by Kathy Noumi
“No, but it has been a while. Except for occasional phone calls about clients and accidental run-ins, we avoid each other. He usually doesn’t go to charity events. I had no idea he’d be at the gala. Then you seated us with them.”
She smacked her forehead. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was Pryce’s idea—he said it would look good to rub elbows with Mr. Winthrop.”
“You didn’t know.”
“So has he always been so . . .”
“Dickish?”
She laughed. “I was going to say ‘willful.’”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“Is he the reason you haven’t had a boyfriend in such a long time?”
I shook my head. “No.” Lies!
Khloe combed her fingers through her hair before flipping it to the side. “Does your vagina still work?”
I choked on my own saliva. One mini coughing fit later, I still couldn’t find the words to speak. After earlier in his office, my lady parts definitely still worked.
“Want more wine?”
I held up my hand, shaking it. We’d had a whole bottle, and I couldn’t afford a hangover tomorrow. “I noticed you danced with Mr. Davenport,” I challenged, winking at her.
She whipped her head around so fast I thought she’d drop her glass. Then she placed it down on the table. “I did.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my elation. “And?”
She rolled her eyes. “And nothing. He was nice enough to ask; I said yes.”
“He’s handsome.”
She bit her top lip. “God, I know. E . . . you have no idea.”
I laughed. “Did he ask for your number?”
“Yes,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.
“And?”
“And nothing. I am not interested in someone who couldn’t tell the difference between chiffon and tweed.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I swore the back of my skull was visible. “Yes, because proper identification of fabrics is essential to a relationship.”
“It is if you want to date me,” she retorted.
“I don’t think we’ll ever grow up. In twenty more years we’ll be spinsters with Golden Girls status. You’ll be Rose, and Sophia will be Blanche.”
We both laughed until our lungs hurt. “You crack me up.”
“All right, I have to get some sleep. I need to go to the office tomorrow, unfortunately.
“But it’s Saturday!”
“I’m lucky it’s not all weekend at this point. I have Monday off though so I’ll get to have a break after the chaos.” Grabbing the dirty dishes, I headed to the sink. “Please don’t give me your stop-being-a-party-pooper look.”
She shrugged. “I know your job is a bit more insane than mine.”
After Khloe left, I headed straight for the shower. I had been dying for one since I arrived. There was no way to wash away what happened in Jameson’s office, but I was determined to try—or rub off a layer of skin, whichever happened to come first.
Sophia’s charming grin greeted me when I walked through the glass doors of Pryce & Leigh the following morning.
I smiled back. “Morning, Soph. What are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”
“I had an extra financial report to finish before Monday. I can’t slack just because Daddy owns this place. Plus, I work better from here.” She winked. “No distractions.”
I nodded in agreement. “Touché. I’m right there with you.”
Her pre-coffee gusto drove me nuts. She was like a hyper puppy, ready to play. When we stopped in front of my office door, she lingered. “So . . . Tommy invited me to this regatta race on Sunday and said I could bring some friends. I want you and Khloe to come.” She paused a moment. “Please?”
“As in tomorrow?” I mentally crossed my fingers. Please say no. I did not want to see Jameson’s brother or anyone else from the Winthrop clan tomorrow or otherwise.
She nodded her head, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes. “I think Tommy is bringing some of his friends, sort of a group outing. He also mentioned a lot of investors would be in attendance, so it would be a good networking opportunity.”
My ears perked up. I could make sure Mrs. Rodriguez from the Uptown board came. “I’m in, and I’ll make Khloe come.”
Sophia gave me a burst of mini claps. “Fantastic.”
Then it hit me. Sophia had been in contact with Tommy. “Wait, you and Tommy . . .”
“We’ve been texting.”
I stared at her, not moving a muscle. “Interesting.”
“I know what you’re going to say . . .” She glanced right then left. “You know, the lecture about not sleeping with the enemy.”
Fuck. This is not ironic or anything. Nope.
