by Karen Booth
“Call him and see if you can get together. Try to find out what he’s up to.”
“He told me he’d reach out if he came back into town,” Miranda said. “He hasn’t done that. Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me.” Why that thought bothered her so much, she wasn’t sure.
“Or maybe he’s zeroing in on his plan. The city is weeks away from awarding the Seaport contract. If he’s trying to meddle with it, he has to act now.”
Miranda shook her head. “You all are crazy. I really don’t see it.”
“Maybe you don’t want to see it,” Astrid said, sliding her hand across the counter until her fingers brushed Miranda’s. “I didn’t want to believe it, either, but all evidence points in that direction. I know it’s hard. He’s our living connection to the man we all loved.”
Miranda took in a deep breath. As far as she was concerned, that was a reason to give Andrew the benefit of the doubt. But was she being naive? Johnathon had told her stories about bad things Andrew had done. Vindictive and cruel acts. Of course, Miranda was certain that Johnathon had always countered every mean-spirited jab with one of his own. He’d not been the kind of man who let a punch go unanswered.
No matter what, Miranda wanted to put this topic to rest. If Andrew was innocent, she wanted to be able to say that with certainty. Ultimately, she wanted her child to know as much family as possible. Miranda and her brother, Clay, had no memories of their father. She could not save her daughter that pain, but perhaps it would soften the blow if she was able to have a relationship with her uncle.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll call him.”
“You will?” Apparently, Tara had anticipated a much bigger fight.
“Yes. I’d like to put this question to rest so we can all move on.” Miranda grabbed her phone from the center island and pulled up Andrew’s information.
He answered after only a ring or two. “Miranda?”
A noticeable tingle ran down Miranda’s back when she heard Andrew’s voice. It must be her pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc again. She turned away from Tara and Astrid and wandered closer to the stove on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Andrew, hi. How are you?”
“I’m well. How are you? I’m surprised to hear from you.” Again, his voice was warm and soothing, much like the bath she’d been longing for.
Miranda closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. What she was about to say was going to make her sound like a stalker. “I heard you’re in town.”
It was so quiet on the other end of the line that Miranda nearly wondered if the connection had dropped. “Who told you that?” His tone was cold and clipped, no longer so comforting.
She had to scramble for an excuse. She couldn’t say that Tara and Astrid had provided her with the intel. “I have a friend who saw you. She’s the nosy type. I think she assumed that you and I would be seeing each other.” Miranda cringed at the sound of that. It was so presumptuous.
“I’m in town on business. I planned to call if I had any free time.”
“Oh, of course.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder at Tara and Astrid, who were both sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on Miranda’s every word. The pressure was on Miranda to produce. “How long are you here?”
Andrew cleared his throat, making it apparent that she’d put him on the spot. “Not long.”
“Would you like to have dinner?” It was the logical invitation. Food was on her mind 24-7. “A man’s got to eat, right?”
“I suppose.”
“I recently did a full redesign of a steakhouse over in Harbor Island. It has a stunning view of the bay. I haven’t had a chance to see the restaurant at night yet.”
“Uh, sure. I can do that.”
Something about Andrew’s inflection made her wonder if he saw this as an imposition. Were Tara and Astrid right? Was Miranda deluded when it came to Andrew? Apparently, she was about to find out. “How about tomorrow night? Meet there at seven?”
Two
Miranda pulled her car up to the valet stand at Harbor Prime, her stomach in knots. Nervousness had been her default setting since she’d ended the call with Andrew yesterday. She was about to do a high-wire act without a net. Tara and Astrid were after answers from Andrew on some very difficult questions, while Miranda wanted to continue to forge a genuine connection with him. These objectives were diametrically opposed to each other. How was she supposed to extract sensitive information from Andrew when she would do anything to keep from burning this particular bridge? She had no idea, but she did know one thing for certain—she’d try her hardest to make everyone happy.
She walked inside, immensely pleased with how beautifully the renovation had turned out. Miranda didn’t like to brag about her interior-design skills, but she could admit to herself that she’d done an exceptional job on Harbor Prime. The wood beams crisscrossing the high-peaked ceiling were now stained ebony, accenting the island architecture of the building. The booths were upholstered in a gorgeous fabric with a modern botanical print in shades of coffee-brown and grass-green. Of course, the most breathtaking feature of the restaurant was one that Miranda could not take credit for—the view. All along the far wall were floor-to-ceiling windows, which framed the magnificent evening vista of the bay with the city skyline twinkling beyond.
“Ms. Sterling.” The hostess stepped out from behind her desk to shake Miranda’s hand. “It’s nice to have you join us this evening.”
“I’m glad I had a chance to come out and see the renovation at night.” Miranda scanned the dining room, but didn’t see Andrew.
“We have a beautiful table for you this evening, with an exceptional view.”
“I don’t believe my dinner date is here yet.” Miranda felt silly referring to Andrew that way, but it was the first thing that had come out of her mouth.
“Actually, Mr. Sterling arrived ten minutes ago. I went ahead and sat him at your table.” The hostess swept her arm forward. “This way.”
