“I’ll be waiting at the door.”
With another kiss, he hops out of the car and starts toward the lobby door. A bolt of realization hits me, and I quickly lower the window and call him back. Curiosity and concern flood his face as he leans over, resting his forearms in the open window.
“What’s the matter, Red?”
“Did . . .” I take a deep breath to prepare for the plunge. “Are you the anonymous buyer?”
The world stops for a moment while I wait. Josh gazes at me, and slowly his lips curve. Then he straightens, taps the doorframe, and walks into the hotel.
Is that a yes or a no?
Blinking, I look forward, hands tight on the steering wheel. I let the car idle until someone pulls up behind me and jerks me into action with a sharp beep of their horn. Rattled and more confused than ever, I put my car into drive and start back home.
Chapter 14
Old Habits
I’m on pins and needles all week in anticipation of Josh’s work party. A ransack of my closet results in a desperate call to Caitlin, begging her to come over and work her fashion sense on my wardrobe. With her help, I choose a slim-fitting black sheath dress with a lace yoke and cap sleeves. We pair it with a beaded clutch purse and kitten-heeled pumps. Caitlin takes the dress back to her house for one of her signature steam and iron treatments, returning it at lunchtime on Friday.
“Make sure to take a selfie,” she tells me. “With and without Josh. You are going to kill in this dress.”
Fancy events aren’t new to me. I’ve attended my share of recognition dinners and cocktail parties. But this one is different. To start, it’s not about me. It’s about Josh. He’s worked so hard over the last few months to make this merger happen, and I think tonight might be the linchpin to the whole deal. With that in mind, I take special care in getting ready. I use a little extra curl serum and scrunch my hair into the soft ringlets that are just starting to form, now that my pixie cut has grown out a bit. A touch of emerald eye shadow brings out the hints of green in my otherwise blue eyes, and the careful application of foundation and highlighter evens out my freckles, evidence of the slight sunburn I got in the Caribbean. After wriggling into my dress, I select a short silver chain and matching pendant earrings, then check out the final results.
According to my mirror, I clean up pretty good.
The doorbell rings. Snatching my shoes off the bed, I hurry downstairs to answer. I recognize Josh’s silhouette through the lead glass window, but I’m not prepared for the figure he cuts in a tailored black suit, complete with a vest and silk necktie.
His gaze scans me from head to toe and back again. A half-grin appears, along with an appreciative—and slightly naughty—gleam in his eyes. “Wow.”
“Wow, yourself.” I drop my shoes on the floor and step into them. “Ready when you are.”
The drive up to the Grove Park Inn is quiet but companionable. Josh laces his fingers with mine in my lap, steering one-handed even through some of the tighter turns in the uphill road. A little wriggle of anxiety hits when the hotel, one of Asheville’s oldest and most luxurious, comes into view.
I glance at Josh. “What exactly do you need me to do tonight?”
“Be yourself,” he answers with a quick glance. “I’m the one who has to waltz around and ooze charm.”
“Is your merger riding on how everything goes?”
He shrugs. “The merger’s pretty much in the bag. Without Mattingly Enterprises, Dave Connors—that’s the owner—either has to borrow against his personal investments to keep the company solvent, or fold.”
“Neither option sounds very appealing.”
“Absolutely not. I suppose tonight is all about keeping relations positive, making sure that when the ink dries, we have another willing and happy addition to the family, so to speak. It’s no loss to Mattingly Enterprises if Dave backs out at the eleventh hour. We only stand to gain.” He pauses to navigate the entry to the valet lot. “It just makes future business dealings smoother when all parties see each other in an amiable light.”
A parking attendant waits patiently while Josh gets out, then circles the car to help me. He hands over his key with a reminder about watching bumpers. Then he tucks my arm into the crook of his left elbow and takes me inside.
I’ve only been in the Grove Park Inn’s lobby once, when I first came to Asheville. It’s tempting to gawk at the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that’s the focal point of the room. But Josh tugs me toward the elevators before I give in to the immature impulse.
If the main lobby is all about intricate shadows and rich tones, the Vanderbilt Terrace, where the party is to take place, glows with the soft light of sunset and hanging lamps, reflections glinting in polished silver and gold-rimmed stemware. The open air space is canopied with swaths of white fabric that sway over large round tables covered with white linen clothes.
“I thought you said this was a cocktail party,” I whisper, rising slightly on tiptoe so my comment only reaches Josh’s ear.
“It is,” he says. “I think it’s one of those things where waiters wander around with trays. Tables are probably for later in the evening, when people have had too much from the open bar to bother standing any longer.”
Spying the company owner beside said bar, Josh steers me in that direction. As we draw closer, I notice a tall woman in a red floor-length gown clinging to Dave Connors’s arm. Her eyes scan the room at large, but when we come within a few yards, she zeros in on us.
To be more accurate, she zeros in on Josh.
Though she presses closer to Dave, her gaze grows predatory with the subtle lowering of her eyelids and the purse of lips smeared with bright red lipstick. The smoky eye shadow and fake lashes she sports adds another layer of vixen to her look.
