by Jean Oram
No, no, no.
Devon pulled up to his garage, silently getting out to open its overhead door, then drove the car in, hiding it inside as he closed them in the darkness. He opened her car door when she remained still, shocked by his level proposition.
He was rejecting her.
She’d screwed up and that was it. He was sending her back to where he thought she wanted to be—with her parents.
“I’ll never be perfect, Devon, but throwing away the possibility of a deal is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” He held out his hand to help her out of the car, his expression grim. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”
He looked like he might be serious. If he was, then she was about to lose everything.
She had to do something. She’d come too far, was too close to having it.
She clung to Devon’s hand after she was free of the car, forcing him to look at her in the garage’s dim light. “I’m trained for this.” Please trust me.
“I have a lot at stake here, Olivia. And I don’t know if you got this or not, but this is my home. My people. My family.”
“I have a lot at stake, too.”
“Yeah, making more money,” he said, turning to the door that led into the house. “Hardly the same thing.”
Wordlessly, he disappeared inside, Mr. Right scrambling after him, barking a hello to Copter. Stung by Devon’s impression of her intentions, Olivia followed, stopping in the entry. If she went any farther she’d leave a trail of mud. She heard the back door open and close as he let the dogs into the backyard, then the sound of him running a bath before he returned with what looked like a handmade blanket.
She shook her head. Yeah, she was cold, but so what? She’d warm up again. Probably even before she died. If she let him drape the exquisite afghan, likely knit by his grandmother or someone equally dear, over her she’d ruin it.
When she didn’t accept the offering, Devon placed it over her shoulders despite her protest.
“You’re cold.”
“Not cold enough to ruin a handmade blanket.”
He pulled the afghan tight under her chin, meeting her eyes. Her shivering stopped. “See? Immediate problem solved.” His voice was low, patient, completely sexy.
“You’re such a man.”
“You used to like that about me.”
His tone was lighter now, his solemn mood from earlier hidden. She wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not.
“Devon, we can do this. We can beat Barry.”
“I’m running you a bath.”
“Very thoughtful, but you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m thinking.”
She knew he could be like her on things that mattered a great deal: stubborn. She needed to strike now, not once the cement around his mind had time to harden into concrete, making it immovable.
Her phone rang again as Devon went to shut off the bath water. She wrenched open her bag and answered with a curt, “What?”
“Ovvy?” It was Emma, using her childhood name. Her voice was small, which meant things were not good.
Olivia’s problems faded away as she focused on her sister. She had the feeling this was not about her and the protesters making the news. It was something much worse.
“What? What is it?” And why was she miles and miles away from her right now? Yes, Emma was in her late twenties—almost thirty—but Olivia was, and always would be, her big sister, and would always feel the need to be at her side when she ran into trouble.
“You know how Grammy had that thing with her bone marrow?”
Olivia’s legs lost the power to hold her up and she sagged to the floor, grateful that Devon was in the other room. “Yes,” she whispered.
“The doctors called me with some test results.”
“No,” she whispered, her heart slamming in her rib cage.
“They…they think everything might be okay, that it’s not bone cancer or anything scarier than a bone cyst or a lump, but I’m still scared. They found toxins like in Grammy. Our cosmetics are supposed to be safe, Ovvy, and I haven’t used anything but Carrington.”
Olivia shut her eyes, knowing this changed everything. Every. Thing.
The injustice of it, the unfairness, made her want to throw a rock through the front window of the family’s office headquarters back in South Carolina, as well as scream and yell about why they hadn’t made a change sooner. How could they care more about their bottom line than the health and safety of women—their own daughter included? Olivia knew it wasn’t that simple, but it felt that way.
This was going to devastate their father. Absolutely. He’d feel as though he’d done this to his baby girl. “Do Mom and—”
“Don’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”
“I swear I won’t.” Both sisters knew that if anyone outside the company discovered that their cosmetics had made one of their own family members sick it would become a PR nightmare—one Olivia was nowhere near equipped to handle. Scandals like this could ruin a company, their family, her sister. “I love you, Emmy.”
“Don’t lose the valerian, Ovvy. Please. Women need it.”
Olivia looked up as Devon returned to the entry where she was still on the floor. “I know, Emmy. I won’t.”
She stood up. There was still time to figure this out.
“I promise.”
Devon didn’t know what Olivia’s phone call had been about, but there was a set look in her expression that hadn’t been there before he’d gone to check on the tub.
He didn’t know what to expect from her any longer.
She’d gone from proper businesswoman to a mess. She’d ruined not only her shoes and her manicure, but the dress, too. He was pretty certain its label said dry clean only, not wash in rainwater and mountain mud like you were a little kid. Earlier, it had been slightly endearing seeing her appearance less than perfect, but now her whole look from top to bottom said woman-dangling-at-the-end-of-her-rope. He didn’t think it was due to their arguing or even their past, but rather, something else. Something current and vital.
