by Jen Doyle
Focusing his attention on the view out the windows, Simon turned down the volume in his earpiece. He cared very little about Brock Russel save for two things: he was the man from whom Simon was about to buy a very expensive house and he was Nicki’s new boss. Simon wondered if Brock Russel, American-football-player-turned-movie-star, knew his newest employee had a very keen interest in wealthy men.
“He and his wife, Dana, come together as a team. She does the design and he does the building. They’ve just hired a new project manager, Nicki Hol—”
“I know.” No need to go any further in that regard. Simon knew more than he cared to about Ms. Nicki Hollister.
He turned his attention back to the scenery below. At no point did emotion need to come into this. Yes, he was here looking at an eight-figure property for the sole reason that Nicki was working for the firm developing it and he would therefore have the opportunity to talk to her. But there was really only one specific purpose to this trip and he had no intention of allowing anything to diverge from that. He just wanted to be done with it.
He did, of course, acknowledge that his actions had created the mess in the first place, although he would have expected one of the best solicitors in London to have caught a simple spelling mistake. He was equally angry at his younger self for missing it, not to mention his mother for forcing the issue in the first place. If this hadn’t all been a reminder of the one time in his life during which he’d been an entirely besotted fool—and maddeningly powerless to boot—seeing his mother come so close to losing it when the predicament came to light might have actually been humorous. If the ceremonial swords hadn’t been bolted to the wall, heads might have literally rolled. His in particular, although he did have favored status as her only son. The only boy to be born into the family since the early 1800s, in fact, to both her pride and dismay.
It was bad enough that they’d lost the title, she had said, as if it had been his fault. But she would not have him lose half of the estate to “some bloody American tart who had shagged her way into the family.”
A proper English lady, his mother was not.
But even if not put nicely, her concerns weren’t unfounded. The Grenville family’s title, which was now extinct, had been created in the mid-13th century. They were one of the wealthiest families in England, one of the very few, in fact, who had not only managed to hold on to their extensive assets, but to continue to grow them. Theirs were some of the only properties left that stood the way they had when originally built centuries ago. But it wasn’t unheard of for families to lose a substantial portion of their holdings in the case of divorce, and if Nicki chose to take advantage of that fact, it could be devastating. Convincing her not to was of the utmost importance, and yet it had to be handled delicately. In person. Thus, Simon’s enforced American holiday.
Enforced, but not resisted nearly as much as it should have been. He’d been in love with her once; the kind of love that caused people to do drastic things. Marry after only knowing each other for two weeks, for example. But even though he’d long ago come to terms with the fact that he’d been entirely mistaken in thinking she’d felt the same, he had yet to understand how she could have turned it off so quickly—unless that had been her intention all along. He just…
He wanted to see the look in Nicki’s eyes when she saw him.
He wanted to see her regret.
“Sir…?”
As the helicopter began its descent, Simon realized the woman next to him was looking at him expectantly. He knew he should have put her at ease, but he had no capacity to do so. Not today. He shook his head and stared down at the ground below.
The only person waiting for them at the helipad, however, was a rugged behemoth of a man who Simon assumed was Brock Russel. Jeremy, Simon’s own personal behemoth, strode forward introducing himself first before gesturing towards Simon. “Allow me to introduce Simon Grenville. He’s been looking forward to touring the property.”
Thank you, Jeremy. Simon was rarely at a loss. It was second nature to put aside his personal feelings and deal with whatever situation was at hand. But he felt slightly out of sorts at the moment. Nicki had been his introduction to the real world; she’d been the first woman he’d ever loved—and the reason he’d never fall for another again. Now that he was about to see her again for the first time in nearly a decade, he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to hurt her right back or to get down on his knees and thank her.
“Simon Grenville,” the man repeated, the wheels clearly turning in his head. Sometimes because Simon’s name had been heard somewhere before, sometimes just that Simon looked familiar. He’d certainly graced his share of tabloids. He was much less in demand these days—his name was now more likely to appear in the business pages instead and the paparazzi sightings were less frequent. But if Brock Russel didn’t already know how big his fortune was, it would only be a matter of time.
The man reached forward to shake Simon’s hand. “Call me Brock.” He gestured to the outbuilding, behind which were two vehicles. “The truck is good if you’d like to go up into the foothills, but the golf cart might be a little bit more efficient if you’d prefer to stick to the main grounds.”
“Main grounds,” Jeremy answered immediately, having already vetted them. Or at least that’s what Simon assumed. And since he had no plans to be here for more than an hour, the simpler the better. With a quick nod, he moved towards the golf cart. Behind him he heard Jeremy instructing the solicitor’s assistant to stay with the pilot. A moment later, Jeremy climbed into the golf cart. “All set.”
If circumstances were different, Simon would have been more than happy to hear about the clearly world-class golf course in progress. He would most likely have been interested in hearing more about the development and how most of the buyers were as interested in privacy and security and comfort as Simon was. But his staff had already reviewed all those things and Simon knew it would be to his satisfaction, so it wasn’t until they reached the site itself that he truly began to pay attention.
