by Jen Doyle
Grabbing her dance bag, Nicki ran out her front door and slammed it behind her. Even though she was running late, she had to pause and take in the view outside her front door. Although it wasn’t quite as nice as Simon’s would be on the ridge just above her, it was darn close.
It took her twenty minutes to get into town and she got to the dance studio just as the class was starting—her first class; she hadn’t known about the local studio until this past week when she’d been putting the finishing touches on the booklet. She didn’t even have time to introduce herself to the instructor. She was planning to just hang in the back and lay low when the door burst open and Dana ran in, followed closely by the angry eclair stacker from the other day.
“Savannah! I’m so sorry! We got distracted.”
Already beginning the warming up period, the instructor—Savannah, apparently—smiled. “No worries. Just grab a spot.”
On her way to the opposite side of the room, Dana did a 180 when she spotted Nicki. She broke out into a wide smile. “Hey, I had no idea you were taking this class.” She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her over to the back corner. “Nicki, have you met Avery yet?”
Before Dana could answer, there was a loud, “Shhhhh!” from the other side of the room.
Dana rolled her eyes at the older woman who’d just shushed them. An older woman who looked a lot like the woman who was in the restaurant the night before—and who had wielded the iPhone that had saved Nicki from giving up every last bit of the tattered remains of her dignity and self-respect.
“Oh, please,” Dana muttered. “It’s just the warming up part.”
“Um, Dana?” Savannah said, raising her arms over her head as she led them in a stretch. “I love you, but shhhhh.” She smiled to soften her words.
With a smile, Dana said, “Fine, but then you’re ours after class.”
Savannah laughed as she sank into a deep plié. “It’s a date.”
The class was on the more basic side, but it was possibly the most wonderful hour Nicki had spent in a year. There was no stress, no pressure to be that much better than everyone else so your name wouldn’t be raised as one of the weaker links. Or, as was the case when Nicki just hit the clubs with her friends, no men sitting off to the sidelines watching and judging and picking her off like a menu item on The Vegas Showgirl Express. To just be able to dance and not have someone ogling or judging or expecting was so very nice.
It was even better when Savannah came up to her afterwards and, with eyes wide, excitedly said, “Oh my God. You can dance.”
Nicki’s smile was just as wide. “I can.”
Of course, then the older woman from the restaurant chimed in and said over everyone else’s voices, “Savannah, now that we have an actual pole dancer in our midst, can we—”
“She’s not a pole dancer!” Dana snapped. “Get over it.” Then she put her hand on Nicki’s shoulder and steered her to the door while turning back to Savannah. “Meet us at Avery’s?”
Savannah nodded as she started turning out lights. “See you in a few.”
Ten minutes later Nicki found herself sitting in an apartment above the Christa Café and being served a platter of to-die for pastries by Avery. Avery, incidentally, who wasn’t merely an angry baked goods stacker but the owner of the café and baker of said pastries herself.
The pastries, which were truly perfection. Nicki moaned; she couldn’t help herself. “This is better than sex.”
Her custard-tipped fingers midway to her mouth, Dana paused. “Oh, Nicki, I think you might be doing it wrong.” She glanced over at Avery. “No offense, Ave.”
The other woman laughed. “None taken.” Her cheeks went a little pink as she threw an apologetic shrug in Nicki’s direction. “I’m with Dana on that one, although it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten the good stuff—”
“No details!” Dana held her hand up. To Nicki, she said, “Avery used to date my brother.”
“What did I miss?” Savannah dropped her dance bag on the floor on the way to joining them at the table. Grabbing a chocolate croissant as she sat down, she read the situation with just one look. “Oh. We’re talking about sex again?”
“Yes,” Dana said, “because now we finally have someone here who’s not and/or never has slept with one of my brothers.” She smiled at Nicki. “Savannah’s a sister-in-law. But you’re fresh meat. So spill.” She held up her éclair. “Pastry or sex?”
Nicki snorted. “Still no question. Pastry.” Except then she thought back to last night’s almost kiss and she could feel her cheeks turn bright red.
Everything about Simon had always been different. He liked her in jeans and a t-shirt just as much as the fancy dresses and make-up she wore to go out. And unlike nearly every other guy she’d ever gone out with, he seemed to want her on his arm because he wanted to be with her, not just because he wanted to show her off. He’d been more than happy to take her out and about, but equally happy to get her alone. Actually, more so. Quite pleased, in fact, although as more vivid memories came back Nicki could feel the blush growing stronger and attempted to will it from her face.
It was too late, however. Dana gave a devilish grin. “Oh, now you really have to spill.”
Choosing her answer carefully, Nicki focused her attention on the pastries in front of her. “There was maybe one exception.” Who, it turned out, thought she was just your run-of-the-mill gold digger and not, apparently, the love of his life. So there was that.
Dana’s eyes widened. The grin disappeared. She even went so far as to put her éclair down. “I swear to you. We will walk away from this deal right n—”
“No. It’s fine.” Walking out on dinner last night was bad enough. The last thing Nicki wanted was for Dana to think she couldn’t do her job. “It’s no problem at all.” And it wouldn’t be; Nicki would handle it. She had to.