Miranda followed her through the dining room, which was abuzz with music, heavenly scents and the chatter of happy diners. As they rounded the central bank of booths, Miranda saw him in profile as he looked out over the water. A zap of excitement hit her, doing nothing to settle her nerves. Why would she feel this way? Pregnancy hormones? Or perhaps it was her heart, reminding her that he was so closely linked to the man she’d loved and lost.
Andrew turned and his intense eyes locked on her as he managed a reserved smile. He rose from his seat and she quickly drifted closer when he opened his arms, an invitation she was eager to take. “Miranda, it’s good to see you,” he muttered into her hair. His embrace was warm and comforting, and there was a part of her that just wanted to stand in his arms for a few hours. It had been so long since she’d felt this good.
“I’m happy to see you, too.”
Andrew released and stepped back, noticeably eyeing her belly. “Baby’s grown since the last time I saw you.”
Miranda resisted the urge to smooth her hands over her stomach. She still wasn’t showing much and didn’t love the idea of fixating on the ways her body was changing. Being a widow was a vulnerable position, and the pregnancy made it even more so. “I’m just a little more than halfway.”
“Pregnancy suits you. You look great.” Andrew eased behind her chair and pulled it out for her.
Miranda appreciated the gentlemanly gesture and his kind words more than he ever could have known. It was so nice to be treated well. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Andrew punctuated the end of his sentence with an arch of one eyebrow, then took his seat opposite her. “I haven’t ordered a drink yet, but I did ask them to bring you some water. But I don’t know if it’s filtered, so perhaps we should order something bottled. I know pregnant women need to watch every little thing they eat or drink.”
&
nbsp; He was so considerate. How anyone could ever suspect him of having unkind motives, Miranda didn’t know. “This is just fine, but thank you.” Miranda took a sip, her nervousness fading away. She smiled, unable to keep from admiring him. She couldn’t help that her inclination was to notice the ways he was like his brother, and the many ways in which they were different. Andrew was remarkably good-looking, like Johnathon, with tousled chestnut-brown hair, but his eyes were a much more complex shade of blue-green. His facial scruff was more pronounced, stopping shy of being an actual beard. The biggest difference was that Andrew had a far more inward demeanor. Nothing about his manner suggested that he needed to be the center of attention, or, quite frankly, that he wanted it that way. That was a massive difference. Johnathon had always insisted on being the sun everyone revolved around.
The server appeared and took their drink orders—a cranberry juice with club soda and lime for Miranda, while Andrew ordered a bourbon neat, delighted that they had a brand called Michter’s.
“You don’t drink it on the rocks?” Miranda asked.
“Not this one. It’s small-batch. Too delicious to water down.”
“I see.”
Andrew’s sights settled on Miranda’s face, and for a moment, she had the nerve to return the look, if only to peer into the storm of his eyes, hoping for clues as to who he really was or what he wanted. She’d heard so many stories from Johnathon, none of which cast Andrew in a positive light. Sitting here, just the two of them, it was hard to envision him doing anything evil or underhanded. But Miranda broke their shared gaze when she started to feel nervous again. She turned her attention to the water, just as the server delivered their drinks.
“Cheers,” Andrew offered, raising his glass.
“To family.” Her toast made her want to cast aside the true nature of her visit. This should be a time for building the bond between them, not extracting information.
He closed his eyes for an instant as he enjoyed a sip of bourbon, then swirled it in his glass as he again gazed at her with such intensity that it made her feel as though she was under a microscope. She had to wonder what he saw when he looked at her. Was she a friend to him? Merely his brother’s wife, and therefore, an obligation? The fact that he hadn’t called to let her know he was in town seemed to suggest she was an afterthought. And she couldn’t ignore that he’d hesitated to accept her invitation.
Andrew opened his menu. “Any suggestions?”
Miranda snapped back to the moment and turned her thoughts to her favorite subject of late—food. “It’s all good. They have an excellent wedge salad to start and they’ll bring warm popovers to the table. Beyond that, the steaks are amazing and prepared to perfection. You seriously can’t go wrong.”
He nodded and closed his menu. “Perfect. Have you decided? We should order.”
“Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
“I have some business to attend to later tonight.”
That seemed strange. “That works for me. Food is a big priority right now.” A breathy laugh left her lips. “It’s all I think about. That and sleeping.”
He turned to look over his shoulder, flagging their server. “Let’s get you taken care of. My brother’s not here to do it, so I will.” A hush fell between them, even though the noisiness of the restaurant remained.
Miranda felt like she was adrift at sea, all by herself. It had been a familiar feeling since Johnathon’s death, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to live with it forever.
Andrew reached out his right hand for Miranda’s left, which was resting on the table. His warm palm blanketed her fingers, including the one where her wedding rings still sat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was incredibly insensitive.”
“Andrew. It’s fine. My loss is your loss. There’s no way around that.”
Their server arrived at the table. “Are we ready to order?”
Andrew dropped his head ever so slightly, seeking Miranda’s approval. “Ready?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” She rattled off a few favorites, her mouth watering at the idea of the meal ahead. Andrew followed.
