Romancing the Running Back

  Her personal cell rang, and she checked the readout. “Hey, Cynthia.”

  “Anya, sweetie, how are things?”

  “Things are good.” She shut her laptop down and flopped back on the bed. The room wasn’t exactly the penthouse in Santa Fe—she smiled a little at the memory, then wanted to cry—but it was comfortable and clean. And most of all, she wasn’t paying for it. “Have I told you lately how grateful I am that you’re still collecting dresses for me while I’m out?”

  “Honey, with the press and acknowledgement my store is earning, I should be thanking you.” She paused. “I do think it’s time to consider hiring part-time help, though, dear, if you won’t be quitting your current job and working with the nonprofit full-time.”

  That in itself sounded like a dream . . . but she wasn’t confident enough yet in the plan. If only she had more of a business background . . . “Not yet. Maybe sometime. A part-time person might be good, you’re right on that. I can’t keep relying on you to help out. You’ve already done way more than enough to get me started.”

  “I’d be happy to help you interview when the time comes.”

  Anya felt her eyes water and ground the heels of her hands into them to make it stop. “Thanks, Cynthia.”

  There was a bit of a pause, then, “Honey, are you quite sure you need to be gone like this?”

  “I’m promoting Chance to Dance,” she said brightly, forcing cheer into her voice. “It’s good, and I’m learning a lot from these people. Every group I run up against has questions for me that are making me think more long-term. I had this dream, and then it became a reality in an instant. I jumped first, then looked second. Now that I’m in, I’m playing catch-up with the knowledge someone should really have before they get started. It’s been really, really good.”

  “I’m sure it has been. But we miss you here. And winter formals are only a few weeks away.”

  “I’ll be back for those.” She still had to purchase the small trailer and truck, too. Another reason to hold off on shutting down the personal shopping. “I will, promise. Only two more speaking gigs for right now, then I’m back to business as usual.”

  Except business as usual now meant doing it without Josiah. They’d be near each other again, but she wouldn’t make the first move. Not until she had divorce papers in her hands, officially signed, with every single loophole tied off. She couldn’t risk it all.

  “Dear, I know you think this is for the best, but the storm has passed,” Cynthia began. “Nobody has even mentioned it again. There are no, oh, what do you call them, bogs out there speaking about it any longer.”

  “Blogs,” Anya corrected automatically.

  “And I have to tell you, I don’t believe your young Bobcat cares much for what the blogs say.”

  “He says that now, but . . . wait.” Anya sat up straighter. “How did you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  Fighting for patience, Anya took a deep breath. “How do you know what Josiah cares about? Or doesn’t care about, I mean.”

  “He called in earlier. I believe it was Thursday, perhaps Friday.”

  Days ago, and Cynthia hadn’t told her until just now? “What did he say?”

  “He said he was still on the road—whatever that meant—but that he was desperate to find you. Something about proving you wrong, and that it was important.”

  She relaxed a little. “He’s just being stubborn. I knew he would be. It’ll take a while for that to pass, but it will.”

  Cynthia made a sound that told her exactly how much credit she gave that idea.

  “He needs distance, and so do I. I’m getting a lot more work done, now that I can think clearly.” Total lie, as she was struggling to maintain the same amount of productivity as before, because her head was a total mess. But eventually, the mess would calm down and she would think clearly and it would be fine. The scales would balance.

  Or she would walk around for the rest of her life with this big gaping wound where her heart used to be. Either-or.

  Almost as if she could tell where Anya’s mind had wandered, Cynthia asked in a soft voice, “Is everything all right, Anya?”

  She bit her lip. Don’t cry, seriously, don’t cry. “Yeah,” she choked out. “I just miss him.”

  “Of course you do, honey. That’s natural. I still think this could all be worked out, though, if you would simply come home.”

  “I will,” she promised. There was no way to stay away forever. Not only because she couldn’t afford to, but because she refused to run away. These speaking engagements weren’t her running, but testing. Testing her own capabilities to make this nonprofit bigger than she’d ever imagined. “Just one more, and then I’ll be home until after the new year. I can’t take any more boardrooms full of people asking me questions I can’t answer or have to bumble through.”

  “We look forward to seeing you,” Cynthia said genuinely, then said good-bye.

  * * *

  “She’s miserable,” Cynthia said, setting the phone down in its cradle. Folding her hands on the desk in front of her, she shot Josiah a steely-eyed glare. “I hope you didn’t think I had that conversation in front of you for nothing.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said automatically. She’d done him a huge service, calling Anya to make sure she was going to be following the itinerary she’d emailed Cynthia a week earlier.

  When Josiah had heard she’d taken off, he’d panicked. He’d been ready to rip the world apart to find her. But after Cassie found out where Anya had gone, and told him she’d taken off on an impromptu speaking tour—taking up on the offers of those who had called in to offer her speaking gigs—he’d relaxed a little. She was still invested in the area, still invested in the nonprofit. He believed her when she’d said in her note she wasn’t running away.

  But he needed her back, damn it. No, wanted. Wanted her back. Fine, it was both. Cassie had remained firm on not giving up her location. But Cynthia . . . Cynthia was another matter entirely.

