by Paula Roe
What’s happened in your life, Vanessa?
As a boy he’d pulled apart his fair share of clocks and radios just to see how they worked. His mother had shut that down real quick when she’d found him at the kitchen table, her precious Mixmaster in pieces. His attraction to complex systems had eventually led him to finance, and to this day, he still needed to know how and why things worked.
Vanessa was one of those conundrums.
“I needed to see—” he began.
“What?” she scowled. “See what? How I’d react to the life I left behind? How much I’d squirm from all the questions? How I’d handle seeing my father again?” She shoved her hands on her hips, her face contorted into sharp, angry lines. “Why would you be such a jerk?”
Yeah, why? “I…”
“It was a test, wasn’t it? So, how’d I do?”
“Vanessa…” He winced.
“No, tell me.”
“You were…perfect.”
“Right. You can take me home now.” She whirled and headed off toward the arching entrance, her heels on the marble floor echoing in the cavernous interior.
Chase moved swiftly to keep up then halted her with a hand on her arm.
The contact drew a harsh intake of breath from her.
“You also had an ulterior motive for this evening,” he said.
She stared at him, her wide eyes almost luminescent under the soft light. “Let…” She swallowed and his gaze went right to her throat, then back up to her rounded eyes. “Let me go.”
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut. Dammit. That had sounded more like a plea than a demand and she hated that. Worse, her righteous anger was slowly leeching away under his cool reasoning.
He finally released her. “This wasn’t a real date for either of us.”
Oh, way to make a girl feel special there. She scowled. “I know.”
“Not when we both have too many questions. When you want what I have and I have…well—” his gaze swept her face, passing all too briefly over her lips before returning to her eyes “—not nearly enough answers.”
This, she realized as his dark gaze captured hers. This is why you really said yes. Her heart leaped, jumping around in her chest in crazy anticipation. Like a smitten teenager she mocked, pressing her lips nervously together, the smooth slide of lipstick a welcome distraction. Until his gaze transferred to her mouth and it felt as if everything stopped altogether.
She scowled. “If you’d only just…”
“Just what? Asked you what I want to know? After you’d finished telling me to mind my own business?”
“Bringing me here to see my father isn’t the way to go about it.”
“I didn’t exactly know he’d be here.”
“Really.” She glared at him, wishing she could drag the truth directly from his brain. But boy, the man had such a poker face. “And by the way, you don’t want to piss off Allen Partridge.”
“Huh. Well, he doesn’t want to piss me off, either.” Chase crossed his arms.
“He has a lot of power and influence on the East Coast.”
“So do I.”
“Really. Because from what I’ve heard tonight, throwing your weight around isn’t your thing.”
“What have you heard?” His expression turned guarded.
“I know you’re not flashy with your money and you don’t abuse your influence. I know you donate to a bunch of charities, mostly for kids. And I know you couldn’t get away from your childhood quick enough.”
A scowl flashed across his brow, displeasure darkening his eyes.
“I majored in early-childhood psychology. ‘To know the man, first know the boy,’” she added.
With an exasperated snort he said, “Freud?”
“No.” She shrugged. “I read an interview with Hugh Laurie once and it just stuck. Doesn’t make it untrue.”
He paused then shook his head. “You are—” he let out a sigh, his breath brushing her skin “—an intriguing woman, Vanessa Partridge.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, you are.”
As anger slowly leeched away, Vanessa could feel every tiny inch that separated their bodies, every lick of warmth from his broad-shouldered presence that curled into hers. Her bare skin tingled as though he was emitting some weird kind of pheromone, one that made her muscles go all trembly and nervous.
Worse, she could feel her game face slipping.
“We…we should go.”
To her surprise, he nodded. “Yes.”
It felt like an eternity before he broke eye contact, but when he did she breathed in a relieved sigh, one that faltered when he put a hand gently on her elbow and led her down the long corridor.
Stop touching me. She closed her eyes briefly before amending it to, No, scrap that thought. Keep doing that. Because it’d been ages since a man had showed her this much attention. Chase was a great-looking guy. And they’d already shared a few moments, moments in which she’d managed to see under the hard shell to the man beneath.
There were lots of beautiful women here tonight and he’d had every opportunity to return their flirtatious looks, but she’d witnessed nothing but polite decorum on his part. Yet for her, he’d been attentive, touching her not once but a dozen times, his hand a casual yet telling brand on her back, her arm, her elbow. She’d secretly enjoyed that, even though it made her jump every time.
Then there was his million-dollar smile, one that made her insides go all fluttery. And the moments she’d caught him unawares, staring at her with a look that Stella would only describe as “hungry eyes.”
Oh, he was interested. And yet, he didn’t trust her.
Her insides lurched. Was Chase the kind of guy who didn’t particularly care who he bedded, as long as they were willing? That couldn’t be right.
Unfortunately, it could turn out to be all too real. In which case, she was better off walking away now.
