Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  Thompson blinked first. “So you’re more than a pretty face. Good. I wasn’t sure how much of this company’s success was due to Bennett’s genius and how much was due to you.”

  “I’d say we both bring essential traits to the table.”

  “I can see that.” The muscle in Thompson’s jaw pulsed. “Did you start dating my daughter to get to me?”

  Tension added starch to Mike’s neck and shoulders. It was an offensive question that challenged his integrity and impugned Skylar’s judgment. He glanced at her to see how she’d respond, but she just watched him, her eyes narrowed a fraction, her glossed pink lips barely parted.

  He refocused on Thompson. “No, but our association gave me the idea. It was the perfect partnership between our two worlds.”

  Thompson scrutinized him for an intense moment before a smile broke across his face. He nodded. “I like that.”

  Skylar’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I do, too. And on that note, we have to be going. Dad has a meeting back in San Francisco in an hour.”

  “You’ve given us an intriguing offer to consider,” Thompson said. “We’ll need some time to discuss it.”

  “I don’t want to wait too long on this,” Mike warned.

  “Skylar told you we’re heading to New York the day after tomorrow?”

  Mike nodded. “For two weeks.”

  It’s the reason he’d insisted on meeting with them today.

  “As soon as we return, we’ll call and set up a meeting. You have my word.”

  Warmth flooded him. Everything was falling into place. This deal would make both companies a lot of money and propel him closer to fulfilling his ten-­year plan.

  Mike clapped his hands together. “Great. Let me walk you out.”

  They left the Lab and traversed the covered walkways back to the main building. They took the elevator to the roof and within seconds the loud cadenced hum of the approaching helicopter filled the air. Mike allowed Thompson to walk ahead, using the slight pressure of his hand on the small of Skylar’s back to communicate his wish to speak with her.

  She turned to face him, the silk curtain of her hair fanning against her cheeks and carrying her customary rich floral fragrance.

  Quite unlike the sugared vanilla scent of another woman, another time.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” he asked. With the finish line so close, he struggled to check his impatience.

  “I’m sorry I had to cancel last week, but I knew you’d understand. It was imperative that I participate in that conference call.”

  He did understand. There’d been occasions where pressing matters at work had required him to call off their plans.

  She smoothed his lapel. “Pick me up at eight.”

  He smiled. “See you then.”

  When he bent to kiss her good-­bye, the coolness of her lips against his was . . . nice. Like he’d told her father, the perfect partnership.

  Chapter Three

  “I HEAR THE lovely Skylar Thompson and her father paid us a visit.”

  Ryan Sullivan, Senior Vice President and General Counsel of Computronix, met Mike when he exited the elevator on the executive floor.

  Mike pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “They just left.”

  “How’d the meeting go?” Sully asked, falling into step beside him.

  “It went well. They listened to my pitch, asked questions, and promised to give me an answer in a ­couple of weeks.”

  Sully stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “Please tell me you made them sign the nondisclosure contract before letting them into the Lab?”

  They’d been lucky to recruit Sully after Computronix’s initial growth spurt had overwhelmed their first general counsel. Sully understood his job was more than drafting contracts. He not only advised the senior executives on legal matters, he kept them apprised of public policy issues and ethical considerations. He exerted a great amount of influence on the overall activities of the company.

  Mike smiled. “I did.”

  “My man!” Sully said, clapping him on the back. “And Adam’s on board with this strategic shift?”

  “I wouldn’t make this move without him. This isn’t a shift as much as it’s an expansion. He’s content to remain in charge of tech research and development. This area interests me and I have his full support.”

  Sully nodded. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t double-­check.”

  “Feel free to verify with Adam.”

  “Oh, I did. Before he left.” Ignoring Mike’s excoriating glare, he said, “You’re not wasting any time on this ‘expansion.’ ”

  “When I see what I want and I know it’s right, there’s no reason to wait.”

  “Is that your professional motto or your personal one?”

  “Both.”

  “And is dating Skylar right for you personally or professionally?”

  “Excuse me?” Mike frowned at Sully, sure he hadn’t heard him right.

  “This deal with TTL. Is that why you’re dating her?”

  The affront chafed. “I suggest you don’t ask me that question again.”

  He’d prepared to defend the benefits of Computronix and TTL going into business together, but he’d never considered that anyone would assume those benefits were the reason for his involvement with Skylar. The poisonous thought appeared to be taking root faster than the fallout from a blown dandelion weed.

  But why would anyone question his interest? Skylar Thompson was beautiful, intelligent, poised. The type of woman to make his family—­his father—­proud. They’d been dating consistently for just over a year, except for the two weeks around the holidays when they’d been on a break.

  A vision of sleek brown skin, slim thighs, and soft lips swept into his mind. He forced the image away. He wouldn’t think about that weekend or her.

  It had been an aberration.

  Thick-­pile carpet muffled his steps when they entered his suite of offices.

  His assistant, Evan, swiveled away from his computer and stood. “How did the meeting go?”

