My One And Only

by MacKenzie Taylor

  Ethan held up a hand. "Stop right there. What the hell did you hear anyway?"

  She looked flustered, and he could understand why. He had never raised his voice to her during their engagement.

  "I was your fiancée for six months, Ethan, and we dated for two years before that. I have friends here."

  "And I, obviously, have an employee loyalty problem."

  She advanced toward him. "It's not like that," she assured him, her tone conciliatory. "I happened to stop by the afternoon you left for Prague. I was having lunch with—with someone. She mentioned that Abby Lee had been here to see you. I wouldn't have thought twice about it except that I called Edna for an address on Tuesday, and when I asked to speak to you, she mentioned that you were on your way to Chicago."

  "So you, naturally, decided to storm into my office today and demand answers you gave up the right to have."

  The barb hit its mark. She visibly flinched. Ethan felt a sting of guilt but didn't back down. "I was concerned," she said quietly. "I'm worried about you."

  "I'm doing fine without you," he said. "You don't need to concern yourself."

  She gave him a disgruntled look. "You could at least have the decency to appear a little devastated."

  Ethan simply stared at her. She exhaled an exasperated sigh and slipped into the chair Jack had recently vacated. "Oh, for God's sake, Ethan, can't you take a joke anymore?"

  Not about this, he mused. Not since he'd been waiting two days to hear from Abby Lee and she'd steadfastly ignored him. "I believe my lack of a sense of humor was one of your reasons for ending our engagement. It came after 'temperamentally maladjusted' and 'emotionally detached.' "

  She waved a hand in the direction of the chair. "Would you please sit down? I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking up at you."

  He hesitated, but finally acquiesced. "I've got an incredibly busy schedule today," he told her. "If this isn't something important…"

  "Was it ever important enough for you to disrupt your busy schedule?" she asked, and he didn't think he imagined the hint of sadness in her tone.

  "Pamela—"

  "Never mind," she said, and gave him a slight smile. "That's behind us." At his censorious look, she nodded. "Really, Ethan, it is. I'm just here because I want to talk to you about this Abigail Lee issue."

  "There is no issue—and if there were, I wouldn't be interested in discussing it."

  "Well, I am," she insisted. She regarded him closely. "Are you seriously involved with her?"

  "By your own count, I've seen her twice," he said evasively. "How serious can I be?"

  "Depends. For some people, that's enough time to be completely captivated."

  "I'm not like other people."

  She ignored that. "For you, two times is all you need to have made up your mind. Usually, only once. I'm betting that you decided what you wanted to do with her that day in your office and that's what had you running off to Chicago the day you got back from Prague."

  He wasn't sure if she was mocking him or not, so he said nothing. Pamela leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee. "I didn't come here to pick a fight with you," she said. "I just—actually, whether you believe it or not, I meant what I said. I really am worried about you."

  "I've been taking care of myself for a long time."

  "It's only been a couple weeks since we—"

  "Since you informed me," he interjected smoothly, "that I was emotionally incapable of meeting your needs."

  "You don't have to make it sound so harsh, Ethan. I was hurting at the time, you know."

  He accepted that at face value. At least she didn't appear bent on causing another scene. He'd chosen Pamela because she had all the credentials to be his partner in business and in life. She was an impeccable hostess; she had ambition and drive, and the intelligence to match. She was sophisticated and charming, and other than the occasional bout of dramatics, she wasn't prone to make him uncomfortable. Things hadn't gotten messy until she'd wanted an emotional commitment. "I'm sorry you were hurt," he said.

  She glanced toward the window. "But you don't think I had the right to be?"

  He didn't know what to say, so he waited. When she looked at him again, her eyes were clouded. "Did you ever feel anything for me at all?" she finally said.

  The question caught him off guard. "I care for you a great deal, Pam. You know that."

  "But you didn't love me." It wasn't a question, so he didn't answer it. Pamela shook her head. "Never mind. I can see I'm not going to get anything out of you today."

  "If I had time," he told her, "I'd take you to lunch."