“You’ll see that we haven’t even begun to build on the lot,” Brock was saying. “It’s one of our prime parcels and we figured anyone choosing this site would also want to direct the design and possibly be more involved in the oversight of the build itself.”
Since Simon’s preference was to control every aspect of his life that was possible to control, yes, it was absolutely appealing. To have the opportunity to do so for a home was quite the temptation given that every place he’d ever lived was centuries older than he was—and often involved other family members, his mother included. Except this wasn’t going to be his home, whether he bought the property or not. His home was a four-bedroom carriage house in Oxfordshire on the grounds of a larger family estate. He had no intention of moving.
Before he could inquire as to what ‘oversight’ might entail, however, there was the sound of a golf cart driving up behind them. And although he had steeled himself for this moment from the second Jeremy had uncovered that blasted piece of paper, his heart lurched into his chest as he heard the cart pull to a stop. He could have sworn he felt a change in the air as she stepped out, the sense of a current running along his shoulders in a way he’d only felt once before: the night he’d first seen her across that crowded room in her glimmering silver dress and with her eyes alight with laughter as she’d leaned forward on the bar.
When he turned, he felt rather than saw her come to a sudden stop as there, for the first time in nine years, he looked into the eyes of his wife.
3
“Simon.”
Nicki had to be seeing things. She only barely managed not to gasp. Her ex-husband couldn’t possibly be standing in front of her.
Former husband? Husband-ish?
To this day she had no idea how she was supposed to refer to a marriage that had been annulled and, therefore, didn’t officially exist. But whatever the terminology was, it didn’t change the fact that the last time she’d seen him he’d been s
tanding just outside the doorway of their bedroom in their suite at the Mandarin. It had been the middle of the night, and she’d woken up to hear him on a call that was a clear summons home. “It was nothing, love,” he’d murmured when he came back and eased in next to her, his arms enfolding her even more tightly than usual. But the next morning, she’d woken up to an empty bed and a note providing her with a phone number for his ‘solicitor’ who she could just call if she needed anything.
Unfortunately, the solicitor didn’t seem to think “anything” encompassed assistance paying the $210,000 hotel bill Simon had stuck her with when he’d left. The only thing the lawyer had been good for, in fact, was acknowledging she wouldn’t be accused of stealing if she sold the ring and jewelry Simon had bought her during their month together. Whether they’d managed to pass on the message to Simon that if he ever needed anything he could kiss her freaking ass and otherwise she’d never wanted to hear from him again, well, she couldn’t be sure. Talk about a life lesson she’d never repeat, thank you very much.
Except maybe she hadn’t gotten quite as over it as she’d thought she had, because the words, “You son of a bitch,” were uttered and she was fairly sure they’d come out of her mouth.
Thank God her new boss was also an old friend because at least when he fired her, he’d be nice about it.
Simon, the bastard, who looked even better now than he did nine years ago, just raised an eyebrow. His gaze, which had been downright frosty—as if he was the one who’d been left naked in a King-size bed in an emperor-size suite guaranteed by a canceled credit card—turned to amusement. And in that Goddamn sexy-as-hell British accent answered, “My mother is, actually, a bitch, so I won’t deny the accuracy of that statement.”
Nicki wondered if an ex-wife of all this time would still be the first to be suspected when it came to murder, because if not, she might actually kill him.
Russel cocked his head. “You know each other?”
Nicki forced herself to look away from Simon and turn her attention to Brock instead. “He’s my... ex-husband.”
Sigh. It was just easier that way.
And now it was Russel’s eyebrows going up. To Nicki’s surprise, he moved a little bit towards her, almost as if to protect her, even though this property was possibly the best in the development and he really wanted this sale. He looked down at her. “I can shut this down right now if you need me to,” he said quietly.
For as much as she appreciated the offer, the last thing she wanted was for this to go bad because of her. “If you could just give us a minute.”
Nodding, Russel took Dana’s hand and they went back to her car. Nicki went right up to Simon, ignoring the man standing next to and a little bit behind Simon—the man who was clearly security of some kind, big and bulky and looking as if he could kill you with a glance. She was pretty sure he hadn’t been one of the ones always lurking around back in the day but there was always a crew.
She also, incidentally, ignored the little lightning bolts zinging through her body, which were, frankly, infuriating. Simon had played her for a fool—how could she still want him? And yet she did; their chemistry, apparently, didn’t seem to have dissipated due to his assholeishness. To her deep distress, if she could jump his bones right now she’d do so without hesitation.
Damn him.
“Was this just to get my attention or are you serious about buying?” She was pissed and she didn’t bother to hide it.
“Oh, Nicki,” he said on a sigh and with a bemused smile that nevertheless came across as brittle and cold. “I’d forgotten how fiery you could be.”
