Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  Mike shouldn’t complain. He understood his father’s need to make sure his children were living up to their potential. It had contributed to his titanium-­strong work ethic. But though he understood it, his mood today wouldn’t allow him to passively tolerate it.

  “Don’t worry. Adam and I are working on new projects.”

  If Robert caught his correction, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Be that as it may, you can’t rest on your laurels.”

  Mike exhaled loudly. “We’re not.”

  “Good. Your generation possesses a tiresome sense of entitlement, but you can’t coast on the coattails of Adam’s invention. ‘Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.’ ”

  Sense of entitlement?

  Bullshit.

  He and Adam hadn’t built Computronix with handouts. They’d worked their asses off and created their own success, in spite of some in the tech industry who’d chafed at their ascendency and had constructed roadblocks to impede their efforts.

  “If you’re going to stay on top,” Robert continued, “you need to keep moving forward, pushing new products, and as a shareholder, I have the right to question . . .”

  Shareholder: Robert’s favorite refrain. The one he’d trot out anytime he wanted behind-­the-­scenes information. Hard-­to-­attain knowledge and the access such possession implied to his peers, was a valuable currency and one in which Robert Black was a master at trading. If the shareholder card didn’t get him what he sought, he’d employ the Father Maneuver.

  Mike interrupted the other man’s lengthy tirade on his rights and responsibilities as a shareholder. “There is a special project but we’re keeping it under wraps for now.”

  “But I’m your father,” Robert said, the displeasure crystal clear in his tone.

  Check.

  “And I’m not too keen on an SEC investigation for insider trading.”

  Deeming a verbal submission beneath him, Robert moved on. “The Chamber of Commerce gala is on a Sunday, but you’re coming in a few days early, right? I’ve already booked a round of golf for us at the club.”

  The carpet absorbed the rapid tapping of his foot beneath the desk. “I haven’t played golf in years.”

  Not since his last visit to Barton Point. He hated golf. The only time he played was when his father dragged him to the course during his visits.

  “Not a problem. Most of us are scratch golfers. We’ll balance out your high handicap.”

  Gee, thanks.

  “Are you coming alone?”

  Where was this going? “Yes.”

  “Oh. You’ve been seeing a lot of that Skylar Thompson. I thought you’d bring her with you.”

  He’d thought about it, especially considering the change about to occur in their relationship, but the timing wasn’t right. She’d still be in the midst of her New York trip and this visit was about Robert. He didn’t want to shift the focus from his father’s achievements. There would be plenty of time for Skylar to meet his family, something he’d never allowed with any of the women he’d previously dated.

  “You can’t wait too long,” Robert said. “Adam has already taken the plunge. Hell, I was married and we were expecting you when I was your age. It’s time for you to be thinking along those same lines.”

  That had occurred to him, too, but again, his mood didn’t appreciate Robert’s like-­minded reasoning.

  “I’ll see you next weekend,” Mike said, ending the phone call with his father.

  He was mindful of the load of work clamoring for his attention. He needed to finish the notes on his meeting with TTL, read last quarter’s financial reports, and sign off on five new HR hires.

  All before his date with Skylar.

  His gaze landed on the magazine Anya had left behind. His strong sense of caution couldn’t prevent his fingers from pulling it toward him, flipping it open to the picture of the bridal party. He focused on Indi. In it, her smile was wide, beatific. But her eyes were a poignant mixture of happiness, guilt, and heartache. It had been her quiet sadness in the midst of the cloying joy that had drawn him to her. She’d had a secret. And he’d needed to find out what it was.

  No, no, no.

  He shook his head. Forget about Indi. Tonight he would propose to Skylar. He was doing the right thing. Their relationship, this deal, was the smart play for both his personal and professional lives.

  His cell phone vibrated against his chest and he pulled it from his inner pocket. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number with “San Francisco, CA” beneath it, but no other identifying information.

  His brows converged in the middle of his forehead. There weren’t many ­people who had his private cell number. He’d just told his mom to call his cell instead of his office. Was she calling from a landline he didn’t recognize? But wouldn’t the description read “Barton Point, CA”? It was probably a wrong number. And yet his finger hovered and then pressed the green button.

  “Hello?”

  “Mike.”

  He straightened. Her photo had seized his attention, but her voice . . . Her voice stroked his hedonistic hotspots. The tingle caused by every whispered declaration, every lingering caress, hit him all at once.

  “Indi.”

  “Long time, no hear.”

  Her forced gaiety jarred him loose from her vocal web and allowed his brain to function. Why had she left? Where had she been? What did she want? Why was she calling?

  “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to and I understand, considering how I ended things and I—­”

  He remembered this about her, the stream of talking on an endless loop. His favorite remedy? A cock-­stirring, toe-­curling kiss.

  “Indi, spit it out.”

  A thick silence, and then—­

  “Can you post bail for me? I’ve been arrested for burglary.”

  Chapter Four

  WELL THAT HAPPENED.

