Her mother had better save the receipt, Brandi vowed, because there was no way she could fail now.
* * *
Adam slowed his pace to a walk as the treadmill shifted into cool-down mode, winding up his five-mile run. He swiped at the sweat on his brow with his forearm and glanced around the country-club gym.
“Where is he?” Adam muttered.
His friend Zeke Holden had been a no-show for their standing tennis game. Their court time was for over an hour ago and once again, he hadn’t emailed or left a message saying he wouldn’t be able to make it.
Adam pulled his phone, which did double duty as his mp3 player, from the pouch on his arm. It rang twice before bouncing him to Zeke’s voice mail, like it had the last few times he’d called.
“Hey man, I thought you were eager to get some revenge for the beat down I gave you last time. Hope everything is okay with you. Give me a call.”
He and Zeke had been friends since they were kids, both having the pressure of growing up in the shadow of their successful businessman fathers.
On the other hand, Kyle and Zeke had never gotten along. His brother didn’t like Zeke and trusted him even less.
The treadmill belt slowed to a halt and the console flashed his workout stats. Adam made a mental note to drive out to his friend’s place if he didn’t hear from him soon.
First, this evening, he had another visit to pay.
Images of Brandi Collins sprang to mind as he walked to the locker room to shower and dress. After she’d stormed out of his condo, he’d made the cake incorporating her suggestions, and the result had been pure perfection. Thanks to her, he’d solidified his first entry for the competition.
Ecstatic, his first inclination had been to go next door and literally serve it to her on a silver platter. But after the way they’d left things, he was sure his was the last face she’d want to see.
Adam sighed. He would have to remedy that, because he needed his curvy new neighbor’s help.
Twenty minutes later, thoughts of her lingered as he made a detour to the club’s grille for a sandwich to go before heading home. He seated himself at the bar with a bottled water to wait for the staff to prepare his order. A Nashville Predators game blared on the television, but Adam ignored the hockey match. He had a tricky negotiation ahead, and despite an MBA and decade of executive experience, he was at a loss.
What could he possibly say to convince Brandi to jeopardize her goal for his?
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal nephew.”
“Uncle Jonathan,” Adam said in way of acknowledgment. He hadn’t seen much of his uncle in the weeks since the blowup over his resignation and subsequent breakup with Jade. Adam had tried talking to him, but each attempt deteriorated into an argument.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” His uncle’s second chin wobbled as he spoke, a testament to his eschewing the club’s courts, gym and Olympic-sized pool in favor of the two five-star restaurants and walk-in cigar humidor. Though he was outfitted in athletic wear, it was clear the only sweating he did was in the club’s steam room. “I thought you’d thumbed your nose at the good life.”
“Like you, I hold a lifetime membership in this club,” Adam said.
His uncle hefted his bulk onto the bar stool next to him, and Adam’s hopes of using this time to figure out an approach to the Brandi dilemma evaporated.
“Give me a scotch, neat.” The elder Ellison directed the bartender and then swiveled in his seat toward Adam. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” They were at an impasse, and if his uncle’s demeanor was any indication, the chances of this conversation ending in reconciliation were slim.
“What’s it going to take to get you back behind your desk at Ellison and down the aisle with Jade Brooks?”
Adam shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
His uncle pressed on as if he hadn’t heard Adam’s reply. “I’ve been in touch with Jade’s family, and the Brookses are willing to overlook your temporary lapse in judgment,” he said. “They understand you weren’t thinking clearly after your father’s death. We’d all like to move forward and put this unpleasantness behind us.”
“My lapse, as you call it, is permanent, Uncle Jonathan. Your time would be better spent on something other than my personal life.”
Jonathan Ellison took a sip of his drink. “You’re my brother’s firstborn and with him not here, your personal life is my business.”
“Business being the operative word, right?” Adam snorted. “Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to care about me and Jade’s relationship.”
His uncle shrugged. “Jade Brooks is an attractive young woman. You could do a lot worse.”
“All any of you really care about is merging Ellison with Brooks Brand and sealing the deal with a marriage.”
His uncle jabbed a fat finger in his direction. “Don’t get all sanctimonious with me. You sat in on those meetings with your father and old man Brooks. You know damn well what this was all about as well as what’s at stake.”
Adam nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”
He watched a smug smile spread across the elder Ellison’s lips. “So you’re going to straighten things out with Jade?”
“No. I mean you’re right in that I sold my soul for a business deal,” he said. “But now I’m reclaiming it. No deal.”
Angry eyes the same shade of brown as his father’s stared back at him. “Thank goodness my brother had the foresight to add those stipulations to his will,” he said. “Until Ellison Industries and Brooks Brand are one, and we’re all a big happy family, you can forget about seeing one dime of your inheritance.”
“I can live with that,” Adam said.
“But can you live with flushing your father’s big plans for you and Ellison Industries down the toilet?”
