Her eyes smiled over her wineglass. “Did it?”
“More or less,” he said. “I started out as an assistant general gofer and computer guy in the accounting department, and they busted my ass down there. Then the finance manager, Chuck Morrissey, took an interest in me. Fast-forward a couple of years, and he arranged for Maddox Hill to pay for me to get a degree in accounting and get myself certified. After that I was off and running. I got an MBA a few years later. Chuck encouraged that, too.”
“No college after high school, then?”
He shook his head. “Almost. I was offered a football scholarship my senior year, but then my dad died. My grades tanked and I lost the scholarship. I couldn’t afford college without it, and nobody was hiring where I lived. Central Washington is mostly rural. Sagebrush, wheat fields. So I joined the marines.”
“A self-made man,” she said.
He shrugged. “Not entirely. Chuck mentored me. When he got promoted to CFO, he made me his finance manager. Malcolm and Hendrick took chances on me over and over again. And Drew went to bat for me every single time I was up for a promotion. I wouldn’t be where I am now if they hadn’t helped.”
“Their investment in you paid off a hundredfold. Out of curiosity, why the marines?”
He sipped his wine, considering the question. “It was a way to test myself, I guess,” he said finally. “And learn some new skills.”
“And did you?”
“Oh, yeah. I even thought about making a career out of it. But Fallujah and the Anbar Province changed my mind. Then Drew got wounded, and they sent him home. After that, it was pretty rough. I lost some good friends there.”
Sophie sipped her wine and waited for more, but he couldn’t keep up this line of conversation. The more painful details of his time in Iraq were too heavy, and the atmosphere between them was already charged.
“You said that your dad was a marine,” she said. “A combat veteran. Did you join up because you wanted to understand his demons better? You followed in his footsteps so you could make some sense out of it all, right?”
He stared into her clear, searching eyes, speechless. Almost hypnotized.
“Did you find out what you needed to know?” she prompted. “Was it worth it?”
The question reverberated inside him. He’d never articulated that wordless impulse she had described, but the insight rang so true.
His eyes dropped. He took another sip of wine, stalling. Unable to speak.
Sophie put down her knife and fork. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That was invasive and presumptuous. Please forget I said it.”
“Not at all,” he said. “It just took me a while to process it. The answer is yes. That’s probably what I was doing, but I didn’t know it at the time. And yes, I think it was worth it.”
She looked cautiously relieved. “I’ll stop making big pronouncements about things that are none of my damn business.”
“Don’t stop,” he urged her. “Make all the pronouncements you want. That way I don’t have to rack my brains for small talk. I prefer the crossbow bolts of truth, straight to the chest.”
She laughed as she forked up another chunk of her steak. Licked a drop of meat juice off her fingers. As her full, smiling lips closed around it, his whole body tightened and started to thrum. His face felt hot. His back getting damp with sweat.
He had to look away for a second and breathe.
“Your turn,” she offered. “You’re authorized to ask me any embarrassing question you like. Within the limits of decency, of course.”
The limits of decency were feeling about as tight as his pants right now. Vann crossed his leg to protect his male dignity. “Give me a second to think up a good one,” he said. “It’s a big opportunity. I have to make it count.”
She laughed. “Don’t think too hard,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be a zinger.”
“Okay, how about this? You talked about being a self-made man. How about you? Are you a self-made woman? How did you come to be so accomplished?”
She nibbled on a roasted potato. “I certainly had financial help,” she said. “My mother’s parents were well-to-do, and she earned well in her own right, so no expense was spared in my education. But they just assumed I’d do great things as a matter of course. ‘From those to whom much is given, much is expected.’ That was the general attitude.”
“So you’re a pathological high achiever,” he said.
She snorted into her wine. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I ask a lot of myself, I guess. Just like you.”
“Do I get a bonus question?” he asked. “Now I’m warmed up. The questions are starting to come thick and fast.”
“Go for it,” she said. “Ask away.”
“Okay. Going back to fathers, what happened to yours? Did he leave?”
Sophie’s smile froze and Vann felt a stab of alarm. He’d taken her at her word, and still he’d overstepped. He studied her whiskey-gold eyes, barely breathing.
“He never knew I existed,” she said finally. “I can’t blame him for being absent.”
“His loss.”
“I like to think so,” she said.
“So it was just you and your mom?”
Sophie’s face softened. “Mom was great. I was lucky to have her. She was a brilliant artist. A bright, wonderful person. She was a textile designer, very much in demand. She worked all over the world, but by the time I finished middle school, she’d pretty much settled in Singapore.”
“Is she still there?”
Sophie shook her head. “I lost her last year. Pancreatic cancer.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She nodded. “It happened so fast. It took us both by surprise.”
“I lost my mom, too,” he said. “When I was in Iraq. She had one of those sneaky heart attacks. The kind that seems like an upset stomach. She went to bed to sleep it off and never woke up.”
“So you didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she said. “Oh, Vann. That’s awful.”