  “We’ll know in a ­couple of weeks.”

  “Anya’s waiting for you in your office. Would you like some coffee?”

  “That’d be great.”

  Evan headed to the outer office. “I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”

  “I’ll come back later—­” Sully began.

  “Stay. Whatever it is, it shouldn’t take long.”

  Anya perched on one of the wood-­and-­leather chairs that graced the front of his desk, her khaki-­clad legs crossed at the knee, a Converse-­covered foot jangling. Her hair was such a flaming shade of red, he had a difficult time believing it was natural.

  But she could color her hair turquoise as long as her work remained exceptional. Her outside-­the-­box promotional strategy for the HPC had gone so well, they’d given her a raise and a promotion to Coordinator of Brand Management.

  At his approach she shifted on her hip to face him, while pressing a hand against the small wireless headset she wore nestled within her fiery strands. “He’s here. I’ll call you back.” She nodded in his direction. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “So I gathered.” He settled behind his desk.

  “Do you have a moment?” she asked, looking between him and Sully, who sat in the chair next to hers.

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  She reached for the large envelope on the edge of his desk. “­People magazine sent over an advanced copy of next week’s issue. They’re running the spread from Adam and Chelsea’s wedding. Isn’t that a gorgeous cover?”

  Mike stared at the picture of the glowing ­couple gazing into each other’s eyes against the backdrop of the San Mateo Mountains beneath a headline proclaiming Adam “The Sexiest Man Husband Alive!”


  Their relationship had been a PR bonanza ever since Adam had announced it during the HPC launch event. They’d wanted the wedding to be an intimate affair and had opted for a small ceremony at their mountain home, banning press. Anya had been the one to suggest giving the magazine exclusive photos, arguing they could take advantage of the publicity while maintaining their privacy.

  “Chelsea will love this,” he said.

  Adam’s wife was a partner at Beecher & Stowe, one of the top PR firms in the country. Though she hated being in the public eye, she’d often said the benefit to both of their careers was invaluable.

  “I can’t wait for her to see it,” Anya said.

  “Do you know when they’ll be back?” Sully asked.

  “In another two weeks, according to the itinerary Chelsea left with me.”

  Anya smiled, revealing the piercing beneath her bottom lip. “A year ago I never would’ve imagined Mr. Bennett on an off-­the-­grid honeymoon.”

  A year ago Adam never would’ve entertained the idea, let alone gone through with it.

  But that was before Chelsea.

  “Why do you call him Mr. Bennett?” Sully asked the younger woman, his face molded into lines of faux innocence. “You call us by our first names.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “I know! But he’s so . . . intimidating.”

  “Has anyone heard from Adam since they left? A covert text or email?” Mike asked, taking pity on her. He directed a cease-­and-­desist look at Sully.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “He’s probably going out of his mind,” Sully said.

  Mike pointed to the stunning woman on the cover. “Have you seen his wife? I’m pretty sure he’s managing to stay busy.”

  He turned the page, stopping when he spied the photo of the wedding party. Adam flanked by his father as well as Jonathan and Mike. Chelsea flanked by Adam’s sisters, Amy and Sarah, and . . . Indi.

  He stroked a finger over her picture. God, she was beautiful. Smooth tawny skin, big light brown eyes, and luscious lips made for kissing. After the wedding, they’d spent a glorious weekend together and, despite knowing the rules of casual sexual encounters, he’d allowed himself to harbor expectations that it could lead to something more.

  So he appreciated that she’d left while he’d been asleep and spared him the awkwardness of asking to see her again. His gratitude increased exponentially when she didn’t respond to his calls or texts. Especially since she was not the type of woman he could’ve brought home to his father. Indi was too quirky, too spontaneous. A relationship between the two of them wouldn’t have worked.

  Yeah, gratitude. That’s what he’d felt.

  “Mike?” Anya tapped the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

  Fuck. He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand down his chin. Wave her picture in front of his face and he fell into his feelings like a hormonal teenager. “I’m good.”

  Anya sat forward and stared at the magazine. “That’s Chelsea’s sister, right? She has an unusual name—­”

  “India.” He couldn’t help himself.

  “She’s hot,” Sully said, pulling the magazine toward him. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding.”

  Jealousy scorched a hole in his gut and his upper and lower molars became intimately acquainted.

  “She looks like this fragile, delicate being, but man, could she put away some tequila,” Anya ended on an awe-­filled whisper.

  He’d done a few of those tequila shots himself, their intoxicating warmth later overshadowed by the feel of Indi’s body pressed against his while they slow danced in the corner.

  As if Anya had morphed into a mind reader, she said, “You two looked like you were enjoying yourselves during the reception.”

  He wasn’t about to indulge her curiosity. Not now, when he was hours away from proposing to another person. “It was a magical day where my best friend married the woman of his dreams. Everyone enjoyed themselves.”

