by Karen Booth
Astrid sipped her coffee, staring ahead at the ocean. “Sure. As long as I get the right job within the company.”
There was no mistaking the implied threat. “Of course. Grant said he’d call you this afternoon and you can start on Monday. It looks like we’re moving ahead with the Seaport Promenade project, so hopefully you can be involved with that. We can work together on it.”
Astrid smiled, which made Tara feel slightly better, although she still wasn’t sure she could trust her completely. “Sounds good. I’ll look forward to hearing from Grant.”
“Everything else okay?” Tara asked.
“For the most part, yes. I spoke to Miranda yesterday.”
“You did?” Tara wished she didn’t sound so flabbergasted, but she was.
“I called to see how she’s doing.”
“That was nice of you.” Honestly, it was astounding of her.
“I don’t want things to be so strained between us.” Astrid tucked herself farther back in the chair. “I’m sure this sounds crazy, but it feels like she’s one of the only connections I have to Johnny. I’m having such a hard time coming to terms with his death.”
They were each struggling in their own way. “That makes a lot of sense. She was certainly more connected than most of us when he died.”
“And she was there when he passed. I can’t explain it, but I feel tied to her. Also, I’m trying to tamp down my envy over the baby. I told myself that if Miranda and I became close, maybe it would help me be more purely happy about it.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I also talked to my therapist over the phone earlier this week. She helped me through some of this.”
Maybe I need to talk to a therapist, too. Tara admired Astrid’s willingness to be kind to Miranda. It had to be difficult for her. But it also confounded Tara a bit. Between the pregnancy and the revelation that Johnathon had not told Astrid he’d married a third time, Tara had only envisioned those two having problems. And she couldn’t help but think about the unstable nature of a group of three people sharing the same interest. Alliances would naturally form, and if the one between Miranda and Astrid became especially strong, that would leave Tara out in the cold.
“Is that crazy?” Astrid asked. “Telling myself that getting close to Miranda will make me less jealous?”
It was then that Tara heard the utter heartbreak in Astrid’s voice. It was clear as the morning air, and just as strong as the sun. The loss she felt over her inability to conceive with Johnathon was still front and center. It might follow her for the rest of her life. It was only natural that she’d seek some way to come to terms with it. It was certainly a healthier approach than living in denial, or worse, allowing herself to be angry.
Tara set aside her coffee cup and leaned forward in her chair, reaching for Astrid’s hand. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it’s admirable. I think it’s very big of you to set aside your own hurt and support Miranda right now. Frankly, I need to do more to reach out to her and see if she needs anything.”
“I’m sure she’d like to hear from you.”
Tara let go of her hold on Astrid and sat back. “Maybe the three of us could have dinner one night. That could be fun.” She could hardly believe what was coming out of her mouth—the idea of the three of them seeing each other in a social setting of their own planning would have been entirely implausible a few weeks ago.
“I like that idea. Plus, it’ll give me something to do.”
“I’ll get going on that. I’ve just been so distracted this week.”
“By Grant?”
Tara shook her head. She’d made a huge mistake by letting the heat between Grant and her get in the way of the goals she had with Sterling and the promises she’d made to the other wives. In many ways, her conversation with Astrid only confirmed how far she’d strayed off the path and how she needed to get back on it quickly. “No. I swear that won’t happen again. I’m focused on we three wives getting the most out of our stake in Sterling. That’s all I care about right now.”
“Good. Because I’m ready to get to work. First thing Monday morning.”
Nine
Grant drove a little too fast getting home. He didn’t care about rules or limitations or, apparently, traffic laws right now. Frustration was grinding away inside his head, filtering down into his body and getting entirely too comfortable. How could last night with Tara go so spectacularly only to have everything fall apart this morning? Damn Astrid and her amateur sleuthing. Damn that stupid kiss cam.
And there in the back of his head was the real thing that was bothering him—why did everything he touched seem to go just ever-so-slightly off the rails? Was this a sign of what was to come now that he was at the helm of Sterling? Because Johnathon never had a problem running the company and he’d certainly never seemed to have a problem with women, especially Tara. Yes, their marriage had ended, but he’d been the one to cut it off. He had three years of wedded bliss with her and a good year before that. Grant would’ve gladly taken that time with her. He would’ve taken a fraction of it.
Grant pulled into one of three garage bays at his home in La Jolla, perched up on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. He turned off the ignition, drew in a deep, cleansing breath and knew he had to find a way to win out over his own inner struggle. His heart and body had been greedy last night. Tara was right there, breathtaking and bold, everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and everything that wasn’t his to have. And so he’d gone there. He’d stomped on loyalty. He’d slept with the woman who had once been his best friend’s wife, the woman who he also had to run Sterling Enterprises with. It was as stupid a choice as he could have made. He had to own that.
