Page 233 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

A small voice spoke up in the back of my mind. It asked, “Are you really going to let things end like this?”

What could I do?

Megyn had made it very clear she considered us done. I had to respect that.

Or do I?

What about what I wanted? What about my own hopes and dreams?

It would be a very sorry thing for a man like me to do nothing while the love of my life got away. She wasn’t running from me, dammit. She was evacuating from the circumstances.

I had all this money. I had all these resources at my disposal. If I didn’t at least try to use them to fix this, it would be a waste.

I picked up my phone and called Maggie. As soon as she picked up, I spoke, cutting off her hesitant greeting. “Can you come to my office?”

“Carter, I don’t know if that’s really a good idea…” She trailed off.

Well, it was time to use what I had. “If you don’t come,” I said casually, “I’m going to have Brian ask you out on a date and then I will show up unannounced. And you will never know which date it will be that I show up on. You’ll be all ready to sit in the back of a movie theater making out with your man, and I’ll pop in with my popcorn and sit right between you and talk the whole time.”

“Wow,” Maggie remarked. “That honestly sounds like the worst thing. You would have made an amazing medieval torturer if you can come up with stuff like that.”

“Maybe I was one in a past life. Will you come? I can pick you up, if necessary.”

“Not necessary.” I heard shuffling around on her end of things. “I can be there in about half an hour. Maybe sooner if you promise you’ll have hot coffee waiting for me.”

“I splurge for my employees and buy actual liquid creamer. None of the powdered crap.”

“Add in a little alcohol and I’ll break the speed barrier for you.”

“I bet you’ve never said that to Brian.”

Maggie laughed. “I usually like to take my time with him.”

I made a face. “Just get here, Mags. I need to talk to you.”

“On my way.”

I busied myself with making a fresh pot of coffee and procured a variety of creamers, breaking into several offices to look at their selection. I also fetched the whiskey I kept in the locked cupboard over the coffee station in my office, usually saved for very special occasions. If trying to salvage my relationship wasn’t a special occasion, then I had no idea what would be.

Maggie arrived twenty minutes later, her cheeks flushed and nose running from being out in the November cold.

I went to her and hugged her, plucking a scrap of red leaf from her hair.

Maggie swiped the scrap from my hand with startling dexterity and tossed it over her shoulder. “Coffee?”

I pointed her in the right direction and then followed her over.

Maggie grabbed the mug I’d set out for her and tapped her finger on the chipped rim. “Is this the kind of kitchenware you usually give out to your billionaire cohorts?”

“It is, actually. And they usually make the same jokes as you.”

Maggie flashed me a smile and poured coffee into her chipped mug. “For some reason, it makes me happy to know rich men make such terrible jokes. It’s almost as if we aren’t all so different.”

“Try telling that to the media hounds,” I said, gritting my teeth.

Maggie’s hand shook a little bit and she put the pot back on the burner. “Well. Now I know the reason I’m here. You want to talk aboutthat.”

“I would like to,” I agreed.

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