Until You

Until You

Avery Adams

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This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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To Love

1

Lucas

As I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows in my corner office, a quiet knock interrupts my contemplation of a boat on the river in the distance. I glance at the clock on the wall. As I suspected, it’s late. I should be the only person on this, the twenty-fourth floor of my building, the Bennington Building. In fact, I should be the only person on the top four floors. Everyone else should have gone home over an hour ago, and the elevator should have gone into security mode— requiring a key for access. Writing it off as my imagination, I turn back to the window overlooking downtown Shreveport and the river that separates it from its sister city, Bossier City. When it happens a second time, I frown, glancing at the clock again. Who—?

Yes?

A familiar silver-streaked blond head pokes through a narrow opening between the door and doorjamb. My personal assistant, Pam— one of three with a key, myself included— appears hesitant ant more than a little nervous. I know it’s late but do you have a second?

Of course, I nod. Come in. I thought the company floors would have been empty by now.

They are. She closes the door behind herself. I was waiting for you to leave, but—

But?

She sighs, It occurred to me that that would be the coward’s way out, and I’m no coward.

I swallow a grin and shake my head, Most definitely not. You’re my staunch protector, guarding the door to my inner sanctum like a trained warrior. I don’t know what I’d do without you. She winces, biting her lip, and I have a hunch I’m not going to like whatever it is she has to say. When she remains silent, I step away from the window, Pam?

Hmm? She looks everywhere except at me.

Is something wrong?

What makes you say that, sir?

I raise my brows, shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking back onto my heels. Well, for one, you’re calling me sir. Normally, you only do that when we’re meeting with top-level clients. When she remains quiet, I keep going, You know, my grandfather had a saying— as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs— and, right now, it fits you to a T. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me. That can’t be right… can it?

I’m not afraid of anyone. Her chin shoots up.

I didn’t think so. I relax a bit. What’s on your mind? You know you can come to me with anything.

She takes a deep breath and blows it out. Holding out an unsealed envelope with the flap tucked inside and my name scrawled across the front, she inches closer. I have to give you this.

Her phrasing catches my attention. Not want to or need to but have to. I keep my hands in my pockets, staring at the white rectangle like it’s a snake that might bite me. What is it?

Just open it.

I shake my head, Nope.

Lucas, don’t be that wa—

No! I take another step back. Not until you tell me what it is. You know, better than anyone else, how I feel about surprises.

Fine. She closes her eyes, It’s my resignation.

Her what? I had to have misheard. She can’t be quitting. My stomach drops to my feet. "But… why? Was it something I did? Something I said? Did I get snippy? Forget your birthday?"

No.

Then… is there anything I can do or say to change your mind? A raise? More vacation days? A bigger desk? A company car?

No, nothing.

I lick my lips. Can I ask what this is about? I’m sure I can fix it, whatever it is.

It’s in the letter. Everything is in the letter. When I still refuse to come close enough to take it she huffs and tosses it onto my desk. It’s the only thing marring the pristine surface and we both stare at it wordlessly. After several moments of silence, she clears her throat, It’s not you or anything you’ve done. You’ve been wonderful. It’s my step-father. He can no longer care for himself but he refuses to hire a live-in caretaker or go into a home. He’s asked me to come home and take care of him in the short time he has left. In return, he’ll leave me his entire estate. I wouldn’t have to work another day in my life unless I wanted to.

That is a pretty tempting offer, I agree. You’d be crazy to refuse.

She nods, And, even if you disregard all that, he’s always been there for me, ever since I was a small child. I kind of feel I owe it to him. He’d be miserable in a home, and absolutely inconsolable with a stranger in his house, touching his things. He’s become quite set in his ways since my mother passed a few years back. He likes for things to be done a certain way— she shoots me a lopsided smile. kind of like someone else I know— and I hate to think how many home health services we’d alienate with his crotchety attitude.

