His Longing (Billionaire Blind Date Book 4)

by Jacinda Chance

  With no wedding for Grant to take me to . . . what if that was it between us?

  “Did you hear me?” Arlene sighed and said something to Randy I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Yes. I—why are you changing the tickets? You should go ahead and come in for a visit, wedding or not.” I felt like lying down with a cold cloth on my head.

  “We don’t have a ton of disposable income right now. One of my best friends from college is having a baby in a few months, and because I’d already agreed to come to the wedding, I really couldn’t afford another trip so soon.”

  “Oh, you’re going to change the tickets and go see her now?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to go to her baby shower since this is off, even though it’s going to cost me a little bit more. It still aggravates the hell out of me that she’d do this to everybody.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “It’s not really Nance’s fault, is it, if he’s the one sleeping around? We can’t expect her to marry a cheater just to keep from inconveniencing the wedding guests.” I said it, even while I felt a little betrayed at having the wedding date yanked out from under me.

  “You’re right. It’s just . . . a crummy surprise.”

  “It really is.”

  We talked a little while longer, and Arlene said she planned to save up to come visit the following year. It seemed unlikely there’d be another family function, so she’d just come when she wanted and could afford it. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be seeing her in a week, but my overriding feeling was worry about what Grant would say.

  After we hung up, I stared at my phone a long time. I should call Grant and tell him the wedding was off. That was the proper thing to do. But he’d said he had business to attend to, and I didn’t want to interrupt him.

  That was partly a cop-out, I realized, but it was good enough to put off dealing with everything until tomorrow. I planned to work on the Holliscorp logo over the weekend and try not to think about much else, except that one phone call I should make. I’d get it over with early and move on from there.

  When I woke up Saturday morning, I should have called him. Somehow I convinced myself to wait until Sunday, and Sunday I decided that Monday was probably a better day anyway, because it was the start of the work week. I had no idea why that mattered, but it was an excuse not to make the call on Sunday that could potentially take Grant out of my life.

  Monday morning, I woke with a headache. I felt shaky and sweaty, and my stomach was uneasy. When I decided that calling Grant could wait until Monday night when he was probably less busy with business concerns, my symptoms magically disappeared.

  I was making myself sick over that phone call, because every time I thought about it, I feared I’d never see Grant again, or maybe he’d take me out once more because of some sense of “fairness.” I did the things he wanted, and there was no wedding to take me to in exchange.

  The very idea of that made my stomach flip. I didn’t care about fairness. I didn’t care about the wedding, either, or showing up in a limo with a handsome, wealthy, charming man. I didn’t care if anyone in my family ever met Grant at all.

  With tears in my eyes at 8:43 am on that Monday morning, I realized I simply didn’t want to lose him.

  Four

  About one o’clock, someone rang my apartment with “a delivery for Ms. Sophie Falcon.” As I buzzed him up, my insides started to shake. The only delivery I’d ever gotten here that hadn’t come in the mail had been from Grant. Had he sent me another barely-there dress to wear to dinner with him?

  I hoped so, despite all the protests I’d made the first time. But I dreaded it, too. It rushed the phone call I didn’t want to make.

  The box was similar to the one I’d gotten the first time, so I took it to the bedroom and opened it on the bed. A note in a steady, neat hand lay on top of the tissue paper. It read: Try this on today. If it needs adjustments, we must inform La Costa immediately so he can make them in time for the wedding.

  La Costa.

  He couldn’t mean Manuel La Costa, could he? The young fashion designer who’d burst onto the scene and become a favorite for actresses at the Tony Awards for the last few years? Rumor was he’d designed a few maternity outfits for Princess Kate, as well.

  People like me didn’t wear designer clothes from someone like La Costa. Granted, he hadn’t measured me, and maybe this was some sort of cast-off or prototype. I had no way of knowing. But it had been created by a top designer, and that was amazing in itself.