  She looked at him a little sadly. "You didn't have time when we were engaged, Ethan." She stood. "I guess that's really why I came by today. When I heard about your trip to Chicago. I wasn't sure I believed it. No woman likes to find out she's that easily replaced."

  "Pam—"

  She bent down and kissed his cheek. "It's all right, darling. I'm just having one of those moments you hate so much. I'll leave you alone now."

  He walked with her toward the door. She turned to him when her fingers were on the latch. "For the record, Ethan, from what I've heard, I think you really might be in over your head this time. She's not your usual type."

  "Thanks for the tip."

  Pamela brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder. "People say that she's one of those really unreserved type of women—the kind who goes at things with both her emotional guns loaded."

  "I'll consider myself warned," he said, and pulled open the door.

  Pamela shook her head. "God help me," she said, "but I'm almost glad for it."

  five

  "I want you?" At five-thirty on Friday evening, LuAnne pulled her now-blue hair into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic band. She pinned Abby across the kitchen with a shrewd look. "Was it like, I WANT you, or I want YOU?"

  Abby took a long sip of her mineral water. "I'm not sure." It was Memorial Day weekend. LuAnne had come to help Rachel and Abby with the awesome amount of baking Rachel had volunteered to do for the annual party the Montgomery Foundation sponsored for the residents of the Chicago Metropolitan Veterans Center. To fulfill her requirements for the Baldovino competition, Rachel had agreed to oversee the preparation and distribution of 115 dozen cookies. When she'd signed the papers, Abby hadn't thought 115 dozen seemed insurmountable—until the bags and boxes of ingredients had begun to crowd out the space in her kitchen.

  From the look of things, they'd be up to their elbows in flour and egg whites all weekend. And for her part, Abby was glad for the distraction. Between her growing preoccupation with Ethan Maddux and her confrontation with Harrison that afternoon, she was actually looking forward to the sheer effort of the task. She and Rachel had participated in the event for years, usually baking a batch or two of gourmet treats to add to the ample supplies provided by local caterers.

  When they'd started, Abby had felt like the baking—her father's favorite creative outlet— was a way for Rachel and her to share a connection with their parents. Through the experience, Rachel's interest in the culinary arts had grown, and so had the Memorial Day tradition. Now the downtown Chicago center, supported by the Montgomery Foundation, hosted dozens of veterans and their families for the annual event.

  Last year Abby and Rachel had made just twelve dozen cookies. Hours of creaming butter, sifting flour, melting chocolate, and forming the large dough balls that baked into four-inch cookies made her swear every year that no matter how much her sister protested, they were going to hire the job out next time.

  But Harrison had suggested that this year could provide an opportunity for Rachel to improve her chances of being accepted to the Baldovino competition. When Monsieur Billaud had agreed, their lots had been cast. The energy this undertaking would require would help Abby take her mind off her mounting frustrations at work— and also the haunting sound of Ethan's departing words ringing in her ears.

  "All I know is," she finally said, "between
him and Harrison, I'm about to pull my hair out."

  "Don't," LuAnne quipped. "You'd look crappy in a wig."

  LuAnne had called that afternoon and volunteered to help with the baking. The offer, Abby knew, had nothing to do with benevolence and everything to do with the fact that her friend was dying to know what had happened on Tuesday night with Ethan. Abby had artfully managed to avoid answering questions, but her grace period had run out the minute LuAnne walked in the door.

  Abby laughed and continued removing ingredients from the refrigerator.

  LuAnne twisted her blue ponytail into a simple knot and secured it with a bamboo skewer. "So what I want to know is, did you tell Harrison what he said?"

  "Are you kidding?" Abby added several dozen eggs to the growing stack on the counter. "God, talk about a coronary!"

  "Myocardial infarction," LuAnne said.

  Abby laughed. "Do you even know what that means?"

  "No, I just like the way it sounds. One of my clients had one."

  "Is he still a client?"

  "She is, actually."

