Steal My Heart (Bachelors & Bridesmaids)

by Freethy, Barbara

  A smile curved his lips. "I forgot about your tendency to gloat."

  She could have told him that it wasn't possible he'd forgotten, because she had never had the opportunity to gloat. Back in high school, she couldn't remember a time when she'd actually beaten him. Hopefully, the panda was a sign of things to come. She smiled back at him. "What's next? Maybe we can find a game you'll do well at."

  He laughed. "You're different, Lizzie. I don't remember you laughing much in school."

  "Probably because I wore braces for six years."

  "Your teeth look perfect now."

  "They should. My parents practically had to mortgage the house to get them in this condition."

  "How are your parents?"

  Her smile faded at his innocent question. "Actually, my dad is battling cancer."

  "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't know."

  "Why would you? Anyway, he's a fighter so we're hoping for the best."

  "You must get your fight from him."

  "I think so. What about your parents? I know you said they were divorced, but are they well?"

  "Yes, everyone is healthy. "My dad is still working, still traveling, very caught up in his new wife and his new life. My mother has become a quilting fanatic. I now have enough quilts to last me a lifetime, but it seems to keep her busy, and she loves being creative."

  "That sounds nice. Has she remarried?"

  "No, I think it pains her a little to see my dad with his much younger wife, but what can she do? Luckily, we don't run into him all that much."

  "That's a drag. I can't imagine my parents breaking up. That would be really hard."

  "I'm a little surprised you ended up working for your dad's firm. What happened to your art, Lizzie?"

  His question sent a wistful zing down her spine. Her art seemed like a very long time ago. "It was just a hobby."

  "You were really good. I remember that mural you painted in the front hallway of the school. It was amazing. I always thought you'd do something with art."

  "It's hard to make money with art," she said. "My dad really wanted someone to go into his company. My brothers weren't going to follow in his footsteps. Tom is a dentist and Greg is an accountant, so it was up to me."

  "Why did anyone have to follow in his footsteps? Why not follow your own dream?"

  "I like what I'm doing," she said defensively. "And I'm good at it."

  "I don't doubt that. But it's not your passion—is it?"

  "Does it matter? I know PR is not your passion."

  "True, but I went after my dream. Unfortunately, it ended on an operating table."

  "Do you miss football?" she asked, seeing the shadows in his eyes.

  "A lot," he admitted. "Especially now that it's football season again. It was easier not to think about it during the off season."

  She could understand that. She felt a wave of compassion for his far-too-short career. Michael had been a great football player. It was sad that he couldn't play anymore. And she was getting way too friendly with him, she realized. She needed to get her focus back. "I should get going."

  "Where are you headed?"

  "I thought I'd go to the theater and hear Charlie's story."

  "I'll go with you."

  She wanted to send him on his way, but there was no danger in watching the movie together. After that, she'd go it alone. She had no interest in revealing her fear of roller coasters to her competition.

  On the way to the theater, they passed a mom dealing with a squealing toddler who was apparently very unhappy about something. Liz paused. "Any chance your little girl would like this panda?" she asked.

  The girl's sobs immediately quieted.

  "Thank you," the mom said with heartfelt sincerity. "She just dropped her ice cream cone, so this helps a lot."

  Liz smiled and handed the girl the bear.

  "That was nice of you," Michael said.

  "I thought she needed it more than I did."

  Five minutes later they sat down together in a small theater of about two-dozen seats. There were no other guests in the auditorium, so they took seats in the middle of the second row.

  "This attraction doesn't seem to be bringing in the crowds," Michael commented.

  That was certainly true. And being alone with Michael in a dimly lit theater now didn't seem like the brightest idea. "Maybe we should come back later."

  "It says it's starting in five minutes. Might as well get this task out of the way."

  "I guess."

  "So do you see any of the old crowd from high school?" he asked.

  "Just Julie Michaels. We ended up being college roommates. I don't know if you remember her."

  "Sure," he said with a nod. "Her father was a baseball star."

  Of course Michael would remember that about Julie. "He was," she agreed. "But not a star at being a husband or father. He cheated on her mother," she added at his questioning look. "And he had another kid with his long-time lover. It was really hard on Julie. I don't think she even talks to him anymore."

  "That's rough," Michael said.

  "Not an uncommon story when it comes to pro athletes," she murmured.

  He met her gaze. "No, but then it's not really an uncommon story at all, is it?"

  She shrugged. "There's more temptation when you're young, rich and an athlete. Surely, you would agree with that. You must have had tons of groupies following you around."

  "I had my share."

  "You don't have to pretend to be modest, Michael. Don't forget I was there at the beginning of your stardom. You had groupies when you were in high school."

  He gave her a speculative look. "You sound a little annoyed, Liz. What exactly is your problem with me—besides the fact that I beat you at everything you tried to do?"

  She frowned. "I didn't like your attitude back then. Everything came so easy for you. You didn't even care about the things you were beating me at; you just liked to win."

  His gaze filled with surprise. "How do you know I didn't care?"

  "I could tell. You were all about football and cheerleaders. You only ran for student-body president on a whim. It wasn't like you wanted to make the school better."

  "I was a good president, Liz. And I think you have a chip on your shoulder because you always lost to me."

  "Whatever. I don't know why we're talking about this," she added, waving her hand in the air. "High school was a million years ago."

