That’s actually a really good idea.
My eyes are fixated on the letter G on the keyboard as I decide if I should be mean and run Ryan out of my office or take the high road and address him like the adult he is.
I swallow my pride, hit Send on the email I was typing to Meg, and turn to Ryan. He’s looking at me. His masculine jaw is jutted out, and the perfect arch of his brow is curved in as he waits for a response.
I place my hands on my lap and rub them on the chiffon fabric of my dress. “What kind of experiences do you have in mind?”
Ryan’s chin relaxes, and his cheekbones rise as he looks down at his paper and reads his notes. “I spoke to our anchors, and Chad said he always wanted to go skydiving.”
I roll my eyes. How many times has someone filmed their first time skydiving? Though I wouldn’t mind pushing Misty Waters out of a plane…sans parachute.
“But,” Ryan says, “I told him that was cliché, so we worked on other ideas. After some digging, I learned that our boy Chad has always wanted to tap dance.”
I must have a look of confusion on my face because Chad Lyons is this burly ex-football player who became a television host after his retirement from the NFL. Apparently, the television industry has become a place for people who can no longer play sports. Go figure.
Ryan continues, “‘Never Have I Ever Tap-Danced.’ I know it doesn’t sound that great, but trust me when I tell you, anyone who watches football would go crazy over seeing Chad dance. It would be all over the Internet.”
I sway my head from side to side. “I’m not crazy about it, but I like where the idea is headed.” Despite myself, I lean forward and say, “You’re looking at producing a series, which is very ambitious, but you have to look at the business side. How is this going to move the show forward, toward the greater goal?”
“Ratings?”
“Revenue.” I pick up a pen and write down some notes. “We could team up with Broadway in Chicago and have them sponsor the series. I’ll find out what shows they have that need a boost in sales and have them cast Chad in one for a performance.”
Ryan nods. “That’s a great idea.”
“It was yours. Now, you have to find more experiences to make this worthy of a five-week series for February sweeps. That gives us enough time to pre-produce all the moving parts.”
“That’s five months away.”
“Good things come to those who plan early.”
I laugh lightly with my comment, but when I look up, I see Ryan’s face is far from laughing. He’s looking at me seriously. The look makes my body still and my heart race.
“Sometimes, the very best things show up unannounced.”
His words hit my heart in a place that has been thickly coated with a force field that protects it from feeling the way it is right now because I know exactly what he means. I hadn’t planned on meeting Ryan, but he happened anyway.
“Do you have a Never Have I Ever?” he asks.
I blink. “Me? No. I’ve done just about everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Not even something mediocre? Something you have always wanted to try but never have?”
I look down and think of something I’ve never done. My thoughts immediately go to the time I begged my parents to take me to a local carnival. We couldn’t go because we didn’t have the money. Imagine that? A two-dollar ticket was more than we could afford.
It’s a simple experience that was lost on me. It’s childish, so I’ve never talked about it. Until now.
“I’ve never been to a fair. You know, ridden a Ferris wheel or a roller coaster. I’ve never even been on a carousel.” I wave my hand in the air in a blasé way.
“Every girl deserves a ride on a carousel.” His words are sincere, and the way his eyes glisten as he says them makes my heart melt. “Heather,” Ryan says my name, the low-pitch sound of his voice like a whisper in the air.
I look over at him and am struck with just how handsome he is—the masculine line of his jaw, the perfectly formed nose, and the intense deep-set eyes and thick lashes. Those thick lashes fall on my ring. His face hardens, and I pull my hand back onto my lap.
“Excuse me,” Meg says as she knocks on my door.
I look up and see her standing with a printed piece of paper in her hand.
I raise my brows to her, asking what she needs.
Meg looks to Ryan and then to me. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, but”—she holds the paper up in the air—“why did you send me the lyrics to ‘Amazing Grace’?”
My head falls to my hand in mortification. I mean, what else do you type when you’re pretending to be busy? Clearly, the answer is “Amazing Grace.”
I roughly wipe my brow in a move that’s half-embarrassment, half-annoyance. “We’ll discuss it after my meeting.”
I shoo her away as best as I can, and when she is out of earshot, I look at Ryan, who is staring me down with a gaze so fierce, I fear I might fall apart in my chair. My breath hitches, and I have to put my facade back on or else he’ll completely tear down my walls.
With a clearing of my throat, I settle back into position and resume typing on my computer. “It’s time you go back to work. I want the additional experiences in my mailbox tomorrow.” I lick my lips and purse them tightly. “I think you should start meeting with one of our producers who will guide you through the process.”
“I thought you were gonna be my mentor?” he asks.
I answer him by breathing in through my nose as I pull up the website for a high-end wedding dress designer, and then I start scrolling through her collection.
He sits for a moment, clearly not in a rush to get up. I can feel his stare shooting into me like a laser beam, but I pretend to ignore it. I lift my chin and continue to scroll and click. He must get bored of watching me because he rises from his seat. As he walks to the door, I sneak a glance and am suddenly reminded of how impressive his physique is.
In my head, I keep telling myself that he’s just a boy. But, in reality, he’s all man.
