to Paris, I’m taking care of the cost.” He laughed. “Kind of a shitty invitation otherwise. Please come to Paris and pay your way. No, come on. Let’s go. For a four-day weekend. The plane trips will hardly seem worth the time there. The trip will get you out of there for a little while. Maybe give you time to think.”

  There were a million reasons not to go. Too much to accomplish, boxes to pack, auctions to supervise. Days to spend wallowing in self-pity. Her ex-husband wanted her to go to Paris with him? He’d never asked her on a business trip when they’d been married.

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  ****

  Dahlia leaned against the door of her hotel room and laughed at something Cristian said in the hallway of their hotel. It had been such a fun day. He’d spoken at the conference, some of which she had watched although she’d understood very little of it, and then she’d wondered in and out of museums during the afternoon.

  They’d been giggling all night, seemingly about nothing.

  “Seriously? Did you see the guy’s hat? Who did he think he was? A comic book character?”

  She reached out to stroke the side of his sport’s jacket. He was so handsome in business attire. The fabric was soft, nicer than the stuff they’d been able to afford when they’d first gotten together. His guard was down, and the last days of the trip had been so relaxing.

  Her mouth watered. The only thing that would have been better would have been if he’d kissed her. Twice she’d thought he was going to, but nothing had happened yet.

  “Cristian. This has been so fun. I hate that it’s ending.”

  He twisted his lips in a smile. “Most fun I’ve ever had on a business trip. I know I’ve been working, but it really doesn’t feel that way.”

  Her heart sped up. This had to be the moment. Their last night in Paris.

  His eyes were
heated when he stared at her. Cristian reached out and stroked the side of her face. “Dahlia. You’re so beautiful. Always were. I could stare at you all night.”

  “You…you don’t have to only look.” She motioned toward the door behind her. “You could come in with me.”

  This was the second time in life she’d propositioned him. Only she’d been less nervous when she gave the go for both of them to lose their virginity. This was worse. Cristian hadn’t said he wanted her, not since the bombshell she’d dropped on him in the coffee shop. He’d brought her to Paris. But that might be because he felt sorry for her.

  Cristian exhaled sharply. “Beautiful offer yet I’ve got to decline. Get some sleep. Long flight tomorrow. Lock the door.”

  She nodded. He had every right to reject her. Hell, if she’d been in his place, she’d have turned him down too. “Goodnight, Cristian.”

  Dahlia closed the door behind her and crossed to the window. The lights of Paris laid out before her with the opera house just visible from the corner of the window. It was such a beautiful city. She’d always dreamed they would come together, but it hadn’t been a vision of the two of them in different hotel rooms with so much pain in their past, so much uncertainty for their future.

  She only had herself to blame. And even though she’d apologized there would never be enough ways to say how she wished she had done things differently.

  Dahlia slept but she didn’t wake up rested. The trip to the airport was quiet as was the landing and takeoff. Numbness seemed to have invaded her body, and she supposed she could keep silent for the remainder of their time together.

  Only they’d had enough of not talking, and her inability to open her mouth was why they’d landed in trouble in the first place. She had things to say and it was time to speak up.

  Dahlia reclined in her first-class cabin seat and looked at the relaxed form of her ex-husband as he watched some kind of news show with his headphones on.

  She reached out and touched his arm, and he took them off. “What’s up?”

  “Thank you for Paris.”

  He stretched his arms over his head. “You’re welcome.”

  “Why did you? Since bringing me certainly wasn’t to have sex, considering you never made any move and rejected mine. I thought maybe you felt bad for me, but you don’t look at me with pity. So, tell me. Why me? Why Paris?”

  He stroked the top of her hand. “Trust me when I say I’m totally interested in sex with you, sweetheart. Saying no last night felt like taking a bullet. Only I’ve got to be strong. I’m on a campaign. It’s called not being Mr. Wrong.”

  “Cristian…” She hated he’d heard her stupid name because idiotic was what the nickname was. A stupid, stupid name used to cover all the things she’d never said and the responsibility she never took.

  “I’m not going there yet. I need you to know I’m in for the long haul. Sex would be a Band-Aid, not the surgery our relationship needs.”

  She took a deep breath. “You have to let me apologize about the name.”

  “Okay, the name apology I’ll take. And there is something I need to say to you. A single thing and then I’ll never speak on the subject again.”

  They were on a plane crossing the Atlantic. Maybe there were better times to have these types of talks. They were trapped with each other for long hours still. And knowing what she knew about Cristian, the way he had been in charge at the conference, the way he ignored his cane and acted as though he could take the world on, he might very well have picked the moment to say whatever he needed right when she couldn’t go anywhere.

  Dahlia could stop him. If she spoke the word, he’d have to wait and keep his thoughts to himself until she’d reached somewhere where not hearing would be possible to slam a door and walk away.

  “Go on,” she whispered.

