by Jan Moran
Of course, he wouldn’t. After all, it was the reason Cynthia had broken her engagement with Brandon—he had chosen his job over her, over family. Shannon sighed. “I realize that right now we may seem like a good match but—”
“But good conversation, great compatibility, and fantastic sex aren’t enough?”
“Because in the long run, we’re not compatible. For now, I’m trying to make sure I have a viable business and it’s sucking up all my energy, but there’s a long-term play. I want to be my own boss because I want to control my own hours instead of being at the mercy of a hospital administrator. In the long run, I’m not just career-focused. I’m family-focused, and I really believe I can find a way to make both my career and my family thrive, if I play my cards right.”
“And in the long run—”
“You’re a career guy, Brandon, and in the end, it’s not what I want.”
“So, right now, I might be adequate for your limited needs, but you don’t have the time for me, and later, when you do have the time for a relationship, I’m too limited to meet your needs.”
She winced. “Don’t…that’s not what I said.”
“It’s close enough.” His cool edge of his voice was sharper than a blade, and it cut deep. “Thanks for finally being clear. I wish you were that upfront with me back in Italy before you broke the contract.”
“I’m sorry.” Shannon bit down on her lip. “I got carried away by the location, your attentiveness, your kindness—”
“So you seduced me out of gratitude?”
“Because I wanted you, and because I wanted, for a moment, to pretend that fantasy could be reality, but it can’t, Brandon, and it can’t change the fact that we’re not suited for each other.”
“And you’ve come to this conclusion based entirely on superficial facts as they exist on paper as opposed to the time we spent together, enjoying each other’s company.”
His words were a slap in her face, but it was absurd to let emotion overrule logic.
But what about experience. Can experience override logic?
Brandon continued. “The Shannon I knew had no qualms exploring Italy on a bicycle without knowing a word of Italian or owning a translator app on her phone. Where is that woman, and what have you done with her?”
She laughed, a faintly despairing sound. “I don’t know, Brandon. It’s not easy coming back to reality and dealing with the everyday things that drag you down.”
“Of course it’s not easy, but why is it wrong to enjoy a good thing, even if it can’t last forever?”
“I…don’t know.”
“While you’re making up your mind, will you let me take you out to dinner on Friday?”
Chapter 7
Brandon shoved his laptop into his briefcase and cast a quick glance at the clock. He would have to walk out of his office within fifteen minutes to have any chance at all of making it to Westchester in time for his date with Shannon.
Damn. Convincing her to stay the week with him in Italy had been no effort at all. Convincing her to go out on one date with him back in the United States had taken all the logic he could employ and every single lawyer-ly trick he had picked up over the twelve years in his career. Why were women so willing to suspend logic while on vacation and then armor up in it when back in their daily lives?
Why not take a chance on a wish and a risk on a dream every single damn day?
Well, he had talked her into a date. It’s all on me now, he thought grimly.
A knock on the door drew his attention to Mr. Hammerstein, one of the managing partners of Hammerstein and Lewis. “How are things going, Brandon?”
“Going well, sir. We managed to settle the Chandler vs. Chandler case without going to court.”
“I’d heard. Excellent work. It would have been messy otherwise.” He held up the file folder in his hand. “This just came in—a class-action malpractice suit—right up your alley. It’s high profile…just what you need to regain the ground you lost last year.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened at the peripheral mention of the case that wiped out his relationship with Cynthia and derailed his partnership track. “I’m on it.” He slid the file into his briefcase. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, sir.”
“I always thought you were cut of the right stuff,” Henry Hammerstein said. “What happened last year didn’t change my opinion of you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“I mean it.”
The serious note in Hammerstein’s voice caused Brandon to stop. His eyes met his boss’s, and he thought he glimpsed something that looked like understanding in Hammerstein’s eyes, but he had to be mistaken. There wasn’t much room for career mistakes in a law firm, and the one he had made last year could have been fatal. He could not afford another. “I’ll do my best.” He closed his briefcase.
“Excellent. The official paperwork, notices and the like, are already on their way to the defendant. Have a good weekend; we’ll see you on Monday.”
Brandon shoved the new case out of his mind. He had earned a respite from his work, at least for one evening. The traffic leaving Manhattan was predictably heavy, but he had planned for it and arrived in front of Northridge Urgent Care Clinic in Westchester two minutes before it closed. The elderly receptionist shot him a narrow-eyed look when he entered the empty clinic, but he offered her a smile. “I’m Brandon Smith. I’m here to see Dr. Larson.”
“Shannon!” the receptionist shouted. “He’s here.”
A door on the far side of the hallway opened, and Shannon looked out.
“You didn’t tell me he was cute,” the receptionist sounded offended. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Andrea Seifer. So you’re the guy she shacked up with in Tuscany?”
Shannon turned bright red. “Andrea!”
“Yes, I am,” Brandon said, unfazed. “I’m glad to meet you, Andrea.”
