It had been just like that in Tuscany—the quiet moments before dinner, hanging out in the living room, listening to music, writing in her journal, inundated with the aroma of fresh herbs and spices from the kitchen, and the comforting sound of Brandon moving around as he prepared an amazing meal to share.
The familiarity of her memories evoked the comfort of home, and left her townhouse feeling oddly empty and unfulfilling. Well, the leftover pasta in her fridge was certainly unappetizing.
Her stomach rumbled even though she would have sworn that it was from general hunger as opposed to a specific craving for anything that she had in her refrigerator. She supposed Brandon was enjoying a home-cooked gourmet meal. Lucky him. With a sigh, she pushed up from her chair and went to the kitchen to reheat her meal. She stared at the countdown on her microwave, and finally giving in to her whim, she called him.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
His familiar voice stirred the butterflies in her stomach. “Brandon? It’s Shannon. Thank you for the wine.”
“You’re welcome. Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, I am. It’s delicious.”
“Germany has an excellent range of Reislings. The wine I chose for you will go well with a seafood or pasta meal.”
“Oh, it’s perfect, then. I have leftover Olive Garden pasta.”
Brandon was silent for a long moment.
Shannon giggled. “You winced, didn’t you?”
“I did a lot more than wince.”
“Not all of us can cook well enough to be food snobs.”
“Culinary artisans. Not food snobs. Are you really eating at Olive Garden?”
“I did last night, and brought my leftovers home.” She plucked the limp remnants of her pasta out of the microwave. “What about you? What are you having for dinner?”
“Cold pizza.”
She chortled. “Really?”
“Yup. It’s been crazy here at work. I haven’t had any time to cook. Besides, it feels like a waste of time cooking for one.”
“Hmm…” Shannon hiked herself up on the barstool in order to eat off the kitchen island. “It seems like you’re a culinary artisan only when you’re in Italy. It must be something about the atmosphere there.”
“Or the company.”
“Compliments, Brandon?”
“I haven’t said a single nice thing today. Of course, that just nailed my quota, so I’m done.”
Shannon laughed. “How is work treating you?”
“Much the same. I left a great deal of work on my desk when I went on vacation. I came back to a great deal of work.”
“Any closer to partner?”
“Theoretically, each passing day brings me closer to partner.” His short laugh, however, had a bitter sound to it. “How about you? How is your clinic?”
Shannon carried her meal to the living room couch and folded her legs beneath her. With a fork, she spread her pasta over the plate. “I feel like I’m just finally catching my breath and figuring things out.”
“After a month? That’s a lot faster than it takes most people to get their act together.”
“Really?” She straightened in her seat as her smile widened. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“I don’t do stuff like that; you know me.”
She did, actually, know that. His blunt honesty, once she grew accustomed to it, was the most refreshing thing about him.
“Tell me about your day,” he said.
“You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Smiling, she leaned her cheek against her phone and began talking. The familiarity eased into warmth and comfort that turned her house into a home. I could get used to this, she mused. Talking to Brandon, seeing him every day, knowing that he sees me and hears me for who I am.
She could have easily gotten used to it, even craved it.
And it terrified her.
“Can I come out to see you next weekend?”
Brandon’s simple question at the end of their call had left her tongue-tied. It was such a simple question. She had even anticipated it. In fact, she had planned her answer. In her head, the scene had played out to its inevitable conclusion. In a cool and steady voice, she had rebuffed him with, “I don’t think it’s the right time for us, Brandon. We’re not at the same place in our lives.”
She had managed to get the words out. Unfortunately, she had failed to anticipate his quiet response. “What exactly are you looking for at this time?”
“Nothing. I’ve got my new business to focus on, and I really can’t spare the time or energy for a relationship. If you’re looking for someone to accompany you to parties and social events, I’m not the one. I live too far away and…like I said, I have other things I need to do.”
“If all I wanted was a pretty date to take to parties, I’d hire a hooker, a la Pretty Woman.”
“Well, that certainly clears things up.”
“I don’t have a problem with you focusing on your job, either.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. After all, it was the reason Cynthia had broken her engagement with Brandon—he had chosen his job over her, over family. Shannon sighed. “I realize that right now we may seem like a good match but—”
“But good conversation, great compatibility, and fantastic sex aren’t enough?”
“Because in the long run, we’re not compatible. For now, I’m trying to make sure I have a viable business and it’s sucking up all my energy, but there’s a long-term play. I want to be my own boss because I want to control my own hours instead of being at the mercy of a hospital administrator. In the long run, I’m not just career-focused. I’m family-focused, and I really believe I can find a way to make both my career and my family thrive, if I play my cards right.”
“And in the long run—”
“You’re a career guy, Brandon, and in the end, it’s not what I want.”
“So, right now, I might be adequate for your limited needs, but you don’t have the time for me, and later, when you do have the time for a relationship, I’m too limited to meet your needs.”