Ryan walks to the door, and just as he’s about to walk away, he turns and says, “Are you the wretch who needs to be saved?”
My body freezes. I won’t turn to him, but the question is enough to make me lose all conscious thought.
“Is that what you think of me? I’m a wretch?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, Heather, I think you’re lost. You just need to be found.”
“There you are, love!”
Jarrod is seated at his usual table at La Riviere. I walk over to him for our lunch date, place a kiss on his cheek, and take a seat. I’m laying a white linen napkin on my lap when a waiter appears.
“Tito’s, on the rocks,” I say to the waiter, earning me a grimace from my fiancé.
“Imbibing so early in the day?”
“It’s after noon. Besides, I’m having an off day.”
“Busy morning?”
“Just a meeting with the intern.”
“Ah, Ryan Pierson. Good-looking young man. I’m sure he has his pick of women, don’t you think?”
I turn back to the waiter. “Make it a double.”
The waiter leaves, and I fix my napkin again. It just won’t stay flat on my lap.
“He has a face for television. We should groom him before he gets a job somewhere else. Maybe put him on the program, perhaps as a model or something. See how he does.”
I play with the napkin again, finally getting it to settle on my thighs.
“Is everything all right?” Jarrod asks.
My head shoots up. “Yes, sorry. Distracted.” I lay my hand across the table and take Jarrod’s in mine.
He thumbs the ring on my finger. “Looks stunning on you. Nothing but the best for the future Mrs. Bellomy.”
I smile at the sight of my ring. It is exquisite. “Everything I have ever wanted.” Isn’t it?
The waiter reappears with my vodka and offers me a menu.
Jarrod holds up a hand. “No need.
We know what we want. I’ll have the poached wild salmon steaks with citrus beurre blanc, and she’ll have the shaved asparagus salad, hold the Gouda and the hazelnuts.”
As the waiter walks away from the table, I eye Jarrod, wondering why he would order my favorite salad but tell the waiter to remove the best parts.
He answers without me asking, “We don’t want you fattening up like a little piggy, do we?”
My jaw falls open. “I didn’t realize my weight was a concern.”
“It’s not,” he says with a cavalier smile. “And we want to keep it that way.”
I lift my glass to my mouth and take a sip—a long, indulging sip. When I’m done, I offer him a closed mouth smile and then say, “No, we wouldn’t want that.”
“Isn’t that just a wretched thought?” he says, causing me to flash my doe eyes at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You. Fat. Can you imagine?” His voice is in disbelief of the notion.
Good thing he didn’t see me in high school. Acne, glasses, braces…I was quite the sight.
I’d like to say I was marrying a man who would love me no matter what I looked like, but that’s not the case. I didn’t choose that sort of man to marry. I handpicked this one because he is more superficial than I am.
If I wanted to marry someone who’d love me no matter what, I’d be with someone like…never mind.
I can’t afford to think that way.
Well, after I marry Jarrod, I’ll be able to afford anything I want.
“Heather, is that who I think it is?” he asks, causing me to turn my head.
“Who?”
Jarrod points a finger. “Over there. Alexander Asher. You used to work for him, no?”
Like whiplash, my head flies to the other side, my eyes roaming until I see the blond hair and golden eyes of the man I used to lust after. Not only is he attractive, but he also has more money than God. Like Jarrod, he’s kind of an asshole, but I can deal with that. Obviously.
“Go say hello,” he demands.
“No,” I practically hiss at him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to bed him, what with his empire and all,” Jarrod says, which causes me to blush. “Oh, I see. You did try to bed the head of Asher Industries. Wise girl but not wise enough.”
I lean back and feign insult. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he didn’t want to marry for convenience. He married for love.”
That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. The Asher I knew used women just as much as they used him. While he could be fun at times, you couldn’t get too close. He’d turn callous, vindictive. Hell, he even had a thing for married women because they wouldn’t expect much from him in the form of commitment.
Still, I tried to turn him around, but he was like ice. A wall so sturdy, I couldn’t penetrate it.
All for the best though because, now, I have Jarrod.
“And you know this how?” I fold my arms in front of my body and raise my brows.
Jarrod speaks as if he is saying the most disgusting thing in the world, “He gave up his claim to his billion-dollar inheritance.”
My face scrunches up in confusion. “Are you telling me the man is broke?” I look back at Asher. He is decked out from head to toe in a designer suit and shoes and a twenty-thousand-dollar Rolex. “He hardly looks like he is struggling for cash.”
“It’s true. Now, imagine if you’d married him and the next day he told you he was walking away from all that money?” He tsks and continues, “Don’t worry. I promise you, I will never walk away from my trust.” He gives me a wink and takes a sip of his Pellegrino.
I turn back to Asher. He’s seated at a table, looking down at his iPhone. With his lush lips, square jaw, and perfectly tanned skin, he looks like a god among mortals. His face is stern as he reads whatever it is on his screen, but something catches his attention, and he looks up. Whatever it is makes his eyes dance and his cheeks rise.
