by Cate Cameron
He was kind of calling her crazy, but he was doing it in a really nice way. For once, she decided to let herself focus on the nice. Still, there was no point in getting carried away. “Let’s try The Pier. It might be nice to be somewhere less crowded.”
“Yeah, of course. And if they haven’t got anything good on the menu, we can go somewhere else.”
Or call it a night maybe. Her excitement about Zane and teaching had gotten her this far, but now it was morphing into something more like nervousness. What the hell had just happened? Was she going out to dinner with Calvin Montgomery? Was this a date? Damn it, was she on a date with Calvin Montgomery? That seemed like something that should have been thought over a bit more carefully, and then been avoided at all costs.
But Calvin was apparently unaware of her sudden hesitations, driving calmly through the light off-season traffic, heading toward the edge of town.
Zara risked a glance in his direction. If only he’d been a little less good looking. Or else, just as good looking but not quite as kind. Or damn it, he could be both of those things and it wouldn’t be a problem, if only he wasn’t Calvin Montgomery. Patronizing, superior golden boy representative of the mighty Montgomery clan. That Calvin Montgomery.
So she decided, for that night at least, he wasn’t. He was someone else, just a guy. “Zane calls you Cal,” she said. She hadn’t really known she was going in that direction, but okay, it was a good question. “Do you prefer that? More than Calvin?”
“Strangers and my family call me Calvin; my friends call me Cal.”
Well, that was unexpectedly easy. Maybe her subconscious was better at this than she was giving it credit for. “Cal,” she said experimentally. It sounded okay.
And judging by the look on Cal’s face, it sounded okay to him, too.
Eleven
“SO SCHOOL IN the city and then straight back here to work for your dad? You weren’t tempted to stay down there?” Zara took a bite of her wood-oven pizza as she waited for Cal’s answer.
And Cal found himself actually having to think before he gave it. “I think I was, kind of. Or maybe not staying in New York, but going somewhere else? Europe, or China, or even just the West Coast. I thought about that, for sure.”
“But you just couldn’t stay away from good ol’ Lake Sullivan.” She sounded skeptical about that, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
“The family business,” he said. The words felt heavy in his mouth. “Not much point in having a family business if there’s no family involved.”
“Your brother wasn’t enough?”
“Heir and a spare.”
“Really? You’re the spare? Just because your brother’s a few years older? That doesn’t bother you?”
“It never used to,” Cal said honestly. “Michael loves the company. He went to school nearby so he could still work at the company evenings and weekends. He didn’t do an MBA or anything, just started working full time as soon as he could. He’s tied to the company way more closely than I am. So it only made sense he should take over.”
“And that’s enough for you? You don’t really seem like the sort who’d be content to . . . I don’t know, to sit back and watch someone else run the show. You seem like you’d want to be—”
“World champion?” he asked lightly, and he shook his head. “Michael and I have never really been that competitive.”
She was quiet for a moment as if trying to reconcile herself to that idea. “What about being challenged by your work, though? If you’re already a VP, there’s not really anywhere else for you to go, is there? Maybe the work’s interesting now, but is it still going to be in thirty years when you’re doing the exact same thing?”
Good question. And she was so beautiful and sincere as she was asking that he couldn’t really shut her down. “I don’t know. But I feel like I have to try, you know?” He shook his head. “My dad hasn’t taken more than a couple days off in a row since I don’t know when. I can’t remember him ever taking a full week’s vacation. It drives my mom crazy, but he says he has to be there in case something goes wrong. And he’s doing all that for Michael and me. So the company we inherit will be strong and profitable. So when he wanted me to come back and share some of the load?” He shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do.”
“And are you going to keep the same schedule, and pressure your kids into coming back to keep you from working yourself to death?”
He frowned out the window and down toward the water, saw the moonlight glinting off the gentle waves. He could see the dock, and the sandy beach, and he knew every path through the forest that surrounded the town. Then he turned and looked around the room. He’d been right that The Pier was winding down for the season and it was quiet that night, but a few tables had customers at them. People he knew mostly, or people who knew his people. “It’s not a bad place to live,” he said quietly. “I like it here.”
“You could live here without working for the company, though. Couldn’t you?”
He frowned. Could he? “I’d never really considered it. I mean, there’s not a lot of work obviously. I’d never find anything that paid what I make working for the family, not without going to the city.” But maybe that didn’t matter. He had stock in the company, got dividends and had investments and otherwise made quite a bit more money than he ever managed to spend. “It might seem like an insult. To the family, you know? If I moved away, I could say I didn’t like the town. But if I stayed here and didn’t work for them . . . that’d hurt, I think.”
She nodded slowly. “In a way, that’s nice. I mean, that they want you to be part of what they’re doing.”
They sat quietly for a moment, then she made a face. “Sorry, was that kind of nosy? I’m not good at casual chatting.”
“We could talk about your health,” he suggested with a grin. “Post-concussion syndrome, that sort of thing. I hear that’s always good for small talk.”
