by Fran Lee
Come, My Love
Fran Lee
What Fran Jamison and Jack Gerrard have in common could be balanced on the head of a pin. Jack screwed up his chances with the BBW years ago when he allowed his friends to influence his choices. And Fran totally lost her chance with the hot campus jock by openly spurning his attempt to apologize.
Fran has never been to any of the reunions, but now a friend needs her, so this time she hasn’t been able to shimmy out of it. What she doesn’t expect in a million years is to find herself making hot love with Jack Gerrard on the hood of a parked car…in the airport parking ramp!
Jack lost her once. But if she thinks she’s getting away this time, she’s dead wrong.
Come, My Love
Fran Lee
Chapter One
To: franjamison@think_tank.com
From: [email protected]
Hello to all of Gracie’s Girls, class of 2002. Once again, thanks to all of you for the flowers and phone calls after my aunt Gracie’s passing last winter. You all meant so much to her, and to me.
As I’m sure you all know, our ten-year college reunion is coming up this summer. Since I now have Aunt Gracie’s big rambling house all to myself, I’d like to extend an invitation. If any of you are coming back for the reunion, you’re more than welcome to stay here, in your old rooms. Gracie quit taking in college students several years back, so there’s no one here but me and I’d love to have some company while I’m getting the house ready to put on the market. So what do you say? One last time as roommates? It would be great to see all of you again.
Hugs,
Karen
* * * * *
She hadn’t planned to attend, at least not until she’d received Karen’s guilt-inspiring email. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to hit the delete key and pretend the email hadn’t arrived, but she just couldn’t do that. Karen was having financial problems and might have to sell the historic but dilapidated old Victorian house they had all shared in college.
She shouldn’t feel so gun-shy, but even after all these years it would be hard for her to go back and see all her old pals with the memories of her college years slamming hard into her refurbished self-image. A self-image that had taken her seven long years of analysis and hard work to create.
Fran sighed and rubbed her temples, shoving her reading glasses up onto her sleep-tousled head. She’d received the formal reunion invitation last week but had tossed it without even looking at it. No use reliving the whole college scene just to see how everyone else looked… See how many of her friends had kids… How they had all changed over the ten years since she’d last seen them. She certainly didn’t feel like listening to them telling stories about new babies and favorite pets and how they’d met their husbands.
All the things Fran had excluded from her life in favor of monetary success and “being her own woman”.
Fran was far more realistic now. She refused to kid herself. She had never found the man of her dreams and settled down to raise a family, mainly because it had taken her seven years to get past her own demented mental image of herself. And now that she finally recognized her own worth and had learned to love herself as she was, she was way past the wild need to flaunt her wares and try to trap some unwary male. Besides, most men in her age bracket were already married. Or divorced and on the rebound. Or just looking for a one-night stand. So far, that had never quite appealed, no matter how good-looking the man in question happened to be.
Men were not a necessity in life. Besides…she’d royally screwed up, long ago, with the only man she’d ever really wanted any sort of relationship with.
She ran her fingers through her wild curls and pressed her thumbs against the bridge of her nose. Back then she’d been so sure that the tentative advances he’d made were simply another way for the jock community at WIU to have a laugh-fest at her expense. She’d reacted defensively, tearing his ego into tiny strips. And then he’d basically left her alone. Damn…
Only years later, after many long sessions with her uber-patient therapist, had it flashed with astonishing clarity into her mind. Jack Gerrard—her dream man—had actually tried to ask her out on a date. And she had gone off on the man as if he’d just asked her to jump naked into an anthill.
She gave a sigh of resignation. The worst part of it was that she’d always had the most pathetic crush on the man—most girls had crushes on the hot, sexy hero of the WIU gridiron.
Even in high school, Gerrard had always been in the company of cheerleaders and prom queens and the most popular girls. They hung all over him like bees around a honey pot. One look from those riveting blue eyes could make any girl drop her panties with a scream of delight. But Jack had ignored them most of the time, keeping up excellent grades so he could play varsity football. She supposed that was the true attraction.
Sure. There she went, lying to herself again. She’d been hot for his ripped body, just like all the other girls. But it had gone deeper than that with her.
He had offered her some modicum of friendship, and good-looking guys did not want to be pals with Fran Jamison. So when that friendship was withdrawn without explanation or reason, it had torn her up inside.
Fran leaned back into her leather desk chair. Getting through high school and completing college had taken every ounce of strength she possessed, but she had managed it with top grades. She’d avoided Jack Gerrard as if he no longer existed. She’d made certain that she built a shell around her mind and soul and in college she’d toughened up that outer shell to ward off any painful quips the guys made about her size or her height.
She had graduated first in her class, with a full post-grad scholarship to Harvard Business School for her master’s studies. She’d left WIU behind and never looked back.
It had been a rough go, but she’d spent the last ten years methodically building one of the most sought-after consulting firms in the world. She had parlayed a first-class education into a multimillion-dollar corporation using government grants for seed money and a sharp business acumen that took her to the top of her profession. Eight and a half years of working 24/7 on her business. Seven years of therapy. A totally new Fran Jamison.