He strode into the house, his big empty showplace. It was modern and minimalist, and situated in one of the most enviable settings in the world, windswept but pristine, with the untamed cobalt ocean at its feet. It was everything he could ever want in a home. Except that it was also a multimillion-dollar testament to his unwanted bachelorhood. He didn’t want to be the sole inhabitant. He’d never wanted it that way. Hope had always been in the back of his head, or perhaps in the center of his heart. He’d always thought he’d meet the right woman, get married and have children. He’d even envisioned little ones riding tricycles or kicking a ball through these expansive halls, across the wood floors that cost a fortune, quite possibly ruining them, and Grant not caring at all. Sure, it was traditional and not terribly original, but it was his true desire. Coming from a loving family and having four siblings might make for dull cocktail-party conversation, but he’d always been thankful for it. In this high-stakes, big-money world he lived in, those roots kept him grounded.
In his bedroom, he took off his clothes, forcing himself to throw them in the hamper destined to go to the cleaners. His shirt held the faintest traces of Tara’s beguiling scent. It was going to be hard enough to breathe it in at work. He didn’t need to torture himself with it.
He climbed into the shower, lathering up his chest and attempting to scrub away the remnants of last night. The hot spray wasn’t doing nearly enough to help him shake off the effects of Tara. He was twice torn, between what was and what should have been—the business he’d helped build was now at his command, but if that fateful moment hadn’t happened on the golf course, Johnathon would’ve been here to lead the way instead. He never would have had last night with Tara. He didn’t want to regret it, but how could part of him not? He couldn’t ignore the feeling that he had betrayed his best friend by taking Tara to bed. It didn’t matter that Johnathon wasn’t here anymore. He wouldn’t have liked it if he was. And Grant truly wished his best friend was still alive. For all of Johnathon’s faults, Grant still missed him. He missed talking to him every day, reining him in at his more erratic moments and marveling at his brilliant ones. He missed having a true partner in this business that was all consuming. The two of them had been through so much together.
It was impossible to turn his back on the memories.
He had to hustle to get back to the office before nine. As he strolled out of the elevator and into the reception area, his stomach sank. The full staff wasn’t in yet, but it was still entirely too quiet. There was an unmistakable air in the office. There were whispers and glances. The office grapevine was just as aware of Astrid’s findings as he’d feared—they all knew about the kiss cam. They knew about the very real heat between Tara and him.
Roz the office receptionist was unpacking her bag. “Good morning, Mr. Singleton.” She eyed him with suspicion as he walked past.
“Morning,” he replied, doing his best to act as though nothing was going on. Still, a walk down the hall told him that his wariness was warranted. People knew about the kiss and they were talking about it. It was now his job to squash that as quickly as possible. That started with keeping Tara in the office on the opposite end of the building. He needed as little proximity as they could get away with. It was too dangerous. He knew how tempted he was by her.
He sat at his desk and his assistant checked in with him a few minutes later. If she knew what was going on, she didn’t let on, and that was a relief. Perhaps the rumors could die quickly. Unfortunately, Tara showed up in his doorway several minutes later, looking like a dream in a sleek red dress that showed off her curves and her legs. It was appropriate for the office, but it was still as sexy as anything Grant had ever seen. He truly wished he could go for five minutes without being tested.
She knocked on the door frame. “Do you have a minute? We need to talk.”
“Sure.” His body immediately responded to her presence. It felt like every hair on his head was standing straight up. Everything below his waist went tight.
Tara took a step inside and went to close the door.
“Leave it open,” he blurted, bolting out of his seat.
Tara cast him a questioning look. “What’s up?”
“Everyone knows,” he whispered.
“I realize that. Precisely why I’d like to close the door. So we can have some privacy.”
A deep grumble left his throat. He hated playing these games, especially at work. It was not the way he liked to do things. He was supposed to be the guy with nothing to hide. “No. Leave it open. If there’s anything we can’t discuss with the door open, we shouldn’t be talking about it at all. At least not here.”
“Fine.” Tara marched to one of the armchairs opposite his desk and sat. “There are three things we need to talk about. Astrid, the Seaport Promenade and my office move.”
She wasn’t making this any easier on him. “I think we make Astrid the project coordinator for the Seaport. You can oversee her work,” Grant said.
“Do you really think she’ll go for that? She owns just as much of the company as I do.”
“And you have experience in this realm. She does not. She’ll learn a lot by doing this, and quite frankly, I think it’ll help her decide if this is something she really wants to do long term. I’m not convinced she’s cut out for this.”
Tara pursed her lips, but nodded in agreement. “Okay. You’ll call her and let her know?”
“Yes.” He only hoped Astrid wouldn’t give him crap about what happened last night. “As for the project itself, it should be obvious that I’m committed to us submitting a proposal and bid to the city. I’d like to assign Clay Morgan as lead architect. He has background in designing public spaces, he’s incredibly smart and well suited to working within the constraints the city sets. I think he’d be perfect.”
“Interesting.”
“What?” Grant disliked Tara’s leading tone. He was doing his best to make this work, when really all he wanted to do was shut the door and get her to take off that red dress.
