The Second Chance Plan

by Lauren Blakely

  “I had a little time.”

  “I’m glad you’re finding her a good resource.” He seemed about to say something else but changed his mind. “Have a good meeting.”

  I dashed off to see Nicole Blazer, a smart and stylish pint-sized redhead. She was one of Bryan’s early business advisors on the design side, and also served on the company’s board. She spoke with a Lauren Bacall huskiness that seemed at odds with her petite frame. My surprise must have been the usual reaction, because when we first met, she’d shaken my hand and said, “I don’t smoke. Never have. Just blessed with this voice.”

  “Very Key Largo,” I’d said with a grin. She’d laughed, and we’d gotten along well since then.

  I stepped into her office, and she gestured to an array of tie clips and money holders on her desk. “Prototypes for a new line. Your job is to be a fresh pair of eyes and tell me what sucks and what doesn’t suck.”

  She was refreshingly direct—no mixed messages with Nicole Blazer. I pointed to a gold money holder. “I have this theory that gold is becoming passé.”

  “Gold ‘passé’? How’s that frigging possible?”

  “Well, not gold as in the only thing that actually keeps its value. But gold jewelry. Rose gold is all the rage.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “But it’s too late to get ahead of that trend. So, what you need is the next thing after rose gold.”

  “What would that be?”

  I flashed back to the Impressionist art I loved, the way the painters played with light and shadow to show different times of day. “What if it were possible to make a sort of sunset gold? Or morning-light gold? Rose gold is basically just a tinting. Maybe the same could be done with your tie clips and money holders. It would look as if the gold is reflecting the time of day.”

  She nodded appreciatively. “Damn, girl. I like that idea.”

  I’d also spent time with the operational team. I’d weighed in on some challenges they were facing with suppliers, suggesting strategies to spur along some of the more difficult ones. John Walker, head of operations, had even implemented some of my ideas. But a new wrinkle in the supply chain woes emerged later that week.

  “Silversmith in Brooklyn said they’re not going to be able to meet the timeline with bike chain parts,” John said during a meeting. “We need to come up with a replacement within a week.”

  Bryan’s features tightened, and he rubbed his hand over his chin. His green eyes were hard and intense. He didn’t look at me once, and that was fine with me.

  The meeting continued on like that for another hour, and when it ended without a clear resolution from anyone, Bryan said he was going for a run. I took that as a cue to leave. Besides, I needed time and space away to try to research possible replacements for Silversmith. I stopped in the temporary office to grab my bag, and then headed for the elevator banks. I sucked in a breath when I saw Bryan there, wearing a gray T-shirt and running shorts. He pressed the down button.

  “Hey.” His jaw was still tight. The stress of the meeting and the supply complications was taking its toll.

  “Going for a run?” I mentally slapped my forehead because he’d just said that he was. Also . . . running shorts. “Of course you are. Stupid question.”

  The running shorts were the reason I blurted out the first thing in my head. The shorts and those leanly muscled legs.

  “It’s not a stupid question,” he said. “I could be headed for the gym.”

  I pointed to the strap on my own shoulder then to his broad and unencumbered ones. “Nope. No gym bag.”

  He paused to think. “Salsa dancing class?”

  “In those shoes?” I asked.

  We both lapsed into thought. Then I burst out with “Tai chi” at the same time he said, “Pilates.”

  Both ideas were ridiculous when I pictured them, and we exchanged a grin, gazes meeting for long enough that I could feel myself start to blush, and I cleared my throat as I glanced away.

  Still, it wasn’t completely awkward as we stood watching the indicator light for the elevator get closer to our floor. After a moment, Bryan said, “Running helps me think. I swear, I do my best problem-solving on the trails and bike paths.”

  I nodded as if he’d said something profound. “When I run, I mostly think about how much I never want to run again.”

  Bryan’s features softened, and I saw the sliver of a smile form. “That’s right. You’re all about walking.”

  I waited for the anger that usually came when he mentioned something from the past, but it didn’t come.

  The elevator arrived, and he held out his hand to gesture for me to enter first. I stepped in and stood in the opposite corner. “I’ve been known to traverse the city on foot. I dare anyone to take me on in a walkathon.”

  “Quite a dare. I’d love to take you on.”

  I bit back the first thing I thought of to say—which was way too flirty for someone who’d been keeping him at a distance—and looked away.

  He drummed his fingers against the elevator bar as the car descended. “Does walking help you think? What do you do to blow off steam or escape or whatever?”

  “I go to the movies.”

  That hung between us as the elevator reached the first floor. The smell of popcorn, the chill of the air conditioner on a hot summer day, the private twilight of the dark theater. As the door opened, he said my name in that smoky voice. “Kat.”

  There was a pang of remorse in his tone. Instinctively, I took a step closer, all my self-preservation, all my resolutions, falling away at the sound of it.

  “What is it?” I asked softly.

  “Nothing.” He was ice again. He repeated the word as he walked out of his building, and started running the second he hit the sidewalk.