Six
As they approached the closed cloakroom door, his hand left her arm, leaving a faint warm impression. Vanessa sighed. “It’s closed.”
Chase tried the handle. It gave way. “Not for long. Come on.”
“But what about—”
“The Ice Queen guarding the coats?” He swung the door wider and the shadows inside seeped out around them. “She won’t be back until later. Still—” he glanced over his shoulder “—we should hurry just in case.”
“But—”
“Have you always been a rule follower, Vanessa?”
Her mouth tightened. “No.”
“So let’s go.” He jerked his head toward the racks.
It was all the encouragement she needed. She stepped over the threshold and Chase closed the door behind them.
For one moment absolute blackness engulfed them, until a bright light appeared and Chase’s iPhone illuminated his features.
“Got the ticket?”
She held it up then stared at the racks. “I can’t figure out the system.”
“Let me.” He took the slip from her, his fingers brushing hers for one brief second, sending a dangerous flame over her skin.
Just as she’d done before, she forced it away. Only this time, it was getting harder to keep everything at bay.
You can’t. You shouldn’t.
But damn, she wanted to. As he focused on finding their coats, Vanessa focused on wrestling with her subconscious. She’d heard a lot about Chase Harrington these last few hours, who he supposedly was, all his outstanding achievements, all the money he made. The room had been abuzz with his sudden appearance and she’d deftly redirected the more probing questions when people had realized they’d arrived together.
She didn’t particularly care that someone, somewhere, would most likely get mileage out of that bit of gossip: what concerned her more was Chase. Something about him still jarred. It was as if there was something vital missing, some important piece of information that, when revealed, would make complete and utter sense.
; Like explaining this sudden attraction to a guy who was the poster child for everything she’d left behind? Right.
She stared at Chase’s back, nibbling on her thumbnail before quickly dropping her hand. No, James was that guy. Had been her guy for a few brief, stupid weeks when she was eighteen.
“Do you know I’ve been compared to my older, smarter and infinitely prettier sister for close to twenty-seven years?” she finally said. Chase paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Twenty-seven years of being expected to act, look and think a certain way—the Partridge way. Which meant law school, perfect grades, and after graduation, an internship at my parents’ law firm. In ten years, possibly less, I’d be offered a partnership—if I brought in the right clients and worked fifteen hours a day, seven days a week.”
She had his full attention now.
“Some people would kill for that opportunity,” he said.
“Yes, they would. But…” She sighed. “I wanted something different. I wanted to teach, have a family of my own. Have a life and not just a career. And my life, not something my father had mapped out since I was a toddler.”
He paused, then asked, “And was Dunbar a part of that something different?”
“I’d thought so, once.” She turned her head away from his intent gaze. “Dylan wasn’t a risk taker. He even triple-checked his seat belt.” She snorted. “Ironic really, considering he died in a plane crash in the middle of nowhere.”
“Indonesia, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “Unsafe plane, bad track record. I really don’t understand why he was there. It wasn’t like him at all. Too many indefinables.”
“Maybe he was doing research or branching out to explore other cultures.” He rubbed his neck. “Getting in touch with his spiritual self.”
“Right.” She raised one eyebrow. “He knew exactly who he was.”
“You don’t think much of him as a person, do you?”
She frowned. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it.”
She gave a quick apologetic glance heavenward before refocusing on him. “When I told him I was pregnant he walked out.”
“So he left you with two babies and no financial support.”
“You make them sound like unwanted pets! He didn’t leave me with them.”
“But he didn’t want anything to do with you. Or his children.”
Oh, how brutal the truth sounded coming out like that. Vanessa didn’t know what to say. She’d been the biggest risk of all, and one Dylan ultimately couldn’t cope with.
“He always said he never wanted kids.” She shrugged, halfheartedly flicking through a row of hanging coats. “I didn’t believe him. I mean, would you believe it from a man who wrote books like that? A former English teacher, who was also an exceptionally talented writer? A writer who pretty much defined a generation and enthralled the entire world?” She shook her head. “How can someone not love kids when they write like him? People loved him. Everyone flocked to his signings and appearances like he was some kind of modern-day pied piper. I saw it time and again, over and over.”
But from a distance, remember? Never at his side, never part of his entourage. Miranda, his brittle blonde publicist who spent every minute with one eye on the clock. Max, his jovial editor who consistently overlooked his unmet deadlines because Dunbar was their number-one cash cow. And even Aaron, his snarky assistant who pulsated an irritating “I’m better than you” aura. But not her.
And she’d been naive enough to be one of those “I can change him” women.
“Talent and douchebaggery are not mutually exclusive,” Chase said. Then added, “Just take a look at your James.”
“James Bloomberg?” She frowned. “He’s not mine.”
“Once upon a time he reckoned he was.”
She sighed and returned to the coats. “I was eighteen. We went out twice and he spent the whole time talking about himself. And,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “we went dutch.”
