Chapter 3

"You want me to do an interview with Hayes Marsden." Somehow, Camelia knew this was coming. It had been a week since the encounter with Hayes at the gallery, and she had seen him photographed with Simone Bledsoe clinging to him as if he was her lifeline. She had cried her last tears over him.

Maybe she was wrong to leave without explanation or even speaking to him, but she had been left without a choice.

"Yes." Celeste arranged her flared skirt around her carefully and avoided the younger woman's eyes. "The piece you did on2 the gallery opening was very well received, and you were right in the first place. People need to hear more than gossip about who is screwing who."

"Whom." Camelia corrected her automatically.

"There you go, darling; you know the right thing to say. And besides, she rushed on. "It's a story that piques people's interest. Hayes had to step into his dad's shoes when the man had a sudden heart attack and in three years, single handedly managed to buy out two failing airlines and turned them around in record time."

"I cannot do it," Camelia told her firmly. "I was thinking of doing a story on those veterans who were evicted from the group home–"

"That's all well and good, darling, but that story has been told so many times. Besides, they are now living in a comfortable place provided by other veterans. Surely not a story anymore."

"It keeps happening–"

"I am going to have to insist." Celeste faced her squarely. "You said yourself that what you and Hayes had was in the past. I made a call to his office and spoke with that uppity assistant of his, and I just received word that he has agreed to an interview." Camelia simply stared at the woman. "You went behind my back–"

"I am the owner of this magazine, and even though I am grateful for your very valuable input, the decisions are mine to make. I was the one who offered you a job without reservation- "

"I am more than qualified. You did not do me a favor–""Of course not, darling!" The woman interjected hastily. "And if that was the impression I gave you, I apologize. It's just that you have the inside scoop, and you have a way with words.

I read the story about the opening, and it brought me to tears. The way you spun the part about the new artists, had me wanting to learn more."

Camelia stared at her for a moment, her mind in turmoil. "I will do it." Celeste blew out a breath. "Thank you. He is expecting you this afternoon at six. That's the only time he is available. I am sorry, but when he agreed, I had to say yes immediately."

Tamping down the irritation and the feeling of being backed into a corner, she schooled her expression. It would not do to have the woman thinking she was pining after her high school sweetheart.

"Very well. I have some things to finish up and I am going to need to prepare for the interview."

"Of course." Surging to her feet, Celeste bustled from the room.

Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her rampaging thoughts. She could do this. She was a professional, and this was her job. She was not going to make it personal.

*****

"Darling, are you sure this is a good idea?" Hillary swept into his office and closed the doors behind her. She had not been to the gallery opening a week ago, but some of her ‘friends' had been delighted to tell her what happened, including the fact that he had followed her out onto the balcony.

Hayes had not said anything to her, and she knew her son enough to realize that he would not appreciate her repeating what she had heard.

Looking up from the draft he was reading, he stared at her with a frown. "I am due in the conference room–"

"Gretchen was on her way in to tell you that the meeting has been canceled. Apparently, Barry is not feeling well."

His frown deepened. "Is he going to be alright?"

"His ulcer is acting up." Sitting down, she crossed her elegant legs and gave him a direct gaze. "You have agreed to meet with her."

Leaning back in his chair, he shot her a sardonic glance. "You used to be able to call her name without the slightest hesitation."

"That was before she almost destroyed your life. I treated her like a daughter, and that's how she repaid us."

"It's between Camellia and I, and I have moved on."

"Have you, dearest? Why were you alone with her at the gallery? Yes, I heard about that from several people who were there. Why would you even want to speak to her after what she did to you?"

"I wanted to find out some things from her. I got my answer and now it's over." She gave him a surprised look. "I was under the impression it was over a long time ago."

"I needed closure."

"Simone is a lovely young woman."

"I am aware."

"And yet you are dragging your feet. You said you were going to ask her to marry you."

"I will."

Hillary slid forward, her hands clasped in her lap, her expression earnest. "Don't you see you are hesitating? Dearest, this woman—Camelia came back in town, and you seem to be falling under her spell again. She twisted you around her little finger. She controlled you so much that your world revolved around her–"

"Enough!" His hand slammed down on the desk hard enough to make the paperweight and pens dance. "I agreed to meet with her for the good of the company. I liked the piece she wrote about the gallery.

Taking over Southern Airlines has some ramifications. The former owners have a difficult time letting go of the reins, and there are rumors that we fired some longtime employees without proper notice. We need to get in front of this."

"Surely there are newspapers, respectable ones–"

"Their readership is through the roof, especially since Camelia became the editor." He glanced at his laptop. "Now, if you would excuse me, I must take care of this. "

She knew when she was being dismissed. She also knew that nothing she said at that point was not going to make a difference. Sweeping out of the room, she closed the doors behind her.

Leaning back in the chair, he stared broodingly at the closed doors; he rolled the paperweight between his palms. The words she had spoken had haunted his night and made him unable to sleep.

She had not loved him, not the way he had loved her. He had given her his heart, laid it at her feet ,and she had trampled on it. It was life—it had happened, and it was over. He would do this interview and hopefully be done with her.