  14

  Bryan

  Five Years Ago

  * * *

  The waves lapped the shore with the calming rhythm of the night’s low tide—a slow sort of whoosh in before the moon pulled the water back out to sea. It was the perfect soundtrack for midnight kissing, and I couldn’t get enough of her.

  Maybe it had extra punch because I knew it was as far as we’d go, as far as I’d allow myself to go. Not that I didn’t want to do everything with her, because I did. Every. Single. Thing.

  But before anything more happened between us, we needed to be on the up-and-up with everyone, Nate included. I wanted her to be mine officially. For now, though, I was more than thrilled to have her stretched out next to me on a blanket on the sand, and I was glad Nate was keeping busy most evenings, either with prep for his new job or with the occasional date with a woman who worked at the café next to the store.

  I pulled Kat to me, kissing her harder and deeper, and she responded by roping her arms around my neck and wriggling her sexy little body closer.

  Dangerously close. She slid a leg between mine, and I wanted to yank her under me, pull her down hard on top of me . . . anything. Especially when she started exploring, running her hands over my chest then down to my stomach. I groaned, both happy and frustrated. I loved how she touched me, but I couldn’t risk going further.

  “We have to be careful, Kat,” I said as she reached beneath my T-shirt, spreading her hand across my stomach, her fingers inching toward the waistband of my jeans. “We can’t do more than kiss.”

  “Why?” she asked with a borderline pout.

  “Because. Because I’m your brother’s friend. Because I’m older than you.”

  “You’re only five years older. And I’m an adult.”

  “I know. But still,” I said, reaching for her hands, hating stopping her but knowing I had to.

  “I’m old enough to know what I want.”

  “I know, and I want it too. But we need to slow down.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair and buried her face in the crook of my neck, kissing my jawline then buzzing her lips up to my ear, trying to break my control. “Do you really want to slow down?” she whispered.r />
  No. God no. I want to slide your body under mine and bring you the most intense pleasure.

  “No, but we need to,” I said, and she silenced me with another kiss, running her free hand over my back and making me shudder. She was so potent to me. One hit and all I wanted was more.

  “What about in a few months when I’m in New York?” she asked. “Would we have to slow down then?”

  I’d been considering that same question the last few days. She’d be in school in New York, and I’d be working in New York. We had an opportunity, a real chance to make a go of something. Maybe it was crazy, and who knew if we could keep up this intensity, but it seemed crazier to let her go.

  “No,” I admitted. “We wouldn’t.”

  If a grin could be both wicked and innocent, that was it right there on her beautiful face. “So we’ll see each other when I go to NYU?”

  “Definitely. Of course we’ll see each other. Though my job is going to take me out of town a lot.” She looked crestfallen. I pulled her back to me, wanting to reassure her, to let her know how much she’d made a mark on me. “Don’t be sad, Kat. I’m totally falling for you, and I don’t want to take advantage of you. I like you that much. I like you so much it scares me.”

  “Don’t be scared. I don’t bite.” Then she nibbled on my collarbone, making me laugh. Making me determined to find a way for us to last. It hadn’t escaped me, though, that she hadn’t returned or really replied to my I’m falling for you.

  I tried not to let that bother me, wanting to give her space and time to say it, if she felt it. God, I hoped she felt it.

  We kept on like that, going to the beach at night, working together during the day. She even showed me a sketch for a necklace she planned to create. My time at her house was getting short, and we both knew we’d have to figure out the next step.

  At the end of the week, we were at the theater again, the place where we’d first kissed, first admitted we had feelings for each other. After the credits rolled, she grasped my hand tight and looked me in the eyes. “Remember what you said the other night?”

  “When you were telling me about a new necklace design?” I teased, hoping I knew the night she meant.

  “No.” She swatted me lightly on the arm.

  “When we discussed the merits of raccoons on film?”

  She shook her head. “Not that either.”

  I rested my index finger on my chin. “Hmm, could it be the night we talked about all the places we want to see in Paris when we go there someday?”

  “Not that either. But I definitely want to go to Paris with you.”

  “And I want to go with you too,” I said, squeezing her hand. “So, what’s the thing I’m supposed to remember from the other night?”

  “When you said you were falling for me,” she said in a sweet whisper.

  I nodded, my heart beating furiously fast.

  She kept her eyes on me, holding my gaze as she spoke. “I’m falling for you too.”

  15

  Kat

  Present Day

  * * *

  Bryan went for his run, and I went to the movies. I had plenty of work to do, but I also had a lot of steam to let off.

  The cinema around the corner was showing the newest romantic comedy, but I couldn’t stomach romance now. I bought a ticket for an action flick. I needed improbable car chases and ridiculously implausible getaways. I slinked down into a seat in the back, leaving the looming pile of homework, necklace orders, and the supply chain issues untouched for the next two hours.

  There were only a few other people in the theater for the midafternoon showing on a Thursday. Some solo moviegoers had snagged seats near the front, and there were two pairs of friends in the middle rows.