He slowed as he approached her. When he’d suggested she go home, he’d been serious. She was convinced they could win, but he couldn’t see how. Not when they kept butting heads and bringing up the past, unable to trust each other.
But looking at her now…he got the distinct feeling she wasn’t going anywhere. She was prepared to dig in.
Olivia stepped forward. “We need to win this, Devon. If you don’t become mayor, the dam goes through and you lose…” She twisted a hand through the air as though trying to sum up his world. “And I lose…” She clenched her fist as though pulling on something, her face tight with what resembled grief. “I lose what’s important to me.”
“There isn’t enough time to pull this off.”
“Then we need to move faster.”
She kicked off her heels and stepped forward again, sliding slightly with the mud that had built up on the bottoms of her feet. Devon reached out, steadying her as the blanket fell from her shoulders. The way she clung to him, that special fizz that always seemed to permeate his bones whenever they touched, grounded him, made him think maybe she was right. Maybe they could be partners again.
He was a sucker.
“Devon, you need this. I need this.” Her voice was shaking and he knew it wasn’t just the cold. Miss Cool and Aloof had been impacted by something during that call and it had changed everything for her. “You need to win that election at all costs.”
“At all costs? You sound like the country’s safety is at risk, Ms. President,” he said lightly.
Devon may have been willing to unearth his ex-girlfriend after a decade of avoidance, but it didn’t mean he was desperate enough to forsake who he was or what he stood for.
“We need to figure out how to turn this around and then do it. Immediately.”
When he remained quiet Olivia let out a shudder, her whole demeanor deflating. He lifted the blanket from the floor, carefully w
rapping it around her again. But when he saw her face, his soul cracked open.
She was crying. Bravely trying to hold it in, be strong.
He stood awkwardly, unsure what to do.
He’d seen her cry only once before, and he’d been walking out the door, her begging him to understand.
Slowly he dragged a hand down his face. He’d walked out the door. In the car, she’d said she’d been scared when she’d found out she was pregnant. He’d been shocked, for sure; scared too. But only for a moment, because he knew he had Olivia. And if he had her, he had everything that mattered.
However, she hadn’t felt the same way. She hadn’t felt secure in the idea that he’d be there for her, that she could hold on to him and he’d find a way to keep them both safe. He’d assumed at the time that what he’d offered—himself, his love, a small town and a good job—was an insult to her upbringing. And maybe that was true in part, as it would have been a big change for a woman who’d grown up in a mansion. But he’d walked right out that door. Said things he couldn’t take back, then left when she’d told him to, granting her wish to deal with it all alone.
Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe her words had actually been less about him and more about what she’d said in the car today—that she’d felt as though she’d failed.
But to him she hadn’t. She’d created something out of their love. A life. Something to be joyful of.
And yet Olivia seemed to have felt the pregnancy was a personal shortcoming.
I’m perfectly aware of each and every way I’ve failed to live up to everyone’s expectations.
If only she’d known how much he’d loved her, how much he’d wanted to bring her home to Blueberry Springs, show her off, have a family and be the luckiest man on Planet Earth. Where she’d seen failure, he’d seen nothing but opportunity.
He reached out to her, tenderly wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Emma has what Grammy had and it’s because of cosmetic toxins and it’s all my fault for not finding a cure—a solution—a stabilizing agent sooner.”
“What?” She was barely making sense.
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, no careful dabbing to protect her mascara. She was real, raw, and it terrified him. “I know it’s not my fault, but it feels like it is.” She grabbed his shirt in desperation. “I need this valerian. I need this for the products. I can’t allow more women to get sick. I just can’t.” Her grip on his shirt lessened, her desperation replaced with resolve as she took one step back, composing herself through the tears. “So I either work with you or I go around you. Do you understand?”
Her tears were still falling, streaming down her cheeks. Despite it all, he could see her resolve. Her strength.
Her mind was made up.
He’d seen that look once before and knew not to disregard it. Especially where her family was involved. And Emma was her kid sister. He knew what that was like. That protective feeling, the need to shelter a younger sibling from the slings and arrows of life. It was a big burden, but it was worth it. And sometimes, more important than anything else.
Devon couldn’t abandon her. Not when her sister needed her the most. He couldn’t right a wrong from the past, but he could prevent himself from making another. He would stand by Olivia. He wouldn’t leave her to face the fear alone.
He pulled her into his arms, hugging her close. “How are we going to make this work?”
“I know a good PR manager,” she said hopefully.
He took her gently by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length, studying her. Did he trust her to help with his campaign? To work some magic on their mutual cases?
But at all costs?
“I don’t want to compromise my values, who I am,” he stated.
“I promise you won’t have to.”
“Partners then?”
“You might have to get married,” she said with a wan smile.
“Strangely enough, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that today.” He directed her toward the bathroom. At the door, he removed the blanket from her shoulders, catching a hint of her perfume. It was new, but so wholly Olivia it brought back memories from college.
