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Through her sobs, Taylor said, “I don’t want to do this.”
“I know,” Derrick said. “I’m so sorry.”
And really that was all he could say, because there was no way out for her, and if anyone would know that, it was Derrick. He was her only ally in this charade they were playing.
“I just want to make my own decisions. I want to run my life. I want to figure out what is right or wrong for me on my own,” she said, head still burrowed.
“So do it,” Derrick answered simply.
Taylor pulled her head back and evaluated Derrick to see if he was on the same planet as she was. When she confirmed he was, she gave him the are-you-crazy look.
“Start making decisions that work for you,” Derrick answered. “Yes, you need to run Preston Corp., but you don’t even know that you won’t do well at it. You just feel like you can’t because you haven’t been given permission.”
Taylor did not want anything Derrick said to make sense. If it made sense it just validated the fact that he understood her, and then they would be on a level playing field. And she had made him the enemy.
But he was right.
And as much as Taylor wanted to go it alone, she knew how hard that was. She had done it for years. And this wasn’t just hiding in a coffee shop; this was taking on a corporation that possessed worldwide power.
“Run your life, Taylor. Don’t run from it.”
“I’m not running.”
“You got a wig, glasses, and colored contacts, moved halfway across the country, and changed your name,” Derrick gently reminded her.
Taylor pushed herself away from him and walked over to the closest wall of windows, taking in the view. She touched the glass. The cool surface was soothing to her hot palm, so Taylor rested her forehead on it, trying to focus her thoughts.
“Let me help you, Taylor. Let me be there for you.” Derrick pleaded softly behind her.
Taylor closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “You hurt me, Derrick,” she said, turning toward him and opening her eyes. “And not just once.”
Derrick nodded. “I know, but I want to explain.”
Taylor turned her forehead back against the glass and looked down, shaking her head. This was not an answer to her troubles now.
“It will help you to understand where I was at. And before you say it, I know that it doesn’t make it right, any of it. It was wrong, but I am not that kid anymore, Taylor. And you know,” Derrick paused, searching for the words, “that stuff I said about not knowing you, when I was a kid, I didn’t mean it. I was mad, and I just, I don’t know—”
“Just prove it to me now, then,” Taylor countered, silencing him. She turned to him again, “Because I am tired of reliving the past.” He was right—she was in charge, and she was calling the shots in her life, starting now.
Derrick looked in her eyes, searched them. “You gotta stop treating me like an asshole then,” he finally said.
Taylor was mulling that over when the buzzer went off, sending her jumping. Derrick looked over at the door, complete irritation in his features. And then the buzzing sounded again, and again, and then longer. The intercom kept buzzing with only the slightest pause, the shrill sound filling the apartment. Derrick stiffened and stalked over to the wall.
Jabbing a tense finger in the intercom, he barked, “Yeah.”
A bored and irritated voice came back, “Express delivery.” The voice was all yeah-you-ordered-it-and-now-I’m-waiting.
“Come up,” Derrick replied through his teeth, apparently not pleased by the interruption or the lack of apology from the delivery person. He turned to Taylor, “I am going to handle this. Go watch TV. You can’t be seen from there.”
“Can’t be seen?”
“Nobody is supposed to know you’re back yet, right?” Derrick reminded her.
“Oh yeah,” Taylor said and turned, heading to the room with couches and chairs that looked like a TV should be in there, but she couldn’t find it. There were remotes on the coffee table, though, so it had to be here somewhere, right? She picked up one of the remotes and hit TV On. The artwork on the wall disappeared, and the TV glowed in its place. Taylor smiled in spite of herself. She had one of these at home and had forgotten all about it. Then she froze as she realized by home she meant the mansion. She had not considered that place home in a long, long time.
God, she really was back, she realized as she dropped onto the couch.
Taylor was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the doorbell, only the bored-with-life messenger’s voice. “You Mr. F?” the bored voice asked and then was followed by, “Hey, you’re—” That must have been when Mr. Personality looked at Derrick and recognized him, but he was cut off. Taylor heard the sound of something falling.