“Don’t start.”
If he was so eager to go, she wished he’d get out of her car, get this whole thing over with.
“When did you fall in love with me?” Nick asked.
“What? I never said—”
“Want me to go first?”
Leila looked straight ahead. If she flinched or even blinked, she’d come unhinged.
“The second I laid eyes on you, Leila,” he said. “I had to pick a fight with Jo-Ann to hold it together. It was that quick. Now you tell me.”
Leila’s grip on the wheel loosened and her hands fell onto her lap. “I heard your voice through the door.”
Before she’d ever laid eyes on him, she’d heard him on the phone, flirting, laughing—quintessential Nick Adrian. His voice, rich and nuanced, had grabbed her by the throat, demanding that she pay attention.
“You told me that you have a habit of putting stock in the wrong things.”
“For once that’s not what I’m doing,” she said. “This is the opposite of that.”
“Are you sure?” Nick reached for the door handle. “You think you’ll move on with some nice guy, some idiot who doesn’t know you, all the things you like. Think you’ll be happy? Go ahead and try.”
* * *
What about happiness?
Leila sat in her car in the office building’s garage, turning the question over in her mind. Nick’s last words had stung. She’d made the smart decision, but why did she feel so dumb? What about happiness? The joy of seeing Nick in the morning, spending the day with him, working beside him, undressing for him at night... She couldn’t put it on her résumé, but it mattered. Now she’d have to do without it. She willed herself to cry, hoping for some relief. But the sickening feeling in her gut wasn’t sorrow, it was regret. She was certain now. She’d made a mistake.
Leila climbed out of the car and leaned against it, feeling a numbing tingle in her legs. What could she do now? Make a mad dash to the airport like in the movies? She had no choice but to move forward.
She rode up to the office. It was early and the reception desk was deserted. She slowly made her way down the hall toward her desk. To make it through the morning, and what promised to be a tough day, she’d need a lot of coffee. She’d forgotten to brew some and Nick wasn’t going to show up with Starbucks. She couldn’t wait for the 2:00 p.m. cafecito break. She was on her own. That simple realization was all it took. Tears washed down her face. She leaned against a wall and let out one unmistakable sob.
“Are you all right?”
Oh, God, not now.
Jo-Ann was waiting for her at her desk, holding a huge cardboard box, the framed photograph of Leila and her aunt peeking out from above the rim. Leila quickly wiped her eyes under Jo-Ann’s cool gaze. Her expression was unmistakable. I sure as hell told you so. And, yes, she had.
PART TWO
Chapter 16
One year later
Leila had not—not at all—set out to be the girl who had sex with an ex two seconds after saying hello, but that’s exactly the girl she turned out to be. The early rush of tenderness had washed away quickly. Nick was hard; he met the demands of her body. As he dove into her, the shell-lined wall scraped her back. He silenced her cries with hot, hostile kisses. Something was coming loose inside her. How could she have gone so long without this?
They’d achieved the right amount of push and pull, perfect balance, when he asked for more. “Leila, say it. I need to hear it.”
“Oh, God, Nick...”
“Come on, Leila,” he said, speaking softly against her parted lips even as his grip tightened. “Tell me, sweetheart...tell me, love...”
“Nick...” She cupped his face. “Shut up.”
She knew what he wanted to hear, and she wasn’t going to say it.
He kissed her again, hard. “Say you love me. Say it.”
“I love you. Damn it!”
Nick drove deeper inside her. Suddenly her skies lit up with stars. Leila cried, tipping backward, on a slow fall back to earth, back to him.
He held her close, his breath in shreds, coming down from his own high. But when he spoke, his voice was steady. “Don’t forget it.”
To hell with this man!
Leila pushed him away, wriggled her skirt down over her hips and found a lost shoe. The party music and noises drifted in, reminding her of where she was and how far off course she’d drifted. All the while, Nick whistled as he buttoned his shirt. “Now would be a good time to visit that cigar-rolling station.”
She brushed her hair off her face and glared at him. She loved him less already.
“What’s the problem, sweetheart?”
What’s the problem...sweetheart? Leila turned and flew out of the cave.
“Hey, wait!” Nick cried, going after her.
“Leave me alone!”
She stomped up the wide stone steps, entered the house through the loggia, got lost in the maze of rooms and ended up outside again, on a terrace that descended into the bay. A handful of couples enjoyed the astonishing view. A stone barge rose out of the water just a few feet off shore, a magnificent ghost ship. Astonished, Leila couldn’t tear her eyes off it. Her moment of hesitation allowed Nick to catch up to her. He gripped her by the arm. She tensed and pulled away, but something fleeting in his eyes stopped her heart.
Before she could say anything, a woman’s voice cut in. “There you are!”
It was Paige Conner from Raul Reyes’s inner circle. She was decidedly friendlier this time around. Leila said hello before realizing Paige was speaking to Nick.
“Are you having a good time?” Paige asked him.
“I’m having a blast,” Nick said dryly.
