by Blake, Jill
She rolled her eyes. “Glad you think I have that kind of influence, Zach. But this has nothing to do with me. Santa Monica isn’t exactly developer-friendly these days.”
“Tell me about it.” He sighed. “Sometimes I just feel like pulling up stakes and moving to Alaska. Plenty of wide open spaces and land just waiting to be developed there.”
“You think they don’t have environmentalists in Alaska?”
“I’m sure they do. But I doubt they’re as rabid as the ones here. And I’ll bet you anything they don’t have preservationist fanatics who think slapping a sign on Will Rogers’ outhouse makes it a historic monument instead of a shithole.”
“Seriously? His outhouse?”
He raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Now I know you’re pulling my leg. You were never a boy scout.”
He wished he could capture this moment—the teasing glint in her eye, the playful lilt of her voice, the intimacy of just the two of them sitting together beneath a starry sky—so he could replay it whenever he felt lonely or discouraged.
She shivered again, and this time he didn’t hesitate.
“What are you doing?” she said.
Instead of answering, he nudged her legs aside and slipped in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and aligning their bodies so that her back rested against his chest.
Through the double layer of Pashmina wool and silky gown, he could feel the rigid tension in her muscles. His lips brushed the exposed nape of her neck, warm breath stirring the fine silky hairs that had escaped her upswept do. “Better?”
“Zach,” she said in a strangled voice.
“Shh. It’s okay. I just want to hold you.”
Her bottom moved against his pelvis. He stifled a groan and flattened his palm over her belly, stilling her movement. The scent of her engulfed his senses: orange blossom, jasmine, a hint of vanilla.
“Zach.”
“Give me a minute, Angel.”
He could feel her breathing. “What happens if they rescind your DA?”
He closed his eyes and nuzzled the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. “We’ll sue the city for breach of contract.”
She turned her head to look at him. “They’ll make you scale down the project. You know that, right?”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it, Zach. That’s what they’ve done in the past under similar circumstances.”
“They’ll still be in breach.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “And if we have to alter our plans to get a new DA approved, then you’re basically left without a case.”
“We can always amend the complaint.”
“And the judge can always decide to throw your case out of court.”
She shoved an elbow into his stomach and pushed up to a sitting position.
“Angel, come on, be reasonable.”
She rebuffed his attempt to draw her back down. “Whatever happens with the city council, this case is not going to just go away.”
Zach sighed and sat up, watching her scrabble beneath the chaise for her shoes. “You can’t halt progress, Angel, no matter what pinko-liberal laws you invoke.”
She sent him a scathing look. “Maybe not. But I can certainly slow things down, and make the process very painful and expensive for you.”
“Back to haggling, are we? Okay, I’ll bite. How much? Another fifty thousand for your client? Seventy-five?”
She found her shoes and stood up, pulling the wrap across her shoulders. “What you don’t seem to get, Zach, is that this isn’t just about money.”
“Oh, please.” He rose and straightened his jacket. “It’s always about money.”
She whirled around and stalked toward the house, one hand clutching the ridiculous heels, the other keeping her wrap closed against the breeze.
Zach caught up with her in a few strides. “Okay, you have my attention. Tell me what I’m missing.”
Angie slowed down, then stopped. “The Callahans need to stay in Santa Monica. He’s got stage IV lung cancer. They just started him on chemotherapy. He’s in and out of Santa Monica Hospital all the time.”
Shit. No wonder Phyllis Callahan was adamant about staying put. Too bad she hadn’t come to him sooner. This entire situation might have been avoided.
Now that CEQA had been invoked, however, there was no going back. Whether the violations S&L was charged with were real or fabricated for the sake of the lawsuit, the issue had to be addressed. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. By calling into question the decisions of the city council mere weeks before a pivotal election, Angie had all but guaranteed that S&L’s development agreement would come under intense—and likely unfavorable—scrutiny. It was like nicking an opponent with a pen-knife and then tossing him into shark-infested waters. Even if they managed to settle the case immediately, the damage would be difficult to contain. A Band-Aid over the wound wouldn’t keep the sharks at bay.
And if the city council did end up reneging on their agreement with S&L, all bets were off.
Zach ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Angie. I wish you had told me this before.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Venting his frustration was pointless. It would only antagonize Angie, and at the moment that was the last thing he wanted to do. He ran through his options. “What if we guaranteed your client and her husband housing for the next two years?”
“They need to stay local.”
“Okay.”
“Make it five.”
He frowned. “I thought you said her husband was dying.”
“Yes, but she isn’t.”
“The project will be completed in three years.”
She arched her brows. “Not if the city council rescinds your DA.”
He was starting to regret the fact that he’d shared that tidbit with her. “We’ll renegotiate with them. It’ll be a pain in the ass, but we’ll hammer something out.”
