His eyes widened at the dare in her voice and his smile grew, making the crinkles at the corners of his eyes sexier than they had any right to be. Normally she wasn’t into older men. Too many control issues. Too much baggage. But his incongruities intrigued her.
Yoga mat. Cupcakes. Muscular arms. A sense of humor. All that put together was practically her catnip.
“Maybe another lifetime,” he said, toasting her with his hot chocolate as he headed out the door.
Aisha shamelessly watched his muscular butt shift and flex under the gray sweatpants as he walked away. “Damn, he’s fine.”
“You can say that again,” the woman behind the counter agreed with a low chuckle. “Good for you for trying, though.”
Tried but failed. It wasn’t every day Aisha got told no. But into every life a little rain must fall. It really was too bad that it had to be this time.
Aisha sipped her coffee and watched through the bakery’s glass door as the man strolled across the full parking lot. A silver Acura was parked nearby. He reached into his pocket for a set of keys, but instead of opening the Acura as she’d expected, he unlocked the antique, apple-green Ford truck parked next to it.
Wow. Nothing about him was what she expected. Another jolt of disappointment settled in her belly as she watched him drive away and out of her life.
“Aisha.” Her sister’s voice came from just behind her, warm and teasing. “What kind of trouble are you starting now?”
Chapter 2
If Aisha killed Oliver Jeffries, she probably wouldn’t get away with it.
Muttering under her breath, she slammed her front door shut and threw her keys toward the ceramic bowl on the bookshelf. She missed. With a discordant clang, the keys clipped the bowl, skidded over the polished mahogany shelf and fell on the floor. Her black cat, Eloise, who’d been napping on the couch, gave a frightened yowl and took off like a shot.
Great. Just like the rest of her day was going.
That bastard Tully.
Her boss damn well knew Jeffries had stolen elements of her design. Days ago, she’d showed Tully her plan for the bank building in downtown Valerian, the town where her parents had been born and lived before moving down to Atlanta.
Aisha’s hand clenched around the stack of envelopes and flyers she’d just picked up from the mailbox.
The project had been a special one to her. Thoughts of making her mother really proud of her for designing a bank that would sit proudly in downtown Valerian with her name on the plans had been ringing in her mind as she’d lovingly and carefully designed the two-story, mid-19th-century red-brick building. The design had fit the architecture of the historic downtown but had all the necessary modern conveniences on the interior.
Before the final meeting with Tully, she’d slipped out to get a quick cup of coffee that had turned into a mini-counseling session in the dining room—God forbid they call it a “break room”—and when she got back to her office, she’d been just in time to see Oliver Jeffries slipping out the door. Like a naive fool, she’d left her plans for the bank spread out on her drafting table.
Two days after her meeting with both Albert Tully and Wallace Wainwright, Jeffries had his. Magically, his design not only had the same type and shape facade, but even the enclosed courtyard with benches and green space for its employees to use.
Screw all of those guys. Every single one.
Snarling at the empty air, she dropped her purse and the mail on her sofa. At two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, her house was quiet just as she normally liked it. But at home wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
Her shoes tumbled to the hardwood floor when she kicked them off.
Aisha loved her work. Creating incredible, or even just useful, structures conceived in the palace of her mind was what she’d always dreamed of doing as a kid. And now the stupid idiots at Wainwright and Tully were turning her dream against her.
Like she always did when she was feeling upset, she grabbed the phone to call her sister and headed for the kitchen. She needed some coffee right now. When Dev answered, she jumped right in.
“They did it again.” Her voice was rough from holding back a scream. “They gave another man at the firm a project that was supposed to be mine.”
“What...? Damn. Are you sure?” Before Aisha could reply, Dev said something to someone else, the muffled words a sign she’d covered the phone. Then she heard the sound of high heels on a hardwood floor and a door closing.
It sounded like Dev was at the site of her new gallery. Devyn Clark Galleries wasn’t officially open yet, still in the throes of putting the finishing touches in place.
“Crap. I’m sorry,” Aisha apologized. “You’re at work. Where I should be. We can talk later.” Ugh, she was a mess.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m in my office now. What happened?”
In the kitchen and fiddling with the fancy new coffeemaker her brother got her for her last birthday, she told Dev the entire story.
Her sister sounded shocked. “They can’t do that, can they? Legally, I mean.”
With a fresh cup of coffee in her favorite mug, Aisha wandered to the window looking over her landscaped backyard. Although she was too young to remember living in Valerian, she often imagined what her days would have been like there. Of all the things she’d seen during the family visits over the years, she loved the big trees with swings hanging from them the most.
So she’d recreated a little bit of that in her own backyard. The tree wasn’t massive like the ones she’d played under in Valerian, but her large magnolia was strong enough to hold a swing on one of its big branches and a small sitting hammock on another.
Being out there would probably do her a world of good now. She needed that calm.
