Eloise kept her facial features neutral, but internally she winced. Wasn’t tragedy a bit of an odd way to refer to a breakup?
Muriel, who owned a string of restaurants and was married to Fred, who Eloise had learned was the prankster of their fraternity, said, “Fred was positive he was going to lose everything. All his businesses and all his prospects for more business. But then...” She turned to Jennifer. “What was it? Six months in, he finally picked himself up and got back to work.”
And wasn’t missing six months of work a bit extreme for a breakup?
Surely she’d misinterpreted.
“He missed work for six months?”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think he ate for six months.”
Her heart stuttered. This had been no ordinary breakup. Everything inside her wanted to ask what had happened. But she caught herself before she opened her mouth. She was supposed to be dating Ricky. These women assumed she knew—assumed he’d told her—about whatever had happened. If she didn’t behave accordingly, she’d ruin everything.
She quietly said, “It was a difficult time for him.”
Jennifer patted her hand. “Which is why we are so glad he found someone.”
She smiled. “I’m glad he found me, too.” She replied easily enough, but her brain began to scramble for answers. What kind of breakup hit a man so hard he didn’t work for six months?
She told herself to stop. Told herself that if he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. She even told herself that she might not want to know because knowing might draw them closer, and she was already having trouble separating fact from fiction.
But nothing worked. Curiosity tightened her chest, filled her brain, wouldn’t let her think of anything else.
Forty minutes later, the men ambled out of the den. Everyone had work the next morning. Apparently Ricky had a conference call with lawyers in Berlin, so he had to be up the earliest, which made them the first out the door.
He slid her black wool cape over her shoulders and directed her into the elevator.
Though part of her knew it was overstepping the boundaries of their deal, her curiosity and her genuine concern for him were too much to handle. As soon as she and Ricky were alone in the elevator, she intended to ask him what had happened.
But two seconds before the door closed, Dennis Margolis and his wife, Binnie, jumped in with them.
Dennis rubbed his hands together. “It’s gonna feel even colder out there after sitting by that fire.”
Binnie sighed dreamily. “I don’t care. I hope it stays cold. We need snow for Christmas. The season is so much more fun when there’s a coating of snow on the decorations. Don’t you think, Eloise?”
“Um, yeah. I love snow. Especially for the holiday.”
She smiled at Ricky, expecting him to smile back. He did, but it was a weak lift of his lips. Either he was really tired or “man time” in the den had not gone well.
As they walked through the lobby and into the frigid air and the limo, his phone rang again. She climbed into the car, but he shut the door and stood on the sidewalk talking. Twenty minutes later, Norman opened the door again. He slid in with a big smile.
“Good news?”
“More like major disaster averted. I thought I was going to have to go to war with a company in Europe, but turns out somebody just made a mistake. Once our R&D people went over the games in question with a fine-tooth comb, they realized we’d panicked prematurely.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but his company, his business, wasn’t really her concern right now. “That’s great.”
“It’s excellent. I expect a problem or two before every rollout, but it’s nice when they resolve themselves so easily.”
Glad he was in a better mood, she nonetheless waited a few minutes, until they were solidly in traffic, before she said, “Your friends’ wives are really happy to see you dating.”
“Um-hum.”
Nerves filled her. How the hell did someone say, “So, what’s the tragedy in your life?”
She licked her lips, gathering her courage. She couldn’t handle the curiosity. But more than that, if his friends discovered she didn’t know, it might ruin their charade. “They assume I know what happened to you.”
He turned to her, his previously sleepy brown eyes suddenly cool and distant. “I’m sure they do.”
She swallowed. Caught in the gaze she didn’t recognize, dark, scary eyes of a stranger, she faltered. “So maybe you should tell me?”
He glanced out the window, then back at her. “One of the reasons I’m comfortable with you is that you don’t know.”
She frowned. “But wouldn’t the charade make more sense if I knew?”
“Not if you pity me.”
Pity him? What the hell had happened to him? “How about if I promise not to pity you?”
“You can’t make that promise.”
She glanced out the window. “What if somebody tells me? I mean, what if we get separated again and somebody just blurts it out?”
“I guess you and I will just have to stay close so that no one does.”
She snapped her gaze to his. A combination of fear and curiosity rumbled up from her chest. She was already fighting an attraction to this guy. Did she really want to be close to him? Every time they were out? Spend every minute together?
How had such a simple plan become so complicated?
* * *
After walking Eloise to her door, Ricky ran down the four flights of stairs and ambled to his limo. Once he was inside, Norman started the engine and headed out.
He’d been having a great time at the party, so great he’d actually enjoyed the ribbing he took from his friends about Eloise being too beautiful for a guy like him.
Then they’d gotten into the limo and she’d asked about Blake, and he felt as if he’d been hit by a train. He hadn’t thought about his son in two days. He’d been so preoccupied with his work problems and pretend-dating that he’d forgotten his son. His baby. His whole world for eighteen months.
How could he forget him?
He tapped on the glass between himself and Norman. It slid open.
“Take me to the hospital.”
Norman caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. “It’s midnight.”
“I have my key card and identification.”
The glass closed. Ricky sat back, letting the air slowly leach out of his lungs. The pain that had been his constant companion reclaimed him. Thirty minutes later, the limo stopped. His door opened and he climbed out.
He used his card to get into the hospital. Even, determined steps took him through the silent lobby and up to the Intensive Care Unit for the children’s ward.
He stopped in front of the wall of glass, staring at the sweet, innocent children struggling for life.
“Mr. Langley?”
He faced Regina Grant, night shift supervisor. “Good evening, Regina.”
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” But she knew why he was here. When they rededicated the wing, after his generous donation had renovated the floor and bought new equipment, she’d been the one who’d seen his distress. She’d cornered him in a room, and rather than extol him with