“Of course I did.”
“And you almost passed out.” She closed her eyes for a second. “No. I’m not putting you through this.”
“Emma, I’m fine. I am. I’ve been over and over this in my head. There’s not any other option right now. And I can deal with it. I know I can. Tonight was just—the shock of seeing him, you know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t want you feeling like this every day.”
“It won’t be everyday. I can get it together.”
She rubbed her forehead as the elevator finally came to a stop on my floor. “How am I supposed to deal with him?” she asked, stepping out in the hall. “I want to go down there and strangle him right now.”
“Please don’t,” I begged. I wouldn’t put it past her—she had once egged the car of a guy who was cheating on Mary back in high school. Say what you will about Emma—she was fiercely protective of her friends. “I don’t want the others knowing anything about this.”
“I can’t believe he spent the entire night acting like we were strangers,” she grumbled, waiting while I dug through my purse for my keys.
“You acted like you were strangers, too,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, because I didn’t remember him,” she said, and I had to struggle to keep from rolling my eyes at her self-importance. Of course it wasn’t possible, in her mind, that he hadn’t remembered her.
I opened the door and she followed me in. “Emma, you should get back down there,” I told her. I appreciated the support, but I wanted nothing more at that moment than to be left alone. “This is work, remember? You’re supposed to be wooing.”
“I refuse to woo that douche,” she muttered, and I laughed for what felt like the first time in ages.
“Well, you have to. Because our company needs this.” I met her eyes, needing her to understand just how close to ruin we really were.
“The company isn’t worth hurting you,” she said softly.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I really am. I’ll be able to handle it much better now that we’ve been face to face. I won’t make a scene.”
She scowled. “I don’t care about making a scene—”
“I care about making the deal,” I argued. “That’s all that matters. So get down there and woo the hell out of them.”
She looked like she wanted to argue but finally blew out a deep breath. “Fine.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“You need a hug?”
I laughed. “No. I’m good.”
She flashed a quick grin. “A drink?”
“A drink I will take. But I can get it myself. Go on. Wooing, remember?”
“Wooing the douche,” she grumbled, slipping by me. She paused at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Try to have fun.”
She snorted before waving and stepping out into the hall. I shut the door behind her, locking and bolting it, before leaning back against it with a sigh.
The numb feeling had finally dissipated, leaving me with crystal clear recollection of what had just happened. A mixture of gratitude for Emma, pain at the encounter, and sharp anger was churning in my stomach. It was no big deal? I could punch his sullen, scruffy face. We were no big deal?
I pushed away from the door, deciding that a drink was definitely a good idea. As I thought about the hard expression in his eyes, the way he had completely written us off like that, the anger quickly grew until it overtook the other emotions. I had thought seeing him would bring back old feelings, feelings that were meant to be buried. Instead, the only thing I was feeling was the desire to kick his ass.
“Douche, indeed,” I said aloud, pulling a bottle of gin from the antique chrome liquor stand, a gift from Emma on my thirtieth birthday. “We were no big deal. What-the-hell-ever, Rick.”
Anger felt good, much better than the fear and sadness that had been so overwhelming me the last few days. Anger was productive. Anger I could deal with.
I’ll show him no big deal, I thought, bringing my drink over to the couch. I’m going to treat him like he’s barely within my notice. Like I could absolutely not care less about him or our no-big-deal relationship.
I was angry at myself for showing so much emotion at our first meeting. I wouldn’t be making that mistake again. As far as Rick Wentworth would ever know, he hadn’t earned a single second of my thoughts over the past ten years.
And I’d be damned if I ever dreamt of him again.
Chapter Seven
I had a hard time getting out of bed the next morning. One gin and tonic the night before had led quite quickly to three more as I thought furiously of just how much I wasn’t going to think about Rick. I finally fell into bed at one a.m., wondering bleakly whether Emma was back yet.
“Oh my God,” I moaned when the alarm went off at six. The shrill noise felt like a hammer to my tender skull. “Shut up.”
I fumbled on the nightstand for the off button, succeeding only in knocking it to the floor, where it continued to beep incessantly at me.
“Shut up, shut up,” I moaned again, crawling out from under the covers and dropping to the cold wood floor to find it under the bed. I finally managed to shut it off. My relief was short-lived; a quick glance at the face told me that it was actually eight a.m.—and that my vision was decidedly double. I must have turned off the first alarm, either in a drunken stupor last night or when it went off this morning. I found my phone on the nightstand. There were three texts from Emma. You up yet? I’m at Pilates—where r u? U alive?
Sorry, slept in, I texted back, flopping onto the bed. The motion set my head pounding again and I groaned. Emma texted me back almost immediately. Good for you! You could use more sleep. Take your time getting in.
I was tempted to take her advice. Maybe go back to sleep for another hour, treat myself to a long shower, see if I could come up with some kind of hangover concoction in my mostly bare fridge.
Then I thought of Rick’s cold gaze. It was no big deal.
