by Avery Flynn
“And how does it work out?”
The uncharacteristic soft sympathy in Helene’s voice was almost enough to undo her. A heavy sigh escaped, sinking her shoulders and taking her down from the high she’d been on for the past few days.
“With disappointment.” She knew it, and not only because of her nunni’s reminders.
“That’s too bad,” Helene said. “I think you two bring out the best in each other.”
Only temporarily, though. That was their agreement—just as long as it was fun. Dwelling on that wasn’t going to do her any good, especially not in the middle of a show. So after excusing herself from Helene, she made her rounds among the regulars and the newcomers. The feedback about Celeste’s work was fantastic. By the time the last few stragglers were on their way out, she’d placed discreet sold stickers on a third of the descriptor cards hanging next to each piece. Really, the night deserved a celebratory toast with a better wine than their house white.
Right on cue, the door opened and in walked Tyler with a bottle of something that was probably both expensive and delicious. He was spoiling her, and she was getting far too used to it. She was getting too used to him, too. Still, the happy buzz of butterflies riding roller coasters in her stomach didn’t abate even as she reminded herself of that fact.
Girl, you are in trouble. And what was worse, she didn’t even care.
…
Sitting at his desk, Tyler was starting to go numbers blind when a notification flashed across his screen from his assistant.
J. WEIR: There’s an Alberto Ferranti to see you.
Tyler double-checked that the door between his office and Jason’s desk on the other side was closed, then he did a fist pump. He’d been planting the seeds with Alberto, and it was all finally going to come to fruition. Not today, but soon. He’d bet money on it. All he had to do was keep things going in this direction and he’d make the deal. God, he loved it when a plan came together—especially one he hadn’t been paying as close attention to as he should have been thanks to his sexy upstairs neighbor, who managed to distract him more now than she ever had before, since she’d stopped hating his guts. Dangerous territory, that.
T. JACOBSON: Send him in.
Alberto strode in like a man who never had a day that didn’t go his way. “Tyler, I hope you don’t mind my breaking in on you like this.”
“Not at all.” Tyler got up and rounded his desk. “It’s good to see you.”
He led Alberto to the small sitting area next to the windows, taking one of the wing chairs. Alberto eyeballed the matching chair for half a second then opted for the tan leather love seat—which not only looked more comfortable, it actually was.
“You had a good time on the island?” Alberto asked.
“It’s so gorgeous that it would be hard to have a bad time.” That would have been Tyler’s answer no matter what, but in this case it was the truth. Of course, the fact that he’d spent a good portion of it naked with Everly hadn’t hurt.
Focus, Jacobson. You can’t afford to get distracted.
“Very true,” Alberto said with a chuckle before brushing his hands together like a blackjack dealer at the end of a shift. “And now we must speak business. You have ideas for the hotel expansion?”
Thank God he was always prepared for any outcome, since he still hadn’t been able to nail down Alberto on a date to present his ideas to the hotelier and the board. He bounded up from his chair, heading straight for his laptop with his presentation.
“Let me tell Jason to hold my calls, and I’m all yours.”
Thirty minutes and four million questions later, Tyler relaxed against the stiff back of the chair his office decorator had picked out. She’d insisted it looked regal. He was just glad for the extra support. Despite their time spent laughing over fresh grilled fish on the island, Alberto hadn’t taken it easy on him. The man knew his business. Of course, you didn’t get to where he was without those qualifications.
“All of this looks good.” Alberto rubbed his chin and nodded. “You’ve got quite a few unorthodox ideas.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration—but the Ferranti Hotel group was the one for them. “To make an impact, you’ll need to stand out.”
The older man’s face broke into a smile. If it had been a test, then Tyler had just passed it. “I agree, but our board of directors doesn’t always concur with me. They can be quite conservative in their approach.”
“Please let them know that my approach may be a bit wild, but my commitment to success is not.” Because he always did whatever it took to make that happen.
“That might be enough.” Alberto stood and shook Tyler’s hand after he’d followed suit. “They aren’t like us. They are what you call old money. They have rules and expectations of personal behavior that influence them in business even though the two do not have to overlap. Mi fanno impazzire!” He threw his hands up in the air in disgust. “They make me crazy.”
“Don’t worry, I understand the type well.” If he hadn’t, he never would have been able to get them to trust him with their money.
“Good, several of the board members will be at the gala tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll be watching you,” Alberto said as they crossed to the door.
“I’ll be sure to bore them to tears.” He’d out–old money the old money if that’s what it took.
“An excellent plan. They have no tolerance for passion or excitement, only a devotion to the boring and the profitable,” Alberto agreed. “But you won’t be bored; you’re taking Everly, sì?”
And suddenly, his attention veered from imagining disapproving looks to the soft curves and cherry lips of the woman he’d spent way too much time thinking about lately. Not that he’d made any efforts to stop. Fun. It was just until it wasn’t fun and it sure as hell was—even with the lack of sleep.
Tyler grinned at the older man. “She finally said yes.”
“Good,” he said. “The best women are always worth fighting for.”
