by Cat Schield
The fact that Zoe had vanished off his radar since she’d first separated from Tristan nagged at Harrison. In the beginning he hadn’t wanted to get involved in what had looked to become a nasty divorce. Lately he was wishing he’d been a better brother-in-law.
“Do you know what London does?” Harrison asked, returning his thoughts to the beautiful blonde.
Bennett sighed. “She owns an event planning service.”
“Did she plan this event?” An idea began to form in Harrison’s mind.
“No. Most of the work was done by Zoe before...” Not even Bennett was comfortable talking about his former niece-in-law.
“I think I’m going to introduce myself to London McCaffrey,” Harrison said.
“Just don’t be too surprised when she’s not interested in you.”
“I have a halfway-decent pedigree,” Harrison said with a wink.
“Halfway decent isn’t going to be enough for her.”
“You’re so cynical.” Harrison softened his statement with a half smile. “And I’m more than enough for her to handle.”
His uncle began to laugh. “No doubt you’re right. Just don’t be surprised when she turns you down flat.”
* * *
London McCaffrey stood beside her best friend, Maribelle Gates, her attention fixed on the tall, imposing man she’d promised to take down in the next few months. Zoe Crosby’s ex-husband was handsome enough, but his chilly gaze and the sardonic twist to his lips made London shiver. From the research London had done on him these last couple of weeks, she knew he’d ruthlessly gone after his wife, leaving her with nothing to show for her eight-year marriage.
In addition to cheating on Zoe through most of their marriage, Tristan Crosby had manufactured evidence that she was the one who’d been unfaithful and violated their prenuptial agreement. Zoe had been forced to spend tens of thousands of dollars disproving this, which had eaten into her divorce settlement. A settlement based on financial information about her husband’s wealth that indicated he was heavily mortgaged and deeply in debt.
Zoe’s lawyer suspected that Tristan had created offshore shell companies that allowed him to hide money and avoid paying taxes. It wasn’t unusual or illegal, but it was a hard paper trail to find.
“Heavens, that man cleans up well,” Maribelle remarked, her voice breathy and impressed. “And he’s been staring this way practically since he arrived.” She nudged London. “Wouldn’t it be great if he’s interested in you?”
With an exasperated sigh, London turned to her friend and was about to reiterate that the last thing on her mind was romance when she recognized the man in question. Harrison Crosby, Tristan’s younger brother.
A racing-circuit fan favorite thanks to his long, lean body and handsome face, Harrison was, to her mind, little more than a glorified frat boy. Zoe had explained that her ex-brother-in-law liked fast cars, pretty women and the sorts of activities that red-blooded American males went for in the South.
“He’s not my type,” London told her best friend, returning her focus to her target.
“Sweetie, I love you,” Maribelle began, settling further into her native South Carolina drawl, “but you have to stop being so picky.”
Resentment rose in London but she studiously avoided showing it. Since the first time her mother had slapped her face for making a fuss during her sixth birthday party, London had decided if she was going to survive in the McCaffrey household, she’d better learn to conceal her emotions. It wasn’t always easy, but now, at twenty-eight, she was nearly impossible to read.
“I’m not being picky. I’m simply being realistic.” And since he wasn’t the Crosby brother she was targeting, he wasn’t worth her time.
“That’s your problem,” Maribelle complained. “You’re always realistic. Why don’t you let loose and have some fun?”
Out of kindness or sympathy for her longtime friend, Maribelle didn’t mention London’s latest failure to climb the Charleston social ladder. She’d heard more than enough on that score from her mother. When London had begun to date someone from one of Charleston’s oldest families, her mother had perceived this as the social win she’d been looking for since the New York socialite had married restaurant CEO Boyd McCaffrey and moved to Connecticut, leaving her beloved New York City behind. And then, when London’s father had been accepted for a better position and moved his family to Charleston, Edie Fremont-McCaffrey’s situation grew so much worse.
When she’d first arrived, Edie had assumed that her New York connections, wealth and style would guarantee Charleston’s finest would throw open their doors for her. Instead she’d discovered that family and ancestral connections mattered more here than something as vulgar as money.
“It’s not that I don’t want to have fun,” London began. “I just don’t know that I want to have Harrison Crosby’s sort of fun.”
Well, didn’t that make her sound like the sort of dull prig who’d let the handsome and wealthy Linc Thurston slip through her fingers? London’s heart contracted. Although she no longer believed herself in love with Linc, at one point she’d been ready to marry him. But would she have? London wasn’t entirely clear where their relationship would be if he hadn’t broken things off.
“How do you know what sort of fun Harrison Crosby likes?” Maribelle asked, bringing London back to the present.
She bit her lip, unable to explain why she’d been researching the Crosby family, looking for an in. There were only three people who knew of their rash plan to take revenge on the men who’d wronged them. What London, Everly and Zoe were doing might not necessarily be illegal, but if they were discovered, retribution could be fierce and damaging.
“He’s a race-car driver.” As if that explained everything.
“And he’s gorgeous.”
“Is he?”
