“Don’t worry about it,” she assured me, patting my shoulder. “It’s just Ikea.”
“Yeah, Annabelle,” Devon added, gently shoving the eight-year-old and making him yelp. “You can’t keep nice things with these hellions running around.”
There was a smattering of wine on my cream-colored shift dress, and I used the excuse to make an escape from the conversation. “Is there a bathroom I can use to clean up?”
“Of course, right through the kitchen.” As I stood and made my way around the table, I thought I caught sight of Leslie glaring at Rick.
In the privacy of the bathroom, I held onto the sides of the sink, leaning over and trying to take deep breaths through my nose. He had done that on purpose, I knew he had. That little quip had been for my benefit alone. I couldn’t understand why he was being so hateful. I realized that I had hurt him when I questioned the timing of our trip. But was that really reason to hate me forever? I had wanted to work through things, had asked him to wait. He was the one who had left. I closed my eyes, still clearly able to see the way the truck had sat in my driveway, abandoned. The way it felt like my heart was literally ripping from my body.
Stop it. I looked up at myself in the mirror. I was pale, my eyes red. “He doesn’t deserve your tears,” I whispered at my reflection. If he wanted to behave immaturely, he could go right ahead. I refused to allow myself to feel guilt over something that had happened so long ago, something that was not wholly my fault. It wasn’t fair.
I did my best with the stain, thankful it was chardonnay and not something red, before splashing cold water on my face. By the time I left the bathroom, I was feeling marginally better.
Until I saw Rick standing a few feet from the door, leaning against the wall. I stopped short. “What do you want?”
He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “To apologize.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really?”
“Really. That was uncalled for, and I know it. You’re a guest here, and I have no right to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I released a breath. “Thank you.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Okay.”
We stood there in silence, mere feet separating us. He looked more than a little abashed, his dark eyes flashing. I found it difficult to stand still, gripping the hem of my dress and twisting.
“I see you still fidget when you’re uncomfortable.”
I immediately released the fabric. “Bad habit, I guess.”
His face was clouded, as if confused. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice to know that some things don’t change.”
His eyes seemed to darken in the dimly lit hall, and my heartbeat quickened. I couldn’t quite read his expression—for once he wasn’t glaring at me. In fact, he seemed almost…appraising? My throat felt dry, and I desperately wanted to take a step back, put more distance between us, break free from the growing intensity of his eyes. But I found my feet frozen, my gaze trapped in his.
“Uncle Rick!” Peter called, appearing at the far end of the hall. “Mommy said the wine is downstairs.”
My brain was reeling as he turned away. I had no idea what had just happened, but the moment, whatever it may have contained, was effectively broken.
“Thanks, little man,” Rick said. Was that a tremble in his voice? “I better go down and find it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Peter said eagerly.
Rick half turned back to me. “I was sent in for more wine,” he explained. “I guess I’d better… I’ll just go get it.”
“Okay.” My voice was only slightly above a whisper. “I’ll…see you outside.”
He nodded once before striding down the hall to join Peter, leaving me standing alone by the door, even more shaken than I’d been when I came inside.
Chapter Thirteen
I was up early the next morning, my insomnia apparently following me to California. I decided to splurge a little bit, considering the difficulties of the next several days, and ordered room service for breakfast. After it was delivered, I took a long sip of my mimosa, feeling slightly better already, and reviewed the itinerary for the day.
Jim had packed a lot into our few days on the coast. We would be touring Devon’s hotel today, hopefully leaving with a better understanding of the energy-saving measures he had created there. In the afternoon, we would be visiting two spas where Jim wanted to show us some popular trends they had incorporated. He also had a few restaurants for us to visit while in town and had even scheduled in some shopping time with a possible trip to the beach on our last afternoon.
Thank you, Jim, I thought to myself as I left the breakfast table. I had spent hours the night before going over and over the incident with Rick in the hall—the strange flash of his eyes when he looked at me, how his gaze had flickered over my figure when he talked about things not changing. I had gotten so used to him looking at me with barely contained anger and disdain that the softness I had seen the night before proved to be incredibly disconcerting. Thinking about it so much had then led, inevitably, to frustration in myself that I couldn’t just push him from my mind. If I wanted to keep my mind off of him, the best thing for me would be to stay busy during this trip. And Jim’s itinerary provided the chance to do just that.
We all met downstairs in the lobby at nine in order to get over to the hotel. Rather, most of us met downstairs in the lobby at nine—Mary didn’t join us until a quarter after. I watched as Rick’s scowl grew deeper and deeper the longer we waited. Lucy stood at his side, offering a low-murmured commentary on people who were late and unreliable while Charlie paced around, muttering about his wife.
“Sorry, sorry,” she trilled, practically skipping across the lobby in a brand new DKNY dress. “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what shoes to wear. I knew I should have brought those nude Jimmy Choos, they would have gone perfectly, but no, Charlie insisted I had too many pairs. So I had to change my skirt and—” she looked around at us, suddenly realizing that she had no allies in her plight. “Well, anyhow. It took forever to get ready.”
