“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Miles ground out.
And, because he couldn’t tolerate mess, he strode across the floor and picked up the balled-up paper and tossed it in the recycling bin. Even without the reminder there in front of him, he knew he had to do something to get this irritating itch out of his system. He shouldn’t let it bother him that his family name was being dragged through the mud. After all, he’d made his choice to step away from everything associated with Wingate Enterprises a long time ago.
He’d used his knowledge and his contacts to establish his own company, Steel Security, and he had a team of employees that he valued and respected. People who took security, both personal and cyber, as seriously as he did himself. He would never let anything happen to any of them, if he could help it, and if something did occur, you could bet your last dollar that he’d hold himself accountable until proven otherwise. As far as Miles was concerned, his responsibilities began and ended right here, in Chicago, with his team.
But that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he shouldn’t do something for his family. Wingate Enterprises had enjoyed many years of escalating success on the backbone of the employees who worked for the company. His family had a duty to look after those people. That they hadn’t, and that it had come down to something as basic as safety, stuck in Miles’s craw like a dry husk. The injured workers were well within their rights to sue. Everyone deserved to come home safely at the end of their shift. But something about the whole matter didn’t sit right with him. He knew his brothers were nothing like their dad. They didn’t cut corners, and they respected people. He should call them, at least.
“Not my problem,” he reminded himself.
He had to get out, clear his head. It was the start of the new month and a Wednesday morning, his work-from-home day. His usual routine meant he’d go for an hour-long run, come home, shower and lose himself in his work with no interruptions. If he didn’t go for that run, he knew he’d never be able to settle. The phone calls could wait. Already dressed for exercise, he grabbed his earbuds, strapped his phone to his upper arm and headed out the door.
Pounding the pavement between his town house and Lincoln Park, he finally felt his body begin to relax into a calming rhythm. And with every yard he covered, he could feel the distance between the disturbing news back in Texas and the life he’d chosen here in Chicago widening. Yeah, this was exactly what he needed.
Today was set to hit the low nineties but the temperature right now was still comfortable. Despite how things had started, this was going to be a good day.
* * *
Chloe Fitzgerald checked her watch again. He was late. Every Wednesday at exactly 8:00 a.m. Miles Wingate ran in the park. Every Wednesday but this one, by the looks of things, she thought ruefully. It just went to prove, even with the best-laid plans, there was always something that could throw a wrench in the works. She strode back and forth on the pavement, debating whether or not to give up on her idea for today and to regroup. Find another way to engineer that chance meeting with the man who would ultimately lead her to the vengeance her family so richly deserved.
She’d waited so long for this. Years, in fact. Tears of frustration suddenly pricked at her eyes. Why had he changed his routine today of all days? Was it because of the story that had been plastered all over the news? Reading the report that the illustrious Wingate family were under investigation for unsafe practices had given her so much satisfaction. After all, it was past time they got their just desserts. It wasn’t fair that her family had suffered while theirs had prospered—especially when the late Trent Wingate had built a generous proportion of WinJet’s success on the back of her father’s own business after driving her poor dad to take his own life.
Growing up with the stigma of having a parent who’d committed suicide had left its scars. Scars that had deepened with her mother’s bitterness at having to pack up the life she’d known in Texas and accept charity from distant family here in Chicago to get them where they were today. No, their life had not been easy. And there’d been plenty of time for Chloe to think about the Wingates and what she’d do if she ever got the chance.
Discovering that the younger Wingate son lived and worked in Chicago, versus being enfolded into the Wingate Enterprises umbrella, made him more accessible. And, as a Wingate, Miles was no less culpable in her book. Yes, she was all about visiting the sins of the father onto the sons and daughters of that callous bastard, Trent Wingate. His progeny had taken their privileged lives for granted for long enough. It was time they saw their sainted father for the scoundrel he truly was.
The family could ill afford more bad press, and Chloe had plenty to dish out. All in good time of course. To get the ball rolling, she’d contacted the reporter who’d broken the first story about the fire at the WinJet plant with an offer to give him more information about the family at grass roots level. She’d given him her background and told him about what Trent Wingate had done, but the reporter had said the story lacked immediacy. He could maybe use it in conjunction with something else—something more current. So she’d created her campaign.
First, she planned to get close to the family. Then, when she was well entrenched, she’d show them, through the media, exactly what their father had done to hers. And, ultimately, teach them how much it hurt to be betrayed. But first, she had to get close to the family, and if Miles Wingate didn’t turn up for his regular Wednesday morning run, her plans would fall apart.
Which was unacceptable.
