The One Real Regret Read online

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  ISBN: 9781543970326

  Dedicated to our one true loves and soulmates, and to those who live life without regret.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  San Francisco, Present Day

  Max Wainwright briefly set his pen down - the black and silver Mont Blanc fountain pen that was his favorite - to listen appreciatively to the music that filled his home office with its subtle strains. He actually owned several different recordings of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, but especially enjoyed this one featuring the talented violinist Joshua Bell, and in particular the Presto section of the Summer concerto. The Four Seasons had, in fact, been one of the very first pieces of classical music that Max had familiarized himself with many years ago, and it continued to rank among his favorites.

  It was fitting, he thought wryly, and oh so very proper of him, to be listening to classical music while drinking his evening tea and nibbling on the lemon curd biscuits he ordered directly from Fortnum and Mason, a high end department store in England. At least, mused Max, he wasn’t wearing a tweed jacket and spectacles, and there was no Labrador Retriever or Springer Spaniel dog curled up by the fireplace. Otherwise, he would have been the very image of a stuffy old British gentleman at this moment.

  One of his two closest friends in the entire world - Finn McManus - would have not-so-jokingly pointed out that Max was still the stuffiest person he knew, with or without the jacket, glasses, and dog. It was, after all, an image that Max had worked very, very hard to create and maintain for a long time now. And even after being the best of friends for more than twenty years, Finn and Jordan - the third member of their close-knit group - still had no idea of just how completely Max had transformed himself. Max shuddered a bit to imagine his best friends’ reaction were they ever to learn certain facts about him, facts that he had done his damndest to banish to the very depths of his memories, and keep very carefully hidden from anyone who knew him.

  He took a sip of his tea as he reclined slightly in his plush brown leather desk chair, his dark head resting a bit wearily against the thickly padded headrest as he gave the room - a combination of home office and library - a swift, cursory glance. When he’d purchased this house nearly a decade ago, it had been this particular room that he had made certain was redecorated and fitted out to his very specific requirements. And it was the room he spent the most time in when he was at home, the room that he felt the most comfortable in.

  It wasn’t a coincidence that this room reminded him in so many ways of the library at his old boarding school back in England. When Max had first arrived at the school - under less than ideal circumstances - he’d felt lost and confused, completely out of his element, and very aware that he didn’t fit in. The library had quickly become his place of refuge during those first few months, the months when he’d struggled to find his way and learn to cope with his new, very different life. Books had provided him with many hours of solace and comfort, and the kindly old librarian had taken Max under his wing, becoming both a friend and a mentor of sorts.

  His own personal library was, of course, on a much smaller scale than the grand one back at school, but the décor and overall feel of the room was quite similar. There were the multitude of built-in wooden bookcases, each filled from floor to ceiling with a wide variety of volumes – from the classics to current New York Times bestsellers, to books on finance, history, and science, as well as ones on travel, art, and music. The polished wood floors were covered by a pricey Aubusson rug of a maroon and gold design. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, warding off the chill of the rainy, foggy January night. Of course, the mostly temperate weather here in San Francisco was nowhere near as cold as it was in England, even in the middle of winter, but Max rather liked building a fire just the same, finding that it provided him with a certain sense of comfort and even a bit of nostalgia.

  His immense oak desk had been custom built to his specifications, including a space for the computer that he spent far too many hours hunched over reviewing financial statements, profit and loss columns, and the daily investment news. The recessed lighting that had been installed in the tray ceilings was ideal for the work he did, though on sunny days he relied on the natural light that would fill the room from the large picture window to his right. He rarely used the padded window seat that looked out to his small but tidy back garden and deck, preferring to sit on one of the overstuffed armchairs that faced the fireplace on those rare occasions he actually had time to read for pleasure these days.

  Overall, his home office/library gave off the impression of both wealth and comfort, a feel that permeated his entire house. Max had indulged himself with any number of luxuries during the remodeling/redecorating process, wanting nothing but the best after all his years of hard work to make a success of himself. But he had also intended this place - a spacious but not overly large Victorian tucked away on a quiet side street in San Francisco’s prestigious Nob Hill neighborhood - to feel like a real home. It had been the first real home he’d ever known, if one didn’t count the various apartments and condos he’d lived in during college and his early years in the workforce.

  And he had never considered any of the increasingly drab, dank flats, rooms, and apartments he’d lived in with his mother back in England any sort of real home. Max shuddered now as he unwittingly recalled just how dreadful some of those places had been, and he had never ceased to be grateful for the opportunity he’d been given to escape that squalor, even if that opportunity had come about in a rather unconventional manner.