She winced. “Don’t…that’s not what I said.”
“It’s close enough.” His cool edge of his voice was sharper than a blade, and it cut deep. “Thanks for finally being clear. I wish you were that upfront with me back in Italy before you broke the contract.”
“I’m sorry.” Shannon bit down on her lip. “I got carried away by the location, your attentiveness, your kindness—”
“So you seduced me out of gratitude?”
“Because I wanted you, and because I wanted, for a moment, to pretend that fantasy could be reality, but it can’t, Brandon, and it can’t change the fact that we’re not suited for each other.”
“And you’ve come to this conclusion based entirely on superficial facts as they exist on paper as opposed to the time we spent together, enjoying each other’s company.”
His words were a slap in her face, but it was absurd to let emotion overrule logic.
But what about experience. Can experience override logic?
Brandon continued. “The Shannon I knew had no qualms exploring Italy on a bicycle without knowing a word of Italian or owning a translator app on her phone. Where is that woman, and what have you done with her?”
She laughed, a faintly despairing sound. “I don’t know, Brandon. It’s not easy coming back to reality and dealing with the everyday things that drag you down.”
“Of course it’s not easy, but why is it wrong to enjoy a good thing, even if it can’t last forever?”
“I…don’t know.”
“While you’re making up your mind, will you let me take you out to dinner on Friday?”
Chapter 7
Brandon shoved his laptop into his briefcase and cast a quick glance at the clock. He would have to walk out of his office within fifteen minutes to have any chance at all of making it to Westches
ter in time for his date with Shannon.
Damn. Convincing her to stay the week with him in Italy had been no effort at all. Convincing her to go out on one date with him back in the United States had taken all the logic he could employ and every single lawyer-ly trick he had picked up over the twelve years in his career. Why were women so willing to suspend logic while on vacation and then armor up in it when back in their daily lives?
Why not take a chance on a wish and a risk on a dream every single damn day?
Well, he had talked her into a date. It’s all on me now, he thought grimly.
A knock on the door drew his attention to Mr. Hammerstein, one of the managing partners of Hammerstein and Lewis. “How are things going, Brandon?”
“Going well, sir. We managed to settle the Chandler vs. Chandler case without going to court.”
“I’d heard. Excellent work. It would have been messy otherwise.” He held up the file folder in his hand. “This just came in—a class-action malpractice suit—right up your alley. It’s high profile…just what you need to regain the ground you lost last year.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened at the peripheral mention of the case that wiped out his relationship with Cynthia and derailed his partnership track. “I’m on it.” He slid the file into his briefcase. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, sir.”
“I always thought you were cut of the right stuff,” Henry Hammerstein said. “What happened last year didn’t change my opinion of you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“I mean it.”
The serious note in Hammerstein’s voice caused Brandon to stop. His eyes met his boss’s, and he thought he glimpsed something that looked like understanding in Hammerstein’s eyes, but he had to be mistaken. There wasn’t much room for career mistakes in a law firm, and the one he had made last year could have been fatal. He could not afford another. “I’ll do my best.” He closed his briefcase.
“Excellent. The official paperwork, notices and the like, are already on their way to the defendant. Have a good weekend; we’ll see you on Monday.”
Brandon shoved the new case out of his mind. He had earned a respite from his work, at least for one evening. The traffic leaving Manhattan was predictably heavy, but he had planned for it and arrived in front of Northridge Urgent Care Clinic in Westchester two minutes before it closed. The elderly receptionist shot him a narrow-eyed look when he entered the empty clinic, but he offered her a smile. “I’m Brandon Smith. I’m here to see Dr. Larson.”
“Shannon!” the receptionist shouted. “He’s here.”
A door on the far side of the hallway opened, and Shannon looked out.
“You didn’t tell me he was cute,” the receptionist sounded offended. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Andrea Seifer. So you’re the guy she shacked up with in Tuscany?”
Shannon turned bright red. “Andrea!”
“Yes, I am,” Brandon said, unfazed. “I’m glad to meet you, Andrea.”
“Is your sister really the supermodel Marguerite Ferrara?”
“Yes, she is.”
Andrea grinned. “Good looks obviously run in your family.”
“I’ll let Maggie know that.”
Andrea glanced at Shannon and made a shooing gesture with her hands. “I’ll close up here. Why don’t you run along?”
Shannon was still blushing when she followed Brandon from the clinic. “I’m sorry about that. Andrea was my mother’s best friend from college, and she behaves like an overprotective aunt.”
“She was the person you called from Tuscany that night of the accident.”
“Yes, she was.” She winced. “I suppose I’ve given her lots of ground for behaving like an overprotective aunt. Her husband was the former owner of the clinic. He passed away two years ago. When his partner finally decided to retire too, Andrea contacted me, and I arranged to buy the clinic and take it over.”
“Sounds like it worked out for everyone.”
