He turned after locking the door behind him, smiled at me. “Hi there,” Eastman said, his smile brightening the whole room, even as my own smile in return took years off his appearance. “I’m glad to see you.”
“You say that every day when you get home,” I pointed out, rising to my feet and holding out my arms.
He swept me off my feet, bending me backward to plant a deep kiss on my lips. “It’s always true.”
I giggled, reached back to pinch his butt. “I’m glad to see certain parts of you, at least!”
“So rude,” he sighed with mock theatrics, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because you love me.”
“That is my curse to bear, isn’t it?” He unbuttoned his sport coat, slipped it off. I momentarily lost my train of thought as I watched the muscles shift in his shoulders, all but visible through the thin cotton of the white dress shirt he wore beneath the coat. “How was your day?”
“Pretty good.” I flipped shut the binder that I’d been reviewing. “I can’t believe how many offers I got after that whole craziness with the gala! I thought I’d be done for sure as a party planner after my own mother showed up and screamed at me, followed immediately by the location being robbed!”
“Just as I guessed,” Eastman said. “If there’s one thing that the upper crust loves more than money and snobbiness, it’s being able to brag that they were part of some scandalous occasion. They’re going to be talking about that gala, and you, for years to come. You’ll probably even have people who didn’t attend bragging about how they saw everything from the front row.”
“I’m not going to claim that I understand it, but I’m also not going to argue with it.” I patted the binder. “I’ve got this party in hand, I think – hopefully it will go smoother!”
“You know that the guests are secretly hoping for a train wreck,” Eastman countered. “What’s this party for?”
“Lord Fitzbaum’s sixty-fifth birthday.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Is he actually a lord?”
“He just winks and changes the subject, and I’m not going to go digging for the truth if it could lose me a client,” I admitted. “But given that I don’t think he’s ever set foot in England, I suspect it’s probably more fiction than fact.”
He nodded. “Figures.”
“What about your day?” I asked. “How are your cases?”
“Like your day, most of them are in hand,” he replied. “A couple burglaries, but we’ve got some solid leads and the case shouldn’t be too hard to solve. Nothing major has come across my desk since-“
He lapsed off, and I knew he was thinking of Sawyer. “No leads on tracking down my former partner?” I asked, although I could read the answer on his expression.
He shook his head, his smile hidden behind clouds. “Still no word. He’s vanished, although I’m sure he’ll turn up after a while, just teasing me in somewhere that’s only barely outside my jurisdiction.”
“Well, my mother still isn’t speaking to me,” I offered. “Last I heard from Lily, she got the insurance payout, but of course that’s not nearly the same as having all her precious jewelry back. As far as she’s concerned, everything’s my fault, and I’ll never be able to make it up to her.”
Eastman’s eyes locked on mine, blue and deep and filled with caring. “Does that bother you?”
I smiled up at him, and I knew he could tell that it was genuine. “Not in the slightest. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this, it’s that I’m better off on my own than I ever would be if I stayed in her clutches.”
“Better off how?”
I could tell he was fishing for a compliment, so I intentionally ignored him as I ticked off reasons on my fingers. “Well, I met Sawyer, who helped me regain my own self-confidence. I also got this sweet apartment, and with the help of Sawyer again, I lucked into enough money to make a fresh start of things while I build up my own business. I also got to see that my other’s not invincible, thanks to-“
Eastman had his arms around me before I could finish my last reason, pulling my close to him. “Stop saying that name,” he hissed at me through a slightly strained smile.
I blinked innocently back at him. “What name would you prefer I say instead?”
He knew I was teasing him. He didn’t care. He kissed me again, growling at the back of his throat, and I leaned into his strength and warmth as I kissed him back. I reached back to pinch his butt again, but he anticipated the move. Before I could grab him, he tightened his arms and swept me off my feet. I let out a delighted shriek as he threw me over his shoulder and carried me off to the bedroom.
An hour later, as I lay in bed in a tangle of blankets and the discarded remnants of my clothing, listening to Jackson Eastman’s deep, regular, comforting breathing beside me, I wondered whether this was going to be the new normal. Yes, things had settled down somewhat after the crazy night of the Institute of Art’s gala, but I couldn’t really call my life ‘normal’.
I had plenty of work coming in to occupy my days, and my nights seemed to be suddenly full of Jackson Eastman - not that I was upset about that at all! On the contrary, I kept on discovering new things about the man that drove me crazy with adoration, that made me fall even harder for him. Whether it was watching his muscles flex as he bent metal to make one of his blacksmith’s puzzles, or watching his face light up as he tasted a new dish I’d cooked, I couldn’t get enough of him. He hadn’t commented directly on it, but I’d noticed that, all of a sudden, nearly every blacksmith’s puzzle that he produced seemed to feature little metal hearts.
