And the day after that, and the day after that.
Unless she could avoid him every day.
A visceral image of an infinity of days spent avoiding Brent stretched in front of her.
"Fuck that," she muttered harshly, causing an intern passing by to flinch and scuttle away.
I can handle anything Dr. Brent Smithson can possibly dish out.
Nodding a cold greeting at her ex, she strode up to the elevator and punched the number, perhaps with more vehemence than was really necessary.
"Hey, Leta," Brent said tentatively.
Leta stared. Tentative wasn't really Brent's style.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.
Pinching her lips together, she shook her head. "I'm on my way to my office, Brent. I don't have time right now."
"It'll only take a minute."
She blew out a sigh. "Fine. What is it?"
"In private?"
Glancing around, she pointed at the corner of the room, several feet away from the elevator bank. "That's as private as we're getting."
"Okay."
Leta followed him across the room, watching the way he shoved his chest out, as if trying to make himself look bigger.
Like that rooster on Tor's ranch.
The thought made her grin, even as the memory lodged in her chest like misery. When she reached Brent, her tone was even more brusque than she had planned. "What do you need?"
His ingratiating smile faltered. "I...I..."
All the patience she'd had with Tor, no matter how long it took him to get a sentence out dissipated in the face of Brent's inarticulate sputtering.
"Spit it out," she said impatiently. "I have to get to work."
"I wanted to say I'm sorry." The words poured out of her ex-boyfriend in a rush.
"Sorry?" Leta stared at him, indignant.
"Yes?" It sounded more like a question than a statement.
"Sorry's not good enough, Brent." She opened her mouth to continue haranguing him, then stopped and tilted her head. "In fact, nothing will ever be good enough. There's nothing you could ever say or do that would make anything you did to me any better. So don't bother."
Brent's mouth dropped open, as if the last thing he had ever expected from her was resistance to whatever ridiculous excuse he had cooked up in her absence.
To hell with this.
She spun on her heel and marched back toward the elevators.
I guess that counts as 'dealing with Brent.'
By the time she stepped off the elevator on her floor, she had begun giggling. When she finally reached the administrative offices, tears of laughter were streaming down her face. Ducking into the restroom, she shut the door behind her and leaned back against it.
To think she had run away to Necessity to get away from that man.
Closing her eyes for a minute, she leaned back against the door.
So what am I doing now?
The answer came to her almost immediately.
Running back to Dallas to get away from another man who lied to me.
But this time, she wasn't sure that was what she really wanted to be doing.
With a sigh, she wiped her eyes, stood up straight, and opened the door again. She had work to do after being gone for a solid week.
She could go back to considering what to do about the billionaire she'd fallen in love with in that week later.
Maybe over her lunch break.
I CAN'T LET HER WALK away forever.
Tor jabbed at the screen of his phone, waiting impatiently for his business manager to answer.
Three days. He had wasted three days stewing in his own misery, going over and over what he had done wrong and what he might have done differently.
When he realized he'd been muttering to himself for most of those three days, it had suddenly occurred to him that he might be able to make things right again.
"I need you get me two tickets to the fundraiser ball for Dallas General." Tor practically barked into the phone when John finally answered.
"Who is this?"
"It's me. Your boss. Who'd you think it was?"
"Sorry, Mr. Edwards. I ...um ... didn't recognize your voice there for a minute." John stumbled, but only for a second. His adaptability was part of the reason Tor's grandfather had hired him a decade ago, and why Tor had kept him on. "Yeah, sure, I can manage that," the manager continued. "We've got invites here already. You want two more, or will these do? I was going to gift them to an employee."
"That's good. Keep them for me. No. Wait. I have other plans for one of the tickets. How long is it until the ball?"
"Three weeks."
"Good. Get a pen. You'll need to take notes."
"Of course." There was a pause, and John said, "It's nice to have you back, sir."
An unwilling grin crossed Tor's face as he got ready to put his brainstorm into action. "You say that now," he said. Who would have guessed that all he needed to get his voice back was the right motivation?
One beautiful, brunette medical coder.
"Who hates rich men," he muttered.
"Sir?" John asked.
"Nothing. Call the hospital's lead neurologist, too. Get me an appointment."
Two years was long enough.
It was time to get back to being himself.
Maybe even a better version than before.
Chapter 10
I'm nervous, Leta realized to her surprise.
Flipping down her car's visor, she checked her lipstick for the second time, then forced herself to step out of the Kia and smoothed her long, red dress along her hips.
At the entrance of the Dallas Modern Art Museum, she stood clutching her sequined evening bag nervously. Blue light poured out of windows, stretching from the ground up to past the second-floor interior balcony. The lobby's black-marble floor reflected silver-blue glints, like stars in a night sky, while couples in formalwear circled the food stations and ignored dance floor in the middle.
Did rich people at fundraisers not dance?
Not that Leta would be dancing with anyone.
So what if I'm alone?
I don't need anyone.
Not even at a gala event.
She hadn't ever been to the hospital's fundraising ball before—it was usually reserved for the big donors. But every year, the hospital raffled off several tickets for employees.
