by Kris Jayne
"Your father invited me to dinner and said that you'd be there. I'm sitting here in my office wondering what he knows about our relationship that I don't. Please call me back," Nick said before he hung up, feeling weary. A few months ago, his life rolled out before him in perfect synchronicity with his plans. His relationship had been effortless. Now, he didn't know what was going on.
Vivienne's dad could be overbearing, but he could manage that. Vivienne managed her parents like a pro. She'd once given him the best advice on that front, "The key is to make them think that what you want is what they want." That had seemed easy enough as long as he knew what he wanted.
Nick leaned back in his leather office chair. He'd strapped himself to this freight train, and it kept chugging toward its destination. He clasped his hands together and straightened up. The partnership at Winston Stratford entailed everything he wanted—status, wealth, influence—and proof that he deserved it all.
Chapter Eight
The only message Nick received from Vivienne was a text answering none of his questions.
> Got your message. Can't wait to see you at dinner.
She couldn't wait to see him? He'd left her messages nearly every day with sporadic responses. In the past month, he heard nothing. Vivienne's text made even less sense than her enthusiastic welcome when he walked through the door of her parents' extravagant home.
The three-story mansion of cream stone sat imposingly in a wide clearing at the end of a long drive. The road to the house wound its way back from a gated guard station through a thicket of heavy-limbed oaks and maples. Nick took note of the Morans' small concession to water conservation—the large fountain ensconced in the circular driveway was reduced to a low trickle until later in the fall.
Vivienne closed the heavy wood door behind him and grabbed his hand to walk together under an arched stairwell to an expansive family room in the rear of the house. Her parents already sat on the huge brown leather sofa, holding cocktails. Vivienne snaked her arm around his. The sudden physical contact along with the brightness in her eyes and smile startled him. She leaned in and whispered, "I'm so glad you came," and gave his arm a tight squeeze.
Nick returned a hesitant smile. Her affection gave him hope for their future together, but he didn't understand its sudden resurgence. He suppressed his alarm and shook Tom's hand. If Vivienne was happy again, he would be happy again.
"It's lovely to see you, Nick. You two are such a striking couple," Vivienne's mother, Sheila, exclaimed. Nick walked over to her and leaned down to kiss her pale, powdered cheek. He looked from the older woman to Vivienne and back again.
Sheila didn't have Vivienne's height, but the two looked alarmingly alike. They both had pale blonde hair that almost read as silver even in the younger woman's shoulder-length bob. Both had an elegant length to their neck and limbs, and both moved their slender bodies with practiced grace. According to Vivienne, her mother preferred to sacrifice a more youthful plumpness in her face to maintain her size two figure. "When you get old, it's either your face or your ass," Vivienne had told him.
Jonah, Vivienne's brother, waved at him from the arched portico outside. He had the same tall frame and blond hair, though a darker gold than his mother or his sister. He likely didn't maintain a standing appointment with a colorist like the women in his family. At forty-one, he was Vivienne's senior, but his girlfriend looked like she couldn't be more than twenty-five or twenty-six.
"Nick! Good to see you. This is Emily," Jonah said, extending his hand. Nick shook it and then turned to the smiling woman with fine, light brown hair.
"Nice to meet you, Emily."
"Nice to meet you," Emily said. Her eyes darted around him as Vivienne came to stand next to him.
"Emily teaches kindergarten. Isn't that delightful?" Vivienne said in a way that made it sound not delightful at all. Nick got the feeling Viv wasn't Emily's biggest fan. Despite Vivienne's tone, Emily kept smiling and clinging to Jonah's hand.
"It is. I love that she works with kids. She's got a big heart," Jonah said.
"It's admirable," Nick replied. They stood in awkward silence until Tom came over and slapped Nick on the back.
"What can I get you to drink?" he asked while cradling his tumbler of Scotch in his hand. Nick asked for the same. He'd grown to appreciate the drink, and he knew whatever Tom was serving would be spectacular. Tom motioned to Miranda, their housekeeper.