A blonde woman walks to the table. She is pretty but not overly beautiful. She has dark eyes and a heart-shaped face. Asher rises from his table and greets the woman with a kiss. But not just any kiss. He places his hands on the sides of her face and pulls her in with an embrace so intimate, I feel like I’m interrupting their sacred moment just by being in the same room.
When he pulls back, she looks up at him like the world is in his eyes. And he is looking back at her the same way.
The two take a seat and start talking and laughing. She has a gorgeous ring on her finger, and he has a simple band. This is not some taken woman he is shacking up with for the weekend. The bond between them is clear. This is his wife.
An odd thought strikes me.
Some people really do marry for love. Well, it seems Asher married for love. The verdict is still out on Miss Thang over there.
I turn to Jarrod. “Why would he give up his inheritance?”
He is looking at his iPhone, probably answering emails. He talks while typing, “No one knows. Now, he’s doing something with music. I can’t quite remember. Nevertheless, he’s married, and I give it six years before she finds someone whose pockets are lined deeper than his.”
I let out an amused snort. “I give them six months.”
“In for the night?” Charlie, my doorman, asks as I walk into the lobby of my building.
“Yes.” I walk over to his desk. “Any deliveries?”
Charlie looks under his desk and pulls out a UPS envelope. “This came for you.”
He hands it over, and I look at the sender—Joseph Vance, Private Investigator.
I take it and don’t miss the questioning look Charlie is giving me.
He leans down, grabs something out from the space beneath him, and lifts it up. In his hand is a pair of boring brown shoes. “I also have these.” Charlie is holding up Ryan’s shoes from that fateful night. “He was awfully chipper when he came through here. Asked where there was a nearby coffee shop.”
A smile tugs on my lips, but I pull it back. “Surprised you let him back up without my permission. I could have been dead.”
“I am a doorman, not a security guard. You want to bring random men into the building? That is your prerogative.” He nods to the shoes. “My only requirement is that I do not return these.”
I blow a stray piece of hair off my face. “You can toss them.”
I start to walk toward the elevator, leaving Ryan’s shoes with Charlie. I’m not walking into my office and handing Ryan his shoes, only to have someone notice. He can buy a new pair.
“Wait.” I turn around and walk back to Charlie. “I’ll take them.” I hold out a hand.
He hands me the size eleven shoes. “Change of heart?” His white brows are furrowed over his eyes.
I squint at the old man. “The kid doesn’t have a paying job. Maybe I’ll ship them to him or something.”
Charlie makes a harrumph sound. “As you wish…”
“What?” I ask with a tapping foot.
“Nothing, nothing,” His mouth is downturned as he starts fiddling with papers and whatnot on his desk. “You seemed rather pleasant the next day.”
As in, I’m not pleasant every other day? “He’s only twenty-one.”
This causes Charlie to laugh. “When I was his age, I had two kids and had fought in a war.”
My parents had me before they were old enough to drink, and look at where that led them. People under a certain age shouldn’t make life decisions.
“How did that turn out for you?” I ask with rudeness to my tone.
“Thirty years later, and she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says with metaphorical stars in his eyes.
“You’re one of the rarities then.” I slide my purse further up my shoulder. My ring catches the light and Charlie’s attention.
“I take it, he wasn’t the one to give you that piece of jewelry. Do I know the lucky fellow?”
“Yes. Jarrod. Dark skin. Salt-and-pepper hai
r—”
“Comes late at night and leaves before the sun comes up,” he says.
“Charlie!” While I’m quite fond of my doorman, I’m learning that he certainly is the old washwoman.
“Just an observation.” He tilts his head. “Besides, you’re a smart, successful woman, living in a place like this. You know what’s best.”
I slowly nod my head and turn away from him. I’ve made the right decisions for thirty-one years. I’m not about to start questioning myself when I’m so close to my goal.
“I hope you find who you’re looking for,” he says, forcing me to turn around.
When I do, I see he’s eyeing up the envelope in my hand.
“How did you know I was looking for someone?”
He leans in, and his pale eyes soften. “Heather, you’re the only person in this building who doesn’t have family come to visit.”
Observant people. Watch what you say around them and what you don’t say around them.
“And to think, I once called you charming.”
I hit the elevator button and step into the car. When it arrives on my floor, I walk to my apartment, open the door, and kick off my shoes.
I have yoga pants on and a glass of vodka in my hand in no time.
I’m standing in my kitchen, the UPS mailer on the counter. It’s the contract for the investigator I hired to find my dad. I don’t know why I’m even doing this. The man can rot on the streets for all I care. He’s a despicable human being who treats women like shit.
Especially his daughter.
“I got you a job. Dancing,” he said one night, drunk off his ass.
His wifebeater was riding up, causing his gut to appear between his shirt and his jeans. His denim button-down was open and hanging around his bulging stomach.
I was only fifteen, but I knew exactly what kind of dancing he was referring to. “Dancing where?”
“Pinkies in Astoria.” He had a look of pride on his face.
My history book was lying in front of me as I tried to study, so I could actually go to college and not be a stripper at the club where his current girlfriend danced.
“I’m underage,” I said with disgust.
He waved me off and started walking toward his room. “They all are.”
Sinful Abandon Page 6