“Okay. Guarantee the Callahans one of the affordable units in the completed project, and local housing in the interim.”
“Too open-ended. What if construction takes longer?”
“What if it does?”
“Three years,” he said. “And relocation expenses. That’s my final offer.”
She nodded, then undermined his sense of triumph by adding, “What about the rest? The total number of affordable housing units? The traffic congestion?”
He clenched his jaw. “Really, Angel? You’re going to debate land use and environmental impacts with me?”
“It’s a CEQA issue, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
A gust of wind set the loose tendrils of hair around her face dancing. She hunched her shoulders beneath the wrap.
“Enough,” Zach said, wrapping an arm around her. “It’s cold out here. Let’s get you inside.”
She stiffened, but after a slight hesitation allowed him to usher her back toward the house. It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that she stopped and refused to go any farther.
“Angel?”
“I can’t go in like this.”
“Why not?”
“My feet are dirty. I need a towel or something to wipe them off before I can put on my shoes.”
Zach glanced at her bare feet. She had a narrow, gracefully arched instep, and toenails painted a pearly peach that gleamed in the dim light. He’d never had a foot fetish, but at the moment he could definitely understand the appeal.
Up on the terrace, the crowd was starting to thin. They were probably getting ready to serve dinner inside. He cleared his throat. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
And then, without waiting to see if she followed his instructions, he loped up the stairs.
~
She felt like an idiot, standing there, shivering in the stiff breeze. Zach was probably right—at least about the shoes. She should just relegate all her improbably high heels
to the back of the closet. Or better yet, sell them online and donate the money to charity.
She glanced around, wondering if there was a service entrance door she could sneak through instead of waiting for Zach to return.
Even though the house belonged to her sister-in-law’s family, this was only the second time Angie had been inside. The first had been nearly four years ago, for Grace and Logan’s wedding. Too bad she hadn’t thought to ask for a tour back then.
She wandered around the corner, along a paved stone pathway that disappeared around the side of the house.
“I should have known you wouldn’t follow directions,” Zach said.
She turned and nearly stumbled off the path when she realized he was right behind her.
He grabbed her arm. “Easy, there.”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”
“Here, I found some linen napkins.” He assessed the tight fit of her cocktail dress. “Never mind. Just hold onto my shoulders.”
He knelt down and reached for her ankle. Her skin burned at the point of contact. She clutched his shoulder for support, staring at the top of his head as he bent over his task.
“Hold still,” he growled when wriggled in his grasp.
“It tickles.”
He tightened his hold on her ankle and used a large linen square to wipe the dirt and moisture from her foot, carefully rubbing each individual toe before spreading a clean napkin on the ground for her to stand on, and then repeating the process with her other foot.
She gulped when he looked up, his eyes glittering with some suppressed emotion. She could still feel the warmth of his hand, the tingle where his thumb caressed the sensitive skin of her arch.
“Let go.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Let go of the shoes,” he repeated.
She released her stranglehold on the straps. As he helped her slip the stilettos back on, his fingers fumbling over the delicate clasps, Angie wondered if maybe she’d had a little too much wine. How else to explain Zach kneeling before her like some latter-day Prince Charming? It had to be an alcohol-induced hallucination. Any moment now, this tableau would dissipate, and she’d wake up with the mother of all hangovers.
“There.” Zach cleared his throat, balled up the napkins in one hand, and rose. “All done.”
She shook off her bemusement. “Thank you.”
“Ready to go in?”
Did she really want to spend the next few hours in a crowded ballroom, pretending to enjoy an evening of celebrities on display, even if it was for a good cause?
“I think maybe I’ll skip dinner,” she said.
“You’re not hungry?”
“No.” At least not for food. Oh, God. What was wrong with her? She had to get away from him, before he completely muddled her thinking and made her wish that fairy tales were real.
His hand settled on the small of her back. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to…” Her voice trailed off at the heat in his gaze.
They made their way up the stairs, where he paused briefly to hand the soiled napkins off to one of the catering staff cleaning up the terrace. As they passed the ballroom, the sound of laughter followed by applause drifted through the open doors.
Zach angled his head toward her. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“No, thanks.”
They exited through the echoing marble foyer, where another uniformed staff member, this one with a discreetly wired earpiece, opened the front door and wished them a good night. A parking attendant in blue jacket and black pants approached from the sidewalk.
Angie fumbled for the ticket in the black satin bag dangling from her wrist.
As they waited for the valet to return with her car, a rapid burst of camera flashes exploded nearby. Zach pulled her into the shelter of his embrace, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She pressed closer, absorbing the heat of his body. “They’ll be disappointed when they realize we’re not celebrities.”
His low laughter made her insides clench. “You want to give them something worth photographing?”
