by Calista Fox
Bayli had made it through two years of college before the expense of her mom’s heart surgeries and at-home care had depleted all of her savings and Bayli had had to get a job. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type to settle on just one thing, so she’d worked a bunch of odd, part-time jobs rather than finding something full-time. Even though she had tried at first. But landing a position in San Francisco’s Financial District that would pay her the kind of salary she needed for medical and living expenses required the degree she’d never gotten. A vicious Catch-22 for her.
“Try not to worry about me,” Bayli said, ever the optimist. “Everyone in this business has to pay their dues. Once I meet some other models, I might be able to find one or two of them to room with and that’ll be a huge help. In the meantime, let’s talk about this little plot of yours, Jewel.”
“Bay’s right, Jewel,” said Scarlet, a fiery redhead who worked in River Cross as an independent insurance-fraud investigator. She had an inquisitive mind and a voracious appetite for solving mysteries, a trait that came from her famous crime-novelist grandmother. “One card gets out of whack and your house comes crumbling to the ground.”
“I have the agreements all drawn up,” Jewel told them. “Everything’s in place. I just need my itinerary from Cameron, which she’s finalizing as we speak. I leave tomorrow for the whirlwind trip to collect all the cards.” Her own enthusiasm was as strong as Bayli’s.
The girls had helped Jewel connect the dots, and by this time next week she ought to be at the Angelini estate with her legal team to execute the sale with Gian.
Scarlet said, “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do to help.”
“You’ve been fantastic. I owe you big-time.”
“Are you kidding?” Bayli gushed. “This is the high point of my day! I love researching all this stuff. And watching Scarlet hunt it all down.”
“You’re geniuses,” Jewel said. “Now, Bay, I’m really worried about—”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Her friend waggled a finger onscreen. “Do not stress about me in New York City. I am thrilled! I already landed fifteen hours a week at a public library, so you know that puts me in heaven right there. I also have ten hours on weekends at a gelato stand in Central Park—now doesn’t that sound fun for the summer? And, oh! I totally forgot to tell you that Christian Davila is opening up a steakhouse with the very brilliant celebrity chef Rory St. James along the subway line from where I live—just a hop, skip, and a jump away. One of Christian’s first restaurants was Bristol’s and it’s apparently very near and dear to his heart, so I thought that me being a River Cross ‘hometown girl,’ it’d be pretty easy to land a waitressing job there.”
“Yeahh,” Scarlet said, drawing out the word with notable skepticism. “Um. Let us not forget that the last time you tried serving was at Alioto’s on the Wharf, and you spilled a glass of red wine on the mayor’s wife. Who happened to be wearing all white that evening.”
“Oh, please,” Bayli scoffed. “Everyone spills at some point in their career. Yesterday, I was talking with a server at a place around the corner and she said she took home a tray and piled books on top of it and carried it around her apartment, figuring out the correct weight placement and getting used to hauling the load all with one hand. I can totally do this. And how great would it be to work at a premier restaurant with a celebrity chef while I’m trying to break out as a model? I’m sure to get discovered, right?”
Now she gnawed her bottom lip.
Jewel’s heart constricted at her friend’s hint of insecurity. “Bay, you are totally going to be discovered. You’re sensational. So, so beautiful. And the most photogenic person I’ve ever known. No offense, Scarlet, but there’s no camera angle under the sun that captures the two of us in a good light. We always look like we’ve just tasted a bad Bordeaux.”
“Or our eyes are closed,” Scarlet lamented. “I swear, when the three of us are in a photo together, it’s as though whoever’s taking the picture is focused solely on Bay and doesn’t give a rip how shitty we come out.”
Jewel laughed. “You’re so right!”
“Aw, you guys.” Bayli dabbed at the corner of her eye. Fanned her face with a hand. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“No tears,” Jewel insisted. She was still on the verge of her own sobfest over Rogen and Vin. She couldn’t afford anything sparking it. “Just promise me that if you need anything—anything at all—”
“Like dental floss,” Scarlet quipped, stealing a line from one of their favorite movies, Pretty Woman.
