She leaned back against the front door, mimicking his stance.
“A client gave me a bottle of Patrón as a thank you.”
“Must have been very satisfied with your services.”
“Very.”
Without another word Brody disappeared into his office and left her to decide—stay or go. What the hell? It was Patrón after all.
“So tell me, what kind of legal help do you need if you’re not being sued?” He didn’t bother looking up as she walked into his office and slid into the leather chair.
“I need you to look over a contract and tell me if it’s too late to get out of it.” She accepted the crystal glass of clear liquid. “You have to promise to keep this just between us.”
“Of course, attorney-client confidentiality.”
“That only works if I pay you, and we both know you won’t charge me.”
“Don’t count on it, sweetheart.”
Denise reached into her purse, dragged out her wallet, and pulled out a buck, which she slapped on his desk. “Let’s call that your retainer, and once you see what I’m asking you to review, we can discuss your fee.”
“Trust me, I’m worth a lot more than a dollar.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” She sipped her drink, studying him over the rim. He’d always slayed her. From the moment she laid eyes on him in high school, he’d taken her breath away, but now . . . the man was devastating with his dark brown hair worn a tad too long, dark chocolate eyes that belonged to a wounded warrior, and his tempting five o’clock shadow. “Maybe you could extend me the intimate-friends-and-family discount, even though I don’t deserve it anymore.”
“What’s the contract? New job? House?”
“Appearing on Finding Mr. Right.”
Tequila sprayed across Brody’s desk.
“Good one.”
Not surprising he didn’t believe her. Going on the show meant taking a leave from work, and she hadn’t taken a real vacation since she started at the hospital. The last real vacation she’d planned had been their honeymoon, the one they never made it on because she’d called off the wedding.
“I’m serious, Brody. The offer came in yesterday, and in a moment of madness I signed and faxed off the contract. Yesterday, my boss gave me the okay. This morning he tells me if I take leave for six weeks, I might not have a job to come back to. Plus, I’d get passed over for the fellowship I applied for months ago.”
She pulled the documents out of her bag and held them in front of her. Glancing down, it hit her exactly what she was asking of her ex-fiancé. No longer sure of her reasons for coming to him, much less her sanity, she shoved them back into her purse and set the tumbler on the desk.
“This was a bad idea. I really don’t know what I was thinking, then or now, coming here, asking you for this kind of help. Stupid and insensitive and . . . I’m sorry. Thanks for the drink.” She stood and smiled. “I’m going to leave now and go flog myself in private.”
“Tell me something before you go. Why’d you apply to the show?”
She blew out the air she’d been holding in. “Brody, I can’t talk to you about the show. Let’s just say in the hazy days of summer and last night when I signed on the dotted line, it sounded like a great idea.”
“Until your job came into play.”
“Brody, let’s not do this. Okay?
“Why come to me?”
Finally an easy one. “Because I know I can trust you. So, can’t you just look over the contract and find that changed-my-mind clause, please?”
Sitting in his chair, he studied her not for the first time, as she’d caught him numerous times when they’d been together doing the same thing. Just watching. She never knew if he was trying to figure out her “tells” or break her so she’d confess to him all her darkest secrets and fears.
“You thought living in a house with what fifteen, twenty other women, fighting over some guy, sounded like fun?” The questioning tone said it all—he thought she was full of it.
It was impossible to look her former lover in the eye and tell him why she wanted to go on a dating show, so she walked over to the window, leaned on the edge, and pretended he was just any lawyer. But he wasn’t. He was Brody.
She didn’t have to look at him to feel those brooding eyes of his, didn’t have to see him for that tug on her heart—and other parts—to happen. He didn’t have to do anything at all to make her heart race, her breath catch, or her dreams of a life with him come racing back in the blink of an eye. Just being near the man did all that and more to her. So why was she going on a dating show instead of trying to win him back? Because phones worked two ways. Because he knew where she worked and where she lived and he could have called, texted, or come to see her, just as she could have after their hookup in October and he hadn’t.
As she gazed out the window, life in Providence hustled by. Shoppers with their reusable bags, couples linked arm in arm as they headed to the many restaurants in the area, and people lived their lives. Living. Not just existing, as she’d been doing. She loved her city with its cool, historic architecture, multiple universities, and the fact that in less than a day’s drive she could end up in Manhattan, the beach, or Boston. None of that mattered when she had no one to share those treasures with—but of course she couldn’t say that to her ex, whom she had dumped.
“I won’t be sharing a house with anyone or fighting for some guy. They’ll be fighting for me.”
“You should have read the contract or, better yet, brought it to me to read before you signed it.”
“Brody, I’m not here for a lecture.” She threw up her hands and stalked back to the chair, but instead of sitting down, she stood behind it, gripping the back until her knuckles turned white. “What does it matter to you anyway? I’m simply a client.”
“You’re never simply anything . . . except frustrating.” He came around his desk and stood next to her, stealing her air.
She glanced up to meet his gaze. His eyes heated and bore through her.
“I don’t want to see you hurt.” He was scowling. Gawd, she loved his scowl.
