Persuaded

by Rachel Schurig

  “I’m okay, Luce,” I told her, touched by her obvious concern. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll leave you alone—you close your eyes and try to relax, okay?” She shook her head. “You’re working too hard, Annabelle. I’m sorry, but you are.” She seemed to shake herself a little, as if dismissing the mothering instinct. “I’ll hold your calls.”

  Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the dark room. Alone with my thoughts.

  Rick Wentworth. Holy shit. Rick Wentworth was here, in Vegas. A thousand miles from where I left him. Coming to work with us.

  I can’t do it, I thought desperately. I can’t see him.

  I could feel the edges of a panic attack creeping in on me. I swiveled my chair around and reached to open my window before I remembered I was in Las Vegas and fresh air meant oppressive heat.

  Instead, I plopped down on the floor where I could put my head between my knees, taking deep breaths through my nose.

  “Get it together,” I whispered to the silent office.

  There was no reason for me to be reacting this way. He was a college boyfriend. We broke up years ago and had never communicated since that day, had never seen each other. He was a stranger.

  But he looks the same, a sad little voice in my head whispered.

  Actually, he looked better.

  I realized that I was still clutching the glossy file from the meeting, the picture on his bio page now wrinkled from my clenched fist. I smoothed it out across my knee, staring down at him. The new broadness suited him; a slight dark shadow around his jaw made him look more masculine somehow, a little dangerous, even. And his eyes. I stared down at the photo, his dark eyes seeming to pierce right into my mind. Holy shit, he looked good.

  How was I going to handle working with him? I tried to picture him walking through these halls, and the thought made me feel faint all over again. I knew there was no way I could be in such close proximity to him. The passing of the years should have been enough to get him out of my head, but after what happened when I’d been confronted simply by his name and picture, God knows I would probably fully wig out in front of everyone if I had to see him face to face.

  “Stop it,” I whispered again. “You are a grown woman.” I felt slightly disgusted with myself, sitting there on my office floor. To become so overcome by a man—a man I hadn’t seen in years, a man who probably hadn’t thought of me in all of that time. And here I was hyperventilating at work.

  I looked around my small, stylish office, drawing strength from it. I had put myself here, damn it. I had done it—my hard work, my intelligence, my sleepless nights. I had come to Vegas with a few hundred bucks in my bank account, and now I was the CEO of a successful development company with a gorgeous apartment in one of the city’s most exclusive condo buildings. I wore fucking Jimmy Choos to work every day. Sample sale Jimmy Choos, but still. I had made it. I had achieved the things I set out to do and had done them without help from Emma’s parents or anyone else. Our current financial shakiness not withstanding, of course. But even in spite of that, my scrimping and saving and planning had allowed me to amass a small fortune of my own. On my own.

  I was not going to fall apart because of Rick Wentworth, who couldn’t even be bothered to wait for me for one measly year.

  I stood up and straightened my skirt. I could do this. I could do anything I needed to do.

  I closed the folder, again rolling it carelessly in my hand, allowing myself one brief moment of pleasure at the thought of Mary seeing her precious, glossy presentation so mangled, before crossing to the office door. I was going to go back to that meeting, put my vote in for Rick, and save the damn company.

  And once we had the bid secured, once I was sure that they’d all be okay, that the company was in good shape, I’d take my earnings and go.

  And there was nothing on earth I was going to allow to stop me.

  Chapter Six

  My resolve to work through the situation only faltered once in the two days that followed. After the meeting, Charlie had eagerly called his friend Jim to tell him of our decision and set a meeting for Jim and Rick to come in on Thursday. Initially, the information had given me a shot of panic—he was going to be here, in my office—but I had forced myself to brush it off. Later, when I realized I was scheduled to be in a meeting with our accountant on Thursday morning, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, all while telling myself I didn’t really care.

  Even the best-laid plans, however, are little match for Charlie’s bumbling ways and Mary’s interference.

  Instead of having the first face-to-face in the office, Charlie and Mary decided to arrange a dinner party with the new partners the night before the scheduled meeting. I was sure Mary was eager to further impress upon us the fact that we had the Musgroves to thank for our savior and his partner. Not only had Charlie introduced us to the team, they had further come to our rescue by suggesting that, in order to save money, Rick and Jim would be invited to stay at their place. Charlie and Mary’s palatial penthouse apartment had an entire guest floor, complete with sitting room and kitchen. The guys would have a place to live and work, and we wouldn’t have to shell out for an apartment or long-term hotel. And Mary could revel in the importance of hosting the saviors of our company.

  “I’m not sure I like it,” Emma had said when they told us about the dinner idea. “I think the first meeting should be here, on our terms. On our turf.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “You do realize that these guys could just as easily shop their portfolio out to any of our competitors, right? Just because they happen to know Charlie—” she couldn’t hide the little smirk at that “—doesn’t mean that they’re obligated to stick with us.”

  “Yeah, Emma,” Charlie had interjected. “What’s the problem with wooing them a little? Wining and dining?”

  Of course, Emma had made an art form out of wooing clients. We could attribute a vast amount of our success to her talents at wining and dining.