*****

Camelia had been to the corporate office before. Several times during the summer when Hayes had been interning, he had insisted on her going with him. Being back here brought poignant memories rushing back.

Parking in the underground garage, she sat there and nodded as the security came rushing forward. "Ms. DeWinter, you are to go straight up. Take the elevator to the left, and it will take you straight to Mr. Marsden's office."

"Thank you." He was not someone she had seen before, and she suspected that most of them had retired or moved on.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped out. Most of the garage had open spaces, indicating that several staff members had already left for the day.

The elevator was of the transparent type and whizzed her up to the top floor with a swiftness that left her feeling slightly dizzy.

The reception area was empty, the chrome and ash gray area eerily deserted. The name of the company was sterling silver with an overlay of blue that had a stunning effect. The lush carpet had her feet sinking to the ankles.

Taking another breath, she pushed the door open that had Gretchen Mitchell – Assistant stenciled in gold. The office was three times the size of hers, the desk with the latest model desktop, impeccably arranged and very tidy.

The doors to his office were open and she could see him seated around a massive baronial desk. Taking the opportunity to study, she noticed that he had shed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his shell pink shirt to his elbows and had his head bent over a folder.

She stiffened as he lifted his head as if sensing her presence.

Shoving her tote onto her shoulders, she made her way in, enduring the hooded green of his gaze.

He watched her in silence as she took a seat in front of his desk. The silence stretched between them and had her nerves screaming in protest. "Your office is lovely. It was originally your dad's?"

"Yes," he clipped.

"I recalled it being a different color. You made some changes. It's lovely, and the view is stunning," she rushed on, trying to fill the silence.

"Are you finished?" His deep voice was cool and devoid of emotions. "Do you perhaps want to comment on the painting above the mantle—it's a recent acquisition and there is a table in the corner of the room, that's new too."

"I was just–"

"Trying to pretend that we are acquaintances, that we do not have a very lurid and painful past?" He inclined his head mockingly. "I suggest you get on with the interview and stick to the salient points."

"You are right, of course." Summoning up the courage that had served her well in the past, she took her recorder out of the tote and a pad and pencil.

"Recorder on." Looking him square in the eyes, she began. She had a special way of doing things. First, she would chat and wait until they were at ease before diving into the questions and allowing them to speak freely.

But Hayes was not just anyone, and the animosity emanating from him was so real, so tangible, that it was making her feel on edge. She asked about Southern Airlines and the plans for the restructuring. His answers were clipped and to the point, giving her no room for friendly comments.

"There are rumors flying around that the takeover was a hostile one. They say that you forced key people holding upper management positions from their offices. What do you have to say to that?"

A sardonic smile touched his lips. "You, above all people, know the damage a rumor circulating can be, and that's all it is—rumors. People were not ‘forced' out of their positions as you put it. The airline was top-heavy, the board taking advantage of the perks of their positions and abusing their powers.

Staff morale was at an all-time low, the airline was limping along, with numerous cancellations every day, costing the company millions of dollars in revenue. The management team was given a choice, something they did not deserve.

They were offered the option of retiring with their dignity intact or being fired. They chose the former."

Camelia pretended to consult her notes just to avoid looking at the hard, handsome face of the man who had been her entire life and seeing the contempt he was exhibiting.

"You always said you wanted to make a mark the way your dad did." A smile touched her lips briefly as she looked at him. "You stepped into his shoes and filled the role admirably. How does it feel to be the CEO of one of the most successful airlines in the world?"

To her surprise, he remained silent, his eyes studying her face, his own expressionless. "I need a drink. You?" Pushing from the desk, he strode over to the window facing the front of the building with the stunning view of the buildings that made up the rest of the uptown business district.

"No, I am fine. Thank you."

"I hope you don't mind."

"No."

She watched as he touched the button, and the cabinet with its mullioned glass swung forward. Selecting a bottle of scotch, he poured some into a glass and brought it back to his desk.

"Turn the recorder off," he ordered, taking back his seat.

"Pardon?"

"Unless you want what I have to say included in your notes, I suggest you turn it off."

"I don't have time–"

"Now!" he snapped, causing her to jump slightly.

Pressing the button, she did as she was told and waited for him to speak. "You are so calm, so composed. You sit there talking about things I confessed to you in the past when we were together, and it was nothing to you. I told you of my dream when I took over the company, and you are using it to gather information. Who the hell are you?"

Her spine stiffened and her chin lifted. "I am just doing my job," she told him stiffly.

"I confided in you, told you things I never told a single soul. You cheered me on, remember Camelia? We were in your bed, naked, and we talked for hours. You told me your dreams, and I told you mine. Afterward, we would hold each other and make love again. We could not stay away from each other."

"We were teenagers, and it's not healthy to live in the past," she whispered.

"I stood by your side while they lowered your parents in the dirt, and you clung to me and cried. I promised you that I would always be there for you."

"I meant it at the time."

"The very next day, you left."

