Marietta, with its quaint, old Western vibe and storefronts that reminded her of a Hallmark card, was exactly the sort of place to take her mind off the paper, Seattle and Ashton.
Maybe now’s time to face facts, Gemma. Hard news isn’t really your thing.
Oh, she would prove him wrong about that. Somerhalder, too. If that was the last thing she did at the paper. This assignment was a minor setback, was all. She could write about happily-ever-afters. She didn’t need to believe in fairy tales to write about them.
Which…she thought, staring at Noah’s hand resting on his knee…some might characterize as a bit—okay—cynical. Possibly bitter was more accurate. That didn’t make her wrong.
They passed a school at the edge of town whose playgrounds were empty now, and a string of shops she’d seen earlier on Main Street, all dressed up for the small-town Fourth of July celebration coming this weekend. Trey pointed out the Main Street Diner and Copper Mountain Chocolates—a local favorite—and the courthouse square with its walking paths illuminated by flickering lamps. Just down the street from the hotel, an old timey movie theater.
The wagon stopped in front of the Graff and several people climbed down. Noah offered her a hand for which she was grateful, considering she was shoeless.
They said goodbye and thanks to Trey and Holly who had given a guided tour of the small town and waved at the others as the wagon pulled away. “See y’all tomorrow!” Holly called.
The lobby beckoned, but they lingered outside, staring after the wagon disappearing down the street.
“That was fun. Thank you,” she said. He nodded, this time making no secret of his perusal of her. “Well…I—I guess this is…it.”
“Nah. We’ve got all the way to the elevator. I’d suggest a drink at the bar, but I think shoes would be required.”
“Picky,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She smiled and took his arm. They walked slowly through the beautiful lobby with its grand staircase, ornate woodwork and sweeping front desk to the elevator bank. At this late hour, the lobby was quiet and virtually empty, but for the people working reception. The elevator doors swished open just as they arrived and they were the only passengers. He pushed the button for the second floor and raised his brows questioningly at her.
“Same.” Gemma couldn’t help but think how odd that they might have passed each other here without ever meeting, except for what had happened between them tonight. Certainly, he wouldn’t have escaped her notice, though, if he’d passed her in the hallway. She definitely would have noticed those hazel eyes, which were only accentuated by the dark shadow on his jaw now. Or the way his clothes fit him, as if they’d been tailored for his powerful physique. And if he’d met her eye, as he was doing right now, she couldn’t have missed how he made her feel like she was the only one in the room as he’d been doing all night.
As the doors swooshed open, an awkward pause stretched between them before they exited. Her room was to the right. At the end of the hall.
“Well,” she said, her bare toes digging into the pretty carpet in the hallway. “Good night. I had fun tonight. Except for the fall.” A nervous laugh bubbled up from her as she glanced in the direction of her room.
A smile cocked his mouth. “How’s the chin?”
“Oh,” she said. “Apparently, I’ll live. These?” she added, lifting her broken shoe up by the strap. “Not so much.”
His gaze drifted down to her bare, painted toes and back up again. Something heated lingered in his eyes.
Gemma swallowed hard. Oh, no. He was going to invite her to his room. She would, of course, say no. That just wasn’t something she did—hooking up on first dates. If one could even call this a first date. And then he would be mad. Or disappointed. Maybe even feel entitled to something. And then she’d have to change her mind about him. And then—
“I’m down this way, too,” he said, pointing in the direction of her room, and started toward it. “I’ll walk you down.”
Change the subject. “Your friends are nice,” she said as they walked. “I guess you’ve known them all a long time.”
“A long time,” he admitted. “They…they know me better than just about anyone.”
“It’s good to have friends you can trust with your life.”
“They’re more brothers than friends,” he said. “I’d do anything for any one of them. Including Holly.”
She would have guessed that. “Well, I’m sure you’ll all have a great week together, catching up.”
She stopped at her door, room 214, digging her key card from her purse, trying to remember the last time she’d felt this ridiculous push me-pull you conflict about kissing a man she’d just met good night. She imagined his lips were soft. The shadow on his jaw rough. His breath on her cheek, warm. Jeez. What was wrong with her?
He indicated the door literally twelve inches away from hers. “This is me. Room 216.”
Surprise knocked those illicit thoughts from her head. “We’re…right next to each other?” She’d seen a locked connecting door between these two rooms earlier. Her heart rate picked up when he made no move to open his door. She pulled her key from her purse.
He sent her an ironic smile. “What are the odds, huh?”
“Yeah. Crazy.” She braced herself. Any moment now, he would ask her…
“Well, then,” he said, seeming to feel every bit as awkward as she did. “Good night.”
She blinked. That did not go as she’d expected. She stammered for a moment before saying, “Good night.” Irrational disappointment flared through her. That was it? He wasn’t even going to say, “Nice to meet you, Gemma”? “It was fun.” Or even, “No hard feelings that I don’t want to kiss you.”
She jammed her key card into the slot and heard the door click open.
“Hey, Gemma?” he called from his doorway.
