shrugged, snatched her wrist free and climbed in the backseat.
He held the door open and squatted. “You know and I know we can work through this.”
“The only thing I know is that this discussion is over. I want you to take your testosterone-induced ego and leave me alone.” She grabbed the door handle and pulled, causing the door’s edge to hit his knee.
“Ouch.” He groaned and quickly moved out of the door’s path before it slammed shut. Reaching down, he rubbed at the throbbing spot. “Oh, dammit, Caitlyn!” He knew she didn’t hear his last remark because the cab had sped off into traffic, its taillights disappearing into the darkness of the night.
If Marcel could have reached his own behind, he’d have kicked it because he’d hurt her deeply, something he never meant to do. There was nothing he could figure out or say that would make a difference tonight. With the night’s cool breeze swirling around him, he silently vowed Caitlyn would come to understand he didn’t get to where he was by giving up. He was a master when it came to designing a plan, and his next one included her in his life. He wasn’t going to give up on her.
Not by a long shot.
* * *
“What in the world?”
Caitlyn entered her office Monday morning and dropped her briefcase to the floor. Her gaze roamed over the floral arrangements covering every square inch.
She made her way to her desk and discovered a single rose with a card on her chair. She opened it and read:
I’m sorry.
M.B.
“Yeah, right. You should’ve thought of that before you decided to play Robin Hood.” She sniffed the fragrant flower. Finally, she tossed it in the trashcan, plopped down hard in her chair and scooted closer to the desk.
She rubbed the aching throb at her temple. She was more frustrated with herself than she was angry with Marcel. It took a lot for her to curse, and in the past forty-eight hours, she’d invented and uttered words that didn’t exist. “He’s lost his damn fricking-ass mind,” she mumbled, kicking the trashcan.
Around ten o’clock, Marcel, dressed in a tan suit with a French-cuff shirt adorned with solid gold cufflinks, knocked on Caitlyn’s office door and walked in without waiting for a response.
Caitlyn didn’t move. The same thunderclouds from Friday night shadowed her eyes as her heart slammed into her chest. “Do you mind explaining why all of these flowers are in my office?”
He walked over and stood on the opposite side of her desk. “It was the only way I could think to let you know how sorry I am.”
“Yeah, right.”
“After you left, I realized I should have been completely honest with you, especially after we started seeing each other.”
“My, my, that’s the first honest thing that’s come out of your mouth since I’ve known you.”
He blew out a hard breath. “Caitlyn, I’m really sorry.”
“You said that already.”
“Will you accept my apology?”
She glared at him.
“Well, will you at least try to forgive me?”
“Yes…I mean no…I mean—” She threw her hands up in the air. “Hell, right now, I’m not sure what I mean.” With her head down, she closed her eyes, and massaged the back of her neck.
Marcel rounded her desk and squatted beside her chair. “Caitlyn, if I could take back the other night, I would.” He rotated her chair so she faced him. “I never meant to hurt you” he whispered, his mouth mere inches from hers.
She turned her head away, praying he didn’t see in her eyes that she believed every word he said.
Marcel stood, bringing her with him, and placed a soft, feathery kiss at both corners of her mouth.
“Marcel…no.”
His response was low and husky. “Yes.”
“All right, you’re sorry.” She pushed on his chest. “But your apology chances nothing. Our relationship isn’t going to work.”
His brows bunched in confusion. “Why not?”
“Because of who you are.”
“Hold it right there.” A harsh frown distorted his
He held the door open and squatted. “You know and I know we can work through this.”
“The only thing I know is that this discussion is over. I want you to take your testosterone-induced ego and leave me alone.” She grabbed the door handle and pulled, causing the door’s edge to hit his knee.
“Ouch.” He groaned and quickly moved out of the door’s path before it slammed shut. Reaching down, he rubbed at the throbbing spot. “Oh, dammit, Caitlyn!” He knew she didn’t hear his last remark because the cab had sped off into traffic, its taillights disappearing into the darkness of the night.
If Marcel could have reached his own behind, he’d have kicked it because he’d hurt her deeply, something he never meant to do. There was nothing he could figure out or say that would make a difference tonight. With the night’s cool breeze swirling around him, he silently vowed Caitlyn would come to understand he didn’t get to where he was by giving up. He was a master when it came to designing a plan, and his next one included her in his life. He wasn’t going to give up on her.
Not by a long shot.
* * *
“What in the world?”
Caitlyn entered her office Monday morning and dropped her briefcase to the floor. Her gaze roamed over the floral arrangements covering every square inch.
She made her way to her desk and discovered a single rose with a card on her chair. She opened it and read:
I’m sorry.
M.B.
“Yeah, right. You should’ve thought of that before you decided to play Robin Hood.” She sniffed the fragrant flower. Finally, she tossed it in the trashcan, plopped down hard in her chair and scooted closer to the desk.
She rubbed the aching throb at her temple. She was more frustrated with herself than she was angry with Marcel. It took a lot for her to curse, and in the past forty-eight hours, she’d invented and uttered words that didn’t exist. “He’s lost his damn fricking-ass mind,” she mumbled, kicking the trashcan.
Around ten o’clock, Marcel, dressed in a tan suit with a French-cuff shirt adorned with solid gold cufflinks, knocked on Caitlyn’s office door and walked in without waiting for a response.
Caitlyn didn’t move. The same thunderclouds from Friday night shadowed her eyes as her heart slammed into her chest. “Do you mind explaining why all of these flowers are in my office?”
He walked over and stood on the opposite side of her desk. “It was the only way I could think to let you know how sorry I am.”
“Yeah, right.”
“After you left, I realized I should have been completely honest with you, especially after we started seeing each other.”
“My, my, that’s the first honest thing that’s come out of your mouth since I’ve known you.”
He blew out a hard breath. “Caitlyn, I’m really sorry.”
“You said that already.”
“Will you accept my apology?”
She glared at him.
“Well, will you at least try to forgive me?”
“Yes…I mean no…I mean—” She threw her hands up in the air. “Hell, right now, I’m not sure what I mean.” With her head down, she closed her eyes, and massaged the back of her neck.
Marcel rounded her desk and squatted beside her chair. “Caitlyn, if I could take back the other night, I would.” He rotated her chair so she faced him. “I never meant to hurt you” he whispered, his mouth mere inches from hers.
She turned her head away, praying he didn’t see in her eyes that she believed every word he said.
Marcel stood, bringing her with him, and placed a soft, feathery kiss at both corners of her mouth.
“Marcel…no.”
His response was low and husky. “Yes.”
“All right, you’re sorry.” She pushed on his chest. “But your apology chances nothing. Our relationship isn’t going to work.”
His brows bunched in confusion. “Why not?”
“Because of who you are.”
“Hold it right there.” A harsh frown distorted his
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