by Sofia Grey
The card inside held a brief message.
Happy Birthday. Hope today was a better day.
It was signed J.M.
I laughed at the irony of the situation. The only person to ever send me a bouquet was a guy I spoke to at breakfast. A devastatingly attractive stranger. Maybe—just maybe—the evening could be fun after all. The least I could do would be to join him for drinks, to say thanks.
1.3 Jenny
Le Mistral, the new wine bar in the center of Manchester, was teeming with people I knew. I couldn’t stay long, as Rob would be picking me up on his way home from his football game and he hated to be kept waiting. He wasn’t happy I came here tonight, and I didn’t want to antagonize him further.
I’d go out again this weekend, for a belated celebration for Kate’s birthday. Isobel, a mutual friend, organized a theater trip that sounded like great fun. We’d all worked together at ComCo, a few years ago, but Kate was the only one still there. I wondered how she was spending her birthday. It couldn’t be fun, spending so much time travelling. She was away from home at least one night each week.
Isobel was here tonight, and in her element in this crowd. I watched, amused, as she flitted between people, gossiping and chattering with a confidence I could only dream of. I was much happier in a small group, but my team had all come out after winning a new account, and I’d promised to stay for a little while.
The conversation drifted from vaguely work-related things to relationships. Or rather, the lack of them. Livy, my teammate, crushed endlessly on Hot Jase in Accounts, though he never seemed to notice. Her quest for love made me glad I had Rob. My husband. I glanced at my wedding ring, still shiny after six months on my finger. Being single had been awful. Being married was much better.
“Hubba, hubba,” said Livy, nudging me with her elbow. She indicated the other side of the room with a tilt of her head. “Hot Jase has brought a friend. I think my ovaries might explode.”
I looked up, and my world fell apart.
Holy shit.
Cade Brisley.
My heart lurched so hard I almost got whiplash. A moment ago I was thinking happy thoughts, and now I calculated how quickly I could get out of here. I’d have to walk past him, to get to the exit. I couldn’t duck into the bathrooms, as I’d have to pass him by.
Maybe he wouldn’t see me? Yeah, right. As if I could be so lucky. He turned to speak to Hot Jase, and then locked gazes with me.
Humphrey Bogart muttered inside my head, “Of all the wine bars, in all of the world, why d’you have to walk into mine?” I mean, what were the chances? Millions of people lived in Manchester. Thousands more flocked here for the nightlife. I’d no idea where Cade lived these days, but statistically, we should never bump into each other in a city this size.
He saw me, and shame unfurled in my gut. My cheeks burned at the memory of what happened, and I fought to stay calm. We didn’t have to speak to each other. It wasn’t as though we were friends any more. Judging by the way his dark brows tugged together, he was as disconcerted as I was.
Livy was still talking. “I’ll ask Hot Jase to introduce us. Come with me, Jen.”
I’d rather stick pins in my eyes. I needed a diversion, and fast. Spinning on my heel, I spotted Isobel’s boyfriend gazing at a giant piece of artwork on the wall. He’d do.
“I, umm… Greg. You go.” I had to sound like an idiot, and I didn’t wait for Livy’s reply. I scuttled to Greg’s side, feeling sick to my stomach. Please don’t come over. Please walk away. Pretend you didn’t see me.
God. What if Rob saw him? I sucked in a shaky breath, black dots dancing in my vision. That could not happen. I wouldn’t let it.
Think, Jen. I emptied my glass of wine and stared at the painting. Panic bubbled in my chest. Cade had only just arrived, so he’d be here a while. I could slip out now and wait for Rob outside. I’d walk past Cade and pretend he wasn’t there.
Oh, great. Now Greg was talking to me, and I’d no idea what he said. Focus. I dug deep and managed an artificial smile. “Sorry. I didn’t catch that.” Every atom of me was on red alert, waiting for the footstep behind me. The hand on my shoulder. For Cade to speak to me.
“Purgatory,” said Greg.