Damn it, she even looked good when she was rolling her eyes. He wanted to be closer to her. Wanted her snuggled in next to him with his arm around her so no matter what direction she looked, she’d still be looking at some part of him. And he wanted to touch her, tweak her chin when she was teasing him, and, oh, God, he wanted to leave his hand there, stretch his fingers out along her strong jawline and tilt her head just right. . . .
“Sports it is, then,” she said brightly. “Except I don’t really follow any, except MMA. Which I haven’t been following lately. So . . .”
“How’d you get into it?” he asked. “The MMA stuff. You weren’t doing any of that when you lived in Lake Sullivan, were you?”
“No, I started in the city. I mean, Zane showed me how to throw a punch, just to defend myself. A few other bits and pieces. But nothing serious. But when I moved, there was a judo gym down the street and my aunt wanted me out of her hair, so I took a class there, and then they let me hang around and work out in exchange for doing chores. I was already fit and pretty strong from—I don’t know, just from life—and I’m naturally flexible and balanced. So I just needed to learn technique. I got a job at a place a bit farther away that was moving away from pure judo toward MMA, and I picked that up there.” She shrugged. “It just kind of happened. And then once I found out there was maybe money in it? I worked pretty hard.”
“Never tempted to go to college?” Because that was the plan I had for you.
She snorted. “No. Not at all. I’m not really school-oriented, I don’t think.” She squinted at him. “You did, what, six years of school after high school? Didn’t you want to, like, do something? Something real, not just sitting there learning stuff?”
“I was too busy partying to really notice, for my first degree,” he admitted. “Getting away from my parents, all the way to New York City? I went a little nuts.” Especially after his childhood friend had gone off the rails and been sent to jail, but he didn’
t think he’d mention that right then. “I did most of my learning in mad cram sessions right before exams. And then my MBA? It was a lot of case studies. So not necessarily real, but at least not straight theory. We got to apply what we were learning. I liked that.”
“Case studies?”
“Yeah, like . . . well, the idea was that we were learning enough to manage all areas of a business, without really diving into any one area. So for accounting, we learned enough to be able to manage accountants, and to use the information they gave us. And then they’d give us a set of books, either made up or sometimes from a real company that was willing to share their information in exchange for ideas, and we’d go through and look at the real numbers and figure out what we could about the company, what their strengths and weaknesses were—that sort of thing.” And he knew he should stop there, but there was something pushing him on, making him dare what he shouldn’t. “For a marketing course, I actually did a case study on female athletes.”
He waited for her reaction, and got only a cautiously raised eyebrow. So he pressed on. “I looked at MMA. It’s a new sport to begin with, and then female fighters are even newer, so it was really interesting. I looked at a lot of other fields—other sports, but other entertainment industries as well—and tried to decide what ideas could transfer and what couldn’t.”
“And what’d you find?”
There was a new tone in her voice, one that told him he needed to tread carefully.
“Well, from a business standpoint—” Damn it, he was an idiot for bringing this up. But he kept going. “I found that it would likely be effective to market fighters as sex symbols. It would be best to have them look pretty even in the ring, but I did some surveys that showed the women still had to be effective fighters in order for the interest to be maintained. The men who were susceptible to marketing in this area needed to feel that the women were tough and strong, but also feminine and pretty. I did some work that suggested it could be effective to play up the contrast between the two personas . . . instead of trying to make the women look soft and pretty as they fight, let them look tough, and then contrast that to their soft, pretty looks in real life.”
She wasn’t eating anymore, just frowning at him. “There was a poster,” she said. “Three or four years ago, maybe. It had me, like, split-screened. One side the way I look in the ring, and the other side . . . well, not like I look in real life, but with makeup and my hair done and everything, wearing a sexy dress. That poster was my top seller. It’s still selling really well, I think. And the company uses that image for all their promotions.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know the poster. I—” Well, he’d brought himself to this precipice. Time to throw himself off and see if he could fly. “I worked with the promotions team on that idea. As part of my MBA. That’s how I heard about your concussion this time around; I’m still kind of in touch with Terry.”
“Terry, the president of the company?” she asked. He couldn’t figure out how she was reacting, but it certainly wasn’t anything joyful.
“Yeah. He actually offered me a job, after I graduated. I came back here instead, but we’ve stayed in touch.”
She nodded slowly, and he tried to keep his mouth shut, tried to give her a bit of time to absorb the new information. He was leaning forward, intent on her face, and he barely even noticed as she picked up a dry chunk of pizza crust. But he definitely felt it when the pointy end of the crust bounced off his forehead, and he jerked back in protest.
“Hey!”
“I hate that poster! I look fake on both sides of it!”
“But do you like the money it makes you? You get a cut of that, right?”
She frowned at him for a few breaths and then grudgingly said, “Yeah. I like the money.”
“Well, settle down, then.” He was still feeling cautious, but he was pretty sure this was going to be okay. “No more food throwing. My mom’s friends with the owners here. If I get kicked out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She had another piece of crust in her hand and looked down at it thoughtfully. He braced himself as she lifted her arm, and then he relaxed as she popped the food into her mouth.