“Is your sister really the supermodel Marguerite Ferrara?”
“Yes, she is.”
Andrea grinned. “Good looks obviously run in your family.”
“I’ll let Maggie know that.”
Andrea glanced at Shannon and made a shooing gesture with her hands. “I’ll close up here. Why don’t you run along?”
Shannon was still blushing when she followed Brandon from the clinic. “I’m sorry about that. Andrea was my mother’s best friend from college, and she behaves like overprotective aunt.”
“She was the person you called from Tuscany that night of the accident.”
“Yes, she was.” She winced. “I supposed I’ve given her lots of ground for behaving like an overprotective aunt. Her husband was the former owner of the clinic. He passed away two years ago. When his partner finally decided to retire too, Andrea contacted me, and I arranged to buy the clinic and take it over.”
“Sounds like it worked out for everyone.”
“Including Andrea. She would have been at a loss for things to do if she had to leave the clinic. She’s been working the front desk ever since her husband opened the clinic some forty years ago. She’s practically a fixture here. Well?” She looked up at Brandon. “Where are we going?”
“I have a reservation at Xaviars on the Hudson. Shall we drive together? It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
“Xaviars? That’s a special occasion kind of place.”
“It is a special occasion. We’re celebrating new beginnings.”
Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the clinic or something else?”
“What else could it be?” Brandon returned smoothly. “Come on.” He held open the passenger door of his dark gray Lexus. “I want to hear about your first month as an entrepreneur.”
“It’s not that big a deal.” Shannon broke the silence after they had both settled into the car, and he had pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s not the same thing as building a business from the ground up. I’m really just taking over a going concern and trying hard to make sure things don’t
fall apart on my watch.”
“Didn’t Andrea and her husband have any children who wanted to take over the clinic?”
“They’ve only one son, Jonathan. He’s a chiropractor.”
“A what?”
“He’s the co-owner of Northridge Integrative Health. It’s an alternative health clinic in the same strip mall—chiropractic services and massage therapy. They’re great at what they do; I would have far more knots in my back and tension headaches if not for them.”
“So you share a peaceful co-existence with your alternative health neighbors?”
“I think there’s a role for both of us in society. I don’t think life should be limiting.”
“Like choosing between career and family?” Brandon shot her a quick glance. “I agree.”
Shannon stiffened. “What happened between you and Cynthia?”
“We disagreed.”
She huffed out a disgruntled sound. “Will you ever tell me?”
“Perhaps, if I ever think it matters. Otherwise, I prefer to leave past relationships in the past. You should, too.”
“You’re referring to Jerry, aren’t you?”
“I’m asking you not to make the mistake of thinking that I’m like Jerry.”
“You’ve told me that your career matters to you.”
“It does.”
“And you’ve told me that you and Cynthia broke up because family was more important to her.”
Brandon’s chest tightened. “Yes, that’s also true.”
Shannon exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. “Look, you’re right about one thing. There’s no point in dismissing what’s good today just because it may not be the perfect thing for the distant future. Let’s just have a good time tonight, and see where it takes us. Deal?”
The pressure against his chest did not dissipate, but Brandon managed a tight smile. “Deal.”
~*~
While at dinner with Brandon, Shannon found it difficult to recall exactly why she had protested so long and so hard about going out with him. With the topics of both Cynthia and Jerry safely tabled, the conversation lingered over common ground in New York City and Westchester, where Brandon had spent much of his childhood, and explored new territory, specifically, the rest of Europe.
“So what is your favorite city?” Shannon asked as she reached for the glass of Moscato he had ordered to complement the pan-roasted Maine diver scallops that she had ordered for her entrée.
“Prague.” He sliced into the lean pieces of duck breast on his plate. “There’s a timelessness about it, plus one of the main attractions of the city, the cathedral, is a lesson on why not to take 850 years to build something.”
“Why is that?”
“Wiseasses change your design. The cathedral is a smorgasbord of architectural styles, from gothic to baroque, rococo, and at least a half-dozen other influences. You can literally see the changes on the building façade.”
Shannon smothered a giggle. “At least it’s a conversation piece.”
“There are better ways to be a conversation piece than to be a jumbled showcase for conflicting egos.”
“You’ve exhausted your ‘say nice things’ quota for today, haven’t you?”
“Not really.” He grinned. “Just saving it up for you.”
“The wine is delicious, by the way.”
“If all you do is bounce between Reislings and Moscatos, you’ll probably do all right. They’ll satisfy your sweet palate, and they’re healthier than a soda.”
“It almost feels like dessert, right here.” She lowered her gaze to her plate. “You spoiled me, in Italy, with the personalized tours and home-cooked meals. No one could possibly live like that every day.”
“Of course not. That’s why it’s called a vacation. I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal since coming back to the States. It’s been takeout and pizza.”
“It’s tough to find the time to do everything that’s important.”