“No—no lecture, Soph. I will say one thing. If he’s anything like his brother, he’s not good news.”
“How so?”
I didn’t want to be a Pessimistic Polly, so I held my tongue. “Just be cautious. Okay?”
She nodded, then glided away toward the finance department as I went to sit in my leather chair, limp as a noodle. Had I honestly thought my moment of insanity could be forgotten? Even Sophia said it: never sleep with the enemy.
Work was typically my escape. Plunging head first into a pool of files gave me a new sense of purpose. What mattered now was taking Uptown from Jameson. The regatta tomorrow would be an opportunity to rub shoulders with some potential new clients. There was no doubt in my mind Thompson would be there as well. He had to be.
I scanned through my brain’s archives the way a computer systematically sorted through every file. I’d use Jameson’s own tactics against him. Vince, my assistant, had located a file on the Uptown board yesterday that gave a detailed rundown of their project expectations. When Mrs. Rodriguez’s name crossed my sights, I knew I could corner Jameson into giving me Thompson back by using their project as leverage. Now I had to crunch the numbers and get them to her. I flipped open my laptop, scrolled through my files, and found an expense spreadsheet I could use to kick-start the new spin on the Uptown project that I knew would make the board happy. Things were finally going right.
R. With twenty-four hours left until the race, the clock ticked on. Another countdown commences in T-minus three . . . two . . . one . . .
Since my savior of an assistant always came in when I did, I pressed the intercom button. “Vince, would you please order me something to eat? I might be here a while—possibly all night.”
His burly voice blasted through the speaker. “Sure thing.”
Vince brought me my favorite—vegetarian pad thai and a Thai iced tea. With a full belly, I pressed on. The pages began blending together, but I noticed the blueprints for the property’s location. The land was strategically within walking distance of a college campus.
Uptown Lofts currently had approval for a fifty-unit luxury apartment complex. With a higher number of units, they could double their profits. Just had to call one of the architects to see if it was a possibility under the current zoning laws. I had Vince leave Barney, our team’s youngest but brightest architect, a message at home, crossing my fingers we hadn’t called too late. Fortunately, he phoned back within the hour. He guaranteed me we wouldn’t have an issue if we wanted to utilize it for student housing instead of upscale luxury lofts. This would be perfect.
The best part? Jameson would never see it coming.
Time to take make another call to Mrs. Rodriguez.
Chapter Thirteen
The race’s start time was in exactly seventy-four minutes.
Our taxi ride over to the Match Race Center flew by. The streets were empty, as most people were fast asleep on an early Sunday morning. At this hour, Lake Michigan appeared stunning, its water tranquil as it waited for the sun to fully rise. When it did, the water caught every fleck of gold coming from the distant horizon. The colors were breathtaking. With my head frequently buried in endless contracts, it was easy to forget such sights existed in real life.
Sophi
a left to find some more caffeine, leaving Khloe and me alone. The two of us stood, elbows locked, as the sun ascended. She leaned in and whispered, “Do you think someday we’ll find love?
“Of course.”
“Not like ‘Oh, babe, I love you.’ The kind of love where lines are blurred. Everything melts into everything else. Ya know, the kind of crap you read about in books.”
Without hesitation, and because with Khloe I could be candid, I said, “I wouldn’t know. But I think if we ever find it we should hold on and not let go.”
She chuckled under her breath. “Heavy stuff for a Sunday morning.” With a small shove of my shoulder she asked, “How did we get here, E?”
“Too much work, not enough play?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “We’re almost thirty and single. Career women without other halves? I am so tired of dating, looking for the one. I just . . .”
“No way, you stop it right this damn minute. Look at you, Khloe. You are beautiful, you have an incredible business you love, and to top it all off, you have a body any thirty-year-old would kill for. No pity party for you. Got it, missy?”
She crinkled her nose, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. It’s been over a year, you know?”
“I know, but he’ll find you when he’s ready.” I waved my finger in her face. “Plus, who said we need men? We’re doing a bang-up job without them.”
