Nick remained in Boston with his father, who wasted little time in remarrying – this time to a fellow attorney, an ambitious, intelligent woman who understood and supported Roger’s rapidly advancing career. Nick was left largely in the care of nannies, sent to the same elite private schools that his father and grandfather had attended, and had been subjected to the exact same sort of rules and controls that they had had to endure as well. But from the time he’d been old enough to think and speak for himself, Nick had rebelled against those rules, had chafed against the controls. Roger had blamed his son’s continual defiance on the bad genes he’d inherited from Sheena, and dealt with Nick’s rebelliousness by imposing still more rules. By the time Nick had entered his senior year of high school, he’d been counting the days until he turned eighteen and would finally be free to make his own decisions and control his own life.
The very first thing he’d done in preparation for his liberation had been to rather calmly inform Roger that he had no intention of following in the family footsteps, either by attending Yale or becoming an attorney. Roger had stared in speechless shock when his only child had announced very matter-of-factly that he would be attending Stanford instead, courtesy of the athletic scholarship he’d been offered, and would be majoring in finance. Roger had protested, of course, had shouted and threatened and had very nearly taken a swing at the son who now towered over him by several inches and outweighed him by more than thirty pounds. But all of his yelling and theatrics had been of no avail in the end, because Nick had intimidated his father in more than a physical way and Roger had thrown up his hands in exasperated surrender.
From that point on, Nick had immediately begun to make his own rules, control his own life, and for the past twenty-odd years no one had ever tried to defy him or bend him to their will. Not his teachers, his coaches, his employers. It helped, of course, that Nick had always come to class or football practice or the office more than fully prepared, having thoroughly studied the lesson or the game plan or the investment, and by doing so had gained the respect of his superiors and colleagues along the way.
Roger had certainly tried many times over the ensuing years to re-assert his control over his son, but had not so graciously conceded defeat each time. As for his mother – well, that was a whole different story, wasn’t it? Because if his father had been an uptight control freak who lived his life according to an archaic rule book, then Sheena had delighted in breaking every single one of those same rules and then some.
Had it been under Roger’s – and the rest of the Manning legal team’s – complete control, then Nick would likely never have been allowed to see his mother at all. But even though Sheena was something of a fluttery birdbrain with little common sense, the same could not be said of the sharp, streetwise attorney who managed her business affairs and contracts. It had been due to his influence that Sheena had set her stiletto-shod foot down and insisted on having summers and holidays with Nick. Roger hadn’t been able to block his ex-wife’s access to their son, and thus Nick had spent his summers and most holidays in various parts of the globe with his glamorous, fun-loving mother – in Monte Carlo, Buenos Aires, St. Bart’s, Mallorca. And Sheena had more than lived up to her well-earned reputation as a free-spirited party girl. Wherever they happened to be staying for the summer – a rented villa in the south of France; on her current boyfriend’s yacht sailing around the Greek Islands; in the luxury condo in Acapulco that belonged to her agent – there were always lots of other people hanging about, always a party of some sort happening. Sheena’s vibrant personality attracted an entourage wherever she went, and Nick never knew who he’d find sleeping in a guest room or passed out cold on the living room sofa. Sheena had a constant parade of husbands, boyfriends, and lovers, was always in love, always happy, and had never learned the meaning of the words privacy or discretion. Whenever Nick stayed with his mother, it was a sure bet that the paparazzi was also close by. He’d still been a young boy when he had become repelled by their persistence and intrusiveness. His own image had been plastered all over the tabloids, usually next to a photo of Sheena drinking and dancing with the current man in her life – men who had gradually become younger and younger as the years passed. Nick had been angry and upset at this gross invasion of his privacy, especially when he returned to school in the fall and had to bear the brunt of jokes from his friends who’d seen one or more of the photos.
So when he’d left for Stanford at the age of eighteen, it had been with the intention of never allowing anyone to either control or exploit him ever again. He would no longer be pushed and pulled between a father who tried to enforce rules that controlled every aspect of his life, and a mother who lived with no rules whatsoever. Nick quickly found a happy medium to exist in, one where there were certainly rules but only ones of his own making and where he was always the one calling the shots.
When he’d become a professional football player, he had tried his best to avoid interviews and press conferences, and more often than not was photographed in his full uniform – helmet included – in order to conceal his face as much as possible. And he’d learned early on how to steer clear of women who craved the spotlight, who adored the idea of dating a professional athlete and all the media attention that went along with it. He was scrupulous about keeping his private life private, one of the reasons he rarely dated the same woman more than a few times.
And the control he insisted on was never more present than it was in his business dealings. Almost from the very start of his career as a stockbroker, Nick had made it very clear to his clients that he expected them to follow his recommendations to the letter. Those who had disagreed or resisted had been politely referred to a different broker. He hadn’t cared much who he turned away, either – CEO’s, business owners, celebrities, pro athletes. More often than not those who had initially refused his proposal had wound up opening an account with him anyway, especially when they heard from friends and associates just how gifted Nick was at the art of making money.
