by B. B. Miller
I go through several other stories: Rebecca, a sixteen-year-old from Boise with Hodgkin lymphoma who studies French and wants to be an interpreter, so we sent her and her family to Paris. Bryant, a fourteen-year-old from Boulder with a brain tumor who dreamed of floating in zero-gravity, so we arranged for that and a personal meeting with Buzz Aldrin at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. By now, my audience is sitting forward in their seats, and several eyes are gleaming with unshed tears. They are captivated by the faces on the screen and hopefully able to connect what they’re seeing to the figures in their spreadsheets—and feeling good about it.
Finally, I move into my closer. “And last, this is ten-year-old Hailey from Medford, Oregon.” Chuckles fill the room at the precocious, dimpled grin of the curly-haired brunette. “In spite of her brain tumor, she dreamed of seeing her favorite Disney characters, Belle and the Beast on a Broadway stage. What’s Your Dream, with your help, brought Hailey and her mom to New York, where they stayed right here at the St. Regis. Box seats at the theatre, stops at the Children’s Museum and FAO Schwarz, and a hansom cab ride through Central Park, not to mention an enormous room-service hot fudge sundae, made her dream come true. And, I have it on good authority, she may have a teensy crush on her St. Regis butler, Fred.” I wink, eliciting a round of laughter. “These are just a few of the dozens of dreams that came true through the generosity of Starwood Hotels. On behalf of my staff and the children whose lives you’ve touched through What’s Your Dream, I thank you. Here’s to another year of making a difference.”
The applause is gratifying. I can tell from the looks on their faces that I’ve gotten through to them. During the break that follows my presentation, I shake several hands as Pavel escorts me out. Once in the hallway, he takes my hands in his, his eyes serious. “Thank you. It’s good for them to connect with the real world once in a while.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I assure him with a smile. “It’s a small thing, really, compared to the joy their generosity brings.”
“We’re scheduled to go until five, and then I have to attend to a couple of the members. Would you be available to join me for dinner? Say at seven?”
“I’d love to, but I really need to prepare for my meeting with the Yankees tomorrow. But I’ll be here until Wednesday. Perhaps tomorrow night?”
“I think I can arrange that. I’ll call you tomorrow to confirm the time,” he says, but then his attention shifts to the crowd preparing to return from their break. “I must go. Have a lovely afternoon, and don’t work too hard.”
We part and I make a beeline for my room and kick off my shoes with a sigh of relief. I love high heels, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to take them off. I pop open a Diet Coke, sit down at my laptop, and lose myself in work.
Kennedy
MY ARM FLAILS as I swing and miss Tucker . . . again. His answering snort does nothing for my current mood. “Pretty sure you can do better than that.”
I glare at him as he taunts me, bouncing on the balls of his feet in the middle of an aging boxing ring in a gym a few blocks away from the St. Regis. Of course, Tucker knows the guy who owns the gym. I think he’s going to make it a mission to “know a guy” in every damn city we visit.
I really shouldn’t complain about an hour of undisturbed time—a rare occurrence for me—but I’ve been dropped to my ass on the sweaty canvas floor of the ring more times than I can count, so I think I’m entitled.
He motions for me to come at him again. “Did I mention you’re a royal pain in the ass?” I grunt as we circle each other.
“You love me, sunshine. Admit it.” Sweat drips from my brow as my chest heaves with exertion; my ragged breaths fill the dingy room. He, of course, hasn’t even broken a sweat, and I’m reminded once again as my stomach rolls of the glaring differences between us.
“Never.”
His fist makes contact to my side and I wince. Pathetic, really, given that he’s probably only got it dialed to just below light on the effort scale. “I’ve got some news that may be of interest to you.”
“What’s that?” I manage once I’m able to actually speak and regain my balance.
“I think I’ll make you work for it.”
The blood pumps wildly in my veins. It reminds me a bit of the feeling I get right before I go on stage, only this is sheer frustration and anger rather than euphoric anticipation.
“Tucker.” I warn.
“Lips are sealed until you can land a punch, big guy.” With my chest heaving, I scowl at him.
“You know I don’t like it when you keep things from me.”
“You’d have a heart attack if you knew about half the shit I keep from you. That’s for your own good. This, however, you’re going to like.” He makes a show of leaning back against the ropes, craning his neck from side to side before coming at me again.
I manage to swerve away from him in an awkward and clumsy display. He looks only mildly impressed when I block his right jab. “Come on. You want to know? Hit me.” His relentless torment continues, pushing and testing me over and over.
“My six-year-old cousin could do better.” My weary body hits the floor under the force of another punch.
A few minutes later, it’s, “You call that a punch?” And even better, “I thought you were supposed to be coordinated.”
That last one strikes a nerve, and with the adrenaline coursing through me, I bury a right hook to his side, my head snapping up to meet his surprised face. Moments like these, where Tucker is vulnerable, are few and far between. I bounce away from him feeling more than a little smug even though every muscle in my body throbs in pain.
Lifting my glove-clad hand, I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Okay. Out with it.”
He grins, approaching me with his usual confident stride, still coiled to strike. “Abigail Walker is staying at our hotel.”
