“It was me,” she continued. “This time.”
Said as if she needed him to know that James wasn’t the only one capable of backing out of an unwanted relationship.
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry for the way he’d treated her? Or that his past actions might be affecting the way she navigated current-day relationships?
“Don’t be. I don’t believe in stringing someone along when I know how the story is going to end.”
The barb sank deep. Because that’s exactly what he had done to Mila. Strung her along, even when he’d known that he was eventually going to break things off. Both because of Cindy and the bombshell she’d dropped, and because of his own father’s response to it. He couldn’t follow in the award-winning actor and egotistical bastard’s footsteps. He would not father a child that he would be no good at nurturing. Or throw money at the mother of that child to make the whole thing go away. So James had done neither, deciding to break it off with Mila and do the right thing by Cindy. Only it had all been a lie.
Mila’s dreamy words the last time they’d slept together about starting a family had hit him at the worst possible moment. Their courtship had been such a whirlwind affair that children had never been discussed. And then Cindy had dropped her bombshell and almost immediately afterward Mila had wistfully expressed her own desire for children.
His reaction had confirmed what he’d believed about himself all along: that he truly was like his celebrity parents, who had left him and Freya to the mercy of a string of nannies. He was no nurturer.
Even his attempts at standing in for his parents when it came to his sister had ended in disaster. He’d been overbearing and overprotective. In some ways he blamed himself for the eating disorder Freya had developed, wondering if it was because he’d been too controlling about what she did...who she went out with. He sure hadn’t practiced what he’d preached back then, because he’d gone out with scads of women who’d meant nothing to him. Including Cindy.
Hell, he’d been the worst possible role model for her.
His regrets over his mistakes with Freya and the scare of that unplanned pregnancy with Cindy had given him a fear of having children of his own. It had gotten so bad that he had stopped treating children in his medical practice, referring them instead to colleagues. Which had left him treating insipid socialites and celebrities. People very much like his parents—a peck on each cheek, a little nip, a little tuck, and they were good to go.
Only he’d grown tired of it all. Weary in a way that he didn’t understand.
“Drinks, sir?”
He blinked back to the present as the server handed them each a menu.
Maybe Mila had been lost in her own thoughts as well because she wasn’t staring at him like he had two heads. He waited as she asked for a glass of wine, and then he did the same, adding an order of stuffed mushrooms—something he remembered her loving. Although why he felt the need to do anything other than toss the pictures across the table and eat a quick bite was beyond him. Except he probably wasn’t going to get to sit across a table from Mila Brightman ever again. And maybe a part of him wanted to relive the days he’d left behind. Now that he knew she didn’t have someone waiting at home for her, that urge had grown stronger.
The server left to get their drinks, and Mila propped her elbows on the table, staring at him. “So how does this work, exactly?”
He frowned. Had she read his thoughts? The idea of taking up where they’d left off flashed through his head. Somehow he doubted that’s what she meant.
“How does what work?”
“The pictures. Do you want me to look through them before we eat? Or after we’re done? Just how bad are they that we’re even sitting here?”
Ah...so she had realized something was up when he’d asked her out to dinner. “They’re not bad. I just...”
He hadn’t expected to have to explain his reasoning. He tried again. “I just thought we should go through them without an audience. That might be hard at the clinic or even at Bright Hope.”
Especially with a few of the more intimate shots. And Morgan had seemed to be quite adept at catching them at just the wrong moment. A woman scorned who was doing her best to embarrass him? Or was it inevitable that he would see the pictures through a different filter than other people?
Mila’s lips curved. “Did she catch you crawling under that desk or something? I can see how you might want to hide that particular shot.”
He laughed. “I take it the view wasn’t all that flattering from where you were standing.”
“Let’s just say it was interesting.”
Interesting.
He couldn’t be sure with the low lighting in the restaurant, but he thought maybe a bit of color had seeped into her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but follow this trail just a little further. Especially since he could picture several office desk scenarios he wouldn’t have minded exploring once upon a time. “Interesting good? Or interesting bad?”
“I think the photographer thought it was good, that’s for sure.”
Had Mila noticed the other woman’s interest? He thought he’d made it pretty clear that she was there on a professional basis only. He hadn’t been interested.
“And you. What did you think?” Okay, so this was pursuing it a little too far.
“I think maybe we should stick to the subject at hand.”
Not exactly a denial. More like an evasion. Which meant maybe he wasn’t the only one who was struggling to keep their old relationship where it belonged: firmly in the past. But he’d better make more of an effort, or he was going to find himself in a very uncomfortable place.
“Fair enough. Why don’t we sort through them now, then?”
* * *
Mila swallowed as she shuffled through the sheaf of glossy photos that James had brought out of his leather attaché case. Now she saw why he’d wanted to bring her to a place where the tables were private and the lights were low.
Even with the dim lighting in the restaurant these shots made something in her belly come to life. These were not the kind of publicity pictures one wanted for the grand opening of a charity clinic. At least, not some of them.
One of the photos in front of the mural did more than light a fire in her gut. It made her face heat. Because she and James were gazing at each other, and while she couldn’t exactly read his expression, hers was filled with dread—with a side order of longing. A longing that had made one of her hands stretch toward him a bit? Coaxing him to move closer to her like Morgan had asked? Lord, she hoped not.
Maybe she was simply gesturing toward something in the mural. But she didn’t think so.
She flipped through a couple more, and then paused once again. James was watching her as she said something to Avery, a slight smile on his face, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress slacks. He looked so endearingly at ease that it made her chest ache. It was as if she’d been sucked through a time warp and was looking through a window to the past.
Their past.
She could remember glancing toward him and catching him with this exact same expression. As if he loved watching her go about life.
Swallowing, she looked up at him. “Is there anything in here that can be salvaged?”
She had no idea if there was a software program invented that could change these pictures into something they weren’t. And it made her feel a little queasy that the emotions she felt on the inside were so very visible on the outside. At least in these shots.
But then again, hadn’t Morgan caught James off guard in them as well?