Instantly on guard, I clutch Josh’s arm.
He pats the back of my hand, mistaking my reaction for nerves. Then he extends his right hand to greet Dave, and I realize the strategy behind keeping me to his left. He can shake hands all night if he wants without ever letting me go. The move keeps anyone from crowding me out.
A happy ripple of pride causes my chin to lift a couple notches as he introduces me.
“Marissa, this is Dave Connors, and his wife, Brenda.” Our glances meet as he looks down on me with clear affection. “This is Marissa O’Brien.”
Dave smiles and offers his hand, forcing me to let go of Josh’s arm. “Nice to meet you, Marissa. Are you connected to Mattingly Enterprises, too?”
While I fumble for an answer to the unexpected question, Josh scoops up my hand and resettles it in the crook of his elbow. He answers for me. “Marissa and I met right after I got to town. She’s one of the most talented interior designers I’ve ever met.”
Later, I’ll have to remind him that he’s never seen anything I’ve done outside my own home. But I know he’s talking me up.
Brenda Connors cocks her head to the side, one over-plucked eyebrow arching. “You live in Asheville? How sweet.”
Her honeyed words drip with condescension. This time when I tighten my fingers on Josh’s sleeve, he can’t possibly think it’s from nerves.
“We’re from Asheville,” Dave reminds her with a chuckle.
“But we don’t live here anymore, thank God.” She shrugs, then turns that smoky-eyed stare back to Josh. “Where did you find her?”
Judgment tinges the edge of her words. Josh doesn’t seem to pick up on it, or if he does, he keeps his reaction inside. “Completely by chance.” He glances down at me with a reassuring smile. “How did you put it? Saw each other across a crowded room, or something like that?”
Her eyes shift back to me, turning to a mildly withering stare. “How sweet.”
I’ve delivered more than my share of dagger-eyes in my life. But I’ve never
been good at camouflaging them. Luckily, Josh shifts the conversation into business territory, leaving Brenda and me effectively on the fringes. Here and there, I make a well-timed comment or ask a question that actually adds to the conversation.
Brenda, however, seems to be having trouble even making appropriate interjections. She’s too busy leering at Josh.
My fingers dig into my clutch purse as I fight not to snap something ridiculous at her. I’m no amateur, but I know better than to flirt with someone whose girlfriend is glued to his side. Never mind trying to get away with it in front of her husband.
I’m dying to put her in her place.
She gives me the perfect opening. Her manicured fingers graze Josh’s right arm. He glances down at her hand as if startled, then looks up at her face. “Dave mentioned you’re from the Virgin Islands,” she purrs. “It must be incredible down there. I would just love to see it.”
By the way her gaze slightly dips down Josh’s front, I doubt St. Croix is what she wants to see. I almost expect her to lick her lips or wipe away the drool.
Time for me to mark my territory, at least metaphorically. I press close to Josh and send an innocent smile her way. “Oh, it is. Josh just took me down there at the beginning of the month. I can’t wait to go back.”
If she can play with double entendres, so can I.
Brenda’s mouth gapes slightly, but before anything else can be said, Josh excuses us so we can make the rounds. I can’t help a little smirk of triumph as we walk away.
For the next hour or so, we circulate through the clusters of executives and middle managers, the people with whom Josh has worked side-by-side for the past four months. His interactions turn markedly less formal, showing me firsthand how close he’s grown to these people. He knows their wives’ and girlfriends’ names, asks about their kids and softball leagues and kitchen renovations. They include me in all the conversations, though more than once I’m surprised at a comment or two indicating that Josh has mentioned me at work.
After a while, we drift to the end of the terrace and look out at the stunning views of the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounding Asheville, blanketed in the soft colors of twilight. Josh’s hand rides comfortably at the small of my back, then slides around to cup my hip.
I nestle against him. “It seems like you’ve made some friends since you got here.”
“I doubt anybody’s ready to invite me over for pizza and beer. But I’ve been asked to join a couple basketball leagues this winter.”
My fingers clench on the wine glass I hold. “Won’t that be a little hard to manage?”
“Come on, Red. You know I bought that house in Montford.”
I stare at my merlot for a moment, rather than look at Josh. “I had a hunch,” I murmur, lifting the glass.
My silence makes Josh shift beside me. He turns, leaning back against the terrace railing so we face each other. After taking my glass and setting it on a nearby high-top table, he clasps my hands. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“I admit to being curious.” I return my gaze to the view.
“Whatever happens, happens. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”
“I don’t think that normally encompasses the purchase of a house.” I chew the inside of my lip, then look at him at last. “So why?”
The hint of a smile touches his lips as he strokes my jaw with one finger. “Because of how much you love it.”
“Then wouldn’t it have made more sense to help me figure out how to buy it myself?” My brow furrows. “Unless you’re planning to work out a short sale. You’d have to lower your asking price quite a bit.”
“Don’t play. You’re a smart woman.”
I want to turn away, but his hand against my cheek prevents it. So does the expectant, slightly amused gaze that pins me like a statue.
