by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”
She smiled lazily, letting her fingers tousle the hair at his nape. “You wouldn’t have said that.”
“But I just did. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Living in the present has its benefits,” she mused.
“Lots of benefits,” he said, and then neither of them spoke again for a long time.
Janette Rallison (who is also sometimes C. J. Hill when the mood strikes her) writes books because writing is much more fun than cleaning bathrooms. Her avoidance of housework has led her to writing 21 novels which have sold over 1,000,000 copies and made her a USA Today bestseller. Her books have been on the IRA Young Adults’ Choices lists, Popular Picks, and many state reading lists. Most of her books are romantic comedies or urban fantasies (with romance) because hey, there is enough angst in real life, but there’s a drastic shortage of fantasy, humor and hot guys who want to kiss you. She lives in Arizona with her husband, kids, and enough cats to classify her as eccentric.
Visit Janette’s website here: http://janetterallison.com/
Follow her on Twitter: @JanetteRallison
Winona Grant climbed out of the taxi, stepped over a rain puddle, and craned her neck to look at the apartment building where she’d be living for the summer. New York City. It couldn’t be more different from the California city of Irvine, where she’d grown up. The sun and sand had been replaced by rain and cement.
The taxi driver unloaded her two suitcases and carried them to the steps beneath the awning of the front entrance, getting them out of the rain quickly. The sixty-something doorman stepped forward, eyeing Winona.
“You’re Ms. Grant’s niece?” he asked as she joined him beneath the awning.
“Yes,” Winona said. She brushed the raindrops from her jacket and tried not to stare at the doorman. He wore a uniform, and he was expecting her. This was so not home.
“Do you need anything else, miss?” the taxi driver asked.
Winona could swear that the doorman had scrunched his nose, but then his expression was placid again. “I’ll assist Miss Grant,” he said with a pointed look at the taxi driver.
Winona turned to the driver and paid him the fare. “Thank you so much.”
Apparently there was some sort of unspoken protocol Winona would have to learn; taxi drivers weren’t let inside exclusive Manhattan apartment buildings, apparently. Winona shouldn’t have been totally surprised. Aunt Genevieve never went by a nickname; it was always the full Genevieve. This summer, Winona was housesitting for her aunt while she worked in Europe, launching a new fashion designer. Genevieve Grant was the one of the top publicists in the fashion industry, and if she said something was gold, it turned platinum.
By the time her aunt returned, the new designer would surely be featured in every top fashion magazine and booked for a year’s worth of shows.
The doorman started to wheel her suitcases, and Winona winced a bit, knowing they were awkwardly large. She followed him inside the plush lobby, which sported marble pillars and a thick Turkish rug. She wanted to stop and stare; instead, she followed the doorman to the elevator.
Inside, she had a chance to read his nametag. “I really appreciate your help, Mr. Johnson.”
He nodded and gave her a brief smile then was back to business, pressing the button for the eighth floor. Winona leaned against the wall and let a small sigh escape. It had been a whirlwind getting everything organized so she could spend the summer in New York. Her boss at Meyer Graphics & Design had been great about her working remotely for a few months, but it would hurt her chances at getting promoted when the vice president went on maternity leave in a week. Rumors were that Stacy wouldn’t return, and when she made the official announcement, her job would open up.
Working remotely would put Winona at a disadvantage; most likely, one of her coworkers would get the promotion. No way could Winona assume the VP job while in New York. A VP had to be hands-on with their Irvine clients. But Aunt Genevieve had asked for this favor, and Winona really owed the aunt who’d put her through college after her parents had split and her father had decided that his new wife was more important than his daughter.
The elevator chimed and stopped on the fourth floor, pulling Winona’s thoughts back to the present. As the door slid open, Winona heard a woman shouting.
A man hurried into the elevator then pressed the close button over and over.
The woman’s voice drew closer. “You’ll pay for this, Steve! You two-timing jerk—”
The doors slid shut, and the elevator jolted upward again. Winona dared sneak a couple glances at the man standing in front of her, who was taking deep breaths now. He stood a couple of inches taller than she, with dark hair that curled above his collared shirt, which looked like it had been hastily pulled on. Must have had a lovers’ quarrel. Maybe his girlfriend had caught him with another woman.
Before Winona could look away, the man turned. Warmth flooded her face as his deep blue eyes held hers. His skin was olive and his hair dark, a bit wavy with that messy look some men could pull off.
“Sorry about that,” he said. He looked anything but sorry to have fled from his girlfriend’s rants. The doorman gave a short nod and pursed his lips.
“Are you moving in?” the man asked, his gaze still on her.
Winona’s thoughts scrambled at the man’s gall. He’d been kicked out by his girlfriend moments ago, and he now wanted to chitchat?
“Sorry,” he said. “I should introduce myself. Steve Monti. Ninth floor.” He stuck out his hand.
She had nowhere to escape, so she shook his hand, letting go quickly. “Winona Grant,” she barely managed to get out.
If possible, his eyes turned bluer. “Oh, you’re Genevieve’s niece. Welcome to Manhattan.” And he grinned.