“What?” This was more like my idea of hell.
He gestured toward the painting with his glass. “I don’t get modern art,” he said.
“No.”
I didn’t know him very well, but he was a safer option than staying with Livy. How soon could I escape?
I checked my phone, though it hadn’t vibrated. As if he’d read my mind, a text from Rob popped up.
5 mins. I’ll stop outside. Be ready.
Thank God. I might get out of this mess without any blood being spilled. I’d hold my head high and walk straight to the exit. It’d take me a couple of minutes to get out of the building, and then I could go home with my husband and pretend this nightmare never happened.
I thought I said goodnight to Greg, but I couldn’t be sure. One step and then another, I skirted around the edge of the room, making sure I knew where Cade was as I moved. He stood by the bar, facing away from me.
Please don’t turn around.
Livy waved to me. I waved back.
No stopping. Keep moving.
I accelerated a few steps from the doors, and hurried through them as though racing for the last bus. Cool air hit my face, and I gulped a shaky breath. Rob would be here any minute. I had to calm down. If he thought for a second that Cade had been here, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Chapter 2
2.1 Jordan
It took a lot to disturb my practiced composure. As Vice Chairman of TM-Tech, my father’s multi-national company, I had a lot of people working for me. I was used to handling them and their problems on a daily basis, but when it came to Louisa? She pushed all my buttons.
I sat at the back of the conference hall, my gaze fixed on the keynote speaker, but my mind dancing back and forth. Louisa seemed to think I could offer advice on her marriage. Really? I’d never been married, for heaven’s sake, nor come close. My last steady relationship was months ago. Too many months. Why did Lou think I was qualified to counsel her?
I couldn’t turn my back on her. We grew up together and were more like siblings—so close, she’d driven two hundred miles down to Exeter from London, rather than talking over the phone or waiting until the conference was over. She was only in the country for a few more days, and then she’d be going home to Texas.
She was married to Marcus, which meant taking sides was impossible. She joined him in Berlin for a short break, but they argued. Again. What the hell could I tell her?
I sneaked a look at my phone. There was a missed call from Louisa and several new voicemails. After spending most of the previous evening with her, I hoped she’d for once taken my advice, and gone back to London.
As I sat through yet another data-filled set of slides, my mind arced back to Kate. Had she received the flowers yet?
I rarely acted on impulse. Every action was planned and considered, but this was different. Her chocolate-brown eyes were warm and friendly, softening her sharp businesslike appearance and attitude. Kate intrigued me.
When I finally left the conference suite, I saw her sitting at the bar across the foyer, and I hesitated. She looked stunning. A shimmering top clung to every curve, and I couldn’t drag my gaze from her long legs. She faced the opposite way, toward the windows, a drink in hand.
I wanted her.
The realization hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Recovering my composure, I forced myself to stroll toward the bar area. I tried to look casual, but when she turned and smiled at me, I was a goner.
Several thoughts jostled for attention. She was alone. She might be waiting for me. I needed to find out what the fuck Louisa was doing and if I was free tonight. And I had to ditch my colleagues.
One of my executives, Antony, paused by my side. “You joining us
for dinner?”
My gaze strayed back to Kate and the elegant foot swinging against the barstool. Hell. Even if Louisa was still here, I’d find a way to have a drink with Kate. Just a drink? With some effort, I summoned a polite response for Antony. “I already have plans. Enjoy your evening.”
“You too.”
He walked off, and I dug out my phone and dialed the voicemail. A few steps to the right was an alcove, and I ducked in there while I listened to my messages. Work. More work. Marcus asking a work question. And then, thank Christ, Louisa. She returned to London.
My time was my own.
2.2 Kate
I settled at the bar and found a position with a good view of the entrance to the conference suite. With a bottle of champagne on ice, and a glass of soda water in front of me, it was just a case of waiting. Sure enough, the doors eventually opened and disgorged a group of delegates. In their dark suits and with their noisy chatter, they reminded me of a flock of starlings.