“Yes,” Jewel agreed. “Like dental floss. Or rent. Call me instantly.” She pinned Bayli with a stern look. “I’m deathly serious here, Bay. Do not, under any circumstances, hesitate to call. And for the love of God, please don’t forsake a single meal. You are absolutely perfect, and missing dinner because you can’t afford it is not an option.”
Now fat drops tumbled down Bayli’s cheeks. “You know I can take care of myself, girls. This might not be a mansion in River Cross, Jewel, but it already feels like home. Like I found my place. So please, please trust that I can handle this and believe that someday soon I’m going to be squealing on one of our calls that I’ve landed the cover of Vanity Fair.”
“Oh, we’re counting on it,” Scarlet said. “And you’re immediately autographing two copies and sending them our way. Immediately.”
“If not sooner,” Bayli said as she whisked away tears.
Jewel said to Scarlet, “All’s well with you, too?”
“Well, I wasn’t spotted on the patio of Bristol’s having champagne and charcuterie with Rogen Angelini and Vin D’Angelo over the weekend, but yes. All’s well.”
Bayli gasped. “What was that about, Jewel? You haven’t seen either one of them in years.”
Waving a dismissive hand in the air, because Jewel did not want to travel this twisted path—she had not told Bayli or Scarlet about her encounter with either man at the gala—she said, “It was strictly business. Related to the house of cards.”
“So, Rogen knows you want the land?” Scarlet asked.
“Yes. And Vin has advised him to not provide the third signature I need.”
“What?!” Bayli blurted.
“It’s a long and complicated story,” Jewel told them with a shake of her head.
“Jesus,” Scarlet added. “Isn’t it always that way with the three of you?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, it hasn’t gotten any easier.” However, Jewel had returned to the adage of out of sight, out of mind. For her own sanity. “It doesn’t matter, really. I’m extremely close to getting what I want, and that’s where my focus is.”
Granted, even coveted real estate was a sorry second to Rogen and Vin. But there was no way she could ever choose between the two of them. And there might not even be the possibility of it, especially with Vin so angsty toward her. So why deliberate over a potentially nonexistent scenario?
If Jewel had her inn to concentrate on and preoccupy every waking minute, that would make her happy. She could live with that as the main fulfillment in her life.
Hopefully.
One erotic thought did continue to sizzle and snap in her mind, though.
She asked her friends, “Either of you know Holly McCormick?”
“Not well,” Scarlet said. “She was in town for about a year, then left for six months. Just now returned. She’s a Realtor, but I think she has some other business ventures elsewhere.”
“Hmm.”
“Why do you ask?” This from Bayli.
“Just curious. Have you ever heard of her mentioned along with Rogen … or Vin?”
“Sure,” Scarlet said with a devious smile. “France says Holly has the hots for both guys. And they’ve both dated her.”
“Just dated?” Jewel innocently ventured.
“Apparently, anything’s possible with those two,” Scarlet said. And winked.
All righty, then. Nuff of that line of questioning.
Luckily
, Cameron entered the office, giving Jewel an excuse to get off the topic of her two favorite men. She told her friends, “I have to go, ladies. I’ve got one crazy whirlwind escapade to embark on.”
“Good luck,” Bayli said.
“If you need us for anything, let us know,” Scarlet added. “Fingers and toes crossed. Not the legs, though. I seriously need to get laid.”
“I’m so certain my assistant needed to hear that.” Jewel laughed.
They said their good-byes and Jewel disconnected the call.
Cameron told her, “I don’t understand why they’re both still single. You, either. Except, well … I know your history.”
“Don’t you mean my hang-ups?”