  "Then whatever it is, it's not as serious as what would have happened if I'd just casually mentioned to Harrison that Ethan said he wants me." Abby groaned. "God, that's a nightmare." She thought about it for a minute, then slammed a package of cream cheese onto the counter. "And just what the hell do you think he meant by that, anyway? I mean, what kind of statement is that?"

  "You want an answer?" LuAnne reached for an apron inside the pantry door. "Or are you just blowing off steam?"

  Abby added three more packages of cream cheese. "You know what I mean," she replied irritably. "He just said that to annoy me. No one normal runs around saying stuff like that. It sounds ridiculous."

  "It sounds sexy as hell to me." LuAnne glanced at the contents of the pantry. "What do you need out of here?"

  Abby frowned. "Flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. Oh, and I think she's got the baking chocolate in there too." She leaned one hip against the counter and drummed her fingers on an egg carton. "And don't change the subject."

  "I'm not." LuAnne handed her a ten-pound bag of flour. "I just don't think you want to hear what I have to say about this."

  "Since when does thinking I don't want to hear something keep you from saying it?" Abby dropped the bag on the table and reached for the sugar.

  LuAnne laughed. "I'm mellowing."

  "Bull."

  LuAnne dumped ten boxes of brown sugar into Abby's waiting arms. "But since you asked," she said, "I think the man wants sex."

  "Oh come on, Lu. Get real."

  "All men want sex. You haven't learned that by now?"

  "You know what I mean. I am not the kind of woman who inspires men to wild sexual passion."

  "Abby—"

  "Seriously. Men don't make life-changing decisions just to take me to bed."

  "Maybe this one will."

  "You're making it sound like I could just drive the man crazy with sexual desire."

  "Any man can be driven crazy with sexual desire," LuAnne announced.

  "By the right woman."

  "Maybe you're his right woman." LuAnne handed her friend a box of baking soda.

  Abby plunked it on the table. "Maybe he just wants to really piss off his father."

  That made LuAnne frown. She stepped out of the pantry. "Is that what you think is going on here?"

  "I don't know. You should have seen the look on Harrison's face today, Lu. I expected him to be angry—well, miffed maybe. I didn't expect him to look so devastated."

  "How long did you say it's been since the two of them talked?"

  "A long time. I guess I just thought they were both really stubborn and somebody had to make the first move."

  "Do you think Ethan hates him?"

  Abby thought that over. "No. It's not like that." She pondered the empty tone in his voice whenever he spoke about his father. "It's not that passionate."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I can't explain it exactly. He just gets kind of lethal when the subject comes up. Sometimes I can almost see the walls drop into place."

  LuAnne groaned. "There is nothing sexier than a man with hidden angst."

  "Oh, knock it off, Lu," Abby said good-naturedly. "I assure you, this is not a case of the misunderstood rebel looking for solace."

  "If you say so."

  "I just wish I understood what was going on between the two of them. We've only discussed it a couple of times—and Harrison always made it fairly clear that he didn't want me to bring it up again."

  "What do you know?" LuAnne handed Abby an apron.

  Abby flipped the bib strings over her head and reached for the ties. "Mostly only Ethan's side of the story. And it's not pretty." She wrapped the ties around her waist. "What Ethan says about Harrison—it doesn't fit. I mean, I've known the man for over ten years. He doesn't seem like the type to just write off his own child. Not when he…" She shrugged. "It just doesn't fit, is all."

  LuAnne nodded. "I can see why you'd think that."

  "Don't you think it's weird?"

  "I don't know Harrison, except through you," LuAnne said carefully, "and I've never met Ethan Maddux."

  "Consider yourself blessed."

  "Not to hear Rachel tell it," LuAnne quipped.

  "He can be very charming."

  "Yeah, well, he pretty much charmed her thirteen-year-old hormones right into a full-blown infatuation. That girl has it bad."

  "He gushed over the food. You know how she is."

  "She says he's a first-class stud."

  Abby's stomach clenched. "I suppose he is."

  LuAnne gave her a narrow look. "You suppose he is? That's not what you were telling me after you got back from San Francisco."