Understandable, I nod, my cheeks burning as her teasing jab hits home. A potential solution occurs to me, so I take a breath and blurt out, Might he consider moving in with you here, so you can continue working?

Lucas, she shoots me a disapproving look, "with all due respect, even if he would agree to it, taking care of my father will be a full-time job— as is working here. I’m afraid I cannot do both at once."

I could hire you a nanny… When she laughs and shakes her head, I persist, I’m serious! Whatever will I do without you? You’re like my right arm—

And I’ll train another to do my job before I go. You’ll barely notice my absence.

So you say.

"So I know. I’ll teach them to do everything I do, exactly as I do it. They’ll anticipate your every need, just as I have. Other than in appearance, they’ll practically be me."

I shake my head, Impossible. You’re irreplaceable—

I can see my words please her even as she purses her lips to hide a smile. No one is irreplaceable.

"You are. Seriously, let me hire a sitter for you— the very best money can buy. Consider it a perk of the job. It’ll be money well spent—"

Lucas.

My eyes blur and I blink them clear. Bennington men don’t cry, I hear the words in my father’s voice and remember the first time he said them… after my mother died, at her funeral. I was five, staring at my mother’s form in the fancy gold and white casket he chose to have her buried in. She would have hated it. It was too princess-y. Too frou-frou. Too… over-the-top. Yet there she was, lying in it like she was only sleeping, her hair in big blond ringlets, face heavily made up, wearing tons of gold and diamond jewelry, and clad in a lacy white nightgown she had never worn while living. She looked like Sleeping Beauty.

It was at that moment that I realized she was never coming home again. She’d never hug me close and sing to me when I was sad. She wouldn’t be there to kiss my booboos when I fell and scraped a knee or elbow. She wouldn’t make up silly bedtime stories for me to fall asleep to. Understandably, I teared up, and he snapped, his voice icy, Wipe your face and stop sniveling. Bennington men do not cry.

With the loss of my mother, all warmth was gone from our lives. From that moment on, crying was prohibited in our home. Instead, I learned to square my shoulders and lean into life, taking everything it throws at me on the chin, and daring it to serve up even more.

But I’m losing the only other mother figure I’ve ever known, the little five-year-old boy buried inside my psyche whispers in my ear. And it’s true. Most days, after Mom died, instead of letting the help pick me up after school, my father brought me to work with him and left me in the capable hands of Pamela Mills, a young assistant, barely twenty-five years old, single, childless, and she cared for me.

Ruthless, I shove that younger version of me inside a mental closet, lock the door, and show no outward sign of my inner torment. Why lay that burden across shoulders already bent with the pressures of life? Instead, I stiffen my spine and nod, Fine. I’ll trust you to find and train someone asap. As you know, I leave in the morning. I’ll be out of town for a few weeks, overseeing the end of an important project in New York. Normally, you’d accompany me— until this moment, I actually expected you to accompany me— but, all things considered…

Her eyes widen and I can tell it slipped her mind until this very moment. She opens her mouth and I already know what she’s going to say, Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I totally forgot about the New York trip! I won’t leave you in a bind. I’ll—

You’ll find someone who can do half of what you do even half as well so you can go home and care for your dad. I swallow hard and force the words out, You’ve put in your resignation and I’m accepting it. You have a short amount of time to achieve the impossible so get on it.

Yes, of course. She doesn’t do as good of a job hiding her emotions, and a single tear trickles down one plump, heavily powdered cheek. She sniffles, Will you be back before I have to go?

I shake my head, Doubtful. We’re in the final stretch of the renovation. It may take the rest of the month.

She lifts her head and straightens her spine, I understand. My replacement will be trained and ready, awaiting your return—

Actually, I press my finger to my lips, thinking, check with me when they’re ready. I may have you send them along at that time, if possible. Your room is still reserved, after all. They can stay there. I might need their assistance as we wrap things up. The Lord only knows what halfwit I’ll be dealing with in the interim.

As you wish. She hesitates,