“Including Andrea. She would have been at a loss for things to do if she had to leave the clinic. She’s been working the front desk ever since her husband opened the clinic some forty years ago. She’s practically a fixture here. Well?” She looked up at Brandon. “Where are we going?”
“I have a reservation at Xaviars on the Hudson. Shall we drive together? It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
“Xaviars? That’s a special occasion kind of place.”
“It is a special occasion. We’re celebrating new beginnings.”
Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the clinic or something else?”
“What else could it be?” Brandon returned smoothly. “Come on.” He held open the passenger door of his dark gray Lexus. “I want to hear about your first month as an entrepreneur.”
“It’s not that big a deal.” Shannon broke the silence after they had both settled into the car, and he had pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s not the same thing as building a business from the ground up. I’m really just taking over a going concern and trying hard to make sure things don’t fall apart on my watch.”
“Didn’t Andrea and her husband have any children who wanted to take over the clinic?”
“They’ve only one son, Jonathan. He’s a chiropractor.”
“A what?”
“He’s the co-owner of Northridge Integrative Health. It’s an alternative health clinic in the same strip mall—chiropractic services and massage therapy. They’re great at what they do; I would have far more knots in my back and tension headaches if not for them.”
“So you share a peaceful co-existence with your alternative health neighbors?”
“I think there’s a role for both of us in society. I don’t think life should be limiting.”
“Like choosing between career and family?” Brandon shot her a quick glance. “I agree.”
Shannon stiffened. “What happened between you and Cynthia?”
“We disagreed.”
She huffed out a disgruntled sound. “Will you ever tell me?”
“Perhaps, if I ever think it matters. Otherwise, I prefer to leave past relationships in the past. You should, too.”
“You’re referring to Jerry, aren’t you?”
“I’m asking you not to make the mistake of thinking that I’m like Jerry.”
“You’ve told me that your career matters to you.”
“It does.”
“And you’ve told me that you and Cynthia broke up because family was more important to her.”
Brandon’s chest tightened. “Yes, that’s also true.”
Shannon exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. “Look, you’re right about one thing. There’s no point in dismissing what’s good today just because it may not be the perfect thing for the distant future. Let’s just have a good time tonight, and see where it takes us. Deal?”
The pressure against his chest did not dissipate, but Brandon managed a tight smile. “Deal.”
While at dinner with Brandon, Shannon found it difficult to recall exactly why she had protested so long and so hard about going out with him. With the topics of both Cynthia and Jerry safely tabled, the conversation lingered over common ground in New York City and Westchester, where Brandon had spent much of his childhood, and explored new territory, specifically, the rest of Europe.
“So what is your favorite city?” Shannon asked as she reached for the glass of Moscato he had ordered to complement the pan-roasted Maine diver scallops that she had ordered for her entrée.
“Prague.” He sliced into the lean pieces of duck breast on his plate. “There’s a timelessness about it, plus one of the main attractions of the city, the cathedral, is a lesson on why not to take 850 years to build something.”
“Why is that?”
“Wiseasses change your design. The cathedral is a smorgasbord of architectural styles, from gothic to baroque, rococo, and at least a half-dozen other influences. You can literally see the changes on the building façade.”
Shannon smothered a giggle. “At least it’s a conversation piece.”
“There are better ways to be a conversation piece than to be a jumbled showcase for conflicting egos.”
“You’ve exhausted your ‘say nice things’ quota for today, haven’t you?”
“Not really.” He grinned. “Just saving it up for you.”
“The wine is delicious, by the way.”
“If all you do is bounce between Reislings and Moscatos, you’ll probably do all right. They’ll satisfy your sweet palate, and they’re healthier than a soda.”
“It almost feels like dessert, right here.” She lowered her gaze to her plate. “You spoiled me, in Italy, with the personalized tours and home-cooked meals. No one could possibly live like that every day.”
“Of course not. That’s why it’s called a vacation. I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal since coming back to the States. It’s been takeout and pizza.”
“It’s tough to find the time to do everything that’s important.”
He shrugged. “To me, balance isn’t distributing time evenly between everything that matters. Life isn’t precariously balanced on the hinge of a seesaw. To me, balance is successfully juggling all the balls life throws your way—knowing what to set aside and for how long, and what needs to stay up in the air, for the time being.”
“And Cynthia didn’t agree with that?” Shannon asked, and immediately regretted it when Brandon’s expression shuttered.
“Cynthia and I disagreed about careers and families, but it wasn’t about balancing them.”
But what else could it be, Shannon wondered. Still, it seemed safer to drop the topic. After taking the last bite of scallops, she set down her fork, and a waiter immediately appeared behind her to remove her plate. “An amazing dinner; thank you.”
“Dessert for you?” Brandon asked.
“I couldn’t, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. Don’t let me stop you, though.”
“I’ll just have an espresso for the drive home.”
Lured: A Love Letters Novel Page 6