  “Okay,” she had capitulated. “Dinner would be good. But let’s take them out. Maybe to one of our restaurants.”

  Mary looked disappointed, but Charlie nodded. “Good idea. Let them see a bit of what we’ve done.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll call Greenery, see if they can get us in.”

  Emma nodded, turning her attention back to an open file on her desk. “Sounds good.”

  As Charlie and Mary left the office, bickering softly about something I couldn’t make out, I fidgeted in front of Emma’s desk, trying to figure out what to do. On the one hand, I had a blind date scheduled for Wednesday—one Emma had set up herself. On the other hand, I was already skipping the formal sit-down the following day. I didn’t want to create the impression I was avoiding him—it wouldn’t go well with my plan to be cool and aloof whenever he was around.

  “You’re going to ruin that hem, you know,” Emma said distractedly. I looked down at the sleeve of my jacket, which I had unknowingly been twisting in my fingers. Yeah. Real aloof.

  “What’s up?” she asked, rummaging around on her desk for something. “You’re distracted or something.”

  “Sorry,” I said quickly, releasing the hem. “I just… I have that date tomorrow night. I can totally cancel—”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and gave me her best mock-glare. “Absolutely not!”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Emma—”

  “No, no, no. You need this, Annabelle.”

  I frowned at her. “What do you mean, I need this?”

  “Oh, come on.” She sighed, as if annoyed I was making her explain it. “You’re exhausted. You’re working way too much.” When I started to argue, she held up a hand to stop me. “You’re getting migraines at least once a week. I can tell that you’re not sleeping, Annabelle. It’s not good for you.”

  Because she looked so worried, I declined to argue. I hadn’t been feeling my best, there was no question about that. Of course, a blind date with a total stranger sounded like the last thing that mi
ght help me relax. Then again, if the alternative was dinner in the same room with Rick Wentworth...

  “You’re really pale,” Emma continued, coming around the desk to peer into my face. “I don’t like it, Annabelle.”

  She placed a hand on my arm and a part of me—a big part—wanted to break down right there. Tell her all about my plans, about my frustration with my current situation. About Rick. For once, I wanted to let myself be weak, to break down and have someone else comfort me. To hug me and tell me it would all be okay.

  But then Emma was grinning and the moment passed. “I think what you really need is to get laid.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I mean it!” She gripped my arm, leaning in close. “How long has it been, honestly?”

  “Not that long.” I screwed up my face. “When was the last presidential election?”

  She giggled, releasing me. “Okay, even I know it hasn’t been that long.”

  I plastered a self-deprecating smile on my face, not wanting to think about how long it had been. Lately, my love life consisted only of a few disappointing first and second dates and a few even more disappointing one-night stands.

  “I think you and Steve will really hit it off,” she continued, perching on the edge of her desk. “I really do. Go on the date, Annabelle. Take a little time for yourself. I can woo the architect on my own.”

  Rick’s face flashed through my mind and I suppressed a shiver. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel—relieved, that I wouldn’t have to see him? Disappointment at the promise of another lame blind date? Worry that Rick was going to be with Emma? That thought stopped me cold. Though she might not remember him, I’d be willing to bet that he would remember her. I thought of that last conversation, about the words that he had flung at me about her controlling me. He would remember her, all right.

  He wouldn’t have agreed to work with us if he still harbored hard feelings, I told myself, which of course brought on a whole slew of questions. Why had he agreed to take the job? Was it possible that he wanted to see me again? The thought made my heart beat very fast, followed by the crash when I thought—or he just doesn’t care. The idea of working with me doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

  “You should go out and get a manicure,” Emma was saying as she sat down. Her eyes flicked up to my hair, pulled back in a tight bun. “Maybe get your hair blown out. When’s the last time you did something like that for yourself?”

  “You know what, I think I will go to the salon,” I said so suddenly that she jumped a little. “Why not?”

  She beamed at me. “That’s the spirit!”

  I kissed her cheek lightly. “Thanks, Emma.”

  “Have a great time,” she told me. “I mean it, Annabelle. No worries about work, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I pushed off from her desk, already pulling my phone out to book myself in at the spa. Maybe I’d go all out, get a massage and a facial. Maybe even a bikini wax.

  I smiled to myself as I headed down to my office for my purse. Rick may have forgotten about me, but I’d be damned if Steve forgot me any time soon.

  ***

  Of course, I ended up wishing I could forget him. The date was one of those awfully painful ones where both people mean well, but there is simply no chemistry. We ran out of things to talk about before the first course, and the rest of the evening progressed in awkward pauses and long silences.

  I had only myself to blame, really. He was a cute guy—not surprising, considering Emma’s taste—and was polite and friendly. But my mind was at work, not on his attempts to engage me in conversation about his golf game and the successes of his pool supply business. And my mind was at work in order to try to keep it away from the Greenery where Rick was surely now meeting with the rest of my friends and colleagues.

  At the end of the night, I received a polite peck on the cheek at the door to my apartment building. I didn’t even offer him to come up for coffee. What was the point? The way he jogged out to his car told me he was in no hurry to spend more time with me, anyhow.

