by Livia Quinn
“So what have you found?”
“Three options. One is a single-family residence with high ceilings and a small yard. The owner will consider renting but it needs a good bit of work and if she gets wind that you’d be opening a business there she’s liable to make you pay for any fixes so ‘mum’s the word’. Next, is a vacant office space downtown in what used to be that indoor mall. I don’t think you’ll like it, but the price is right.
“And last, my dearie,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “just what you’re looking for. In the industrial park there’s a building that’s way behind on its lease. The owner hasn’t decided if he is willing to rent again, but so far he’s been open to a lease-purchase option. The location of this property is such that you could use the forest and acreage behind it to shoot outdoors. There are no plans to develop it anytime soon.”
“What’s the availability of Internet?
“All are hooked up to high-speed cable. Let’s get the eyesore out of the way first.”
Buffy knew right away the house wouldn’t do. The woman had six dogs living inside the fence and when they entered the house, two cats scampered away. The house itself looked like it was two years shy of being razed to the ground. She politely surveyed the bottom floor and said to the owner with a glance at Ted, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I mentioned to Mr. Calloway that I needed larger rooms,” laying the blame on Ted in their usual good girl bad guy routine.
As they drove away, Ted said, “Well. I’m glad I went there with you. I’d hate to have carried a client into that pet pit. The other place is just around the block.”
The office space was suitable for only that in Buffy’s opinion. “There’s no way I could transform this into a studio where it wouldn’t still look like an office. I can’t even remove the ceiling tile for more height. This was the one with the right price, huh?”
“Yep.”
Buffy climbed back into the truck. “I swear, you could have warned me you were bringing this monstrosity. I’d have worn pants. I think you enjoy—no, I know you enjoy giving me a hard time. When are you going to grow up?”
“I was just trying to get you to smile, Sis.” His disappeared. “You seemed a little off when you got back from D.C. and then the other property fell through. Anything you want to talk about?”
Ted meant well, but she didn’t know what to say. I met the perfect man for me and he’s not cooperating? Nope, she couldn’t go there with Ted, even if he did love her.
“I’m okay. I just really need to find a place and get started. I can’t put anything in motion—create a marketing plan, order equipment, get a phone or interview staff.”
“I have an idea. How about you establish a temporary office in my extra room at the business. I’m just using it as a supply room right now. You could have it for as long as you need it. Get a land line and Internet separate from mine, make your calls, interview folks until we find something.”
“Teddy, I love you. You are the best brother. Most of the time,” she grinned.
His identical grin smirked back at her. “There’s always payback.”
“I figured. How soon can I move in?” she asked.
“Give me tomorrow to clean it up, or, come over and help me clean up. I’ll put the desk and stuff in there where you want it, and it’s yours.”
Buffy heaved a sigh. “That’ll be a big help, Ted.”
The industrial park came into view and Ted drove down the back street. An olive brown metal structure, the main entrance set off with siding, and a four-foot tall ornamental garden, stood at the end of the block. As warehouse buildings went, it was just the right size. She liked the look of it.
They walked up the steps, which were hidden by the wall and greenery and through the front door to a reception area. “The furnishings stay,” said Ted. “Most of the desks and chairs are heavy wood and leather. The executive offices—there are two—have built-ins and the warehouse itself is completely open so you could partition it off as you please.”
After looking at the offices and finding more than she’d hoped for, she followed him down the hall past a conference room and kitchen and out into the warehouse. Nice offices were well and good, but this would be the production area and therefore, the most important facet of the property.
Seeing it, she could picture the placement of lighting and backdrops. The space would allow for dressing rooms and six potential sets, so there was room to grow. Would she be biting off more than she was prepared for?
“How much are they wanting?” she asked anxiously.
He named a figure that was definitely out of her range, without a sizable down payment. If they couldn’t talk the owner into a lease/purchase or a straight lease, the deal was doomed. “See what you can work out. Lease, lease with an option… I want it. How soon will it be available?”
Ted checked his clipboard. “This is September…not until mid November or first of December.”
“Okay, get on it.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he chirped.
“I’ve decided I want to tackle that office cleaning today,” she said, re-energized.
“Whatever, Sis. I’ll help you between client calls.” Sure he would. “Let me drop you at your car and I’ll meet you there.”
In the end he discovered he had three or four forgotten appointments.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The afternoon and the next day, they dragged out boxes of old files and sports memorabilia—Ted was a huge Hornets fan—and gave everything a thorough wash and wax. She doubted he’d even touched the room in the four years he’d been in business. The only reason the bathroom passed temporary inspection was that he had a twice-weekly cleaning service.
Ted helped her arrange his spare office furniture, loaned her a phone, a few office supplies, and a wall-sized cork/whiteboard. Without a permanent address she couldn’t order business cards, contact film companies, nail down models or set up accounts with vendors.
She shook her head, frustrated. So she touched base with Sally and some of the other authors on her list. She’d been encouraged by the interest they’d shown in the photos on her online gallery.