Yes, Nick liked his life just fine, liked the fact he had no obligations, no one to dictate to him or make demands, no one to answer to. His schedule was entirely his own, he could decide how and where to spend his leisure time and with whom. But here he was, approaching forty in less than three years, and exactly what did he have to show for it? Certainly a staggeringly large bank account and stock portfolio; a fantastic waterfront home here in Sausalito; several expensive cars. Then there was the Super Bowl ring, the MVP trophy, years and years worth of other trophies and awards accumulated during high school, college and his time in the NFL. He had a wide network of friends and acquaintances, though he considered less than a handful of them to be in his so-called inner circle; and he had managed to forge a distant but acceptable relationship with his parents. Roger was a federal appeals judge, still living in Boston but now with his third – and much younger – wife. Sheena still flitted from one glittery locale to another, in between making movies and TV appearances. After her fourth marriage had ended in a very predictable divorce, she’d sworn off getting married again and simply took lovers. The last one, Nick recalled with disgust, had been several years younger than he was.
By almost anyone’s point of view, Nick had it all – the perfect life, certainly everything he had ever wanted for himself. But he was honest enough to admit that it was a lonely, solitary existence, and that he had a great deal of difficulty in allowing anyone to get close to him. It was why his relationships with women never lasted very long, and why he’d pushed Angela away so hurtfully when she’d gotten too close.
He missed her. And now he wanted her back.
Nick grabbed the bottle of wine and poured the rest into his glass, resisting the urge to bolt it down as he grappled with the truth he’d just admitted to himself.
During the years they’d been apart, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of her too often – half-afraid that he’d give in and call her up, and even more afraid that she would tell him to go f
uck himself if he did. But he recognized now that the time they’d spent together had been one of the best of his life. He’d enjoyed her company – her wit, her mildly sarcastic sense of humor, all of the things they’d had in common. And the sex, of course, had been phenomenal. She’d always been eager, hot, and willing to do anything he asked, always anxious to please him. He’d taken other women out after the break-up with Angela – to dinner or a party or for drinks – but it had been several months before he’d actually felt the need to take any of them to bed. And the sex had always been casual, impersonal, even meaningless, strictly a normal physical release with zero emotional involvement. Sex had become so unsatisfactory, in fact, that his self-enforced celibacy had been due at least in part to the strange ennui that had overcome him in the last few years.
He hadn’t realized until he had seen her today exactly how much he needed Angela back in his life and in his bed. Her bed, technically, since he still wasn’t ready to bring a woman here to his sanctuary. And now, seeing how skinny and pale and despondent she’d become, he vowed to do whatever it took to make her snap out of her ghost-like existence. He’d bring her back to life, and then he’d bring her back to him.
Nick knew without being told that things would have to be different between them now. He’d hurt her badly, used her, broken her. There would have to be some compromises made on his part, while still retaining control over the relationship. But one way or the other, he was going to claim his angel again, and this time he wouldn’t be so foolish as to let her go.
Chapter Sixteen
Late May
“Okay, looking great there, Angela!
“You got this, girl!”
“Three miles until the finish. You’re killing it!”
Angela gave a brief little wave of acknowledgment to the aid station volunteers as she headed back out onto the trail towards the finish line at Stinson Beach. Today’s fifty kilometer race had been a challenging one, with some of the steepest climbs and rockiest terrain that she’d ever run. But she felt strong, even after twenty eight miles out here, and knew from reports she’d been given at the various aid stations along the way that she was one of the top women in the race right now.
She was virtually alone on the trail as she left the aid station, entering a section of the course than ran through a rainforest-like environment. It was cool and shady, overgrown with ferns and moss, and at this point largely downhill. She glided over rocks and tree roots with relative ease, but remained cautious, having suffered more than a few nasty scrapes or a twisted ankle from falls on trails like this.
Today, in particular, she’d badly needed the release that running always brought her, had needed it more than ever before during these past few weeks. Ever since Nick Manning had arrogantly swaggered his way back into her life and started chipping away at the impenetrable walls she’d erected around herself.
When they’d both worked at Jessup Prior, it had been an extremely rare occasion when she caught a glimpse of Nick at the office – a chance encounter in the elevator, seeing him across the room at a meeting. She’d longed for such rare moments, had had to constantly fight the temptation to walk past his office just for a brief glimpse of him. But now, when he was the last person she wanted to see, it seemed he was hanging around constantly. Scarcely a day went by when he wasn’t poking his head into her office and making some sort of half-teasing, half-caustic comment that never failed to make her blood boil. And Nick, the evil bastard, would merely chuckle when she made a cutting remark in response, or asked him in her very best ice queen tone to leave her the hell alone.