  “Okaaay.” She rapped her knuckles against the magazine and stood. “I’ll write up a report on the initial impact of the magazine’s spread after it comes out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sully’s phone beeped and he checked the screen. His blue eyes sharpened. “Looks like we may be filing our first HPC patent infringement suit. I’ll walk out with you, Anya.”

  Mike had barely begun jotting down notes from his meeting with the Thompsons when Evan rang from his desk in the outer office. “Your mother’s on line two.”

  He placed her on speaker. “Mom, I told you to call my cell. Then you don’t have to go through my assistant.”

  He always gave his parents the latest phones from Computronix with his information preprogrammed.

  “I pressed the handset symbol next to the first number.” Barbara Black’s voice had a direct line to his smile, something he did easily—­and often—­in her presence. “That dialed your office. If you weren’t there, I would’ve gone to the next one. Either way, I’d get to talk to you.”

  He shook his head, but since his mother never used the camera-­phone feature, he knew she couldn’t see him. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “We talked a few days ago.”

  “A mother can’t call her son more than once a week?”

  “Sure. You usually don’t.”

  “I know.”

  She sighed and the emotion-­ladened sound triggered his protective instincts. If his mother had a problem, he’d do whatever was necessary to find the solution.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your sister.”

  “Morgan?” His baby sister was in her second year at Stanford.

  Cold fingers scrambled his insides. Had something happened? Had she been in an accident? Was she ill? If Morgan was in trouble, why hadn’t his mother led with that information, instead of forcing him to pull it from her?

  Her next words assuaged that fear but incited a whole host of others. “She’s threatening to take time off from college, starting next year.” A hitch in her breathing and then she said, “How can she quit when she’s barely started?”

  Something was going on with Morgan. He’d noticed it over the past few months. His sweet little sister had transformed into a moody, distant contrarian.

  No matter. There’s no way he’d let her throw away her education. Take time off from school? That was one step away from dropping out and leeching off their parents for the rest of her life. A plight that had already befallen some of her high school friends. For Morgan it would be unacceptable, not when she was capable of so much more.

  His fingers curled into his palm. “I’ll talk to her, Mom.”

  “Good.” Barbara’s relief was palpable. “She’ll be home next weekend. You can talk to her then.”

  Reason for call ascertained and crisis handled, he’d already directed his attention to papers on his desk. “Why would I wait a week and a half? I can call her right now.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather talk to her in person? This is pretty important.”

  “In person? Next weekend?” It took several moments before he noticed his mother hadn’t responded. “Mom?”

  “You forgot.”

  The accusation stung. “I—­”

  “Michael Justin Black, I told you about this months ago.” Her admonishment faded into hurt and it bruised his heart. “I even called your assistant, who promised he’d put it on your calendar.”

  Mike scrolled to the appropriate app, pulled up his schedule and, clearly and conspicuously, several days were blocked off and labeled “Weekend in Barton Point, Dad’s party.” He inhaled through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry.”

  Now he remembered. The Barton Point Chamber of Commerce was honoring his father for his contribution to the small city. Mike had planned to attend. He
couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about it.

  “I have to leave for a meeting with the Junior League.” He heard a muffled voice in the background, and then his mother’s faint response. “Yes. You can talk to him while I finish getting ready. Give me a moment to say good-­bye.” She came back on the line, although the volume of her speech remained low. “Your father wants to speak to you. I haven’t told him about Morgan yet so don’t mention it. He’d have a heart attack.”

  Forget heart attack. Robert Black would have a stroke.

  Mike knew he’d had a charmed upbringing. His family hadn’t been rich—­not the way he was now—­but they’d been comfortably well off. Instead of spoiling his kids, his father had always preached that education combined with an impeccable work ethic led to an auspicious life. There’d never been a question of if they were going to college and graduate school. The only question had been where. If his sister thought she’d be able to get away with not finishing her studies, she was due for a rude ­awakening.

  The fact that Morgan even considered such a move was concerning. His sister had always done what she was supposed to do. Save a few notable lapses on Mike’s part, they both had. Their father wouldn’t tolerate anything less.

  The last time he’d gone against his father’s wishes had been when he’d chosen to start Computronix with Adam instead of staying in Barton Point and going into the family’s real-­estate business. Most fathers would’ve been proud that their son was strong enough to forge his own path in life. Not Robert Black, who’d expected his son to show his gratitude for the life he’d been provided by following the footsteps his father had already tread.

  Their relationship had been strained for years because of that decision.

  “I was talking to the guys at the country club yesterday and they reminded me it’s been a year since we launched the HPC. What’s next?”

  No greetings, no easing into the conversation. Robert Black’s voice heralded his imposing presence, whether it was heard in person or buffered through electronic devices.

  Mike’s gaze flicked upward. In the past few years, every conversation with his father involved talk about Computronix. And not as it related to Mike’s health, happiness, or sense of well-­being, but rather, what Mike was doing to make the company bigger and better than its competitors. More like an investor—­which he wasn’t—­and less like a parent.