I understood that it would have caused drama and irritation for him to reveal the truth, but I couldn’t say it didn’t hurt. Sometimes it felt like he was ashamed of me. Like it or not, though, he was all I had now and I loved him.

I bit down my resentment. “You can’t,” I said. “Benito has a big mouth. He’ll tell everyone who I am.”

“So, what, then? You find another job … Doing what?”

Any other job would come with a major pay cut. As an executive PA to a successful photographer, I made a nice income. More than twice that of standard PA positions. I sipped at my wine, looking around at all my pretty things in my pretty home.

“I didn’t even get to apologize,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I didn’t even get to apologize,” I repeated. “He blew up in my face and then ruined my life.” I groaned. “Don’t even say it. I recognize the irony in that. My family ruined his … tit for tat.”

Grandpa cleared his throat. “You didn’t ruin his life. But you did take him off guard.”

Guilt suffused me. “True.”

“And I already told you my attempts in the past have failed. It isn’t our place to apologize.”

“I know that.” I did know that. I wasn’t disappointed, because I couldn’t apologize for my father’s sins. I was disappointed because in that moment, when Caine realized who I was, I saw a pain in his eyes that was so familiar to me. Seeing the pain that was clearly still raw for him, I felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of kinship with him. We were both part of a tragic legacy. I’d never been able to talk about it with anyone because of the secrecy of it all. For years I’d been left to bear the burden of the truth all by myself. Then three months ago my mom died and all the ugly shit came crawling to the surface, and during a tirade on the phone to my grandpa he’d finally let slip the name of the child who had been wronged.

Caine Carraway. The only other person besides my parents and grandfather who knew the truth. The only other person who could possibly understand.

I couldn’t explain the connection I felt to him. I just knew that it was possible I was the only person who could understand his pain, and … I found I wanted to be there for him somehow. It didn’t make sense. I barely knew him. I knew that. But I couldn’t help feeling it all the same.

It was gut-wrenching then to have him look at me like I was part of the problem. Like … I was to blame. I hated the idea that he could think that of me, and I didn’t want that to be the last time we ever spoke. I didn’t want to be part of a bad memory. “I should go over there and apologize for ambushing him. While I’m there I could ask him to fix this. One call to Benito and he can make this go away.”

“Alexa, I don’t think that’s wise.”

Maybe not. But I was desperate for my job back and to change Caine’s opinion of me. “Ever since Mom … I just … I need him to hear me out, and I see no harm in asking him to call Benito while I’m there.”

“That sounds an awful lot like what you need and not what he needs.”

I shoved that truth aside and rationalized, “Have you met Caine Carraway? I don’t think that man knows what he needs.”

The receptionist was staring at me as if I was ridiculous.

“You want to see Mr. Carraway of Carraway Financial Holdings without an appointment?”

I knew it wouldn’t be easy to walk into the huge rose-granite-walled building on International Place and expect to be escorted directly to Caine’s office. Still, the receptionist was treating it as if I were asking to see the president. “Yes.” I curbed my natural instinct to return her question with sarcasm. She didn’t look like she’d respond well to that.

She sighed. “One moment, please.”

I glanced over at the security guard who was manning the metal detectors situated before the elevators. Carraway Financial Holdings shared the building with another company, which meant there were security cameras everywhere. No matter what I tried to pull here, I was going to get caught. It was all just a matter of timing. I was okay with getting caught … as long it was after I got in to see Caine.

I sidled away from the reception desk while the pinchy-mouthed receptionist lady frowned at her nails. While her focus was elsewhere I smoothed on a fake look of nonchalance and began to walk toward the detectors.

“ID.” The security guard held out a hand to stop me from going any farther.

I stared up into his bearded face and noted the alertness in his eyes. Damn my luck. I couldn’t get a clichéd, unobservant security guy?

I smiled innocently. “The lady at reception told me they’ve run out of visitor ID passes. She told me to go on up.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

I gestured to her. “Ask her.”

He huffed and looked over at reception. I realized right away he was going to yell the question at her so he didn’t have to move from his post.

It was my only opportunity.

I skittered past him and rushed through the detectors and heard him shout just as I was hurrying into the elevator that would take me to Caine’s floor. The doors shut as the security guard’s foot came into view.

“You’ve lost it,” I murmured to myself as the elevator climbed. “You’ve actually finally lost it. You should have taken the therapy when it was offered.”

I heard a snort from my right. I was sharing the elevator with a guy who grinned at me as if I was hilarious. “It doesn’t work for some people,” he said.