  The door to the precinct closed behind Indi. Exhaustion weighed her down, leaving her head throbbing and her sight unfocused. She shivered, her cable-­knit sweater offering inadequate insulation from the chill. Since her arrest, the fog had rolled in, bringing cooler temperatures and an ominous atmosphere.

  If she had a bucket list, she could confidently check off this experience: get yourself arrested in an unfamiliar city. It hadn’t been anything like Orange Is the New Black—­Thank God!—­but she had met some interesting women while she’d been booked and processed. Turns out, her unstable living situations and various relocations had equipped her with the unique skill set needed to survive the city’s holding cell.

  But she didn’t do bucket lists. They were created for ­people who scurried through life afraid to take chances, regretting their caution when faced with their mortality. Indi’s life was a bucket list. Hence, her current predicament.

  “Where’s Ryan?”

  The brusque voice wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. She stilled and her breath went on strike.

  Those words. That tone. This situation. It wasn’t how she’d pictured their reunion.

  Though their best friends were married to one another, careful planning on her part would’ve given her several years to let time and distance erode the memories and allow them to communicate without her recalling the way he’d made her body quake with ecstasy. She’d be cool, look polished, and possess the proper grace to put them both at ease.

  That had been the fantasy BN . . . before Nugget. Now she’d settle for an encounter where she didn’t look and smell like a cat lady’s ashtray and where she possessed something other than an unplanned pregnancy and a felony charge.

  Despite his harsh tone, the man leaning against the silver Porsche Panamera—­new; the last time she’d seen him, he’d been driving a Jaguar—­was as gorgeous, as powerful, and as autocratic as the luxury sedan he drove. He
’d tamed his blond curls—­what a shame—­into a sleek mass that shone beneath the street lamps and his body looked trim and powerful in a dark tailored suit and crisp white collared shirt without a tie. He could’ve been waiting for his date to a society gala and not standing in the street in front of the sheriff’s office after midnight, waiting for the state judicial system’s newest enrollee.

  Indi hefted her backpack onto her shoulder, ignored the dips, swerves, and inversions occurring in her belly and slowly descended the concrete steps. “He’s finishing up the paperwork.”

  She’d forgotten how big he was. She was a tad taller than average and she knew from experience her eyes would be level with his chin, a chin now covered in downy blond fuzz. Experience also taught her the stubble would be a delicious abrasion against her skin.

  “Do you have anything to say to me?”

  She blinked. She had much to say to him. But here? Now?

  She’d hated calling him. Truthfully, she would’ve hated calling anyone in this situation. Would rather have stayed behind bars and figured a way out of this mess. But this wasn’t about her personal preferences. She needed to make decisions in Nugget’s best interests. And that meant doing what was necessary to ensure she spent as little time in jail as possible.

  She hadn’t seen Mike in three months, since she’d awakened to see his face softened in sleep. Terrified of the feelings budding to life within her, she’d stealthily gathered up her belongings and left without looking back. And despite her behavior, when she’d called, he’d shown up. He deserved many things from her, starting with gratitude.

  But did he have to be an arrogant ass about it?

  She balled a fist in the folds of her skirt. “What else would you like me to say?”

  He pushed away from the sexmobile. “How about ‘Thank you for canceling your plans and coming to get me’?”

  Crap. She’d pulled him away from something. Or someone.

  Heat simmered in her chest. Had he been with Skylar Thompson? She of the Pantene-­shiny pale blond hair and blue eyes? She’d seen pictures of the two of them online when she’d “accidentally” Googled Mike. The other woman looked stylish, dignified, and refined, the complete antithesis of Indi.

  It was none of her business. She’d given up any say in who he spent time with the night she’d walked away.

  “How in the hell did you get arrested for burglary?”

  She swiped at the allegation. “Those are trumped-­up charges.”

  “So you didn’t do it?”

  “Of course not. I mean, breaking and entering makes you think of a cat burglar or someone in a ski mask robbing the place. That’s not how it happened.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes and subjected her to his self-­righ­teous stare. “Then why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  She shrugged off her backpack, let it rest at her feet, and squeezed her shoulder blades toward one another to alleviate the ache. “It’s not that big of a deal. I wanted to get into Adam and Chelsea’s apartment. That’s all. And it wouldn’t have been a problem except Barney, the doorman who knew me from when I was here for the wedding, was off. This new doorman, besides being a grade-­A douchebag, didn’t work the week of the wedding, so he wouldn’t let me in. It was so ridiculous. I was like ‘Hello, I’m her sister—­’ ”

  “Foster sister,” he said, his lips quirking at the corners.

  “Same diff.” She huffed.

  What was up with everyone’s need to technically categorize their relationship? If she and Chelsea never brought it up, why did others feel the need to do so? ­Unless—­

  Was Chelsea making the distinction?

  Stop being paranoid, Indi.

  Mike flicked the single button on his suit jacket and her eyes tracked him while he removed the garment. His shirt clung to his upper body like a long-­distance ­couple’s farewell.

  Lucky shirt.

  Indi cleared her throat. “Anyway, if Chelsea was here, she totally would’ve wanted me to get into the apartment.”

