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“Your message said you wanted to discuss wedding plans.” Teri Sullivan’s voice was cool, but that was to be expected.
Michael’s sister was a beautiful brunette, tall, slim, dark-eyed. Her fiancé, Geneva had learned, was Michael’s best friend Dexter Smith, a good-looking geek and chief numbers cruncher for Sullivan, Inc. They’d looked especially spectacular a year ago in their maid of honor and best man ensembles. And both of them loved Michael. Working with them wouldn’t be easy. Which might be what Michael wanted. Whoever said payback was a bitch hadn’t exaggerated.
Geneva let out a long breath. “I wanted to talk to you because we have to start making decisions.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, you should be shopping for a dress. I can recommend some designers who will bring sketches to you.”
“That would be great.”
“Next on the list would be the location. We need to find a place you love that can also accommodate your guest list.”
Big sigh on the other end of the phone. “I don’t have time for that.”
Teri worked with Dex in the financial end of the corporation and chances were good that the two were deeply involved in securing the necessary funding for Sullivan Towers.
“If you’d like, I can look and gather information, then report back to you.”
“Again, great.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll take care of all the details. I want to assure you that the wedding will be perfect.”
“I have no doubt.” There was steel and sarcasm in her voice. “You owe Michael.”
He’d told Geneva the same thing. And he was right. “I’m aware of the debt.”
“I’m not talking financially,” Teri added. “Dex told me about the check you sent to reimburse my brother for the wedding costs. What’s that about?”
“It was the right thing.” Michael knew all about doing the right thing. She swiveled around, saw Michael standing in the doorway and dropped the phone. “Good grief.”
“What’s the right thing?” he asked.
“That would be you wearing a bell around your neck,” she said as she repositioned the receiver.
“For the wedding?” Teri sounded surprised.
“No. The fashion police would be all over that. I was talking to your brother. He sneaked up on me.”
And it was becoming an annoying habit. Every day he dropped in and lounged in her doorway—early morning, just before quitting time, or, like now, lunchtime when her assistant Chloe was out of the office. Probably just as well. Chloe thought Geneva needed therapy for dumping such a hottie. Geneva agreed that she needed her head examined. The childhood from hell tended to do that to a girl.
“Tell him hi for me.” Teri’s tone was noticeably warmer and it was hard to tell whether that was about what she’d learned from Dex or for her brother.
“Teri says hi.” She watched him nod, then forced herself to ignore him, which wasn’t easy, what with her pulse going a mile a minute. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll do some research on chapels, then get back to you.”
“Okay. Gotta go.”
“Bye,” she said as the line went dead, and wished she could say the same for her hormones. But they had a mind of their own and disobeyed orders every time she saw Michael. How she wished he would stay away.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.
It was better phrasing than, “What the heck are you doing here,” which had been on the tip of her tongue.
He held up a bag. “I brought you a sandwich.”
“Why?” That sounded suspicious and ungrateful, but from her point of view perfectly appropriate.
“Because it’s time for lunch.”
Why didn’t he just go away and quit bugging her? “How do you know I don’t have a stash of candy in my desk drawer?”
He let his gaze wander over her bare arms and settle on her breasts. If she wasn’t sitting at her desk she just knew he’d have dragged that look all the way to her ankles and toes. The thought made her shiver.
“I don’t think so.” He scanned her desk, searching for a spot to set the bag. “Where do you want this?”
Geneva’s workspace was always cluttered. If anything was put away, she couldn’t find what she needed when she needed it. Her desk was teak and glass, although she couldn’t prove it at the moment. But she knew it was there somewhere.
She eyed the bag suspiciously. “If it’s going to blow up, you can chuck it down the hallway.”
“Turkey and tomato isn’t explosive.” He stared down at her, his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “You have to let the whole retaliation thing go.”
“No, I don’t.” She moved a stack of papers and he set down the bag. “I can hang onto my paranoia just as long as I want.”
Retribution could come at any time, in any form. Like just before Sullivan Towers grand opening where she could publicly take the blame if the event tanked. That would seriously undermine her reputation and in her line of work that was everything. But so far, Michael only showed up in her office every day, just long enough to stir her up. Advance and retreat. To her that spelled guerrilla warfare. Only, instead of camouflage, he wore gray slacks, a white shirt and a pewter and black striped tie. As commandos went, he sure knew how to dress.
“Paranoia it is then.” He stared at her desk, probably looking for an uncluttered place to lean against.
For once Geneva was grateful to her inner slob. It kept him out of her space and set up a perimeter. “Thanks for the sandwich,” she said, trying to be gracious.
“You’re welcome.” He sat in one of the chrome and tweed upholstered chairs in front of her. “So, you were talking to Teri. How are the wedding plans coming?”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “You know.”
“Actually I don’t know.”
She leaned back in her chair and studied his face, but his expression was hooded. “There’s not much to tell. Everything is preliminary at the moment.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers. “Tell me about the preliminaries.”
“It’s all very vague. I’ve got threads here and there. When I pull them into some kind of cohesive plan, I’d be happy to update you.”
“Actually I’m not asking for a favor. It’s your job to keep me informed every step of the way.”
She stared at him. “Define every step.”
What he was proposing would mean seeing him a lot more than she’d thought. After leaving her wedding, she’d kept two phones and a pager at her fingertips in case he wanted to talk to her. She’d waited and hoped for the opportunity to explain, but he’d never contacted her. He’d just let her go. She’d thought he would fight harder, but he hadn’t fought for her at all. Now he wanted to be joined at the hip?