  I opened the tissue paper and gasped. The dress was off-white and silky with a pearlescent sheen, and covered in fine, gold brocade, set off with tiny shimmering beads and sequins. The sleeves came halfway down the upper arms, and the hem would probably almost reach my knees. Shoes in the same shade as the dress with matching embellishments on the toe and heel were tucked into a corner of the box, and a matching clutch lay under the paper in the opposite corner.

  It was gorgeous. And outrageously expensive. A dress like that would cost hundreds in a department store, if you could find anything half as sumptuous. This hadn’t come from a department store.

  It also wasn’t the kind of dress you wore to a wedding, because it was in poor taste for your dress to potentially outshine the bride’s.

  I held it in front of myself and looked in the mirror. The tiny embellishments reflected the light, giving the dress a dazzling look, almost as if it were covered in tiny chips of diamond.

  My heart sank. No matter how gorgeous the dress was, I wouldn’t be wearing it now that the wedding was off. I shouldn’t even try it on, because that would be kind of like torturing myself, wouldn’t it?

  Underneath where the dress had been, several black velvet boxes waited with another note.

  I blinked back the tears threatening to form. I should have called Grant Friday, as soon as I knew the wedding was off, and he wouldn’t have sent all these things. A note read: They’re all yours. Wear whichever you prefer Saturday.

  I took a deep breath and opened one. A pendant, similar to the one he’d already given me, but a beautiful red. I might have assumed it was just red glass a few weeks ago, but I knew it was a ruby. The next box held a pendant with a slightly smaller teardrop: clear, reflective, absolutely gorgeous. The biggest diamond I’d ever held in my hand. The next appeared to be blue sapphire; another was an opal. He’d also given me a choker-style necklace adorned with diamonds, a string of black pearls that was unbelievably stunning, and a string of white.

  This time, each box contained a pair of matching earrings and a bracelet, as well.

  Grant had spent tens of thousands of dollars on the contents of this box. It was opulent, bordering on ridiculous, that he’d spent so much on a gift for me, and guilt pounded me that I hadn’t called on Friday.

  I’m sure he could return it all, though perhaps not the dress, depending on how he’d purchased it. And I knew money wasn’t an issue with Grant. Still, I felt heartsick as I looked at the box of beautiful things.

  And I knew I couldn’t put off a phone call any longer. I had to call and thank him, of course, so there was no reason to avoid also telling him that the wedding was off.

  I paced as his line rang, touching the dress as I passed it, still marveling at the beadwork and detail and selfishly hating Nance’s fiancé for screwing things up so that I’d never get to wear it.

  Voice mail.

  I scrambled to figure out what to say.

  “Grant. Hi. Um, thank you. Thank you so much for the dress, the jewelry . . . everything. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I’ve never held a dress that stunning in my hands before. I don’t know what to—it’s too much, really. I can’t keep all this, because . . . Well, call me, can you? I need to talk to you about this.” I took a deep breath. “Again, though, thank you. It’s all so beautiful.”

  My voice cracked at the end, but I thought I’d erase that and leave a different message. One that actually said the wedding was off. Voice mail just hadn’t been what I was expec
ting, and didn’t seem the greatest way to relay the news. Though I doubt he’d feel the way I did about it being cancelled.

  I’d try again, and I’d get through it without rambling or nearly crying.

  I touched the wrong number, which sent the message through as-is.

  Damn it, Sophie.

  Oh, well. If a girl couldn’t be a little overwhelmed at a gift like that, when could she be? The dress had nearly made me cry, so I figured it was all right if I sounded like I might.

  Now, I had to brace for his return call so that I could inform him of the wedding’s cancellation without breaking down or sounding like an idiot.

  And since I had never held a dress like that in my hands, and would likely never get another opportunity to wear a designer dress by someone like La Costa, I supposed there wasn’t any harm in trying it on.

  Five

  Grant didn’t call back Monday night.

  Tuesday morning at about nine, I got a call from Holliscorp. A woman named Jan McAllister wanted to know if I could come in for a meeting at one o’clock. After I hung up, I debated whether or not to call Grant again. He had told me that I was to let him know anytime I would be at Holliscorp, after all. Maybe this time I’d get him on the phone and be able to explain about the wedding.