  As I walked into the lobby of our building, I wondered if Emma would be home yet. It was early, barely ten thirty—surely they’d still be out? Regardless, I’d have to face her eventually and explain why I had, yet again, failed so spectacularly in my love life.

  Before I could punch the up button at the elevator, the doors opened with a bing, and a crowd of people tumbled out. It took me a minute to realize that it was Emma, Lucy, Charlie, and Mary—my attention was so occupied by the dark figure still standing in the elevator, frozen, staring at me.

  Rick Wentworth.

  “Annabelle!” Lucy called out happily. “Emma said you weren’t joining us.”

  “Um, I’m,” I tried, but strangely, very little sound was getting out. “I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.”

  He was gazing straight at me, his eyes every bit as dark as I remembered them. Somehow, he seemed taller, but that had to be only in my head—boys are fully grown by twenty-three, aren’t they?

  Finally, he looked away, and I felt like I could breathe again. For a moment there, it looked like he was as affected as I was, but now his face was expressionless, impassive. As if he didn’t even recognize me.

  “Where’s your date?” Emma asked, scanning the lobby before turning back to me, disappointment clear on her face.

  “I’m not feeling too well,” I explained—it was only half a lie. I couldn’t call what I was currently feeling anything close to well. “That headache came back.”

  Mary made a tsking noise. “Should Lucy come up and help you get settled?”

  I glanced at my PA, anything to take my attention from the dark form of Rick standing behind my friends, looking anywhere but at me. For once, she looked less than eager to please me. In fact, she looked downright depressed at the thought of coming back up to my apartment and missing whatever they had planned next.

  “No,” I assured her. “I’m fine. Just need some sleep.”

  “We came up so Rick and Jim could see the private terrace upstairs,” Mary said, sounding practically flirty as she looked over at Rick. “We thought something like that might work for the suites in the resort. Now we’re heading out to Pink for a nightcap.”

  It wasn’t until she said the name Jim that I realized there was another man there next to Rick. He grinned and held out a hand. “Jim Bennick. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Annabelle,” I said, shaking his hand. It was strange, the way I felt. Ever since the elevators doors had opened, it was like I moved in some alternate reality where I was watching myself, instead of actually experiencing it. Like I was separated from what was happening, outside of it somehow. This couldn’t be real life, standing here so close to Rick as if we were complete strangers.

  “Oh, you haven’t met Rick, have you?” Mary trilled, batting her eyelashes in his direction.

  “We have met, actually,” he said, and I jumped a little at the sound of his voice. It was different from my memory, smoothed out around the edges, much more posh than I recalled. Deeper, too. It sent little shivers up and down my arms, and I held onto my own elbows, trying to keep from fidgeting.

  “You’ve met?” Charlie asked incredulously. “Anna, you never said.”

  “I… It…”

  “It was a long time ago,” Rick said, turning his eyes back to me. They seemed to pierce through me, the way they had when looking at his picture a few days ago. “We hung out a few times the summer I was visiting John Croft in Michigan.” His expression seemed to sharpen. “It was no big deal, really.”

  I could see the light go on in Emma’s head as she made the connection—but the sting of his words had me reeling too much to worry about the consequences.

  “Isn’t that a small world,” Charlie was saying cheerfully, totally oblivious to the tension between Rick and me, or the way Emma was staring sharply between the two of us.

&nbs
p; “Small world, indeed,” Rick said, finally breaking eye contact.

  “I… I should get upstairs,” I murmured, gripping my elbows tighter. The group moved away from the elevator doors, calling out their goodbyes and feel-betters. Emma, however, stepped away from the others. “I’m going to walk her up,” she called out. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

  “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Mary asked sullenly, shooting me an annoyed look. I was messing up her evening, delaying her opportunity to show off Pink to Rick and Jim.

  “You could go look at the lobby,” Emma suggested, sounding nearly out of patience for once. “Maybe it will give you some ideas.”

  “It is a great building,” Charlie said, leading the group down the hall. “Designed by Jacobs, you know, very high end throughout.”

  I stared after them, unable to snap myself out of it, even though Emma was at my side. I could feel her staring at me, feel her hand tugging at my elbow, but still I couldn’t look away from the dark figure heading away from me. Finally, he turned the corner—he never looked back once—and I exhaled.

  “Come on,” Emma said, her voice soft and almost resigned. “Come on, Annabelle.”

  In the elevator, I covered my face with a shaking hand, not sure I could trust myself to look at her.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Why didn’t you remember?” I snapped back.

  “God, Annabelle. The name sounded familiar, but I never would have thought—we’ll back out of the arrangement immediately.”

  I finally moved my hand so I could see her. Her face was a hard mask of anger. “We can’t back out.”

  “If you think for a second I’m going to work with that…that asshole after what he did to you—”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Like hell we don’t.”

  “We don’t, Emma. We both know it. This is our best shot.”

  She stared at me for a long moment. “Why didn’t you tell me? This has obviously been affecting you. You should have seen your face—” Her eyes widened. “That headache the other day, when Charlie gave his presentation. You recognized him then.”