“I already told you there’s no longer a Daphne.”
“Does Daphne know that? She seems confused.”
“She does know that. And what happens between you and me is our business alone.”
“My boss Daniel just made it his business.”
“I can handle Daniel,” he said.
“I don’t want you to handle Daniel. It’s my career. I’ll handle it.”
Another long pause while he stared at her, clearly replaying her words and formulating his counterarguments. And those eyes! They were everywhere, seeing everything. Noticing the way she clasped her hands in her lap, the way her foot jiggled when he made her nervous and, probably, the way her pulse thumped in her throat when he looked at her with that relentless focus.
“I respect women,” he finally said, his words slow and measured. “I respect their wishes. I respect your wishes. No means no. I understand that.”
She waited, a perverse sinking feeling in her heart. So that was it then. She’d driven him away that easily. Well, no surprise there. She’d been an expert at driving people away since birth.
He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees.
“The thing you need to understand is that we like each other. Very well. Work has thrown us together and will continue to throw us together. In a case like this?” He shrugged. “We will find a way to be together. It’s inevitable. We both know it. I won’t have to stalk you because you’ll seek me out. And that is as it should be when people connect the way we connect.”
“Baptiste…”
“This is where we are. We have to deal with it.”
Samira sat there, mute and mutinous, drowning inside her fears. What could she say to any of that? That she didn’t like him, when he could probably catch the scent of her lust leaching out of her pores? That she was afraid he’d hurt her when he up and disappeared back to France, which he would eventually do? That he didn’t talk sense about work conspiring to put them together, when she knew he did?
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she lied smoothly. “I just know how much you enjoy hearing yourself talk, and I didn’t want to interrupt. If that’s all…?”
Another burst of his addictive laughter.
“You know what I enjoy as much as listening to myself?”
“I can hardly imagine,” she said, pretending to stifle a yawn before rifling through some papers on her desk.
“Matching wits with you. You are a fascinating woman, Samira.”
God, he was good at pretending he meant it.
A sudden flare of panic triggered her flight response. She had to shut this whole thing down before she got hurt again.
“I’m not getting attached to you. Not in any way. Just so you know.”
“Samira.” His look was almost pitying. “You already are. As I am to you.”
Lacking a coherent response to this 100 percent accurate assessment of her feelings, she focused on a diversion.
“Don’t let me keep you,” she said, stapling something that didn’t need to be stapled. “Bye.”
Sighing, he stood and turned to go just as the receptionist’s voice came over the line.
“Samira? You done with your meeting? Terrance is here. He’s been waiting for you.”
“Terrance?” Samira was too shocked to keep the dismay out of her voice. Evidently Baptiste heard it, because he looked back over his shoulder at her, frowning. “What does he want?”
“He said he wanted a quick word,” the receptionist said. “I can tell him you’re too busy…?”
“Umm…” Samira kept her gaze lowered, thinking hard while trying to avoid Baptiste’s intent and curious gaze on her face. Honestly, could this day get any worse? It wasn’t bad enough that she had to keep a sexy Frenchman at bay, but now she also had to deal with a surprise appearance from her ex? “No, it’s okay. Send him back. I can spare a few minutes. Thanks.”
Samira stood and smoothed her slacks. By this time, continuing to ignore Baptiste just seemed childish, so she hit him with her most withering glare.
“What?”
“You sounded upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m fine,” she said, her voice a good octave too high. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Shadows collected across his face, dimming the light in his bright eyes. “And who is Terrance?” He paused, then seemed to reconsider the rough edge in his tone. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
The none of your business was right on the tip of her tongue, so it was with some surprise that she opened her mouth and said,
“My ex fiancé.”
Baptiste went very still, except for a twitching muscle at the back of his jaw.
“I see.”
There was a knock on her open door.
“Hey, Samira,” Terrance said. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I can come back when your meeting’s over.”
“It’s fine,” Samira said. “We’re done.”
But Baptiste didn’t look done. He didn’t look done at all. He loomed in the middle of the office, a flinty-eyed and insurmountable obstacle that Terrance would have to vault or dynamite out of the way if he wanted to get to Samira.
After a long and measured look at Terrance—Baptiste was a little taller and more muscular, with broader shoulders, Samira noted—Baptiste stuck out his hand.
“Jean-Baptiste Mercier,” he said. “Pleasure.”
Lobbing a quizzical glance at Samira over Baptiste’s shoulder, Terrance shook his hand before squinting at him.
“Terrance Shields. Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” Baptiste said. “And now, I will give you your privacy.”
With a final and particularly pointed glance in Samira’s direction, Baptiste left, taking all the room’s air with him.
“What was that about?” Terrance asked, one brow hiked.
“Never mind that,” Samira said. “The question is, what are you doing here?”
10
“I don’t have much time,” Samira said brusquely. “I have work and a luncheon.”