  He drew near and placed the jacket over her shoulders and the chill in the air receded to be replaced with . . . him. Holy shit, he smelled good!

  Focus!

  “What was so important it couldn’t have waited until she’d gotten back?” Mike slid his hands into his pockets. “And why are you here anyway? I’m sure she told you they’d be gone for a total of three weeks.”

  Indi looked away, not ready to share that piece of information. She dropped the hand that she’d instinctively brought up to pat her belly. She was going to tell him. Really. She’d always planned to. Just not right now.

  “It’s personal. But all of this could’ve been avoided if the doorman had let me in.”

  “You mean all of this could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t tried to break into—­”

  “There you go using that word again! I did not ‘break’ ”—­she formed air quotes—­“into their apartment.” She bit her lip and let her gaze fall from his. “The door and lock still work.”

  “I don’t remember you being this aggravating.” The heat in his crystalline blue eyes intensified, his stare scorching her mouth. “But then, we didn’t do much talking.”

  She shivered. Only this time, she couldn’t blame the weather.

  “Who eats linguini and clams after midnight? The whole damn place reeked.” Ryan Sullivan, the handsome attorney who’d been there when she’d been released, strode down the steps. “Sorry to keep you waiting, India.”

  She clasped her hands together and placed them against her chest. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Him you thank,” Mike muttered.

  “It was my pleasure. And you can call me Sully,” he said, his brows hovering near his sable hairline. His gaze bounced between the two of them.

  Mike held out his hand. “I appreciate this.”

  “No problem. It was worth it for the shits and giggles alone.” Sully backhanded Mike on the shoulder and lowered his voice. “You wouldn’t believe what I heard. I was signing the paperwork and they kept talking about the weird things they found in the detainees’ belongings. Then this one officer walked in and said she’d seen it all. She’d had to inventory a large blue ceramic penis.”

  Mike choked out a bark of laughter. “You’re fucking with me?”

  Sully shook his head, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I couldn’t make this stuff up.”

  Warmth flooded Indi’s cheeks and her eyes fluttered shut. The owl. The turtle. The freakin’ rainbow-­colored ladybug. Those were the statuettes Chelsea should’ve displayed. Instead, she’d chosen the phallic figurine Indi had sent as a joke. The moment she was alone, she was going to break it into a million pieces. Overkill for the several thousand dollars it contained, but it’d make her feel better.

  Sully pulled a business card from his pocket. “I called a criminal defense attorney I know. Vivian Sutton. She’s amazing. She can squeeze you in tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. Uh, make that today. Can you be there?”

  Mike plucked the card from Sully’s fingers. “I’ll make sure she’s there.”

  His presumption pierced her bubble of embarrassment. “Excuse you. I believe he was talking to me.”

  “Actually, you both should be there. You,” he said, nodding to Indi, “because you’re the defendant and Mike because he posted your bail. Where are you staying?”

  Good question.

  She kneaded her forehead. “I don’t know. I’d planned to stay at Chelsea and Adam’s place—­”

  “That’s out of the question now,” Sully said.

  “Well, I didn’t have time to make any other arrangements. I used my one call on Mike, not a travel agent!” She’d never understood the phrase bone weary until Nugget. After the day she’d had, she was cloaked in fatigue. She sighed. “I’m sorry. Is there a hotel nearby?�
��

  “I’ve got this, Sully. Thanks for coming out this time of night.”

  “Anytime. Now don’t forget, Vivian’s office at 1:00 p.m. She’s doing me a favor, so don’t be late.” Sully raised his hand in a mock salute and headed off.

  Mike opened the passenger side door of his car. “Come on.”

  “You’ll take me to a hotel?” She slid off his jacket, grabbed her backpack—­as aware of the ceramic penis inside as if it were promoted with a flashing neon sign—­and climbed inside the spacious opulence of the vehicle where the butterscotch perforated leather seats molded to her body. After hours of sitting on an uncomfortable wooden slat bench, it was like a personal spa treatment.

  Mike settled beside her and started the engine. “You’re staying with me.”

  Shock temporarily whisked away her fatigue. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She couldn’t stay with him. In such close proximity, there was no way she’d be able to hide her pregnancy.

  “The last thing I ever am is ridiculous. It’s late and I’m tired. We can argue about this in the morning.”

  “Just take me to a hotel.”

  Mike shifted in his seat, draping one arm over the steering wheel, the other behind her headrest. His fresh, crisp, clean scent wafted across and teased her senses. “Either you come home with me or I take you back in that building and tell them I changed my mind and I can’t guarantee your appearance for the court date. Your choice.”

  Maybe jail would be preferable. She didn’t know if she could handle staying in a place filled with so many memories. Where they’d spent that unforgettable weekend. Where Nugget had been conceived.

  He must’ve read the trepidation on her face because he said, “Not my house in Palo Alto. I have a condo here in the city, only ten minutes away.”

  A little better, but not by much. He’d still be there. And the idea that she’d lost control of her own movements bothered the hell out of her. She decided where she stayed, where she slept.