London considered all the photos she’d seen of him. Curly black hair, unshaved cheeks, wearing jeans and a T-shirt or his blue racing suit with sponsor patches plastered head to toe, he had an engaging smile and an easy confidence that proclaimed he had the world on a string.
“I guess if you like them scruffy and rough,” London muttered. Which she didn’t.
“He looks pretty suave and elegant to me.”
Maribelle’s wry tone spiked London’s curiosity and she carefully let her gaze drift in his direction. Not wanting the man to think she was at all interested in him, she didn’t look directly at him as she took in his appearance.
The Harrison Crosby she’d been picturing looked nothing like the refined gentleman in a perfectly tailored dark gray suit that drew attention to his strong shoulders and narrow hips. Her hormones reacted with shocking intensity to his stylish appearance. He was clean-shaved tonight, appearing elegant enough to have stepped off a New York runway. Where she’d been able to dismiss the “rough around the edges good ol’ boy” in racing attire, London saw she’d miscalculated the appeal of a confident male at the top of his game.
“Apparently he cleans up well,” London remarked grudgingly, her gaze moving on before she could get caught staring.
“He’s coming this way,” Maribelle squeaked.
London’s pulse revved like an engine as she took in his elegant appearance. “Get a hold of yourself,” she murmured in exasperation, unsure if she was speaking to herself or Maribelle.
“Good evening, ladies.” His voice had a deep, rich tone like the rumble of a cat’s purr. “I’m Harrison Crosby. Dixie Bass-Crosby is my aunt.”
“Number twenty-five,” Maribelle responded in a surprisingly girlish tone that caused London to gape. “You’re having a great second half this year. I’m Maribelle Gates.”
A sexy half grin kicked up one corner of his mouth. “You follow racing?” he asked, echoing the question in London’s head.
While his sea-glass eyes remained focused on Maribelle, London
stared at him in consternation. Her body was reacting to his proximity in confusing ways.
“I do,” Maribelle confirmed. “So does my fiancé. We’re huge fans.”
As her best friend displayed a surprising amount of knowledge about race-car driving, London began to feel like a third wheel. While the two girls had been best friends since their first day of the exclusive private girls’ school they’d attended, certain differences had always existed between them.
Both were from wealthy families, but Maribelle’s had the sort of social standing that had allowed her access to the inner circles that had eluded London and her family. And while each woman was beautiful, Maribelle had always fought with her weight and this had led to her feeling less secure about her appearance. But the biggest difference was that for all her lack of social standing, London had always been the more popular of the two.
Until now.
“Oh,” Maribelle exclaimed, glancing toward her friend as if suddenly realizing they’d excluded London. “How rude of me to monopolize you. This is London McCaffrey.”
“Nice to meet you,” London said. Yet as miffed as she was at his earlier lack of interest, she wasn’t sure she meant it.
“Nice to meet you, as well.” Harrison’s gaze flicked from one woman to the other. “Now, it seems as if you know all about me. What is it you ladies do?”
“I’m planning a wedding,” Maribelle said with a silly little giggle that left London struggling not to roll her eyes.
Harrison’s sculpted lips shifted into an indulgent smile. “I imagine that’s a full-time job.”
London bit the inside of her lip to keep from snorting in derision. “I own an event planning company,” she said a trifle too aggressively. Hearing her tone brought a rush of heat to London’s cheeks. Was she seriously trying to compete with her engaged friend for a man she wasn’t even interested in?
“Are you planning her wedding?”
London shot her friend a glance as she shook her head. “No.”
“Not your thing?” he guessed, demonstrating an ability to read the subtle currents beneath her answer.
“She mostly organizes corporate and charity events,” Maribelle responded with a sweet smile that stabbed at London’s heart.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Harrison said, the impact of his full attention making London’s palms tingle. “My brother’s turning forty next month and I was going to plan a party for him. Only I don’t know anything about that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out?”
“I...” Her first impulse was to refuse, but she’d been looking for an opening that would get her into Tristan’s orbit. Planning his birthday party would be an excellent step in that direction. “Don’t usually do personal events, but I would be happy to meet with you and talk about it.”
She pulled a business card out of her clutch and handed it to him.
He glanced at the card. “‘London McCaffrey. Owner of ExcelEvent.’ I’ll be in touch.” Then, with a charming smile, he said, “Nice meeting you both.”
London’s eyes remained glued to his retreating figure for several seconds. When she returned her focus to Maribelle, her friend was actively smirking.
“What?”
“See? I told you. What you need is a little fun.”
“It’s a job,” London said, emphasizing each word so Maribelle wouldn’t misinterpret the encounter. “He’s looking for someone to organize his brother’s birthday party. That’s why I gave him my card.”
“Sure.” Maribelle’s hazel eyes danced. “Whatever you say. But I think what you need is someone to take your mind off what happened between you and Linc, and in my not-so-humble opinion, that—” she pointed at the departing figure “—is the perfect man for the job.”
Everything London had read about him stated that he liked to play hard and that his longest relationship to date had lasted just over a year. She’d decided her next romance would be with a man with a serious career. Someone she’d have lots in common with.