“Yeah, I saw the caterers setting up. What’s all the commotion about?”
“Harper Rose is merging with a French winery, so they’re having a getting-to-know-you luncheon. Baptiste is the owner. Meanwhile, I need to get busy drafting press releases.”
Terrance snapped his fingers. “That’s it. That’s where I know that guy from. He’s Jean-Baptiste Mercier.”
“I know,” Samira said, frowning. “He just told you that.”
“No. He was on the cover of Wine Snob magazine awhile back. He owns some huge vineyard, but that’s not even his main business. His family comes from old money. Lot of old money. Fashion and finance, I think. Shouldn’t you know all this?”
“Well, I would, but I haven’t had the chance to look him up online yet,” Samira said, feeling off-balance and vaguely disgruntled. Baptiste was rich? Really rich? She’d realized he had money, of course, what with the watch, designer luggage and luxury suite and all. And if he owned the vineyard that was going to bail out Harper Rose, then he had a few coins in the bank. But…fashion and finance? Old money? “We just found out about the merger today.”
“You should check him out.”
“I plan to. But you didn’t come here to talk about Baptiste.”
“No.” Awkward laugh from Terrance, who rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for seeing me. I didn’t think you would.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not happy about it,” she said sourly. “What’s up?”
“I miss you,” he said. “I miss my best friend.”
The quiet confession got her, locking her lingering hostility down tight.
She stared at his handsome and clean-shaven brown-skinned face, with the granite facial structure and sparkling brown eyes. He wore his hair in a skull trim, just this side of baldness, and his faded jeans and plaid lumberjack shirt were items they'd picked out to
gether, on a day trip to the city.
He was achingly familiar, exactly the man she’d thought she’d marry even if it turned out she didn’t know much about him at all. Even if he was yet another important person in her life who ultimately didn’t want her.
“I miss you, too,” she admitted reluctantly.
Hope brightened his face.
“Can we go outside and talk? Maybe sit on the bench for a minute?”
She checked her watch and wished her heart were a little harder.
“Sure. For a quick minute.”
He smiled, a quick flash of dimples, then reached for her hand.
Much to her surprise, she couldn’t deny him that, either.
He led her down the hallway, past the retail shop—oh, God, was that Baptiste, lingering over the tasting bar with Daniel? —and outside, where they walked down one of the cobblestone pathways and found a seat on the bench under the wisteria trellis that overlooked the vines and the river.
They got settled. She pulled her hand free and stared down at the water.
“So why are we here?” she asked after a while.
“Is there any way you can answer my texts when I check in with you? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Men, she thought, rolling her eyes before turning to face him. Gay or straight, they loved to assume you just shriveled up and died when they weren't in the room, didn’t they?
“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?”
“You look great.” His voice sounded thick with emotion. “I hope you believe how sorry I am. And that none of this is your fault. I should never have let things get this far. I just wasn’t…I don’t know. I wasn’t ready to be who I am yet.”
“Have you told your parents the real reason we called off the wedding? It’s kind of hard for me to keep floating this excuse that we weren’t on the same page about our relationship.”
“No.” He shrank inside his skin a little. “My mother might understand—”
“She probably already knows on some level, Terrance.”
“But my dad will flip out. And my church…”
He broke off, shrugging.
Wounded as she felt, she couldn’t stand the idea of this proud man doing anything other than walking in his own truth.
“You have to tell them,” she said. “It’s the twenty-first century. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to live your life and be who you are. If they don’t understand that, then screw them. I’m sorry if they’re your parents, but that’s how I feel.”
“You don’t understand either,” he said, staring off at the horizon.
“It’s not that I don’t understand,” she said helplessly.
“What is it, then?”
She struggled to identify all the simmering emotions inside her. Worked hard to strap her words down and make them behave.
“You’re you. So go do you. But who am I? A woman you don’t want? A woman who’s so clueless that she doesn’t even know when she’s sleeping with a gay guy? For over a year? What am I supposed to think about my people skills? What about my judgment? Was I so eager to get married that I ignored all kinds of warning signs?”
He stared her dead in the face. “How are you supposed to see warning signs if I’m careful to make sure there are none?”
The constricted muscles in her chest loosened a little, letting her breathe more easily.
“So you never cheated on me? I couldn’t force myself to ask before.”
“I’m not a cheater.” Long pause. “But I wanted to. There’s this guy at work—”
“Oh, my God. Jeremy?”
His eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“You talked about him all the time. Is he gay?”
“That’s something I need to figure out,” he said wryly. “I think I saw him checking out a guy when we were walking down the street to lunch one time. So… maybe.”
She thought that over—Terrance possibly hooking up with Jeremy—and searched deep inside her heart. She discovered that she didn’t feel jealousy or anything other than the sincere desire for him to be happy. If Jeremy made him happy, then so be it.
“I hope that works out for you,” she said. “I really do.”