  Jordan and Finn had both thought him a little mad when he’d bought this house instead of a luxury condo like their own residences in San Francisco, but Max had always known exactly the sort of place he’d wanted for his home and had ignored his friends’ very pointed comments.

  “Why in the world do you need so much space?” Jordan had inquired. “I mean, this isn’t exactly a mansion, but it’s still close to three thousand square feet. And given that you’re always traveling, it really doesn’t make sense for you to buy a place this big.”

  Finn had given the living room, which admittedly had needed a complete re-do, a derisive glance. “Place feels sort of haunted to me. Like Great-Grandma’s house. And definitely not your typical bachelor pad. Take it from me, Maxwell, the chicks are not going to go for this place.”

  Jordan had smirked. “Like that matters to Max. When have you ever known him to bring a woman back to his place? Mr. “I Like My Privacy” here isn’t one to have sleepovers. So I wouldn’t worry about the décor of Max’s new residence, Finn, sinc
e I highly doubt he’s planning to turn this place into a bachelor pad.”

  Finn had snorted. “More like a monastery, I’d be willing to bet.”

  Their joint derision had given Max cause to wonder - not for the first time - exactly what he had in common with the two womanizing, carefree playboys, and why on earth their friendship had not only survived but strengthened since first meeting at the age of eighteen.

  But Jordan and Finn had rather grudgingly conceded that Max’s new home was actually pretty cool when all of the extensive remodeling and redecorating had been completed. Unlike his office/library, the other rooms of the three-storied house were somewhat less formal, and didn’t look as though they belonged in a gracious, centuries-old English manor. The kitchen and bathrooms, for example, were sleek and modern, the kitchen equipped with high-end appliances and an endless supply of gadgets and cookware. Gourmet cooking was just one of the numerous finer things in life that Max had made it a point to learn as much as possible about, in the same way that he had schooled himself about classical music, literature, fine wines, designer clothing, and antique furniture.

  Jordan had been quite right, however, when he’d half-jokingly mentioned that Max liked his privacy, and wasn’t one to invite very many people inside the house that he’d come to regard as not only his home but his refuge. Over the past few months, however, that had gradually started to change - a change that had coincided with both Jordan and Finn finally giving up their manwhoring bachelor ways and being in long-term, committed relationships. Jordan, in fact, was going to be married to his fiancée Aubrey this spring, while Finn had shocked everyone speechless by proposing to his girlfriend Delilah over the recent Christmas holidays.

  It had been Delilah who’d rather matter-of-factly asked for a tour of Max’s house, basically inviting herself over, and since it would have been rude to not also include Aubrey, what had initially been intended as a brief visit had somehow morphed into an impromptu dinner party. Since that evening several months ago, there had been a few other get-togethers at Max’s house, and he’d unwittingly found himself enjoying having the company for a change.

  But despite the fact that he was beginning to thaw a little when it came to inviting his closest friends over, the possibility that he might actually bring a woman here remained highly unlikely - especially since it had been a very long time since he’d had even the slightest urge to take one to bed.

  Oh, there was nothing the least bit wrong with either his libido or his anatomy, despite Finn’s rather crude insinuations that Max might be having some problems with his equipment. It wasn’t his private parts that were preventing him from enjoying any female companionship, thought Max, but rather the broken heart that had never fully healed, even after more than four years. But it was no less than he deserved, he told himself firmly, especially since he was the one responsible for causing not just his own heartache but someone else’s as well - a someone else who had been the kindest, sweetest, and gentlest soul he’d ever known, and who hadn’t deserved even a moment of any sort of heartache.

  He clenched his fists tightly, at the exact same time he tightened his jaw in a similar manner, willing himself not to give in to the impulse that could overwhelm him at times with its power. It had been months, after all, since he’d last succumbed to the temptation, and there had even been days at a time when he had been able to stop thinking about her.

  Tonight, unfortunately, was not proving to be one of those times, and Max slowly picked up his cell phone where it rested on his desk. Like an automaton, he scrolled to the photos he kept stored there - a very modest number by most peoples standards - until he located the one that called to him like a siren.

  His pulse rate instantly picked up a beat or two, and he had to force himself to take deep, even breaths. Gazing upon Jill’s beloved features had that effect on him each and every time he dared to open up one of the very few photos that he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to delete.

  Max knew quite well that keeping even one photo of the enchanting young woman who’d had such a lasting impact on his life was a sign of weakness. And one thing Max had never permitted himself to be - even as a young boy when such things had been more or less out of his control - was weak. He’d had to be scrappy and tough from an early age, to take care of himself, and to make sure that the other boys in his bleak, hardscrabble factory town were too afraid of Max to ever dare to challenge him.

