by Amy Knupp
After his apology at the bakery yesterday, he’d checked into the Wentworth and paid to extend her stay through the weekend. Nadine had confirmed her apartment would be ready Sunday, so Mackenzie was soaking up the luxury while she could.
She’d spent a few hours working, and then she and her brother had gone car shopping. It’d taken no small miracle to get him to shut up and let her negotiate with the salesman at the Acura dealership, but when they’d walked out several hours later, the keys to a shiny cherry-red ILX in her hand, he’d admitted she’d attained a ballsy deal. She attributed it to a combination of just the right amount of flirting with Cliff, the salesman, and lots of practice getting what her clients wanted from resorts and other worldwide travel companies. Ezra swore he was going to fly her to Houston when he bought his next wheels.
Now she was ensconced on the thick-cushioned, sumptuous love seat in the sitting area of her hotel room, files and notebooks spread around her, laptop on her legs as she dove into finding the perfect tropical spot in the South Pacific for Ellie Grant and Thomas Maywood. The couple had narrowed it down to someplace warm, tropical, and exotic and given Mackenzie some parameters.
To the Stars sent a lot of clients to that area of the world because there were thousands of islands, with everything from populous cities to private paradises. Ellie wanted a small, intimate, luxurious resort, with waterfront casitas. Something with lots of privacy and all the amenities. Mackenzie knew of several and was researching a few others, including Bellamore, the one that had mentioned comping a trip for Mackenzie to check it out. Mackenzie was drooling over its website when her cell phone signaled a text message. She dragged herself away from the photos of turquoise water and sleek private beach casitas and picked up the phone from the cushion beside her.
Hey was all the message said, but it jump-started her heart anyway because of the sender.
She pressed her head into the cushion behind her, gazing at the ceiling, running her options through her head. To reply or ignore.
She’d managed to blow Drake off all day yesterday, and it had been mostly justifiable because she’d been busy with Ezra, buying a car and going to a concert, in addition to working. But if she pulled the same thing today, he might conclude she was upset about what had happened. She was—who wanted to hear, mere minutes after being naked with a guy, that they were nothing but a mistake to him?—but he didn’t need to know that. It might make it seem like she cared more than she did.
Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She cared, and there was a part of her that was overjoyed to hear from him. An ill-advised, stupid part.
With a long, loud exhale, she tamped down that part and tapped in a noncommittal Hi.
Dots appeared to show he was typing, and then, I’m in the lobby. Can I come up?
“What?” Mackenzie slid her laptop to the coffee table and leapt up off the love seat. “He’s bluffing. He doesn’t know where I am.” But it struck her that his brother Cole knew where she was, and the chance of Drake somehow getting that info did exist.
A single glance in the full-length mirror outside of the bathroom confirmed that she was not presentable if he was indeed here at her hotel. She still wore what she’d slept in—striped silky boxer shorts and an old, thin long-sleeved tee—and she hadn’t brushed her hair or teeth yet.
What lobby? she typed as she ran a brush through her tangled hair.
The Wentworth.
If her adrenaline hadn’t been flowing previously, it was now pumping hard. Before she could figure out how to reply, he sent more.
I need to talk to you and have something for you.
Something for her? She momentarily forgot her panic and wondered if it was food. She’d meant to get room service for breakfast but had yet to call it in, two hours after she’d sat down to work.
What flavor of something for me? she replied, stalling for time, fishing for details as she raced around the room, searching for her black leggings and a bra. Because she knew she had to let him in, get this over with, whatever it was exactly, so she could go on with her life and stop thinking about her dreadfully timed tryst with her brother’s best friend.
What flavor do you want?
On the floor in front of the window, on the bottom of a pile of clothes, she found her leggings, grabbed some clean underwear from the suitcase, whipped her boxers off, and yanked both layers on. Then she typed, You know what I like.
Right after she hit send, the double meaning hit her and she grimaced. Food, she meant. Breakfast. Though she’d only stayed with him for a week, he did know her preferences, as they’d hit Carlotta’s almost every single day. She was partial to fruit flavors in her sweets and nothing but beans and caffeine in her coffee.
What if it’s not food? he texted.
Tell me what it is, she replied, pulling a sweatshirt over her head and hurrying toward the bathroom.
If you want what I’ve got, tell me your room number. Otherwise I can go door to door looking for you, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll stake out the lobby until you have to come out for something.
She doubted he would, as he didn’t do well with sitting still or being idle, but she had to get this discussion over with anyway. Besides…she was hungry and maybe it was food. Plus, something in her needed to lay eyes on Drake again. Call it closure for a night that had started out spectacular and ended up a disaster.
With her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, she typed in 322, tossed her phone down, spit out her toothpaste, and hastily arranged her hair in a messy bun. She’d just come out of the bathroom and was about to gather all her clothes off the floor and throw them in the closet when a knock startled her even though she was expecting him. She shrugged at the mess—in addition to the clothes and toiletries everywhere, her work stuff remained spread out and her laptop was still on the Bellamore website.
