Mostly Perfect

by Heather B. Moore

  Now that she was out of the library, she didn’t need to have a cryptic conversation with him. And that thought brought her to a stop near the town monument, where a statue of an Alamo fighter rose out of a waterless fountain.

  Had Nicholas Matthews overheard her conversation? She hadn’t seen him in the library when she’d arrived.

  Her phone stopped ringing, then it started up again.

  Sofia.

  This call Lauren needed to answer. “Hi.”

  “Where are you?” Sofia asked.

  “Just left the library.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “That Matthews Capital and Holdings is a major shareholder of our grandmother’s company.”

  Sofia cursed, and Lauren couldn’t agree more.

  “Tell me what that means exactly,” Lauren said. Sofia was the business brain out of the sisters. Lauren felt accomplished if she got her taxes submitted on time each year.

  “It means . . .” Sofia said in a slow voice. “That he has significant influence over our grandmother. And if she doesn’t agree, or at least compromise with his suggestions, then he could ultimately sell his shares and hurt us. Horribly.”

  Three years ago, their grandmother had taken the business public. Investors had put up money to increase the value of the stock, which only had a ripple effect, driving it up even more. At least that’s how Sofia had explained it to Lauren.

  “So, worst case, he sells his twenty-three percent, and the stock dips a couple of dollars?”

  Sofia sighed. “More likely it will lose fifty percent of its value.”

  Which meant multimillions.

  “I feel like we’re being cornered,” Lauren said.

  Sofia laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Now you know a small level of my anger toward this entire situation.”

  When Lauren hung up with her sister, she wandered around the fountain. The town was quiet this morning, and hot. She guessed that most people were on their summer vacations. She sat on the edge of the fountain. Kevin’s number buzzed her phone again, and this time she answered.

  “Please stop calling, Kevin,” she said. “I don’t want to have to block your number.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks for the friendly greeting. I think I deserve a better answer than you’ve given me. You know I treated you right. I paid for dinners, I brought you flowers, I even invited you to my grandfather’s eightieth birthday.”

  Yes, that invitation had been what told Lauren that she had let things go too far. Had allowed Kevin’s charming personality to make her forget where she’d come from and what happened to the men who married into her family. Although, Kevin wasn’t being particularly charming anymore. And how could she tell him she was literally saving his life?

  “We’re good together,” he said, his tone softening. “Come on, babe. We can slow things down if you want; that’s fine with me. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’ve fallen for you. I know without a doubt that you’re the woman for me. And I want to be the man for you.”

  Lauren looked up at the bright-blue sky. How did this happen to her?

  “Babe,” Kevin said. “Would it really be so hard to imagine a future with me? Maybe a kid, or two. We could live wherever you want.”

  Lauren swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. This was going way too far. “Kevin . . . I told you, it’s not you, it’s me. Blame me, whatever you want, but my mind isn’t going to change.”

  Another laugh, and this one was more bitter than the first. “You have no problem trampling over my heart, I guess. I’m not stupid, Lauren. I know you’ve got your fancy family, and you think I’m just a simpleton, working construction. But believe me, I’m a real man, and I don’t need a tux to prove it.”

  Lauren blew out a careful breath. She’d never told Kevin anything about her roots. “What are you talking about? What does wearing a tux have anything to do with you or me?”

  “I googled you,” he said. “And much to my surprise, I found that you’ve kept a lot of things from me. Care to explain?”

  Lauren’s face heated. “When did you google me, Kevin?”

  He paused. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  But the hesitation in his voice told Lauren that he was lying.

  “Was it before you came to my book signing, where you picked me up?” she said. A few months ago, she’d been featured in an American artist collection that was produced into a book. Three of her paintings had been selected, and Lauren had gone to the multi-artist event to sign books. Kevin had introduced himself to her as a fan of her work. “Because you said you had seen my work in a magazine and were a fan of mine before we even met. So you had plenty of time to find stuff out about my family.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Which was an answer in and of itself.

  “If you know so much about me, you should also know that I live my own life,” she continued. “Not one dictated by my family. I haven’t touched my inheritance and probably never will. My will is written, and my shares will go to a select group of charities. So if you were thinking that you could marry a wealthy heiress, then you’ve got it all wrong.”

  “You’re seriously a b—”

  Lauren clicked END on her phone. Her hands were shaking and her eyes burning with tears as she turned off her phone completely. Yeah, she’d screwed up, but Kevin was way out of line.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  It was his voice. Nicholas Matthews.

  Could this day, this week, get any worse? She closed her eyes and didn’t make an effort to wipe the tears that had escaped to her cheeks.

  Footsteps moved closer—footsteps that she hadn’t heard approach the fountain in the first place.

  He said nothing else, but she knew he was still there. She could smell that expensive cologne. She thought with bitter irony how Nicholas Matthews was probably the only single man on the planet who wouldn’t need to marry for money—he had plenty of his own.

