by Robyn Neeley
Even if she had just stomped on his heart.
He opened up the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a legal-size envelope, and held two tickets out to Logan. “I was going to surprise you later, but I have two VIP passes to the Jets game next week.”
That much was true. Before he’d joined Logan at NPH Designs five years ago, Ryan had worked for a firm who had renovated portions of the stadium, including the pressroom. He’d run into one of the PR directors at the gym a few days prior, and the man had hooked him up with two VIP tickets on the fifty yard line, along with seats to the fifth-quarter press conference after the game.
The person he’d wanted to invite was now the reason he wouldn’t be asking her. Sarah had never been to a professional football game. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about her bundled up in her puffy black jacket, sipping hot chocolate, cheering on the Jets.
Of course, in his fantasy, they’d be celebrating touchdowns with his arm draped around her shoulders, and then, much later, he’d find another way to warm her up that involved far less clothing.
Ryan shut down that thought as fast as it came, feeling a prickle of sweat under his collar. He and Sarah were just friends—a fact she’d just reinforced by all but demanding he help her land Logan. What he may or may not have wanted didn’t matter.
He handed one of the tickets to Logan. “Since they’re playing the Patriots, I thought you’d enjoy meeting some of the players. I asked Sarah if she could swing by to see what your calendar was like next week before springing the tickets on you.”
She smiled. “All clear after two p.m.”
Ryan caught the grateful relief in her beautiful green eyes.
“I would have cancelled all my meetings for this,” Logan said, looking down at his ticket. “Wow. Full access. I do feel like I’ve won the Super Bowl. Thanks, Ryan.”
“See, Ryan?” Sarah offered, smiling up at the guy like she’d won the Super Bowl herself. “I told you he’d enjoy it.”
Ryan barely suppressed his scowl. What am I, chopped liver?
“Thanks for getting a head start on the Secret Santa thing.” Logan pointed to the hat in her hands and winked. “I’ve got some ideas for mine. I hear she really likes Christmas.”
Sarah’s grin took a nosedive. It might’ve been funny if Ryan didn’t like her so much. She shoved the Santa hat at Ryan, not taking her eyes off the CEO. “Reach in,” she ordered.
“I already got mine.” He flashed the paper he’d been holding in his palm all this time.
“Right. Okay then.” She seemed lost for a moment, looking between him and Logan, before gathering herself and lifting her chin. “I’ll just go finish taking this around.”
Ducking her head, Sarah slipped out of his office and disappeared around the corner.
“I got really lucky with that one,” Logan said and took a seat. “She’s so efficient. If I ever lost her, I don’t know what I’d do.”
The man was clearly oblivious to Sarah’s blatant interest. Logan had never fully grasped how women reacted to him. High school was a different story—one he chose not to revisit—but their college dorm room had been a revolving door of girls doing anything they could to catch his eye.
“Whatever happened to Andie Carpenter?” Ryan asked.
“Who?”
“Andie Carpenter. From college. Short blonde who would hang out and watch hockey with us freshman year. She’d smuggle us beer she’d bought with her fake ID.”
“Ah, yes. I do remember her.” Logan smiled. “I thought she liked us. Why do you think she stopped coming around?”
“Not ‘us.’ You. And it was because she gave up and moved on to the RA down the hall.” Ryan returned to his desk and tucked the slip of paper with his Secret Santa name underneath his Starbucks cup. “So, what brings you by?”
“Just checking in on the call this morning. How did it go?”
“It was good. Short.” A vision of Sarah hyperventilating into the Santa hat flashed through his mind. “I think the Vert Tower folks are ready to sign off on the redesigns for the first ten floors of office space. I’m telling you—this building is going to put NPH on the map.”
“That’s what I’m banking on. Lease space is going to be in hot demand when we’re done with it. I’m getting calls to negotiate deals daily.” Logan flashed a signature dimple. “I might go ahead and move NPH into it.”