“Then find me a way out.” She was aware she was playing with fire as his gaze dropped to her mouth.
Several long minutes passed as they both stood there, watching each other, locked in a silent battle. Breathing in—shallow, shaky, and synced breaths.
What was going on behind those dark eyes? Maybe it was best if she didn’t ask; after all, what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. A small part of her—okay, a huge part—wanted him to declare his undying love for her and ask for another chance. The chemistry between them had been smoking hot—burn-the-sheets-up-nightly kind of hot—and their recent weekend fling had proved that time hadn’t doused those sparks. But it was more than sex. Brody was a good guy. Not a doormat kind of good either. The kind who cared about others, who went out of his way to make the people in his life happy and would lay his life down for those he loved.
Unfortunately, what they had was far from perfect or even doable. She worked sixty-plus hours a week. He worked eighty-plus. Added together, that left very little time for more than a quick hi, bye, and a roll in the sheets.
He pulled her in close, with his fingers splayed over her hip in easy ownership. It was like coming home. Silence stretched out as he rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her.
She wanted more.
He deserved more.
Unfortunately, not much had changed. Both were still workaholics, still stubborn, and both had withheld vital information from the other. None of that boded well for a relationship with Brody.
“Give me a couple of days. I’ll read it over tonight and if I have to, I’ll give their people a call.”
His words dragged her out of her reverie. “We don’t have much time. They start filming in two weeks.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders and powerful build. “I’ll do what I can, but these con
tracts are designed to protect the show and its interests. This might be a commitment you have to see through.”
“You definitely know how to cut to the quick.” Her actions of the past weighed heavily on her conscience.
“Two words. Ex-fiancé.”
Denise shifted away, instantly feeling the absence of his heat as she sat down. “Do I need to apologize again?”
“That’s all in the past. We were five years ago.”
The man had the best poker face ever. No flinches. No ticks. No tapping of the fingers, bouncing of the leg, not a scowl or a smile . . . nothing. Which was how she knew he wasn’t being upfront with her. When Brody tried to lie he went into his lawyer mode. He’d gotten away with more as a teen with that no-look expression of his than anyone else.
“And what would you call four months ago?”
“Too much champagne.”
If she hadn’t been sitting down, his response would have knocked her on her butt. Granted the bubbly might have played a part in what had gone down in the gardens, but it definitely had been out of both their systems when they chose to leave together.
“Look, I get it. You’re still mad at me.” She snatched her purse, squashing the urge to smack him with it, and stood. “You have the right, but I apologized. Can’t you let it go?”
Brody reached out and grabbed her arm, gently holding her in place. “How can I when you never explained why? What did I do to make you call off our wedding?”
She looked down at her captured arm and then back up into his bottomless eyes. When he released her arm, she turned to face him and leaned back against the edge of the mahogany desk. No one knew the full reason except Jenna, who had stuck by her side through the pain and despair of losing her baby. Five years later she still wasn’t ready to talk about the ordeal, to drag up those emotions and feelings of guilt, so she’d give him the lesser truth.
“You did nothing, and that was the problem.”
A soft click followed by the hushed sound of the heater blowing warm air out of the overhead vent was the only noise in the room. Neither moved, each waited for the other to speak or do something, making her stomach jump and flip, and in that moment she wished she was the kind of woman who could down another tumblerful of tequila to quell her nerves.
Sadly, she was a one-shot lightweight.
Another glass and she’d either be dancing on Brody’s desk—naked no doubt—or passed out on his couch.
“Right. It was my fault.”
“No, we’re equally to blame. Think about it, Brody. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, how many days did we spend together? How many hours?” She paused, reigning in her frustration. This is why she’d avoided the conversation for so long. She knew he’d take all the blame. “If you weren’t working, you were sleeping. I was doing the same and dealing with my mom, who kept trying to turn our wedding into the event of the century.”
“I’d forgotten that . . . about your mom. A lady of strong opinions. The thing is, you knew our lives would be crazy while we built our careers. We both did. We also knew it wouldn’t last forever. After a few years our hours would settle down and we could live normal lives.”
“We had no life. The closer the wedding got, the worse it got. Everyone was telling me what to do and making all these plans. I worked through my bachelorette party. All we did was work and sleep.”
He flashed her a devastating half grin that had weakened her defenses on countless occasions. “We did more than sleep.”
She ignored him—it was her only defense. “Tell me something. How many hours do you work a week now?”
Brody took a deep breath and let it out as he walked around his desk and poured two fingers’ worth in his glass. He tugged at his tie until he could slip it over his head and toss the noose onto the desktop.
“Seventy. Eighty.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a drink. “I don’t really pay attention. If there’s work to be done, I do it.”
“Exactly my point. You’ve always been a workhorse. You still are, five years later, so when do you see those hours settling out? How long were you expecting me to wait for us to have time together, to have a life together? You know, the point of getting married is spending time with the one you love.”
“Like you work any less than I do.” He slammed the glass down on the desk.
“I’m a doctor. I had an internship and then a residency to complete.”
“I had a practice to build.”
