Go for Love

by Laura Chapman

  He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and rising to his feet. “If you’re okay, I’m going to get back to it.”

  “I’m okay.”

  She watched as he walked back across the room.

  He gave the ladder a long glance and pushed it aside, going to work at a spot lower on the wall. She didn’t blame him for being squeamish about getting up there again. It would probably be a long time before Sarah could look at a ladder without having to breathe into a bag.

  Sarah watched him work, humming along lightly to Al Green playing from his phone. If she remembered correctly, that was one of his mom’s favorites. Rock and roll for his dad. Soul for his mom.

  Maybe her memories of Beck had been correct. He wasn’t an asshole. He was kind and strong and capable and sweet.

  It was getting harder to deny that she found him every bit as appealing now as she had years before. She’d been a breath away from kissing him only moments earlier. There were too many problems with that. For one, she was his employer right now. Two, he may have just saved her life, but she had no reason to believe he didn’t hate her.

  She’d been the one to bail last time. She’d told him work had to come first, and she had no time for a relationship. He’d told her he would wait, but she’d told him not to bother. At the time, she’d thought she was doing the right thing for both of them.

  Now she wondered what the past decade would have looked like if she’d had a partner in life—not just in business.

  Heaven help her, wondering what might have been and what could only complicate an already messy situation.

  Chapter Six

  The air between them cleared considerably after that. All it had taken was for Sarah to nearly break her neck.

  When he thought about how close she’d come to . . . No. He couldn’t keep imagining what might have happened. Not without breaking out in a sweat. Instead, he’d focus on the positive. He’d been able to catch her in time. That was good. He’d also resisted the urge to comfort himself after by kissing her.

  That was . . . Okay.

  It didn’t mean anything. He’d clearly been caught up in an adrenaline rush. More, he’d just been relieved. Again, that wasn’t something to read into. He would’ve been just as concerned if a stranger had fallen face-first off his ladder.

  But it hadn’t happened to a stranger. It had been Sarah. He never should have let her up. Not without going over basic safety procedures. That was on him. And much as he tried, he wouldn’t soon forget that or how close she’d come to breaking her neck.

  Her gorgeous neck.

  Beck swore under his breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked from her perch on the desk behind him.

  Lifting his head to make up an excuse, he ran into the now-infamous ladder, smacking his head. He swore again.

  “Ouch,” she said.

  “Usually it’s the injured person who gets to say that.” He rubbed his head.

  She chuckled lightly, stoking his irritation. Forgetting the unspoken truce, he had half a mind to tell her where she could shove that laugh. He nearly did when she appeared at his side with a bag of ice.

  He stared at it. “Where’d you get this?”

  “I conjured it.”

  He glanced up. “Conjured?”

  “You know, like a witch.” Her pale eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t called me that behind my back.”

  “Not my exact choice of words.”

  She crossed her arms and blew the bangs out of her face. “Let me guess: I’m off by a letter.”

  If she wanted to think that, she could. Even if it had no truth. He’d never been one for name-calling. He might not have always thought the nicest things where she was concerned. Still, he’d never thought of her as a witch or anything that rhymed with the word.

  Avoiding giving an answer—true or false—he gestured at the bag.

  “The ice?”

  “It’s from your cooler.” She shoved it into his hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll replace it. Just add it to the bill.”

  “Who said I was worried?”

  “You always had to have the last word,” she grumbled.

  “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  “Oh, just ice yourself.” She kicked the leg of the ladder.

  He let her have the last word. But only because another vision of her falling off the ladder popped into his head.

  Arms once again crossed, she leaned a hip against a desk. “How’s it going?”

  “The job or the head?” He assumed it was the latter, but he couldn’t seem to resist goading her again as a distraction from the fear that once again lanced through him.

  “The job. The head.” She shrugged. “You pick.”

  His lips curved, appreciating the way her cheeks pinked a little.

  “I’ll survive.”

  Her brow furrowed. “The job or your head?”

  “Both.”

  She sighed in exasperation, but he caught the hint of a grin on her lips.

  He was about to tell her that the job was ahead of schedule—that the throbbing in his head was easing up—when her phone rang.

  Of course, it rang. Half the time it seemed that if she wasn’t on her phone, it was ringing. Such was the life of someone who’d been on Forbes’s thirty under thirty list three years running until she’d aged out.

  Without breaking eye contact, Sarah answered the phone in her brusque, to-the-point way.

  She narrowed her eyes in response to whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “What do you mean by ‘issue’?”

  Beck turned back to the nearly completed panel, trying his best to give her privacy, even as her voice carried.

  “We had a guarantee on the Sea Bass. Is the chef absolutely positive it won’t arrive in time?” Sarah paused for the response and let out a sigh. “I guess we’ll have to pick something else. How soon can we arrange a tasting?” Another pause. “I can probably make that work.”

  He turned and caught her staring at him.

  “You know what?” she said. “Have the chef make extra. I’m going to need a few opinions.”

  She hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow. “How much more do you have to do on that panel?”

