DONOVAN

The block of ice clinked against the sides of the glass, the familiar sound easing his tension before the scotch even had a chance to work its magic. This was his regimen though, and the next step was just a splash over a two-finger pour. The day had been long—weren’t they all—and he deserved a little help decompressing.

The dark walls of his study soothed him as the burn slid down his throat. He topped off the rock before easing into the tufted leather of the chair that had molded itself to his shape over the last five years, using his Cervelt-clad heel to align the ottoman just so to accommodate his tall frame.

Finally.

The ladder he was climbing was steep, and slowing down could make him fall more than a few rungs. But after a confrontation such as he’d just survived, he could give himself some grace tonight. At least, as far as work was concerned.  Being handed the role only two positions below his father-in-law meant proving himself more efficiently and effectively than would have been expected of anyone else, but contending with those who whispered behind his back was a bigger challenge than he had prepared for. No one cared about the learning curve. Not where he was concerned.

Clark Sullivan. Everyone knew him. Many wanted to be him. Seven years ago, Donovan had finagled an invitation to an event the Sullivan’s were hosting, and the rest was history.

Caitlin. If not for the way he’d romanced her, this job wouldn’t be his. At least, not yet, and not without much bigger deals secured under his Ferragamo belt—a belt he’d never have been able to afford in his previous life. Dating and then marrying the SVP’s daughter had been among the easiest decisions of his adult life. Beauty and brains. Her blue-black curtain of hair and glittering dark eyes had captivated him from their introduction, but it was her wit that kept him coming back for more. She’d blown him off at first, waiting days before returning his call. But when she finally did…

“Donovan Archer, I believe you’ve been trying to reach me?” Her New England pronunciation lost the ‘r’ at the end of his name. He quickly decided he liked her version. He also noticed she hadn’t apologized for taking two and a half days to get back to him.

“Caitlin, I hope you’ve been well.” He subtly tried to ascertain if there was some reason she’d put him off. Perhaps she’d been swamped. Or ill, although he certainly wouldn’t wish that.

“Fine, yes. Enjoying the week.”

Without him. While he’d been ridiculously distracted ever since they met. He’d even forgotten to swap a scheduled interview he was supposed to be organizing for one of his PR firms’ clients, causing The New Respects to show up an hour late for an appearance. He couldn’t afford mistakes like that if he was going to advance from entry-level status according to his projected timetable.

“Glad to hear it. I heard you mention that you enjoy Christian music. The Messengers will be performing here this weekend, and I wondered if you’d be interested in joining me. I can get us in.” He tried to sound offhand but hoped she’d be impressed that he remembered the detail about her taste in music. Hoped more that she’d believe he had clout when it came to scoring last-minute tickets.

“Ah, you must have missed that it came up in conversation because I said I was looking forward to seeing We Are Messengers.” Her subtle correction made his ears flame. “We have V.I.P. seats for most any event we choose. But you are welcome to join me, if you’d like? There’s always room for one more.” The hint of amusement in her voice was playful without being condescending.

And he’d said yes. Back then, he’d always said yes.

Donovan awoke with a jolt. His drifting had taken him back to when impressing Caitlin, and often failing to do so, had turned into a running joke. A joke that, as of late, wasn’t nearly as funny.

His stomach grumbled and he realized the evening had grown late. Caitlin and Knox had surely dined without him and she was probably putting him to bed. Even when Donovan was home, he wasn’t present. How many times had Caitlin pointed that out lately?

Donovan padded from his chair and down the marbled hallway that ran from his office to the kitchen. Only the automatic lights brightened as he made his way. The kitchen was spotless, the air light with the scents of clean and fresh. No dishes drained near the sink. Everything was in its place.

But a folded slip of lavender paper, Caitlin’s stationery, was tented on the counter. Donovan may well have been wading through quicksand as he dragged his way toward it.

“Donovan,

Knox and I moved back to Connecticut.  

Caitlin”

© 2023 by Jessica Stone