The Man Behind the Mask

Last night’s nightmare came out of nowhere. Damn inconvenient, all these memories rising to the surface. Made him stupid, off his game.

He never told anyone about that day in the boathouse. Masking the broken parts of himself the best he could, he took what happened that day and filed them away in a locked part of his brain. Even when the scandal broke years later, he kept the memories quiet and carried on. No one would ever know the truth. How part of him shattered that raw, foggy morning. The world would forever see the Simon Cartwright they wanted to see. And on those rare occasions the memories did intrude and the mask threatened to slip? Well, then he had the pool.

How many times had water saved his sanity?

His fingers brushed the concrete, letting him know he’d reached the opposite wall. Hinging his hips, he pulled his torso down, dragging his memories beneath the surface. When he got low enough, he would flip directions and leave yesterday behind. Once again his life would be organized, the bad memories locked away where they couldn’t interfere with the here and now.

A pair of black patent leather flats waited at the pool’s edge when he returned, a shiny reminder that not all of yesterday’s “issues” could be pulled underwater. He flipped and took another lap, pretending not to notice the shoes or their owner.

Drowning his memories with pleasure was nothing new. He long ago learned the best place for keeping bad thoughts at bay—outside the pool—was his bed. Fortunately for him, there was never a shortage of women willing to join him, although for obvious reasons, he was always careful to keep business and pleasure separate. Until a second glass of whiskey blurred the two, that is.

Thank goodness for the security officer.

He waited two more laps before finally greeting her with a nod. “Morning, Delilah.”

She looked different today, though how, he couldn’t say. Outwardly, she looked the same as ever. Gray slacks, same brown ponytail, bangs flopping in her face. Had to be the top. Pale blue silk, it was more fitted and brought out the blue in her eyes. Blue like the color water should be. Words that should sound foolish in the morning light, but instead, one glance told him they remained strangely accurate. Looking up at Delilah’s face, last night’s weightless feeling returned. He was falling and floating all at the same time. Just like being suspended in the deep ocean.

Oh, for crying out loud, listen to him. He needed to pull himself together.

“What has you visiting me on the roof at this hour?” He rested his arms on the pool’s edge and waited while she gathered her thoughts, hoping her early appearance didn’t signal a resignation. The way he had behaved, he’d be lucky if she didn’t slap him with a harassment suit.

She gave him a long, unfathomable look before answering. “Josh Bartlett called.”

They were apparently conducting business as usual. Thank goodness. Assistants as smart and capable as Delilah didn’t grow on trees. If he had ruined their relationship with last night’s insanity, he’d do more than just mentally kick himself.

“Little early for business, isn’t it? What did he want?”

She ran a hand around her ear, a habit he remembered finding incredibly fascinating last night. Daytime proved that notion correct, as well. He’d never noticed how long and graceful her fingers were.

“Apparently the Bartlett family has a home on Cape Cod,” she told him. “They are throwing a New England clambake tomorrow night and invited us to attend.”

“Beer and seafood in a relaxed setting. What better way to catch people with their guard down?” He had to hand it to Jim Bartlett. This need of his to interview agencies on a “personal” level might be peculiar, but the eccentricity had savvy. “You told him we’d love to, right?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“It means staying another two nights, including Saturday night at their beach house,” Delilah told him. “I didn’t think I should agree until I knew your schedule.”

“I have no problem rearranging my life to win this account. You know that.”

“I know. I also know how important the account is to you.”

“Then why put him off?” Hesitation made them look indecisive, and that was the last image they wanted to project.

“Delilah?” he prompted when she looked away. “Is there a problem?”

“The account team for Mediatopia is also going to be there.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He chuckled at Bartlett’s audacity. What better way to judge people than to have them mingle with their adversaries? Made his and Delilah’s attendance all the more imperative. He was beginning to understand how Bartlett made his fortune, and it wasn’t simply because he knew how to brew a good beer. “Tell him I said the more the merrier.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just that after last night, I wasn’t sure you’d be...”

“Up to it?” he finished for her. She nodded.

Wow. He must have been more off his game than he thought. “Last night was an anomaly, I promise.”

No sooner did he speak than the strangest expression crossed her face, passing too quickly for him to decipher. “Is there something else?”

She suddenly became quite entranced with tracing a splash stain darkening the cement with her foot. “They want us to spend the night.”

Of course. “You’re worried about spending the time alone with me.”

Her face paled. “No, I...”

“It’s all right, Delilah.” Stupid to think he’d escaped completely unscathed. Letting out a long breath, he hoisted himself out of the pool and made his way to the towel cart. Talking would be good. The two of them could clear the air and move forward.

“Frankly, I don’t blame you. I think we can both agree I wasn’t myself last night,” he said as he toweled off. “The whiskey went to my head and I crossed the line. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Mistakes happen.” Turning abruptly, she headed toward the chain-link fence lining the pool area’s perimeter.

“No, it’s not all right,” he said, following. “I’m your boss, and I have no business making you feel uncomfortable. Ever. I’d hate for an unfortunate mistake on my part to ruin a great working relationship. All I can hope is that you’ll accept my apology and let the two of us start fresh.”

He wished she would turn around so he could convey to her the full apology in his words. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“In other words, you want to pretend last night never happened.”

“Only if you’re willing to. The ball’s in your court.” She still hadn’t turned around, leaving him to wonder what she was thinking.

After what seemed like hours, she shrugged. “Why not?” she said in an odd voice. “No harm, no foul, right?”

“Thank you.” Simon let out a breath as some of the tension bearing down on his shoulders eased. He joined her at the fence, ready to say more when he caught sight of her profile.

Disappointment flashed behind her eyes.

Ridiculous. His conscience was playing tricks on him. Had to be. When it came to his behavior last night, he could see Delilah having many reactions: anger, embarrassment and humiliation, to name a few. But disappointment? Not possible.

“Nothing to thank me for. Last night’s completely forgotten.” She looked straight at him, wearing the same calm expression she always wore. No disappointment in sight.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

Nothing a big fat do-over wouldn’t cure. He shook his head. “Not right now.”

“Then I’ll go call Josh and let him know we can’t wait to join them. See you downstairs for the tour.”