Turning toward the door, she closed her eyes and took a moment. Not going to let him affect me. Not going to…
He knocked again and she let out a quiet curse at his lack of patience.
When she opened the door and saw him standing there, wearing nothing special, just athletic pants and a Jim’s Gym T-shirt—which happened to reveal some fabulous biceps—she couldn’t help thinking about how those specific biceps had held his body over hers and how that facial stubble had felt against her skin.
She was so damn affected.
When he offered a stunning vase of flowers, which he’d been holding out of her sight, her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find words. She managed to take it from him and couldn’t help leaning forward to breathe in the sweet scent of the blooms.
“Hey, Shawlet,” he said in that low, lazy drawl of his that could turn a girl inside out.
But not this girl. She straightened and moved away from the door, into the room, to show him—and herself—that it was no big deal to be in a hotel room with Drake and a king-sized bed looming across the way.
“Drake,” she said, businesslike. It would take more than the nickname and some pretty flowers to get her to forget about being a mistake. “Thank you. These are gorgeous.”
“But probably not as edible as you were hoping for, so I picked this up from the cart in the lobby.”
He handed her a small paper bag. She peeked inside to see a blueberry scone. “Thank you,” she said, trying not to show how much his thoughtfulness got to her. He was obviously working all the angles and clearly wasn’t a novice at it.
Drake took the vase from her and set it on the coffee table, then took the pastry bag in one hand and Mackenzie’s hand in the other and gently tugged her to the love seat. “Sit,” he commanded. Because he was taking the scone out, she did as he said, biting down on her tongue and trying not to think about the warm strength of his hand. “You eat while I talk,” he said as he handed the pastry to her, along with a napkin.
Instead, she set the scone and napkin on the coffee table next to the flowers while he stacked the folders, placed them next to her, and lowered himself to the
table, planting his still-perfect ballplayer butt by her laptop, pushing the table farther away from the love seat in order to fit his long legs in front of it. Glancing at the screen, he said, “Bellamore. That place looks amazing.”
“I’m researching it for Ellie,” she said. “It’s on a tiny island called Jiva.”
“It sounds like what she said she wants.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees, which brought him closer. Mackenzie shifted away to the corner of the cushion and pulled her legs up next to her, knees to the side. She put more space between them because she could smell him, clean and masculine and uniquely Drake, and she needed to not.
“I owe you a multifaceted apology,” he said, his eyes averted.
“Okay.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did Ezra put you up to this?”
Drake glared, not at her, more at her brother, it seemed. “Hell no. I haven’t talked to him. This is all me.”
“Okay,” she said again, believing him but holding tight to a big dose of caution.
“I’m sorry for calling what happened a mistake, Mackenzie.” He brushed his knuckles back and forth along her lower leg, and she tried to tell herself it was affectionate and not seductive. It wasn’t really working. Seductive was his middle name, no matter what his intentions were.
She forced her attention from his long, talented fingers to his face, and he met her gaze, nearly made her breath catch with those intense blue eyes.
“Mistake insinuates that something was wrong, and believe me, there was not a thing wrong between you and me.”
She couldn’t look away, and she couldn’t breathe. And she couldn’t wait to get this sweatshirt off because it was suddenly broiling in the room. But she fought the urge to shed it, because no matter what Drake’s words did to her insides, she needed to keep an even keel on the outside.
“I know and you know that I didn’t take advantage of you, but Ez doesn’t want to see that. All he sees is his baby sister hooking up with a guy who doesn’t do relationships.”
“I don’t want a relationship,” she said adamantly. “And I told him that.”
“You and I agree on that, and that’s all that matters between us. Whatever happens between Ezra and me is separate. I don’t want us”—he gestured between them—“affected by Ezra.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “You’re forgiven for the mistake comment. I don’t know that you have anything else to say you’re sorry for.”
“I’m sorry as hell our night was ended abruptly and early,” he said, taking one of her hands in his, “because in the short time we had, you blew my mind.”
She fought hard not to melt, but she felt the same way. Cheated. Regretful that she didn’t get the chance to spend one full night with him. But in some part of her brain, she acknowledged that it was for the best. Because, objectively speaking, if her goal was to not fall for this man, then blowing each other’s minds even more was a bad idea.
“Things work out the way they do for a reason,” she said, trying to sound indifferent as she spouted philosophy she was only about fifty percent sold on. “Let’s just say it was fun while it lasted and now it’s over.”
Still holding her hand, he studied her, as if looking for a hint that she was bullshitting him or saying what he wanted to hear. Mackenzie raised her brows to emphasize she meant it and gently pulled her hand away, smiling to show she was A-okay, fine, un-damn-affected.
She would be un-damn-affected as soon as he wasn’t close enough to touch, smell, see the faint beginnings of smile lines at the corners of his sky-blue eyes.
She hopped up off the love seat and put several feet between them. “I really need to get back to work.” And get you out of here.
Slowly, Drake stood, still eyeing her. “We’re okay then? Friends?”
“We’re okay,” she said easily. “I hope you and Ez can work things out. You’ve been friends forever.”