  Beck mentally calculated. “It’ll probably be done in another fifteen minutes.”

  “Are you at a good place to take a break?”

  “Sure,” he drew out cautiously. “I’d like to knock out another one tonight, but that should only take a couple of hours.”

  “Good.” She flashed a bright grin. “How would you like to do some light consultation work?”

  Consultation work? After nine on a weeknight? He kind of had his hands full here. Then again, once he finished up with this project, he’d be set to start his own business. It wouldn’t hurt to take on another client.

  “I could probably swing it,” he said.

  “Good.” Her eyes shone brightly. “We’ll leave after you finish up.”

  Half an hour later, Sarah and Beck stepped out of the elevator onto the rooftop lounge she’d selected for the GO launch. It was hard to believe it was only a few days away. Harder still to believe it might actually happen thanks to Beck’s work.

  A few days ago, she’d questioned her sanity in bringing him on board. Now . . . It was maybe the smartest call she’d made in a while.

  Turning to thank him for his work so far, she paused when she caught the confusion on his face.

  “This is where they need consulting?” he asked.

  “It’s where I need consulting,” she corrected.

  His brows knit together. “So you’re breaking out into the restaurant business? Isn’t that kind of risky?”

  Now she was confused. “Restaurant business?”

  “Isn’t that why you brought me here?” He nodded toward the bar. “To set up another network.”

  Oh. Sarah supposed she hadn’t been clear when she’d asked him to consult on a pro
ject. She’d been caught off guard by the phone call from her caterer saying a couple of the dishes they’d planned wouldn’t work out after all. She’d wanted a couple of opinions on replacements. With everything that had happened lately, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to make the right decision.

  She wasn’t accustomed to feeling this unsure.

  Scattered as she was, she probably should have told him exactly what they were doing rather than letting him jump to his own conclusion. She hoped he wasn’t too disappointed to be missing out on another job. But who set up a late-night business meeting on a rooftop? Then again, who had a last-minute food tasting at this time either?

  She did, apparently.

  “I had something else in mind.” She gestured to a table set for four. “Follow me.”

  She tried not to be annoyed when he didn’t immediately follow. Not that she blamed him. She had just dragged him away from the job she was paying him to do on a blind errand.

  “This won’t take long, and it isn’t going to kill you. I promise,” she added when he still didn’t look entirely convinced.

  Beck scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Lead the way.”

  Reaching the table, Beck arched an eyebrow. “Late night snack?”

  “Something like that.” She might as well tell him everything. “The chef needs to switch out a couple of dishes for the GO launch. And I’d like your opinion.”

  He studied the table. “Are you expecting anyone else?”

  “Hopefully.” She studied his face, unable to decipher any emotions or response. “Is that okay?”

  He said nothing, but pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. Taking the chivalry as a sign of agreement, she murmured a “thank you” and sat. After pushing her chair closer to the table, he hesitated a moment, and then took the seat across from her.

  A waiter appeared and filled their goblets with water. From a cart, he also filled the wine glasses with a sampling of wines to pair with each course. Beck covered his glasses.

  “None for me, thanks.” Catching her curious glance, he said, “I like to keep my head clear when I’m working.”

  Nodding, she turned to the waiter. “We’re expecting two more, but you can go ahead and have the chef bring out the first dish.”

  She’d promised Beck this wouldn’t take long, and she intended to keep her word. He’d told her he wanted to finish one more panel. That meant he’d be working until after midnight. While she could sleep in a little the next morning, she knew he had to report for his first job by eight.

  That didn’t leave them much time.

  The first suggested replacement course was a chicken and cheese empanada. Beck stared at it dubiously. He’d never been particularly adventurous when it came to foods. He was a meat and potatoes—and pizza—kind of guy.

  Maybe that was why she’d invited him to come along. If he liked the new dishes, she could trust that they’d be a hit with all of her guests.

  “Think of it as a fancy Hot Pocket,” she suggested.

  He lifted the miniature empanada and took a tentative bite. Chewing thoughtfully, his eyes lit up and met hers. “This is really good.”

  He took another bite and another before tucking into a second one.

  “So this is a maybe?”

  He took another bite. “I say it’s a hell, yes.”

  Chuckling, she tasted one of the empanadas for herself. The savory cheese and shredded chicken melted in her mouth with the puff pastry. He was right. It was a hell yes. She wordlessly offered him her second pie. He wolfed it down. In his enthusiasm, a few flakes of pie crust stuck to his chin.

  “You have a little crust here,” she pointed to the spot on her own face.

  He stuck out his tongue to the wrong side and missed.

  “No.” She pointed again. “Right here.”

  He tried again, and still fell short.

  “Here, let me—” She reached across the table to remove the crumbs when his tongue found the mark and her thumb.

  A warm shiver of pleasure coursed from her thumb to her toes, her breath caught in her throat. She pulled her hand back, but kept her gaze connected to his, catching his brown eyes darken even more.

  Had he felt it too?