He shrugged. “To me, balance isn’t distributing time evenly between everything that matters. Life isn’t precariously balanced on the hinge of a seesaw. To me, balance is successfully juggling all the balls life throws your way—knowing what to set aside and for how long, and what needs to stay up in the air, for the time being.”
“And Cynthia didn’t agree with that?” Shannon asked, and immediately regretted it when Brandon’s expression shuttered.
“Cynthia and I disagreed about careers and families, but it wasn’t about balancing them.”
But what else could it be, Shannon wondered. Still, it seemed safer to drop the topic. After taking the last bite of scallops, she set down her fork, and a waiter immediately appeared behind her to remove her plate. “An amazing dinner; thank you.”
“Dessert for you?” Brandon asked.
“I couldn’t, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. Don’t let me stop you, though.”
“I’ll just have an espresso for the drive home.”
Manhattan was an hour away. Shannon bit down on her lower lip and then blurted out the words that came from her heart, too quickly to be censored by her mind. “Why don’t you stay the night?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“‘Think’ isn’t a word commonly associated with certainty.”
“You’ve accused me of overthinking this, and now that I’ve decided to stop, you’ve decided to overthink it instead? Are we ever going to get our timing right?”
“If you’ve decided to take things a day at a time, then I can, too.” He grinned. “Life’s too short to hesitate, and too long to live with mistakes longer than necessary.”
“Is there a contract I need to sign?”
“We’ll go on good faith. We got through a week that way. I think we’ll survive the weekend.”
Chapter 8
Brandon awoke with a start. For a moment, he stared at his unfamiliar surroundings before turning his head to study the lovely profile of the woman who slept beside him. At least she didn’t run away at dawn.
But where would she run? It’s her home.
He swallowed the ironic chuckle. Perhaps one week and one day was too soon to fall in love, but it wasn’t too soon to conclude, based on facts, that he had found someone with whom he could realistically build a long-term relationship. The one month that had separated their two physical encounters had proved one thing—he had not been able to keep his mind off Shannon. The dinner with her last night had reinforced one simple fact—he enjoyed spending time with her. Her unbridled enthusiasm for new challenges offset his calculated approach to life and its risks. Their education and backgrounds were comparable. Her long-term outlook, wanting both a family and a career, matched his. He just had to convince her of it.
All he needed was a chance to show her that their compatibility was real and it would work over the long term.
As long as he stuck to the logical and rational path, he would make the correct decision on his new relationship. No more repeats of the Cynthia situation. No more letting my emotions get the better of me.
He breathed a kiss on Shannon’s forehead before slipping quietly out of the bed. He tugged on his shirt and pants, and headed, barefoot, down the stairs. The clean, sleek lines of her furniture—a more upscale version of IKEA—was offset by her kitschy decorations, including painted plaster, handmade pottery, and framed cross-stitch patterns—Shannon’s art projects, no doubt. In the place of honor above her fireplace was the watercolor she had worked on while in Tuscany. If he hadn’t known exactly where she had sat while painting it, he would never have known that the green-splattered globs of paint were vineyards and the splotches of purple were fields of lavender. It looked nothing like Tuscany, and perhaps, that was the beauty of the painting. Inexperience and the possibility of failure had never kept Shannon from launching on whatever daring plan or new adventure she had selected for herself.
Except relationships. Why was she hesitant about relationships w
hen she clearly knew no shred of fear over anything else?
Women. Even the most intelligent ones are a confusing mass of contradictions.
He explored her pantry and her refrigerator, and had an omelet in the frying pan by the time she came downstairs, blinking back sleep from her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess, but something about her made his breath catch. Perhaps it was the surprise in her eyes, or the hopeful smile on her lips. “Breakfast, for me?”
He chuckled, warmed by the lilt in her voice. “Yes, for you. I was going to bring it up for you—”
“I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.”
“Always a first time.”
Their eyes met over the kitchen island, and she turned and scurried out of the room. Brandon laughed, loaded a tray with her omelet, a bowl of cut fruit, and a cup of tea, before carrying it up the stairs to her room. He paused by the doorway and exploded into laughter. Shannon was sitting upright in bed, her hands folded in front of her like a prim maiden aunt. He set the tray on her lap. “Well, enjoy.”
“You’re going to have to help me eat it.” Shannon picked up the fork. “I have to leave in a half hour to open the clinic.”
“A good meal shouldn’t be rushed.”
“I know, but having breakfast in the first place should be considered an improvement, right?” She jabbed a fork into the omelet and brought it up to his lips, before feeding herself. “Goodness, this is excellent, and it came from my kitchen?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I think cooking is going to be my next new thing.” She took another bite of the omelet. “Is there a cookbook you’d recommend?”
“What about a personal coach? I know just the man for the job.”
“I…uh…” She averted her gaze.
“What the hell?” Brandon shook his head. “You’ve initiated the sexual contact both times, but when I allude to a longer-term relationship, you act like a skittish school girl—which I know you’re not, at least not in bed.”
She flushed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”