Leta didn't even remember entering this year.
Then again, between the fiasco with Brent and then with Tor, it was little wonder she'd been walking around like a zombie for weeks on end.
But, having won, she was expected to show up and make nice with the donors.
They're just billionaires, she told herself as she stepped inside. Just like Tor. The thought made her giggle, but it made her feel better, too.
The other employee who had won tickets, Janie from Accounting, was supposed to meet her at the bar—safety in numbers, Leta supposed. Glancing around, she was surprised at how many of the men in tuxedos were also wearing cowboy hats and boots.
The sight tugged at her heart a little, but she shoved the feeling back down.
It doesn't matter if I miss Tor. She forced her inner voice to sound fierce. He lied. Just like Brent.
And if that voice sometimes whispered that by the time he could talk to her, she had already complained about one rich asshole? She buried it under piles of reminders of all the times he hadn't told her he owned the ranch, was the boss, usually lived in the main house and not in the bunkhouse.
No. He had plenty of chances. He chose not to take a single one.
She took a glass of red wine from the bartender, and glanced out the windows. The blue lights from inside the museum lobby, along with all the city lights of Dallas, blanked out the stars above, though the reflection from the dance floor almost made up for it.
Almost.
As she looked out into the dark, a glint of white caught her eye. Was it a sculpture on the grounds of the museum?
The music died down, and the click of a microphone being handed off alerted Leta that the speeches were about to start. Or something. She wasn't entirely certain how these kinds of fundraisers worked, to be honest.
In any case, she was here by accident, so she would do her best to smile look nice.
And wish I could be staring at the stars above a ranch in Necessity.
"Hi, y'all." The voice that came over the loudspeaker was deep, and rich, and slightly halting. Leta's heart began pounding.
Surely not.
"I know it's been a while since most of you here have seen me."
Slowly, Leta turned around to face the stage, where Tor stood, microphone in hand, smiling directly at her. "Some of you more recently than others." His voice all but caressed her—and what his voice didn't manage, his deep gray eyes did.
Several people in the room followed his gaze, staring at Leta with open curiosity.
She didn't move.
"I'm going to give the floor back to the pros in just a minute, but I had to ask for time to say something. Most of y'all know about my accident a couple of years ago. It's been a good long time since I've been able to say anything important to any of you. Words didn't come easy to me."
He might've been speaking to the whole room, but Tor never stopped staring at Leta. "Words like 'Hi, I'm Tor Edwards, and I'm a billionaire.'" The crowd laughed a little. Even through the microphone, Tor's voice took on an intimate, personal tone.. "Or 'I'm sorry,' or 'I think I'm falling in love with you. And there's no way I'd be able to say any of those things if not for the staff at Dallas General. Or ask this one question, either."
The room had fallen entirely silent now, with people openly staring back and forth between Tor and Leta, but her feet felt glued to the floor, her eyes wide and unblinking.
"Leta Delaney, can we start over?" With that, he placed the microphone on its stand and stepped toward her, holding one hand out.
As she were being drawn to him magnetically, she found herself moving forward, but when she put her hand into his, she was shaking her head.
"No?" he asked, his hopeful expression falling.
"No," she said, "because I don't want to lose that week."
The light reignited in his eyes. "But?" the word trailed off hopefully.
"But we could go from here," she said. Applause broke out all around them—Leta hadn't even remembered that they'd had an audience.
Then she didn't care, because Tor lips claimed hers, even as he swept her onto the dance floor.
After a long moment, he whispered into her hair, his breath sending shivers down her back, "Hey. Want to come back to my ranch? It's got a great view of the stars at night."
"Maybe," she said, grinning.
"I got your money back from Chet Tyler for that crappy cabin, if that will help you make your decision."
Leta grinned. "It might."
"I've got to tell you something first, though." His eyes glinted with suppressed laughter.
"What's that?"
"I didn't drive tonight."
She tilted her head and frowned at him. "I guess we can take my car."
"The thing is, I need you to know—I brought my plane. So if you leave with me, we'll have to fly."
Leta turned her head to look out the window again. That wasn't a sculpture. Tor had actually arranged to park a plane on the museum grounds?
How long had he been planning this?
"I don't know," she said, her lip quirking up in a grin. "Should you tell your boss about me?"
"Oh, I already have. In great detail—entire paragraphs chock-full of specific descriptions."
She laughed. "Oh, really? How detailed?"
"Don't worry. My boss is the silent type. He'll never tell."
Her peal of laughter rang out across the room, but was quickly silenced as his lips landed on hers again.
"Yes," she said, a long time later. "Take me home, Tor. Let's fly."
Saving Necessity
Chapter One
“Come on. When will you ever get another chance to get this close to a real-life movie star?” Colton Edwards pleaded, holding the screen door open but remaining outside on the porch.
Zeke MacAllan shook his head at Colton, his lifelong friend—and, more importantly in this context, the newly appointed Fire Marshal for all of Stephenson County.
Granted, no one else had been willing to take the job.