“I was trying to be polite. Now, I have your flight schedule all mapped out. Cabo San Lucas, Las Vegas, Paris. Joseph and Lars are taking a second plane to accommodate security and shipping of the paintings and scotch, but the yacht is to be transported by the new owners’ designated people. Jack from Legal will be on hand, too, in the event any issues with the agreements pop up. Accounting will handle the initial electronic transfer of funds immediately at your request.”
“God, you’re efficient.” Jewel collected her laptop and packed up.
“You do understand that if even one deal falls through you’re not getting that land.”
“I love that you’re a realist. Truly, I do,” Jewel said. “But let’s all have a little faith here. Bayli and Scarlet laid some awesome groundwork, and I put everything systematically in place. This is going to work.”
Cameron handed over the itinerary. Jewel slipped it into her bag as well. Then she left the office, took the elevator to the ground floor, and climbed into the town car waiting outside the lobby of the Catalano Enterprises building on Sacramento and Davis Streets. The early-evening fog had rolled in. The gray haze ribboned through the skyscrapers and the Embarcadero Center, filled with restaurants, shops, and galleries. A light mist fell.
Jewel had always found the weather in San Francisco sultry and provocative, adding a mysterious element to a city already brimming with alluring personality.
The first flat she’d rented with Bayli and Scarlet, who’d both gone to San Francisco State University with her, had been on Columbus Avenue and Greenwich Street along the edge of North Beach. Rumor had it scenes from a Dirty Harry movie had been filmed there, and the front rounded windows had a straight shot to Alcatraz Island. The Powell-Mason cable car line ran just outside her door, and she’d gotten a kick out of the ching-ching of the bell every time a cable car stopped at her corner.
She’d loved the unique view and the energetic ambience. The sunsets over the bay and the foghorns from ships in the early morning.
Now she owned a Victorian house in the upper-crust Pacific Heights neighborhood, per her parents’ request, since they deemed it safer. The street she lived on was beautiful and well maintained but admittedly lacking the character of the Wharf and Columbus Avenue, which held the sinfully delicious aromas of roasted garlic cloves and fresh seafood from the multitude of Italian restaurants and the sounds of music and laughter echoing through the corridor of the avenue from the pubs and bars she missed frequenting.
Actually, she missed all of artsy, lively North Beach. Mostly its zesty, mouthwatering, mozzarella-dripping pizza slices.
She considered whether she’d move back to River Cross once she broke ground on the inn. It’d likely behoove her to establish an office there and be on-site on a daily basis. She just wasn’t sure how that decision would sit with her father. He liked having her in the San Francisco headquarters, keeping her finger on the pulse of the company.
But Jewel contended that even if he wanted her to eventually take over, that wouldn’t be for another two decades, since her father was only forty-eight. And she had three older, male cousins currently serving as executive vice presidents who might be better suited to run the organization when the time came—and if her inn panned out.…
Jewel contemplated that scenario as the car wound through the city and then pulled into her drive. Behind a pewter-gray Range Rover.
“Were you expecting company?” her chauffeur asked.
“No. But I think I know who it is, so it’s okay.”
Rogen.
She had no idea what vehicle he drove, though this one seemed befitting of him. Elegantly rugged.
But what was he doing here?
EIGHT
Rogen was sprawled in a chair on the porch when Jewel ascended the steps and propped a hip against a tall column along the railing.
“How’d you find me?” she asked.
“Wasn’t too difficult.”
“Yet you’ve been back in California for six months and this is the first time you’ve shown up outside my house.”
“Yeah, well.” He hauled himself out of the chair. “You haven’t exactly called, now have you?” He gave her a pointed look.
She said, “I lost my phone years ago and had to reprogram a new one. I didn’t have all the old numbers written down anywhere.”
“The ‘old’ numbers.” Contacts from the past—her main connection to the past.
He couldn’t tell if her excuse was just that or legitimate.
Did it matter?
Probably not. They’d willingly and consciously split paths.
“So what are you doing here this evening?” she asked as she unlocked the double doors with crystal-cut glass insets and pushed one open.
Following her into the large foyer, Rogen said, “Need to talk business with you.”