He nodded. “It was hard to find my place again when I came home. Civilian life seemed strange, and I had no one left to care about. So when Drew suggested coming to work here, I thought, what else have I got to do? At least I’d be close to a good friend.”
“And the rest is history,” she said.
“I guess so. Anyhow, that’s my story. What brought you to Maddox Hill?”
Her eyes slid away. “More or less the same thing as you, I guess,” she said. “After Mom died, I was out of reference points. I needed new horizons. Fresh things to look at.”
“You lived in Singapore before?”
“Mostly. I studied there. Software design. Then a friend of mine who was a biologist had all her research for her doctorate stolen. I was so indignant for her I started learning about computer security and IP theft, and I eventually ended up specializing in it. I learned Mandarin in Singapore.”
“How about the Italian?”
“My mom was Italian,” she said. “Italian American, rather. Your people must have been Italian, too, with a name like Acosta. I take it Vann is short for Giovanni?”
“You nailed it,” he said. “Calabrese. Third generation.”
“My grandparents moved from Florence to New York in the seventies, when Mom was in her early teens. She spoke English with no accent, but we spoke Italian at home with my grandparents. I lived with them for half of my childhood. My mom would jet off to do her design jobs, and I’d stay in New York with my nonno and nonna. My grandfather had a company that shipped marble from Italy. ItalMarble. A lot of the big buildings on the East Coast are made of the stone he imported.”
He was startled. “ItalMarble belonged to your grandfather? Really?”
“You know it?” she asked.
“Of course I know it,” he said. “We’
re up on all the providers of high-end building materials. The company changed hands a few years ago, right?”
“Yes, that was when Nonno retired. He died shortly after that.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
She nodded in acknowledgment. “When I was eleven, I persuaded my mom to rescue me. Take me with her the next time she left.”
“Rescue you? From your grandparents? Why? Were they hard on you?”
She twirled some feathery arugula fronds up off the plate with her fork. “The opposite actually. They were very sweet to me. But suffocatingly overprotective.”
“Yeah? Were they old-fashioned?”
“Very,” she said. “But it was mostly because of my health.”
He was taken aback. “Your health? Were you not well?”
“I had a heart condition when I was a toddler,” she explained. “I almost died a few times. I had to have open-heart surgery. I spent the better part of two years recuperating. After that my grandparents always treated me like I was fragile, and I couldn’t stand it.”
Vann gazed at the glowing, vital woman across the table from him, tucking away her roasted potatoes with gusto. He couldn’t imagine her having ever been ill.
“You don’t seem fragile,” he said. “Not with the crack-of-dawn kung fu classes, the high-octane male-dominated career and the killer heels.”
“I may have overcompensated a little,” she admitted. “I push myself. But I never want to feel weak or helpless ever again.”
He lifted his wineglass in a toast. “You’ve succeeded in your goal.”
“Have I?” she said. “A person has to climb that mountain from the bottom every single day, forever. You can’t just sit back and rest on your past achievements.”
“Wow, what a rigorous mindset,” he commented. “Don’t you get tired?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But you know what? It’s a lot easier to have a rigorous mindset when you have a big steak dinner inside of you. It was wonderful. Thanks for thinking of me. I can’t believe I ate so much.”
“Don’t mention it. You up for dessert?”
Her whiskey-colored eyes widened. “Dessert?”
“There was a choice of four different desserts. I went with chocolate cheesecake.”
“Ooh. I love cheesecake.”
Vann retrieved the plate from the tray and placed it in front of her, removing the cover with a flourish. “Voilà.”
Sophie admired the generous slab, with multiple gooey layers on a chocolate cookie-crumb crust, swirled with drizzles of raspberry syrup. Fruit was artfully arranged next to it: watermelon, pineapple, kiwi, a cluster of shining red jewellike currants, a succulent strawberry and velvety raspberries.
“You have to help me out,” she informed him, popping a raspberry into her mouth. “It’s too gorgeous to waste, but if I eat it all, I’ll hurt myself.”
“Try it,” he urged. “You go first.”
She scooped up the point of the cheesecake slice and lifted it to her lips.
It was agonizing, watching her pink tongue dart out to catch a buttery chocolate crumb. Seeing the pleasure in her heavy-lidded eyes. He fidgeted on his chair.
“Now you.” She fished for another spoon and prepared a generous bite for him.
He leaned forward and opened his mouth. That rush of creamy sweetness nudged him right past all his careful walls and limits and rules. He was so turned on it scared him.
He chewed, swallowed. “Wow,” he said hoarsely, trying to recall all the bullet points in his lecture-to-self.
Bryce had accused her of spying. Zack was investigating her. She was an employee. A key employee. He was her superior. He never got involved with coworkers. Especially subordinates. Cardinal rule.
He couldn’t remember why that was relevant when he wanted this so badly. He stared hungrily as she took another bite of her dessert.
So. Damn. Beautiful.
“Want another bite?” she was saying.
He dragged his eyes away. “I should go. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
Sophie’s smile faded. “Thanks again. The meal was lovely.”