“I’m not sure about the legality, honestly,” she said. “But I do know it’s not fair. If anyone looks closely at the firm’s designs for the last however many years, they’ll see that most, if not all, of the buildings we designed were done so by the male architects. When I got to the firm, I thought I’d show them what good things a fresh perspective could bring, but they’re not passing over my designs for the same tired structures the good old boys are coming up with, they’re actually stealing my sh—” She bit off the curse and slammed her hand on the dark granite of her kitchen counter.
The sting was oddly satisfying.
Aisha burned from the injustice of what her bosses had done, but was even angrier at herself for not confronting Jeffries when she’d seen him scurrying out of her office that day.
“Don’t break your hand over there, Aisha.” Her sister made a tsking sound. “Just make your moves. Send out those updated résumés you’ve been holding on to. Or, hell, take the job in London. It’s better than having those guys take advantage of you over and over again.”
“Yeah...” A sigh blew past her lips. “I need to do something instead of holding out hope they’ll change. At least the Sykes Prize is something I can hold on to in the meantime.”
“Exactly. You have a lot of good things going on right now. Just go out there and make them even better. One thing I’m so glad about is that you’re not like me. You don’t take anything lying down, and I’m so proud of that. Any challenges that come your way are just obstacles for you to overcome. You never see them as roadblocks.” Aisha could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. “That’s why I know you’ll blow these guys out of the water and show them what a mistake they made treating you like this.”
A smile touched Aisha’s lips. Sometimes it seemed that her sister—hell, her whole family—had more faith in her than she did. But it felt good to know they supported her so completely and trusted in her strength to do what she needed to be happy.
The sound of someone knocking on a door came through the phone.
“Hold on,” Dev said. “Someone’s—”
“No, no! Go back to work. I know you’re busy. We can talk later when you’re free.” She had to stop being so selfish. Her sister had the gallery she was getting ready to open. She didn’t need Aisha talking her ear off in the middle of the afternoon. “Love you, Dev. We’ll talk soon.”
“Okay...if you’re sure.”
“Hang up the phone and get back to work. Bye!” Aisha disconnected the call and dropped the cell in her dress pocket.
Coffee in hand, she went back into the living room and sank into her comfy leather couch. She sighed, curving her hands around the warm mug. Dev was right. She needed to make some moves. London wasn’t a real option since that would mean living too far from her family, but she was open to nearly anything else.
She merely had to find a new firm she wanted and simply make them want her back. With the latest addition of the Sykes Prize to her résumé, that shouldn’t be too hard. Who wouldn’t want an architect who graduated top of her class, interned for one of the best firms in the United States and won the Sykes Prize the first time she entered?
No one, that’s who.
She grinned into her cup and took another yummy sip.
Okay, implosion averted.
Now that her head wasn’t about to explode over her situation at work, she could focus on other things. Like getting her house back in order.
Ugh. What do you live in, a pigsty?
She had to laugh at herself. Her entire house was museum neat, an easy modern design centered around her gorgeous caramel leather couch and accent walls of various shades of green. Because the house was so neat, whenever one thing was out of place, everything seemed chaotic. Like the jumble of mail she’d grabbed from the mailbox and not put in its right place.
But she might as well open it all.
Catalogs. Coupons from stores in the neighborhood. A postcard from one of her friends who’d just left for a year in Japan.
What’s this?
An envelope stood out from the rest of them. Crisp and white with a blue logo in the upper left-hand corner. The return address was for Sykes Global Corporation in midtown.
She’d already been to the glam party where she’d accepted the trophy for the prize then danced the night away with a bunch of executives and banker types she’d probably never see again. The cash prize was in her bank account, untouched, part of her “Screw-It Money” in case Wainwright and Tully tried her patience enough to make her quit before finding another job.
She opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside.
Dear Ms. Clark,
It is with regret that we inform you that the Sylvia Sykes Architectural Prize you previously won has been revoked. The planned use for the building and the stated design requirements were proposed in error. This revocation is through no fault of your own. As a token of our regret, you may keep the funds that were awarded with the prize.
Office of Roman Sykes, CEO
Sykes Global Corporation
Aisha felt sick. She blinked at the letter clenched between her trembling fists. Then she read it again as her stomach roiled and her face flushed with angry heat.
No. They can’t do this.
She’d worked too hard for the prize for them to just take it away. The days she’d spent researching Sylvia Sykes, the late wife of the company’s CEO, to find out exactly what kind of building would do the woman’s life justice. She’d even researched the CEO himself to find out what kind of design a man like him would want.
Then Aisha had used hours and hours of her own time after work—months of hours—to perfect the design she’d eventually entered into the competition. Two male colleagues from Wainwright and Tully had also entered the competition and it had given her sweet validation when she’d beaten them out. Winning the award had been proof that she wasn’t just paranoid in suspecting her bosses of passing over her designs for reasons other than the quality of her work.
Aisha shot to her feet, still clutching the letter. Her knees gave out, no doubt from shock, and she slammed into the coffee table.