The past few weeks have been building to this moment. The trip to St. Lucia. Meeting his family. His willingness to become friendly with my friends. And tonight, featuring me on his arm as he works to seal a business deal that will free him from the shackles of his nomadic life, a move that will allow him to finally settle down.
Does he actually want to settle down here? With me?
Heat bubbles up from deep inside, a mix of excitement, appreciation, and the wild abandon of love. But just as quickly as my skin warms, the temperature plummets as my old enemy comes calling.
Fear.
Fear of being left again, of having promises broken.
It’s been so long since I’ve been in love, the idea of actually admitting it to anyone terrifies me. Saying it makes it real; and once it’s real, it can be destroyed.
Josh’s expression softens. “You’re freaking out.”
“No, I’m not.” A feeble lie.
And he doesn’t buy it for a second. “Panic is all over your face. But if you’d let me, I think I could get rid of it once and for all.”
I glance at him with a smirk. “And how would you do that?”
“For starters,” he says, leaning close. “I’d grab you and kiss you until you’re cross-eyed. Then I’d toss you over my shoulder, carry you down to the front desk, ask for a room, and spend the rest of the night making sure you are entirely clear on my intentions.”
My lungs seize. “I think that would make your intentions clear to everybody.”
“You’re the only one I need to convince.” He eases back with one more gentle touch to my cheek. “But aside from drawing undue attention, I know you’d just freak out more if I went all caveman on you.”
I nod, but can’t seem to say anything in reply. Something about his not wanting to draw attention to us, to broadcast the extent of our relationship status, makes doubt squirm deep inside. I know tonight isn’t about us. But I’m not sure I’d really mind if he stood up on a table and professed his love in front of everyone.
He’s barely professed it to me. Everything would be a lot simpler if he’d just come right out and tell me what he’s thinking, where he sees us ending up.
“I’m going to go freshen up,” I say, shooting him a bright smile.
He pushes away from the railing as I move away. “Meet you by the bar.”
The hallway leading to the ladies’ room is, thankfully, deserted. Blowing out a sigh, I push open the heavy door and pass through the lounge area to the restroom proper. There, I set my purse beside one of the sinks, brace my hands on the edge of the counter, and survey myself in the mirror.
Just as Josh said, panic flares in my eyes and creates a slight pucker between my brows. Not good. If Josh can see it, so will anybody else I talk to. Staring at my reflection, I will my forehead to smooth over, for the crazed fear in my eyes to disappear. If I calm down, I can go back to the party and act like I’m not freaking out.
It takes about five minutes to recompose my expression enough to hide my inner turmoil. Straightening, I pick up my purse and turn to leave.
The outer door of the lounge squeaks on its hinges, and two female voices reach me. I’m not quite ready to face anyone. I’d planned to use the walk back to the terrace to finish talking myself down. Without any other options, I step into one of the stalls and lock the door just as the women enter the restroom.
“He really is as gorgeous in person as he was online,” one of them says. “And that accent!”
“Simmer down, Deanne. As far as you should be concerned, he’s spoken for.” The second woman sounds familiar, and not in a warm and tingly way.
Frowning, I move a little to the left side of the stall so I can see through the space between the door and the wall. A flash of red crosses my vision as the two women plant themselves in front of the mirror to preen.
Brenda Connors.
Given the way she acted earlier, it doesn’t take a detective to figure out that they’re talking abo
ut Josh. I hold my breath.
Her friend, Deanne, giggles. “I still can’t believe you waited this long to try your luck. He’s been here for months.”
The stone that drops into my stomach almost forces me to sit down on the toilet behind me. I manage to prop my hands on the walls for support before my knees give out.
“I couldn’t think of a way to orchestrate a meeting before this,” Brenda continues. “But since he’s leaving in a few weeks, tonight is probably my only chance.”
“You aren’t worried about disappointing him? I mean, you said he’s been with dozens of women, and he’s younger than you.”
“My plastic surgeon and I refuse to admit I’m older than thirty-five.” Brenda’s laughter rakes me like nails on a chalkboard. “And I’m not the least bit concerned about disappointing him. Being married to a workaholic has its perks. For one thing, it gives me plenty of time to hone my skills, if you know what I mean.” She cackles again, then sighs. “It’s too bad Dave insisted on getting rid of the pool boy. Said it was a frivolous expense in today’s economic climate.”
The sour taste of bile fills the back of my mouth.
Deanne sighs in commiseration. “But what about that girl he’s got with him? They seem pretty cozy.”
“The interior designer? Please. Joshua Mattingly is not the type to settle down, and sure as hell not with someone like her. My guess is, that’s just the product of a virile man’s boredom in a small town. I can’t help it if he’s been slumming it with a local nobody. There’s no way she means anything to him. Why would she?”
At that, I do almost throw up. While I haven’t thought of the situation with such disrespectful verbiage, hasn’t that been part of my issue? It doesn’t make sense why someone like Josh would want to be with me for more than a meaningless fling.
“It won’t be hard to distract him from that little slut,” Brenda says. “All I need is a few minutes when she’s not glued to his side, and he’ll barely be able to contain himself long enough to get me back to my room.”
The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3) Page 13