  “I did a lot wrong in our marriage. I won’t make light of my attitude. Emotionally, I was never there for you. I thought we were on the same page about things we clearly weren’t. You felt I didn’t hear nor support you. You feeling out in the cold, it’s on me. Darling,” his deep Texas accent came to the forefront whenever he got truly emotional, “I won’t take the blame for not knowing things—your relief when we lost the baby—because you never told me. I didn’t know you’d design a killer restaurant. I can guarantee if you uttered a word of how you felt about the baby, I would have damn well paid attention. I am not sorry for not understanding you were losing your mind over the baby.”

  His words stung, not because they weren’t true. Rather because they were. “I did shout about some things. And I guess I got to where I thought you weren’t listening to me about anything at all. You were busy. I got defensive. I felt unheard. That being said, I think you’re right. I didn’t tell you how I felt. I was ashamed. What kind of woman feels the way I did?”

  “An honest one. In your case. We weren’t ready. Clearly, we weren’t. We got divorced three months later.”

  “I’m sorry. For my part, I am sorry.”

  His voice lowered. “Enough. I want you as mine again. If you feel the same, don’t tell me. We’re not there yet. Nowhere near close. From today, we have to do what we did in Paris and know each other again. Cristian the grownup with Dahlia the adult. Not the kids we were and not seeing each other through some kind of lenses of untruth.”

  “When did you become so smart?” She leaned her head on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t remember you being so relationship savvy.”

  “I’ve been recovering for months. Lots of daytime television.”

  ****

  Her half-packed apartment finally looked as though she was getting somewhere. She still had nowhere to move to, except she could at least leave the place she could no longer afford.

  Dahlia’s phone beeped and she looked to see she had an email. It took her a moment to read what she saw in front of her. Was what she saw possible? Aaron Markowitz, the billionaire, and Cristian’s friend, was emailing her?

  She clicked on the link and the email opened. Her gaze scanned the lines, only the statements didn’t change no matter how many times she read the letter. Aaron Markowitz, the tech billionaire, was opening a chain of restaurants. He wanted her to design the insides.

  Dahlia sat on her bed and tried to breathe. Amazing. He’d been to her place, he liked her work, he wanted to work with an individual instead of a company. There was, however, more involved than his admiring her place happening.

  She had no doubt whatsoever Cristian had somehow made her chance happen.

  Dahlia quickly composed an email to reply. She’d love to meet with him to discuss things. A person would have to be an idiot not to.

  Chapter Six

  “You might as well live here.” Cristian hadn’t intended to make the suggestion to Dahlia yet. Money had gotten tight for her since she’d had to pay the bank back at least twenty-five thousand and there were bound to be other creditors coming out of the woodwork at any time. Since he couldn’t fix her problems by writing a giant check—as much as he’d love to, he didn’t want to push their relationship that way yet. Giving her a place to live regardless of what happened with the money was the best he could do. “In the guestroom, of course.”

  Her raised eyebrow suggested she’d thought the same thing as she stared at him across the table. They’d still not had sex, and he really had no idea when they’d be taking their relationship to the next level, but he had to trust he’d know when they were ready. Things were always so complex. A wave of yes feelings followed by no. He needed to prove to her he could be there for her dreams, listen to her needs, be someone she knew cared whatever was going on. And she had to show him she wasn’t rushing out the door at the first sign of trouble and that she understood who he was and what he needed as well—the security of believing she had what it took to be his partner in life.

  Only when they’d reached those steps would he go to bed with her and not because he had suddenly become some kind of prude. When he got Da
hlia underneath him, he wasn’t letting her out ever again.

  “I don’t know Cristian.”

  He took a sip of his coffee. How could having her there feel so right when sitting at the kitchen table had been so strange weeks earlier?

  “You’ll be travelling all the time. We both know I’m always on the road. We’ll see each other more. And I know you’ll be safe here and not in some apartment in who knows where in Houston? Moving to Houston was part of the deal right?”

  His understanding was Aaron saw his next venture as opening restaurants all over the country to promote new chefs. Cristian had seen his business model and so far the plan looked really good. Although she didn’t believe him, Aaron had brought up hiring Dahlia all on his own. Cristian had been brainstorming how he could help her, and Aaron jumping in had been the perfect solution.

  “You know what? I should say no, except I’m saying yes. End of story. I can’t afford not to.”

  “I also think having you here would be nice.” He stood to deliberately not see her reaction. The beginning of their life together had been really simply and led them on a rocky path. Could the bumpy beginning make these smoother later?

  The mail waited for him on the counter where he’d shoved the stuff earlier and he started opening the envelopes to give himself something to do. An envelope with only his name scribbled on the front caught his attention. The mail holder had no address so someone must have shoved the thing into his mail slot. Did a neighbor want to complain about something? Or have a block party?

  As the only single guy on the street, the wives of his neighbors were always trying to set him up with their sisters and friends. He hoped the mailing wasn’t another fondue get together.

  He tore the letter open and stared at the words.

  We know who you are. We know what you did. You will burn.

  Cristian read the threat several times before he stuck the nonsense into his pocket. Motherfucker. Duke had sent someone to his house to threaten him? Fuck that. He wasn’t planning on cowering because Duke sent some thug.