Suite Temptation

“Thanks for that vote of confidence. What’s your time frame?” Riana asked, swiveling back around to grab her pen and take notes.

“I’ll be out of the office next week, but when I return, I’d like to meet with you and go over a short list of candidates. Think you can get some names together by then?”

“No problem,” Riana replied, her mind already whizzing ahead to the recruitment resources she planned to use.

“The design team won’t actually meet for at least ninety days at the outside, but I want to get the candidate—man or woman—on board right away. Sound like an assignment your firm can handle?”

Riana took a deep breath, crossed her fingers and told George Allen, “Yes. Executive Suites will find the perfect match between your company and your project. You will not be disappointed.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to have Pat, my human resources manager, call you with the job description. She’ll give you all the details and work with you to finalize the contract, now that you’ve accepted the job. She’ll draft your contract, go over it with you, and when it’s all set, I’ll talk with you again.”

Immediately after hanging up, Riana turned to her computer and got to work. With the next day being the Fourth of July, the office would be closed, so she wanted to get a head start on this assignment. She pulled up the database of clients currently enrolled with Executive Suites and quickly highlighted the names of three architects whose credentials were impressive. However, she knew she could not stop there. On a task like this one, she would have to utilize all of her recruitment sources and screen a wide range of potentials. She could tell that Allen was a demanding man who expected the best from people he worked with, and she was going to deliver exactly what he wanted.

After creating a folder to hold the information she found on the first three candidates, she turned to her database that contained the names of the presidents of professional agencies and organizations within the building and architecture industries who had helped her with her recruitment needs in the past. After carefully preparing an e-mail blast that detailed her requirements, Riana sent the announcement to everyone on the contact list, hoping that someone would give her a lead.

So far, she had never failed a client, and it was this sense of confidence—her assurance that the ideal candidate was out there somewhere—that drove her to push so hard and to set her personal needs aside in order to make her company grow.

So what if her sister, Britt, referred to Riana as a workaholic clotheshorse who would probably wind up a lonely spinster? Riana had no intention of slowing down, or of focusing on her social life instead of her company. Britt was just jealous, and she certainly had no trouble accepting the clothes that Riana offered her when she cleaned out her closet at the end of each season.

Riana’s mother, Karleen, who had worked part-time during the summer months at the neighborhood ice-cream shop when her daughters were young, also accused Riana of taking her work much too seriously. Karleen wanted more grandchildren to spoil, a second son-in-law to pamper and another big wedding to plan. In her opinion, Riana was using her work to avoid commitment, afraid that a man would want to come in and take over her business under the guise of relieving her of the stress that comes with owning a demanding franchise.

Even Riana’s father, Sam, now retired from his government job as a city health inspector, concurred. He worried that Riana might be sacrificing too much for the sake of making money. Getting rich was not that important, he often told her. A fancy car, expensive clothes and nice jewelry meant nothing if you didn’t have someone with whom to share and enjoy such perks. Money wouldn’t bring his daughter happiness, he would say, urging her to take a hard look at her priorities.

Riana disagreed with all of them. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, and she thrived on the financial freedom that she had earned. She was content to immerse herself in the world of negotiations, contracts and deal-making to the exclusion of an endless and often frantic round of galas and benefits and shallow happy hours and boring stand-up cocktail parties just to search for Mr. Right. She gave generously to the charities that mattered by writing checks at the end of the year, and had long ago given up worrying about finding a mate. If it happened, fine, but she sure wasn’t going to lie awake at night worrying about when, or if, someone to love—who could fit into her world—would come along.

Now, clicking through her e-mails, Riana saw that two of her professional colleagues had already replied to her request for leads for potential candidates to fill George Allen’s search. The first message, from the president of the American Association of Urban Planners contained the résumés of two of their members who were seeking projects: Sandra Morehouse of Oklahoma City and Robert Fountain from Dallas. Riana closely scrutinized their credentials, made a few notes about Sandra, who had five years of experience and a short list of clients, and then Robert, whose work was starkly simple and not very attractive.