I drop my arm, staring back at him dazed and unsure if I’ve heard him right. Maybe he’s rattled too many brain cells this morning. “What?”
Out of nowhere, a swift jab makes impact with my stomach, sending me crashing to the floor in a heap as my world spins. “Fuck,” I spit out as his face comes into view above me, and he lowers his hand to help me up.
“Rule number one: Don’t ever let your guard down.”
“How did you find out she was here?”
Tucker leads me through a service entrance that opens to the back of a large ballroom at the hotel.
“You seriously want me to answer that question? Jesus, man. Give me some credit. I’m the head of your security detail. I get paid to know things.”
He crosses his arms in front of me, blocking my view to the room. “I saw her in the lobby, talking to a group of people this morning, all right? It wasn’t difficult to get the rest of the information.” I step to the left and he moves with me, preventing any further forward motion.
“Stay to the back with me out of sight. If memory serves, the last time you two were in the same room together you just about took each other’s heads off.”
“Yes, Dad. And give me some credit this time. You honestly think I’m going to heckle her?”
He shifts to the side, and we step into the shadowed alcove of the back of the ballroom. I take in the detailed architecture and vaulted ceilings . . . I bet the acoustics would be fantastic in here.
The crowd, however, is another matter. I usually feed off the energy of a crowd, but this bunch feels lifeless and dull, lethargic even. They could use a serious pick-me-up.
I scan the sea of suits, looking for signs of life . . . looking for her. Finally, I see her, and it’s more lethal than any punch Tucker could ever pack. Standing off to the side, a little nervous and slightly vulnerable. I’m treated to the sight of her moving across the stage. Her dark hair is up and away from her neck, exposing the smooth, unmarked flesh, just tempting me to taste it. The stilettos bring an immediate grin, and I wonder again if the impeccable suit is all a front. If she’s hiding who she really is. If th
ere’s a slightly wilder and adventurous side hiding beneath this well-crafted facade.
She starts talking, and her voice wakes the dead audience up. Anyone can recognize passion when they hear it. It speaks to people on an emotional level, and she has it. This is her life, her mission, and I feel a twinge of pride as she gives a little insight into each precious face that flashes on the screen. I know she would move the earth for these kids. This kind of commitment isn’t something you can fake.
My world narrows to her, and I’m fixated. Every single detail permanently etched in my brain. Without the hangover and freight train barreling through my head, I get to fully appreciate her unfiltered: her full lips, the gentle curve of her waist highlighted by the harsh glare of the projector.
I want her in ways I know I shouldn’t. Beyond the instinct to pull her tight body against mine and keep her from every single set of male eyes. I want to lose myself in her. Take my time to find out what makes her tick, what she’s like when the walls come down and I see her, really see her, for the first time.
As her speech comes to an end, Tucker guides me back into the kitchen. “Happy now?” he asks.
“Find out what room she’s staying in, and I will be.”
“I’m on it.”
“And find me a piano.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Hang on, I have one right in my back pocket.”
“You’re an ass.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You need to play.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Abigail
“Here you go, Miss Walker.” The ever-efficient Gregory sets the rest of my shopping bags down beside the sofa. After a successful meeting with the Yankees’ charitable foundation, I celebrated at Saks and Barneys. My butler barely batted an eye at the plethora of bags he helped me carry up to my room. “I noticed that your supply of bottled water was running low. I have a lovely selection of beverages here that I hope will appeal to you,” he continues politely, gesturing to a tray he must have set up earlier. “And I have a message from Mr. Orlov. He invites you to meet him in the King Cole lounge this evening at seven. Shall I tell him you’ll join him?”
“Please do. Thank you, Gregory.”
“My pleasure, Miss Walker.”
A couple hours later, I walk across the lobby to the hotel’s King Cole Bar. Most of the tables are taken, but I spy a couple of open seats at the end of the bar. I drape my short trench coat over the seat next to me, slide onto the high stool, and check my phone. I’m a little early. Eh, no matter. I take a deep breath and let my eyes roam over the whimsical mural behind the historic bar, feeling vastly contented. It’s been a good trip. First, an excellent presentation to the Starwood group yesterday, then the Yankees today. It’s been a job well done.
In celebration, I order a Grey Goose martini instead of my usual Pinot, and add it to my room tab. I glance around for Pavel. I’m probably going to shock him—he’s never seen me in anything besides suits. I’ve left my hair long and flowing, and I’m wearing several of the items I purchased today: a red silk shirt over a black tank, and black leggings tucked inside a sensational pair of knee-high stiletto boots. I almost drooled over the butter-soft black leather at the store and couldn’t hand over my money fast enough.
I love boots; what can I say?
“Here you go, miss.” I nod my thanks at the bartender and take a sip of the ice-cold liquid. Ah, now that’s good for the soul. Perfect. Wondering where Pavel is, I pull out my phone to text him. Almost instantly, I get a response.
I’m sorry Abigail, I can’t make it. Duty calls. Perhaps next time you’re in town?
Shoot. I was looking forward to getting out and seeing more of the city. I tap out a reply.
No worries. We’ll do it next time.
