“I would like nothing more than to quit. And to storm out of here with
my dignity and my scruples and to not give you the satisfaction of ever, ever seeing
me scrub your damned floors. But I can’t. We both know it. At least, I hope now we
both know it. This isn’t a game, Mac. I’m not playing at self-respect and independence.
I
need
it. I can’t go back to not having it.”
She pushed her chair back and walked out of the room, her hands shaking, her breath
coming in short, harsh gasps. She’d never yelled at Daniel like that. Not once. Even
when she’d told him she wanted a divorce she hadn’t said that much. She’d learned
not to give him any of her emotions. She’d been tired of having it used against her.
Tired of having all of her vulnerable spots exposed and wounded.
But she hadn’t been able to hold it back with Mac. Because she couldn’t stand the
thought of him believing what everyone else did.
You’ll have to go back to him.
Her mother had said, wringing her hands.
You’ll come back on your hands and knees.
A promise from Daniel.
No. She wouldn’t. She was better than that. Stronger than that. No one else thought
so. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if it was true. But she had to keep going. No matter
what.
She couldn’t go back to being Lucy Ryan, queen bitch of Silver Creek High, and she
didn’t want to go back to that, anyway. She couldn’t go back to being Lucy Carter,
Daniel Carter’s wife. His trophy in public, his verbal punching bag in private.
That meant she had to find something else to be. And since she wasn’t getting help
from anyone, she would have to do it herself.
***
Days later and Mac still felt like a total ass. Which he was. He hadn’t been able
to resist taking a dig at her, and when he’d done it, he’d unearthed a whole bunch
of stuff he was sure they both would have rather had stayed buried.
Yeah, he admitted, he’d assumed that the deal with her husband had been something
petty, like him slashing her shoe allowance, but that was only because he’d envisioned
adult Lucy as being the same as seventeen-year-old Lucy.
But he’d miscalculated. She was different. She was older. Sadder. Tougher. Not in
that way she’d been as a teenager. Not tough like she’d pretended to be, walking down
the halls of the high school, insulated by family money and reputation. This was something
deep. Something solid.
A stone wall that she’d put up inside of herself, shoring up her defenses so she couldn’t
be hurt.
He knew all about that.
He didn’t want to relate to her. Didn’t want to find common ground with the society
princess. But there it was. Common ground, whether he liked it or not.
Of course, they wouldn’t have a chance to explore that common ground, not with the
way she was avoiding him. She was serving up dinners—simple dinners at that—and ducking
out to do the laundry or some other chore, then cleaning up and taking her own meal
back to her room.
Which was fine. Her prerogative. He was hardly going to force someone who worked for
him to join him for dinner. That would just be sad.
But still, he sort of wished she would. And it had everything to do with the fact
that he was a little lonely for human companionship since Lucas and Carly were engaged
and involved in their own life together now, and not so much in his. And it had nothing
to do with the fact that Lucy Carter smelled like honeysuckle and had a bite like
a tart apple.
No. It had nothing to do with that.
Lucy’s little blue car pulled into the driveway and up to the house, and Mac watched
her park. Watched her movements a little more closely than a non-creepy person who
signed a woman’s paychecks should, he realized.
But the realization didn’t stop him from watching.
She got out and went to the trunk, pulling a couple of paper bags out and shutting
it before heading up toward the house.
“Can I get those for