“It feels a little bit like you’re setting up Astrid for failure. She and Miranda are still working on their differences, but you saw the way they talked to each other in the lawyer’s meeting. I could see them returning to that dynamic at any time. Miranda and her brother are extremely close. Do you not see a potential problem there?”
“And do you want to give Astrid a job or not?”
Tara leaned back in her chair and surveyed the view through his doorway, presumably looking to see if anyone might overhear what she was about to say. “We have to. Not only because of her shares of the company, but because it might be the only way we can keep her from talking.”
“I think we need to be able to keep tabs on her, too. We can’t simply hand her something and let her run with it. She’s an unknown quantity right now.”
“That’s fair.”
“I realize this isn’t ideal, but I’m doing my best, okay?” Grant felt a headache starting to brew, right in the center of his forehead. His shoulders were tightening. Not a great way to start a Friday, especially when he knew that he had a long, frustratingly lonely weekend ahead of him.
“I know you are. I’m sorry. I’m sorry everything got so messy.”
“Yeah, well, so am I. You were right about what you said earlier this morning. It was a mistake.” Those last four words had barely left his mouth, and he couldn’t help but want to take them back. They were the right thing to say, but damn it all if they didn’t feel wrong. He’d dreamed for so many years of being with Tara. He hated that the memory of their one night together was now tainted by everything that had happened since then.
“Right. Of course. Not to be repeated.”
“Exactly.” That was that then—the beginning and end of Grant and Tara had transpired in fewer than twenty-four hours.
“If we’re back to focusing on work, I have to ask about next steps with Seaport.”
Grant shuffled some papers on his desk, desperate to hide his wounded pride. “Run with it and keep me apprised. You have your team—Astrid, Clay and Sandy. It’s your project to bring together.”
Tara shifted in her seat and recrossed her legs. His stupid eyes were drawn to them the way a horse is drawn to cool water. Those beautiful stretches of her skin had been wrapped around him last night. And he couldn’t have that happen again. “That’s it then?” she asked.
He was trying so hard to keep it together right now. He did want to close the door to his office. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her exactly like he’d been brave enough to do last night. “That’s it. Green light from me. Go ahead and prove me wrong.”
“Okay. I will.” She got up from her seat and stepped closer to his desk. “One more thing before I go. What about my office? We can’t work together closely when I’m so far away.”
Distance would help him keep his head straight. It would help him focus on big-picture projects at Sterling and let Tara do her thing. He hoped they could peacefully coexist. They had to. Or he had to find a way to raise the capital to buy her, Miranda and Astrid out of their chunk of the company. At this point, he was going to have to offer them far more than the shares were worth, a reality he found especially grating. The value was something he’d created. He didn’t want to have to pay for it. “Considering what happened last night, and the fact that Astrid knows about it, as well as most of the office, I think it’s in our best interest to keep you where you are.”
She folded her arms across her chest, which only served to frame her bustline in a too-pleasing way. “I don’t want this to be a long-term answer.”
“We can re-evaluate in a month. The office chatter will only get worse if you move into the office next to mine. I also think that for the time being, we should keep our talks to email as much as possible. Avoid being seen together.” He dared to look her in the eye, wanting to underscore his seriousness. Too bad he hated having to say it. “That’s my decision, okay?”
“Hmm. Exercising some authority?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I still know what’s best for the company.”
Tara knocked her knuckle on Grant�
��s desk. “I guess you’re right. It doesn’t mean I like it.”
Sandy appeared at Grant’s door. He was happy for the interruption. “Ms. Sterling, the other Ms. Sterling is on the phone for you. Astrid.”
Grant had to laugh at that, although he did it under his breath. There were far too many Ms. Sterlings in his orbit right now. And for the moment, one of them—Tara—needed to circle as far away from him as possible.
* * *
The weekend came and went with little rest, as Tara spent most of it deep in thought over everything that had happened since Johnathon’s death. And in some instances, everything that came before it. She’d even scrounged around in a storage closet and found an old photo album from the time when she’d been married to Johnathon. Many of the pictures were from the lavish vacations they took, all of which were made with Grant and his girlfriend at the time, which was never the same. They rented a sprawling villa in Tuscany one autumn, where they drank wine for days, toured art museums and spent hours sunning themselves by the pool. There was the chalet perched atop a mountain in Switzerland, a getaway filled with endless ski runs and nights devoted to conversation in front of the fire.
Quite possibly the most memorable trip was to Costa Rica. Grant had hunted down a two-bedroom, two-bath treehouse tucked up into the rainforest canopy. That had been a grand adventure. They went on zip-line tours, swam in natural pools under waterfalls and sat on the porch for hours, sipping rum and watching the antics of the howler monkeys and macaws. Tara realized that she and Grant had taken most of the pictures from these vacations, which meant she was stuck trying to remember the names of these random women he’d brought along as his companions. She couldn’t recall a single one. When Grant and Johnathon were in the frame together, their genuine connection was always there. They had been like brothers, which was such a gift for Johnathon—he and his own brother had always had a contentious relationship.