Sin

by Deborah Bladon

  I checked in with them before I went to bed and everything was fine. Jacey was fast asleep and fever free.

  That’s when Ivy asked if I could swing by the store first thing this morning to finalize which images to use for the promo.

  I showed up with two coffees in hand and a box of pastries.

  After setting the ringer on my phone to silent, we got to work. We settled on a handful of photographs that I’ll send to our graphic designer so she can work her magic and create a series of online ads.

  I’m ordering a revamp of the Whispers of Grace website too since I landed Ivy a spot on a national morning show where she’ll show off her newest designs.

  As I exit the subway, I glance down at my phone’s screen again.

  There’s nothing.

  My dad hasn’t responded to my text. I asked him why he arranged the sudden lunch date at his favorite Italian restaurant.

  The last time this happened, he asked me to meet him so he could tell me that he was planning on proposing to Diane.

  He wanted my blessing. I tearfully gave it to him without question, thrilled that he’d found love again.

  My parents divorced when I was ten years old, but they made the transition as easy as they could for my sister and me. If they ever argued it wasn’t within earshot of Bethy or me.

  They wanted the best for each other. My dad found that in Diane. My mom is still searching. Her quest landed her in Bora Bora six months ago and in the arms of a man a decade younger than her who is teaching her everything he knows about scuba diving and love.

  She’s happy. I can’t ask for more than that.

  I round the corner and spot the familiar red and white checkered awning of Calvetti’s halfway down the block.

  I’m not dressed for racing around Manhattan.

  I put on a simple black sheath dress this morning and paired that with red stilettos. Since I only got twenty minutes of sleep last night, I didn’t attempt to shove my contact lenses into my bloodshot eyes.

  I’m wearing the same eyeglasses I was yesterday and my hair is loose and wavy. I should have grabbed the blow dryer and straightener after my shower this morning, but I spent too much time online researching everything I could find out about Jeremy Weston.

  I didn’t make it past the images.

  Thinking about him kept me up most of the night, and seeing dozens of pictures of him at different galas and benefits made me ache to be back in that hotel room with him.

  Jeremy Weston in a tuxedo is better than I imagined.

  I yank open the door to Calvetti’s and freeze.

  Jeremy Weston in a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and light blue tie isn’t half bad either.

  Now I know exactly why my dad wanted me to meet him here. He’s sitting at a table with West and Trent.

  The second West spots me he’s on his feet and approaching me from across the restaurant. As he nears where I’m standing, a smile touches his full lips.

  Why does he have to be so handsome?

  “Angel,” he whispers roughly. “You look beautiful today.”

  My heart pounds fiercely in my chest. I can’t do this. I can’t give in to the temptation to acknowledge what we both already know. We fucked two months ago and I’ve spent hours since then thinking about every detail of that night.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Weston.” My voice is strained.

  The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “What happened in Vegas isn’t going to stay there.”

  “Vegas?” I squeak the word out.

  “Vegas? What about Las Vegas?”

  We both turn at the sound of Mitchell’s voice. He’s standing in the entrance of the restaurant with his hand still curled around the doorknob.

  “What are you two talking about?” He moves closer, the door shutting behind him. “Tell me what I’m missing here.”

  I close my eyes because the relentless hammering of my heart inside my chest is deafening. I need to get a grip.

  “One of the ideas I’ve been batting around with Trent is a launch party on the strip.”

  My eyes pop open at West’s words.

  “That’s brilliant.” Mitchell moves to stand next to me. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s the perfect way to launch the vanilla vodka.”

  It’s also the perfect way to launch any new tequila brand, or bourbon, or beer, which is why it’s the go-to marketing move for so many companies.

  It works, but it’s not for Rizon.

  “I think we should have a launch party here in Manhattan. There’s a beautiful rooftop terrace on the Bishop Hotel in Tribeca. We could do it at dusk, and make it a black tie affair.”

  I’m mildly impressed with myself for coming up with that in a split second.

  Mitchell shakes his head. “I don’t like it. My vote is for Vegas.”

  West turns his attention back to me, his gaze scanning my face. “My vote is for Manhattan. I don’t need to get on an airplane to get what I want.”

  His words hold more meaning than Mitchell can comprehend. Maybe more than I can.

  West wants me.

  His desire is there in his eyes and woven into everything he says to me.

  He has no idea that I’m trying to win the fight of my life against Mitchell, and I can’t risk losing that, not even for him.

  Chapter 19

  Jeremy

  By some welcome twist of fate, I’m sitting next to Linny for lunch. The circular table was set for four, but Mitchell invited himself along once he got word from David’s assistant that a working lunch was going down at Calvetti’s.

  I didn’t want him here.

  I made that clear to David when I spoke to him this morning. This lunch was his idea, as was the restaurant choice.

  After agreeing to meet at Calvetti’s at noon, I told David that I wanted Linny here, but I didn’t see any need to include Mitchell.

  This is designed to be a casual meeting so we can discuss the broad scope of the upcoming campaign.