His gaze captured hers. “Every step means every single decision. If you pick out flowers, I want to know what color the pistils are.”
“You’re micromanaging.”
“You bet I am.” His voice lowered dangerously. “Everything is going to get media attention. It’s got to be perfect. Millions of dollars are riding on it. I’ve got a lot at stake and I need to know I can depend on you.”
The look in his eyes, the tone in his voice, both added up to one thing and it wasn’t about bugging her or retribution. It was so much worse. “You don’t trust me.”
“Based on your behavior, give me one good reason why I should.”
“That was personal,” she said. “This is business.”
“Most people don’t check their character at the door when they come to work.”
She leaned forward and rested her arms on her desk. “You really think I’d walk out and leave you in the lurch?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Okay, that had been a bad way to phrase it. “I’m good at my job,” she defended.
“You wouldn’t be here otherwise. But you can’t do it if you’re not here.”
She was stunned that he believed her capable of walking out on her work. “If you think that, why didn’t you simply terminate my contract?”
“Believe me, if I could have you’d be gone. But that would cause media attention, too.”
She struggled for composure as emotions zinged through her. She’d sort them out later. “Isn’t publicity what you’re after?”
“Not that kind. You’re a high-profile employee and we have a past. Making a change like that would spook the investors. I can’t afford to make any move that could be construed as a chink in my armor. The money guys want to see strong, steady leadership and that’s what they’ll get.”
Anger smoldered in his eyes and told her he wasn’t over their past, in spite of what he’d said. But his showing up every day wasn’t about seeing her. He was keeping an eye on her.
Geneva really didn’t want to be any more involved with him than she already was. Especially with another wedding-related event. She’d made her choices; she had her regrets. She didn’t need more of his presence than she already had. But this was another choice out of her hands.
“All right, Michael. I’ll be sure to keep you informed about everything from tablecloth thread count to font size on the invitations.”
“Then we’re clear.”
“Crystal.”
Silly her for the tiniest little hope that his dropping by every day was a good thing. She hadn’t even realized the hope was there until he’d crushed it under his cold, calculated mistrust. However much she didn’t want to be fair, she had to admit he had his reasons. He might not mean this as retribution, but the result was effective. She was good at what she did. Her job was the only part of her life she trusted. And he’d just taken that away.
Michael pressed the call button on the elevator, then turned to survey the lobby while he waited. The marble floors were tough enough to withstand foot traffic, yet elegant. Several crystal chandeliers winked down on the leather love seats and chairs. Graceful cherry wood tables topped with fresh flowers were cleverly arranged around the large area. It was a place he would be proud to put his parents’ names on at the Towers dedication.
Then, breezing through the revolving lobby door, he saw Geneva. The woman who’d refused the Sullivan name.
She smiled at someone and Michael felt a pull in his gut—the same tight, tensing of muscles he’d felt the very first time he’d seen her and knew he had to have her. Her smile could drop a man’s IQ into the idiot range and he’d been no exception. Her sleeveless white dress caressed every luscious curve of the body he’d once caressed, the body that had held and lost his child. He still carried that pain; he always would.
He was used to success; Geneva had been his first failure. He hadn’t asked for the attraction that had turned him inside out, but a lot of things happened in his life that he hadn’t asked for. He’d slipped up by letting her become important. He hadn’t gotten where he was by making the same mistake twice.
If only she wasn’t so damn beautiful. If only she hadn’t walked out. If only he didn’t still want her with the same intensity as the first time he’d seen her. But he was working on that. The success of the Towers had forced him into keeping her around, but he intended to use the situation to his advantage. They would spend time together and when the dust settled, he would feel nothing for her.
The elevator doors opened, then closed again when he didn’t step inside. He watched Geneva stop and study the three-dimensional display of his residential tower project.
He crossed the lobby and stood beside her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Here I am,” she said, glancing up at him. “Are you checking up on me?”
“Do I need to?”
“Only you can answer that.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I forgot to inform you that it was a working lunch.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I was looking at chapels.”
“And?”
“I made an executive decision and ruled out the drive-through Elvis chapel, the Liberace Museum, a houseboat on Lake Mead, or the hot air balloon over the Strip.”
Her sarcasm let him know what she thought of his micromanaging. He had a momentary flicker of admiration for her sassiness, then shut it down. “Good decision. The balloon would certainly pose some logistical challenges.”
“No kidding. My fear of heights for one.”
When her full lips curved into a tight smile that unleashed her dimples, he felt the blood drain from his brain and head for points south. Then her words sank in.
“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”
“Yeah.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I still have a list of places to check out. When I narrow it down, I’ll let Teri know. And you, of course.”
“Good.”
She stared at him for several moments, before her gaze skittered away. “Well, lunch is over,” she said, then started across the lobby.
He fell into step beside her as she walked to the elevators and pushed the up button.
She glanced at him. “You said you were looking for me.”
He nodded and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Teri told me about you repaying the wedding costs.”
She looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“Dex just told her. He’s the money guy and he holds a grudge.”
“Is he the only one?”
“If you’re asking whether or not I have feelings of resentment, the answer is no.”
A flat-out lie. He knew because of the satisfaction and enjoyment he felt at keeping her guessing. And other feelings? Definitely he had feelings—resentment, revenge, regret—topping the list.
Geneva watched him carefully, as if she were searching for a sign of his sincerity. “Good,” she said, nodding. “No hard feelings.”