"Daddy was telling us that you had a meeting today," Vivienne said.
"We're helping your father with a new venture," Nick explained.
Miranda handed Nick his drink, and his prospective father-in-law raised his glass.
"Cheers," he said, raising his glass along with his host.
"Getting involved in the family business, huh, Nick?" Jonah asked.
"Not exactly. Your father was looking for new counsel, and I introduced him to the partners in my firm."
"Trust me," Jonah said with a sideways grin. "That's being in the family business. And, hey, I think that's great. I'm still looking for that save the date for the wedding, though."
Vivienne stiffened. "We're working on it, Jonah. I didn't think you'd be in a rush to have your younger sister get hitched before you."
Jonah laughed. "I'm a man, sister dear. I've got time."
"Don't take too much time, Jonah. Your girlfriends are staying the same age, but you're not," Vivienne retorted.
Poor Emily looked back and forth between brother and sister.
"She's kidding, Em." Jonah tilted his head toward his younger girlfriend, who gaped, none the wiser.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes if you'd like to head into the dining room," Miranda announced.
Tom and Sheila headed down a hallway, past their massive kitchen, and into the dining room. Jonah took Emily by the arm and down the hall, turning back briefly to shoot his sister a dirty look. Vivienne smirked and started to follow, but Nick touched her arm to stop her.
"Wait, Viv. Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Sure," she said, maintaining her broad smile until her family left the room. Then, she faced him. One of her brows lifted as she bit her bottom lip.
"Are you okay?" Nick asked in a hushed tone.
"Yes," she said, succinctly.
"We have barely spoken in four months, and then I get this invite from your father. You act like everything is perfectly fine. I want to know if it's really fine. Why haven't you answered my messages?"
Vivienne sighed. "I needed to step away and think about some things. With the pressure from the wedding and my mother," she paused. "I don't want to talk about this now, but everything is fine. We can have dinner this week. Come to my place. We can talk."
Nick didn't know whether he should be feeling more, or less, encouraged, but regardless, he resolved to get their plans back on track. Dinner with just the two of them was a start.
"Absolutely. I'll come by one day after work. Let me check my schedule."
He watched Vivienne's eyes dart in the direction of the dining room, but he couldn't let her go yet. Nick took her hand and pulled her close to him, lifting her hair to stroke the back of her neck. She tipped her head back, and Nick seized on the invitation to kiss her. Her lips yielded under his. Their softness stirred his memory.
While they'd never had a burning passion between them, Nick longed for the physical contact. He tasted her lips and her tongue and tried to recapture the feelings he'd lost in her absence from his life. Vivienne pushed back on his chest.
"They're all waiting," she said, evenly and with a hint of chastisement. Nick recovered himself easily and ran his thumb along her delicate jaw line from her chin to the soft spot behind her ear. Something unnamable compelled him to try again.
"I don't think they'll mind if we take a moment to catch up."
Vivienne shook her head and glanced again over her shoulder. "Maybe not, but Miranda will be quite displeased if the food gets cold while we're fooling around."
"Fine
," he said, reaching to pull her close to him one more time.
Vivienne shook her head. "Uh, uh. Dinner. I'm starving."
Sex or food? Right now, Nick would take sex, but he knew he couldn't drag Vivienne down to the Brazilian rosewood parquet floors and get it on in the middle of the Morans' den. He surveyed the wood's dark brown whirls, and the color brought to mind shining waves of espresso hair. Micky had fire. She might take his head off, but he'd love it. Nick blinked and focused on Vivienne. Indulging in brunette fantasies had to stop.
Nick ate many dinners here, but the Morans' dining room still stunned him. The room broke off the wide hallway between the kitchen and the formal living room. Three walls of divided light windows framed an immense, antique table that sat sixteen people. Foot-wide crown molding sat atop the walls, breaking at the corners for scrolled sconces. On the right wall, a stone fireplace sat in the center, providing warmth and ambiance in the winter.