Although his gaze was still sharp, his eyes darkened. He was like a panther, all jet-black hair and sleek muscles and poised for attack. Except rather than feel threatened by him, the adrenaline coursing through her had nothing to do with her wanting to run. Oh, no. Even all these years later—and with all of the baggage added—it was the exact opposite.
“Please answer the question,” she snapped.
The bodyguard coughed in a clear attempt to cover up a laugh. He seemed to be entirely fine with Nicki’s response. Simon, on the other hand, showed no amusement at all. Instead, he stared at her—hard—before letting his gaze take in the lot around them.
Simon’s intention had been to get in and then out quickly with a strict purpose in mind: to extricate himself from a marriage that he thought had ended over nine years ago and then to secure an actual end to the marriage with as little damage as possible. He hadn’t thought too much about how he’d go about it, nor had he been concerned about Nicki’s feelings along the way. He’d stopped thinking about her feelings after it had become clear she’d only cared about what she could get from him.
Except what he hadn’t expected was for Nicki to respond to him the way she had. He’d thought she’d show some embarrassment. He hoped at least a shade of guilt. What he’d gotten instead was anger. Fury, almost, as if he’d been the one in the wrong. Which was…interesting. Interesting enough that the idea of stretching out this conversation seemed prudent.
He wasn’t about to change his ultimate goal, but his instincts told him that taking a little more time might be to his advantage. Since his instincts had helped him triple his firm’s revenues in a mere five years, he wasn’t inclined to doubt them now.
“I’m entirely serious.”
She was so surprised that she took a step back. Simon could even see what appeared to be suspicion flash over her face. But she replaced it almost immediately with her show must go on attitude and shifted into saleswoman mode.
With property management and development being Simon’s own primary business, he was fully aware she went directly to the most elaborate models of the development’s semi-custom designs, detailing the benefits of every potential add-on option, including the two-story library as well as both the indoor lap pool and the infinity pool that overlooked the valley below. Thirty minutes later she wrapped it up with the pitch that he not only needed the top tier level of membership at the country club, but also that he should sponsor three memberships for kids from the local community college.
He got the sense she had absolutely no idea if any of the students at the college actually wanted memberships, but he appreciated that her tendency to look out for those less fortunate hadn’t gone away even if she was fleecing the bloody hell out of him personally. He kept her talking with questions he didn’t really need answers to in order to get himself acclimated to being in her presence. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way her voice flowed through him like a long forgotten song, or that the hint of her scent in the breeze brought him back to the bed they hadn’t left for days.
Vaguely registering Jeremy’s concern, Simon nodded at appropriate moments, followed as she walked the property and pointed out where things would go, and inserted the occasional question when necessary.
When she was done and they were back at the helipad, he said, “Yes.”
It clearly threw her. She waited a few seconds before saying, “‘Yes’ to what?”
“Yes, to all of it,” he answered.
Her jaw dropped and it amused him that she seemed more irritated than pleased.
“Perfect,” she finally snapped. “We’ll get our Realtor on it and then get back in touch with you. Or, with…Joanne?”
He attempted not to show any reaction to her mention of his solicitor’s assistant or the way Nicki looked over at the perfectly harmless woman who’d been sent to accompany him, but he was afraid his head came up a little too quickly. Nicki had dismissed him out of hand—had sold the engagement ring he’d given her before he even had a chance to contact her. Surely she wouldn’t be jealous, not all these years later and after no contact at all. Would she? And yet that’s exactly how it had sounded.
No. This wasn’t how he’d expected things to go at all.
“What the hell, Grenville?”
It wasn’t until Jeremy said something—turning his back to Nicki and speaking under his
breath—that Simon realized he’d been staring at her. He shifted his gaze to Jeremy, who immediately hissed, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Possibly. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered the possibility of actually purchasing the house in order to achieve his objective.
Simon turned back to Nicki. “Send everything to me directly.” He held out his hand. “May I?”
“Your mobile,” he added when the confusion on her face made it apparent she had no idea what he was talking about. It was only a business decision to give her his number, of course. He keyed his information into her contacts, careful not to allow their fingers to touch when he handed back her phone. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon.”
He gave a slight bow of his head to both Nicki and Dana before taking one more look around the property—his property, which was actually quite beautiful, although that had zero bearing on anything. He turned to Brock. “If there’s nothing else?”
Brock shook his head. “I think we’re good.”
“Very well.” He headed towards the helicopter without looking back.
Feeling vaguely unsettled and not entirely sure why, Simon climbed back aboard the helicopter. Once they were in the air and had their headsets on, he turned to Jeremy.
He didn’t even need to say a word. Jeremy knew him too well to do anything other than shake his head before using the headset to contact the team back in San Francisco. “Yeah, it’s me. We need you to book a suite at that place in Santa Christa… Yeah, that’s it. The Buena Vista.”
4
What had just happened?
Nicki stared at the golf cart until it disappeared from sight. From beside her, Dana said, “I sure could use a drink. You?”
“Just one?”
Thankfully, Dana laughed. “I’m happy to say I have an unlimited supply.”