“You’re going to be walking around all day,” Charlie muttered. “Maybe that should have been your concern in picking shoes.”
I could sense a fight brewing, so I stood quickly. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
The mood in the car was icy. Charlie and Mary were glaring at each other across the bench, while Rick stared out the window, obviously annoyed at the late start. Even Jim seemed quiet, probably exhausted by the lot of us already. Only Lucy seemed to be in a good mood, chattering happily about the sights outside her window.
“It’s all so busy,” she cooed. “I’ve never seen so many cars! I don’t think I could drive in this kind of traffic, I really don’t.”
“You’d figure it out,” Rick told her, offering his first small smile of the morning. “It’s just a matter of getting used to it, like anything else.”
Devon’s hotel was only a fifteen-minute drive from our own hotel. He was waiting for us outside, and I felt momentarily relieved to see he was alone. I don’t know why I expected to see Leslie—she had mentioned being a teacher the night before, so she would clearly be at work. But I was relieved, nonetheless, having spent the morning worrying about her knowing looks in my direction.
“Sorry we’re late,” Rick said, his voice tight, making an effort not to look at Mary. But Devon waved his hands dismissively.
“I just got here myself. One of the kids thought it’d be a good joke to put bubble bath in the dishwasher. Let’s just say the kitchen is now buried beneath a sudsy avalanche.”
Rick winced. “Sorry, mate.”
Devon shrugged. “What’s parenting if not an adventure, right?”
“Kids are a trip,” Jim said as Devon led the way into the hotel lobby. “I must have made my parents crazy. I once stuck a Lego up my little brother’s nose. Said I wanted to see how far it could go.”
“Oh God, we’ve had the object in t
he nose ER trip, as well,” Devon said, mock-shuddering at the thought. “In our case, it was a GI Joe gun, if I recall correctly.”
“What about you, Rick?” Lucy asked, batting her eyes up at him. “What terrible things did you do as a child?”
“I was a perfect little angel,” he said.
Without thinking, I snorted aloud. “Oh, yeah. Are you forgetting about the kitty litter in the bath tub incident?”
Rick stumbled a bit as five sets of eyes snapped in my direction. “What kitty litter in the bath tub incident?” Lucy asked, her voice almost accusing. Her meaning couldn’t be clearer: whatever it is, how do you know about it?
Rick gave a good-natured chuckle. “That doesn’t count. I was trying to be helpful! I had no idea what a mess it would make. Now my cousin Ronald, he was always getting into scrapes like that, but his were totally intentional.” He started on some accounting of his cousin’s misdeeds, and soon everyone’s attention was back on him. I breathed a sigh of relief. That had been stupid, letting that slip. As if Rick and I were still in a position to know each other’s secrets. The last thing I wanted was for the others to start questioning our involvement with each other.
By the time we reached the rooftop door, Rick was laughing with Devon about various misdeeds of youth, his annoyance from earlier wiped away. I followed behind as Devon led the way around the HVAC systems on the roof, explaining to Rick and Jim what he had done and the effects those efforts had on the cooling systems. After awhile, Jim seemed to lose interest. I was having a hard time following the conversation—Devon and Rick were getting more and more technical as they got into the details, as if forgetting the rest of us were there. Eventually, the others began to drift away to examine the skyline from the higher vantage point. I remained nearby, wanting to give Emma at least some kind of account of the design.
As Rick and Devon talked about building materials I couldn’t help but notice the way his face lit up. He looked younger than he had earlier, as if the perma-scowl that he seemed to wear aged him more than the years had. In fact, I couldn’t help but think of him as he had been ten years ago—his eyes alight and excited. He had worn that exact same expression the day that we toured the ruined buildings in Detroit. Excited, hopeful, passionate. I could almost pretend, watching him, that nothing had changed. That he might still take me by the hand and lead me off into some great exploration of the things that he loved.
I turned away, an ache blooming in my chest. There was a painful realization hovering at the edges of my brain when I saw him like this. In the years since we had broken up, I had dated an array of men—law students, heavy with the burden of their studies; investors, seemingly interested only in their world of buying and selling; real estate developers and restaurant owners and business men, all eager to show off their money and their status. I’d had good dates and bad dates (more bad dates, if we’re being honest), met interesting people and boring people, good people, kind people—but not one of them had ever inspired me. Rick was the last man who had challenged me in any way, who had the inclination or ability to show me new things, excite me about a topic that I would have never thought twice about. I realized, with a start, that I’d been searching for that for ten years. No wonder I was so damn dissatisfied.
Unable to look at that expression on his face for a moment longer, I wandered off to the edge of the building, thinking a quick look at the view would clear my head. Unfortunately, Charlie and Mary joined me before I’d even had a chance to peer over the edge.
“Annabelle, we need your opinion on something,” Charlie said, pulling on Mary’s arm as they approached. They both looked eager, their earlier frostiness apparently a thing of the past.
“What’s up?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Mary thinks that Rick has a thing for Etta. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Etta?” I asked, startled.
“See?” Charlie crowed, pointing at me. “Look at her face! She thinks it’s ridiculous, too!”