Impressed, but not quite satisfied, Riana moved on to the second message, from the membership chair of the National Association of Builders and Architects. The contact, with whom Riana had worked on two other assignments, was offering up only one name, and when Riana read the e-mail, she froze. Andre Preaux, of A. Preaux and Associates in Houston, winner of the prestigious 2003 Space City Improvement Award for his design of a low-rise complex for marginalized senior citizens in Houston. Heart thumping in her chest, she began to read aloud from the screen.

“‘Andre Preaux, a newcomer to the industrial architectural and design scene, brings twelve years of experience in the construction business and a recent degree in architecture from the University of Houston to his innovative designs. In his award-winning project, Arbor Oaks, he grasped the big-picture demands of the problem of limited housing for elderly seniors on fixed incomes and was able to effectively tie the project to the goals and the needs of an underserved group of citizens. He cut through tangled red tape and finished the complex in record time while honoring city ordinances and following housing guidelines to achieve a final project that surpassed the original plans. His use of innovative design concepts for the handicapped and those with limited mobility, his incorporation of environmentally friendly materials, and his involvement of the local residents allowed him to prove that there can be equitable access to affordable housing for all members of the Houston community.’”

It can’t be the same man, Riana kept telling herself, frowning at the photo of a professionally attired caramel-colored man in a business suit and tie. His hair was longer, his smile seemed brighter, and he looked more mature than the thirty-seven years she knew him to be. He also looked confident and polished, as if he possessed secrets to his rapid rise that he did not plan to reveal. She had never seen Andre wearing anything other than scruffy jeans or slacks and a shirt, never a suit. This man was dressed with ultimate care, sending a message of impressive style. Even the address of his firm was impressive: Prairie Towers, in the high-rent, Main Street, museum-district area. Apparently, he was doing quite well, and he was just as disturbingly handsome as she remembered. Even more so, Riana had to admit, wondering for the thousandth time if they could have made it as a couple.

Frantically, she scrolled through his résumé, eager to read everything she could about his background, his work, his education and his future plans. She was stunned. How could this be the same man who had worn faded jeans and work boots to class, who had swept her into a whirlwind romance before she’d realized what was happening? Was this the same man whose heart she knew she had shattered four years ago when she had left him behind to pursue her career?

Slumping back in her chair, Riana stared at the monitor, not seeing anything, unable to stop the flood of memories she’d been holding back for years easing into her mind. As she sat there, sensations she had struggled to forget swept through her. The feel of his fingers on her skin as he held her chin and kissed her good-night. The clean soapy smell of his skin after they’d bathed together in his bubbly Jacuzzi tub. The scent of their soul-touching bodies after a long night of making love. The taste of his lips, plump, full and warm over hers.

An ache of longing flashed through Riana, tearing into her heart and holding her still. Sitting there, she felt a lump of regret begin to swell, reigniting the misery she’d suffered through during those miserable days after her return home. It hadn’t taken long for Riana to admit that she had miscalculated everything back then: her job security at Sweetwater, the depth of Andre’s feelings for her and her ability to get over him.

Andre had called her once, had e-mailed her twice, but she’d never responded, unable to go back on her decision to put her career first and sidestep the temptation of entering into a long-distance relationship. She had simply eased her way out of his life as smoothly as he had entered hers, fully aware that she had left him feeling confused and disappointed about her actions. However, she’d had little choice at the time, and after weeks of crying herself to sleep at night or lying awake second-guessing her decision to walk away from Andre, she had finally managed to let go of him and put her energy into building her company.

Now, Riana moved her index finger over the delete button on her keyboard, prepared to erase Andre Preaux from her computer screen as well as her life. But she couldn’t press the key. As much as she wanted to push his résumé aside, it was impossible. Dammit! Andre had all of the credentials that George Allen was looking for and there was no way she could exclude him from her short list. In fact he might be the ideal candidate.