The board arrived and Ted helped her install it. She divided it into three sections—what she still had to do administratively to get the business up and running, which included marketing, printing materials and ordering equipment. Next, a list of costume and set designers, and models. The third part of her board was the best of the photos she’d taken in D.C. In her folder on her desk were the ones she’d taken of Ridge. His images really stood out, even raw.
She missed him. She’d found herself looking at the picture of him in that Seal uniform almost every day, and was reminded of the few evenings she’d spent with him. Had he just gone on with his work and forgotten about her? The photos of them together were only for her, not for the public, and they sizzled. She unclipped the “Ridge as Seal” picture and studied it once again. An idea had taken shape in D.C. but she was afraid she’d be overstepping to put it into action.
Having accomplished everything she could until her prospective employees showed up the next day for interviews she drove home. It never got old—driving up into the circle drive in front of her two-story farmhouse.
Fog was hovering just over the fields and creeping toward the house, giving everything a hazy overlay. The gas lights at the walkway and on the porch glowed with a warm amber light and the wide glass windows revealed the low light of the matching chandeliers in the living room on one end of the house and the dining room on the other side of the entrance.
Home. The place she’d longed to be so many times she couldn’t count. Her chest expanded with contentment regardless of the fact she still didn’t have an appropriate dwelling for her business. She just had to believe it was on the horizon.
Buffy threw her jacket and keys on the kitchen counter and walked straight to her bedroom to take a shower. She felt grimy and couldn’t wait to knock off the layer of dirt from the day’s cleaning. She fel
t satisfied that she’d made some forward progress toward getting Calloway…Studios…open.
That was another thing. The name wasn’t quite what she wanted. She fixed herself some cheese and fruit and a couple slices of peppered turkey and poured a glass of wine. Then she turned on the lights of the insert for the gas fireplace, since it wasn’t cool enough for an actual fire and settled onto the loveseat in front of the faux flames.
Perhaps she should be worried, but Buffy had always had a sense that things would “go as they were meant to go”, another family saying, this one her great-grandfather’s. He’d used it the first time he’d told her how her great grandmother hadn’t let him quit on life. She’d been his nurse after the war…
Buffy started at the sound of footsteps on her porch, followed by the doorbell. Automatically she looked down at what she was wearing, and snickered. The sure sign of a career model, always checking to see if she was ready to be seen in public. She’d be so happy when it was no longer an automatic reflex. Her second reaction was to check the clock on the old mantel. Almost nine.
Setting her plate and glass on the coffee table she walked to the door. She could see the large figure through the beveled glass but it took a peek through one of the side panes to identify her caller. Ridge.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ridge had spent the weeks since he’d seen Buffy putting out fires, working through the red tape to transfer ISS to his partner. There’d been multiple meetings with the board of the consortium, background checks on other companies and their CEOs in their constant search to expand.
Congresswoman Vork had been lobbying the other committee members since the report in the newspaper. Ridge received calls from members who urged him to stand strong. One man said if he’d been single and wound up in a room with a hundred women and was ‘built like Ridge’, he’d have jumped at the chance to have some harmless fun. “It’s not like you were strippin’,” he’d said laughing.
But then there was Vork’s side, which continued to hint at his true, deviant personality in addition to misuse of veterans’ platforms for his own personal gain.
Thankfully, the committee relied on the regular checks and balances that were in place for all government contractors instead of calling for an investigation that would have stalled the transfer, fouled the optioning of WBI, and caused more delays for veterans awaiting care.
Even with all the grief that little episode had caused him, and regardless of what he’d said to Buffy, he couldn’t seem to remember it with anything less than pleasure. And finally meeting the real Lana Maisel wasn’t even the top pick on his highlight reel. He’d tried to tell himself it was a fling with a celebrity, even that—maybe—she’d used him to rid herself of that pesky virginity, and now that he’d gotten to know her, had sex with her, he could simply kick her out of his fantasies.
The problem was, Buffy Calloway had taken Lana’s place, and Buffy wasn’t an out of reach celebrity. She was the kind of woman he admired, and he wished he had the time and the experience to cultivate a relationship with her. She was still there, taking the top spot in his fantasies.
Since she’d been on his mind, he’d contacted the cover models he’d met and asked them about their work, about agencies like Buffy’s, getting as much detail as possible. He asked about some of the outfits they’d worked with, how they were alike and different. Now, he had a reason to see her again. That’s not what he meant. He owed it to her after the way he’d left to find out if she was still in need of an investor.
He and one of the other CEOs in the consortium and a friend, kept an eye out for potential low-risk investments. Ridge knew without a doubt that Buffy would succeed with the right kind of startup counseling and funds. That did not include his face on her stock photos, he’d make that clear.
His flight from D.C. had been delayed in St. Louis due to thunderstorms and rain when he landed in New Orleans. It was late when he arrived in Larue, a good hour from the airport. With the mist rising off the warm waters of the bayous in this part of the state, low visibility had made the drive even longer and tedious.