“I’d love a corner office on the top floor.”
“You keep on doing what you’re doing, and I’ll give you an entire floor.”
“Done.” Ryan chuckled, knowing it wasn’t that easy, but he’d been working on this project nonstop over the last five years. It was the main reason Logan had hired him. Ryan led the charge to outfit the corporations who’d leased office space from NPH with sustainable architecture from the floors to the ceilings, and every office, cubicle, and open space in between.
It was equally exhilarating and gratifying to design buildings that he hoped would have a lasting impact for years to come. At the end of the day, he believed that NPH was making a difference, and damn, did that feel good.
“Oh, and there’s something else.” Logan reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded paper. He passed it over the desk to Ryan.
“What’s this?”
“My speech.”
“Speech?”
Logan frowned. “Yeah, for the Westbrook gala. I’d love to hear what you think.”
Groaning inwardly, Ryan unfolded the paper. He’d forgotten that their school’s annual winter gala was this weekend. Logan was receiving an alumni achievement award—the only reason Ryan had even considered going.
Visiting Westbrook wasn’t something he did often. His plan was to arrive right before the awards ceremony started and make an early dash for the door the minute it was over. “Did you give me credit for all of your success like we discussed?”
“Of course I did,” Logan said. “I gave you props for the time you took one for the team and asked Jen Harper’s best friend to the prom junior year so that Jen would go with me.”
Ryan shuddered, remembering his awkward date with Suzy Donaldson, the frizzy-haired brunette who’d talked most of the evening about dissecting bugs. “You still owe me for sacrificing my junior prom to support your quest to get laid.”
“Who says it paid off?”
Yeah, right. Ryan shook his head. He’d known better the night of the prom—his best friend getting laid was exactly what had happened—but no one would ever accuse Logan Scott of bragging or showing off. It wasn’t his style.
Plus, a year later, Ryan had gone to his senior prom with the girl of his teenage dreams—his then-girlfriend, Melanie Daniels.
Logan’s cell buzzed. He picked it up and frowned. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”
Ryan watched him go and leaned back in his chair. He’d thought senior prom would only be the beginning for him and Melanie. Even attending separate colleges hours away hadn’t kept them apart. Then, a month before graduation, he’d asked her to marry him.
They’d still be together this weekend if she hadn’t dumped him two weeks before their wedding. Worse, she’d turned around and married his former football teammate, Jeff McGee.
Melanie would be at the gala. Hell, the invitation he’d received in the mail listed her as the event’s chair, and her return address was on the envelope. Seeing her with Jeff wasn’t at the top of his bucket list, nor was reconnecting with any of the other girls he’d known in high school. Ryan wasn’t looking for love. Been there, done that, and had paid numerous deposits for a wedding that didn’t happen to prove it.
Maybe he did have commitment issues, but who could blame him?
His gaze fell on the bag of malt balls still sitting on his desk. There’d been a moment during last year’s NPH holiday party when he’d thought maybe he could fall in love again. He’d found Sarah asleep in Logan’s office chair, her feet tucked under her, strappy black heels discarded on the floor. She�
�d worked so hard on the party—in hindsight, probably to impress Logan.
Ryan had crept in and removed a red throw from the back of the couch opposite Logan’s desk and gently draped it over her, his hand brushing the red tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
Yeah, it had been a sweet moment, and okay, his heart might have skipped a few beats, but he hadn’t been in a place to even think about taking the moment further than a passing fantasy. With her wavy red hair and collection of sky-high heels, Sarah was hot. No question about it. His attraction to her was a given.
Now, though… Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted stopped at attraction.
Logan strode back into the room, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that. So what do you think?”
Ryan sighed. He needed to stop thinking about Sarah, given she’d pretty much just begged him to help her bag the guy once again sitting across from him. “What do I think about what?”
Logan pointed to the paper. “My speech.”