Sophia appeared, holding three fresh cups of coffee. “What did I miss?”
I chuckled and took the coffee she kindly passed me. “Miss Khloe Sharp had a moment, but I cheered her up.”
“I did not have a moment. I merely asked when our love lives would catch up to our amazing careers,” she said, and then took a sip of her iced coffee.
Tommy came up behind Sophia, placed his palms over her eyes, and whispered, “Guess who?”
The corners of her mouth turned up as she instinctively positioned her hand over his. “Let me guess . . . the guy I met at the coffee bar?”
Tommy let out a laugh, then dropped his hands. “Who’s this weirdo you speak of?”
Sophia beamed as she turned around to face him. “Oh, just a hottie who wanted to buy me coffee.”
Tommy hugged her—tight. She hugged him back before he kissed the top of her head. Sophia giggled and Tommy leaned in, mumbling something into her ear. She bit her lip and slapped his arm. So the cycle begins, I thought. She’d chase the guy, but once she had him, the fun would be over for her.
“Wait, don’t you two work for competing companies?” Khloe spoke up in a louder voice than I think she intended.
Tommy and Sophia whipped their heads toward Khloe. Sophia’s frown lines scrunched. “Tommy doesn’t work at WSquared.”
“So what do you do, Tommy?”
He glanced at Khloe before answering my question. “I have a studio where I work on my paintings and metal sculptures. Plus, I own an art gallery.”
Khloe’s hand went to her chest in surprise. “Wow. Didn’t take you for the artsy type. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you. Maybe Sophia can bring you ladies along to the studio next week when she visits. I’d love to show everyone around.”
Soph grinned from ear to ear. “Yes. I think it would be incredible if we all go together.”
“Sounds like fun,” Khloe added.
I cleared my throat. “How about these rowers? Maybe we should walk to find a better view before the race.”
Tommy motioned us toward the dock. “This way.”
When we reached the end of the dock, Jameson was there, glaring at me with his arms crossed over his chest as eight tall, lean, and impeccably toned men stood around him. Jameson’s pecs bulged, and my mind immediately went to a dark, sinful place. I’d known he’d be here. Why couldn’t I control myself?
Time and time again, I convinced myself I could tuck my indiscretion back into the lost files of my lunacy, but seeing Jameson was always like flipping a coin that always landed on tails; the other side had rubbed away many years ago.
“There you are, J. R.” Tommy jabbed at Jameson’s chest. “Are you ready for this, Mr. Star Rower?”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that. And I’m always ready.” Jameson ruffled Tommy’s hair before Tommy shoved him off. “Glad you all made it.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Khloe said.
Sophia wrapped her arm around Tommy’s elbow. “This one has been raving about your skills. He said you raced in college.”
I glanced toward the crowd gathering at the partitioned area. I spotted Mrs. Rodriguez arm in arm with a man I recognized as her husband—NBA star Travis Hughes, named sexiest man alive in GQ two years in a row.
Jameson cleared his throat, no doubt to get my attention. “Nice to see you this morning, Miss Black. I didn’t know you enjoyed rowing.”
“I don’t,” I snapped.
Khloe elbowed me. As I rubbed at the sore spot, she tilted her head toward a group of men. “Let’s ditch them,” she mouthed.
“I’m here for Mrs. Rodriguez, over there,” I said, nodding toward where the woman was busy parading her trophy husband around in front of various socialites.
Jameson’s nostrils flared. The look he gave me was dark and threatening, but I stared him down, offering my own warning. Game isn’t over yet. Queen to cross-check.
My brain shifted into work mode. As rowing jargon whizzed past my ears quicker than a swarm of bees, I reviewed key pitch points in my head. When the group burst into laughter, I jolted back to attention.
Khloe leaned into me, whispering so softly I barely heard her. “Jameson can’t take his eyes off you.”