Chase couldn’t help himself. She looked so indignant, her whole body all tight and offended, that the laugh just came out.
“Chase! It’s not funny!”
“Of course it isn’t.” He bit back another chuckle. “Sorry.” He reached past her and grabbed a coat—her coat—off the hanger then held it out. After another glare, she slowly slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“He was only trying to get to my father through me,” she added, turning to face him as she dragged the lapels together. “Just one of the many fakes and users I’ve had to deal with my entire life.”
“Until you left.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shadowed in the darkness. “Yes. When I told my parents I was pregnant, they went ballistic.” Her features twisted, her mouth flattening. “And when I refused to tell them who the father was, we had a huge screaming fight.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
Her snort echoed in the small room. “You don’t know Allen Partridge. To my father things are either black or white, no shades of gray. He adores the law. So when something is wrong, it’s wrong. He would’ve sued Dunbar for child support regardless of my feelings in the matter. Can you imagine the frenzy that would’ve caused?”
Yeah, he could.
She nodded. “I wanted normality for my girls, not notoriety as the illegitimate children of D. B. Dunbar. And my father said some pretty unforgivable things, too. So I left. Everything.”
She really had left everything, Chase realized. She’d not only turned her back on her parents’ Victorian-style mansion in affluent Washington, the Partridge status and all that entailed, but also her family. The entire life she’d known. Everything familiar and comforting and easy.
She’d left her life, just like he had.
“You weren’t tempted to demand a share of Dunbar’s estate?”
“No.” She turned back to him, her face partially hidden by shadows. “If he’d wanted me to have something, it would have been in his will, right?”
He shrugged. “Still, it must’ve been challenging, especially since you were pregnant.”
“It was. It is, every day. But it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
When he nodded, she added, “Is that what you did? Leave everything behind?”
He paused, feeling the full weight of her interest behind her casual question.
Tempting…but no. He could practically smell the curiosity rolling off her, yet beneath those waves he also sensed a genuine interest.
Yeah. Just because she’d asked didn’t mean he would tell her. Distrust was a familiar companion, one that had served him well over the years.
He turned to grab his coat from the hanger. “Like you, it wasn’t working. So I made a conscious decision to change.”
He felt her eyes on him as he applied himself to the task of straightening his collar.
“From a small town boy to a billionaire hedge funder,” she said softly. “That’s quite a change.”
“I work damn hard for it.” He finally glanced up, her impassive expression at odds with her eyes, dark and full of something he couldn’t quite make out.
“And from what I’ve heard tonight, you give away a lot too.”
He shrugged again, a response that was beginning to bug Vanessa. Was it because he was so clearly low-key when any other guy with his track record would’ve called a press conference and taken out an ad in the New York Times? It was odd, seeing someone like Chase actively pursue normality while her parents thrived on the opposite, publicly declaring each and every achievement to the news-hungry world.
It was also very clear that she’d get no more answers until she gave a few herself.
“I met Dunbar at my parents’ firm,” she said softly. He watched her, his expression neutral as they made their way to the door. “I’d been doing some research for one of the entertainment lawyers and recognized him. You’ve got your coat wrong,” she added, nodding at his collar.
He reached up
and fiddled with it as she continued, her hand on the doorknob.
“He ended up going elsewhere but was flattered I knew who he was. He asked me over to his place and me, being the starstruck fan I was, said yes. I ended up in his bed. It lasted six months. No, you’ve still got it… Here, let me.” She reached up, smoothing down his suit collar before refolding his coat over the top.
Satisfied, she glanced up at him with a smile…only to have it freeze at the look reflected in those dark depths.
Careful, Ness. You’re treading a very thin line here. She quickly took a step back and swallowed.
“Why did you really want that manuscript?” he asked softly.
“For Erin and Heather,” she replied without hesitation. “Dylan left them with nothing, not even an acknowledgment he was their father. I have nothing tangible to remember him by—no notes, no gifts. There’s not even a photo to show the girls later, when they start to ask questions.
“I wanted them to have this one thing, something personal and private they could connect with when they were older. Dylan always made copious notes on his drafts and sometimes it revealed more than he wanted the world to see, so he always shredded them. And hopefully it would’ve given them an insight into who he was, maybe understand his drive and passion a bit better.” And understand why he chose to leave? She paused, swallowing the last bitter words before they managed to taint the air. It wouldn’t do to still be angry, she reasoned. It wasn’t healthy. “So, Chase,” she said. “What’s your real reason?”
She could tell he was spinning the words around in his head, working out what to tell her. And this made her sad somehow, even though they didn’t really know each other and he had absolutely no reason to trust her.
Which meant he was debating whether to tell her something important.
They remained still for a good few seconds, studying each other in the shadowy light.
“You’ve heard of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?” he finally said.
“The charity that grants wishes for terminally ill children?”