Riana clipped one more yellow rose from the chest-high bush in the center of her rose garden, placed it in a basket and decided that the six full blooms she had picked were more than enough for a nice bouquet. She headed into the potting shed at the far end of her compact, well-landscaped yard and put her tools away.

When she had left her office at six o’clock that evening, she hadn’t planned on working in her garden, but when she walked through the door she was too keyed up over having seen Andre’s photo on the Internet to simply flop in her easy chair and watch the evening news on TV as usual. She had to stay busy, keep her mind off him. So she’d put on her jeans, a T-shirt and her leather gardening gloves and headed into her rose garden to shift her thoughts from the ghostly past.

Riana pulled off her gloves, hung them on a hook in the shed and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of one hand. The early-July evening was sultry, humid and still pushing ninety degrees even though it was nearing dusk: a typical day in the Alamo city. However, Riana had no complaints. She was used to the steamy summer days that never seemed to cool and knew that grumbling about the heat did no good; it would end in its own time, and that could be as late as mid-October, or even Thanksgiving Day some years.

As she made her way back toward the house, she surveyed her colorful flower garden with pride: it was one of the reasons she had purchased this house on Puerto Valdez Avenue. The Craftsman-style bungalow had cost twice as much as she had planned to pay when she decided to become a homeowner, but it was worth the investment. Her house was close to downtown, on a quiet tree-lined street, and just the right size for a single person.

For Riana, living on Puerto Valdez Avenue was like residing on a tropical island of calm and peace. She thrived on the privacy of the mid-town neighborhood, where every street ended in a wide cul-de-sac, and the only vehicles cruising past belonged to a resident or someone who had business being in the area. The chirps of birds and the rustle of tropical foliage drifted over smooth green lawns that fronted the tidy homes, which were set back from the street and divided by hedges of blooming oleanders along the driveways.

Inside, Riana went into her recently updated kitchen and looked into the fridge: orange juice, bottled water, a diet drink, a pint of cottage cheese and a carton of eggs. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There were two things Riana did not do: cook or clean house. A housecleaning service descended on her home once a week to keep it spotless, and she drank juice for breakfast, had lunch delivered to her office from a nearby health-food store and usually picked up a salad or pasta for dinner from Central Market on her way home. Today, she had been so preoccupied with memories of her time with Andre she had forgotten all about food.

After taking out the can of diet drink, she shut the refrigerator door and poured it into a glass, sipping it while she arranged the yellow roses in a white glass vase, impressed with the size of the blossoms.

Finished with her arrangement, she placed it on the coffee table in her muted beige-and-cream living room, and, grabbing her diet drink, went into her home office for a quick e-mail check. However, instead of logging into her mailbox, she punched in Andre’s Web site address and held her breath as she gazed at his photo and read his résumé over and over, unable to tear her eyes away from his face or get her mind off the only man she had ever loved.

What am I doing? she silently fretted, sensing his presence wrap around her, her heartbeat steadily increasing. Why am I acting as if I care? As if he means a thing to me? However, she knew the answer. She loved Andre, and the realization was not one she could ever escape.

Since moving back to San Antonio, she had acquired an interesting circle of friends and had dated often enough to suit her needs. However, too often, when she did meet a man who interested her, the relationship quickly fizzled when he realized that his role in her life would be solidly paired with her devotion to Executive Suites, Inc.

Riana was well aware that her strong work ethic turned some men off, but in Riana’s opinion, everything was as it should be. She was living the good life—in a home that she owned, driving the car that she loved, dressing in stylish, well-made clothes and investing in her future. This was all she’d ever wanted to do and she had no plans of changing anything in order to please an insecure man or her overprotective family.

I was right to leave Andre, she told herself. If I hadn’t, I never would have accomplished the goals I set for myself, and I never would have created the company I love so much.