“And that’s why I called it off. Neither of us had time for the other, nor were we willing to make the sacrifices necessary to find that time. It’s also why our weekend four months ago was nothing except a sweet stroll down memory lane.”
She had moved to the chair when he walked around the desk and now she looked to see where she’d dropped her purse and the contract. Spotting them on the floor under the edge of the desk, she swooped them up and knew she needed to get out of there before one or the other said something they couldn’t take back.
“Thanks for the offer, but I really think I should go. I’ll call the producers myself on Monday and just tell them I can’t get out of work.”
“Give me the contract. You’ve already paid my retainer.”
“You’ll call when you know something?” she asked.
He nodded, and she looked down at the contract. It was her best chance of getting free of this crazy commitment. Maybe if her boss hadn’t threatened to give her fellowship away, or if he’d promised he’d hold her job, she’d be excited about the opportunity. Meeting twenty or so guys, all prescreened, looking for a serious relationship without the hassle of dates, sounded ideal. Kind of down and dirty. Get in, find the guy, and get out.
Her kind of plan.
Maybe then she could forget about the man in front of her.
An hour later, Denise sat in her parents’ living room soaking up the heat from the roaring fireplace. Her dad, Nico, had ordered everyone else out of the kitchen while he helped her mom, Helena, clean up the dinner dishes. He didn’t fool either her or her middle sister, Elysia. Both knew “cleaning up the dishes” was code for leave or have your retinas forever scarred because their father planned to make out with his wife. Of course they had gotten over the ew factor when they’d left their teens behind. It was actually pretty awesome how much in love her parents still were after thirty-five years together.
“Hey, there you are.” Elysia walked back into the room with baby Xander on her shoulder. “Dad was sure full of stories tonight, wasn’t he?”
Their dad worked at the airport and for years he’d been regaling them with stories of the crazy stuff he witnessed every day. Her sister paced back and forth, bouncing the baby, who was voicing his displeasure to the world.
“Here, let me take him and you relax for a couple of minutes.” She took the little guy—all fifteen pounds of him—kissed him on both cheeks, and made silly faces before turning him around to hold him with her arm across his stomach. Within minutes of patting his back, the baby settled down. “Gas,” she told her sister.
“You’re a natural. If you’d stayed with Brody, I bet you’d have the start of your own basketball team by now.” Elysia cracked her neck and rubbed at her shoulders as she watched Denise with the baby. “I love holding him, but man do my shoulders tighten up.”
“Thanks.” She ignored her sister’s careless comment; there was no way Elysia knew about her earlier exchange with her ex or how loud her internal clock was ticking these days—not that it mattered. “I’m happy with borrowing this little man for now. I wish Chel had made it home for dinner tonight. Where is she anyway?”
Bill, her brother-in-law, walked in, saw his wife, and began to rub her shoulders without being asked. Elysia closed her eyes and a little moan of encouragement escaped, and everything inside Denise turned green with envy. Her sister had it all: a great career as an accountant—well, one she loved—a loving husband, and the bundle of joy in Denise’s arms.
She wanted the same,
had almost had it. A shame really, as Brody gave spectacular back rubs. And what usually followed wasn’t bad either. Oh well, there was no changing the past. She chalked up her strange mood to the crazy events of the last few days, being anxious about the show, and the lack of excitement in her life. Spring couldn’t arrive fast enough. At least then she could escape the indoors on her days off and hit the bike trails.
“Chel and Jack went out to the Cape for the weekend.” Her sister shuddered before continuing. “Way too cold in February to be hanging at the beach. But you know those two. They won’t leave the cottage until it’s time to come home, so they’ll never notice the weather.”
“Sounds like the perfect getaway to me.” Bill continued to work out the knots.
“Well, I had—”
“Who wants dessert? I made brownies this afternoon.” Her mom walked in carrying a tray of deliciousness with her husband right behind, carrying a pot of coffee.
Yuck. Her parents were Greek, as in from the islands, and they still made Greek coffee—or, as Denise thought of it, sludge. Thanks, but no thanks. If she needed a caffeine boost she’d get hers from a nice, cold Coke.
Elysia turned to her husband and nodded. He stopped rubbing her shoulders and turned so they sat side by side and took her hand.
“I’ve got good news. I’m pregnant again.” Elysia beamed.
Denise stopped bouncing Xander as her sister’s words sank in and shot straight to her heart. She’d always wanted kids, had hoped to have at least two of her own by now. Not that the blame landed on any one person. Even if she hadn’t called off the wedding, the situation would remain the same. Life had thrown a curve her way and instead of leaning into it and hitting a home run, she’d struck out. Now she had to deal with the fallout on her own. Only she hadn’t thought things would turn out as they had.
Silly her. She had believed—with every part of her being—that Brody would come after her. Would fight to keep them together and make things work. He hadn’t. Not a phone call, not a text, not even a message through a third party. He’d cashed in their honeymoon tickets and taken the guys on a dive trip to Mexico instead. When he returned he’d gone on with his life as if she’d never been a part of it.
Fiance for Keeps Page 3