  Sure enough, when she looked over, those hazel eyes were watching her. Nicholas—or Nick—stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing down at her. Did he have no sense of privacy?

  “Did you follow me?” she asked. Gone was her distress over Kevin, only to be replaced by a faint sense of panic.

  “Not exactly,” he said. At least he wasn’t wearing a full suit, although he did have on a tie and an expertly pressed pinstripe shirt. His sleeves were rolled up a couple of times, and his dark silver watch gleamed against his olive skin. “I was headed to my car and saw that you seemed upset.”

  She didn’t blink. Neither did he. There was no doubt this man was used to getting his way, whether it was because of his GQ looks or his mass of wealth.

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “Look, can we go somewhere and talk? Get a cold drink at the café or something?”

  Lauren was about to refuse, but she had come here to research Nicholas Matthews and his company. What better way than to speak to the man himself?

  Besides, he looked genuinely concerned . . . maybe it was because he undoubtedly knew she was a key influencer in whatever her grandmother would decide. Or maybe there was a bit of a human side to him.

  “Okay,” she said, surprising herself.

  She’d definitely surprised him. His brows rose, and the edges of his mouth lifted.

  “Great.”

  She grasped her bag and pulled it on her shoulder, then stood. Moving past him, she headed to the street corner where the café was situated. Nick walked alongside her, not saying anything, his hands still in his pockets. She wondered what he’d been doing at the library in the first place.

  As she reached the door to the café, he stepped ahead of her and opened the door. She had to pass by him, and she tried not to breathe in his scent, one that she was now familiar with. Which was a ridiculous notion. She barely knew the man, yet he was already working his way into her senses.

  The café was empty save for the teenager working the counter, someone whom Lau
ren didn’t know. She ordered a lemonade, and Nick ordered water, surprising her. Lauren crossed to the small table closest to the bank of windows and took a seat.

  He folded himself into the chair across from her, seeming to dwarf the seating arrangement. Lauren guessed that he didn’t make visiting small-town cafés a habit. Still, he seemed at ease, which only made Lauren more nervous. At least the temperature inside the café was cool, and she was cooling off bit by bit. Breathing easier. Feeling less like she was on a roller-coaster.

  She would find out as much as she could about this man, then come up with a way to use it against him.

  It took all of Nick’s willpower not to remove his tie and loosen his collar. Another mantra of his father’s was to always look professional. It gave off the vibe of being serious and capable, not to mention provided the competitive advantage.

  But sitting across from Lauren Ambrose was throwing Nick off-center. Yes, the café was much cooler than the warming morning outside, which was why he suggested they come here. He needed a cup full of ice but had opted for water instead. Another mantra from his father—always order water when with a client. It makes you more trustworthy.

  Nick wanted to lean forward and lift that silver chain of Lauren’s to find what she wore so close to her heart. Instead, he drank from his ice water, relishing in the coolness slipping down his throat. Then he folded his hands on the table, if only to prevent the temptation to fidget.

  Lauren had yet to meet his gaze as she stirred the lemonade that she’d ordered. Her mesmerizing movements as she circled the straw, slowly rotating the ice, were hard to look away from. Her blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her dusty-pink lips were slightly pursed as if she was in deep thought.

  Was she thinking about her grandmother’s company? Him? Or maybe the man she’d been talking to on the phone? Nick had heard enough of the conversation, or more accurately, argument, to suspect it was a boyfriend. Or maybe an ex-boyfriend by now.

  “Do you need me to break some kneecaps for you?” he asked in a low tone.

  Lauren’s gaze snapped up, her blue eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

  He swallowed. “That man you were talking to . . . Kevin?”

  Pink stained her cheeks. Nick was fascinated. It was as if her emotions played out right on her face. She was staring at him, and he didn’t know if that meant she was embarrassed, angry . . . ? “Is he your boyfriend?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore.” Then her gaze dropped again. “I don’t have boyfriends. I mean . . .” She licked her lips.

  Nick took another long swallow of his ice water. He didn’t believe she was faltering for words; it was more like she was avoiding telling him something. Because it was too personal?

  He set down his glass. “I know about the curse.”

  She went absolutely still, and he waited as the sounds of the café hummed around them. The air conditioning, the low music, a car passing outside.

  Finally, she raised those lake-blue eyes to meet his gaze. In them, he saw something like relief, which made him even more curious.

  “Then you know why none of my sisters have married,” she said in a voice tinged with resignation. “And you know why there’s no point in me having a boyfriend, because that only leads to something more serious. Which I can’t give.”

  “So you believe in the curse?” he asked in a careful tone.

  A slight wrinkle appeared between her brows as she studied him. “I’m thirty years old, Mr. Matthews. I’ve never dated a man more than a few weeks. I only come back to Ambrose once or twice a year, and that’s because my grandmother insists. But even if I never returned to Ambrose, I’d never forget who I am or where I came from. Whether I can explain the untimely deaths of every male member of our family as a curse or something else, the fact remains that it’s true. As evidenced by the number of gravestones behind the estate home.”