His uncle’s criticism stung. Adam reminded himself he’d been a good son to David Ellison and had dedicated the majority of his life to pleasing him.
It was time he pleased himself.
“I have my own plans.”
“You mean the pastry chef nonsense.” His uncle took a gulp of his drink. “I thought David drummed that notion out of your head when you were a kid.”
The bartender brought Adam’s take-out bag to the bar. He rose from his seat and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He dropped a bill on the table large enough to cover it and his uncle’s drink.
“We’re done here.” Adam picked up the food for which he no longer had an appetite. “Enjoy your drink, uncle. It’s on me.”
“We’ll see how far your so-called plans go without Ellison clout and cash to back them up,” his uncle called after him. “You’ll come crawling back after you make a mess of everything, and I can hardly wait to rub your nose in it.”
Chapter 4
Brandi stitched the woven Arm Candy label to the inside of the newly completed handbag.
While the bulk of her sewing was done on the industrial machine and serger surrounding her on the U-shaped desk, she preferred adding this final touch to her creations by hand.
It wasn’t the most scintillating way for a single woman to spend a Saturday night, but after a trying morning of shopping for her maid-of-honor dress with her mother and sister she relished spending the evening in her studio.
Brandi snipped the thread and held up the bag she’d dubbed the City Girl Sling. Customers who selected zebra print for the main exterior for their custom handbag usually opted for coordinating solid color for the band and strap. However, this customer had checked off the box on the online order form for a clashing cheetah print.
It wasn’t her favorite look, but the point of a customized bag was to give her customers their favorite
look.
The doorbell sounded, and she glanced at the face of her nearby phone. Eight o’clock.
“Who the…” she muttered at the interruption.
The bell buzzed again.
Brandi peered through the front door peephole expecting to see her mom, sister or perhaps her friend Lynn, but instead her new neighbor’s face stared back at her.
Damn. What did he want?
It had taken hours to purge hot, sexy images she’d conjured up of Adam Ellison and his chocolate delights from her head. The last thing she needed was another encounter with him.
Smoothing her hair, she glanced down at her jeans and purple blouse. They were a lot crisper when she’d donned them this morning, but it was too late to change now.
“Oh, just find out what he wants and get rid of him,” she mumbled. It wasn’t like she was trying to make a good impression.
Blowing out a breath, she yanked open the door.
“Yes?” she inquired in a tone she hoped was rude enough to do the trick.
He flashed her the identical smile he wore in her daydreams, but in them it wasn’t all he flashed.
“Good evening to you, too, neighbor.”
Brandi leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re here to force-feed me éclairs. Or maybe a macaroon?”
He dropped his head in a semblance of contrition. “I came to apologize for upsetting you earlier, but you’re not going to make it easy on me, are you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because when I’m not strung out over this competition, I’m a decent guy.” He pulled a bouquet of lavender roses from behind his back. “A peace offering.”
Stunned by the gesture, Brandi straightened and pulled away from the door frame. She’d never seen a bouquet quite like it. Sure, her ex had given her flowers on Valentine’s Day or her birthday, but they were always run-of-the-mill posies he’d grabbed at the last minute from the grocery store.
“I promise they’re calorie free,” Adam coaxed, extending the paper-wrapped bouquet toward her.
“Thank you. They’re lovely,” she said, taking the flowers. She pressed her nose against the petals and inhaled, then eyed him over the top of the massive bouquet. He wore dark wool slacks, and a white T-shirt peeked out from under the V-neck of his navy cashmere sweater. He looked good.
“Does this mean you’re shutting down your chocolate factory, Mr. Ellison?” Brandi asked, after she managed to stop ogling him.
“It’s Adam.” He shook his head. “And no, I’ll still have the place reeking with the stuff for the next month or so.”
“Oh,” Brandi said flatly.
Adam rallied. “But like the worn-out line politicians like to repeat, I’d hoped we could disagree without being disagreeable.”
“We’ll see.” Brandi shrugged. It wasn’t like the flowers had actually changed anything. He’d still be turning her place into a chocolate torture chamber, not to mention the deliciously wicked scenarios she was cooking up about him in her head.
Adam took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let’s be friends.”
Fortunately, the roses provided a physical barrier between them and kept her from doing something stupid, like kissing those full lips to see if they felt as good as they looked. She swallowed hard.
“Other than the chocolate thing, you have to admit I’m a fantastic neighbor,” he continued. “I don’t blast hip-hop music. No yapping dog or screaming baby. I haven’t borrowed your morning paper.”
She chuckled. “Or swiped my parking space.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So the neighborly thing for you to do is invite me inside for coffee and see if we can’t start our relationship off on better footing.”
Blowing out a breath, Brandi beckoned him inside. The man lived right next door. She couldn’t avoid him forever.
His broad shoulders spanned the entryway as he moved past her, and his delicious scent filled her nostrils. She felt her insides go all warm and gooey like the inside of a molten lava cake.