The first time Nick set foot in the room, he'd been amazed at the size of the Persian rug laid out under the impressive table. It had to be at least twenty-five feet long. He looked up and out the many windows.
Although it was nearly eight o'clock, he could still appreciate the view in the twilight. At the far end of the room, a pair of French doors opened out onto a stone patio as large as the indoor living area. It curved around to the left of the dining room and led to a set of steps taking you down to an Olympic-size swimming pool. Another flagstone staircase outside the doors on the right took you down to a clearing centered around a picturesque, 100-year-old oak tree, which formed the view from the family room.
The tree was only slightly older than the house. The acreage surrounding the house stretched beyond the entire scene, all the way down to their private tennis courts and guesthouse.
Tom sat at the head of the table on the far side of the room. Nick followed Vivienne and sat to the left, opposite her mother and brother. Sheila swept her hand through her pale hair and then straightened the napkin on her lap. While she'd always been pleasant to Nick, he found Vivienne's mother more than a little intimidating.
The last dinner Nick attended had put Vivienne and him squarely in the woman's crosshairs. Two weeks before Vivienne went radio silent on him, he'd sat at this mahogany dining table, staring out into the darkness. He'd imagined what would happen if he grabbed Vivienne by the hand and made a break for it.
"Your wedding is just over a year away, Vivienne. It's not going to plan itself. Have you even made the guest list? Nick has his family, his college friends, and his work colleagues. That's wonderful, but you have an entirely different set of social balances to strike. Your wedding will be an event, and we have to think carefully about the right people to attend," Sheila had explained.
Vivienne's mother had beamed with enthusiasm. She would surely love wielding the social hammer of an invitation to her daughter's nuptials. Nick thought of how she'd reacted when Vivienne intimated she'd invite her college roommate's family.
Sheila and the other woman's mother, a woman named Birgit Schoen, had fallen out. The lady headed up a charitable committee to host a fundraising event for a local women's shelter. When Sheila had asked to join the board, Birgit had told her "yes," but then called one week later full of apologies. They decided to keep the committee membership to a minimum, but maybe next year, Sheila could try again. Of course, Vivienne's mother had been outraged.
Birgit had extended an invitation to the wife of one of the Dallas Cowboys instead. Some "unfortunate girl" from the Ozarks who'd dropped out of the University of Missouri once her then-boyfriend was drafted. Social capital had to be earned.
When Vivienne brought up inviting the Schoens, Sheila's rage had flared red on her usually pallid face. Over the following week, Sheila had swerved between not inviting the woman and inviting her, but putting at the worst possible table—near the kitchen with her husband's strangest cousins from Baton Rouge.
The wedding had quickly turned into an opportunity for doling out high-society justice rather than a celebration of their commitment to one another. Now, the urge to run away hit Nick again. Eloping sounded like heaven, but he'd have to grit his teeth and make it through the wedding.
The last thing he needed was to end up on the receiving end of Sheila's retribution. Nick smiled at Miranda as she slid a soup bowl in front of him. He stared down at the pool of pale green in the shallow bowl.
"Cream of asparagus," Miranda informed him.
Nick's throat closed at the thought. Creaming vegetables into odd soups must be a favorite pastime of the wealthy. One seemed to make an appearance on every high-toned menu. He picked up his spoon and took a deep breath.
"I had a wonderful lunch with Bob Stratford today. I'm looking forward to working together on our next venture, Nick," Tom said.
"I take it you're not talking about his and Vivienne's wedding?" Sheila asked.
"Precisely. Must we talk business?" Vivienne asked and directed a soft pout at her father.
"No, but I thought you'd like to know how well your fiancé's boss regards him," Tom explained. "And I am glad that Nick, Jonah, and I will have a chance to work together. Nothing solidifies a relationship like working toward a common goal."