Avery, who had been following along, put down her tart. “Wait. Is Simon the guy with the house? The crazy hot British guy?”
“That would be the one.” Dana smiled apologetically at Nicki. “He was too delicious not to share.”
“Hold on.” Savannah put down her cup of coffee. “Is he staying at the Buena Vista? Because I think Reid was supposed to meet with—”
“Is that my gorgeous wife up there?”
Nicki turned to see one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen coming up the stairs and into the room. Followed immediately by the most attractive man.
Oh, hell.
Although Simon’s eyes met hers only briefly before moving on, she felt every cell inside of her jump to attention as she flashed back to the feel of his hand on her hip from the night before. On how badly she’d wanted to step right up against him.
Which was both confusing and maddening. She shifted in her seat.
“Reid!” Savannah leapt up from her chair and went to greet the other man. “What are you doing here?”
The man—Reid—wrapped his arm around Savannah and gave her a kiss before turning to Simon and inviting him all the way into the room. “Morning, ladies. This is Simon Grenville. Who, it turns out, has a bit of a following. There are paparazzi at the hotel—actual professional photographers, by the way, not the Senior Brigade. Nico said he saw the lights come on up here and we should head over.”
Yes, Nicki did remember that the flash last night hadn’t been a total anomaly, unfortunately. One of the few things she’d hated when she’d been with Simon was the way people would take pictures no matter where they were or what they were doing. Her job meant she was watched nearly every hour of every day. But no one really recognized her without her costumes and layers of make-up, so she’d always been able to be anonymous when she wanted to be. Not having that as an option had been nerve-wracking.
“This is my wife Savannah,” Reid was saying, “and my sister-in-law Avery. You know my sister, Dana...” When Reid came to Nicki, he paused. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Something flared in Simon�
��s eyes as Reid smiled and reached his hand out toward Nicki. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was jealousy. Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she turned to Reid and shook his hand. “Nicki Hollister.”
“The new project manager for Lakeside Estates,” Dana added. Her hand went to Nicki’s shoulder as if to say, yes, overprotective big brother, this is the same Nicki who went to college with Russel and rumors might be flying, but it’s okay, because we’re all friends now.
Or, at least, that was what Nicki assumed the guarded looks between them meant. And she hoped the friends part was true.
“I didn’t realize you knew each other,” Dana said to Reid, her eyes asking the question Nicki was dying to ask herself. Because if she was remembering correctly from the research she’d done before meeting Dana, Reid did all the deals for the Romano family’s winery. Having Googled Simon extensively after realizing she’d be working with him, Nicki was pretty sure his business mostly dealt in property development and management. So his meeting with Reid was…interesting.
Reid turned to Simon and smiled. “Dana oversees all of our communications and advertising. Plus she and Brock just bought a small vineyard of their own.”
And now it was Simon’s turn to read between the lines. He nodded curtly even as he smiled. “It appears we may be doing all kinds of business together.”
“What kind of business?” Nicki asked, with every intention of sounding polite, but instead hearing it come out of her mouth as blunt and accusatory. A-plus, Hollister. For Heaven’s sake. Unfortunately, disappearing wasn’t an option. “Just, um, curious.”
Amused, Simon’s gaze came back to hers. “I thought I may as well take advantage of being here and explore some options beyond real estate.”
Well… Good. If Dana and her family could get some benefit to having Simon here beyond his buying a house, then that was wonderful for everyone concerned.
Except that if it meant he’d be spending more time here in Santa Christa. Nicki had geared herself up to be in regular communication with him over the next few months. But to have him actually be around?
No. He was, like, a multi-billionaire. He surely had a gazillion people to do the in-person things. He just happened to be taking this meeting because he was here.
Right?
Not right, apparently. Simon turned to her and dashed all her self-preservation hopes away. “Enough, actually, that I’ve been thinking I need to move my office here. For the next few months, at least.”
“Here?” Air suddenly seemed in very short supply. “As in San Francisco?” For a few months?
Okay. Well, San Francisco was still at least an hour away. So that was…fine. Perfectly fine.
Except then he said, “Not in San Francisco.” He gestured out the window to the stately hotel across the street. “In Santa Christa. At the Buena Vista.”
Oh, God.
Not fine. Not fine at all.
9
It was one of the most foolish things Simon had ever done in his life. Even more so, perhaps, than marrying a woman he’d known for only two weeks. And yet he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry. Not even a little bit, not even after having several whole days to think about it. One of the favorite moments in his life to date, in fact, had happened just half an hour before when he’d told his mother he had no idea when he’d be here in California for at least another two months and wasn’t really sure if he’d extend his stay even further.
Not that he was still experiencing that particular high at the moment.
“For God’s sake, Grenville. Cut it out with the pacing.”
Simon looked down at the street for the fifth time in as many minutes and swore under his breath. Up until this week he’d never paced in his life. “Where do you think she is?”