“Like I give a damn. He can watch my cute ass while I walk away. I am going to find Mrs. Rodriguez. Wish me luck.”
She gave me a wink. “You got this.”
I headed for the huddle of Uptown board members at the other end of the docks. When I reached the group, they all stopped talking, but Mrs. Rodriguez grinned, unlocked her arm from her husband’s, and extended her hand. “Miss Black, I’m so glad to see you here.”
“Hello, Mrs. Rodriguez. It’s lucky I found you among all these people.”
“Travis, say hello to Eden.”
Given that Travis was twice her size, it was disconcerting how she commanded Mr. Hughes as if he were her pet plaything.
He held his hand out to me. “Xo has told me so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Hughes,” I said, and shook his hand. “May I have a minute with Mrs. Rodriguez before the race begins?”
Mr. Hughes nodded as Mrs. Rodriguez winked at her man. “Travis, grab me a bottle of water, I’ll be back in a minute. Make sure it’s cold but not ice-cold. Get yourself something also, darling. Let’s go over there,” she said, pointing toward a beautiful white wooden gazebo beyond the crowd of people. She watched her husband as he strolled away, and then we started to walk. “So, tell me your idea.”
“Before I do, can I ask you something?” I asked as we continued to head in the direction of the gazebo. “If it’s okay with you.”
Mrs. Rodriguez paused at the bottom of the gazebo. “Of course,” she said, walking ahead of me, up the stairs.
“Do you think the board will be open to an entirely new concept?”
“For the most part—granted, of course, that the numbers add up. I will say there are some members who will need more persuading than others.”
I bobbed my head, absorbing her comment, when Jameson appeared a few steps away from the gazebo. Our eyes locked as he headed toward us, the darkness in his gaze drawing me in. He looked edible, all toned, glistening, and ready for a challenge. My pulse accelerated with each stride he made.
Mrs. Rodriguez glanced at me then at Jameson’s approaching figure. “You know Mr. Winthrop?”
“Yes. I do.”
Jameson stomped up the wooden stairs and settled beside me. “So nice to see you, Xo.”
Did he use her first name? Dammit!
&nbs
p; “Jameson, darling, I can’t wait to see you race,” Mrs. Rodriguez purred.
He smiled at her like they shared an inside secret, and then Jameson’s warm fingers wrapped around my arm. “Would you excuse us for a minute, Xo?”
“Of course. I should find Travis—I’m thirsty. How long does it take to fetch a water?” she wondered aloud before floating away.
When she was no longer within earshot, I yanked my arm away from Jameson’s grip. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I needed to talk.”
The ache in between my legs pleaded “Yes!” but the sane part of me screamed “Hell no!” I shot him a death glare. “No.”
“Let’s grab a water or coffee.”
“Why?”
Jameson folded his arms over his chest. “Because I asked nicely.”
“And I should bend to your will?” I bit out.
Jameson reached out and took my hand. I blinked at him. What the eff is he doing?
“I only need a minute. The other night—”
“Fine. Not here.”
He furrowed his brow, but clasped my hand tighter and steered us back through the swarm of people. What was he thinking pulling me aside in front of everyone? It was bad enough we hate- fucked in his office only days ago.
“Where are you taking me?”
“For once, can you keep your mouth shut until we’re alone?”
My fury bubbled. “Let go of me, dammit! I agreed to talk, not be manhandled, you overzealous horse’s ass.”
“Why do you constantly act like this?” he snarled, tightening his grip. “I’m not some distorted caricature of my former self. It’s still me.”
I sucked in a breath at his words. We had arrived in front of a small shack or tiny boathouse, I wasn’t sure which. The wood of its door appeared scarred by years of harsh weather, its metal handle rusted at the corners.
Before I could find my response, Jameson opened the door. He guided me inside with a hand at the small of my back. The invasion of his palm left prickles on my skin, even through the fabric of my dress. Get a grip!
I bit my top lip. We were alone, again.
“I know what you’re planning,” he said, “and it won’t work.”