God, what was wrong with her? For months, she hadn’t even thought about sex. Now a man she’d known for less than twenty-four hours had lit the pilot light under her dormant libido, and she couldn’t think of anything else.
She cut a wide berth around the tower of boxes near the doorway filled with handbag orders ready to be shipped. “Have a seat while I put these in water and see about that coffee.”
Thankfully, the minutes it took to arrange the roses in a vase and get the coffee started helped her gain perspective on her out-of-whack hormones.
Her so-called attraction to Adam was nothing more than a side effect of this godforsaken diet she was on. It probably wasn’t even him she craved, Brandi reasoned. He just reminded her of chocolate.
Satisfied she’d successfully diagnosed her problem, Brandi joined her unexpected guest in the living room where he’d seated himself on the sofa. His tall, masculine body looked out of place on the dainty blush-pink piece of furniture.
Placing the flowers on the coffee table, Brandi sat down in the nearby accent chair. “The coffee will be ready in a few moments.”
She watched him take in the creamy beige walls, hint-of-pink microsuede chairs and sofa, and leafy green plants. The strong, dark wood of her tables and polished hardwood floors took the girly edge off the pink.
“Nice place,” he said.
“I thought so until I saw how much bigger yours is than mine,” she said. “I’d assumed all of the condos in the building were the same size.”
“I bought back when the building was still in the planning stages, so I was able to double up on the square footage. It was originally designated to be two units.”
“Then you’ve always owned it?”
He nodded, which prompted her next question. “I’ve lived here for five years. How come I’ve never seen you until yesterday?”
“This was an investment property. I didn’t plan on making it my home.”
“Until you left your job,” she said.
“Yes. So it turned out to be a good investment after all.”
The coffeemaker gurgled, signaling the end of the brewing cycle.
“I’d better see to the coffee.”
When she returned, carrying a tray bearing two mugs of coffee, cream and sugar, he was eyeing the stack of boxes by her front door. “Christmas present backlog?”
She turned to the pile and laughed. “They’re orders for my business.”
“What kind of business?”
With a small pause and a blush, Brandi explained. “I make custom-designed handbags and sell them through my online store.”
“Thought you were a teacher?”
She nodded. “I am a high school art teacher by day. At night, I shut myself in my home studio and transform into a designing diva.”
He flashed her a smile, revealing straight white teeth and a rogue dimple in one cheek. “That’s an impressive stack of boxes. You must be very good at it.”
“I think so.”
He inclined his head toward the boxes. “And you manage to do all of this here?”
She nodded. “I turned the master bedroom into a studio, and I sleep in the smaller one.”
“Must be quite an operation.”
“Would you like to see it?” The offer tumbled out of her mouth before she could get ahold of her tongue.
“Yeah, I would,” Adam said, appearing genuinely interested.
Leaving the coffee untouched, they rose from their seats and Brandi led him to the room off the dining room.
She opened her arms with a grand air over the room she’d painted a vibrant shade of orange. Track lighting shone down on her sewing
machines, cutting table and bolts of fabric.
“Welcome to Arm Candy Handbags,” she said.
Looking on as he surveyed the heart of her business, Brandi wondered what had possessed her to invite him. Ordinarily, she kept the door closed to everyone except her friend and coworker, Lynn Myers, the computer tech teacher who’d built and maintained Arm Candy’s website.
Maybe it was the brief kinship she’d felt toward him after he’d mentioned his new career direction had pissed off everyone around him. Brandi didn’t have to imagine how the lack of support from those closest to him made him feel.
Adam walked over to the chrome shelves, which held an assortment of completed bags ready to be boxed and shipped. He picked up a tote in a turquoise honeycomb pattern with orange suede trim and handles. He examined it and then the blue-and-lime-floral shoulder bag next to it.
“Wow. These are amazing.” He looked from the bags to her. “I had no idea I was living next door to such a talented woman.”
“Thanks.” Brandi beamed.
“I’m no connoisseur on women’s purses, but these look like something you’d purchase at a swanky boutique.”
“Now that you’ve seen the finished product, let me show you the process.”
Brandi led him over to the laptop computer perched on her cutting table and pulled up her website. She felt the warmth emanating from his body as they stood over the screen.
“It begins here on Arm Candy’s website,” she said. Thankfully, her voice remained steady and didn’t reveal the impact his nearness had on her. “It’s interactive. Customers select a style of bag and then click through to make picks from the available fabrics for the exterior, interior, straps and trim.”
“Can I give it a try?” Adam asked.
“Um, sure, but you want a handbag?”
“For my grandmother.” Adam laughed. “I noticed a French market tote is one of your style options, and she’d love it.”
Brandi guided him through the process. “Since you’re here, I can actually show you the fabrics. The online swatches are great, but not as good as being able to see and touch the cloth yourself.”
Taste for Temptation (Kimani Hotties) Page 4