I immediately jumped out of bed, steadying myself on the nightstand when the room spun. I would be damned if I let on that the encounter had affected me. I was going to get in the shower, put on my nicest clothes, and get my ass to work at the same time as I always got to work. If I could just get the pounding to stop first…
Forty-five minutes later, I was hailing a cab. A few aspirins had deadened the headache a little, and a pre-shower bout of puking had my stomach feeling much more settled. I had managed to do my hair and makeup without any more puking, and the shower had definitely helped to clear my head. Now, all I needed was caffeine. If Lucy was waiting for me with coffee, I’d give her a promotion right then and there.
She wasn’t at the door to our office, nor waiting at my desk. I frowned to myself as I set my things down and headed out to the coffee machine. She would have to choose today of all days to drop the eager, worshiping act.
I found her at the coffee machine giggling with Etta, Emma’s assistant. They both straightened when they saw me, Lucy blushing a little. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “Miss Russell told me you were coming in late.”
“Not today.”
I moved to the machine and she waved me away. “Let me do it! I’ll be right over.”
“Lucy, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Please, I feel so bad already!”
I looked at her eager, sincere face and smiled. It was nice having an assistant as dedicated as Lucy—even if her enthusiasm sometimes bugged the hell out of me. “Okay. Thanks, Luce.”
She beamed at me as I turned back to my office. I heard her and Etta resume their whispering, and I wondered what had them both so worked up.
I had barely turned on my computer when Lucy arrived with the coffee. “Here you go! Just the way you like it.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully, taking a sip. I somehow managed not to whimper in joy when the rich brew hit my tongue, for once not missing the cream and sugar I forced
myself to do without. “I needed that.”
“How do you feel?” she asked, perching on the side of my desk. “You looked so awful last night!”
“Thanks, Luce.”
“I mean, like really awful. You were so pale!”
I counted to five in my head so I didn’t snap. “I feel much better now.”
“Good.” She paused. “You missed such a great night!”
“Really?” She was grinning from ear to ear, and I got the distinct impression this was what she’d been whispering about with Etta. “I thought it would be boring for you.”
“Oh no,” she said, wide-eyed. “It was fantastic. The Greenery was amazing, the best food I’ve ever had. And Pink is so glamorous!”
“You’ve been there a dozen times,” I reminded her. “That’s one of our clubs.”
“I know, but it was even better than usual last night.”
Suddenly her giggling, the blushing, the eager way she was talking, all started to come together. I knew what she was going to say a fraction of a second before she opened her mouth again. “And Mr. Wentworth was so nice.”
And there it was. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Anyone would say that Rick was good looking. The years had been kind to his frame and dark features. Even the seemingly permanent scowl looked good on him with those dark, moody eyes. And he had been dressed well last night, his suit clearly expensive and seemingly tailored just for him. Not that I had noticed or anything.
“Was he?” I asked, trying to sound unconcerned—trying to be unconcerned. “That’s nice.”
“He really was,” she gushed. “He talked to me for ages. You know how Charlie and Mary are always treating me like such a third wheel. But not Rick—I mean, Mr. Wentworth. He actually acted like I deserved to be there with all of them.”
“Of course you deserved to be there,” I told her. “You’re an important part of our team, Lucy.”
She beamed at me. “Thank you!” She paused, fiddling with her nails. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me how cute he was! I had no idea that you knew him already.”
I sighed. “Like he said, it was a long time ago.”
“But didn’t you recognize him when you saw the picture in Charlie’s file?” She giggled a little. “I don’t think I could have forgotten that face.”
I had a feeling she had somehow managed to get ahold of one of Charlie’s files. That picture was probably tucked safely in her purse, or something.
“I wasn’t sure it was him,” I lied, turning to my computer in the hopes that she would get the hint and go. “He was really young when I knew him.”
“That makes sense. He told me that he would have never recognized you, either.”
My head snapped back toward her at that. “What?”
She looked slightly alarmed at my reaction. “He said he barely recognized you. Because, you know, so much time had passed.”
There was something in her tone, in the shifty way her eyes moved, that told me she was keeping something from me. “What exactly did he say, Lucy?”
“Just that… You know. You looked different.” I narrowed my eyes at her, and she whispered, “Older. But I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a bad way!”
Douche, douche, douche!
“Uh, huh,” I muttered, returning to my screen. “I’m sure he didn’t.”
She remained at the edge of my desk, rearranging the pens in my white-gold pen jar—Tiffany’s. The first thing I bought after Emma and I closed our first deal. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to drop the subject of Rick.
“So,” she finally continued, her voice light. “Uh, do you know much about him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he said the two of you used to hang out—you must have learned some stuff about him.”
“Like what?”
She looked exasperated now. “You know, stuff. What does he like? What does he do for fun? What is he like?”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. The pounding was coming back. “It was a long time ago, Lucy, remember? I don’t recall all that much, to be honest.”