Mary crossed her arms. “It is not ridiculous. A hell of a lot less ridiculous than thinking he likes Lucy.”
“Oh, come off it,” Charlie scoffed. “Lucy is so much more his type.”
“His type? His type? Your sister is a child, Charlie. There’s no way a man like Rick would go for someone so young. And silly! He’s much more serious.”
“Silly?” Charlie cried, loud enough to attract a quick glance from Rick and Devon before they continued on with their examination of the roof slope. “My sister is not silly.”
Mary waved her hands dismissively. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Lucy is fun and carefree. “
“And Rick isn’t?”
I couldn’t help but join Mary in an askew glance at Charlie. There was no way that anyone would describe Rick as carefree. Charlie seemed to think better of the description himself, changing tactic quickly. “Well maybe that’s a good thing, did you ever think of that? Maybe he wants someone to lighten things up for him a little.” He looked away. “I wouldn’t blame him, I can tell you that.”
Mary rolled her eyes at me. “It’s so obvious that he just wants Rick to choose Lucy so that he’ll have a drinking partner at family functions.”
“Wait a second.” I held up my hands. “What makes you think Rick is going to choose either one of them?”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you hear that Leslie woman last night? Hinting to him about settling down and finding someone?”
I shook my head. After the incident with the wine glass, not to mention the encounter in the hallway, I had done my best to ignore both of them for the rest of the evening.
“Well,” Mary went on, quite satisfied to be passing on such juicy gossip, “she told him it was about time he found a real girlfriend, that he’d been a bachelor long enough. And Rick said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m working on it.’”
“Yes,” Charlie interjected. “And then he looked at Lucy.”
“Whatever,” Mary said. “Etta was right by her at the time.”
I fought down a wave of nausea. It wasn’t like I wasn’t expecting this. It had been clear from day one that Lucy and Etta were both eager to make a play for the dashing, mysterious architect with the posh British accent and the killer eyes. And what would keep Rick from reciprocating? He was young and not tied down by either work or family.
“Lucy is far too young,” Mary was saying.
“Oh, yeah, because men always prefer age over youth. Very smart, Mary.”
“What are you saying?” she screeched. “Have you been out on the hunt for someone younger?”
“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes, and I felt a momentary pang of pity for his stupidity. Rolling his eyes at Mary when she was on the attack like this was clearly a bad move. I edged away, wanting to get the hell out of there before sparks started to fly.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“Come on, Mar. It’s preposterous. I’m married—”
“Maybe not for long, you bastard!”
Their shrieks soon echoed across the roof. Luckily, Rick and Devon appeared to be about finished with their inspection and were already talking about going downstairs to see how the design had affected the layout of the rooms themselves, their excited voices carrying across the rooftop. “And then after,” Rick told us, with all the enthusiasm of a little boy about to tour a fire station, “we might head to the basement to see the furnace room.”
“Perhaps it would be best if the rest of us left you to it,” Jim said, his eyes darting to the fighting couple near the ledge. “Maybe this would be a good time to take Mary and Annabelle to the spa over at Blue.” He met my eyes, looking hopeful. He clearly couldn’t wait to get off this roof. “I wanted you to see what they’re doing with salt baths. I think it might be something for us to incorporate.”
“That sounds great,” I assured him. “I’ll get Mary.”
He looked relieved enough to kiss me, and as I headed over to Mary,
now waving her arms around wildly, I decided that I couldn’t blame him.
Chapter Fourteen
We toured four hotels, three spas, and had dinner in two different restaurants over the next two days. My feet were tired from all the walking, and Lucy’s tablet was filled with inspiration pictures and endless notes. I had to hand it to Jim and Rick—in addition to the valuable information from Devon, their trip had the intended result of getting everyone very fired up about the project. We spent long hours discussing the design, ways to incorporate ideas we had seen into our own plans, how we might stand out from the other proposals in Vegas. Rick sketched endless designs on bar napkins and slips of paper while everyone watched, entranced. I hadn’t felt this excited about a project in several years.
On our last night in L.A., Jim arranged for us to visit the club of one of his friends. “I think it really goes along with the art deco vibe we’ve been talking about,” he explained. “Very mid-century modern.”
“Sounds great,” I told him, too caught up in the work to even worry about what it might be like to spend the evening in a dark club with Rick. A dark club where the music pumped loudly, the drinks flowed freely, and the lithe bodies of L.A.’s It crowd pressed together sinuously on the dance floor.
An hour into the evening proceedings, I had fully realized the error of my ways. Lucy and Etta had apparently had a competition in their room to determine who could get away with wearing the least amount of clothes. They giggled endlessly as they flitted between the dance floor and the table, where they sipped champagne and begged Rick and Jim to join them.
I tackled my gin and tonic with admirable efficiency, if I did say so myself. On my left, Mary and Charlie were arguing in an undertone about who would finally convince Rick to dance. On my right, Jim appeared to be working his way through the club’s entire stock of tequila.
“You okay?” I asked, poking his arm gently as he gazed morosely out at the dance floor.
Persuaded Page 16