At that moment, Winona realized two things. First, she was stunned that this man could be so cheerful after his girlfriend’s tirade. Second, heat had rushed through her whole body at his smile, which meant that she was attracted to her new neighbor, who also happened to be a “two-timing jerk.”
She would have to start taking the stairs. She’d had enough of two-timing jerks in her life.
Steve Monti exhaled in frustration as he stepped out of the elevator and started down the hall toward his apartment. Nothing was going right today. First, his brand new gallery had had a cancellation. Second, somehow Leisa had found out about it. He would have loved to book her a spot, but the truth was, she wasn’t a big enough name yet. As much as he recognized her talent, his business plan didn’t include debut artists. Especially a debut artist who was also a trust fund baby with too much time on her hands, which amounted to her pestering him every chance she got.
At least he still had the anchor artists for the show, but how was he supposed to come up with another name when the gallery opening was less than a month away? Steve unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped into the cool, welcoming interior. Here, away from the bustle of the city, he’d be able to strategize how to entice one of the bigger artists in New York to display at his new gallery.
He’d probably have to lower his commission. Promise a ton of publicity. His grand opening had to be stellar to hit all the papers and media outlets. Monti Gallery couldn’t fail. Steve had put every resource he had into it, both personally and professionally. But now he had to find a new artist.
His cell phone beeped, and it looked like he’d missed a call. Probably while in the elevator and the coverage had been lost for a couple of moments. He typed in his passcode then listened to the message while grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge.
Genevieve Grant’s voice came loud and clear— a bit bossy— but that’s what Steve loved about her. She’d been a generous donor to his projects over the years, and Monti Gallery was no exception.
“Steve, dear,” Genevieve said from his voice mail. “I was hoping you could show my niece around the city. She hasn’t been here since she was a teenager, and I can’
t do it myself. I trust you, and besides, I think you two will get along great. She’s a sweet and beautiful girl.”
He winced. Genevieve had set him up with a few women over the years— mostly artists and designers— thinking they’d have something in common because of the art industry. Since everyone knew everyone else, even if it was three times removed, anyone he dated ended up as fodder for gossip. Eventually Steve had sworn off dating any woman tied to the art world. The business was too cutthroat, and Steve had made promises that he hadn’t been able to keep due to the nature of the business.
Case in point— Leisa. He’d never promised to debut her art, yet because they were friends, and she’d spilled her hour-long sob story a few months ago, she felt that he owed her now. What would it have been like if they had been dating?
Genevieve’s message ended, and he realized he hadn’t heard the last part. He pressed the number one to replay it. The ending wasn’t at all what he expected.
“I need someone I can trust to show Winona around, but someone who won’t take advantage of her— and especially someone who will not fall in love with her. She’s been through some hard things the last few months. She needs a break from men and heartache. That’s the real reason I asked her to come to New York. She couldn’t get a breath of fresh air in California with all the memories of her ex-boyfriend. She’s a bit of a workaholic, and if someone doesn’t knock on her door, she’ll probably stay in my apartment, working on her laptop, until August.”
Steve sat on one of his barstools and continued to listen, becoming more and more intrigued by the minute.
“Thanks, honey,” Genevieve said. “I owe you big for this favor. Winona is absolutely precious to me, and I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else. Love and kisses!”
After the message ended, Steve set the phone down, then took a long drink from his water bottle.
The Winona in the elevator had been a bit wide-eyed, although she was definitely a pretty girl. Her hazel eyes had complimented her dark-blonde hair in a simple way. Maybe it was the lack of the kind of dramatic makeup, opposite of what he was used to seeing among the women he worked with. They treated their faces like canvases. Steve guessed Winona to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, probably too young for his thirty-five. Besides, he had spent plenty of time with pretty women yet had never fallen in love, so he certainly wasn’t worried about whether he could honor Genevieve’s request. The only problem was that this month was perhaps the worst to play tour guide to anyone. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the time, but the gallery opening was taking his stress level to an all-time high.
Steve rose from the barstool and crossed to the living room windows, then pushed back the vertical blinds. It was still raining— not a good day to go out anyway. Yet he had to help out Genevieve. He couldn’t leave her niece hanging. He exhaled, thinking her message over again. It was soon apparent that his mind wouldn’t get the notion out of his head until he made an appointment with Genevieve’s niece. Then he could get back to finding that artist.
The apartment was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Winona felt like she’d walked into a French Baroque museum, yet it was even better than that because she could touch everything. Before she did so, she took a shower and changed into bona fide lounge pants. She’d bought four pairs, intending to take a break from public interaction. She’d been looking forward to completely letting go since her aunt had called three weeks before.
Winona wandered through the apartment and determined that Genevieve must have a professional cleaning service, as there wasn’t a bit of dust on any of the priceless antiques. A small misgiving grew in her chest. She wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, and even though Genevieve wouldn’t be home until August, Winona would have to keep the place up.