"I had to leave. My aunt–"

"You were carrying my baby!" he shouted. She surged to her feet in fright as he pushed back his chair and flung the glass into the fireplace. "You aborted my baby because you wanted nothing to do with me. You are a soulless bitch, and I never saw that in you. You fooled me with your sweet words and lush body and went away to kill my baby."

"How dare you!" she whispered, tears brightening her eyes. "I just lost my parents—my dad killed my mom and then ended his own life. I was going through a lot, and when I reached London, I had a miscarriage that almost ended my life. I was in the hospital for a month—one month as the doctors fought to save my life."

"You are lying." He stopped just in front of her, not wanting to believe her.

"Ask my aunt. Call the hospital in London; I can give you the name of it and the doctors who operated on me. I think they are still there. With your money, I am sure you can get answers." Her lips trembled, her bosom heaving. "I lost everything, and I wanted to die."

"You had me." He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he was raw and hurting. She had damaged him, and he was yet to recover.

"No. "She shook her head, suddenly feeling weary to the bone. She never spoke about the miscarriage, never recovered from losing her baby, one that she had clung to when it was all going to hell.

"You had me," he repeated. This time, he touched her. Clamping his hands on her upper arms, he forced her to look at him. "My God, Camelia, I would have moved heaven and earth to come after you, be there for you, and you shut me out." He shook her. "Why?"

Lifting her head, she stared at him, dark brown eyes shimmering with tears. "Because I never wanted you to be tainted by the scandal. By what my father did. By the ugliness. It all came out after the murder-suicide.

The fact that they were living way above their means, that they owed everyone money. The houses and apartments were mortgaged to the hilt. My tuition fee had not been paid for months." She shook her head. "I didn't want or need your pity."

His eyes flared at that. "Is that what you thought I would be doing? Pitying you? I loved you!"

"Yes." Stepping back, she turned away and went over to the window. "We were young and foolish and na?ve. We had no idea what we were saying. We had all these dreams, ideals—wishes that we hoped to have come through."

Feeling him behind her, she turned around. "They were just that. While I was dreaming and making plans, my parents were existing in a pipe dream. They pretended that everything was okay, that we had money, that they were happy when that was the furthest thing from the truth."

"I wanted to be there for you," he told her quietly, feeling her pain. "I begged you to let me be there."

"At what cost?" she cried. "Your family was wealthy, part of society. When that happened to my parents, we became pariahs." She shook her head. "I could not afford to have you tainted."

His eyes blazed. "You made that decision for me, did you?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes wearily. "Yes, I did, and I would do it again."

"Do you love me, Camelia?"

"What?"

"You heard the question. Were you in love with me, as you told me dozens of times? Or was it just a teenage crush for you? Be very careful about answering the question. I happen to know that you have a very expressive face."

"What does it matter! Why are you doing this now? We have moved on–"

"Do you love me?" The implacable look on his face warned her he was not going to back down."

"I need to finish–"

"Answer the question. He touched her then, hands gripping her arms.

"You know I did." she whispered tearfully. "But that was then."

"What about now?" he demanded.

"Don't do this," she begged. "We have both moved on. You are almost engaged–"

"Do you love me now?" he persisted.

"I can't do this, please–"

"Do you know the most endearing thing I admired about you when we were together?" he asked her quietly.

Turning her head away, she stared blindly at a painting on the opposite wall. "Don't do this."

"Your honesty. You always were, painfully so. You pride yourself on being truthful and damn the consequences. I don't believe that has changed. Do you love me now?" Lifting her head, she formed her shoulders. "No."

"You disappoint me."

"Now let me go."

"Because I can see it on your beautiful face." His hands came up to cup her face. "I can feel you trembling." One hand drifted down to her neck and then further down to press against where her heart was beating unsteadily.

"Your reactions to me, I felt them when we were on the balcony, the tremors, the way you fought not to show how affected you were."

"Please let go of me," she whispered.

"You hurt me. I came looking for you, begged my parents to give me at least a year to try and find you. They gave me six months, and you were nowhere to be found." His hand drifted to her neck again.

"I spent months in bed- "His voice dropped to a strained whisper. "I couldn't function, did not go out in public because you left." His fingers tightened around her throat. "You love me. What we shared when we were teens was something that could never be forgotten, not like that. Now answer the question."

"I do, but it does not matter. We cannot go back because the damage was too great. And you are involved–"

"I never stopped loving you," he told her quietly.

"Don't do this," she whispered.

"We can start–" "

"No!" She tried to push him away. "You don't know what you are saying. When I had the miscarriage, I was sick for more than a month and I thought I was going to die. They told me it was going to be impossible for me to have a child." Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. "I have resigned myself to not having children–"he blinked at the tears.

"I am resigned to being alone–"

"Stop it!" he ordered, shaking her slightly. "You can get a second opinion–"

"No. Hayes, please let go of me. I am not doing this. It's over and done. Marry Simone. You are going to need an heir and she seems like a nice enough person. What we had was over." She pushed out of his hold and hurried toward her things.