She’d spent hours and hours on this. Scheming and waiting to be able to implement her plan until she was on summer break from her job as an elementary schoolteacher. Now it seemed foolish to have pinned all her strategy on an initial chance meeting during his regular Wednesday morning run. But it had made so much sense to her at the time. Bump into him. Strike up a conversation. Let the conversation lead to a drink or dinner, maybe. She wasn’t ugly and she knew Miles wasn’t in a relationship right now. Surely he’d take her bait?
He was a creature of routine. She’d taken heart from that. Except today he’d varied that routine. Normally Miles would have passed this section of path by now and been heading up toward the monument. Chloe ceased her pacing and stood still, searching the area around her for the tall, familiar figure she’d been scoping out for the past couple of weeks.
Maybe she should just start running. Maybe he’d taken a different route today for some unknown reason. Maybe she’d bump into him somewhere else on the many paths that lined the park. So many maybes. She hated anything to be unsure. She’d had quite enough of that in her life. Miles Wingate’s routine had reassured her—underscored that she was doing the right thing.
Routine was the backbone of her existence, too. It was one of the reasons why she’d become a teacher. The sweet young faces in her class might change with the start of each school year, but the basics remained the same. Structure was everything. Planning was everything.
She needed a new plan.
Chloe spun around and started to head back toward her car, at the exact same moment as a tall, blond-haired, male figure came toward her and barreled straight into her. The impact knocked her clean off her feet and drove the breath from her lungs. She landed smack on her bottom on the path and uttered a startled “Oh!”
“I’m so sorry,” the man began. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
She looked up. The morning sun was like a halo behind him and she couldn’t quite make out his features, but there was something in his deep, masculine voice that she recognized from the online video clips she’d seen about him and his company.
Miles Wingate, in the flesh.
Her jubilation at tracking down her quarry was tempered with the fact she could still barely draw in a breath.
“A minute,” she managed to squeak out, and raised a hand with her forefinger up.
He knelt on one knee in front of
her. At this angle she could now see his face, and she felt as if she’d been sucker punched all over again. The man, in person, was so much...more... than he was on-screen or in news bulletins.
“I’m okay,” she said eventually, even though her heart continued to race in her chest. Due more to his proximity than to their collision. “Look, I’m sorry. I got in your way. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
He smiled. “I’m fine. I’m more concerned about you. Are you sure you’re all right? That was quite a fall.”
She shifted gingerly. Her butt was tender but there was no way she was admitting that.
“I was more winded than anything, I think,” she said with a smile. “Again, I’m really sorry about all of this. I should have been looking where I was going.”
“You did kinda change direction all of a sudden, but I should have been more careful, too.” He straightened and extended a hand. “May I help you up?”
She hesitated a second, caught by the old-fashioned courtesy in his Texas drawl. She and her mom had lived in Illinois so long now, she’d almost forgotten what that sounded like.
“Thank you.”
Chloe placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her to her feet. His hand was warm and strong, and despite her intentions, she felt a zing of awareness travel up her arm. He let her go the minute she was upright. A gentleman to the core. It would have been so easy to have allowed their contact to linger, but he hadn’t. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate in his touch, although a curl of curiosity in the back of her mind made her wonder if he’d felt that same electric charge that she had.
“Is that blood on your hand?” he asked, jolting her out of her reverie.
Chloe turned her hand palm up. She was bleeding a little. Must have been from when she put her hand out behind her, to try and stop her fall. Actually, now that she came to think of it, her wrist was a bit sore, too.
“It’ll be okay. It’s nothing serious.”
“May I look?”
Again, that courtesy. She proffered him her hand and caught her breath as he cradled it in his own.
“Is that sore? Me touching you like this?”
“A little,” she admitted.
Actually her wrist was now beginning to hurt a lot, and to swell, too.
“I don’t like the look of this,” Miles Wingate said. He looked up at her with a small frown furrowing between his sharp green eyes. “You need to get this seen to. Let me take you to a medical center.”
“No, seriously, I’ll be fine. A bit of ice, a compression bandage—that’s all I need.”
“Look, I feel responsible for your injury. Let me help you.”
Chloe chewed her lower lip. She knew exactly who he was, but he had no idea of that. What would a regular woman do in this situation? She certainly wouldn’t instantly act as if she trusted him. Would she?
“No, it’s okay,” she forced herself to say, and reluctantly pulled free of his touch. She winced a little and cradled her wrist in her other hand. “My car is parked nearby. I’ll be fine.”
Miles straightened. “Look, I know you don’t know me from Adam, and despite having bowled you clean off your feet, I really mean you no harm. Let me introduce myself properly—Miles Wingate, at your service. And you can trust me. I actually work in security, so I totally get why you don’t want to accept my help. Thing is, I feel bound to offer it to you and to see that you accept it. But not in a creepy way, of course.”