Before she could make sense of his words, he buried his fingers in her hair and covered her mouth with his. Her lips opened beneath his insistent tongue, and then he was surging inside, stealing her breath, robbing her of every thought. She forgot that they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, in plain sight of who knew how many paparazzi camped outside of one of the poshest addresses in Santa Monica. Forgot all the reasons why this kiss was so wrong, why he was so wrong, as the pleasure thrummed through her, drowning out everything except the sweep of his tongue, the hammering of her heart, the wildfire that his hands were igniting as they stroked down her back.
He was the one who finally pulled away, steadying her with a firm grip on her hips until the cool air and the sound of a car pulling up to the curb nearby filtered through her befuddled senses.
“Want me to drive?”
She blinked up at him. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to say yes!—knowing that if she took him up on the offer, there was no way she’d be spending the night alone. Then reality intruded and she released her tight grip on his jacket. “You just want to get your hands on my Tesla.”
“You’re right.” His slow grin almost melted her resolve. “I would love to get my hands on your Tesla.”
Oh, man. She was definitely in trouble. Time to get things back on track, and remind him—as well as herself—that before anything else could happen, they still had unfinished business to take care of.
“I’ll talk with Mrs. Callahan again.” She stepped back. “We’ll see you at the settlement conference.”
His grin faded. “That’s not for another twelve days.”
“I know.” And then, because she couldn’t resist, and because Zach wasn’t the only one who could play dirty, she rose up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. His strangled groan and the flexing of his fingers on her hips had her questioning her sanity. Twelve days seemed a very long time away.
Then again, she’d already waited thirteen years. Putting off gratification for another two weeks or so wouldn’t kill her.
Assuming Zach still wanted to have anything to do with her after they settled the case.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“She wants what?”
Zach calmly repeated Angie’s terms.
Tom drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as Zach completed his recitation and fell silent.
“But that’s absurd,” Bob Geller sputtered. “Subsidizing that woman’s rent for three years at market rates in Santa Monica? On top of relocation expenses, and attorney’s fees? You sure we can’t negotiate a better settlement deal than that?”
Zach suppressed a spurt of irritation. He knew Bob meant well. The man had been instrumental in S&L’s growth over the last decade, overseeing the design of several of their biggest projects. But given the problems Zach had already encountered since this whole lawsuit began, he resented having to justify himself yet again.
He kept his voice even as he reiterated, “I realize it’s a lot of money. But if you consider our daily burn rate—money we’ll continue to lose for every day of delay—as well as the fact that this kind of litigation can drag on for years, I think we’re actually coming out ahead. Remember, until we either settle or go to trial, there’s an injunction in place that prevents us from doing anything.”
That put a damper on the discussion, until finally Tom broke the silence. “If we agree to this, will she drop the other stipulations?”
“Probably,” Zach hedged. “But we might be forced to scale down the project and up the number of low-income housing units anyway.”
“What do you mean, forced?” Bob said. “If she drops those demands, that should be the end of it.”
“Not exactly.” Zach recounted the rumors he’d heard about the city council.
“Damned bureaucrats,” Tom muttered. “You th
ink it’ll happen?”
Zach shrugged. “Of course we’ll sue if they try to renege.”
“It’ll mean more delays,” Bob said. “More expense. Which we can’t afford unless we get a major player on our side. All we need is one big retailer to sign on for an anchor store. Or a company looking to substantially expand their office space.”
“Speaking of,” Tom said. “How are talks going with the MegaData Analytics folks?”
Bob rocked his hand in a so-so gesture. “They’re interested in establishing a West Coast subsidiary, but I’m not sure they’re sold on Santa Monica. The CEO sent his nephew here to do reconnaissance, and the kid still seems to be experiencing sticker shock over the cost of local real estate.”
“Aren’t they headquartered in New York?” Tom said. “Prices there aren’t much different.”
“True, but their New York office is pretty small,” Bob said. “The company headquarters are actually in some hick town in central Pennsylvania. You could probably buy a hundred acres there for the equivalent of a single month’s rent on a three-bedroom in Santa Monica.”
Tom leaned forward. “What do you think it’ll take to secure their interest?”
“I’m not sure,” Bob said. “The kid’s barely out of college. Maybe Zach here can take him around, show him a good time. What do you say, Zach?”
Zach shook his head. “I’m a little old for the clubbing scene.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of getting the kid drunk and laid.”
“Really?” What was this, Mad Men? Somehow Zach doubted that whooping it up with a potential business client was the best way to clinch a contract.
“His name is Matthew Kane.” Bob pulled out his cell phone. “There, I just sent you his contact information.”
“I’ll talk with him,” Zach said. “But that’s all. Now, can we get back to business?”
Another hour of fielding questions and reviewing strategy, and Zach was ready to pack it in for the day.
“You want to grab some dinner?” he asked his father as they left the office.