“You were a surgeon,” she reminded him. “Past tense, Eric. Remember that.”
“You’re right, of course. I was a surgeon.” At heart, he still was. But circumstances had changed when his dad had died, leaving him not only an international property management corporation but a billion dollars, windmills, camels and God only knew what else.
Oh, his dad hadn’t expected he’d be able to run the company and had even gone so far as to make provisions to put the governance under the control of a hand-picked board. Hand-picked by his father, of course. In other words, ten daddy clones trying to rule his life instead of one daddy. He’d fired them and put into place various people who made sense to him. An environmentalist, a construction engineer, a social worker, even a teacher. All people he respected and admired and not a designer suit amongst them.
“Look, I’m going across the street for coffee.”
“But we have that expensive coffee system your father had put in.”
“We have a coffee system that makes espresso, latte macchiato, cappuccino and even milk foam. It makes café mocha, frappé and yungyang, whatever the hell that is. But what it doesn’t make is a decent cup of black coffee. So, I’ll run out and grab one, then I’ll be back in time to meet with Bucky. Oh, and if the coffee machine doesn’t make anything he prefers, text me and I’ll bring him a cup of black coffee, too.”
“He’s a busy man, Eric,” she warned. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
He never did. A habit from his doctor days, he supposed. But Natalie always said it, and he always responded with, “I won’t.” While gritting his teeth. “Anyway, would you like something?” he asked. “Regular coffee, tea, a scone?”
Every time he asked she always looked surprised. Probably because his dad had never made a simple, kind gesture toward her. Which, in a way, was the same boat he was in. Always trying to find a way to get noticed by his dad, and never succeeding. So, while she may have had the occasional romp in his father’s bed and a paycheck, at the end of her day she’d always gone home alone. Just like he had, until he’d been sent off to boarding school.
Was there a term that meant more than alone? Because that was what he’d always felt growing up...more than alone. The one left out. Left behind. Forgotten. An obstacle in his dad’s path.
“I’m perfectly fine with what your father’s coffee system makes,” she said.
Poor Natalie. Always the trouper. And always let down. Yep, he knew the feeling. “OK, then I’ll be back in a few.” Even though he would have preferred a nice walk, or maybe some people-watching in Central Park, he didn’t have a choice. That wasn’t his life now. Getting back to Bucky Henderson to discuss the purchase of a large chunk of Texas for a casino with all the frills was.
Sighing, Eric stood after Natalie left, then went to the window. His dad’s office had always been at the top—the twenty-fifth floor. In a massive corner suite, with plate-glass views of the city in all directions. His own office, however, was on the second floor, one window, limited view, and small in comparison to what awaited him on the top floor. Occupying it was an egregious act, he supposed. One that signaled ambivalence. And being at the top signified power. So, his defiant little office on the second floor would probably speak volumes to a shrink, if he cared to go that route. Which he didn’t. But none of it really mattered, did it? He did his job, his employees had their lives secured, and the world kept spinning.
For a moment, Eric scrutinized the people walking on the sidewalk below. Where were they going? Why were they in such a hurry? Were they happily married or cheating on an unsuspecting spouse? He liked speculating about other people’s lives since he barely had one of his own. Speculating made him feel like he was still in touch, even though he knew damn well he wasn’t.
One last glance before he headed out for coffee and someone down there caught his eye. From his vantage he couldn’t see much of her, so he adjusted for a better look and what he saw was well worth the effort. She was walking with a purpose. Long strides that outdistanced all the people around her. Shouldering her way through all the congestion like a woman with a purpose. He could almost hear the click of her heels on the cement, she was moving so fast. Like a whirlwind whooshing in and out of the crowd. And beautiful. Black hair pulled back away from her face. A stunning figure that men could only dream about.
She was Japanese, he thought. Reminded him of Michi...her height, her stature. Michi...so often on his mind. The one he shouldn’t have let get away. But in the nearly three years since he’d spent that incredible night with her, too much had happened. Too many responsibilities had pulled him away from what he wanted to do and dumped him into the pile of all the things he had to do.
There had been a time Michi had been what he’d wanted. Maybe in some ways, she still was. But it was too late for that. He’d made his choice the morning he’d left without a goodbye. After that, there was no turning back.
Michi was the one he regretted walking away from, though. The only one. Even now, she floated through his mind in the unguarded moments, taunting him for what he’d missed out on. One night only. It was what he’d told her because it was what he’d meant. Something had happened that night. Something that had unhinged him and compelled him to do what he’d never done before—given himself over to a casual fling that had turned out to be so much more. At least, in his thoughts. Still, one night with Michi...
Eric closed his eyes, conjuring up her image. Funny how what he remembered of her seemed to meld with the woman he’d just seen on the walkway outside. Maybe it was because he’d never truly gotten over her. Granted, they’d only known each other a few hours when the text that had changed his life had come. But in those few hours...it had been like he’d known her for days, or weeks, or months. Maybe his whole life. Could she have been the one? He didn’t know as he’d never found himself in that mindset before. The possibilities hadn’t escaped him, however. And as she’d lain there next to him, her breath sounds so tiny and precise, he’d simply listened, and wondered what would happen if they had one more night.
Unfortunately, the opportunity to go beyond that night had never happened. Still, in the very few—as in could be counted on one hand—dates he’d had with other women since then, nothing had ever seemed right. To himself, he’d nitpicked every woman to pieces before their date, then always cut the evening short because she hadn’t what he’d wanted. And for sure, he’d never dated any of those hopefuls twice. Because of his job, he always told himself. Yes, because of his job.
But somewhere in all that mess, thoughts of Michi pushed everything away. Even now, when he should be concentrating on Bucky’s proposal, his mind was wandering back to Sapporo, to that one perfect night.
Which meant it was time to go get that coffee, refocus, and figure out his next step in the Texas land acquisition deal. So, Eric put on his suit coat—he really hated wearing suits every day, but that was the dress code, so he observed it—took a quick look in the mirror in his private bathroom, straightened his tie, then traced, with his left index finger, all the new lines and creases that were beginning to show. So many changes to his body in the past couple of years. What did it matter?
There had been a time when he’d appreciated the sideways glances of the nurses who hadn’t known he knew they were watching. And that obvious flirtation from Michi in Japan...something that had twisted and turned him in ways he hadn’t expected then, and even now. So maybe the looks weren’t going down too badly, but what he saw staring back at him from the mirror was a man who was...resigned to something that didn’t make him happy. Didn’t satisfy him either. Didn’t give him the good, hard feeling of being tired but satisfied that made him sleep well at night. As long as he spent his days behind this desk, doing mediocre work at best, it would always be that way.
“But we keep promising to fix things, don’t we?” he always said to his mirror, ever hopeful that saying it out loud to an inanimate object that wouldn’t criticize