by Gina Ardito
“He might not have been wrong,” Cam murmured. As she climbed into the back seat, she stole another look at the building that had already captured her imagination before sliding over for Val to join her. Interesting. “Do we know if anyone else is looking at the property?”
“I was assured we were getting first crack.”
Once they were inside the cool interior and Val had provided their driver with the next address, Cam held out a hand. “Let me see the write-up for this space.”
“Sure.” Val passed over the packet of stapled papers, folded to page two where a spreadsheet of neat columns listed all the building’s pertinent details, including specs, remaining furnishings, utilities, and other particulars Val thought Cam should know.
Cam settled against the black leather seat and ran an index finger across each column, as if she could absorb the figures through her skin and then be able to recall them with a snap. Everything she read only made her more certain that this particular property was the ideal locale for the new youth center.
Out on the street, a car horn blared in an ear-splitting soliloquy, followed by the squeal of brakes, and as their driver stopped short to avoid colliding with the car in front of them, both Cam and Val shot forward with the momentum. The packets of papers dropped to the floor in a scattered heap.
“Goddammit, what the hell are you doing?” the driver shouted before catching hold of his temper. Using the rearview mirror, he looked at his passengers. “Sorry, Ms. Delgado. Ms. Sullivan. You ladies okay?”
Cam slipped back into position and smoothed her skirt while Val gathered up the notes on the various properties. “We’re fine, Ted. Just a little shaken up. What happened?”
“Not a hundred percent sure. I’m guessing a driver up in front stopped short when the light changed, but it caused a chain reaction at least five cars long. You sure you’re all right?”
Cam glanced at Val, who nodded. “We’re fine,” she repeated as Val handed her the packet she’d been reading before the minor excitement. “Thanks.”
While Val shuffled through the rest, Cam returned her attention to the details on the building they’d just left. Two lines in, she realized something was off. On a hunch, she flipped to the first page to note the address on top. “This is the wrong prospectus.”
Val leaned toward her to confirm the error. “Oops. Sorry. That’s where we’re headed.” She took the packet back and flipped through the remaining stapled paperwork. “Here you go.”
With a smile, Cam took the offered pages. But the smile froze on her face when she noted the name of the agent written at the top of page one: Jordan Fawcett.
It couldn’t be. Her heart thudded inside her rib cage, and her mouth went dry. A roar rose between her ears, drowning out all sound.
“Cam?” Val’s voice seemed to come from some deep tunnel. “You okay? Cam?”
She managed a nod, but speech deserted her, and her mind stayed mired in thoughts of the name on the page. Jordan Fawcett. It couldn’t be. Oh, sure. She knew he’d come back to New York after his football career was shattered due to an injury during a game. But he’d killed their relationship long before then.
Why, all of a sudden, did he get in touch with her? To sell her a building? After all the crap he’d put her through, he could come up with the Taj Mahal of buildings and she’d refuse to do business with him.
Tossing the packet of papers at Val, she found enough voice to announce, “On second thought, this place won’t work. What else have we got?”
Val flashed a confused expression for the briefest of moments, then smoothed her face into her usual confident business mien. “Hell’s Kitchen’s next. We’ll go from there.”
Cam turned to stare out the window. “Good.”
If Jordan Fawcett thought he could just waltz back into her life, he’d underestimated her ability to hold a grudge. Like her mother, she could nurse her grievances for a lifetime. And in Jordan’s case, even longer.
Chapter 2
“That agent called. The one for the Loughlin site? I told him you’re reviewing other properties.”
Cam sat with her back to her desk, staring out the windows at the river and the rest of the city skyline. She wished her assistant had told him to take a hike instead. Although, she winced at her own callousness, maybe not in those specific terms.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Val pointed out. “You want me to get you a fresh cup?”
“No, thanks.” Her mind wasn’t on coffee.
While physically, she was in her office, mentally, she was back outside that perfect building, staring at the intricate brickwork and the rows of windows while visualizing the property alive with the laughter and conversations of children and teens.
Why did Jordan have to be the agent representing the property? Of all the possibilities she and Val had checked out the other day, only that one made her tingle with promise. Oh, a few of the others were okay, but none of them pushed all her buttons the way the Loughlin Building did.
When they returned to the office after looking at the rest of the sites on Val’s list, there was the faxed floor plan, as promised, waiting on her desk for her review. She needed no more than a brief perusal to conclude Jordan’s property would be the easiest for her crew to rehab to fit their needs.
She sighed. Great location, great price, great building. Worst person in the world to have to deal with to get it.
God, she hated herself right now! What kind of director put her personal animosity above the needs of a charitable foundation? She’d run this organization for a decade. They trusted her to always have their best interests at heart. How could she go to the board and tell them they’d have to settle for a site that was more expensive, less accessible, and would require more time and work to fit their requirements, simply because she had a scarred history with the agent repping the more ideal site?
“Cam?” Val prompted. “You okay?”
Before she could give more than a jerky nod in response, the phone at Val’s desk out in the reception area rang.
“I’m on it,” Val said and rushed from her office.