  I didn’t want to, but I called him again. Still, only his voice mail answered.

  “Grant, I really need to talk to you, so if you could call me back . . . and I have a meeting at Holliscorp at one o’clock today. You wanted to know. Okay, talk to you soon.”

  Grant didn’t call me back. I expected to find him waiting for me at Holliscorp, like before, but he wasn’t there.

  When I told the receptionist I was there to see Chris Hale, she frowned and looked at her computer screen. “Chris called you?”

  “No, a woman named Jan called, but I assumed it was for a meeting with Chris.”

  She smiled. “Ah, I see. You can go on back. Same office where you went before.”

  “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure I understood, but I knew where to go.

  A woman sat behind Chris’ desk. She smiled and stood as I approached, then held out her hand for me to shake. “Hi, Sophie. I’m Jan. I understand you’ve worked with Chris on this project so far, but I hope you and I will get along just as well.”

  “I . . . I’m sure we will. Is everything all right, with Chris, I mean?”

  “Oh,” she waved and sat down. “He’s fine. He was transferred to a different division where Mr. Hollis thought Chris’ leadership skills were more needed. Quite a promotion, since he’s heading up the department overseeing several branch companies instead of just this one. He spoke highly of you to me. I’m surprised he didn’t give you a call before he left. It was a fast transfer, though. He probably hasn’t had time to breathe.”

  She grinned broadly, and I couldn’t help but like her. She seemed plain-spoken and genuine. But something still bothered me about Chris’ abrupt departure.

  “It was sudden? I mean, he didn’t know it was coming? I just saw him Friday afternoon, and he didn’t say he was leaving.”

  Jan shook her head. “He didn’t know until Saturday. He called me after the meeting with Hollis and briefed me on some current projects while he was cleaning out his office.”

  She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “I hated to see him go. Best boss I ever had. Case in point, when Hollis asked who should replace him, he recommended me, and here I am.”

  “I liked working with him, too. Maybe I can stop in his new office and congratulate him on my way out.” And ask a few questions about what happened. I was getting a sneaking suspicion I didn’t care for.

  “I can give you his new number if you’d like to congratulate him.” Jan wrote a number on a small, yellow tablet and tore the piece off for me. “He’s working out of one of the hub offices in Detroit now. I doubt you’ll be able to reach him yet. I wouldn’t expect him to be in the office and moved for another week or two. I can’t give out his personal number, of course, but I can have him contact you if you’d like to speak to him.”

  Detroit. Several hundred miles away. Saturday. After Grant kissing me in front of Chris on Friday, and then his odd request for me to compare the burger dinner with Chris to the one with him.

  Grant must have convinced Hollis to do this.

  I felt so many different things. I was angry that Grant would upend Chris’ life because of what? One lunch meeting? It had been perfectly innocent, and when Chris asked me out, I explained that I was Grant’s fiancé—an outright lie, not the kind Grant preferred. That’s all there was to it. How did Grant even know about that? Maybe he didn’t, and he thought a lunch meeting was enough reason to raise a stink? I was also angry at Aten Hollis, for doing something like that because Grant asked him.

  Then I worried what Grant might have told Hollis to convince him to transfer Chris.

  And a part of me felt a thrill that Grant really might be jealous enough to do something like that.

  I took a deep breath. It could also be a simple coincidence and have nothing to do with Grant. But until I could speak to him, I wouldn’t know. And he hadn’t called me back, despite my asking twice.

  I needed to talk to Aten Hollis.

  The rest of the meeting with Jan went fine. I liked her, and felt confident that everything would work out with her as head of the art department. But I stewed on the rest of it, and immediately called Aten Hollis when I’d reached my car.

  His secretary informed me that he wasn’t available, but she would leave a message for him to read tomorrow.

  My second phone call was to Grant. And this time, he answered.