Becoming a successful businesswoman had been Riana’s dream since she was young, going back to the days when she had taken the city bus across town to the private school that she and Britt had attended. Cruising through the crowded business section, she had gazed out the windows, fascinated by the women in tailored business suits, carrying expensive looking attaché cases who hurried across intersections and along the streets, going in and out of the multiwindowed buildings. She had always wondered what they did behind those heavy doors of brass and tinted glass, in those rooms looming high above the city.

During her senior year of high school, Riana accepted a part-time job at a national life-insurance agency whose offices filled seven floors of a building in the heart of the business center. Thrilled to finally be a part of the fascinating world she had longed to explore, she quickly imitated the dress, the stride and the in-office mannerisms of the women with whom she associated. Her salary was low, her job was tedious, but she went to work every afternoon with a smile on her face and an intense desire to do her best. That approach, coupled with a positive attitude, soon caught the attention of Madeline Betts, the vice president of the insurance company.

Madeline took Riana under her wing and coached her on the ins and outs of the insurance business. Told her how to get what she wanted from the corporate managers—all males—who dominated the company and presented great challenges for women with drive and purpose.

Learn to be tough, but fair, Madeline had told Riana. Be persistent, but not overly aggressive when negotiating. Never take anything or anyone for granted. Don’t compromise, if doing so would leave you with regrets. And most important of all—never burn bridges, or let anyone burn them for you. We’re all too interconnected to take such a chance.

Riana had thrived under Madeline’s tutelage, and when she applied for admission to graduate school at the University of Texas, Madeline Betts wrote the glowing recommendation that Riana believed had won her a full scholarship to the master’s program in the College of Economics. With her advanced degree, she had been quickly snapped up by Sweetwater Finance where the most important thing she learned was how not to run a company. Getting fired had definitely been a blessing in disguise.

Now, as she studied Andre’s Web site photo, she wondered if finding him again would turn out to be a blessing or a curse.

Chapter 4

It was difficult for Riana to gauge George Allen’s reaction to the candidates she had presented for his consideration and she was beginning to get nervous. Ten days had passed since he’d first contacted her and it was time for him to let her know whom she ought to pursue. With a great deal of care, he read over each résumé, made a few notes in the margins and then set it aside before going on to the next.

At last, he removed his glasses and placed them on the conference table, prepared to reveal his decision.

“They all look good, Riana,” he finally said, drumming two fingers on the hard, polished wood. “Tomas Segovia has great credentials, but everything he’s done looks the same. Nothing innovative there,” Allen replied, thumbing his chin as he leaned back in his big leather chair. “Sandra Morehouse’s last job was extremely well executed, but it wasn’t well received by the county officials.” Allen tucked his bottom lip beneath his teeth as he considered another résumé. “Now, this young man takes a fresh, bold approach to his designs. Exactly what I’ve been thinking about for Tierra Trace.” He focused on Riana when he said, “I think what Andre Preaux did with the Arbor Oaks design was most impressive. He just might be able to deliver what I want.”

Allen’s comment threw Riana momentarily off guard, though she knew it shouldn’t have upset her at all. He was right: Andre’s striking design, which had addressed important environmental, residential and economic factors had made it a winner, making Arbor Oaks stand out from the plethora of average projects that the other architects and planners had completed. However, all of Andre’s talent didn’t erase the fact that it was going to be very difficult for her to approach him, and she didn’t dare reveal her concerns to George Allen.

“His firm is very small. In fact, he may be a one-man shop. And other than the senior citizens’ facility, he hasn’t done much to prove his talent,” Riana quickly tossed back, a worry frown creeping over her brow.

George Allen nodded his understanding, but countered her concern with a statement that made Riana’s stomach tighten. “I still think he’s the one. What draws me most to Preaux is that he took risks with unusual materials and he got the job done in record time.”

