“What do you want, Hudson?” Allie asked the moment they were alone. “Was there some insult you forgot to hurl at me the other day?”
“Actually, Alessandra, I wanted to apologize.” He motioned to the empty chair. “May I?”
She nodded, completely caught off guard. An apology was not what she was expecting.
He took a seat, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Discussing the past triggered something.” His inner asshole. “Unsettled business, and I was looking to burn off my edge. Not to mention, I have a tendency to be too direct at times.”
“Obviously a lot was left unresolved between us ten years ago,” she replied stiffly.
“Doesn’t excuse my predisposition for behaving badly.”
Not giving him so much as an inch, Allie leaned back in her chair, keeping her arms crossed over her chest. “No, it doesn’t.”
He cleared his throat. “I should have never implied—”
Holding up a hand, she cut him off. Despite the satisfaction she was getting from watching him swallow the lump of pride in his throat, and as much as he deserved to choke on it, deep down Allie knew that Hudson Chase didn’t really believe she was a whore. Certainly no more than she thought he was the type of man to call her one. “I think we’ve both said and done quite a few things we regret.”
“I can be a rude son of a bitch.” Sincerity burned in his bright blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, Hudson.” There were so many ways she could have finished that sentence. I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to tell my parents about us. I’m sorry we never had the chance to say good-bye. I’m sorry I never told you how much you meant to me. For a moment she just stared at him, willing him to know all she’d never dare say out loud, all that time had made irrelevant. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved on the boat. No one deserves to be treated that way.”
He cocked a lopsided grin. “Not even bitter assholes?”
Allie saw a glimpse of the boy she once knew and couldn’t help but return his smile. “No, not even bitter assholes.”
The waiter approached and reached for Allie’s plate. “Are you finished, ma’am?” She nodded and he cleared the remains of her interrupted lunch. “Can I bring you anything else?” The question was addressed to both of them, but she was surprised when Hudson placed an order.
“Coffee. Black,” he said. “Would you like anything, Alessandra?”
“I’d love a cappuccino. Decaf please, with skim milk, extra foam. Oh, and hold the nutmeg, but I will take cinnamon if you have it.” As the waiter turned to leave she noticed the look on Hudson’s face. “What?”
Grinning, he shook his head “You, Alessandra.” His gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened, flattening his tie with a sweep of his hand. “Living in the same zip code, we’re going to run into each other. Case in point. It would suit us both to maintain a level of civility.”
“We’re not off to the best start, are we?”
He chuckled. “No. But keep it to yourself, this soft side. It’s taken me a long time to cultivate the tough-guy act.”
“Is that a sense of humor, Mr. Chase?”
“A man in my position isn’t afforded much of one, but it’s in there somewhere.”
The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on her. “Must be the only thing you can’t afford. Chase Industries has quite an impressive portfolio.”
“How proficient you are with Google, Miss Sinclair.” He raised a brow. “Checking up on me?”
Allie flushed, busted for letting her fingers do the walking to satisfy her curiosity. Truth be told, she hadn’t been able to garner very much information about Hudson’s personal life. About the company? Sure, tons. Chase Industries was quickly becoming one of the most talked about conglomerates in the nation. But when it came to the man himself, there was very little information available. “Just researching the depth of your pockets,” she offered as a flimsy excuse. “Always thinking about the next donation.”
“You would yield faster results by going directly to the source.” His eyes were alight with humor. “They’re rather deep.”
She somehow doubted they were still discussing pockets and was grateful when the waiter appeared with their coffee. Taking advantage of the brief interruption, she quickly changed the subject. “So what made you move your company to Chicago?”
“I see your predilection for asking a multitude of questions hasn’t changed.”
Allie gazed at him impassively, waiting for an answer. When he spoke, he was all business. “There are a few companies I’m interested in. Made sense geographically to relocate to a central location.”
She rotated the china cup on its saucer, studying the smattering of cinnamon and trying to maintain an air of indifference. “So where are you living these days?”
“The Palmolive building.” He lifted his coffee cup and smirked over the rim. “Or Playboy building, as I believe it is commonly referred to among locals.”
His adolescent reference aside, Hudson was obviously a shrewd investor when it came to real estate. The Palmolive building was not only considered to be one of the world’s finest examples of Art Deco architecture, but it encompassed the three most important considerations when selecting property: location, location, location. The 1920s landmark sat at the north end of the Magnificent Mile, nestled between the Drake Hotel and the John Hancock building, and was one of the few residences where no street address was needed. Simply stating the name of the building would suffice. Allie was impressed.
“What about your little brother?” she asked, lifting her cup. “Is he in Chicago, too?”
Hudson frowned. “Ah . . . yeah, Nick followed me here.” He shifted back in his chair and crossed his leg at the ankle. “You’ve had your turn, Miss Sinclair. It’s only fair I get mine. So tell me, what happened to that boy you ditched me for?”