“Awesome.” Turning to Leila, she said, “Hey, I lost your card but now that you’ve met our new sales director, it’s all good. Right?”
Nick shook his head. “That’s how rumors get started, Paige.”
“Don’t worry. The old man will hire you. I have a good feeling.”
Leila studied Nick, the new sales director of Reyes Realty. True or not, it made sense to her that his star would keep rising while she was left flailing in the dust.
Picking up on the tension, Paige excused herself. “Have a good night.”
Leila straightened to gain some height. “You’re working for Reyes now?”
“He hasn’t made an offer,” Nick said. “But I’m looking for a reason to say yes if he does.”
A double shot of anger and envy struck her full-on. “Well, keep looking.”
* * *
By some miracle, she managed to find her way out of the fun house and back to her car. She drove with the top down, her hair slapping her face. When a bunch of guys pulled up next to her at a light, she responded to the catcalls with a finger. She was not herself. At any minute she could snap.
She arrived at the rented bungalow on Alton North that she called home and also office. The Miami Beach location kept her in the market she had hoped to crack into, but it was far from ideal. Tucked under an overpass, her bedroom often reeked of gas exhaust. The city was installing hydro pumps to control floodwater; she and her neighbors were cut off from the main road by all the construction mess. She often felt walled in by noise, car engines and jackhammers. But it made for the most affordable rent around.
Leila parked in the back alley and let herself in through the front door. What once was a living room was now her reception area with a desk and a couple of chairs. Her office was a converted second bedroom. The kitchen/break room was in its original state with Formica cabinets, a chipped tile counter and a yellowing vinyl floor. The Florida International University coffee mug in the shallow sink belonged to her assistant, Brie. The one bathroom was off to the right, turquoise tile and brass fixtures. Down a short and narrow hall was her private space, the former m
aster bedroom turned one-room apartment.
Leila kicked off her heels and fell into her unmade bed. She was exhausted. Her rage had dissipated on the drive home, leaving her with the earthy scent of the grotto, Nick’s touch, his kiss and her name turned into a soulful mantra. He’d asked what had changed. She rested a hand on her heart and felt its steady beating. Nothing’s changed.
Chapter 17
Nick’s decision to return to Miami was irrational and impulsive. Two things he wasn’t. The catalyst was a girl with pink hair.
He was in a Greenwich Village tavern wrapping up a meeting with a couple looking to sell their three-story brownstone. He stepped up to the bar to settle the tab when he spotted a young woman shying away from him, hiding her face with the longer strands of her pink bob.
“Kim,” he called out. “Is that you?”
She groaned.
Undeterred, Nick joined her, sliding onto a free bar stool, dropping his phone and keys onto the bar. “Why would you hide from me? I thought we were buddies.”
Kim drummed the smooth mahogany bar top with her lacquered fingernails. “What girl in her right mind wouldn’t hide from her boss on a Friday night?”
“Fair point. But what are you doing here?” The classic pub was too fussy for a cool girl like Kim. Her baby-pink hair and emerald-green fingernails were in sharp contrast with the Tiffany lamps and high-polished wood surfaces.
She gave him a long, hard look. “Getting stood up, that’s what.”
“Oh, come on!” Nick cried, outraged. “What are we drinking?”
“Could I have a shot of tequila?” Oddly, she sounded like a child shyly asking for an ice cream cone.
“You could, but why would you?” Nick ordered two vodka martinis, hers was strawberry-flavored. “If and when he gets here, he shouldn’t catch you drowning your sorrows in tequila. Not a hot look.”
Kim thanked him. “Good thinking.”
Nick waited until their drinks were served before asking, “Who’s the jerk?”
She swirled the rosy liquid in her glass. “Ethan Harper. Total dweeb.”
“Do the kids still say ‘dweeb’?”
She pointed to his phone. “Google him.”
Nick indulged his young assistant. Several images of a skinny guy with a crooked smile popped up. Ethan Harper was an actor who performed regularly on Broadway—as an extra.
“He’s a waiter at the steakhouse across the street,” Kim said.
Nick tapped on one photo, pinched it and glanced at Kim. “He’s a kid.”
“Hey!” she cried. “We can’t all date studs like you.”
That made Nick smile. He whispered conspiringly, “Is that what people think? That I’m a stud?”
“Please! You can have any woman at the agency and some of the guys, too. Just say the word and I’ll hook you up.”
“Way to pimp me out, Kim,” Nick said. “How about you focus on updating my sales figures?”
“I saw you working your magic over there. Did you sign that couple?”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I can’t let a pretty girl sit alone at a bar.”
Kim relaxed. “This is nice, I guess, getting to know each other outside the office.”
Over the past months they’d developed a good rapport. She was competent and kept him organized. They’d never discussed their private lives. He’d drawn lines and never crossed them.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Permission granted.”
“Are you sleeping with that broker, Christine?”
“What the hell?”
Yeah, sure he was. But to be questioned about it was surprising.
“She calls the office a lot. I’m sure she has your cell number, so she’s only calling me to check up on you. Doesn’t she work?”