  As the hero hacked into a laptop, I had a thought, and I followed where it led me. I’d once made a custom necklace for a computer programmer turned bestselling author and had scoured the city for the charms she wanted—floppy disks and motherboards that I cut down to size. The vendor I’d hooked up with had started expanding into other recycled materials, including old tires and worn-out bike chains.

  I was the farthest back in the theater, so I broke movie protocol and woke my phone long enough to tap out a reminder to track down the name. Then I guiltily put it away and tried to pay attention to the action on the screen.

  But now all I could think about was finding the name of the vendor in my email archive. After another attempt to focus, I apologized to Mr. Gosling and committed my second movie sin of the hour—I got up and left before the end credits.

  There was a coffee shop between the theater and the Made Here offices, and I ducked in to grab a something-ccino and some Wi-Fi, settling with my drink and my iPad at a table near the window. Now, when had I made that charm . . .

  I stared out the window as I thought back. It was peak afternoon, and the early escapers were beginning to slip out of their offices, and drivers waited in their cars for their riders. A few had their phones out, and one guy across the street looked like he was taking a selfie, just from the way he held the phone up, which was only funny because he was a middle-aged man with a graying flattop.

  And it was only because I was watching the selfie chauffeur that I saw a fit and handsome man in a gray T-shirt and running shorts lope by—he had already passed before my wandering brain realized that it was Bryan coming back from his run. And I still hadn’t quite processed that when he jogged back into view going the other way.

  A moment later, the café door opened, and Bryan came in, wove through the tables, and stopped in front of mine, hands on his hips. Sweat beaded his brow and darkened his T-shirt. He was breathing deep but not fast, his jaw was tight, and it looked like his run hadn’t done much to ease his frustration.

  “You’re making me crazy,” he said in a low voice.

  “I am?” I gaped up at him. “Why? I thought the mentorship was going well.”

  “It is.” He dropped into the other chair, still frowning at me. “But you act like nothing happened.”

  “Like what didn’t happen?”

  His jaw flexed. “Philly. The factory.”

  “Nothing did happen in your office in Philly.”

  He pointed at me like a detective pointing at a suspect. “Aha! You know exactly what I’m talking about. And don’t say it was me spilling coffee on my shirt.”

  That was exactly what I’d been about to say, so I had to think of something else. “Then I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

  He leaned across the table. And lowered his voice. “We almost kissed.”

  “Almost is not the same as did,” I whispered back, leaning in to mirror him.

  “But you wanted to. And you knew I wanted to.”

  “I can’t read your mind.”

  “Some things don’t need telepathy.” He leaned closer still, his voice going all velvet and gravel. “I bet you know what I’m thinking right now.”

  Not fair. The way he said it, the way his eyes held my gaze and then lowered to my lips, evoked all our past and present, all the levels on which we knew each other. I bit my lip and he exhaled sharply, leaning back and running his hand through his sweaty hair.

  “I called you that day. I emailed you that afternoon. You totally blew me off.”

  “I went to a show,” I said truthfully. “I had my phone in my purse on silent.”

  He narrowed his eyes at my flimsy—but true—explanation. “I’ve been trying for weeks to talk to you.”

  “You’ve talked to me every day.”

  “Alone.” He motioned between us. “To talk about this. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  I sighed. “No, Bryan. I’ve been avoiding being alone with you.”

  He seemed startled, either at what I said or that I’d admitted it. “But . . . why? I thought we were getting along great that day. I enjoyed showing you what I was working on and hearing your plans . . .”

  “I liked that too.”

  “And we’ve been good
since then. So, again . . . why?”

  “Because we . . .” I copied his motion between us. “We can’t be a thing. So there’s nothing to talk about.”

  He thought about his reply a long time. Then he did the same thing he did in his office in Philly, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear, lingering just a moment to brush my cheek with his thumb. “That is tragic.” He seemed to collect himself and dropped his hand, glancing out the window and then around the café, a lot like I had when I’d snuck a note into my phone in the movie. “But you’re right.”

  I knew I was right. But it sucked to hear him agree.

  “We have to appear above reproach,” he continued, and my mind snagged on that one word—“appear.”

  He scooted his chair closer, then pulled my iPad between us as if we were looking at something, heads together. His hand rested on my knee for a moment, then slid away. “If you had taken my call that day, here’s what I would have told you went down on that phone call I had.” The way we were sitting with our heads together, his voice was only a murmur. “Wilco is suing us for wrongful termination. It’s totally ridiculous—he was unquestionably over the line with that intern. But the board wants to play things safe, and I can’t take a chance this will blow up in our faces.”

  “Oh, Bryan.” This time I touched his knee under the table. He seemed to need the sympathy of a touch. “I’m so sorry. I read about the firing online, but I had no idea . . .”

  “No one does.” He covered my hand with his and held it where it was. “No one can know. And that means I can’t risk any gossip or rumors, anything that could bite us in the ass. Plus, my board is incredibly conservative.” His thumb traced over the back of my hand. “So here we are. I want nothing more than to follow through on what we started, but work and personal can’t come within ten feet of each other.”

  I shivered, but everything inside of me heated up. “Wait. Go back to the part where you want to follow through on what we started.”