An image flashed through my mind of Rick and me at the lake, all those years ago. Of the flash in his eyes when he teased me, the feel of his lips against my shoulder. Of the excitement in his voice when he told me about Madrid and the things we would do there. Of the way his mouth had felt, pressed against mine, his tongue running gently along—
Yup. Don’t remember much at all. Just the way he looked and sounded and smelled and tasted.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “That’s too bad.”
“Sorry,” I said brightly, more than ready to change the subject. “Anyhow, were you able to get those numbers together for me? My meeting with the accountant is at eleven.”
“Oh.” She looked slightly caught off guard, as if she had forgotten why exactly she was in a business suit in my office. “Work. Right.”
I allowed myself one giant eye roll as she left the room. Of course she thought he was nice and cute. She was practically a toddler; she didn’t know any better.
“Old,” I muttered, stabbing the keys of my keyboard much harder than strictly necessary. “Who the hell is he calling old?”
My anger got me through most of the morning. In fact, I finished my tasks so quickly that I was ready to leave a full hour before the meeting was set to start. I was considering stopping at Emma’s salon on the way—she had been raving about their ten-minute Botox special. Not that I needed it or anything. And certainly not for any reason relating to Rick douchebag Wentworth.
Just as I was reaching for the phone to call Emma for their number, Lucy’s voice sprang from the speaker. “Annabelle, the accountant’s office just called. They want to move your meeting to tomorrow. You have an opening at one—shall I reschedule?”
I frowned. I had been counting on that meeting. I needed to get out of the building, have something to concentrate on. Now I would have to stay here. And staying here meant sitting in on the initial planning meeting with Rick and Jim.
“Annabelle?” Lucy repeated. “Are you there?”
“Sure, Luce. Tomorrow at one is fine. Can you let Emma know, please?”
“Okie dokie.”
Great. I had not been planning on having to see him today. Not that it mattered. It certainly didn’t bother me. I couldn’t care less about him, really.
I grabbed a mirror from my purse and held it up to my face, peering at the dark circles under my eyes. Shit. Rick hadn’t been kidding—I did look old. I tried to relax my face, wishing I could make the wrinkles around my eyes fade. Maybe Mary had been right about too much frowning. Regardless, I could see the evidence right there in my little compact mirror; of the two of us, I was the one who had changed most since that summer. In addition to the crow’s feet, I had gotten much paler—kind of silly when you consider I had moved from a cold-weather climate to the desert. My face was more angular, too, a result of aging and losing a significant amount of weight. Not that I had been big that summer, but I had a clear memory of a softness in my hips and features that I had banished though countless hours at the gym.
On the plus side, I dressed better these days; there was no doubt about that. I had traded in my shorts and sundresses of that summer for proper adult clothes—I was currently wearing a Michael Kors shift dress in soft butter yellow. Granted, I had gotten it on eBay, but still. And my hair was an improvement, too. Instead of the messy waves, it was straightened and sleek, shiny—though on plenty of mornings, I was too tired to do much more than pull it into a tight bun.
I wondered idly if Rick would consider any of these things—the clothes and the hair and the hard-fought-for physique—to be an improvement. He seemed to like me plenty back then.
I tamped the thought down—what was the point in remembering how he had felt then? Why did I even care? Still, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for my makeup bag in the top desk drawer. I pulled out a concealer stick and went to work on the dark spots below
my eyes, trying to hide the damage as best I could. I hadn’t gotten very far when a sharp knock sounded on my door. Emma stood in the hallway, waving at me through the window. I waved her in, hurriedly trying to hide the makeup bag.
“Good,” she said, pointing at the stick of concealer in plain sight on my desk. “Get your game face on.”
“Huh?”
“Your game face.” She gestured at the concealer. “I just heard you’re sticking around today. I’m assuming you’re coming to the meeting?”
“I don’t really have any reason not to come.”
She nodded. “Then a game face is definitely good strategy.” She peered at my face critically. “You’re still pale. Don’t you have any bronzer?”
“Wait, you came in here to make sure I was re-doing my makeup?”
“You are redoing your makeup.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was so desperately needed that you would come down just to check!”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I hadn’t even seen you yet today. I’m sure you looked perfectly fine even before you started your touchup. I came down to see how you were feeling about the meeting.” She arched her eyebrow. “But I’m glad to see that you’re being proactive. Looking good will make you more confident. And show that asshole what he’s missed.”
I groaned. “I look desperate, don’t I?”
She made a tsking noise. “Don’t be silly. What girl wouldn’t freshen up a little when she’s about to come face-to-face with an ex?”
Her words sent my stomach plummeting. I was about to come face-to-face with him. I prayed to anyone listening that I would handle it better than I had the night before.
“I almost asked you for the number at your salon,” I admitted. “I was actually thinking of getting Botox, that’s how desperate I am.”
“You do not need Botox,” she scoffed. “You have skin like a baby seal.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “And what does a baby seal’s skin look like, exactly?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not wrinkly?”
Persuaded Page 10