“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally.
“Thanks for the scone and the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“The flowers are from the shop across the street. Supposed to have magical powers.” He was making his gradual way toward the door, and he halted when he was even with her. Peered down at her, seeming to devour her with his eyes, and there was a vibe in the air between them that had her wondering if he was going to lean down and kiss her on the lips in a more-than-friends way.
Instead, he brushed her cheek with his fingers, pressed a friendly kiss to the top of her head, and said, “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Sunday?”
“Moving day. At my mom’s house. I’ll be there to help.”
Right. At his mom’s. With others around. Totally safe. “That sounds good.” She opened the door for him. “I’ll see you then.” She gave a stupid little wave before he turned and went on his way, and then she shut the door, leaned against it.
She’d have her defenses back up by Sunday and be prepared to see him as only a friend and a pair of strong arms to help her move. Because if she didn’t, she had a feeling she could so easily plummet in the other direction and screw up all the things that were most important to her.
Chapter Fourteen
The office of the CEO of North Brothers Sports was nothing special. It was the not-too-big, not-too-fancy corner office on the second floor of an unimpressive, nondescript building, the same place it’d been from day one of the corporate office.
Since the creation of the company in the 1970s, there had been exactly three CEOs—Harrison North, who was Drake’s dad, then Hamilton North, Drake’s uncle, who’d stepped up when Harry died, and then Mason, who was the oldest of all the children of the two original North brothers. Mason was also the most driven, the biggest workaholic, and in the running for most serious, though Drake’s twin, Zane, would give him a run for the money on that.
Drake hadn’t been in this office for ages. Prior to this Monday morning meeting, he’d had no reason to be. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d visited it in the few years since Mason had taken the helm. And still, the room was familiar enough to cut to the bone.
It was his dad’s desk that Mason sat behind. His dad’s wood coatrack in the corner, where there was a trench coat hanging but no suit jacket, as, true to form, Mason was fully suited up at the moment. Drake was more than a little stunned at the emotional punch of being here, meeting with his brother and the marketing VP, in the place where he had countless memories of seeing his dad.
He’d been devastated just like the rest of the family when Harry had been killed in a car wreck. Drake and Zane had been fourteen, and it still caused a deep ache to think about his old man now, which was why he made a point of not thinking about him too much. But sitting here, it was impossible not to recall all the times he’d come to work with his dad as a kid.
Drake and Zane and his mom used to deliver dinner to Harry on evenings when he worked late. Some of Drake’s favorite memories were of playing spy with Zane in the sparsely populated after-hours building while their parents sat in this very room and discussed business or family or whatever they needed to catch up on that particular day. He and his brother would split up and stealthily creep from hiding place to hiding place and see what intel they could overhear, the goal being to avoid detection. Drake’s crowning success was when he’d hidden under this very desk and eavesdropped on his parents’ discussion of Cole’s three-day suspension from seventh grade after a fistfight in the middle school library.
Now Drake tuned in to what Melody Schafer, from marketing, was saying about the potential market for a home fitness equipment division. They’d been discussing it for the past forty-five minutes, and it was clear there was a big opportunity for North Brothers Sports here, one that business bulldog Mason would never let pass.
“So Drake, you can go first at the board meeting,” Melody said, “and give the fitness expert’s perspective—benefits of a one-stop shop for the best brands of home equipment and a place where the customer can t
est them out, as well as how it would work to offer personal training in the home, from liability insurance to marketing our services to finding qualified trainers. I’ll give an overview of the SWOT analysis afterwards. It should be a no-brainer, though Bill will probably have a thousand objections.”
Bill Santini was the VP of Finance. He was in his late fifties and did what finance guys did…tried to rein in spending at every turn. Mason was a big believer in spending money to make money, so while the two frequently went head-to-head, they balanced each other out in the end, or so Drake picked up from family gatherings.
“I’ll handle Bill,” Mason said. “The meeting’s Wednesday at nine a.m. You need to be here on time.” The last part was directed toward Drake, and while Drake was fully aware that timeliness was not his strongest attribute, he didn’t need Mason riding his ass about it. His brother should be thankful Drake had agreed to help them sell the idea to the board.
“I’ll be here,” Drake said curtly.
“Send me your talking points by tomorrow night?” his control-freak brother carried on. “Your bullet points from last week are good. Just expand on them.”
“I got it, Mason. I may not work in the stuffy offices, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“Not stupid at all,” Melody said, her green eyes alight and her voice full of enthusiasm. “This is such a good idea. So much potential.” She tapped her tablet, where she had all her notes, closed the cover on it, and stood. Drake rose as well, to shake her offered hand and let her past him. “It’s been a pleasure to see you again. See you on Wednesday.”
“You too,” he said. He’d only met Melody, a brunette in her early to mid-forties, a couple of times before, at the annual company picnic, or maybe it was the holiday party, but he liked her.
Once she was gone, he sat back down, fully aware Mason would have more to say. He always had more to say. Before the CEO could start, though, Gabe wandered in.