"I'm looking forward to it," Nick said as convincingly as he could. "I've already started getting some background on your acquisition target. In fact, I met with my contact and got a little insight into some areas of concern."
"Really? Maybe you can introduce me to her."
Nick saw no reason for that. As Tom sipped his wine, Nick thought he detected a smirk and wondered what else the man had found out about Micky.
"We don't want to complicate matters. I have some other suggestions, but we don't have to talk about that now. I have a feeling the ladies don't want to talk business," Nick noted, trying to draw the conversation away from business, and Micky.
"Business is what makes everything else possible," Tom retorted with his brows raised in admonition.
Vivienne eyed Nick curiously. Nick hadn't meant to sound like the little women didn't need to worry their heads with business. But more questions about the tall brunette he'd met didn't seem like a good topic with his fiancée's father.
"What we should be talking about is getting your wedding plans back on track," Sheila interjected. "We talked about June of next year. I fail to see how that's possible now. The best venues book up at least a year in advance. You two need to pick a date."
Vivienne squeezed Nick's knee under the table.
"We're on it, and we'll let you know as soon as we do. I think June is still possible. We could always do it here. That might be nice actually," Vivienne said.
"Jonah showed me the grounds earlier. A wedding here would be beautiful," Emily piped in.
"I suppose," Vivienne's mother replied without expression. "Think it over, dear. You want your wedding day to be perfect."
"Of course, I do, Mother."
Nick put the chances that the wedding would be on the back lawn of the Morans' mansion at less than zero. He still didn't know if they'd get married at all. He forced himself to swallow some of the pungent soup.
Vivienne smiled at Jonah's date. "What have you been up to Emily? Must be nice to be out of school."
The conversation flowed on in a bizarre river of polite, empty words, no more meaningful than white noise. Nick swept his spoon across the surface of his soup and brought it to his mouth. He choked it down before abandoning his spoon.
Surely, Miranda would appear soon with the next course. He cast an eye to the empty doorway. Rebellion swelled inside him, forcing him to wonder how many of these dinners he intended to endure for the rest of his life.
Life with Vivienne was what he wanted. But this family? He wasn't sure.
Chapter Nine
Now that Micky had met Nick, she realized how often their paths could have crossed before. One day, she saw him from a distance at the coffee shop near their building. The next, she saw him walking across the lobby
with colleagues on her way back from lunch.
Today, Micky stepped into the elevator to head home, and there he was, descending from the floors above. As soon as the doors opened, her gaze was drawn to his. The clarity of his green eyes shocked her system, pushing her heart rate up as if she were taking the stairs. She stepped into the elevator and turned to press the button for the first floor. Her destination was already alight.
She hadn't heard anything from him in the several days since their non-date and, after how she left things, hadn't expected a call. Micky had decided it was for the best even if fate kept throwing him in her face.
"Micky, how are you?"
"Good. And you?"
"Doing well."
His presence filled the elevator, making it hard for her to breathe. She could feel his emerald eyes boring into her.
"Heading off to another hot date?" he asked.
"No," Micky replied, clearing her throat. "Not tonight."
Nick glanced down at the laptop bag stuffed with folders and her computer.
"Taking work home? Tsk, tsk," he chastised, wagging his finger. "Didn't you promise your friend Andrew you wouldn't work so hard?"
"No. I think you promised to make sure that I had a good time."
"And did I deliver?"
Heat infused Micky's solar plexus. His flirtation caught her off guard. He could have called days ago if he were interested in her. She would have told him no, but that didn't matter.
"I had a good time the other night. But obviously, you and I aren't going to date or whatever," she stammered with exasperation. "Why don't we cut it out with the flirtatious games? It's not going anywhere."
Nick raised his brows. "Where'd that come from? I know I didn't call you, but, honestly, at the end of our dinner, I didn't get the feeling like you wanted me to. I figured we could be friends. Now you're mad."
Micky didn't want to admit that he was right.