Now that I’m on my own, I suppose I should grab a bite, go upstairs, and try to get some work done. I have an early flight tomorrow; it would be smart to get some good sleep.
First, though, I’m going to finish my It’s-Been-A-Good-Day Martini.
My mind wanders, the alcohol and gentle buzz of the room lulling me, until a few plinky notes on a piano draw my attention. I shift in my seat to see a grand piano in a room adjoining the lounge. A little boy wearing a Giants jersey climbs onto the piano bench and begins to pick out “Mary Had A Little Lamb” while a young woman smiles indulgently at him. The boy can’t be more than five or six and is as cute as can be, with his blond hair sticking up in every direction. I’m instantly transported to the suite at the Fairmont, and the look of concentration on Lane’s face as he hunched over the keyboard, pulling a tune out of thin air.
A shadow falls over me, and I turn my phone over in my hand. I haven’t heard a peep from him since my rash text the other night. Not that I was expecting one really, but hardly a day has gone by in the last week that I haven’t received either an obscure text or a video from him. I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve pissed him off—or worse, embarrassed him—and endangered Parker’s dream.
On impulse, I snap a photo of the little boy and text it to him.
Were you this old when you started playing?
I sip my drink and cast nervous glances at my phone. Shit, I really have pissed him off. Of course, he could just be busy. I’m sure he’s not just sitting around waiting for me to call. I jump when my phone chimes; snatching it off the bar, I laugh.
Looks a bit young. I bet he’s better than I was, though.
Relieved at his friendly tone, I can’t help my grin, until another text arrives and I freeze.
I wouldn’t have pegged you as a martini girl.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Holy shit, he’s here! I sit up slowly and cast a wary glance around the bar. My heart leaps the minute I spy him, a hooded figure standing tall and mysterious at the other end of the bar, staring right back at me with a devilish grin. My mouth drops open as he straightens and saunters toward me, his eyes locked with mine. He’s dressed all in black again, from his heavy boots to the hoodie under his well-worn leather jacket. Reaching up nonchalantly, he pushes his hood back and runs his hand carelessly through his messy dark locks. He’s magnificent, a lethal predator, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to.
“What . . . What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice just above a whisper.
“I’ll be glad to tell you all about it over dinner. Are you free?” He stands very close, close enough that I can smell the warm leather of his jacket mixed with some spicy scent. It’s a delicious combination that makes my pulse race.
I take a steadying breath. “As it happens, yes.”
“Shall we go?” He holds out his hand, his eyes almost daring me to take it. I stare at his offered hand, feeling that, somehow, this is more than just a simple dinner. Looking up at him cautiously, I slip my phone in my pocket, gather my purse and coat, and slowly put my hand in his. His warm fingers close over mine, the sensation igniting something deep within me.
“I hope I’m not going to regret this.”
When he squeezes my hand, and draws my gaze to his, I’m trapped by those piercing sapphire eyes.
“You won’t.”
Kennedy
“HOW FAST CAN you move in those?” My gaze wanders down to her fantastic boots as we step onto the busy street. It won’t be long before Tucker comes back to the suite and realizes I’m gone, and those boots, despite being my new favorite, are going to slow us down.
“I’m not sure. I just got them,” she answers with a satisfied grin.
“I like them. Maybe not the best choice for what we’re doing, but they’ll do.” I lift my eyes back to hers, and she arches a brow.
“I didn’t realize I was meeting you and that we’d be going wherever it is we’re going.” There’s no missing the sarcasm in her voice. It’s obvious she’s used to being in control. The fact that she’s putting some trust in me is a big deal for her, and for me.
The feel of her beside me, the anticipation rolling off me in waves. The combination ke
ys me up, while I lead her to the subway stairs, slowing as we descend into the underground station. “Damn it,” I hear her mutter under her breath, her boots clicking each step. “I wish I would’ve known about this.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” My hand tightens around hers as she gingerly navigates below the bustling street.
“So, you don’t want to have dinner at the hotel for fear of being seen, but you’ll spend time on the New York subway?” She peeks up at me with an amused smile.
“I don’t mind being seen. I’m used to it—as much as you ever can be. I did that for you.”
“For me?”
“Pretty much everything I’ve been doing for the last few days has been for you.” I want her to know I’m trying, that I’m taking this seriously even though temptation is around every curve. Like Sean said, Parker is as good a reason as any to lay off the drink for a while. The truth is, I think I’m holding hands with an even better reason. I know my time is limited to change to her mind about me, and I intend to take full advantage of whatever she’s willing to give me.
Once we’re underground and I finally find the right platform, I turn my back to the smattering of people waiting for the next train. “Is it always like this? You, skulking around?” she asks quietly, her eyes meeting mine with a look of concern I’m not used to seeing.
“Not all the time. Tucker will kill me when he finds out I did this without him.”
“Is that the guy who was with you at the Fairmont and my office?” She tightens her purse against the curve of her waist. “He’s protective of you,” she comments.
“He’s paid to be.”
Tilting her head, she studies me carefully. “Do you have anyone in your life you think is there because they want to be and not because they have to be?”