And, after each of his annoyingly unwelcome visits, Cara would almost always pop her cheerful but meddling little head inside her office, either to sweetly inquire if everything was okay or to gush once again about how smoking hot Nick was. And Cara, forever the caregiver, the “little mother” that Angela had dubbed her, would invariably find a way to offer her a package of cookies or a candy bar, or plop a sandwich or a donut left over from an office meeting right in front of her. More often than not, Angela would find herself reaching blindly for whatever Cara brought in, and had, to her astonishment, somehow managed to pack on almost ten pounds over the last month.
She’d gained so much weight, in fact, that she’d had to dig out her size two wardrobe and even some of those things were getting a bit snug now. It was a good thing that her otherwise modest sized bedroom boasted a sizeable walk-in closet, because Angela wasn’t one to get rid of things easily. Lauren liked to call her a packrat or tease that she was going to become like one of those pathetic people on Hoarders, but it really wasn’t all that bad. Admittedly, though, she did have a lot of clothes, and in four different sizes ranging from the tiny size zeroes that had recently become too tight up to the fabulous size six designer wardrobe that Nick had bought her several years ago.
Despite her repeated assurances to Lauren, Angela had never been able to summon up the will to get rid of all the things he’d given her. She would resolve to do just that, would grab a box of extra-large trash bags and march into her closet, prepared to fill the entire box of bags up. But then it would only take one fleeting memory of the night she’d worn a particular dress for her to abandon the clean-out project yet again. At least she’d finally gotten around to covering all of the things he’d bought her with zippered garment bags, so that they didn’t serve as constant reminders whenever she had to grab something from her closet.
“Crap!”
Her thoughts a million miles away, she’d lost focus for a moment and stubbed her toe on a rock, causing her to wobble precariously for a bit before she regained her footing. She couldn’t afford such distractions, she told herself angrily, and blocked everything out of her mind as she covered the last mile or so of the course. Normally she’d have her ear buds plugged in, letting the music drown out her troubled thoughts, but headphones weren’t allowed at most races for safety reasons. So for the final mile of the race she tuned everything out, an ability she’d honed to a fine point these past few years, and just let the pure joy of running take her over.
She could hear the sounds and voices coming from the finish line before she could actually see it, and the adrenaline rush she always experienced at the end of a race allowed her to sprint the final few yards. The trail and ultrarunning community was a tight-knit one, and even though Angela was still an aloof loner for the most part, a lot of the other runners and volunteers had come to know and recognize her. Their shouts of encouragement as she crossed the finish line actually brought a rare smile to her face, and she high-fived several of the finish line crew as they offered congratulations.
Someone handed her a bottle of water, and she was drinking it down thirstily when a familiar voice sounded to her right.
“Congratulations, Angel. That was a pretty impressive sprint to the finish, especially after a thirty mile race. I never knew you were that tough.”
Angela whirled to face the very last person she’d expected – or wanted – to see here this morning. Nick was grinning at her wickedly, and he looked so damned sexy her already weary legs grew even weaker at the knees. Unshaven and wearing a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses, he looked dark and dangerous, his neatly pressed dark wash jeans and pristine white cotton shirt making her acutely aware of her own sweaty, disheveled appearance in running shorts and short-sleeved top. The sight of his powerfully muscled forearms, bared by the way his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, made her eyes widen, and she couldn’t help but recall exactly how strong those arms were, and how much she’d loved to have them wrapped around her.
But then another image came to mind, that of the night he’d all but shoved her out of his car – and his life – and she glared at him fiercely.
“What in the world are you doing here?” she hissed. “And please don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become a fan of ultrarunning because I won’t believe you.”
Nick chuckled. “Not really much of a spectator sport from what I can see. A
nd not quite as exciting as a basketball game or a tennis match, is it? I actually happened to be meeting with a client who has a weekend house here in Stinson Beach, and was passing by this way as I was leaving. Thought I might as well check it out while I was in the neighborhood.”
She took a drink of water, gazing at him warily. “Why is it I don’t believe a word you just said? But, hey, it’s a free country, isn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some dry clothes on.”
But, to her chagrin, Nick didn’t take the hint and ambled alongside her as she walked to her car. As she unlocked the door to pull out her sweats bag, he ran a hand admiringly over the hood of her Toyota 4Runner.
“Nice wheels,” he commented. “I see you finally upgraded from that rattletrap you used to drive around in.”
She nodded, reaching inside her bag for a towel and a clean T-shirt. “It was time. A present to myself when I went into partnership with Barbara.”
Nick grimaced. “How the hell did you put up with that bitch anyway? From everything I’ve heard about her, she was merciless, mean as a snake, and never let anybody get in her way.”
Angela gave a mirthless little laugh as she briskly toweled off her arms and face. “Sounds an awful lot like most of the men I’ve met in this business, yourself included. Except that just because Barbara was a woman in a man’s world, everyone called her a bitch for working hard and going after what she wanted. You know what they’d call a man who did the same thing? Successful.”
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