  In other words, it’s a repeat of yesterday but with pasta.

  Good pasta.

  Judging by the look of pure satisfaction on Linny’s face, she thinks it’s great pasta.

  Mitchell elbows me again which sends a drop of tomato sauce in motion. It flies from the rigatoni noodle on my fork onto my pristine tie; my three hundred dollar pristine light blue tie.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I reach to dab the spot with my napkin.

  “No.” Linny shakes her head. “Don’t do that. You’re making it worse.”

  How the hell can it get any worse?

  My tie is ruined, they don’t serve Rizon vodka here, and my dick is painfully hard since the side of Linny’s thigh has been brushing against mine for the last thirty minutes.

  Add to that the fact that Mitchell has monopolized the conversation with stories about his time working at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn when he was in high school.

  The guy is looking for a gold medal because he can toss pizza dough.

  “We’ll cover the cost of having it dry cleaned,” Linny offers. “If you take it off, I’ll have it cleaned and back to your office by the end of the day.”

  I look over at her, after quickly glancing at Mitchell who is muttering something under his breath. “You’ll bring it to my office by the end of the day?”

  She shakes her head. “They can deliver.”

  “Of course Linny will bring it to you,” David says, pointing at his daughter. “I’m responsible since pasta for lunch was my idea. Calvetti’s should have a warning on the menu about the collateral damage that can result from enjoying an order of baked rigatoni.”

  I unknot my tie and slip it from around my neck. “I appreciate you doing this, Linny.”

  She takes the tie when I slide it into her hands. “Of course, Mr. Weston. It’s the least we can do.”

  She avoids eye contact, so I turn, but not before I catch a quick glimpse of her subtly raising the tie to
her face before she closes her eyes and inhales the scent.

  Everyone else at the table would mistake it for her taking a closer look at the stain. I take it for what it is and that’s a reminder of my cologne.

  It’s the same cologne I was wearing the night we fucked.

  ***

  Ninety minutes later I glance down at my watch. “I’m going to need the name of your dry cleaner. He or she is a fucking wizard.”

  “A wizard?” Linny looks at the black box in my hand.

  “We left Calvetti’s an hour ago and you just brought me this.” I tip my chin toward the light blue silk tie that’s folded with care in the box.

  “Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect O-shape.

  I want to slide my dick right in, past those plump lips and over her pink tongue until she takes it all.

  “The tie couldn’t be saved.” She sighs nervously. “I purchased a new one for you.”

  Impressive, but not necessary.

  I have too many ties to count. The loss of one isn’t worth the effort it took her to replace it, but then again, it is worth this.

  Linny Faye, my Vegas angel, is standing in my office.

  “Thank you,” I offer because I am a grateful son-of-a-bitch when it’s warranted.

  “You’re welcome.” She shoulders her black purse. “I need to get back to my office.”

  “Angel?”

  Her head pops up. “My name is Linny, Mr. Weston.”

  I brush past her to close my office door. I don’t want to broadcast this conversation. I trust Blythe to keep her mouth shut if she overhears something she shouldn’t. I don’t trust anyone else who works on this floor to do the same.

  “I have to go.” Linny turns to face me. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

  “It’s just the two of us.” I wave my hand in a circle in the space between us. “Cut the bullshit. I know it’s you. You know it’s you, so why the act?”

  Her bottom lip quivers in a way that makes me want to sink my teeth into it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I inch closer to her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You in a tutu and tiara, me in my birthday suit. Us in my bed in Vegas.”

  Her eyes widen with shock. She does the song and dance a second time, this time with a shake in her voice. “I said that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Even superheroes can’t hide who they really are behind a pair of eyeglasses.” I lean closer. “I would know you anywhere, angel.”

  She reaches up to touch the frame of her glasses. “You have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Do you have a sister?”

  She nods. “Bethy.”

  “Is she your twin?”

  “No. She’s two years older than me.” Her tongue glosses over her lips.

  Jesus. I want a taste of that.

  “She’s not nearly as beautiful as you, is she?” My eyes are locked to hers.

  She crosses her arms. “Bethy is beautiful.”

  “But not as beautiful as you,” I stress the last word.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Her gaze drops to the floor.

  “I would.” I push because I want to know why. I want to know why in the hell she won’t admit that we fucked.

  She lets out a breathy sigh. “You don’t even know what she looks like.”

  “It doesn’t matter what she looks like.”

  Her brows shoot up. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter what she looks like?”

  “She can’t be more beautiful than you.” I lean so close that my breath whispers over her cheek. “There isn’t a woman on this earth who is more beautiful than you.”

  She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes give something away. A brief flicker of the want I saw in Vegas is there before it disappears with a shake of her head.

  “You can pretend all you want.” I inch back and look her over. “My body will never forget you.”

  Her hand jumps to her chest. “I need to go.”

  I study her, frustration gnawing at me. I could push her more, but she’s not ready to admit we spent the night together. She has her reasons. I have patience, although in a limited quantity.