“Right. Sorry.” Ryan quickly read over the two pages that were written in typical Logan style. His remarks were short, formal, and to the point. He thanked his mom, his deceased dad, and former teachers, while sharing a little about how his high school experience had led him down the path of wanting to carry out his dad’s legacy of running a successful design company.
“This is great,” Ryan said. “I still think you should lead with the story of how you were the one responsible for the football team sneaking into the high school pool the night after winning our homecoming game, though. Imagine their faces when you tell them we all jumped in naked with the entire cheerleading squad.”
“Noted.” Logan smiled. “Maybe we should reenact it. I’m sure there will be a number of former cheerleaders there who’d be willing to go for a skinny dip.”
Ryan chuckled and handed back the sheet of paper. “I’m really proud of you, man.”
“Thanks. I think my father would be, too.”
“He’d be thrilled about the Vert Tower, that’s for sure. One hundred and twenty-eight floors. It’s a big fucking deal.”
Logan leaned back in his chair, his smile turning wistful. “He would have walked around with a hard hat on, full champagne glass in hand, toasting everyone who passed.”
Logan’s father, William Scott, had passed away unexpectedly seven years ago. The man had always gone out of his way to make Ryan feel like part of the family, despite his family’s circumstances. Ryan had shared Mr. Scott’s love for sports, so they’d talked game stats for hours while looking over William’s vast baseball card collection. Growing up without a dad, Mr. Scott was the closest thing Ryan had had to one.
Logan stood and headed for the door. “Thanks for reading this,” he said and slid the paper back inside his suit jacket. “I’ve got to jump on a conference call.”
“Later.” Ryan picked up the framed photo of William, Logan, and himself that he kept next to his computer. It’d been taken one summer on the golf links. William had pulled him aside that night, said that he was worried about Logan working himself crazy, and asked Ryan to look after him—maybe help him find a nice woman to settle down with and start a family.
He set the picture down. Would feeding a spunky redhead information on his best friend be considered looking after Logan, or would it only get her hopes up?
And what about his own attraction to her?
Maybe Logan was a better fit. Sure, his friend was private when it came to his love life, but Logan had also confided that the recent anniversary of his dad’s death had him reevaluating things and he wanted to settle down.
Sarah might be exactly what Logan needed. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and determined to get what she wanted.
But what about what Ryan might want? He lifted his Starbucks cup and stared at the red slip of paper hidden underneath, at the name “Sarah Leonard” scribbled in green ink.
Yep. His bachelor status wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
He was screwed.
Chapter Two
Ryan climbed the winding steps to the fourth floor of his West Side apartment building, two bags of Chinese takeout under his arm. He hesitated, thinking twice before unlocking the door, and tested the knob.
The door swung open, unimpeded.
He barged in and dumped both the Chinese food and his laptop bag on the dining room table. “Dammit, Bridget. How many times have I told you that even when you’re in the apartment, you need to lock the doors? This isn’t the Connecticut suburbs.”
“Someone has a major case of the grumpies.” His sister popped out of her bedroom sporting a white camisole, hot-pink miniskirt, and high white vinyl boots. She shimmied up to him, stood on her tiptoes, and gave his cheek a peck. “My day was great. Thanks for asking.”
He scowled. “Please tell me you didn’t wear that to work today?” he asked, wiping what he was sure was a smudge of bright-pink lipstick off his cheek. He’d promised he would stop asking about her outfits, but for fuck’s sake. As her big brother, it was his job to worry.
“It’s my weekly assignment for my method acting class.” She passed him and headed for the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder and winking. “My hot instructor sure liked it.”
“I bet he did. Were you a prostitute for this week’s assignment?”
“A lady for hire, but don’t worry. I covered up in a long black trench coat so as to not disgrace the Wright name while walking down Fifth Avenue.”
“How thoughtful of you,” he muttered and took off his coat. “Do me a favor and tone down the outfits. I don’t need every guy north of midtown swiping right.”