“Christine works.” In fact, she was one of New York’s top brokers. That’s how they’d met, after all. Although, she was always available and up for anything he had in mind, no questions asked.
“I’ll tell her not to call the office anymore.”
Kim joined her hands in prayer. “Thank you, Lord!”
It was a chilly September evening and she looked stylish in a black sweater and black boots that reached her thighs. Ethan Harper didn’t know what he was missing. Nick nudged her in the ribs. “See? We make a great team.”
Kim nearly spit out her strawberry-flavored martini. “We’re not a team. You’re the boss and I’m the girl who says, ‘Yes, boss.’”
“That’s bull. I value your opinion.”
“When have you ever asked for my opinion?”
Her complaints sounded familiar and made him uncomfortable. “Am I that big of a jerk?”
“Do I still have permission—?”
“Yeah. Talk.”
“You’re a one-man show. You call the shots—and that’s very hot. But you’re no team player.”
Nick didn’t know what to make of this. There was some fundamental flaw in his character. Whatever gene turned benevolent rulers into despots, he apparently had it. This was odd, considering he was, after all, a mild-mannered Canadian, born and raised in Toronto. Maybe his attitude was shaped by the business. He’d figured early that every man and woman were out for themselves. And he’d adjusted, maybe too well.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Kim said quietly. “You’re a great boss.”
He reassured her. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“May I ask one more question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Did some chick break your heart?”
Nick swiveled in his seat. She was full of surprises tonight. “Where did that come from?”
“You may look like you have it going on and all, but sometimes you look sad.”
All the women on the dating wheel, including Christine, had complained he seemed distracted, accusing him of being too absorbed with work. Only Kim had broached the truth, confirming an old theory of his: the women he worked with knew him best.
Had some “chick” broken his heart? No. Broken hearts were for teenagers in love. One woman—Leila—had ripped his heart out of his chest and hurled it off a cliff.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Just then Nick spotted Ethan Harper timidly making his way toward them. The guy wore a black puffer jacket and gray skinny jeans. He and Kim would get along fine. Nick leaned closer to Kim and whispered, “Laugh like I said something hysterical.”
Kim took the cue and ran with it, letting out a flirtatious little giggle. “Oh, you’re so crazy!”
The flustered young man tapped Kim on the shoulder and, beanie hat in hand, apologized for keeping her waiting.
Ain’t love grand? Nick thought, watching them shuffle out of the pub. Then a crazy idea swirled in his mind, gathering speed and momentum. He picked up his phone and typed another name into the search engine. Leila Amis.
Waiting for the results to pop up, his heart hammered against his ribs. The last time he’d Googled her, searching for her old pageant pictures, he’d gotten into trouble. He hadn’t done it since. The search results today were quite different from the past: a website—LeilaAmisRealty.com—a Twitter account and an Instagram page.
He tapped on the Instagram link and scrolled through post after post of shots of Leila at cocktail parties, at charity luncheons or posing prettily next to Sold signs, although not very many. She wore her long black hair straight and dressed more conservatively than he liked, but damn it if she wasn’t more beautiful than before. Her mocha skin was so rich he could lick the screen. Nick studied each picture, a ball of pain forming in his gut. Leila looking happy, confident and free—looking like her life had gotten a hell of a lot better without him in it.
That didn’t sit well with him.
* * *
It hadn’t taken much. He’d put out a few feelers. Within weeks he was on a plane to Miami to meet with Raul Reyes, one of the world’s wealthiest people, according to all the business magazines. The word was Reyes was looking for someone new, fresh and eager to lead the sales of his luxury condo building on Biscayne. Nick was scheduled to meet with him at his office for an overview of the project and, later in the evening, he would attend his book launch party. Nick couldn’t wait to hear about the new building, the book though was bull.
Cruising from the airport in the back of a cab, Nick welcomed the assault of bright, tropical color. Miami was the city he loved but for some reason couldn’t manage to plant lasting roots. The things he cherished had a way of slipping through his fingers. His new goal was to change that trend.
Nick switched on his phone. Immediately it started to chime and flash text messages, missed calls and voice mails. And then it started to ring. Christine. He hit Ignore, but ignoring her wasn’t as easy as that. They’d done a few good deals together and he never liked to cut off a business contact, no matter how messy things got between them.
When the phone rang again, he answered. “I’m traveling.”
“To Miami. For a job interview.”
“Who told you?”
“So it’s true! What are you thinking, Nick? Who trades Manhattan for Miami before retirement?”
His boss, Connie Madison, had had the same reaction when he’d told her. But they didn’t know this city like he did. This sales position would be the perfect way to reenter the market.
“Hey, thanks for the career advice.”
“What about us?” Christine asked. “We were good together.”
“Christine,” he said softly, “there is no ‘us.’”
“Don’t say that.”
Nick closed his eyes. He’d been saying it for two weeks now. When would she hear him?
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“You’re going to regret this move,” she said. “The Miami market crashes every ten years or so. And the women are tacky and dumb.”
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