He watched her, his expression glowing with unmistakable admiration. Then he pressed his lips together, quickly turned away and ran the back of his hand over his eyes.
“This is why, if I ever married a woman, it had to be you, Samira. This is why I love you so much. This is why I miss you and still text you every day. Because you’re the greatest woman I know. The greatest person.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, ducking her head to dab at her own wet eyes.
“And I don’t want you to ever think that something you did or didn’t do made things turn out this way. I was selfish. I wasn’t ready to face who I am. My life would be so much easier if I could be a straight man with you as my wife. My parents worship you. You think they’re going to worship Jeremy if I bring him home one day?”
She laughed with surprise at that unlikely image.
“If I could have figured out a way to marry you and never have to deal with sexual desires, I’d have done that in a minute.” He hesitated, eyeing her closely. “Is this helping at all? Or do you want me to shut the hell up?”
She thought it over. So he did want her. Sort of.
“It is helping, actually. I always wondered why our sex life was a little, ah…”
“Lukewarm? Blah? Meh? Boring?”
“Okay,” she said, her face burning. “Now I do want you to shut the hell up.”
They laughed together for a wonderful moment, the kind they used to share all the time, and she realized she was right to let go of her hard feelings and disappointment. Was she supposed to be angry that this man had had the courage to stand up and be who he was in a world where so many people were still homophobic? Was she supposed to be disappointed that he’d stopped her from marrying a man who didn’t—and could never—love her the way a wife deserved to be loved?
Maybe she was a little slow at times, but she wasn’t foolish.
Maybe she also wasn’t as unlovable as she feared.
He sobered at last, his smile slipping away. “I mailed the last of the notes yesterday, by the way. And I’ve returned my half of the gifts.”
“Good.” Thank God he’d handled his end of the housekeeping details. “I wasn’t really worried.”
“Did you get the AmEx bill?”
She shrugged.
“I want you to take this and sell it. Use it to pay the bill. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out…her engagement ring.
Funny to see it now. Two and a half carats of the finest that Tiffany and Company had to offer, her dreams flashing in his palm. She’d wanted that ring. Prayed for it. Loved it. Taken it as a symbol of the family they’d build and the children they’d produce and love the way her birth mother had never loved her.
She’d also thrown this ring at his feet when he broke off the engagement.
Ambivalence made her hesitate for some perverse reason she couldn’t begin to understand.
Stubborn pride? A tiny remnant of bitterness, despite what she’d just told him?
All she knew was that she hated it when people thought she couldn’t manage things on her own.
“You keep it. You have bills to pay, too. It’s only mine to keep if we get married.”
“It’s yours to keep if I give it to you,” he said firmly. “Here. Take it.”
“But—”
“I insist.”
She reluctantly took it, slipping it onto her finger only because her slacks didn’t have pockets and she had nowhere else to put it. But she put it on her right hand this time.
“Thanks,” she said with a grateful smile, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. Selling the ring would make all the difference to her financial bottom line right now. “I’m finding it increasingly difficult to
hate you.”
He grinned. “All part of my master plan.”
“That does not surprise me.”
He gave her a long and measured look, then smoothed her hair away from her temples the way he always used to do. “I like the curls better. You should stick to the curls.”
Baptiste’s image flashed through her mind. She stiffened and quickly looked away before Terrance read something in her face she didn’t want him to see, but it was already too late.
“Too soon?” He removed his hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to push it.”
“It’s okay,” she said, not wanting to ruin their newly signed truce before the ink even dried. “Someone else said the same thing earlier.”
Terrance shot her a speculative look. “Who? Baptiste?”
“What?” She tried to scoff but wound up sounding extraordinarily shifty, even to her own ears. “Where would you get that idea?”
“I got a distinct vibe from him.”
“A vibe? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Thoughtful look from Terrance, the kind that made her feel hot under the collar. “You’re doing a lot of protesting. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Yeah,” she said, standing. “Let’s.”
He also stood and put a hand on her arm. The next thing she knew, they were bear-hugging it out, swaying together in the kind of comforting grip that made pretty much everything right with the world.
“We good?” he asked gruffly when he pulled back.
“We’re good.”
“I’m going to put that to the test tomorrow, when I see you at the Halloween bonfire. You’ll be there, right? Good.”
“You just make sure you tell your parents what’s going on. They deserve the truth. Maybe they’ll surprise you.”
His expression turned guarded. “From your lips to God’s ear.”
“Have a little faith.”
He waved and headed for his car in the parking lot.
She checked her watch and hurried inside, eyeballing the luncheon, which was now in full swing inside the conference room, and deciding against it. She’d grab something later. For now? Time to get some work done.
But she wasn’t three minutes into typing up some ideas in her office when a shadow fell across her desk. Stifling most of her impatient sigh—why could people not let her get some work done today? —she tacked on a smile of pleasant anticipation and looked up.
No Ordinary Love Page 9