After familiarizing herself with the layout, she crossed to the living room windows. Rain was still coming down, but it created a cozy, peaceful feeling. Winona was tempted to curl up on the couch and nap with her head on a brocade pillow. Although she’d barely slept the night before, napping wasn’t an option. If she didn’t push through several hours of work, she’d be too stressed to sleep tonight.
She powered on her laptop, and while she waited for her graphic design programs to load, she found tea packets in the kitchen cupboard. New York was already proving to be heavenly. Just her, the rain, her laptop, and a cup of tea… divine.
Winona logged onto her email as the tea bag steeped. She was scanning the revision requests from a client when someone knocked on the door. The last thing she’d expected was company. Maybe it was the cleaning service? Winona didn’t move, hoping they’d go away, but when the person knocked again, she reluctantly rose and crossed the room.
A check of the peephole told her it was the man from the elevator. Steve— the “two-timing jerk.”
Had she made any noise he could have heard? Maybe, if they ever crossed paths again, she could pretend she’d been asleep. She turned away and crept back to the couch.
“Winona?” his voice came through the door. “Your aunt called me.”
Winona stopped her tiptoeing. Why hadn’t Genevieve called her? She’d better find out what was going on. With a sigh, she turned around and opened the door.
His eyes were bluer than she remembered, and his hair darker. She didn’t know why she even noticed. Paul had been blond, and she’d never really been attracted to dark-haired men. Until this one. She mentally shook her head before she could analyze the butterflies in her stomach, and said, “What did Genevieve say?” Maybe she’d called her neighbor over watering the plants or picking up her mail. But that didn’t make sense; Winona already knew those details.
Steve leaned against the doorframe. Winona supposed it would be the polite thing to invite him in. She didn’t.
He had a slight smile on his face, and Winona suddenly realized what she was wearing. She sidled a bit behind the door to hide her holey t-shirt and lounge pants. At least the pants were new, but she was also barefoot and her hair was still damp. Not to mention that she didn’t have a speck of makeup on.
He continued to smile. “Genevieve wants me to show you around the city— you know, Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the best pizza joints… all that good stuff.”
Winona exhaled, her embarrassment at what she must look like making her warm all the way to her toes. This guy was way too cheerful and confident. He must be an expert heartbreaker with those looks. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile back. He was like the rest of the men she’d ever dated: charming on the outside, insincere on the inside. Like Paul, who’d told her he loved her then broke her heart.
Besides, didn’t Steve have a job? What was he doing here in the middle of the day at her door? She was through dating men with too much time on their hands. At first with Paul, she’d thought it was fascinating that he’d sold his successful business and was financially stable, but she’d soon learned that he intended on living off that wealth for a long time and had no ambitions to do anything else but live off his money and focus on himself.
“I didn’t come to New York to sightsee,” she said, keeping her tone even. She’d let her anger at Paul creep back, making her want to slam the door in the unsuspecting Steve’s face.
He laughed. Laughed!
“Yeah, I get that. Genevieve said as much. But she’s commissioned me to show you around.” He raised his hands. “Not right now, of course. Maybe we can go out tomorrow for a couple of hours. Knock a few things off your list.”
His blue eyes would be the death of her, but the Winona-visiting-New-York was not the pushover-Winona-of-Irvine. She would not be charmed or played.
“I don’t have a list, Mr. Monti. And I didn’t come to New York for a vacation, so please don’t bother me again. I have a lot to do.”
Steve stared at the closed door after a puff of wind that had blown in his face when Winona Grant had shut it on him. Not only had she been rude, but she’d completely turned him away. It was as if she hated him. But that was impossibl
e; she didn’t even know him.
He might never, never understand women. His rational side said that that wasn’t true, that women were humans too. He felt anything but rational right now.
First the artist’s cancellation, then Leisa’s fury, then Genevieve’s completely inconvenient request, and now— a door slammed in his face.
He leveled his gaze at the peephole. Now that he thought about what had just happened, it was a miracle Miss Winona Fancy-Grant had opened the door and graced him with her presence at all.
Steve started for the elevator, then paused and turned back. He refused to let Winona stand in the way of helping Genevieve. He returned and knocked again, waiting a moment until he was sure Winona was either at the peephole or at least listening. “Look, Miss Grant. I have a busy week too, but your aunt asked me to show you around New York, and I can’t tell her I failed. She’s much too dear to me. I’ll be in the lobby at 10:00 tomorrow morning to take you on a tour through Central Park. If you’re there, then great. If you don’t show up, at least I did my duty.”
Without waiting to see if she’d open the door or speak to him through it, he turned and strode to the elevator. Then he opted to take the flight of steps to his apartment level. He was half-tempted to jump rope or pound on the floor so she’d hear it below. Instead, he sat at the desk in his office and began to search for an artist he could feature in his gallery.
Better than dwelling on Winona’s hazel eyes and scrubbed-clean face, which made her even prettier. Steve pushed out a frustrated breath. He’d been around plenty of beautiful women— models, actresses, artists… What was so different about Winona? He couldn’t figure it out, and he didn’t have time to spend on a stubborn woman.
That was it. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. She was just like her aunt: stubborn, feisty, adorable. Steve leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk, scrubbing his hands through his hair.