“Man,” Zeke replied, “I’ve got one day off. Why would I want to spend it watching a film crew taking pictures of people who are too dang prettified to ever even get close to a cow pretending to do the job I’ll really be doing tomorrow?” With a shake of his head, he gestured Colton inside the tiny cabin he’d recently moved into when he’d agreed to act as lead ranch hand for Colton’s cousin Tor.
Colton’s dismissive snort showed what he thought of his friend’s argument. “This from the guy who spends every spare moment lazing around with his boots kicked up on the coffee table, watching that giant-screen TV Tor gave you?”
“That TV came with the house. And I work outside all day, every day. Coming home to some down time is not the same as lazing around.”
“Dude,” Colton snickered. “‘Netflix and chill’ is not something you’re supposed to do alone.” His voice took on nasal quality they both associated with their fifth-grade elementary school teacher. “It means getting a chick over here to watch the movie and then ... not watching it.”
“I know what it means. And you are not funny.”
“You say you know what it means, but how long has it been since you’ve done it?”
“Shut up. Fine. I’ll go look at the movie stars.”
Colton’s good-natured ribbing erupted into laughter, and Zeke grabbed his straw cowboy hat off the hook inside the door.
Colton always had been able to talk him into the stupidest shit, and even though he knew this was likely to be a wasted day, he had to admit—if only to himself—that the chance to get a glimpse of Sophie Daniels on the set appealed to him.
She was his favorite actress, after all. He’d seen all her movies.
Along with about a hundred million other guys.
But, maybe today, he’d get to be one of the ones who met her.
Maybe he’d even get her autograph.
He could dream, anyway.
“SO WHAT IS IT YOU’RE supposed to be doing here?” Zeke asked Colton a half hour later, when they stood outside The Chargrill, under the scant shade offered by the awning in the midday sun.
Across the street, the film crew had set up outside Maryann’s, the only other restaurant in town, unless you counted the Dairy Queen up by the I-20 cut off.
“I’m not real clear on that myself,” Colton admitted. “Some town ordinance requires any movie crew working in Necessity to have a Fire Marshal on the set when they film. I’m supposed to head over there in about fifteen minutes.”
Maryann, the owner of the café, had just pushed open the glass door leading into her restaurant. She carried two straight-backed chairs looped over her arms, and Zeke hastened to take them from the short, round old woman he had known for as long as he could remember. “These for Colton and the crew?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she replied, her tone cranky, but the twinkle in her faded blue eyes giving away how much she enjoyed the game. “I brought these here chairs so’s I could sit out here and wait to see somebody famous.”
“Who’s the other chair for, Miz Maryann?” Zeke knew she was waiting for him to ask as she lined the two chairs up on the sidewalk and took a seat in one of them.
“Why, that’s for when I get me one of them movie star boyfriends.” She slapped the seat of the extra chair with a wild cackle, inviting the two men to join in her laughter.
Zeke reached out and took her hand. “And he will be lucky to have you,” he said, dropping a light kiss on the back of Maryann’s hand.
The café owner laughed harder and patted the seat again, thi
s time invitingly. “Just for that, Zeke MacAllan, you can sit right down here next to me.”
“What about me?” Colton asked.
“Until the film crew’s ready for you, you can go ahead and bring a few more chairs out here. I closed down the café today for everybody except employees. Oh,” she added as more people begin drifting up on the sidewalk, “and The Chargrill’s employees. And the people who have to be here officially, of course, like Colton. And maybe a few regulars.”
In other words, Zeke reflected, pretty much the entire town of Necessity had been invited to come gawk at the film crew from the sidewalk in front of Maryann’s Café.
Pretty quickly, the atmosphere turned festive. Filming had shut down the entire downtown—it was only one street, after all—and as many people as could get away from their day jobs had turned up for the most exciting event in Necessity in a good, long while.
“What’s the name of this flick, again?” Zeke asked.
“Ten-Gallon Texas,” Colton answered absently. Zeke could tell his friend was loathe to leave the impromptu party in order to attend to his duties as Fire Marshal—not least of all because Maryann’s pretty granddaughter had shown up.
“You gotta go on over there and get to work,” Zeke said, chortling at Colton’s clear reluctance. “What if there’s a fire and you aren’t there to save Sophie Daniels? It would be a national catastrophe.”
“Some friend you are,” Colton said—but he was laughing too. “Sure you don’t want to come over with me? I can get you a behind-the-scenes look.”
“No, I’m comfortable right here.” Zeke had just finished speaking when a black sedan pulled up in front of The Chargrill and Sophie Daniels herself stepped out, her thick, chestnut-colored hair blowing in the slight breeze in a way that made Zeke’s breath catch.
“On second thought,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the movie star, “I believe I will join you, after all.”
Chapter Two
Sophie Daniels adjusted her sunglasses to cover more of her face and did her best to ignore the small crowd that had gathered on the far side of the security perimeter. She didn’t see any flashbulbs going off, but that didn’t mean there weren’t members of the paparazzi mixed into the crowd. Her best bet was to ignore them all and get to work.
Loving Necessity: The Complete Necessity, Texas Collection Page 19