Megan leaned across the desk and grabbed her hand. “Don’t be an idiot. You could get this. You need to think about how Zach might feel when he learns you’re going to be earning more than him.”
“If that happens, he won’t care,” she said instantly.
“You sound very sure. Tim would have to go chop wood for a few years to reclaim his macho if that happened to us.”
Audrey doubted that, since Megan’s husband was a sweetheart, but perhaps she didn’t know him the way his wife did.
“I’m sure,” she said.
She and Zach had always admired and applauded each other’s drive and ambition. She had to believe that one of them earning this promotion over the other wouldn’t change that. Even if that person was her.
Gary had indicated they would have an answer tomorrow, and she and Zach went home to pizza and spreadsheets, followed by a cool shower and hot sex.
Lying in the tangled sheets afterward, she rested her chin on his chest and looked at him.
“No matter what happens tomorrow, I love you.”
He smiled. “I love you more than a job, sweetheart. Don’t worry, okay?”
“Ditto. A million times ditto.”
She had a crappy night’s sleep, and had to force herself to eat breakfast. They drove to work together and broke convention by kissing each other long and lingeringly in the car before heading inside.
“Go get ’em, champ,” Zach said as they parted.
She was edgy all morning, jumping every time the phone rang. Lucy kept checking in with her, along with Megan, and after a while she promised that they would be right at the top of the list of people to know when she heard. At midday her sister called, and for a second Audrey wished she hadn’t told anyone what was happening. But only for a second. Getting to know Leah—and her man, Will—had filled holes in her life she hadn’t even known existed. She would never regret their new closeness.
It was nearly three before Gary called and asked her to come to his office.
Whatever you do, don’t look disappointed. Even if you feel it.
Honestly, it was hard to know how to feel, because she wanted Zach to have this opportunity, too.
“Grab a seat,” Gary said when she entered.
She did, gratefully, since her knees were feeling distinctly rubbery.
“As you know, it was a tough choice. Both you and Zach are outstanding candidates. At the end of the day, experience tipped things in your favor, though. That, and your nose for innovation. Everyone’s been very impressed with your tutorial initiative.”
Audrey sat and blinked, not quite sure if her ears were working properly. Did Gary just say “in her favor”? Had she heard that correctly?
“Sorry. This is going to sound dense—but are you offering the job to me?”
She was aware she sounded like Oliver Twist, putting her bowl out for more, but she was genuinely dumbstruck. They had picked her over Zach?
“We picked the best man—person—for the job.” He shook his head at his own political incorrectness. “And that person is you. Congratulations, Audrey.”
“Wow. I’m not—I didn’t—I thought Zach would—”
“So I gather. But he didn’t.” Gary smiled indulgently.
“Okay. Thanks. This is amazing. Really, really cool,” she said dazedly. She realized she was rambling and she stood, smiling apologetically.
“You have stuff to do. So I’ll go. But...thank you. Thank you.”
She left Gary’s office, waiting until she was around the corner before she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, one hand pressed to her crazily beating heart.
Bloody freaking hell, she’d gotten it!
Hard on the heels of jubilation came trepidation.
Because her getting it meant Zach missed out. That was always going to be the outcome for one of them, but the reality of it hit her in the solar plexus.
She needed to go talk to him. She needed to tell him her news and look into his eyes and see for herself what this meant to him, if this was going to be a problem for them or not. And if it was... She had no idea what she was going to do, because now that Gary had dangled the carrot, she wanted it, so badly.
She walked to Zach’s office on wooden legs, stopping in the doorway and swearing under her breath when she found it empty. She swiveled on her heel and scanned the open-plan area, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. It occurred to her that maybe he was waiting in her office, maybe he’d gotten wind that something was up. She raced across the department, but he wasn’t there, either.
Maybe he does know, and he’s gone somewhere quiet and dark to punch a hole in the wall so I don’t see how disappointed he is.
The thought filled her with dread. She had a vision of them over dinner tonight, both of them choking down obligatory champagne, pretending it was just dandy that she’d come out on top.
Desperate for someone to download to, she went to Megan’s office, but her friend wasn’t there, either.
“Has someone sounded the evacuation alarm or something?” she muttered to herself.
Disgruntled and worried, she drifted toward the staff room. Maybe she’d find one of them in there.
She saw the banner the moment she turned the corner—a run of printer pages strung together to spell out the word Congratulations. Then she registered the crowd—all her colleagues crammed into the one small space, grinning madly as they tooted on noisy horns and popped party favors and yelled out “Congratulations, Audrey!”
And in the middle of them all was Zach, grinning like the lunatic he was, looking so proud and happy for her that she knew instantly, with one hundred percent certainty, that this was okay with him. That this was more than okay, that he celebrated for and with her, that her happiness meant everything to him, more even than his own.
But Zach had always been a giver, right from those early, dark years when he’d had to shoulder the burden of looking after his lost, broken mother. How could she have expected anything less from him?