He smiled at her then and looked so earnest she couldn’t help but smile back in return.
“Chloe Fitzgerald,” she murmured. “And thank you for your honesty.”
“Will you let me walk you to your car?”
“That would be lovely. I just need my—” Chloe looked around for her cell phone. She’d had it in her hand when she’d fallen. A few moments later she spied it lying on the path a couple of yards away. The screen was a maze of cracks. “Oh no,” she cried.
Miles picked it up and ruefully studied the smashed screen.
“Look, this is entirely my fault. I’ll replace it for you. It’s the least I can do.”
Chloe didn’t quite know what to say. She felt like she ought to protest, but she certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new phone right now.
“I—” she started, but Miles cut across her protest before she could fully form the words.
“Ms. Fitzgerald, allow me to replace your phone. Believe me, it’s no bother.”
There was something in the way he said the words that rankled. It was a combination of the expectation that she wouldn’t dare to refuse, blended with the fact that the purchase of a new device for her would hardly be a blip in his budget. She swallowed the bitter retort that immediately sprang to mind and forced herself to smile.
“Please, call me Chloe. And, thank you. I wouldn’t normally accept such a generous gift but I’m totally lost without my phone.”
“As are we all,” he said with another drop-dead gorgeous smile.
Like an idiot, she felt herself automatically smiling back again. Oh, he was too much. Too good-looking, too polite—just too everything! And every cell in her body that wasn’t currently throbbing in pain was reacting to him in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
“Where are you parked?” Miles asked, oblivious to the turmoil she was going through.
Chloe mentioned where she’d left her car, and together they walked along the paths.
“Do you run here often?” Miles asked after a few steps.
Chloe giggled.
“What? What’s funny about that?”
“Oh, just a new take on an old line, don’t you think?” she quipped, looking up at him.
Doing so, unfortunately meant she wasn’t fully looking where she was going and her foot caught on an uneven section of pavement. Miles was quick to reach out and steady her and, she noted with reluctance, just as quick to let her go again. Even so, the warmth of his hand and the gentleness of his touch had left her wanting more.
Ridiculous, she told herself. She’d only just met him. She wasn’t the kind of girl who reacted like this to anyone. Her mostly tame relationships to date had been few and far between. Juggling the responsibilities of teaching with supporting her mom, who was prone to depression, Chloe usually didn’t feel as though there was much of her own self left to go around. Most men didn’t understand her relationship with her mother and, until that one special guy did, she was happy to wait. Besides, being in a relationship would complicate her plans for vengeance.
A shiver of apprehension prickled along her spine. Vengeance. It was such a deliberate and often cruel word. Did she have what it took to go through with it?
Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.
SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM
West Caldwell has come to Redemption Ranch to put his past behind him. Flirting with a pint-size police officer who thinks he’s bad news is definitely not part of the plan, but it’s deliciously easy to get under Pansy’s skin. In her arms, West feels like the man he always wanted to be—but can he become the man Pansy deserves?
Read on for a sneak peak of The Bad Boy of Redemption Ranch, a Gold Valley novel, from New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates.
The Bad Boy of Redemption Ranch
by Maisey Yates
“I...I DON’T CARE who you’re with, West.”
It was the first time she’d ever directly addressed him. The first time she’d ever used his name.
“Pansy,” he said. “I think you do.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I’m trying to get a job as the police chief. And I’m not going to mess around with... I’m not going to...”
“But you want to.”
“I want this job.”
But he had seen her. Seen the way that her lips parted softly when she looked at him, the way that she looked at h
is mouth when he took a drink of beer. He had seen how she looked at him, and he knew the way that it made him feel. It was too damned late for her to pretend that he hadn’t.
He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her up against him. He wrapped his other arm around her back and placed his palm directly at the center of her shoulder blades. He expected her to get stiff. Expect her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she shivered. Her whole body went pliant against his. All his blood rushed south. He wanted...he wanted her.
He wanted this.
And he was going to take his time, because he hadn’t held a woman in his arms since his wife, and every memory of making love to Monica was ruined now. Torn beyond repair.
In the dim light he could just make out her eyes, wide and looking up at his, glittering beneath the moon. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and found it soft and full.
Inviting.
“Damn you’re pretty,” he said.
His voice was rough and husky, a stranger’s voice. He didn’t know if he could recall a time when the potential for a kiss had made him feel this way. So damn hard he couldn’t see straight. So damn hard it hurt.
And then she did something he hadn’t expected at all. She went up on her toes, bracketing his face with her hands, and kissed him.
Don’t miss The Bad Boy of Redemption Ranch by Maisey Yates, available June 2020 wherever HQN Books and ebooks are sold.
www.HQNBooks.com
Copyright © 2020 by Maisey Yates
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