Jordan came out of the conference suite, locked gazes with me, and then disappeared from sight, phone pressed to his ear. I’d give him quarter of an hour, and if he didn’t return, I’d take the champagne back to my room and admit defeat.
I’d only waited a couple of minutes, when he strolled into the bar area and headed straight for my stool. “Hey, Birthday Girl.” His lips curved in the start of a smile, and my stomach cartwheeled in delight.
He was here. I’d been so caught up in my shitty day that I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was. Six foot tall at least, he was built like an athlete. His profile was lean and strong, the mouth full and sensuous, and his slate-gray eyes sparkled under the bar lights. The business suit fit him like a dream. Why were there no men like this at home? The city was full of either football fanatics, sporting Manchester City shirts, or students in ragged jeans and hoodies.
I dragged my thoughts under control, tamped down the introverted part of me that wanted to run back to my room, and managed to smile without looking like an idiot. If I pretended he was a business associate or a customer, I’d be fine. I could breeze through that.
“Thank you for the flowers. They were a lovely surprise. Won’t you have a drink with me?” I lifted the champagne from its bucket, to underline my invitation.
“Thanks. I will.”
The barman materialized and opened the bottle before pouring two glasses. I longed to look cool and relaxed, as though chatting to gorgeous men in bars was a normal pastime for me. I took a sip of the champagne and tried to figure out what to say next.
He spoke before I could. “If you don’t have any plans already, I’d like to take you to dinner.” There was that sultry cowboy drawl again. He stepped closer and leaned against the bar next to me. “Happy birthday, Kate.”
Jesus. That accent was doing funny things to me. I wanted to swoon. Tilting my head back, I looked into his eyes. “Dinner would be good. The restaurant here?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He tugged a stool next to mine and slid onto the seat, resting one elbow on the bar. “So how was your day?”
On a scale of one to horrendous, it hovered somewhere around terrible, but that wasn’t for sharing. “Definitely improving.” I took a slug of my drink. “How was the conference?”
“Busy. This is a good venue, though.”
I nodded. The conversation was shifting into familiar territory. “I’ve stayed here a few times, and I like it. I travel a lot, and a decent hotel makes such a difference.”
A couple stepped up to the bar, and Jordan eased closer to me. “Damn right. What’s the worst place you ever stayed?”
I thought about it. “First time I went camping. My tent leaked water, probably because I hadn’t set it up right, and I was eaten alive by midges.” Jordan’s lips quirked, but I hadn’t finished. “Even worse was the shower block. Jesus. It was like a shrine to dead insects. Seriously.”
“Not into camping, huh?”
“These days I prefer a sprung mattress, a decent shower, and WiFi.”
He huffed a laugh and chinked his glass against mine. “Same. Add a good gym and maybe a pool, and I’m happy.”
My glass was empty. I watched as Jordan poured more champagne for both of us. “My little sister is backpacking her way around Europe at the moment. I could never do that,” I said.
“I used to go hiking a lot. But yeah, the days of crashing on a foam mat are long gone.”
He talked about a disastrous trip to the South of France when he was eighteen, and before I knew it, we were swapping stories like old friends. Maybe it was just the alcohol fizzing through my bloodstream, but I was enjoying myself.
At some point, he glanced at his watch—an expensive-looking piece. “How about that dinner? We could take the champagne with us.”
Jordan led me into the busy dining hall, with his hand resting in the small of my back. The possessive gesture sent delicious shivers down my spine. He spoke to the maître d’, who found us a secluded table at the back.
I sank into my chair, unsteady on my feet. Probably a combination of spending my lunch break shopping instead of eating, and then breaking in the new shoes I bought. So far so good. They only pinched slightly, and they looked magnificent. Proper Fuck-Me heels.
What was going on in my head? It was unsettling to admit, but I was more turned on, than I’d been my entire time with Tony. This unbidden thought made me smile. Jordan Merrill had no right to be so darkly attractive. Those sensuous lips were made for kissing.