Then, with a knowing wink, Alberto strode out of his office. Tyler gave him a friendly wave as the elevator doors closed before going back into his office. That left Tyler alone to think about Alberto’s parting words. Fighting for a woman? He’d never done that. Not even when he found out his fiancée, a woman he’d thought he loved, had tried to get with his best friend. For him, the fighting had always been about moving up the Harbor City ladder so he could leave Waterbury as far behind him as possible. Did that make him smart or stupid? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Helene ran the pad of her thumb over the bottom of her wedding band as the elevator doors closed, taking her and Alberto up to the rooftop ballroom of the Harbor City Grand Hotel. It was an exquisite ring, featuring princess-cut diamonds and a single ruby that had been in Michael’s family for generations, which was why she’d told everyone that she still wore it. The truth was, she hadn’t been ready to take it off and wasn’t sure she’d ever be. Wearing it on a date, though, seemed inappropriate.
“It is almost as beautiful as you,” Alberto said, watching her fiddle with the ring.
The unfamiliar feeling shifting her stomach wasn’t one she could pinpoint. It was a mix of uncertainty and nerves. “I shouldn’t wear it.”
Alberto looked at her, the black of his tuxedo jacket bringing out the sparkle in his dark eyes. “Do you want to wear it?”
Want to? She hadn’t thought about that. Too much of the past few years had been about what she should do to put others around her at ease. Grief made people uncomfortable. Her stern attitude they could take. But the vulnerability? Only her boys had been able to stand that, and watching them walk on eggshells around her had been what had finally snapped her out of her grief. Whether it was a woman thing or a mother thing, seeing the people she cared about worried brought out the protector in her. She’d gone about expressing it in the wrong way with both boys, but they’d forgiven her natural overbearing tendencies and had shown her by examp
le that life did go on. But her ring? That was her last physical tie to the man who’d helped her make those boys and raise them into the men she was so damn proud of.
“I do want to wear it,” she said, her throat raw.
“Then wear it,” he said, as if what she wanted was the only thing to factor into the equation.
Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that was wrong with the man. He probably killed kittens in his spare time. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He stepped closer and cupped her face in his warm palms, looking her straight in the eye. “Because, bellissima, second chances don’t come around every day, and when they do, you must seize them.”
The declaration did something to her, lifted some burden weighing her down that she’d grown so used to that she barely noticed it anymore. It was as much of a relief as it was petrifying. Then he kissed her, a soft brush of his lips, and stepped away. How he’d known she’d need time to process, she had no idea.
Keeping her gaze locked on the floor numbers as they lit up one after the other, she took a deep breath. “You’re too nice for me.”
“Bah.” He waved his hands in the air as the elevator doors opened. “Life is too short to keep what you’re feeling to yourself.”
Before she got a chance to respond, the elevator doors opened, revealing a colorful swath of dresses and plain black tuxedoes as Harbor City’s old money gathered to raise money yet again without actually doing anything to help. Oh, the organizers did the work—and a lot of it—she knew from personal experience, but if she polled the people in attendance, she doubted 90 percent would know the name of the actual charity they were helping. This was her life, the one she’d been raised to conform to, but it was starting to chafe. She wanted more.
Alberto tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked forward, gaining the quiet buzz of attention from the people they passed. They were a sight, she knew. The hard-as-nails society matron and the outgoing Italian hotel magnate. She never would have guessed it would have happened, either, but it felt right. That thought propelled her forward right up until they approached her family, gathered in a knot near the dance floor. Hudson and his girlfriend, Felicia, stood with Sawyer and his wife, Clover, all of whom turned to look with frank, curious stares. At once, her nerves and lingering feeling of betrayal slammed back into place.
Hudson, being the charmer that he was, stepped in to fill the silence. “Alberto, it’s so good to see you again.” He clapped a friendly hand on Alberto’s shoulder. “This is my girlfriend, Felicia.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Felicia said with a shy smile.
“And you as well. I’ve seen some of the pieces from Hudson’s Wife series and now I see that while he may have gotten close, he did not capture the true extent of your beauty.” Alberto took Felicia’s hand and, being the outrageous flirt he was, gave it a quick kiss on her knuckles, then turned back to Hudson. “Tell me about this project you’re working on with Everly’s grandmother’s friends. I hear you’ll be opening a show at Black Hearts in six months?”
And they were off, lost in their mutually shared world of art, the one Hudson had hidden from her for decades—or at least tried to. A mother always knows. She’d just accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter when her firstborn moved in for the kill.
“He seems nice,” Sawyer said, his voice as close to a whisper as possible in the ballroom filled with chatter.
She nodded, wondering where he was taking this. “He is.”
“Just be sure he knows that if he doesn’t treat you well, I’m not above punching an old man.”
Helene blinked away her surprise. Of all the things, that was one of the last she’d expected. “Sawyer Carlyle, I raised you better than that.”
He looked her straight in the eyes. “You raised me to stand up for those I love.”