  Nick had read through all of those names in the book at the library. “What about your mother?” he asked. “Her current husband is alive.”

  Perhaps his days are numbered too.”

  Nick leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Maybe it’s the land that’s cursed, then, not the matrimonial connection?”

  “The Ambrose women are the land, and the land is part of the Ambrose women,” she said. “There’s no division between the two.”

  Nick wasn’t convinced, but he could see Lauren was, so he needed to tread carefully. It was, after all, a series of bizarre coincidences. All those males dying young. “Is that why you dumped Kevin?”

  “That’s why I dated Kevin,” she said. “He was never my ideal anyway, so I knew it wouldn’t be too hard to leave when the time came.”

  Interesting. “What was his response when you told him about the curse?”

  That line between her brows appeared again. “I’ve never told any man about the curse,” she said. “No one would believe me, so why bother? There are plenty of other reasons to end a relationship.”

  “True.” Nick couldn’t argue with that. He was the perfect example of ending relationships. It wasn’t that there weren’t amazing women out there who would make great partners and wives; it was more that he never trusted their motivations. Money had perhaps ruined that for him.

  But he was thinking of what she’d said about Kevin not being her ideal. Which meant Nick was now wondering what her ideal would be . . . He took another drink from his water glass. Lauren still hadn’t tried her lemonade.

  “You’ve never met a man you thought could break the curse?” He didn’t know how she’d react to his question, but he hadn’t expected a smile.

  His lungs felt weird. She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that, but her smile . . . it was enough to make him forget why he’d invited her to chat in the first place. Lauren Ambrose needed convincing that her grandmother’s company would be better off partnering with him.

  “No, Mr. Matthews,” she said in a rather breathless tone. “I’ve never met a man who’s given me any reason to believe he could be the exception to a decades-old curse.” The way her eyes gleamed told him she was teasing him.

  He held back his own smile. “Is that because you haven’t met your ideal man yet?”

  She dropped her gaze and leaned forward to sip from the straw.

  Nick loosened his tie. For once, he’d make an exception.

  “I don’t think ideal really exists, do you?” She leaned back in her chair, surveying him.

  How did he answer that? His own parents’ marriage had ended about ten years ago, but strangely enough they’d stayed friends. Best friends. His dad had said more than once that he loved the woman he’d married, but they were better apart than together. Neither of his parents had remarried or even dated. His mother ran a literary magazine that brought in no money, but she didn’t seem to mind. She ran fundraising events that raised money for literacy programs in California, then she’d match the donations with her own.

  He tried to think of other marriages, or relationships in general, that seemed ideal. “I believe you’re right,” he said at last.

  “Does that mean you’re not married?”

  He chuckled, and she smiled fully at him. “Me and marriage don’t agree.”

  She shifted forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Oh, there’s a curse in your family?”

  He scoffed, but his smile stayed on his face. “I think money could definitely be considered a curse, at least for some people.”

  “Well, you could try dressing down once in a while, and maybe you’ll avoid the gold-digging women.”

  Nick stared at Lauren. Then he ran a hand through his hair. “That was blunt.”

  “Seriously, Mr. Matthews,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve seen that much starch in a shirt since the nineties. And that bling on your wrist. Really? And you’re probably the first man to wear eight-hundred-dollar shoes in Ambrose.”

  Nick blinked. Had she really said all that to him? He looked down a
t his shoes and tapped his foot. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

  She started laughing.

  Her laughter was beautiful, just like the rest of her, but not when it was at his expense. He had one idea that might solve this situation. He had the sudden urge to kiss that sassy mouth of hers. Which was completely ridiculous.

  To top it off, her cheeks were stained pink again. “Sorry, I tend to say things, then think later. I think we’ve gotten way off topic here. And I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me why you want to meet with my grandmother.” She gave a little shrug. “Blunt again.”

  Her abrupt change of topic shouldn’t have been throwing him off-kilter, but it was. He exhaled and rested his forearms on the table. “I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics without your grandmother’s presence, but I’m not the typical venture capitalist. So you know, I’m not going to take over and restructure. I’m more interested in expansion, but in the right way. There are areas of your family’s company that have been neglected, and with recent advances in technology, I’ve discovered a few things that could be capitalized on.”

  “What happens to your shares if my grandmother turns you down?” she asked.

  Blunt again. “Nothing.”

  She raised her brows. “BS.”

  He raised his brows. “I’m a straight shooter, Lauren.”

  Were her cheeks pink again because he’d called her by name, or was it something else?

  “You’ll sell, I know it,” she said. “Maybe not all at once, but eventually, bit by bit.”

  “I’ll do what’s in the best interest of Matthews Capital and Holdings, but I can promise that no changes will ever be made without a thorough analysis of all possible outcomes and the viability of each.”

  By Lauren’s expression, he knew that his vagueness wasn’t impressing her.

  “How does it feel to threaten an elderly woman?” Lauren said, her tone hard.