He gazed at me from across the table. “We should look at the menus. What do you like?”
“I like most things.” Great. That made me sound simple. I bought some regrouping time, by browsing the food options. “How about the Mexican-style combo?” I glanced up and found him looking at me. The way he raked his gaze over me made my body heat. I gulped some champagne. “It’s… um, a banquet designed with two people in mind.” I carried on reading the description aloud. “Ribs, potato skins, shrimps, onion rings, Mexican spiced chicken pieces, soft flour tortillas, and an assortment of dips and salsas. Sounds good.”
“Uh huh. Could be messy.”
“Much more interesting, though. Eating with your fingers, I mean.”
“Definitely.” He beckoned a passing waiter, placed our order, and then turned his attention back to me. He grinned, his teeth white and even. “You’d probably like the food in Houston. We have some excellent Mexican restaurants there. I’m not sure how authentic this is gonna be, but it should be fun.”
“Do you get home often?”
“Every couple of months. Business meetings, mostly.” Wow, and I thought I traveled a lot for work. “So,” he continued. “Will you celebrate your birthday properly when you go home?”
I remembered the row with Tony, and my mood slumped. “Not until the weekend, when I catch up with friends. I had plans for dinner with my boyfriend, but he moved out yesterday.” I shrugged, as though it didn’t mean a thing.
“Poor you.” Jordan’s voice was gentle. “You had a rough day, didn’t you?”
“I guess I knew it was going to happen, just not when.” That was enough of my whining. I didn’t want to talk about Tony and my failed relationship. I cast around, for some way to ask about his relationship situation, when the waiter arrived. He bustled around us, this time laying out plates and a basket of bread rolls.
I wrapped my fingers around my glass. “And you? Do you have someone at home waiting for you?”
“Uh huh.” He did? I felt crushed, but then I saw the crinkle around his eyes. “My cousin Louisa is visiting at the moment,” he said. “She’s married to my best friend, but he’s in Berlin right now, so she’s hanging at my place for a couple days.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“She likes the shopping in London. I’m used to it.” He flashed me a grin. “So, tell me. Favorite birthday meal?”
It was a skillful subject change, and an easy question to answer. “Pancakes and ice cream.” He cocked his head, amus
ement dancing across his face, and I went on. “There used to be a chain of roadside restaurants, Little Chef, and they made a fabulous dessert called Jubilee Pancakes. Thick, fluffy pancakes folded over, with a sweet cherry sauce inside and a slab of vanilla cream.” I hummed softly at the memory. “I would have been six years old, we were going somewhere on my birthday, and Mum said I could pick whatever I liked best for my dinner. So I chose the pancakes.” I ran an unsteady hand through my hair but made my voice bright and happy. “How about you?”
“My aunt is Italian, and she makes a lasagna to die for. Seriously. I’ve eaten pasta in Rome and Naples, and none of it matches up to her recipe. It’s her family secret, and she flat out refuses to share it.” He rolled his eyes, his lips tugging up at the corners. “It’s kinda spoiled me for eating lasagna in a restaurant. I’ll always compare it to hers.”
“Remind me never to make lasagna for you. I’d hate to be second best.” Where the hell did that come from? Presumptuous, much? I was saved further inanities by the waiter and his trolley of hot dishes.
2.3 Jordan
As I expected, the food was a bastardized version of what I’d eat back home, but Kate’s enjoyment made it worthwhile.
She exclaimed in delight at the array of choices on the table, and her warm brown eyes sparkled. “I don’t know what to try first.”
I could help with that. I folded a floury tortilla around a pile of shredded chicken and salsa, and held the package to her mouth. After a brief hesitation, she met my stare and bit into the tortilla.
Christ. Watching her eat was almost as good as porn. I’d play the visual in slow-motion in my head later. Probably when I jerked off in the shower. She parted her lips and then closed her mouth around the food, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She had to know I was imagining her taking my cock that way.