He was supposed to say something polite, something automatic that he shouldn’t even have to think about, but the mechanism wasn’t working. In any case, he didn’t trust his voice. Or any other part of himself. He had to get the hell out of this room.
Before he said or did something he could never take back.
Six
Sophie preceded him to the door, glad to have her back to him for once. She felt so exposed. All that blushing and giggling and babbling. Things she’d never told anyone. And the inappropriate personal questions she’d asked him? What had come over her?
And was he flirting, or just being gracious? She couldn’t work it out.
She usually beat down attempts at flirting with a sledgehammer. But she couldn’t treat Vann Acosta that way. Nor could she quite tell if it was happening or not.
Ordering her a fabulous meal was a seductive move, but he hadn’t tried to capitalize on it. She had invited him in and insisted on sharing the wine. He’d made no sexy comments or innuendos; he’d given her no compliments.
At least, other than for her work ethic and professional focus.
But that conversation had gone beyond flirtation. She had such a strange, electric feeling inside. Like they were connecting on a deeper level.
Soul to soul. The intimacy was jarring. And arousing.
It wound her up. Her toes were shaking, clenched in the carpet fibers. Her chest felt tight; she was afraid to breathe. She was acutely aware of him, and of her own body. Her clothes felt heavy on her sensitized skin. Her thighs were clenched. Her heart thudded heavily.
She reached for the door handle—and Vann’s hand came to rest on top of hers.
The shock of connection flashed through her. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. It felt like a sultry fog of heat had surrounded her head.
She was drunk with his nearness. Conscious of every delicious detail of him. His scent, his height. The way his clothes fit on his big, muscular body. The ridiculous breadth of his shoulders, blocking the light from the room behind them.
His eyes locked on hers. A muscle pulsed in his jaw.
She had no more doubt. This wasn’t a lighthearted “How ’bout it, babe?”
This was raw, stark desire.
She glanced down. His desire was visible to the naked eye. He reached up and wound a lock of her hair around his forefinger, tugging it delicately.
She swayed forward, drawn helplessly by his pull. He was so tall. Her neck ached from staring up at him. Then her head fell into the cradle of his warm hand. His heat surrounded her. The scent of his shirt, his cologne, was intoxicating. Just a little closer and their bodies would touch—and she would be lost to all reason.
His hunger called to her own. She craved it. A big, strong, gorgeous guy who was smart and classy and thoughtful and attentive, a man who wasn’t afraid to be real with her, a man who rang all her bells like a church on Easter Sunday. Hell, yeah. Give her some of that. Give her a massive double helping, and keep it coming. She wanted to pull him toward her and wrap herself around him like a scarf. The yearning made her ache.
Then she thought of Mom. Her life blighted by one ill-considered affair with her boss. It was swiftly over, and she was quickly forgotten—by him. But Mom hadn’t forgotten.
Sophie saw her mother in her mind’s eye, sitting on the terrace of the Singapore apartment with a glass of wine and a cigarette. Every evening, quietly watching the sun set on another day, with that remote, dreamy sadness on her face.
Vicky Valente had never recovered from Malcolm. She’d never bonded with any other man. She’d gone on a few dates, had the occasional brief hookup, but the men always drifted away once she started comparing them to M
alcolm.
No one else ever measured up, and she could not settle for less.
That affair had marked her forever.
Sophie sensed the same potential for destruction right now. She was so drawn to Vann. More than she’d ever been to anyone. This could leave a scar just like the one Malcolm had left on her mother. A life-altering wound.
She took a step back, bracing herself against the wall. “You’re my boss.” Her voice was unsteady. “This could blow up in our faces.”
Vann let go of her hair, and let his hand drop. He started to speak, then stopped himself. “It probably would,” he said. “I’m sorry. Good night.”
He pulled the door open and left without another word.
Sophie watched as the door swung shut on its own. She felt like yelling in a rebellious rage. Kicking and screaming. What a goddamn waste. Not...freaking...fair.
But the cosmic timing sucked. She was in a state of overload. On the one hand, she was trying to get a DNA sample to verify if Malcolm really was her father. On the other, she was trying to demonstrate to him that she’d be worth having as a daughter.
No one should have to scramble to prove her right to exist. Yet here she was, scrambling for Malcolm’s notice and approval and respect. Terrified of not being found worthy. She didn’t want to feel that way, but still, she did.
It made her so vulnerable. And that was enough vulnerability for the time being.
She did not need to fish for more.
Seven
Sophie looked as fine today as she had the day before, Vann reflected. She wore closed-toe shoes, but he knew the sexy secret of those gold toenails. She’d left her hair down today, which was a dirty trick. Those heavy locks had slid through his hands like—
Thud. A kick to the side of his foot jolted Vann out of his reverie. He looked around to find Malcolm glaring at him. His boss’s gaze flicked to Sophie, who was leaning forward and speaking in a low, clear voice directly into Hendrick’s good ear.
Corner Office Secrets Page 5