Jewel disengaged the alarm, then dropped her keys into a decorative bowl on a narrow table against the wall and set her laptop bag at its base. Another table—a large, round one—sat in the middle of the foyer with a fresh bouquet of calla lilies in a slender, cylinder crystal vase. Rogen helped her out of her full-length coat and hung it on the rack in the corner, along with his brown distressed-leather jacket.
He took in the wide-open space of her home, with glossy hardwood floors, thick molding, rich wood accents. Three steps off the vast entryway led up to the bedrooms on the right, and three led down into the living room on the left.
He eyed the fireplace and the aspen logs stacked neatly next to the hearth and said, “Why don’t I make a fire and you go change into something comfortable? Get out of those five-inch heels you seem to love wearing.”
She gestured toward the fireplace and said, “It’s gas. The logs are just decorative. The switch is under the mantle.”
“Fine. I’ll pour wine instead.”
He wandered into the cavernous room while she went in the opposite direction. He lit the fire, then crossed to the wet bar and studied the impressive labels in the wine rack, selecting a Sangiovese. He pulled the cork and splashed a healthy amount into two glasses. Took a deep sip. Nearly spewed wine when he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Jewel’s approach.
Turning to her, he said, “Jesus Christ. Do you always have to take my breath away?”
“It’s just lingerie.”
“Hardly.”
He set aside the glass and closed the gap between them. His fingers grazed the silky black material at her shoulders. “I don’t really see the need for the robe.”
He eased it down her arms and tossed it toward one of the sofas. She wore a black lace nightie with a tight, demi-bra bodice that plumped up her breasts and had crimson satin woven through it. A tiny matching bow sat between the valley of those enticing globes that nearly spilled over the scalloped edging. The rest of the material was clingy, sheer lace, hugging the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, ending at the tops of her thighs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he caught a glimpse of ass cheek in the back.
Rogen’s muscles bunched and his cock sprang to life.
The woman did things to him. And she hadn’t even touched him. But he could tell she wanted to. Could see it in her eyes as her gaze roved his body, taking in his navy-colored T-shirt, the short sleeves straining against his bicep
s, a small portion of the bottom hem tucked behind a belt buckle. He was dressed in jeans and his dusty-tan suede boots.
Her gaze lifted to his face and her breath caught.
Reaching a hand out to him, Jewel grazed his abs with manicured fingernails. Then slipped her palm beneath his shirt to lightly caress his skin. Turning every inch of him rigid.
“Why does it feel like time just melts away when we’re together?” she asked in a quiet voice. “As though seven years apart don’t even exist.”
“Because we’re comfortable with each other. Aware of each other on every level.”
“Right.” She inhaled deeply, held the breath in for a few moments. “I love how you smell. So masculine. So tough, resilient.” She let out a soft laugh. “Those aren’t actual scents, are they?”
“I think I get it.”
“I think so, too. You always get me.”
Her sapphire eyes held myriad emotions. Some of them easy to peg. Longing. Adoration. Others not so simple to decipher. Because they ran deeper. Were more complicated.
Rogen grabbed a fistful of material at his nape, hauled his shirt over his head, and dropped it to the floor.
“Touch me,” he murmured, his own longing intensifying with every second she devoured him with her hungry gaze.
Her hands grazed his hot skin, up to his chest, along his shoulders. Down his arms. Back up, her nails trailing across his collarbone. Then her palms splayed over his pecs as Rogen’s head dipped. His lips swept over hers. His insides ignited.
He pulled her to him so that she had to shift her hands to his back, allowing their bodies to press together. He kissed her deeply, their tongues tangling. One hand combed through her silky hair. The other cupped an ass cheek and squeezed.
She returned his kiss with equal fervor, her fingertips digging into his solid muscles. Her body rubbed against his, making him hotter. Harder.
When Rogen finally tore his mouth from hers, he slipped a hand between them and unfastened his belt, his jeans.