“Why do you think that?” London asked, unable to understand her friend’s logic. “As far as I can tell, he’s just like Linc. An athlete with an endless supply of eager women at his beck and call.”
“Maybe he’s just looking for the right woman to settle down with,” Maribelle countered. She’d been singing a different tune about men and romance since she’d started dating Beau Shelton. “Can’t you at least give the guy a chance?”
London sighed. She and Maribelle had had this conversation any number of times over the last few months as her friend had tried to set her up with one or another of Beau’s friends. Maybe if she said yes Maribelle would back off.
“I’m really not ready to date anyone.”
“Don’t think of it as dating,” Maribelle said. “Just think of it as hanging out.”
Since London was already thinking in terms of how she could use Harrison to get to Tristan, it was an easy enough promise to make. “If it means you’ll stop bugging me,” she said, hiding her sudden satisfaction at killing two birds with one stone, “I’ll agree to give Harrison Crosby one chance.”
Two
Harrison spent more than his usual twenty minutes in the bathroom of his penthouse condo overlooking the Cooper River as he prepared for his meeting with London McCaffrey.
A woman he’d dated for a short time a year ago had given him pointers on grooming particulars that women appreciated. At the time he’d viewed the whole thing with skepticism, but after giving the various lotions, facial scrubs, hair-care products and other miscellaneous items a try, he’d been surprised at the results and happily reaped the benefits of Serena’s appreciation.
Still, as much as he’d seen the value in what she’d introduced into his life, his focus during racing season left little room for such inconsequential activities. Today, however, he’d applied all that he’d learned, scrutinizing his hands to ensure they were grease-free and giving his nails more than a cursory clipping, even going so far as to run a file over the edges to smooth away any sharpness. Although he didn’t touch the high-tech race cars until he slid behind the wheel, Harrison often unwound from a race weekend by tinkering with the rare classics his uncle bought for his collection.
Today, however, as he surveyed his charcoal jeans, gray crewneck sweater and maroon suede loafers, Harrison decided that someone as stylish as London would appreciate a man who paid attention to his grooming. And in truth, his already elevated confidence was inflated even further when the receptionist at ExcelEvent goggled at him as he strolled into the King Street office.
“You’re Harrison Crosby,” the slender brunette exclaimed, her brown eyes wide with shock as he advanced on her desk. “And you’re here.” She gawked at him, her hands gripping the edge of the desk as if to hold herself in place.
Harrison gave her a slow grin. “Would you let London know I’ve arrived?”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” Never taking her eyes off him, she picked up her phone and dialed. “Harrison Crosby is here to see you. Okay, I’ll let him know.” She returned the handset to the cradle and said, “She’ll be out in a second. Would you like some coffee or water or...?” She trailed off and went back to staring at him.
“I’m fine.”
“If you want to have a seat.” The receptionist gestured to a black-and-white floral couch beneath the ExcelEvent logo painted in white on the gray wall. “She shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thank you.”
Ignoring the couch, Harrison stood in the center of the room, wondering how long she would leave him cooling his heels. While he waited, he took stock of his surroundings, getting a sense of London’s taste from the clean color palette of black, white and gray, the hint of drama provided by the silver accessories and the pop of color courtesy of the flower arrangement on the reception desk. On the wall across from him was a large-screen TV w
ith a series of images and videos from various events that London had organized.
In his hand, his phone buzzed. Harrison sighed as he glanced at the message on the screen. Even though he took Mondays and Tuesdays off during the season, rarely an hour went by that his team wasn’t contacting him as they prepared the car for that week’s upcoming race. Each track possessed a different set of variables that the teams used to calibrate the car. There were different settings for shocks, weight, height, springs, tires, brakes and a dozen other miscellaneous factors.
For the first time in a long time, Harrison debated leaving the text unanswered. He didn’t want to split his focus today. His team knew what it was doing. His input could wait until his meeting with London concluded.
A change in the air, like a fragrant spring breeze, pushed against his skin an instant before London McCaffrey spoke his name.
“Mr. Crosby?”
As he looked up from his phone, Harrison noted the uptick in his heartbeat. Today she wore a sleeveless peach dress with a scalloped neckline and hem, and floral pumps. Her long blond hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Feminine perfection with an elusive air, she advanced toward him, her hand outstretched.
Her fingers were cool and soft as they wrapped around his hand. “Good to see you again.”
“I intend to call you London,” he said, leaning just ever so slightly forward to better imprint the faint scent of her floral perfume on his senses. “So you’d better call me Harrison.”
“Harrison.” Still holding his hand, she gazed up at him through her lashes, not in a manner he considered coy, but as if she was trying to take his measure. A second later she pulled free and gestured toward a hallway behind the reception desk. “Why don’t you come back to my office?” She turned away from him and led the way, pausing for a brief exchange with the receptionist.
“Missy, were you able to get hold of Grace?”
“I had to leave a message. Do you want me to put her through when she calls?” Missy glanced at Harrison as she asked the question.