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” Zach said, his face creased with concern as he moved to comfort her.
“Zach.” She looked into his eyes, wanting to tell him all the things in her heart right now, but very aware of all the people watching them.
She wanted to tell him she loved him, beyond measure. That she couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine her life without him. Most of all, she wanted to tell him how lucky she was. So damned lucky.
“I know,” he said, taking her into his arms. “I know, sweetheart.”
Then he kissed her, right in front of everyone.
Screw being professional.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Love in Plain Sight by Jeanie London!
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Superromance.
You want romance plus a bigger story! Harlequin Superromance stories are filled with powerful relationships that deliver a strong emotional punch and a guaranteed happily ever after.
Enjoy six Harlequin Superromance stories every month!
Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.
We like you—why not like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com
Subscribe to our newsletter for special offers, new releases, and more!
Harlequin.com/newsletters
PROLOGUE
Before Hurricane Katrina
PAPA ALWAYS SAID love changed lives. I knew what he meant because love was all around me.
Every morning, Mama packed Papa’s lunch. Always the same sandwich, container of leftovers from dinner, fruit and fresh-baked pastry. She stacked them in his lunch bag in the order he would eat them through the day.
A fruit for the morning to keep him healthy.
Leftovers for lunch with the sandwich, too, if he worked really hard. Sometimes he saved half for later
.
He ate the pastry with his con leche in the afternoon when he needed a sweet for strength.
In between each layer would be a neatly folded napkin with a love note. One for every meal.
Hecho con amor para ti.
Gracias por nuestra hermosa vida juntos.
The love notes changed every day—all but one that read Te quiero siempre.
Mama did love him always.
She loved all of us. We were her family.
When I was old enough for school, I opened my lunch bag to find my own love notes. Mama would draw little hearts that would make me proud to be the beautiful daughter she loved so much. Or funny faces to make me laugh, because Mama did not have the family talent for drawing.
I never used my love-note napkins but always tucked them into my pocket, a secret reminder of how much I was loved no matter what happened through the rest of the day.
Paolo wasn’t too little to notice. He didn’t say anything because of his speech trouble, but I knew. He was quick-eyed for a little one. Mama counted on those eyes.
“Paolo, where did Mama set her keys?” she would ask. “Paolo, did you see where Mama lay her scissors?”
My baby brother would run right to where she had left whatever was missing.
Paolo wanted his own love notes. I knew because he would stick his chubby hand in my pocket and sneak mine. I told Mama one day, and the very next morning, my baby brother burst from our bedroom as I was readying for school with a love note he’d found under his pillow.
My life was filled with that kind of love. Every night after dinner, my family gathered in the living room. Some nights, I practiced stitches on scraps of fabric while Mama altered clothes to earn money.
Higher hems for the short ladies and expanded seams for the ladies grown too fat for their zippers....
Papa would sit at his easel, telling stories from his day and drawing whatever he thought might sell on weekends when he sat in Jackson Square making caricatures for the tourists.
Weekend after weekend, through the Mardi Gras parades and the steamy days of summer, I would sit beside Papa at my own easel, smelling the Mississippi River, an apprentice practicing my sketches and learning from my beloved Papa.
I loved those weekends.
“You must read your subject to know how to please them,” Papa instructed. “Do not choose a feature they might feel shame for. Choose one that helps them laugh at themselves. Laughter is a gift, and if you please them, they’ll be generous with you. Americans are very generous. They appreciate talent and will reward you for using yours.”
I was eight when I drew my very first sketch.
My subject, an eccentric older lady who wore many big jewels, did laugh when she saw my finished product and gave me ten dollars. I felt such pride.
My second subject wasn’t so pleased. I got a dollar in quarters and not even one tiny smile.
Papa hugged me. “Can’t please everyone.”
But I worried. “Maybe I didn’t get the family talent.”
He scoffed, making a big sound that filled the steamy heat of that perfect summer. “You are learning to use your talent. Do you think to be as good as your papa without much practice?”
I could only shrug, feeling too much shame for words.
Taking my hand that held the graphite pencil, he lifted it to his lips for a kiss, his whiskers tickling my skin. “There. Now you have even more family talent. I share mine, for I have much to spare.”
That made me smile. A little.
“Love is the secret, Araceli. You must love this pencil,” he said, very serious. “And you must love your subject. But most of all, you must love your talent, for that is the only way you will learn to use it. You must try new things and make your talent sing inside you and flow out onto the paper.
“Remember this.” He smiled beneath his bushy mustache. “Love changes everything. It’s everywhere. You just have to look. Sometimes it hides, so you have to look hard. But open your eyes really big.” He shaped his fingers into circles and peered through them, looking silly. “It’s always there somewhere. I promise.”
ISBN: 9781460318898
Copyright © 2013 by Small Cow Productions Pty Ltd.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Her Favorite Rival Page 27