But.
“It’s a matter of pride, Martin.” She opened her eyes and covered his hands with hers, desperate for him to understand. “As long as I’m not in danger of getting fired, I want to outmaneuver Dale on my own. I don’t want him to know I needed help to defeat him.”
He considered that for a moment. “Is your pride more important than your happiness?”
The question was unfair. What’s more, he should know it was unfair, because she’d shared her past with him.
She scooted her chair back, and his hands fell away from her face. “Pride kept me from drowning in poverty. Pride got me scholarships to college and a 4.0 GPA in graduate school. Pride helped me survive my marriage and my divorce. Pride deprives Dale of satisfaction every time he insults me and waits for the hurt to show.”
Because he was Martin, he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t compose his own response in his head while she was still speaking. He listened.
Which was good, because she wasn’t done yet. “Because of my pride, I survived long enough to have any chance at happiness now.” She spread her hands flat on the table and met his gaze directly. “And you’re telling me to set it aside? Disregard it as if it has no more use?”
He waited to make sure she was done.
Then he spoke slowly. Carefully. “As Bea and I have discussed many times, women are told again and again to swallow their pride to appease others, while men are celebrated for standing strong and remaining defiant. I’d have to be a sexist prick to want you to disregard such a fundamental aspect of yourself.”
He reached out for her, then paused for permission. When she didn’t stop him, he traced the tight line of her jaw. Measured the angle of her chin.
“And on a personal, selfish level, your pride was the first thing I noticed about you. The first thing that drew me to you. I would never want you to abandon it. I find it admirable, and I find it intensely, painfully arousing.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about whether that sexy, stalwart pride—in this one, very specific instance—is keeping you from what you want, rather than helping you get it.”
She tried to picture doing what he’d suggested. Receiving what she wanted so desperately, but at such a steep cost. Seeing the knowledge in Dale’s smug face that she’d once again had to recruit people richer and more powerful than she was to thwart him, that she hadn’t been able to stymie him on her own.
Could she make that sort of compromise when her entire career wasn’t at stake?
She didn’t know. She just…didn’t know.
“Let me think about it,” she finally said.
Until recently, she’d considered herself a decisive person. But now, with Martin in her life, decisions no longer seemed separated into right and wrong halves, the division crystalline. Instead, right and wrong flowed into one another, amorphous and impossible to decouple.
Martin didn’t insist on a clearer answer. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her nose—he loved her freckles, as he’d demonstrated the previous night—and sat back in his chair. Cell phone in hand once more, he gave her time.
One last blini remained on her plate, and her stomach churned at the sight of it.
“Do you want this?” She pushed the plate in his direction. “I’m done.”
“Are you sure? Because those were amazing.” When she didn’t change her mind, he popped the little pancake into his mouth and swallowed with a look of utter bliss. “Rich-person food is the best. I had no idea what I was missing.”
Wait. Did he think she was rich? Or just that she ate expensive food?
“You realize I’m not actually rich, right?” She waved a hand around the open kitchen area. “I mean, look at my house. It’s not precisely a villa in Tuscany.”
His face creased in confusion. “Well, I know you weren’t rich growing up. But given what I’ve seen of Alfred and Annette, your ex-husband is definitely wealthy. From what you wear and what you eat, I assume you received a decent amount of money in the divorce settlement.”
She had to laugh. “I didn’t take a penny from Barton in the divorce. Not even when his parents badgered him into offering me a good settlement.”
For a moment, those blue eyes just blinked at her, and then he heaved a groan. “Pride.” He dug two fingers between his eyebrows. “Of course. Of course you didn’t take any money from your obscenely rich and apparently dickish ex.”
As far as she remembered, they’d never talked about her marriage. His either, for that matter, except in the most roundabout terms.
Now she was the one confused. “How did you know he’s a dick? I mean, he is, but how did you figure it out?”
“First of all, he let you go.” He held up a finger. “Which means he’s either a fool or a dick, and you wouldn’t marry a fool. I wouldn’t have thought you’d marry a dick either, but it’s easier to disguise dickishness than foolishness, at least long enough to trap a woman into marriage.”
Another finger. “Second, while you were in the bathroom at Milano, Alfred said something that implied his son tried to change you. Once more, I have to err on the side of dickishness. Although one could also argue that only a fool would want to change someone so amazing, and only a fool would expect you, of all people, to change for a man. Even your husband.” He nudged her hand on the table. “Don’t worry. I made certain Alfred didn’t say any more than that. You’ll tell me whatever you want me to know about your marriage in your own time.”
God, she could love this man. Maybe already did.