Dealing with my mother had been a nightmare, as I’d predicted - but at the same time, I suddenly didn’t find Constance Melton to be nearly as scary as she’d seemed in my imagination. She managed to get ahold of my new phone number and called me a few times, but after I began hanging up as soon as an insult or curse left her lips, she suddenly became a lot more manageable. Her insurance paid her back for most of the lost jewelry, sadly enough, but they couldn’t replace the heirlooms, and I knew she’d never get over that embarrassment. Sawyer, as the self-appointed agent of karma, had picked his targets perfectly. Constance would send me the occasional threatening note, usually through a legal intermediary, but had apparently given up on dragging me back home to be her trophy.
Good thing, too. There was only one person I’d even consider marrying, and the only title he had was “agent.”
Lily, meanwhile, had apparently decided to follow in my footsteps and pull her own disappearing act. No one knew quite where she’d gone or when she left, but I didn’t worry. If I knew my younger sister at all, she was off on some grand adventure.
Actually, only one piece of evidence gave me reason to feel slightly concerned about Lily’s disappearance. I found it yesterday, in my apartment’s mail slot.
A little part of me wondered if I should mention the postcard that arrived in yesterday’s mail to Eastman. He and I were all but living together; he hadn’t fully quit his lease at his old building, but he kept most of his clothes here and slept beside me every night. I’d grown accustomed to falling asleep to his heavy, steady breathing, leaning back to feel his warmth and presence in the fluffy bed beside me.
Taking over Sawyer’s apartment proved surprisingly painless; Sawyer apparently had owned the place free and clear – up until I’d gotten home and found the deed to the property sitting on the kitchen table, signed over to me. The man never bothered to put much of a personal touch on the place, and aside from a few missing suits from his closet, the place looked as pristine as always. Sawyer didn’t even get mail, although I still checked the little mail cubby on the first floor each day after taking my mid-afternoon walk around the neighborhood.
Yesterday, when I opened the little cubby, I’d found a single postcard. The front of the postcard showed a picture of Big Ben in London, with the words “Wish you were here!” splashed in old-timey font bene
ath it.
I knew it was from Sawyer.
Was he letting me know that he was safe and sound? Was it supposed to be a taunt for Eastman? Somehow, I doubted that he meant for the postcard to specifically antagonize my FBI agent boyfriend. Instead, I believed that he meant it as a reassurance for me that, wherever he was out there in the world, Sawyer was doing just fine.
I didn’t doubt it. After spending so much time with the man, I knew that, no matter the situation, the clever thief would have no trouble landing on his feet and finding a new scheme in which he could immerse himself. The only ones who had anything to fear were his new targets.
But there had been a line written on the back of the postcard, a line that made me think long and hard about showing it to Eastman. Just three words, but I read it at least two dozen times, trying to distill some hidden meaning from them.
“Lily’s a handful!”
I recognized Sawyer’s handwriting. Was Lily somehow with him in Europe? Was it just a remark to tease me? Had he crossed paths with her when she left on her own journey of self-discovery?
Lying in bed, I tried to imagine the two of them interacting. Someone in that relationship would surely get burned, but for the life of me, I couldn’t guess which one of them would come out on top and which would limp away. They seemed evenly matched, and in that way, fitting for each other.
But both Lily and Sawyer could handle themselves. It wouldn’t do them any good for me to worry about them - so I let it go, focused on building up my own life.
The lights were off, but enough moonlight streamed in through the large windows of the master bedroom for me to see Jackson’s face when I lifted myself slightly from the pillows. I saw a brief frown drift over his features, but he turned towards me. His arm slipped drowsily out, bumping against me, and the frown smoothed out into unconscious calm.
For most of my childhood, I remembered feeling that urge to flee, to tear up the stakes of my old life and abandon everything, setting out anew. It was that urge, when I finally indulged, that led to me fleeing to here, ending up in this entire mess with Sawyer, the gala, thievery, the FBI, Jackson, the confrontation with my mother, and everything else that happened in the whirlwind of my last few months.
But strangely, now, I didn’t feel that urge at all. Lying there in the darkness, next to Jackson’s peacefully slumbering form, I felt more content than I could remember in ages. I didn’t want to run away. I’d always felt as if I ran because I was searching for something, something I couldn’t define but desperately needed in my life.
Now, I knew the thing for which I’d searched, all those years. Love and stability. And it was right here, all around me. Beside me.
I had a bunch of new projects coming up, parties to plan and events to organize. I had a kind, caring man who risked his own vulnerability when he let me in, who understood my pain but accepted me, not in spite of it, but because of how it made me unique. I had a home, a place where I felt truly safe.
I wasn’t going to run. Not when everything I needed was right here.
I let out my breath, closed my eyes and slipped in closer to Jackson. His arm tightened slightly around me, pulling me into his bundle of covers. I closed my eyes, my head resting on the pillow, and let my breathing slow and sync with his.