Now that was the very last. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her boys with all her heart or that they didn’t love her, but they were a Harbor City family of a certain standing, and bold declarations of love and loyalty weren’t their way. At least they hadn’t been until Felicia and Clover had come into her sons’ lives. It was amazing how much love could change a person. Of course, she wasn’t about to give in to the happy tears gathering. She most definitely didn’t get weepy in public. Ever. So she fell back on her iron-lady attitude that her children seemed to see right through lately.
“I’m sure temporarily losing Clover because of your own idiotic habits helped you understand that as well,” she said, tempering the tart just enough for her non–detail noticing son to realize she was just teasing.
“Without a doubt.” Sawyer nodded, looking over at his obviously pregnant wife with a look of total and complete love.
“I’m so happy for you two.”
He held up his champagne flute and tapped it against hers. “To happiness—all of ours.”
Now that she could drink to. Her own happiness wasn’t something she’d really considered all that much, even before Michael died. Her life had been a rush instead of an experience. As she sipped the tart, fizzy champagne, she looked around at the people surrounding her and realized that this was exactly what made her happy and she wanted more of it. Alberto was right. Life was too short to keep what she was feeling to herself. She tapped the man in question on the shoulder.
Alberto turned around with an expectant look. “Yes, bellissima?”
She set down her champagne on a table. “Let’s dance.”
A wide smile split his handsome face. “Now that is the perfect idea.”
It was, and she was going to enjoy every step of it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Usually these galas were a business opportunity disguised as personal fun. That’s what it should have been for Tyler, but then he spotted Everly walking down the stairs that led to the ballroom. She strode in wearing a one-shoulder black dress that followed her figure like a map to the Promised Land. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, low bun that set off her face, which was all big, beautiful eyes and dark-red lips. And as she made her way toward him, he mentally made a list of every guy who looked a little bit too long.
Tyler? Meet your inner caveman.
By the time they came together on the edge of the dance floor, the list was long enough to merit two pages, single-spaced. This wasn’t like him. And tonight was the worst night for him to give in to the testosterone-fed urges gripping him by the balls, but he had to do something. So instead of punching out the finance bro coming their way with lascivious intent in his eyes, Tyler slinked an arm around Everly’s waist and pulled her onto the dance floor. She just smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking and went along with it, pressing her body close to his as they swayed to the music.
“Good” wasn’t the right word to describe how she felt in his arms, but it was as close as he was going to get. As always whenever he was around her, his brain stopped whirring in constant motion as plots and plans came together in his subconscious and all he could do was focus on her.
“You look beautiful,” he finally managed to get out.
She gave him a cocky grin that went straight to his dick. “I clean up pretty well for a Riverside girl.”
“You clean up pretty well for a Harbor City princess.”
It was the truth. Even as part of him knew he should put a few extra inches of space between their bodies according to the rules of polite society and especially because of the extra eyes he knew were watching, he couldn’t seem to make himself. Not until the music ended and the band announced they were taking a short break. At that point, holding her was no longer an option. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t let his palm linger on the small of her back as they walked off the dance floor toward the bar and the Carlyles gathered around a table nearby.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
“A glass of Chardonnay would be perfect. Just let me go say hi to everyone at the Carlyle table real quick, and
I’ll meet you at the bar.” She planted her hand on his chest, leaned up, and brushed a quick kiss across his cheek.
The little display of PDA was all totally acceptable. Her quick ass grab before walking over to the Carlyles? Yeah, not so much, but he wasn’t complaining.
Distracted fool that he was, Tyler didn’t notice that not only was one of the hotel board members, Gianni Esposito, standing near the bar, giving him the prune face, but Irena was nearby with trouble written all over her. Whatever the woman was up to, he might as well deal with it now before Everly came back over, because he knew exactly what would happen then—Everly, with the best of intentions, would rush to his defense, causing exactly the kind of scene he couldn’t have here, and Irena would win. His ex-fiancée hadn’t planted herself at the elbow of a hotel board member accidentally.
Making sure to keep a few feet between them at the bar, Tyler ordered Everly’s wine and a Scotch on the rocks.
“You know,” Irena said, her voice silky smooth and closer than it should be, “I still think of you.”
He kept his attention on the bartender. “I don’t want to know.”
Irena continued as if she hadn’t heard the dig or—more likely—didn’t give a shit. “On those nights when I can’t seem to fall asleep and it’s all I can do not to get myself off thinking about how good you were with your tongue as I’m lying in bed next to Carlo.”
His stomach churned. How in the hell had he ever thought he’d loved this woman? Were his instincts really that fucked when it came to the opposite sex? “Am I supposed to be flattered by that?”
She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “Just a fact. It doesn’t matter what you feel; it never has.”
“It’s gotta be exhausting to have to pretend not to be such a bitch.”
“You should know,” she said with a knowing smile.
Now that got his attention. Even though he knew he shouldn’t engage—especially because the hotel board member was still watching the exchange with open curiosity; at least he was too far away to hear what was being said—Tyler snapped back anyway. “What in the hell are you talking about?”