“Perfect,” the server said. “I’ll put this in right away.”
They were left alone again, and that meant Miranda’s nerves returned. She wanted the uneasiness to go away, so she and Andrew could enjoy their meal together. Which meant she needed to move forward with her objective, get her answers and put the whole thing to rest. She was unsure of how to bring up the subject of Andrew meddling in Sterling Enterprises, but thought the direct approach was best. “Now that we’re able to chat in person, there’s something I’m curious about.” She shifted in her seat, struggling to utter the question she had to ask. Just come out with it so you can get past this. “Did you come back to town because you have an interest in the Seaport Promenade project?”
* * *
Michter’s twenty-year bourbon was not meant to be slugged back. It was meant to be savored. Still, Andrew considered downing it in one gulp, if only to take off the edge of the moment and calculate his next move. Unfortunately, Miranda’s question put him on unsteady ground, while her beauty was a distraction that knocked him off his feet. Her warm brown eyes, while painted with uncertainty, were mesmerizing. Her dark, glossy hair softly framed her flawless face and fell across her shoulders in a luscious cascade. No wonder Johnathon had been drawn to her. It was impossible to look away. And yet, Andrew had to. She wasn’t his to admire.
He couldn’t ignore what she’d asked and he had no business expressing surprise that she’d figured this out. She struck him as incredibly smart and she was reportedly quite tangled up with Sterling Enterprises business now that she had a direct stake. Part of him wanted to brush aside his misdeeds for now, hide them until he’d had a chance to make everything better. But another part of him was exhausted from living under the guilt of secrets.
“How much do you know?” he asked, buying himself more time.
“How much do you want to tell me?”
Andrew could literally be here for hours, detailing every little thing that had happened between Johnathon and him that ultimately led to the decision to interfere with Sterling. But he wasn’t about to air his grievances over dinner. “I did take an interest in the Seaport Promenade project. Specifically, an interest in preventing Johnathon from landing the deal.”
“I see.” She took a sip of her drink and ran her slender fingers around the base of the glass, then she set it back down on the table. Everything about Miranda was beautiful, but something about her hands was particularly enchanting. “And does that mean you took an active role in keeping it from happening?”
“Yes. I did. It was my idea.”
She drew a breath in through her nose and her jaw tensed. She didn’t seem like a woman who might make a scene, but in that moment, he could see the possibility. “Why would you do that? To your own brother?” Her voice wobbled ever so slightly, but her posture remained determined. She wasn’t going to back down until Andrew gave up more of the information he’d worked so hard to hide.
“Surely he told you about our relationship. Surely he told you how little he liked me.”
“He told me that you two never got along. He told me you were capable of being underhanded, which I really didn’t want to believe once we’d finally met and had a chance to talk.”
It confounded him that she had any inclination to give him the benefit of the doubt. No one did that. He didn’t even do it for himself. It was a foolish pursuit. “It’s true, though. I’ve done bad things.”
“And I’ve been defending you to people at Sterling. Please don’t tell me I made a mistake.”
So it wasn’t merely Miranda’s suspicion that he was interfering with the Seaport project. The powers that be at Sterling were apparently aware of his scheme, as well. “I never gave you any reason to have any faith in me.”
&nb
sp; “That’s not true. We had an amazing conversation that night you came to see me a few weeks after Johnathon died. I didn’t know what to expect, but you were truly torn up about his death.”
Memories of that night, which was the first time he and Miranda had met, flooded his brain. Little else had occupied his thoughts since then. He’d gone to her house expecting the worst—screaming and yelling and possibly kicking him out. After all, he’d done the unthinkable and skipped his own brother’s funeral. He’d been unwilling to face their history, or the reality that this person who had consumed so much of his life, his brother, was gone.
But he’d ultimately let guilt dictate his actions and had reached out to Miranda in person. Everything hit him at once that night—she was pregnant with his niece or nephew, a child who would never have a relationship with his deceased brother. And Andrew was making an innocent baby’s predicament worse by trying to drag Johnathon’s business and reputation through the mud. That was the moment when he’d known he had to put a stop to his plan.
“I heard it in your voice that night when you talked about Johnathon,” Miranda continued. “Whatever happened between you two, I believe you loved each other. I know it. That’s all I care about.”
Was that really true? Andrew wasn’t sure. Right now, he was more concerned with a man at the bar who’d glanced over his shoulder in Andrew and Miranda’s direction. The situation with Victor had him on high alert. “I’m sorry for having a plan in the first place. I had my reasons, but none of that matters now.” He sat back in his seat and took another generous sip of his bourbon. “If I could do it all over again, I would never have set these particular wheels in motion.”
Miranda sucked in a deep breath, seeming to run through everything he had just said. Meanwhile, their salads were delivered, along with the fresh popovers. She tore apart the yeasty, puffy bread as soon as she could, adding a dollop of butter. She popped a bite into her mouth then licked her bottom lip, where a drop of butter had been left behind. The vision left Andrew stuck. She was beguiling. And he needed to stop looking.