He didn’t know what he was doing, keeping her around. It was probably the stupidest thing he could possibly do—inviting in a whole new world of guaranteed pain. And yet…it felt right.
His fingers found the top of her zipper and Devon braced himself for the peep of her lavender lace undergarment.
Olivia jumped forward, spinning. “What are you doing?”
He laughed, raising his hands in the air as though under arrest. “This is my cue to leave. Good luck getting out of that thing.” He turned, but she caught him.
“Just…just close your eyes,” she said with a sigh. “I really don’t want to be stuck in this stupid dress for days just because I can’t reach the zipper. Mud is not my color.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Yeah, that was a joke.”
“Good.” His smile felt genuine. “Then we can definitely work together.”
She turned, revealing the back of her dress and what felt like so much more. Her trust. Trust to help her save her family. Trust to help her with a product line that seemed equated with her identity.
Trust.
From Olivia.
The very idea darn near broke him.
7
Olivia bit back a smile as she took in Devon’s discomfort. After her amazing, rehumanizing bath—hot water had never felt so luxurious—she’d dressed him up like an adult and instructed him on how to behave like a proper, respectable candidate. There was no time like the present if they were going to work together so they may as well make the most of their waning weekend hours to do a little campaigning.
He’d bickered. Said people knew what he stood for. The wardrobe change was all too much, too fake. Blah, blah, blah. Argue, argue, argue.
Yeah, he didn’t do fake. She hadn’t been asking him to. Just shed a light on his finer qualities, of which he had several.
If Emma hadn’t needed her, Olivia probably would have told Devon to take a flying leap for all the grief he’d given her. Instead, she’d swallowed her frustration and summoned a level of patience most often found in saints. And it had paid off. She’d worn him down until he’d placed some well-earned faith in her abilities, and was currently looking very professional in his suit, his “sign my petition” spiel polished.
The plan? He was going to ask the senior citizens of Blueberry Springs for signatures on his petitions and she was going to watch how he operated, then come up with a strategy on how to maximize his best qualities.
Easy.
She’d been trained for this kind of stuff.
The only hiccup was that she obviously wasn’t going to make it back to the retreat tonight. She’d missed golfing with her father last night and was about to cancel tonight’s dinner with the family as well. If she didn’t play her cards right, her father could quite possibly send a helicopter to come claim her. But she would worry about that later.
Right now she needed Devon to win her the rights to a field of valerian.
“You know what?” he said from the doorway to the continuing care area, where elderly patients with medical needs resided. “People can either take me or leave me.” He loosened his tie—the only one he owned that was devoid of a cartoon character. “I’m not changing for them or pretending to be someone I’m not. If they like me, they like me as I stand.”
“Do you want to win?”
He glared at her as he weighed his options, before marching into the room, clipboard in hand, his tie loose but still not completely discarded.
Uh-huh. She’d thought so.
“Nothing like having your ex-girlfriend rake your personality and image over the coals to feel good about yourself,” he muttered when she caught up with him.
“Don’t be a baby. You’re still you. Only less obnoxious.”
He turned, head tipped
the side, feigning boredom. “Did you just insult me?”
“Oh,” she said innocently, enjoying that they were able to engage in some lighthearted banter. “I thought you were trying to come off that way. So sorry.”
He let out a light snort, but she caught the hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re a real pain in the butt, you know that?”
She smiled sweetly.
Devon cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. “All right, Miss PR. Do your thing.”
“I am doing my thing. I’m watching you flail about and avoid acting like a real candidate.”
“I’m not flailing and I am a real candidate,” he grumbled.
She pretended to make a note on her clipboard.
“You want to see me strut my stuff? Is that it?” he asked, leaning closer. He smelled amazing. “Do you?” he challenged, his voice low. Her body tightened in something that felt an awful lot like anticipation. If, say, she was actually attracted to the man. Which she wasn’t. She was much too mature to fall for a guy like him. Again.
“Strut away, mighty peacock,” she challenged.
He turned and strutted to the nearest table, his feet doing some strange kick thing that had the older ladies amused. Olivia sighed. Was he intentionally trying to do the opposite of what she’d asked? Highlight your trustworthy, leadership qualities, underplay your goofy, immature side.
Apparently that was a difficult thing for him.
The women’s expressions turned to concern as their amusement over his entrance faded, and Olivia straightened, on the lookout. What had he done? What had he said? She eased closer to catch what Devon was saying.
“No, no. No funeral,” he declared, loosening his tie. “Sorry to concern you. Just dressed up because, as you know, I’m running for mayor.” He struck a pose, and Olivia sighed and looked at the ceiling, summoning her strength.
The table of women relaxed and Devon shot Olivia a glance as if to say, “Told you the monkey suit was too much.”
Okay, so maybe she’d overestimated a tad. It didn’t mean she was completely off base. He had to look the part and a suit was better than what he usually wore, even if his hair was a bit too long and brushed the top of his shirt collar.