Saved by the bell. Cam turned from the window and settled in her chair behind the desk. She had to focus. The New York building issue wasn’t the only problem demanding her attention right now. She still had to write her speech for the Awards Dinner next week, a task she routinely put off ‘til the last minute because of the tornado of emotions it engendered. Maybe she should work on it now. Maybe, if she concentrated on something besides Jordan, an answer to how to deal with the Jordan issue would organically develop. Her fingers brushed her keyboard, waking up her screensaver—a photo of a dozen children of various ages and ethnicities showing off their art projects at a festival a few years ago—when Val’s voice intruded into her thoughts yet again.
“Cam? Your mother’s on line one.”
Well, crap. Her already dismal mood spiraled straight down into the fiery pits of hell. Much as she’d love to have Val tell Mom she was in a meeting and unreachable, Cam could never bring herself to lie to her mother—even through proxy.
On a deep inhale and a muttered, “Give me strength,” she picked up the receiver and popped a finger on the blinking light.
“Good afternoon, Mother. How are you today?”
“Cameron, darling, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
Every time her mother intruded was a bad time, as far as she was concerned. Nonetheless, Cam forced the lighthearted air her mother always expected from her. “Of course not. What’s up?”
“Have you picked up your gown for next Friday yet?”
Ha. Next Friday. Sometimes her mother’s parental intuition scared the crap out of her. The gown her mother referenced was for the same event she needed the speech for. The annual Duke Delgado Awards ceremony, complete with a five-course dinner and lots of schmoozing, was a major fundraiser for the foundation, as well as one of the sports world’s biggest social events. If not for the money that
poured into the foundation’s coffers, thanks to the many wealthy guests in attendance, Cam would skip the pomp and circumstance for an evening at home with a pint of ice cream and a cheesy television sitcom rerun.
“I just got a call from Elaine that my dress is ready,” her mother continued, “and I thought maybe we could do our final fittings together, then go to lunch afterward—my treat. We can make a day of it. I’d love to see what you plan to wear. Who knows? I might have the perfect piece of jewelry you need to finish off your look.”
Cam clicked on her schedule, opened to today’s agenda. “I wish I could, but my calendar is filled up solid until the night of the gala.”
Not a hundred percent truthful, but she’d barely steeled her emotions for the endless hours she’d have to spend listening to her mother’s disparagements on Friday night. Any additional time spent under her mother’s critical eye would batter her ego to the point she’d be unable to leave her apartment for a month.
“Oh?” Even through the phone, Cam honed in on the disappointment in that one syllable uttered by Mom. “Well, did you pick up your dress already? If not, I can always swing around and grab it for you when I go to my fitting.”
No way. First of all, this whole “I’ll be happy to help you out” shtick was a way for Mom to get a sneak peek at Cam’s dress so she could list all the reasons it was inappropriate or unflattering or too short or too long or too...whatever. Then she’d insist on dragging her daughter to her designer for something Cam would find too tight, too boxy, too stiff, too plain or too...whatever. Not to mention, Cam didn’t want to admit she’d bought a dress off the rack at her favorite boutique a week ago. Mother would have a dozen fits over the very idea of her daughter wearing a garment a hundred other women might also wear to an entirely different event on an entirely different evening.
“My dress is already hanging in my closet at home, just waiting to be slipped into on Friday night, but thanks for offering.”
“All right, then. I guess I’ll have to go by myself. Do you want Andrew and me to shoot by and pick you up that night? It might be nice to arrive together as a family.”
And have to stay until they were ready to leave, when they were the two people she’d prefer to avoid most? “No, thanks,” she said—a bit too quickly and with too much fervor. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I may be coming straight from the office, so I’ll just use the car service.”
“You work too hard, Cameron.”
“I like what I do, Mother. Don’t you feel the same way about your jewelry?”
“My, yes! Why, when I’m working on a particularly intricate piece, I’d probably go days without eating if Andrew didn’t remind me. That’s why you need a husband, sweetheart. Someone besides me to tell you when you’re working too hard.”
And that’s the game. Time to end the call. “I’ll keep that in mind. But right now, I have a meeting to get to. I’ll see you Friday night.”
“Oh. All right then.” Her mother’s tone flattened to defeat. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Mother.” She hung up the phone and returned her attention to her computer. An image of a blank document mocked her, and with an angry pecking motion, she typed her opening greeting.
Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Delgado Foundation, welcome to the Duke Delgado Awards Ceremony. Tonight,
Her finger paused there, and the cursor blinked its agitation at the lull in activity. Minutes passed—hell, maybe even days passed—while she stared at the words, waiting for inspiration and coming up empty.
“Well, this isn’t working,” she chided herself and reached for the list of property details Val had compiled.
Distracted, she picked up her mug of coffee, took a sip, and immediately grimaced. Blech! Val had warned her the stuff had gone cold. She should have listened. Pushing the cup out of easy reach to the corner of her desk, she buried her concentration in the building sites again.