  “Sophie, I was just about to call you,” he said. I was struck at the tone of his voice. He’d spoken to me gruffly, demanding, sweetly, softly, sexily. But this time, Grant sounded tired.

  “Good, because we need to have a serious talk about Chris Hale.”

  Silence fell, and several seconds later, Grant said, “We can do that. But first, I need you to join me tomorrow morning for an event at nine o’clock. Is that possible?”

  Grant had never asked before. He demanded. The sudden change caught me off-guard. “Yes, it’s possible . . . but first I really want to know if you had something to do with Chris being transferred.”

  “I really have to go, Sophie. I’ll answer your questions tomorrow, I promise. A car will pick you up at eight-thirty sharp.”

  “But—”

  “Wear the funeral dress.”

  He hung up before I could say anything else.

  Six

  If Grant hadn’t sounded tired, if he hadn’t been so abrupt, I think I’d have called him back and demanded to discuss Chris Hale right then. But he’d told me to wear the funeral dress, the one he’d thrown on my bed along with the dress he’d purchased, and made me choose between them. Is that where we were going? To a funeral? Or just to some event that required a more modest appearance than the dinners he’d taken me to?

  The weariness in his voice led me to believe a funeral was a real possibility.

  I sighed and decided to wait to speak to him in person. I only had to make it until the next morning, after all.

  I didn’t sleep well that night, wondering what was going on, and what I was going to say to Grant about Chris. And how I needed to tell him that the wedding was off.

  I dozed in fits and starts, but I snapped awake at about five and still lay awake at six, so I went ahead and took a shower to get ready. I dozed a little after my shower, but never fell back to sleep enough to feel rested. The last thing I did before the driver buzzed was put on the beautiful black pearl necklace, earrings and bracelet Grant had sent me. They seemed appropriate, and I wanted to show him how much I appreciated the thoughtfulness and generosity, even if he’d send them back soon. I grabbed my black clutch purse and followed the driver out of the building.

  Grant wasn’t in the car waiting for me, but the driver said he was expecting me. After a short drive, we pulled up
in front of a huge, ornate church. The shiny, black hearse parked in front, closest to the entrance, set a stone of dread in my stomach.

  As the driver was closing the door behind me, I glanced up and saw Grant coming down the stairs. He took my hands when he reached me and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Whose funeral is this?”

  “My Uncle Clayton.”

  When I heard uncle, my face must have fallen, because Grant shook his head and squeezed my hands. “He was ninety, Sophie, suffering from Alzheimer’s, and hadn’t known anyone or anything for years. This is a mercy.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Still, I’m sorry. Were you close?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t say anything else, but his throat moved, and his eyes went a little glassy. Yes, they were close. That showed on his face.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. He held my hand the entire walk up the stairs and into the church, past the fount to the front pew. A shining casket of reddish-wood with gold adornments sat at the front of the church, covered in a spray of flowers, with floral arrangements filling the space on both sides.

  “Aunt Marie?” Grant said, touching the shoulder of a frail, elderly woman who wore a black hat with a black mesh veil in front.

  “Yes, dear—oh, is this Sophie?”

  Grant introduced me to Marie Michaelson, his uncle’s widow. She took one of my hands in both of hers and smiled. “Grant just told me that he had a special friend who was coming. Aren’t you beautiful!” She beamed at Grant, then focused on me again. “It’s so lovely of you to come.”

  “Of course,” was all I could say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “He was a good man,” she said, tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes. “But it was past time.”

  I nodded, and then she gave me a quick, unexpected hug and patted the pew next to her. “You two sit right here with me.”

  So I sat on the front pew between Grant and his aunt, and as people filed in and greeted Marie, she either introduced them to me as “Grant’s girlfriend, Sophie,” or they shook Grant’s hand and he introduced me by name without explaining who I was. I was introduced to more of Grant’s uncles and aunts, his cousins, nieces and nephews, and some of Marie’s relatives who were related to the Michaelson family by marriage. All the introductions were quick and quiet, with lots of sad faces, nods and handshakes.