And now she was actually going back to the beginning of it all? She had more guts than she’d thought. And it almost made her physically ill.
She typed a quick acceptance, then slowly closed her laptop. She rose from the desk chair and scratched her head as she yawned capaciously. Glancing into the mirror that graced the far wall, the one with the giant slogan hung over it that said “See not the world through the eyes of others”, she smiled grimly and said, “Okay, Fran…that gives you exactly four days, thirteen hours and twenty-six minutes to get your shit together.”
Chapter Two
The computer screen blinked as Jack shut down the accounting program with a weary sigh. One of these days he was really going to have to break down and hire an accountant. His friend Kyle Gillespie had been bugging him to do that, and he’d been considering it for the last few months. He had too much on his plate to have to see to the books for every one of the twelve restaurants in the chain he’d built from the ground up. He’d gotten in so far over his head that he’d taken the leap and had hired Kyle as his assistant, then he’d turned over the operations of each satellite restaurant to experienced managers and first-class chefs, keeping just this one for his own enjoyment. And he did so love being hands-on with this baby…
But keeping the books for all twelve sites was getting to be too much. They were all pretty much self-supporting at this point, with enough left over each year to pay himself a handsome bonus as well as giving the same to all his employees. Things were going better than he’d ever dreamed.
He’d considered the idea of du
mping the LLC, fully incorporating and offering stock options, but he just didn’t have enough knowledge about stuff like that to make the jump.
Maybe next year.
As he reached to turn off the desktop computer, the email flag popped up and he sighed wearily. “Now what?” he muttered as he clicked on the email icon. As the screen came up he swore softly beneath his breath and wished he’d shut it off without checking.
Ex alert! KA and FD reserved rooms at the Ambassador for Friday p.m. You still working on the plans to cater the Spot’s gala dinner dance? Looks like we’ll be stuck with the Rec Room because every place in town is packed. Let me know. R.
He leaned back in his chair and ran both lean hands through his mussed hair before scrubbing his palms down over his unshaven face. Of course Kelli Anne would be there. She wouldn’t miss any opportunity to show off her newest catch. Why had he even bothered to hope that his ex would stay in Kansas City and leave him the hell alone? When had she not grabbed every opportunity she could to come back into his life and wreak more havoc?
He wondered what had ever possessed him to ask her to marry him in the first place. Never mind. He knew what had possessed him. Kelli Anne Darnell had been the one of the hottest women on campus and she’d chased him with single-minded purpose. He’d convinced himself that she loved him. He’d even convinced himself that marrying Kelli Anne was better than being alone.
He had no wish to see Kelli Anne again. And she would certainly be at the dinner over at the Spot. If he catered, she would be underfoot all night as usual. No way! He shook his head. Hell. He would simply have Kyle do the catering for the jock dorm they had lovingly dubbed The Wet Spot. Spending the entire night in the unvarnished company of his ex-teammates wasn’t exactly his idea of an enjoyable evening anyway.
He’d spent four lost years living in the old frat house. He had too many memories stuck in his craw. He had no wish to go back to the place where stupidity had taken over and his good sense had deserted him. Too fucking much pain there.
As for socializing at the reunion, he would go to the cocktail party at the Ambassador but that was about it. That way he would severely limit any contact with Kelli Anne and Faris Devlin.
Faris Devlin. He rubbed his temples gently. That shitty little weasel! He’d wondered when his ex would finally tie up with the man who’d helped her to siphon off almost every penny he had to his name while he was laid up in the hospital. What had it taken? Three years?
No big surprise.
Kelli Anne had loved being the glamorous, pampered wife of a seven-million-dollar-a-year pro quarterback, but when he’d been badly injured, lying in traction and splints with metal pins holding his wrecked shoulder together, she’d seen the end coming and had scrambled to protect her own best interests. While he’d been laid up, Kelli Anne had used a power of attorney she’d gotten him to sign so she could handle his affairs, and the bitch had switched all of Jack’s assets into her name, including the houses, the cars and the bank accounts.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He was no longer her “trophy male” with a brilliant future. She’d done quite a job on him. She hadn’t left him even a pot to piss in, as his daddy would have said.
He’d let her keep what she’d already snatched from him in the divorce provided she never asked him for another dime in the future, and she’d agreed, never imagining that Jack Gerrard would amount to a hill of beans outside the pro-football arena. She had skittered off into the sunset chuckling gleefully that she’d taken her stupid jock ex to the cleaners.
So she hadn’t gotten a dime of the two million dollars in disability insurance that he’d bought long before he’d become the starting QB for the Kansas City Chiefs. He’d picked up that policy while playing college ball and now he was glad he’d continued making the hefty payments on it through his pro years. That money had been seed money for his restaurant…and that one restaurant had grown to a chain of a dozen over the past five years. Jack Gerrard’s Goal Posts restaurants had become all the rage in four states.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then typed a response to the email and shut down his computer, leaning back in his chair. A deep groan escaped him as he stretched and closed his eyes.
