Secrets of You by Mary Campisi Page B

terms. Slow.”
    “I can do slow.” Those lips twitched and sent chills through her. “I’m very good at slow.”
    ***
    Ash bounded out of the elevator and headed for the suites of Lancaster Development. Life was good. No, life was great. Arianna was going to give him another chance. He threw open the wide glass doors and waved at Megan who sat outside of Pete’s office. “Hey, Megan. Is Pete in?”
    “Hi, Ash.” She motioned to him and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I think he slept here last night. His clothes are all wrinkled and he needs a shave.” She scrunched her nose. “I smelled alcohol and Pete hardly ever drinks. Poor man.”
    “Let me check in on him.” Why was it that just when one part of a person’s life straightened out, another went to hell?
    “He hasn’t eaten anything either, but he asked for black coffee. Do you want me to order something in?”
    Efficient and empathetic. Her lips parted and she waited. In that split second before he answered, Ash spotted the truth. Megan was in love with Pete. Or thought she was. That’s why she’d broken up with the linebacker. Poor girl, she wasn’t the first or the fifteenth to lose her heart to her boss. Nice suits. Power. Money. Ash guessed there was a certain quiet charisma to his brother, but if Megan had fallen for that, she also would have noticed his steadfast loyalty to things he loved—like his wife. “Why don’t you order in Chinese?” He pulled out his wallet and plunked a few twenties on the desk. “Whatever Pete likes. I’ll take the General Tso’s and a spring roll. Don’t forget to make sure they include hot mustard. Order something for yourself, too.”
    Megan tucked the money in her pocket and said, “He’s glad you’re back. So am I.” She blushed and added, “You’re good for him.”
    “Thanks.” She was doomed for a big fall. Did Pete suspect or was he so caught up in his own agony with Caroline he hadn’t noticed? He moved toward his brother’s office and knocked. “Pete?”
    “In here.”
    When Ash entered the executive office, he noticed two things: Megan had not underestimated Pete’s condition, and from the signs of the seriously depleted bottle of scotch on the desk, his brother was in for a major hangover. He eyed the half-empty glass near Pete’s right hand. Or maybe he was on the tail end of his drunk and the hangover would kick in later. “What’s going on?”
    “I don’t think she loves me anymore.”
    The words fell out part moan, part misery, but their message bounced off the walls: The man was in pain, deep, visceral, all-encompassing. And the pain had to do with a woman. No surprise there. Wasn’t that kind of pain always about a woman? Ash sank in the chair opposite Pete’s desk and eyed his brother’s stubbled jaw, half-buttoned shirt, bloodshot eyes. “You look like shit.”
    Pete drove both hands through his hair, making the ends stick up. Jack Nicholson in The Shining had nothing on him. “I asked her to go away for a few days, anywhere she wanted. Palm Springs. Chicago. New York City.” The bloodshot eyes held his, watered. “Do you know what she said?”
    The key was to remain calm and let Pete reason through it like it was a business deal. If the man could buy and sell chunks of Philly real estate, he could sure as hell see what his wife wanted, which wasn’t a trip. “What did she say?”
    “That trips and jewelry weren’t going to fix things.” He traced the edges of the four-leaf-clover paperweight. “I bought her a bracelet. Tiffany’s. Rubies and diamonds.” He shook his head. “She didn’t want it. All she could talk about was that damn graduate school and how I was stifling her.”
    “Pete.” Maybe his brother really didn’t get it. “Caroline doesn’t want ‘things.’ She needs the freedom to have her own success, not one you’ve created for her.”
    “Do you think I should dye my hair?”
    Where had that come from? “Absolutely not.”
    Pete