Once he’d driven past the sign that welcomed him to Larue, pop. 46,433 he’d realized his error. He’d passed up the strip on the Interstate where the hotels were. He decided to take a chance and catch Buffy at home.
The Maps program on his phone led him straight to her door even after driving through some narrow winding back roads. Her home was an early twentieth century farmhouse, which looked like it had been renovated to the latest standards. He wasn’t an expert in architecture but it looked as if it would be right at home on the cover of Southern Living, with soft light on the stone walkway inviting guests to come and sit on the wide porch. Someone was definitely home.
He parked behind her white Porsche and started up the steps as a light rain began to fall. As he looked over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the fog that had been hanging above the road the whole way from the airport had sunk to the ground, and very soon it would be hard to see their cars from the porch. He pressed the bell in the middle of the pretty brass plate and heard the chimes go off inside.
She peeked through the glass. The door opened and the woman he’d thought couldn’t get more beautiful than he’d seen her last, was cast in the warm light of the gas lamps, looking delectable in a pale aqua camisole and lounge pants, fiery hair hanging down across one breast, while the other showed an obvious interest in his arrival.
Unless that just meant she was cold, because he’d been frozen in place, gazing down at her. “Hi,” was the most eloquent apology he could come up with.
She swallowed. “Ridge? What a surprise,” she smiled. Her first thought was how incredibly glad she was to see him.
He gave her a sheepish look, which was adorable on his handsome face and said, “Yeah, about that. I didn’t anticipate the drive and Larue’s location to be quite so…”
He’d anticipated seeing her, though, wondered how she’d receive him. She laughed. “Out in the sticks? Poor thing, with this fog I’ll bet it was a terrible drive. Don’t just stand out there, come in and get warm. These rains always bring a chill with them, or a sauna.”
She reached for him and he accepted a hug. While she stroked his back, he felt the roaming beast within him make a circle and prepare to curl up by her warmth. “It’s raining and my shoes are wet.” Idiot, she can see that with her own eyes. He sighed. “Look, I can go find a hotel, if you’ll just point me in the right direction. I didn’t think I’d be this late—”
“Nonsense, I have plenty of room here. Your hair’s wet. Let me get you a towel, and you can slip your shoes off right over there,” she said pointing to a mat next to the door. “Give me your coat and come sit down.”
She took his coat, his briefcase and tugged him by the hand to the love seat in front of the fire. He frowned at the fireplace and she said, “It’s fake. This time of year I have the electric insert in it for atmosphere, but it’s easy to pull out. Are you chilled?”
“No, I’m fine, really.”
“Ok, I’ll just get that towel. And how about a drink or a glass of wine, some cocoa?”
She stood looking down at him, waiting, and once again, he was struck by a sense of well being that was rare for him. He wasn’t one given to anxiety or depression though he’d had his share when John had died, but somehow being with Buffy raised his comfort quotient to the top of the scale.
“Come here,” he said, and tugged her down next to him. “I think this is what I need right now,” he murmured before taking her lips with his. She moaned beneath him and her arms clasped around his neck. All thoughts flew from his mind and he just savored the taste of her, the soft silky texture of her shoulders in his hands, her moist pliable lips giving in to his need to separate and explore her mouth.
She groaned around his tongue as it swept hers up in a tangle. Her hands crawled into his hair shaking droplets of water on them both and like a fresh shower of cold water, they broke apart, startled and th
en laughing.
“Well,” he said, “that was not…” his words trailed off.
“Yeah,” she grinned. “I’m sure.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips and patted him on the knee in a gesture meant to be comforting, but he was pretty sure comfort wasn’t something his libido was after tonight. “How about that drink?” she asked.
“Scotch, if you have it. Rocks.” He watched her move, those famous hips swaying as she walked away. What the hell—sorry, Carrie—was he doing here? He could have called. Should have called. Good manners had flown. He’d had no right to walk in to her home unannounced, drag her to the couch and kiss her. Of course, she hadn’t exactly put up a fight, or said, ‘This is a bit soon don’t you think, Ridge?’ Nope, she’d thrown herself into that kiss, into his arms as if she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her.
He sighed. And there was the truth. He had wanted to see her again. He hadn’t even known how much, and he hadn’t called for fear she’d tell him not to come. The investment thing wasn’t a ruse, exactly, but it was an excellent reason to see her in person. Maybe she’d believe that.
She handed him a half full tulip shaped tumbler and edged in next to him. Those gorgeous eyes locked with his as she placed the towel on his head and gently caressed the strands making him nearly purr with pleasure. His eyes closed momentarily and when she removed the towel, he tried for nonchalance but his gaze met hers, and he saw she was making no such attempt. It was the look she’d given him that night when he’d wanted to dive into the sea of blue and never come to the surface again.
He took her hand in his, intending to give her a chance to kick him out, slap his face, put what was happening between them on the skids before it went any further, but she turned his hand in hers, took the scotch from him, sipped it, and set it on the table. Then, she eased him back on the couch.