  Before she could speak, someone cleared their throat, tearing her attention away. A few feet from the table, Bryant and Maisie stood watching them. She caught the amusement on Bryant’s face, but Maisie’s face was indecipherable. Just like her brother’s.

  “We’re here to taste foods, as demanded,” Bryant said.

  “Requested,” Sarah corrected, making herself take a few deep breaths. Before, she’d been glad they were available for the impromptu taste-testing because she wanted as many trusted opinions as possible. Now, she was grateful to have a buffer for the desire that seemed to grow every time she and Beck touched.

  She gestured for them to sit. “We’ve just started the first option. Chicken and cheese empanadas.”

  Bryant took the seat next to her. “How’s the work going?”

  “Fine,” Beck said, staring at his plate. Only a moment before, the air around them seemed to sizzle. Now, it was icy at best.

  Sparing Sarah a curious side-glance, Bryant reached for an empanada and took a big bite. “Wow. These are great.”

  “We thought so, too,” Sarah said, still watching Beck, waiting for some of the ease to return.

  “They remind me of the ones we had in Buenos Aires a couple years ago.” Bryant polished off his empanada and followed it with a sip of Malbec. Then he launched into a story about how his high school Spanish had managed to get them completely turned around in the city until Sarah had asked a stranger for help.

  “I suppose that’s why we work so well together,” he said. “I run full throttle, and Sarah is there to keep me on the right path. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  She might have imagined it, but Sarah thought Beck flinched at that remark.

  “These are incredible,” Maisie said. “What’s next?”

  The waiter appeared with a plate of tuna maki to go along with the sake.

  “Uh, oh.” Maisie elbowed her brother. “Try not to puke.”

  “You don’t like sushi?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

  Bryant licked his fingers. “Not bad. For Nebraska. Though nothing will ever taste as good as what we had in Tokyo.”

  Then he went into another story about how he and Sarah had unwittingly found themselves in a drinking contest with some investors during one of their trips to Japan. Maisie laughed when he described how green they’d looked the following morning. Beck, she noticed, once again said nothing. He tried only one piece of the maki and echoed Bryant’s assessment of “not bad.”

  So it went as they tried their next courses.

  With the spanakopita, Bryant brought up the questionable gyros they’d eaten after a meeting in Washington D.C. With the gougères, he talked about the time they’d acquired a competitor in Paris after Sarah had impressed them with her negotiating skills. Her French, he’d explained, had been significantly better than his Spanish.

  By the time the waiter delivered the final dish—pork potstickers—Sarah was convinced Beck was glaring at Bryant. Though she couldn’t imagine why.

  “Remember the time—”

  Beck stood suddenly, interrupting Bryant’s story. “I’ve got to get back.”

  Sarah’s heartbeat quickened inexplicably. “We’re almost done.”

  “No need to rush.” He pulled his lips up into a tight grin. “For what it’s worth, my vote goes for the empanada and those cheese puffs.”

  “We’ll be done in a few minutes,” she said. “I can come with.”

  “I have the access card to get in. Stay. Enjoy yourself.”

  Beck patted his sister on the shoulder. Bryant offered his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Beck shook it.

  “Will we see you at the launch?” Bryant asked poli
tely.

  “I don’t think I’m on the guest list.”

  “You should come,” Sarah blurted out. “I’ll send you an invite.”

  Beck just shrugged and told her he’d be done for the evening in about an hour. He was gone before she could protest.

  Thankfully, neither Bryant nor Maisie commented on his sudden departure or the shift in mood. They carried on a conversation, and Sarah managed to respond when appropriate.

  She racked her brain for what might have happened to put Beck in such a mood. Maybe he really was just eager to finish his work. All the same, she lingered in the lounge with Maisie and Bryant as they chatted and drank more wine. If she’d made a misstep with Beck, it was probably best to give him some space.

  She just hoped they’d be able to recover some of the easy companionship they’d had earlier in the evening.

  It would also be for the best if she pretended nothing had happened when she next saw him. Even as her mind raced with questions. Especially the big one: What was it about Beck that she still found so irresistible even when he was so distant?

  Chapter Seven

  Beck had always been a creature of habit and quickly settled into a routine. By the fifth night of their arrangement, they had fallen into an easy groove.

  Each night, he arrived promptly at six to tackle the next leg of the work. Starting the night after the tasting, she’d been there with a cup of coffee and something to eat. He’d protested at first, but she’d waved off his concerns, telling him she brought in lunch for the rest of her team. It was the least she could do, or so she said.

  They’d work in silence, taking occasional breaks. During the downtime they talked. Though neither explicitly mentioned their mutual past, they had no problems filling in the blanks of the years in between.

  Sarah told him about the various pieces of software and apps developed under LinkDigital. He told her about the plans for his new business. They talked about their favorite TV shows and movies from the past decade, discovering they shared a number in common.

  Neither of them brought up the ladder or the tasting again. For that, he was grateful. Even a couple days later, he still didn’t have a ready excuse for his sudden departure.