I fell asleep, warm and secure in the new ties I’d constructed for my new life.
* * *
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Melinda Gaines, overworked personal assistant, is cursed with permanently bad luck. Her boss keeps making unreasonable demands, and no guy has seen the inside of her apartment in months.
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The Woodworker
Chapter One
Eileen
* * *
Before the sun broke above the horizon, my eyes snapped open, a slight smile on my face. I turned my head to catch the numbers illuminated on the bedside clock - five fifty-nine in the morning. One minute before my alarm was scheduled to ring.
I sat up, climbed out of bed, stretched my limbs as I peeled off my pajamas and switched to a pair of leggings and a sports bra. Not that I had much need for the bra, I admitted ruefully to myself, glancing at my meager chest in the full-length bedroom mirror. My daily workouts kept my body slender, but I’d never been especially gifted in the womanly curves department. While the other girls in my middle school class blossomed, I remained the skinny tomboy, limbs like sticks.
Not much that I could do about that now, though. And besides, a more generous bustline would end up being a hindrance, rather than a help, in my corporate world. No need to smack my bosses in the face with my womanhood.
Out in the living room of my apartment, I unfurled my yoga mat, did a couple warm-up stretches before slipping into my routine. I knew the flow of movements between positions by heart, now, and I let my mind wander and drift as my body swung smoothly from stance to stance.
I had a busy day today, as usual. Nine o’clock meeting with the Marketing team, and I had to make sure that I ended that meeting on time so that I could go catch the engineers before they took their notoriously long lunch break. I still had an error to chase in the production environment, one that I’d promised my bosses that I’d squash by the end of the week. I didn’t doubt that I’d meet my own self-imposed deadline, but I still had to buckle down and get it done.
After the last yoga position, I hopped on my stationary bike, popping in my earbuds and savoring the burn in my legs as I pumped the heavy wheel up to maximum speed. I pushed myself hard for twenty minutes, forcing a thin sheen of sweat to break out on my limbs, on my forehead.
My watch beeped at me, and I climbed down from the bike, wiping myself off with a towel. Six o’clock on the dot – just enough time to grab a quick rinse in my shower and then make it into the office before the morning traffic rush.
Out of the shower, I pulled my brown hair back into my standard, no-nonsense ponytail, traded my damp towel for a conservative gray skirt and dark maroon blouse. A gray jacket completed the ensemble, and I gave my reflection a nod of approval. Perfect for a boss, conveying a fit and trim executive without overly highlighting my femininity.
The security guard at the front desk of the office building rose slightly from his seat, nodding to me. “Morning, Miss Davies,” he greeted me.
“Good morning, Charlie.” I smiled blandly back at him as I pulled my ID from my purse to press it against the security gate’s badge reader. “How are things?”
“You know, the usual.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Wife’s on my ass about how I don’t have energy for the kids when I get home. Have to explain to her that I don’t just spend eight hours napping here, ya know?”
“Of course.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what Charlie did for most of his day, but I knew that he wanted appreciation. All employees did; it made managing them much easier if they felt valued. “It’s always a trade-off.”
“Wish I had your skills, though.” Charlie gave me a little smile as the ID reader beeped and flashed a green light, the turnstile allowing me to pass. “Long as I can rememb
er, you haven’t missed a day. Always in early. I could set my watch by you!”
“Just doing what I can to help the business, Charlie.” I slipped my ID back into my purse, stepped towards the elevators. “Have a good one.”
“You too, Miss Davies,” he called after me as the elevator doors opened smoothly to admit me.
Twenty-five floors higher, I made my way through the open floor plan of scattered cubicles to my office. The frosted glass door unlocked smoothly with my key, and I stepped inside, smiled and sighed as I set my purse down atop my clean, neatly organized desk.
I loved this time in the morning most of all, before the rest of the employees came trundling in to fill the office with noise and motion and activity. Now, it was just me and the potential for accomplishment, no one to interrupt my thoughts. At this time, I didn’t yet have to worry about putting out fires, dealing with the million little day-to-day issues that inevitably surfaced. I just needed to think about the long-term strategy, the tantalizing potential of everything I could possibly accomplish.
It took a minute for my computer to boot up; I sat behind my desk, fingers laced together in front of me, took the last few deep and calming breaths that I was likely to get before six PM. I once again ran through my mental schedule for the day, making sure that I didn’t have any suspicious open gaps.
Soon, the silence outside my office was shattered as more employees began arriving, chatting among themselves as they headed to their desks, woke up their computers, got started on their own workloads. I kept my attention focused on my own computer, answering the flood of emails that had arrived last night that I’d felt could wait twelve hours for a response – until a knock came at my office door.
“Morning, Jack,” I said as my assistant pushed my door open carefully, two cups of coffee balanced atop each other in his free hand.
Cutting Loose Page 17