  “Thank you again for the tie, Linny.”

  “Of course.” Her eyes skim the box in my hands. “I’m sorry that Mitchell messed up the other one.”

  “I’m not.” I toss the tie box onto my desk. “It brought you here. It gave us a chance to talk privately.”

  Not that it did any good. It’s obvious that when Linny Faye lies, she commits to it body and soul.

  She approaches my office door, so I ask the question I’m not sure I want to know the answer to. “Have you ever done something you regret?”

  She stops and it takes a beat before she turns to face me. “We all have regrets, don’t we?”

  “I spent a night in Vegas with an incredible woman two months ago.” I stroke my jaw. “I regret falling asleep before I could get her name and number because I’ve thought about her every day since.”

  She swallows hard, her gaze meeting mine, but before a word can leave her lips, Blythe barges in and the moment is lost.

  “Mr. Weston, I hate to interrupt, but there’s a situation that needs your attention.” Blythe’s gaze volleys between Linny and me.

  “It can wait,” I bark back.

  “I have to go.” Linny brushes past Blythe on her way out of my office before she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

  “What the hell, Blythe?” I rake both hands through my hair in aggravation. “You know how I feel about knocking before you come in.”

  “You have a call, Jeremy.” She points at my desk phone. “It’s Athena. She said it’s urgent.”

  “Leave.” I wave my hand in the air. “Out.”

  She scurries away and closes the door behind her as I drop into my chair and bring the phone to my ear.

  Chapter 20

  Linny

  It’s been three hours since I left West’s office, and I’m still feeling drunk on his words.

  It took every ounce of willpower in my body not to grab him by the lapels of his suit jacket, tug him closer and kiss him.

  God, did I want to kiss that man.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him as I sat through a meeting with a legacy client who refuses to talk to anyone but me.

  She was one of the first clients of Faye & Sons back when my grandfather ran the company.

  He chose the name in the hope that his two then high-school aged sons would follow in his footsteps. My dad did. My uncle, Tom, became a nuclear physicist. From what I’ve heard from my dad, my granddad didn’t complain about Tom’s career choice once.

  “How was your meeting with Mary?” My dad strolls into my office with a grin on his face.

  If I were a fan of poodles and quilting, I’d call it a success.

  Mary has been retired for years. The fabric store chain she founded is the largest in the country and the team that is running it, is one of the best.

  I touch base with the head of their internal marketing team twice a year to offer help if they need it. They occasionally do, but I’ll never turn down a meeting with Mary.

  She was instrumental in helping my late granddad find the success he did.

  “It’s always nice to visit with her.” I push up from my chair. “You look especially happy this afternoon.”

  “I think Diane and I found the perfect place on the Gulf Coast.”

  My stomach knots, but I keep a smile on my face.

  Seeing my dad this excited warms my heart, but there’s a part of me that wants him to stay in Manhattan. Some of that longing stems from the struggle over control of the company once he’s gone, but it’s more than that.

  My dad has always been the steady hand that guides me. He’s been there if I need someone to talk to in a coffee shop at midnight or Central Park in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.

  I rely on him and when he’s no longer a taxi
ride away, I know I’ll miss him.

  “What’s it like?” I ask because I want to keep the ear-to-ear grin on his face.

  He tugs his smartphone out of the pocket of his brown suit jacket. “Diane sent me the real estate listing. I want your honest opinion.”

  I stare at him before my gaze drops to his phone. I skim my finger over the screen, scrolling through image after image of a gorgeous beach house with wide-open ocean views.

  This is my dad’s dream. It’s always been his dream.

  “I think you found your forever home, dad,” I whisper.

  He slides the phone back into his palm. “I can’t say that Florida and I will agree on everything, but this is a place where I can see the blue sky and hear the ocean.”

  I study his face. He’s just as handsome as he was when I was a little girl.

  “I’m happy for you.” I rub my chest to chase away the ache I feel when I think about him living so far away from me. “I’m happy for both of you.”

  “Diane wants you to help her with the interior design.” His brows wiggle. “She’s always saying that you have the best eye.”

  Diane is a gracious woman who works extra hard to include Bethy and me in my dad’s life. She’s always gone out of her way to make sure we know that we’re an essential part of her life too.

  “I’ll help in any way I can.” I glance down at my dad’s phone when it chimes.

  His gaze follows mine. “It’s Jeremy Weston.”

  I tilt my head to try and get a better look at what the message says, but my dad brings the phone so close to his face, that whatever is on the screen is obstructed from my view.

  He refuses to wear reading glasses.

  “He wanted to thank us again for how we handled the tie situation at lunch.” He squints as his eyes skim the phone’s screen, confusion knitting his brow. “You replaced the tie? He wrote that you bought him a brand new tie.”

  “It was the right thing to do.” I smile softly. “Getting tomato sauce out of silk is almost impossible.”

  “So you tossed the stained tie?” He lowers his phone.