Nicki should have been here fifteen minutes ago, but there was no sign of her. He would have liked to be able to say it wasn’t like her, except he couldn’t. He didn’t know her well enough. They’d spent nearly every moment together during the month they’d been together and she’d been late to work several times—but only because they’d been too caught up in each other to notice the time. And it had seemed to upset her deeply. He’d admired that she’d actually cared about things like responsibility and obligation. It had given him hope she’d understand what his life—their life—was going to be like once they left Las Vegas. He’d only begun to broach the subject when the summons from his mother had come.
“I think she’s probably doing everything possible to avoid seeing you,” Jeremy said, watching Simon with undisguised amusement. “But that’s just me.”
“You are not my favorite person at the moment,” Simon muttered.
Jeremy laughed. “I aim to please.”
It was three days after Simon had last spoken to Nicki—three days during which he had worked round the clock to make sure his London team could handle things while he moved his base of operations to the San Francisco office. It wasn’t entirely unheard of—he spent most of his winters working out of their Australian headquarters so he could surf whenever possible. His one concession to his formerly carefree days.
But he’d never been quite so distracted before, to the point where his sisters were threatening to fly out to California to make sure he was okay. It was only through Jeremy’s reassurance that they’d been convinced to stay home.
Jeremy, who ever-so-helpfully said, “Maybe you should have bought her flowers or something.”
“It’s not a date,” Simon snapped. It was a conversation and then a ‘field trip,’ as she’d called it, so he could meet some of the local artisans whose work would be going into his house.
Simon had zero interest in meeting the local artisans. Less than zero. But it got Nicki to meet with him, which it seemed she’d been otherwise avoiding. He had just let the drape fall back down into position when there was a knock on the door. Jeremy was at the door first, which was good. Simon could use the minute or two to review how this would go. There were some things they needed to discuss and he had a feeling she wasn’t going to like them.
As it turned out, there was no need for concern. After a polite nod at Jeremy, Nicki came into the room, put her bag down and said, “We need to lay some ground rules.”
Simon couldn’t quite hide his smile. “Agreed.”
It seemed to surprise her that he hadn’t even hesitated. Her cheeks flushed a little. “Oh… Okay then.” She glanced at Jeremy and then back. “Privately.”
Simon didn’t hesitate on that, either. “Of course.”
Jeremy, on the other hand, wasn’t happy at all. Jaw clenched, he said, “Do I need to remind you why I’m here?”
Simon was in no danger from Nicki.
Not physically, at least.
Holding her arms straight out to her sides, Nicki said, “I come in peace, but frisk me if it makes you feel better.”
As Jeremy started to move towards her, Simon resisted the urge to growl. “No frisking is necessary.”
He hadn’t meant for it to come out as harshly as it did. That was Jeremy’s job—what Simon paid him to do. But the idea of Jeremy’s hands on Nicki did something somewhere deep inside of Simon, something he couldn’t quite name—couldn’t even explain. But it was as strong now as it had been all those years ago.
His glare indicating exactly how much he disagreed with this course of action, Jeremy clenched his jaw. “I’ll be in my room.”
Once the door had closed behind him, Simon realized he wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed. Nicki was standing by the door, all the way across the room, and he had no idea how to bridge the gap.
Under normal circumstances he would have gone to her and greeted her properly. He would have assumed control immediately and steered the conversation the way he wanted it to go. Except he unfortunately didn’t know what that was. He should have wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible. Handle the details of ending their marriage and then leave the construction of the
house to someone else.
But he’d blown that all to hell when he’d said he was spending the next few months in Santa Christa—something he hadn’t even considered until the moment he’d said it.
Thankfully, she took the first step by holding up the pink box she was carrying. “I brought pastries. Want one?”
“Yes.” Christ, had he just gushed that? What the hell was happening to him? “Tea?”
There was a slight hesitation before she said, “Sure. Thanks.”
He nodded as he gestured towards the kitchen area. Giving her space, he let her take a seat at the counter before going over himself. While he was filling the kettle with water he said, “So what’s the first rule?”
She didn’t answer right away, waiting until he’d put the kettle on and turned to face her. Looking him directly in the eye, she said, “We pretend Vegas didn’t happen. You and I are nothing to each other except two people who need to work together to get your house built.”
Unable to keep a neutral expression, Simon reached for two plates before turning back to her. “No.”
Her eyebrows went up. “I’m sorry?”
It almost made him smile. “I said, no, I don’t agree to that term.”
She frowned. “It’s non-negotiable.”
Everything was negotiable, but he wasn’t going to say that. He was well aware of her feelings for him at the moment, and that wasn’t going to help anything.
This, however, was. He took out the check he’d had cut the day before and handed it to her.
“What’s this for?” she asked, her confusion clear. “I thought you’d worked out all the finances through Drew.”
It had never occurred to him that she would think it was for the new house. “It’s for the suite at the Mandarin. With interest.” A very generous rate of interest, in fact. Nearly one hundred per cent.
After their dinner the other night he’d had Jeremy look into what she’d said had happened after he’d left her, and to his dismay, she hadn’t exaggerated even a bit. She’d actually left some details out. He’d tried to see every possible angle and find something she had to gain by not sharing the full story, yet he still couldn’t figure it out.