  As a young man and then as an adult, he hadn’t been able to afford any sort of weakness, knowing that to do so would get in the way of his goals and ambitions. Nowadays, he was as fearless - and feared - in the business world as he had once been on the rugby field in his school days. Except, it would seem, when it came to the one weakness he’d ever allowed himself to have - namely, the weeks he had spent in the arms of the beautiful, guileless girl who smiled up at him from the screen of his smartphone.

  Her luminous green eyes twinkled with a liveliness that her own difficult childhood hadn’t been able to suppress or diminish. The corners of her lushly full mouth were tipped up into a smile, something she’d done often during their all too brief time together. The thick masses of shiny golden brown hair had nearly overwhelmed her delicate bone structure, but while threading a long strand between his fingers one time Max had declared it would be a crime for Jill to think about cutting even an inch off.

  He wondered idly if she’d kept her hair long, or perversely cut it all off to defy his wishes. He wondered if she still lived in Seattle, which of several lucrative job offers she’d wound up accepting upon obtaining her degree, if she was married or engaged or otherwise involved, and then chastised himself for even wondering about the latter. It was a given that a woman as lovely and engaging and wonderful as Jill Parrish would have been snapped up long before now. After all, Max reminded himself grimly, there surely couldn’t be another man as idiotic as he had been who existed on this planet, a man who’d been a big enough fool to walk away from such a woman.

  Irritably, he closed out the photo, though he stopped himself yet again from deleting it entirely. He’d thought more than once about asking Jordan, or even Delilah, to delete the photos for him, to be strong where he apparently couldn’t be. But to do so would require telling them the real truth about what had happened in Seattle a few years ago, to tell them about Jill and who she had been to him. And since he was still far too ashamed of his actions back then, Max continued to keep that time in his life strictly to himself, something he had become quite the expert at over the years.

  Firmly, he placed his phone down on the far side of his desk as he picked up the profit and loss report he’d been studying a few minutes ago. Max had spent the better part of two decades reviewing these types of documents, and acquiring a reputation as one of the most brilliant financial and analytical minds in the business world. It was why his services were in such demand, why he often had to turn jobs away because there simply wasn’t enough time in his schedule to take them all on. He had an almost uncanny knack for assessing the financial status of a particular company, finding its strengths and weaknesses, and making precise recommendations to a board of directors about the steps they would need to take to fix what was wrong with their organization. Once in awhile, when a company was so mired in debt and too far gone to save, the only step he was able to recommend was declaring bankruptcy. But that sort of recommendation was rarely given, for Max prided himself on being able to come up with workable solutions to most any sort of problem, and he’d been called - among other things - a genius, a miracle worker, and the man with the golden touch.

  He’d been relieved to realize after little more than a cursory inspection of their financials that his newest client was in overall good shape. The company, a fast-rising software developer located right here in San Francisco, wanted Max’s opinion about the wisdom of expanding, and the steps they should take in doing so while also stabilizing their current finances. It would be a relatively easy assignment
, he acknowledged, one that would probably only take about two weeks time, while still earning him a substantial fee.

  He had thought more than once about expanding his business and taking on additional staff, but had always dismissed those thoughts after careful consideration. He had extremely exacting standards, insisted on having things done in a particular way, and was by his own admission something of a dictator. He did, at least, employ an administrative assistant along with two research assistants, but none of the three ever accompanied him on a job.

  His contracts had taken him all over the United States since he’d first started his own consulting business fifteen years ago. On occasion, he had also traveled to Canada, Australia, and Europe, though he’d made it a point to avoid any travel to the UK. Max knew it was silly of him, especially since he’d likely be working in London, a city he’d only had the occasion to visit three times in his life, and those only on brief school trips.

  But overall he did not have good memories of his life in England, and in fact had a great many very bad memories. And since he’d spent more than half of his life trying to forget those troubled years, Max had zero desire to risk stirring them up again by visiting the place of his birth.

  Chapter Two

  Northern England – 27 years ago

  Max scowled as he accidentally stepped into a shallow puddle of dirty, melted snow, the icy cold water seeping in through the worn out sole of his shoe and getting his sock wet. He needed new shoes badly, had needed them for months now ever since he’d outgrown the hand-me-down pair of trainers his mother had grudgingly bought him at the local charity shop more than a year ago. But as with so many things he needed, there never seemed to be enough money to buy much of anything - clothes, shoes, food, or anything beyond the very basics. His jeans were an inch or two too short, and worn in both knees, his coat at least a size too small, and the old leather gloves he’d found lying in a ditch nowhere near warm enough when the winter days grew especially cold like today.