“God, I haven’t thought about him in years. And for the record,” she corrected, “I did not ditch you for him. My dad was working some deal with his father and I was stuck entertaining him.”
He gave her a smug grin. “That wasn’t so hard to explain, now was it?”
“I can’t believe you actually thought I was with him.” A giggle escaped her lips as she recalled Hudson’s rather accurate description.
“What’s so amusing, Alessandra?”
“He really was a pansy-ass.”
“And now you’re engaged to a . . . what was it he called himself?”
“A French marquis.”
“I see.” His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “The title that segregates him from the rest. How did you meet?”
“My father had business with Julian’s family. He introduced us this summer.”
“How opportune,” he said, his tone void of all levity. “When’s the big day?”
“December sixth.”
Hudson’s brow shot up. “You aren’t wasting any time.”
She felt a sudden unease and her words came out in a rush. “The Drake opened up at the last minute. But yes, throwing a wedding together in less than two months—at least the kind my mother wants—is going to be a challenge. Of course it doesn’t help that Julian will be in France most of the month.”
“Excuse me.” Hudson scowled as he pulled his buzzing phone out of his breast pocket. “What?” he snapped. The crease in his brow relaxed as he listened. “How many? Excellent, keep me posted.” Hudson pushed back his French cuff, glancing at his watch, then back to Allie. “Cancel my two o’ clock.” There was a brief pause. “No, that will be all.” He ended the call with the jab of a button before slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Where were we?”
Nowhere I want to revisit.
Allie’s reaction confused her. After all, they were just making small talk. Two old friends catching up on the usual subjects: family, friends . . . engagements. And yet she found herself not wanting to discuss Julian or her wedding any further with him. “You were explaining your plans t
o acquire most of Chicago,” she said, trying her best to shift his focus.
“Nice try, Alessandra. Tell me about your foundation. If I’m to consider writing any more checks, I need to be well informed.”
Her job? Yes, that she could discuss.
Allie told Hudson all about her work at Better Start. She told him about the success of the charter school and how his generous donation meant the second location could break ground in the spring. He listened intently, asking questions and complimenting her on all she had accomplished.
Their conversation flowed easily, the two of them laughing and talking until the manager gently informed them the staff would need to set the table for the dinner seating.
“I believe we’re being politely kicked out,” Hudson said, standing with authoritative grace and reaching for his wallet. He dropped a few bills on the table as Allie gathered her belongings.
“Hudson?”
His eyes met hers. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad we had the chance to clear the air.”
“Me too.” His lips quirked up in a half smile and he waved a hand toward the door. “After you.”
They stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other for several awkward moments before Allie broke the silence. “Well, I guess . . .” Her voice trailed off as she wondered if this was actually the good-bye they’d missed out on ten years ago. She cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“To be honest, I wish I didn’t care whether or not we ran into each other again.”
For a moment she thought he might say more, but he merely turned and walked away. Stunned by his comment, Allie was still standing there long after he’d disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Nine
By the time Allie got back to the office it was nearly quitting time. Part of her secretly hoped Harper had already left for the day. No such luck. Her head popped over the wall of her cubicle the minute Allie came through the door, and she was right on her heels as they walked to her office.
Allie heard the door close behind her as she rounded her desk.
“Well?” Harper asked.
“Well, what?” she replied, still holding on to her foolish hope of avoiding the Harper Hayes Inquisition.
Harper’s eyes bulged out of her head. “Are you kidding me? What happened with you and Mr. Moneybags after I left?”
“Not much.” She kept her tone light as she dropped her purse in the large bottom drawer and kicked it closed with her foot. “We had coffee and talked about the foundation.”
Hand on hip, Harper let her have it. “Alessandra Sinclair, I leave you alone with possibly the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on and you expect me to believe you spent three hours discussing alternative learning environments?”
She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Deny it all you want, but I know there’s more you’re not telling me. I saw the way the two of you were eye fucking each other at the restaurant.”
Allie’s gaze shot up from her stack of messages, her mouth gaping open. “We were doing no such thing!”
“Oh please, you looked like you wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.”
“Might I remind you I am engaged to be married?” Allie held up her left hand as if proving her point. Problem was, she wasn’t completely sure which one of them needed the reminder.
“And might I remind you that a diamond ring is not the same as a wedding ring.”
“I’m marrying Julian,” she told her in no uncertain terms. “My relationship with Mr. Chase is purely professional.” Allie turned her attention back to the pink slips of paper in her hand. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more to talk about. Subject closed.
Harper took the hint. “Suit yourself,” she said. “But if it were me, I’d drop Prince Pain-in-the-Ass.” Her lips curved into a smug grin. “By the way, you do realize you’ve reshuffled your messages about five times?” Halfway out the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Just sayin’.”