  “So? What do you plan to do about it?”

  He started to speak, then froze.

  Watching him with a look of quiet chastisement, she went on. “I believe you are not a brainless jock with an empty head, and so I’m led to believe you came here for advice from a more experienced woman. And even if you haven’t, I’m going to give you advice anyway. That’s the privilege that comes with age. I can say what I want to without being held accountable.”

  He smiled a little. Anya adored her, and he could see why.

  “That girl loves you to the moon and back. She’s bright, spirited, and between her move across the country, the planning of her best friend’s wedding, having a new man in her life, fighting tooth and nail for a divorce she should have been granted ages ago, going full-time in an independent business, and starting a nonprofit organization, she’s bitten off a bit more than she can chew. Now she has to decide whether to spit something back out, or keep fighting through the pain to make it all work.”

  “She can spit out the ex,” he muttered, then jolted when Cynthia laughed. He hadn’t meant her to hear that.

  “We can both agree on that. Anya is . . . well, she’s special, isn’t she?” Cynthia smiled and propped her chin on one hand. The rings on her finger nearly dazzled him. She was refined and completely downplayed herself to let the clothing around her shine, but she still had something about her that screamed wealth. “She reminds me of myself at that age. Ambitious, and no idea how to use it. She’s got tools aplenty, and the drive . . .” She chuckled. “Lord, that girl has drive. But she’s missing an anchor.”

  “That’s me,” Josiah said firmly. “I’m not going to pretend to know jack squat about fashion. Frankly it . . . confuses me . . . and that’s me putting it kindly. But I know how to find the information she needs. And I want her to be here. I want to be her anchor.”

&nb
sp; “She’ll need to travel for work.”

  “So do I.”

  “She won’t be available all the time, at your beck and call.”

  “If I wanted that, I’d get a dog.”

  Cynthia laughed. “I do like you. I see exactly what Anya sees in you. Now.” She set her hands firmly on her desk. “I have to tell you, I cannot betray her trust and tell you where she’s staying. She asked me to keep the information confidential, and I plan to do so. The destination you seek will not cross these lips.”

  His heart sank. Eventually, she had to come home. He’d heard Cynthia confirm with her just that. But he needed to see her now. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Having said that,” she added, standing. He stood with her. “I want you to understand how difficult this will be,” she patted the paper on top of her desk, “not showing this to you. I understand you want to find her, but I cannot just hand this itinerary over to you.” She patted the paper again. “You understand, don’t you?”

  His jaw clenched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her eyes hardened. “You understand, don’t you?” she repeated, patting the paper harder.

  “Uh, yes?” He looked around the room, hoping for a clue. Clearly, the woman was trying to tell him something, and he was not receiving the message.

  “I have to help a customer now,” she added, a little stiffly. “I expect you can see yourself out.” She tapped her desk once more, then sailed out of the room, leaving him be.

  “That was weird,” he said under his breath, then shot the door a guilty look. But she didn’t reappear. When he bent over her desk, he realized what she’d been doing.

  Oh. Wow, Cynthia had been wrong. He was an idiot. Hustling around the desk, he quickly jotted down the address of her last speaking engagement—Texas, huh—and left the paper where it was.

  Bless you, Cynthia.

  * * *

  She couldn’t focus. There was no drive left. No . . . anything. The emotional tank was on E and she was miles from the nearest station. She attempted to calculate her mileage from Texas to Santa Fe—as Josiah was her emotional filling station—and gave up. Math, and all that.

  How pathetic, that she was about to come up short on her last stop before she headed home. Finishing strong just seemed so . . . out of the realm of possibilities.

  Anya let her note cards fall to the bed and curled up on her side. Maybe it was a pity party. No, no maybe about it. This was a pity party. She was entitled to one, though, wasn’t she? It had been nearly two weeks since she’d seen Josiah, which was bad enough. But two weeks without seeing him through FaceTime, without even hearing his voice . . . that was really bringing her down. It was as if he were the charger to her emotional battery, and she’d been unplugged for too long.

  Her mother, father, and stepmother had all been thrilled to meet him, and what a kick that had been to hear he’d shown up at their homes looking for her, and wanting to meet them. Bring him back, they’d all said. Come with him next time, they’d all said.

  Well, yeah, sure, make it sound easy, why doncha . . .

  She’d fired her attorney, but hadn’t had a chance to hire a new one yet. Josiah had asked to take care of it, but she couldn’t hand that expense over to him now, after she’d . . . not broken up with him, but instituted some distance. It felt unfair, almost like she was putting a ransom on their relationship.

  Her phone rang, and she looked at it. It was an unknown Atlanta number. Her first instinct was to ignore it—stupid-ass Chad—but then she realized it was her new personal cell, the one he didn’t have the number to. She managed to answer just before it kicked over to voice mail. “Hello?”

  “Anastasia Fisher?” a gruff voice barked.

  “Yes?” She checked her watch. It was nearly ten at night local Texas time, meaning nearly eleven in Atlanta. “Who is this?”