“Yes?” She was struck again by his beauty. And the shuttered sadness in his eyes. Or maybe hopefulness. She couldn’t be sure which. Any man who looked like him could have any woman he wanted with the crook of his finger. Except her maybe. Then again—
“I really enjoyed tonight,” he said.
Her duplicitous heart lifted. “Me, too.”
“Can I…any chance we can see each other again? Maybe tomorrow?”
Gemma gulped. Don’t say it. “I—I’d like that.”
A genuine smile stole that mysterious look from his eyes. “Great. Good. Then…thanks for being my plus-one tonight. Night.”
She smiled back. “Good night.”
As they each retreated into their separate rooms, Gemma leaned her back against her door and thought—of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he had to walk into hers.
*
In his room, he tossed his key and phone on the bed, stripped off his shirt and stood staring at the locked door that separated his room from hers. He imagined her on the other side of that door, staring at it, too. Wondering at the turn the night had taken on that dock tonight. And how their unlikely paths had crossed in this very unlikely place.
Heat stalked through him again, as it had most of the damned night at her side, remembering the way she’d looked at him just now. As if he’d surprised her somehow—by asking her out? Admittedly, he hadn’t asked a woman out for a while. A few over the past year, but always friends of friends. People who knew him, knew his other world. Not total strangers. And here, of all places. Now. With so much at stake.
But there was something about her he found impossible to resist. Those little-girl-lost eyes of hers, filled with equal parts humor and sadness. Her mouth, that tipped up at the corners naturally. He’d wanted to kiss her just now, but decided not to. Mostly because he’d sensed she wouldn’t welcome him taking liberties. She was nothing like the women he knew. But he wanted to know her. He wanted to know her inside and out.
His phone buzzed on the bed. He’d muted the ringer all night—after having the damned thing blow up all day wit
h calls from his family and his CEO, Elisha Ramsey. He stared down at the screen. His sister again. Reluctantly, he picked up. “Reena.”
“There you are! Why aren’t you answering your phone? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’m…away.” That was all he was about to give them.
“Away? What’s that supposed to—? You can’t just say away. You can’t just leave whenever you feel like taking off and not tell anyone where you’re going.”
“I can,” he said, “and actually, I did.”
“Where are you? Are you at the beach house? I’ll come and pick you up.”
“No.”
“No, you’re not at the beach house, or no, I can’t pick you up?”
“Both. I’m off the books. Officially. Until I’m not. And while I’m gone, I’m reconsidering our position.”
“Our position? Our position is we’re about to make a shitload of money in this negotiation to buy out Pellmer Shipping. Mother was out of her mind with worry when you didn’t actually show up for the board meeting this morning. There was press outside, waiting. When we couldn’t explain it, your no-show disappearance made The Post. Which made Page Six, which made—”
Shit. “I left a message with Mother to cancel the board meeting before I left.”
“But she didn’t take you seriously. And Pellmer and his board were there on the dot. Expecting a resolution. You know she can’t do this without you.” A long pause vibrated through the cell phone. “Why, Eamon?” She stopped again. “Sorry…Noah. But this is…irresponsible.”
The fact that he’d changed his name legally more than a decade ago never stopped Reena from calling him by the name he’d been born with. That she’d actually caught herself this time only spoke to how much she was hoping she could smooth over their impasse. “Leaving town was something I had to do,” he said. “They can wait for me. I won’t be gone long.”
“Define that please. A day? Two? The president of Pellmer’s board already threatened to—”
“Monday,” he said, turning to stare at his reflection in the dresser mirror and he raked a hand through his slightly too-long hair. Sometimes, he didn’t even recognize himself anymore.
“Monday!? Oh my God. Impossible! You have to get back here tomorrow. Thursday at the latest. Whatever mid-life crisis you think you’re having, big brother of mine, you’d better just get over it. This is not the time to blink. Or to put our mother at the edge of her own personal cliff. You know what a trigger this kind of thing is for her.”
His sister had an understandable tendency toward hysteria where their mother’s peace of mind was concerned. But right now, he wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’m not missing. I told her I was going. And if Pellmer’s people don’t like it, they can walk away from the table. Reschedule the meeting for Monday, Reena. That’s my final answer.”
“You…you won’t even tell me where you are?”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Are you?” She sighed. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy lately. With Mother, with the business. I know you’ve been stressed. We can talk about it. All of us, together.”
“And that will get us where?” he asked. A rhetorical question, of course. There was no retreat from his life. Only short reprieves, like this one.
“Even if you don’t want to admit how good you are at this job, you should know you are. Father knew you would be. You’re a natural.”
“At what? Taking businesses apart? Dismantling a whole generation of families’ livelihoods?”
“I know how you feel. But these mergers are inevitable. If not us, someone else will buy them. Some of those jobs will be saved. You’re helping those people. And the foundation can help with retraining. That’s what we do.”
“I gotta go, Reena.”
“And without the business you wouldn’t have the foundation.”
“You don’t see the irony in that?” he asked.
“Of course, I do. No one understands that irony better than me.”