There had to be a better location than the Loughlin Building somewhere among these sites. She just had to find that golden opportunity in this bunch of numbers and street names. No matter what her mother thought about her work hours, if it took from now ‘til Friday, she’d sit here and go through this list with a fine-toothed comb, forgoing food, sleep, and even bathroom breaks.
There was no way in hell she could do business with Jordan Fawcett, even for her beloved foundation. She shuffled through the stapled packets, scanning through the notes she’d made on all the sites they’d visited: one was too small, another difficult for commuters to get to, a third would require rezoning and had included a floor plan that showed massive interior construction needs, meaning they’d be unable to move in for at least a year.
No good. They’d already wasted six months trying to cull together this handful of possibilities. And only one place called to her like a siren’s song, the one place she thought perfect, the one place with one great, big imperfection barring her from acquiring it like Godzilla blocking her from her goal.
The Loughlin site. Repped by Jordan Fawcett, her personal Godzilla. If the agent were anyone but him, she’d already have a crew onsite working on the renovations.
She ran a hand through her long hair and swerved her chair to stare out the window again. Damn you, Jordan, you ran away years ago! Why didn’t you stay away? Why did you have to come back and invade my life again?
When he’d announced he was leaving the Vanguard and her for Houston, he’d established the rules of surrender, not her. Now, she’d have to find a way to make sure they both continued to abide by them.
WHEN TEN DAYS WENT by without a word from Val or anyone else at the Delgado Foundation, Jordan figured the building wasn’t as perfect for their needs as that insistent board member thought. Either that, or Cam found out he was the agent and wouldn’t touch the place because he was involved.
Oh, well. No one could say he hadn’t tried. Even Susan would have to admit defeat and let him have the place now.
Regardless of why she’d passed, Cam’s radio silence also meant he wouldn’t have to see her, which was exactly the way he wanted things between them. He’d spent too many sleepless nights over the last week and a half, trying to convince himself he could do this deal, sit across from her at that board table in her meeting room, connect with her gaze, and remain aloof.
During the day, while his mind stayed occupied with numbers and locations and the day to day challenge of getting around the city in a wheelchair, he could kid himself into believing he’d forgotten all about Cam’s laugh, her touch, the scent of her skin. But at night, in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind chastised him for living in a fantasy world where Cam meant nothing to him. If she didn’t matter, his conscience would sneer, why return to New York? You could have gone anywhere after your football career ended. You could have stayed in Texas, or moved to any other city in the States. Why come back here?
Because you hoped, one day, you’d run into her again.
Not yet, though. Not until he’d made a name for himself in his own chosen profession—without help from family or football. Something she’d never done.
“Hell-o? Jordan? You with us here?”
Jordan glanced up at the prompt and into the eyes of his personal trainer and business partner. The clink of weights and background rock music invaded his musings. Instead of the scent of Cam’s skin, rank sweat sharpened the air around him. He shook off thoughts about the bitter past and faced his present.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Come on, dude. Focus. Eight more on each side.”
“Right.” He lifted the barbell and did his reps, counting aloud after each one, then placed the barbell back on the mat.
“Good,” Marcus replied. “Now, the left arm. Remember, you’ve got two.” While Jordan repeated the procedure on his weaker side, Marcus added, “Any news on the site yet?”
“No,” he said through huffs and counts. “Which makes me think she’s not interested, so we’re all good.”
> Marcus’s forehead puckered, and he cocked his head at Jordan. “She who?”
Damn. He hadn’t told Marcus about Cam getting first-crack at their building yet. Tightening his grip on the barbells in his hands, he muttered, “There’s been a hiccup.”
Marcus sat back on his haunches and folded his arms over his chest. “What kind of hiccup?”
He took a deep breath, let the air out slowly. “It seems that Cameron Delgado’s foundation has first right of refusal on the Loughlin place.”
Marcus shot to his feet, hands balled into fists. “Aw, hell! No wonder you aren’t paying attention to me right now. You’re in Camland again.”
“That’s bull!” Jordan dropped the barbells with a loud clank and glared at his friend. “Wait a sec. Camland?”
“Yeah, Camland. Where nothing else matters but Cameron Delgado.”
Jordan gave a wry chuckle. “What the hell do you know about Cam? You’ve never even met her!”
“I didn’t have to meet her. From the first time I started working with you in Houston, you’ve railed about her, cursed her, and used her name as the provocation you needed to push forward when it would’ve been easier for you to give up.”
“I barely even mentioned her.”
Marcus snorted. “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, asshole.” He switched his seated position, shooting his legs out straight on the mat. “Look, I get it. Everybody’s got that one person their heart’s obsessed with. You can’t help yourself. Your mind replays key scenes at night and makes you wonder, ‘If I’d done A instead of B, would we still be together now? If I’d said yes, instead of no...or no, instead of yes. If we’d met five years later or five years earlier, would things be different now?’ Cam Delgado’s the one your heart’s obsessed with. And when we were in Houston, that was fine. I helped you use that obsession to make you stronger, to make you work harder. Even when we came back to New York, I didn’t think it would be an issue for you, except to spur you on to get the rehab center going for us. But now, if you’re working for her instead—”