  "I left out a few details."

  "A few?"

  "Okay, several details."

  "Like the fact that the man is drop-dead gorgeous."

  "He's…" Abby searched for the right word. "Charismatic. He just sort of captures a room when he's in it. You should see the way his employees respond to him."

  "Sexy as hell, isn't he?"

  "Definitely," Abby confessed.

  "And he wants you." LuAnne regarded her shrewdly. "And you want him."

  Abby frowned. "Lu—"

  "Don't bother to deny it. What I want to know is, what's the problem here?"

  "The problem is, I can't shake the feeling that he's playing some giant game with me. And I don't like it."

  "Honey, there's only one kind of game men play when they say they want a woman. He does not mean he wants to play accountant and business advisor to his father. And he sure as hell doesn't mean he wants to be financially responsible for you for the rest of his life." LuAnne put her hands on her hips and gave Abby a knowing look. "It's like I told you. That man wants sex. And you're going to have to trust me on this. I know more about it than you do."

  "You've got this all wrong," Abby insisted. "I think it's more like an I-want-you-so-Harrison-can't-have-you kind of thing, instead of an I-want-YOU remark."

  LuAnne snorted. "If you say so."

  "I'm serious. He just knows that if I align with him"—at Luanne's raised eyebrow, Abby flipped a dish towel at her—"Harrison will take it really hard. And that's what he wants."

  "So he's a complete jerk, is what you're telling me."

  "Noooo." Abby pictured him patiently asking Rachel questions about her cooking lessons. "Not a jerk. Just a little clouded, maybe, about what he wants."

  "Doesn't sound like it to me."

  "You weren't there."

  "Good thing, too. If he'd said that to me, I would have jumped his bones."

  Abby laughed. "Liar!"

  "Probably. But here's what I want to know. What kind of man says something like that and then just waits for you to make a move?"

  "Ethan Maddux, evidently."

  LuAnne tapped the counter with a red fingernail. "Hmm. What are you going to do about it?"

&nbs
p; Abby didn't want to answer that. Truth was, she'd been trying not to answer that particular question since the moment he'd made his preposterous announcement. Nor had she wanted to analyze the source of the clenching sensation she got in her stomach when she pictured him saying it. It was ten times worse than his "I'm doing this for you" statement. Then, at least, there had been a sort of devilish sparkle in his eyes. This time, he'd looked so serious.

  Impossibly serious.

  Frustrated, Abby ran a hand through her hair. "Beats me," she finally admitted. "I haven't talked to him since, and after my conversation with Harrison this afternoon, I'm not sure I should."

  LuAnne considered her words for a minute. "You said he took the financial reports with him?"

  "Yes."

  "Then he's expecting to talk to you again. Do you think he's waiting for you to call?"

  "Who the hell knows what he wants?" Abby replied. She frowned at her reflection in the oven door and was saved from elaborating when Rachel entered the room, tying apron strings around her waist.

  "Okay," Rachel announced. "Sorry about that. I called Monsieur Billaud to check on something."

  Abby glanced at her sister and stifled a twinge of nostalgia. At thirteen, Rachel was developing their father's easy charm, natural good looks, and social finesse. With her father's gorgeous olive skin and hazel eyes, and an inherent grace that was already drawing attention from her peers, the young woman her sister was becoming bore little resemblance to the angst-ridden child who'd witnessed her parents' death. The scars, Abby knew, still ran deep, and she fervently hoped that when the time came for Rachel to face those demons, she could give her sister everything she needed.

  Rachel finished tying the apron and added, "I needed a little expert advice on a couple of recipes."

  "We're doing something new?" LuAnne asked.

  "Abby talked to the nutritionist at the center last week. He asked us what the possibility was of adding some diabetic-friendly stuff to the mix."

  Abby nodded. "I thought it was a great idea."

  "We're going to be using some artificial sweeteners and substitute sugars, so I wanted to check on how I should adjust the existing recipes. Since Monsieur Billaud does that entire sugar-free menu thing, I figured he'd know."