For once, he had to agree with her. No one had survived or overcome more than his sister. His own path was merely a shadowy reflection of her long, personal drama.
“Will you check in with me in a day or two?” she said.
“Don’t you have a speaking gig to do or something?”
“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow. In Philly. Why don’t you come?”
“So you can inspire me?” Almost immediately, he wished he could call those sarcastic words back. “Hell. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She sighed. “What a mess we are, huh?”
He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “Just like any normal family.” Not. Reena had been the one to best survive what had happened to them all. The rest of them had all been pilloried in the court of public opinion until she’d been found. Perhaps him, most deservedly. After all, the blame for what had happened to her rested squarely on his shoulders.
“Will you call Mother?” she asked. “Tell her you’re all right?”
“No. I need this time,” he said. “Please don’t look for me. Tell her I’m all right. Tell her not to worry. Pellmer won’t walk. I know him. He’ll wait.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, Noah.”
Progress. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He hung up the phone and shut the thing down. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he sank down on the end of the mattress, wishing… Oh, hell, he didn’t know what he wished. That he could just walk away? Start over? Be Noah Mathis for good?
His six years in the military under that name had been the best years of his life. Seeing the boys again tonight only served to remind him of how much he missed that time. There were moments when he did think about becoming Steve McQueen on that motorcycle, escaping the life his family had laid out for him and setting himself free. Then he remembered that even McQueen’s character, Hilts, never truly escaped, but instead got caught in that tangle of barbed wire.
He turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water, pushing thoughts of his family and work away. This week belonged to him. Even if that was only an illusion of his life.
*
Morning dawned bright and warm, and sun poured through the opening in the light-blocking curtains Gemma had forgotten to close last night. What time was it? She yawned and stretched, then automatically reached for her phone—which…was at the bottom of the river.
First on the to-do list: buy new phone.
She sighed. Then remembered last night.
Sitting up, she listened for sounds in the room next door, but heard nothing and sank back on her pillows. It had taken her a while to fall asleep last night. She’d been buzzed with energy despite the late hour, thinking about Noah Mathis.
And as any modern girl would, when curious about a man, she decided the thing to do was search him on Google.
She opened her laptop. What popped up first was a photograph of the men she’d met last night: Mick, Jase, Trey and Paul. There was another man in the shot, who she suspected might be Holly’s late husband, Tommy. Noah was standing in the middle of them smiling in his fatigues. They were all Navy SEALs, she’d learned in their back and forth last night, which was impressive enough. Why none of them had chosen a career path in the navy, she wondered about. They were all retired, moving on to different lives and careers.
She clicked again on his name and found a few more pictures he’d been tagged in. But nothing more. She typed in New York City>Noah Mathis. There were a lot of Noah Mathises on social media, but none of them were him. Or even close to him.
Odd. Everyone was…somewhere on the internet. He seemed to have virtually disappeared after his service. Vanished like a desert sandstorm.
Noah Mathis>sales. Again, several middle-aged men, a few teenagers. Nothing on the man next door.
Noah Mathis>Seattle>boats. Lots about Seattle and boats. A sixty-year-old man, standing at Pike Place Market, holding flowers. Nothing about the Mathis family who
had, according to Mick, sold boats there.
We suspect he’s a spy for the CIA.
He hadn’t actually denied it.
She frowned, leaning back from her computer. Maybe not, but who was he? Not even his friends seemed to know for sure. That he had been a soldier was all she knew for sure about him. That and what he’d told her, which might or might not be true.
She sighed, closed her laptop and got ready for the day. All the while, her journalistic mind turned over the facts, while simultaneously feeling foolish for suspecting him. Of what? Not being on social media? Being a private person?
And what about you, Gemma? Hypocrite much? Look who’s calling the kettle black.
She reached into her bag for a lip gloss and encountered the handkerchief he’d given her last night on the dock. The white was smeared with her blood, but she noticed again the monogram in the far-right corner, beautifully stitched in blue, matching the jacket he’d been wearing last night. It read E.N.C.
E? and C? She cocked her head at the hanky. Turned the thing upside down. No. E.N.C. was correct. N for Noah? But where was M for Mathis and what did the E and C stand for? And how many men did she know with beautifully monogrammed pocket squares who had plenty more where that came from?
On her laptop she typed E. Noah C.>New York City>sales and up popped a name and a news story about an Eamon Noah Connelly, President of Connelly Shipping. Eamon? That couldn’t be right. But the name rang a distant bell and she clicked on the link.
The New York Times article on Page Six dated yesterday opened. She scanned it.
“…not only was Eamon Connelly a shocking no-show at final negotiations with Pellmer Shipping today—a hostile takeover deal that would seal the fate of Pellmer’s thirty-five hundred employees, many of whom could be seen today picketing the meeting outside Connelly Shipping offices in Brooklyn—Greta Mathis-Connelly—” Gemma gasped “—socialite and matriarch of the shipping family, widow of shipping magnate, Patrick Dover Connelly, was overheard to be distraught and uncertain of his whereabouts.
Unexpected Hero Page 5