  “Mortimer Patelli, your attorney.”

  Attorney? “I’m sorry, Mr. Patelli, but I didn’t hire an attorney.” Or rather, another attorney . . .

  “I was hired by Josiah Walker to represent you in your divorce to that piece of work you call a husband.”

  “I don’t call him anything,” she said on autopilot, then rewound the script. “Wait, Josiah hired you? When?” And how late did this man work if he was calling her this late? He must be the definition of a workaholic.

  “Approximately ten days ago. We met when he was here in Atlanta for the game, and had a quick . . . uh, we’ll call it a get-together with your ex and his attorney. Agreements were made verbally, but I wanted to wait until paperwork was on my desk before giving you a call.”

  “Paperwork. Agreements?” She couldn’t quite breathe. “He . . . did he sign . . . am I . . .”

  “Not yet, you’re not. There’s still a process, but let’s just say you’re well on your way. He caved faster than I thought he would, but I think that’s mostly due to the up-close look at your new man that did it.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that,” she said softly, holding a hand over her heart.

  “As it got the job done, I’d say thank you when you see him next.”

  She made a sound of agreement. “I hate to sound crass but . . . how much is this costing me? Is that why he agreed to the divorce? Because if that’s what it takes, I’m to the point of relinquishing everything I owned until two years ago in order to be rid of him.”

  “God save me from saints,” the man muttered darkly. “No, I would never let that happen. Jesus, what kinda lawyer do you take me for?”

  “It took my last one two years to get this far,” she pointed out.

  “Now you’ve got the best. You’re leaving with exactly what you asked for . . . what you came into the marriage with. It’s a pretty clean-cut deal now that he’s not attempting to play hardball anymore. I can’t see why the deal won’t be done before the end of the year.”

  She could be divorced in under two months. After having waited over two years, it seemed surreal. “I can’t . . . I don’t know how . . . thank you.”

  “Thank the man at your door,” he said, and it sounded almost like he said it with a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “The man at . . . what?” Anya asked, but the gruff lawyer had already hung up. She glanced at her phone to confirm—yup, he’d hung up—and furrowed her brow. What an odd way to end a phone call.

  The knock on the door scared the bejesus out of her. She shrieked and dropped her phone, cupping her mouth to keep her teeth from chattering. The man at her door . . . it was like a teenage slasher film. Walking slowly, she approached with caution before she could check through the peephole. “Josiah?”

  Flinging the door open, she threw herself at him. He caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her and walking her inside to shut the door again. “Hey, hummingbird.”

  “Oh my God.” She nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re here. In Texas.” She gasped and pulled away. “Oh my God, how are you here? In Texas? You’ve got a home game in three days!”

  “Which is why I’m actually only here for about twelve hours. I’ll be late for morning practice, but them’s the breaks.” He grinned and tossed his ball cap toward the bed with her note cards spread on it. “Once I figured out where you were, an entire squad of real bobcats couldn’t have kept me away. He kissed her then, cupping her jaw sweetly as he did so, not giving her a chance to pull away.

  Which she never would have done. She gripped his shirt and pulled him more fully toward her. Her battery felt recharged already. “You’re insane. I can’t believe you’re ditching practice just to see me.”

  “I’d do anything for you, baby.” He smoothed his hand down her braid, tugging gently. “Not gonna kick me out, are you?”

  She looked at where they stood—a good ten feet inside the room—then at the door. “I doubt it would do me much goo
d.”

  “None,” he confirmed. “Anya, why?”

  Ho, boy, here it goes.

  She started to sit on the bed, but then he wanted to sit beside her and she put the kibosh on that. “Sit on the chair, please? I need to do this without you touching me. I might go crazy if you are.”

  Josiah took her at her word and shifted to the chair.

  “Thank you. I left because, well, it was in the note. I thought I had more time before that note would get to you,” she admitted. “But it didn’t matter. Someone asked me why I was so angry at everything else, when the real problem in this whole tangle was me. I was the mess.”

  “Who said that?” he asked angrily. His body tensed, fisted hands on his knees, ready to spring up and kick some ass.

  “It doesn’t matter. They were right. I was blaming my circumstances on everything and everyone but me. I took on a lot too fast. I let the situation rule me instead of the other way around.”

  “Anya—”

  “I love you.” She blurted it out fast, because it was hard to look at him, watching her so intently and so obviously loving her back. Hard to face that sort of emotion and not reciprocate immediately. It was out of the order of things she wanted to say, but . . . “I love you so much.”

  “Come here.” He motioned for her, and she crawled into his lap. Well, her resolved lasted a good four minutes. Not bad, given how long she’d gone without his touch. He sighed when she settled against him, her legs draped over the arm of the chair, his hand stroking down her back. “God, I missed this.” His lips cruised over her temple. “Missed you so much. Don’t disappear again.”

  “I needed to—”

  “If you have to travel for work or pleasure, tell me. Or take me with you.” His mouth curved against her forehead. “I’m always up for checking out a few pleasure locations with the woman of my dreams.”

  The words, said without a hint of sarcasm, soothed something inside her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said.