“Oh!” She gasped from the pain a second before the nearly full cup of coffee tilted and fell over with a crash. Hot liquid rushed over the coffee table, soaking the mail she’d already sorted through then dripping to the rug.
“Dammit!”
But she wasn’t seeing the spilled coffee. She didn’t see hot brown liquid soaking into the white envelopes on her antique table. No. She was seeing all the plans she’d made, all the options she had after leaving the firm curl up at the edges, wither and die.
Then her sister’s words washed over.
You don’t take anything lying down... Any challenges that come your way are just obstacles for you to overcome.
She crumpled the letter in her fist.
Her sister was right. This letter threatened to crush her career and the future she saw for herself, but she wouldn’t let it. Like Dev said, she wasn’t going to take this lying down. She had a new obstacle to overcome and she’d be damned if it ended up trapping her at Wainwright and Tully with thieves like Oliver Jeffries and bosses who consistently undermined her work and didn’t support her.
With trembling hands, she smoothed out the letter then, after folding it carefully into a neat square, tucked it into her purse.
There was only one thing she could do now.
Her pulse thudded fast and hard in her neck. Her heart raced as she shoved her feet back into her shoes, grabbed her purse and flew out the door, locking it quickly behind her.
If this ass of a CEO thought she’d accept him wrenching the Sykes Prize out of her hand without a fight, she had some bad news for him.
Chapter 3
“Thanks very much, Eileen.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Sykes.”
While the woman from the building’s restaurant walked out with the remnants of his sushi lunch and closed the door behind her, Roman turned to the wide window of his new office and stared out at the Atlanta skyline.
The city was glittering and beautiful spread out before him. Youthful and compelling under the steady caress of the late afternoon sun.
Very much like the woman he’d met at the Grant Park bakery this past Saturday. Days after the encounter, Roman still couldn’t get her out of his mind. Yes, he’d dismissed her as being too young at the time, but something inside him had woken up as she’d flirted with him. He hadn’t wanted to leave her in that bakery and that was what had made him rush out of there like his ass was on fire.
He should be thinking about his father dead in the grave, not this girl. But until his father dropped the responsibility of Sykes Global squarely on his shoulders, Roman had had time enough to pursue women, although he’d never before had such a spark with one so young.
Damn, she’d been gorgeous. Not that simple-minded prettiness of college girls at the bars his brother sometimes dragged him to. No, she was...interesting.
The challenge in her eyes had ignited something inside him. Never before had a woman approached him so aggressively. But, to be fair, she wasn’t even a woman, just a girl who looked too young to even date his little brother, Lance.
Roman blew out a chagrined breath and scratched the corner of an eyebrow. He had to stop thinking about her.
He shook his head and turned from the window back to his desk. The same desk where his father had spent the last thirty-plus years of his life, the desk where he’d died. Now, a month in his grave, his father was shackling Roman to the desk, too, all but ensuring he had the same lonely and pathetic life. And death.
A low growl left his throat. His hands trembled and heated from the sudden desire to break something. He wanted to howl his frustration at the ceiling. But he kept his hands loose at his sides, his mouth shut, and breathed long and deep, summoning ujjayi breath to guide him through the rage rattling his bones and unsettling his foundation.
/> He’d known what he was getting into before sitting behind this desk. He’d known all too well.
That was why, over the weekend before his first day of work, he’d spent the last time he would have for himself doing the things he’d wanted. On Friday evening, he drove up to Lake Lanier with Merrine, his best friend and the one who knew him best now that his mother was dead.
He and Merrine had spent the night at one of those weird “glamping” campsites she loved. They watched the stars, drank kombucha and talked about what they wanted for their lives. They talked about everything.
Then on Saturday morning, he’d taken a session at the yoga studio in Grant Park he’d always meant to try but had never made it to before. He bought Merrine some cupcakes and then, standing in the bakery that smelled like all the combined pleasures of the world, he’d faced what had felt like the greatest temptation of his life.
Although—
Enough, he told himself. He had to get back to work.
Roman settled behind his desk and, on his laptop, pulled up the contracts he’d been looking over before Eileen had knocked at his office door with lunch. Just then, the digital to-do list on his phone popped up with a notification. He dismissed it with a quick tap.
That task was already finished, completed before his first hour in the office. There was still a massive amount of things on his plate for the day, near the end of his first week as CEO of his father’s company. He didn’t completely suck at the job, though. The list had been much bigger when he’d started on Monday.
The work hadn’t been difficult. In fact, although he largely left the day-to-day running of things to people he trusted and paid well, even more so now that he had taken on responsibility of Sykes Global full time, it wasn’t much different from what he did running his own business, a chain of yoga and Pilates studios around the United States as well as the yoga annual retreat. He did know a little bit of what he was doing.
In the end, knocking things off the Sykes Global to-do list had been energizing, enervating, intoxicating in a way he hadn’t expected. And that scared him.
The CEO's Dilemma ; Undeniable Passion Page 2