I once took a risk on him, too, and got involved in record time! But I let him down hard and I doubt he’s forgotten, Riana silently recalled, wishing she could remain impartial.

“Reminds me of myself when I started out,” Allen continued. “All I needed was the right break. Someone to connect with my vision. I see no reason why I shouldn’t at least give him first shot.” He arched a brow at Riana, who smiled demurely and inclined her head. “Set up an interview. I want to know more about Andre Preaux. If he doesn’t work out, we’ll move on to someone else.”

“That’s a good approach,” she agreed. “Let’s hope Preaux is interested in meeting with me. From the look of his Web site, I gather he’s a pretty busy man. I haven’t spoken to any of the candidates yet, but I’ll contact him first, have a friendly chat and explore his future plans. Then I’ll know how to move ahead.”

Allen turned his perceptive gaze on Riana, shaking her out of her miserable dilemma. “If he works out, this project may go down on the books as my riskiest one ever. My first time using Executive Suites as my search firm, and now I’m actually thinking of hiring a novice architect to help design my complex. Some people might think I’m crazy, but this is what keeps me excited and engaged in doing business: the discovery and promotion of new talent. Riana, here’s what I want you to do. Schedule a personal interview with Andre Preaux as soon as possible, don’t just talk to him on the phone. Go to see him. I’d like you to spend time at his office, see where he works. Check out his surroundings. If possible, feel out colleagues about his work ethics, his management style, his temperament. And for this project, I’ll have to have a criminal background check on him, too. You know what I’ll need.”

“Yes, I do,” Riana replied, girding herself for this difficult recruitment task. If she had to go to Houston and face Andre, she’d go, and she’d recruit him for the job and earn a nice fee from George Allen, too. And while she was at it she might as well make the trip do double duty and take care of some business while there. “I’d been planning on going to Houston anyway,” she told Allen, sounding as casual as she could manage. “I want to check out the Executive Suites franchise there. It’s not doing well, the owner wants to sell, and I’m considering buying it.”

“Good idea. I heard you talking about your expansion plans when you were on Community Business Focus. Houston’s a good market for recruitment. As I’ve always said, the only way to be successful in business is to grow, grow, grow. Staying small never leads to anything but remaining exactly where you are.”

“I agree,” Riana replied, her mind already spinning with ideas about how to approach Andre. She’d have to plan her tactics carefully, remain totally about business with no treks down memory lane, no conversation about regrets, no emotion. She would plunge into the task fully prepared to get the job done in record time and then, she hoped, she’d never see or speak to Andre Preaux again.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve interviewed Preaux and give you an update,” she told Allen, ready to get started.

“I trust your company to do its job,” Allen agreed with a nod. “And I look forward to your take on how you think Preaux will fit in with my plans.”

Riana swallowed, her mouth nearly too dry to speak, her stomach sinking fast. “I know you want the best for the Tierra Trace project, and that’s what you’ll have.”

“Tell you what, if Preaux turns out to be the right person for the job, and you can get him in place within a very short time frame, the Allen Group will pay Executive Suites a fifty-percent increase in our contracted fee.”

Stunned, Riana blinked. “Fifty percent? How generous,” she commented, knowing what Allen meant. If she did not come through within his time frame, he would have no problem taking his business elsewhere. This was a test. He had backed her into a corner and she could not let him down. The Allen Group account was hers. All she had to do was remain detached during the recruitment process and not allow herself to get personally involved with her former lover.

Felicia turned to her computer, punched up her e-mail and began reading through the latest security updates, trying to figure out which ones directly applied to her area of the airport when her phone rang. She answered without taking her eyes off the screen.

“President’s Lounge. Felicia Woods speaking.”

“Hey, Felicia, it’s Riana.”

Now, she shifted her attention away from the pages of dense text that were beginning to blur anyway and swiveled back in her chair. “Riana. Well, I needed this break. Good to hear from you, cuz. How’s it going?”