“I’m sorry you didn’t like the poster,” he said. “I was thinking of it as a marketing tool, not, like, an expression of your true self.”
She was still giving him the evil eye, but she was back to eating her pizza, so he was pretty sure he was okay. “So what would you want your posters to look like?”
She frowned, tilted her head as she thought, then smiled ruefully. “I don’t think I want posters. I mean, you’re right, I want the money. But if I’m made up, I’d feel fake, and if they were too real, it would feel like an invasion of privacy.”
“So what do you like about it? The whole career. Just the money, or is there more to it?”
“The money’s good,” she said readily. “Other than that?” Another pause as she thought, and he was pretty sure this wasn’t easy for her. She was being honest, opening up, and it made him feel flattered, and also a little protective. “I like being good at it, I guess,” she finally said. “You know. Being good at something. Being the best, even. I know, it’s just a small sport, and it’s not like it’s important or anything. I’m not curing cancer or promoting world peace. But . . . I’m good at it.”
He nodded. He could understand that.
Then her smile changed from tentative to something wild and fierce. “And I like punching people,” she added. “Kicks are fun, too, but a good punch? So hard and clean you can feel it all the way to your spine? I’d almost forgotten about it until this afternoon, but it’s a good time.”
“Okay,” he agreed. He supposed he could understand this, too. “Being good at something and punching people.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Makes the furniture and real estate business sound a bit boring, right?”
“It does,” he agreed, and he meant it.
* * *
FOR an evening that was almost certainly a mistake, Zara was having a really good time. Cal was easy to talk to and easy to look at. It was a bit awkward that practically every person in the restaurant seemed to be one of Cal’s friends or acquaintances who needed to say hello and give Zara curious stares, but he got rid of most of them pretty quickly.
When he insisted on paying the bill for her celebration dinner, she didn’t argue too hard. She was used to paying her own way, but this was okay, too.
And when he took her hand as they walked out of the restaurant, she let it happen. She could tell herself that she’d just been too surprised to resist, but that wasn’t really true. She liked holding his hand. Liked being near him.
She hadn’t had much to drink, so he drove her back to the community center parking lot and pulled in a few spaces down from her car. Then he got out and walked her those few feet, like he was afraid she might get mugged or something in just that distance. In Lake Sullivan.
He stood and waited as she unlocked the door. She turned back to him to say good night, and found him watching her in a not entirely casual way.
“What? Is there food on my face?” She gave it a quick swipe.
He laughed. “No. No food. I just . . . can we do this again? Not a celebration next time, just dinner? Or something else?”
“Something else? Like . . . fishing?”
“Do you fish?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Not fishing, then. But maybe you like movies? Or hiking, before the snow comes? Or, I don’t know, horseback riding or antiquing—”
“Ooh, antiquing! That sounds exciting!”
“Okay, brat, maybe one of the other options. We can just sit around and watch TV if you want.”
“Just to be crystal clear.” Zara had no idea why she was feeling so confident, or how she’d managed to forget her many reasonable objections quite so quickly. But she did
n’t care, not right then. “This is a date we’re talking about, right? You’re asking me out, like, in a romantic way? Not just hanging out as friends?”
“Right,” he said.
He was tall enough that she had to stretch to reach his lips, but it was worth the effort. Just a quick peck, surprising herself almost as much as she surprised him. “Okay,” she agreed, and she leaned back.
Or at least, she started to, but she ran into the strong obstacle of his arms. He’d moved quickly, catching her, not pulling in tight, but not letting her back away, either. And they stood there like that for a moment, frozen.
She could break free. She knew it, and she knew he knew it. And somehow that meant she didn’t have to. Didn’t want to. She let herself relax, and felt him relax, too, and she slid her fingers inside his open jacket, along his waist, and rested her hands on his hips. It was kind of nice, standing there, wrapped up together against the chilly night air. But it got a hell of a lot nicer when he lowered his lips to hers.
It wasn’t a peck this time. It was something slower and sweeter, and Zara could feel it from her lips to her toes. Her fingers tightened, grabbing hold of the fabric of Cal’s shirt and then releasing it, stretching her hands out to feel the lean strength underneath it.
Cal pulled away before they even needed to break for a breath, but he didn’t go far. His lips hovered there, a couple inches from hers, and then he leaned back in for another quick, light kiss. “Okay,” he said. “When?”
“When what?” When would she have his babies? Anytime, really.
“When can I see you again?”
He was still seeing her now. What was the rush to start planning the next time, when they could have more now? But maybe this was how things were done in Lake Sullivan. A bit slower, a bit more old-fashioned. They were supposed to kiss like that, and then, just . . . go home, alone. Hell, most of her hookups in New York had skipped the first dinner and gone straight to the bedroom. But really, she’d never been all that impressed with any of that, so maybe this different approach was worth trying. “I don’t know. Tomorrow? Oh, no, not tomorrow, I’m supposed to do something with Ashley tomorrow. Maybe the next day? Or not until the weekend, if you want. I don’t know what your schedule is like.” Or what his expectations were or what the rules were or much of anything else.