Allie let out a heavy breath and slumped into her chair. Leave it to Harper to point out everything she’d been trying to ignore. She swiveled around, staring out the window and thinking about all that had transpired over the past few weeks. Her physical reaction to Hudson was one thing—she could almost write that off to an unresolved summer of teenage hormones—but now, talking for hours? And the conversation had been so relaxed, so easy—so unlike any she’d ever had with Julian.
Her fiancé.
A pang of guilt burned in her chest as the image of him on bended knee at Buckingham Fountain played through her mind. She’d stepped out of her brownstone that night to find him waiting in a horse-drawn carriage. Her very own Prince Charming brought to life.
Allie’s gaze instinctively fell to the silver frame on the corner of her desk. It was a photo of Julian, proudly holding the flag from the fourth hole at Rich Harvest Farms. Allie wasn’t sure what had pleased him more, the birdie he’d shot on a hole known as the “Devil’s Elbow,” or the mere fact that he’d been invited to play at the exclusive club in the first place. Either way, she’d never seen his smile that wide. They’d had dinner in the clubhouse afterward, recounting the details of every hole they’d played.
Things had been good between them then, but lately she and Julian felt out of sync. Even simple decisions like choosing a restaurant dissolved into tense debates. It had all started to deteriorate shortly after their engagement and had reached a fever pitch just before the gala.
She shook her head. Of course, why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Between her long hours at work and the wedding plans that were now taking over her life, no wonder he was distant. Needing to reconnect, Allie spun her chair around and dialed the phone.
“Allô?”
“Julian?”
“Oui. Why are you calling, Alessandra, is something wrong?”
“Oh no, everything’s fine.” She chewed her lip. Why was this so difficult? “It’s just, I never heard from you. I thought I’d check in, make sure you arrived safely.”
Someone knocked on his door. “One moment, Alessandra.” She heard a muffled voice in the background. “To my liking? If I wanted Cristal, I would have ordered it,” he snapped. There was a tense silence followed by a harsh exhale. “Fine. Come in.” Glassware rattled as the sound of squeaking wheels drew closer to Julian’s phone. “Imbéciles incompétents,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s not his fault, Julian. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked. Without waiting for an explanation, he continued his rant. “Peu importe. I’m never staying at the Plaza again. A hotel that finds it acceptable to substitute Cristal for Dom Ruinart, c’est ridicule.” Allie listened to Julian venting in his native tongue while lamenting the substitution of one four-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne for another. “ . . . head so far up their ass, they can’t even spell the name correctly on the menu. It’s Dom Ruinart,” he announced loud enough for the waiter to hear. “Not ‘Ruinard.’”
“It was probably just a typo,” Allie said.
He ignored her comment, his attention focused on the waiter. “Tell your sommelier to correct the name. Fucking insult to the French.”
Allie flinched as the sound of a slamming door echoed into the phone. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him,” she said quietly.
“And just accept the piss they bring me? I’m a French Marquis, Alessandra. I serve only the best France has to offer.”
“Are you expecting company?”
“Business associates.”
“The meetings must be going well if you’re serving champagne.”
“But of course, why would they not?”
“You just seem . . .” She paused a moment to consider her word choice. Julian seemed anxious and on edge, but in the end she settled on “tense.”
“If I am tense it’s because I work hard. There is more to my title than simply tending to various charities, Alessandra. My obliga
tions extend beyond parities.”
Allie flinched. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Was that all you wanted, to check up . . . in with me?” A television blared to life in the background.
She sighed. “I missed you, that’s all.”
“Me too. Miss you,” he said, his tone devoid of any emotion.
It occurred to her that perhaps working on wedding plans as a couple would bring them closer together. It was worth a try. “My mother dropped a box of wedding samples off at the brownstone. I was going to start going through them tonight, but I can wait until you return.”
“No, no need to wait.”
She tried a different approach. “Okay. I’ll sort through them and then we can make the final decisions together.”
Her suggestion was met with exasperation. “Pick whatever you want, Alessandra.”
“Julian?”
“Hmm?”
She hesitated. Clearly he was distracted, but she had to know. “Do you love me?”
“I’m marrying you, aren’t I?”
Not exactly the answer she was looking for.
A lighter clicked near the mouthpiece of his phone. “Is there anything else, Alessandra?”
“No, that’s all. Enjoy your evening.”
“Yes. . . . you too.”
She hung up the phone, Julian’s words replaying in her mind. I’m marrying you, aren’t I? Unbidden, Hudson chimed in. To be honest, I wish I didn’t care. Her heart raced as their voices grew louder, talking over each other in an attempt to be heard. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. She needed to get out of the office. She needed to get out and think. A run, yes, she needed a long, punishing run along the lake if she had any hope of getting to sleep that night.
Allie grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She suspected she could run halfway to Evanston and still not clear her head, but she was damn well going to try.
Remind Me Page 6