She laughed and poked her head around the corner. “Are you thirsty? I’ve been experimenting with a peppermint-chocolate Kahlúa martini recipe. I’m dying for someone else to try it.”
A drink sounded good. He was more of a cold beer guy than a frilly holiday cocktail guy, but he’d do just about anything for his sister. “Can you make mine a double?”
“On it.”
Ryan brought the takeout bags over to the coffee table and dropped onto the couch. Never a dull night with his eccentric sister around. He could rag on her for not locking the door or leaving the apartment dressed like a call girl, but truth be told, he loved having her there.
Bridget was five years younger than he was. When she’d graduated from high school, she’d done the same thing he’d done and ditched small-town life. While he’d taken a Greyhound bus to New York City for college, she’d shoved all of her belongings in her beat-up Honda and driven in the opposite direction toward the City of Dreams.
She’d had high hopes, but Hollywood hadn’t been good to her. She’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, spent more money than her bartending paychecks had allowed, and two years ago, showed up on his doorstep flat broke with a mound of credit card debt. Ryan had taken her in, helped her get a job as a traffic manager for an advertising firm, and paid off her credit cards. She’d accepted his help graciously, turned her life around, and now made good money, while still managing to feed her passion by taking acting courses at night.
Ryan was damn proud of her.
He flipped the television channel to the Monday night football game and opened one of the brown paper bags. “I picked up dinner on the way home.”
“Is that General Tso’s chicken I smell?”
“You know it.” He began to take out the white containers, setting them on the coffee table. They’d gotten into the routine of spending their Monday evenings watching football and catching up over Chinese food.
He popped open a white carton of shrimp fried rice and dug in, his mind drifting to Sarah like it had a lot lately. She’d tried to pitch her plan again at lunch, or “Operation Sargan,” as she was now calling it. He’d told her he’d give it some thought—a total lie, but since she’d lied to him all those months ago about not having feelings for Logan, he figured they were even.
Bridget walked into the living room and handed h
im a dark martini covered in chocolate shavings, a miniature peppermint candy cane hanging off the rim. “Try this.”
“Seriously?”
“Try it.”
He brought the martini to his lips and tilted the glass. The ice-cold chocolate concoction slid down easily, sending his taste buds into sweet overdrive. “Wow.”
“Pretty orgasmic, huh?”
“Yeah.” He took a longer sip. “Pretty damn close.”
“Speaking of orgasmic, I made some red velvet cupcakes for you to take to Sarah tomorrow. They’re guaranteed to get her all hot and bothered.”
Ryan choked on his drink. “Excuse me.”
“Oh, please. You can stop the act. You’ve been using me for my baking skills to get into that woman’s pants for months. Admit it.”
Ryan pulled out the paper plates from the bag, handing one to Bridget. “I can’t believe you think I’d do something so conniving to get laid.”
Bridget raised an accusing eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe I like feeding Sarah’s sweet tooth with your desserts, but you can climb off your high horse, Martha Stewart. It’s not working.” He added shrimp fried rice to his sister’s plate. “She’s got the hots for Logan.”
“Oh, really?” Bridget picked up a carton, tipped it over, and dumped most of the crab rangoons onto his plate. Smart girl. “Who could blame her?” she continued. “Logan’s mighty sexy—even if he did turn me down.”
He chuckled. When they were kids, Bridget had followed Logan around like a puppy dog. She’d finally made an unsuccessful play for him Ryan’s senior year of college during “siblings week,” climbing into Logan’s bed naked when he’d gone to the bathroom. His best friend had politely brushed off her advances and slept on their futon that night.
“Well, get this,” he said and popped a rangoon into his mouth. “Sarah asked for my help.”
“To do what?”
“To make Logan fall in love with her. She wants me to share everything I know so that she has an advantage.”
Bridget’s eyes went wide, and she let out a hearty laugh. “Wow. That girl has spunk.”
“Tell me about it.”