Their ten-year reunion. He’d gone to the five-year reunion right after the divorce, hoping he would see her there. She hadn’t shown. He supposed it had been a long shot in the first place. He was pretty sure she had no use for the assholes who had spent four years hassling her and treating her like total shit. And the way he’d treated her…well, that was just as bad.
He leaned his head back and wondered if she’d be there this time. He hadn’t seen her in all those years. He’d heard that she’d made a big name for herself in the business world. But he’d never been able to bring himself to ask her friends if she had married. If she had a family. It was hard to think that she might have six kids by now with some lucky son-of-a-bitch. And he might have been that lucky man…if only he’d thought with his brains instead of his ego so long ago.
No use crying over spilled milk. Life went on. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Shit. How could he expect her to have forgiven him when he hadn’t been able to forgive himself?
He rose irritably and stalked out of the door. A five-mile run down by the river’s edge would feel really good. Help him get things straight in his mind. Keep him from those recurring daydreams.
* * * * *
“Gerrard here.” Jack glanced from his menu program to the caller ID, then pressed the speaker button and continued adding specialty items for the following week. “What’s up, Karen?”
“I need you to pick up another passenger when you drive out to the airport tonight, Jack.” Karen’s voice came brightly through the speaker. Was that woman ever anything but chipper? He shook his head with a wry grin.
“What flight?” he asked absently as he typed “Chateaubriand with Pinot Noir Sauce and Shiitake” into the Friday night menu.
“Flight 2390 from Chicago. It arrives at 9:45. No shuttles except once every two hours, and you know how bad the taxi service is at the airport with the reunion traffic.”
He inhaled slowly.
Chicago?
His body reacted to even the remote possibility…
“Who am I looking for?” His voice was taut.
“Fran Jamison. You’ll have room, won’t you? I know you already have to pick up Bill, Grant and Frank. I guess it’s asking a lot. Should I ask someone else?”
He sat there in stunned silence for a moment before responding. His mind wrapped itself fiercely around the name.
Should she ask someone else? No fucking way!
“Um…no…I’ll take the catering van.” He managed to sound calm.
“Thanks, Jack! I owe you! I can’t get away tonight and I was so worried!”
“No prob, love,” he replied, and pressed the end button as his breath whooshed out. He stared at Saturday’s lunch menu without seeing it.
She is coming.
His gut clenched and his cock decided it had a mind of its own as it doubled its size in seconds. He shook off the surreal feeling and closed down the program, his mind and body warring over what he needed to do next. His mind finally won. Glancing at his watch, he figured he had just enough time to unload the restaurant supplies he’d picked up earlier in the day and catch a quick shower before he had to leave for the airport. He moved mechanically, in slow motion. All he could manage to think was, She’s coming.
Chapter Three
“Hey, Karen! I’m at the airport. Did you arrange for a ride?” Fran sidestepped a gaggle of sniffling kids with a frazzled mother trying to herd them along to the baggage pickups, her nose wrinkling.
God, how I hate airports! Hundreds of people jammed together like sheep—people who didn’t know how to cover their mouths when they coughed jostling with those begging for nickels and quarters for this charity or that. She gave a firm shake of her head and ignored the bowl a young person wearing an or
ange robe shoved under her nose.
“Sorry, I have no change on me,” she lied.
“Bless you, sister.” The young man smiled beatifically and she winced at her own lack of resolve as she hesitated and switched her roll-along handle to her left hand. She heaved a long-suffering sigh and used her free hand to fish a small fistful of change from the bottom of her jacket pocket, dumping it into and over the sides of the bowl.
“Thank you very much!” The youth grinned.
“Yeah…sure…” She gritted her teeth as she managed to switch her roll-along case to her right hand again, still juggling her cell phone on her shoulder.
She’d missed everything that Karen was saying and all she caught was, “…should be there by now. Probably waiting by the baggage pickup for your flight…”
She barely screeched to a halt before tripping over a child who’d bent over to pick up one of the dimes she’d scattered. She almost dropped the phone and just caught it, only to find that she’d disconnected the damn call during her juggling act.
For Pete’s sake! Just get me out of here, Lord!
Unfortunately, not a single saint or deity was paying her the slightest attention.
With a groan of disgust she craned her neck around the area, looking for the signs that would lead her out of this zoo…and collided painfully hard with a solid body standing directly in her path.
“Oh God! I’m so sorry!” she gasped as she found herself suspended above the floor by the grace of God and one hell of a powerful arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Her roll-along overnight case dangled precariously from her fingertips and she clutched her shoulder bag with her laptop in a death grip while attempting vainly to get her slippery, leather-soled shoes back where they belonged—under her.
Can anything else possibly go wrong?
“Here…let me take that bag so you can get your balance, Franny.” The far-too-familiar voice came from the direction of the big, hard body holding onto hers.