  "Not quite that long. We have our ten-year-reunion coming up next spring."

  "I will not be going to that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I like my life now. I don't need to be reminded of the past."

  "What about seeing your friends?"

  "I see Julie all the time, and my friends now are mostly college or work friends. They know the real me, not that girl in high school who tried too hard."

  He nodded, studying her with far too much concentration.

  "What?" she asked. "Why are you staring at me?"

  "You didn't like yourself much in high school, did you?"

  "I don't know. High school was high school," she said with a shrug. "Does anyone really like themselves then? Well, maybe you did, because you were super popular. The guys loved you. The girls loved you. Even the teachers loved you. I think your experience was quite different from mine."

  "Not all the girls loved me. When I tried to kiss one of them, she punched me in the face and broke my nose."

  She stiffened at his words. "I was hoping we weren't going to talk about that."

  "Why did you hit me, Lizzie?"

  "Because you were kissing me as a joke."

  "What makes you say that?"

  She stared at him in astonishment. "What makes me say that? You were you, and I was me, and your friends were all standing around at that party ready to make fun of me."

  "I never intended to make you feel like you were a joke," he said, a serious note in his voice. "That kiss was an impulsive idea, I admit. But it
wasn't a premeditated act. I didn't gather everyone around and say watch this. I don't even remember who was around. I just remember how pretty you looked that night. You'd finally taken your hair out of that damn braid."

  Her stomach turned over at his words, and the insecure high school girl that still lurked inside her liked the idea that he'd thought she was pretty.

  Was he lying?

  Maybe he was trying to charm her. Perhaps this was part of his plan to throw her off her game.

  "Let's not talk about the past anymore."

  "I need an apology first. You broke my nose."

  "Fine. I'm sorry about that, but I still don't think your motives were as pure as you're making them out to be."

  "Then it's my turn to say I'm sorry I gave you that impression. So, truce?" He held out his hand.

  She sighed and put her hand into his. "Truce."

  His warm fingers curled around hers, and he held on far too long. Her heart started to beat a little faster and for a moment—just a moment, she had the crazy idea he might kiss her again. Then the lights in the theater went out, and music began to play.

  Michael let go of her hand and she shifted in her seat, directing her attention to the movie. She should be grateful for the interruption. She needed to refocus on what was important to her and her father and her firm, and that was getting this account, not reconnecting with Michael Stafford.

  Charlie's smiling face came across the screen. He talked about the dream he and his wife had had when they were both barely twenty years old. Through marriage, kids, and several jobs, they made money and saved money until they could bring their dream to life. It took forty years, but it just went to show that no dream is ever too old to come true.

  The video went on to show the construction crews breaking ground, the creation of the roller coasters, and the fantasies behind many of the games and rides. Charlie Hayward had certainly been a visionary, a man willing to put everything on the line for his dreams. How many people were really willing to do that?

  She was beginning to understand that this park wasn't just a business for Charlie; it was the culmination of years of hard work.

  A few minutes later, the film ended, and the lights went back on.

  They made their way outside, pausing on the theater steps.

  "That was more inspiring than I thought it would be," she said. "I have a lot of respect for Charlie. He built his dream."

  "Yeah, he did that," Michael muttered, but there was something about his expression that made her curious.

  "What are you really thinking?"

  He hesitated and then said, "I was thinking that some dreams aren't under our control."

  "You're talking about football."

  "Actually I'm done talking about football. So what's next? Should we shoot the moon?"

  His mention of the giant roller coaster made her realize that she needed to get rid of him now. "I'm going to fly solo," she said.

  "Why? It's not like either of us are going to give away any secrets or strategies while we're riding the rides. And it might help both of us to see the park through someone else's eyes."

  "Today I want to concentrate on my own vision."

  "All right," he said reluctantly. "Why don't we meet in the hotel bar for drinks around five? I'll invite our other competitors to join us."

  "They're not going to come."

  "Of course they will. Surely, you've heard the expression 'keep your enemies close'."

  "Is that what you're doing with me?"

  He laughed. "No. You, Lizzie, are in your very own category."

  "I'm not going to ask what that means. See you later."

  "Have fun."

  She would have fun, she told herself, but as she walked away, she already found herself wishing she'd stuck with him a little longer.

  Chapter Four

  After a long day of too many tourists, too much sun, and too many stomach-turning rides, Liz took a shower, changed into a nice pair of black slacks and silky top and made her way to the bar at the Portman Hotel. She paused in the doorway looking around the dimly lit room. A burst of laughter from the far table caught her attention, and one swift glance determined it was Michael and two other individuals. He'd made good on his promise to get the other competitors together, which didn't make her feel any better about having him as a rival. He was already proving to be a better strategist than her by simply inviting his opponents to get closer so he could assess their strengths and weaknesses.

  She'd catch up, she told herself.

  Walking across the bar, she couldn't help thinking how attractive Michael looked. His hair was damp as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, his cheeks smoothly shaven, and as she got closer, she caught the seductive musky scent of his cologne. But it was his blue eyes and the sexy smile that undid her.

  Damn! All he had to do was look at her, and butterflies started dancing in her stomach. She needed get a grip.

  "Lizzie," he said, getting to his feet. "Glad you could make it."

  "Sorry I'm late."

  "We're only on the first round. "Do you know everyone?"

  "Actually, I don't."

  Michael waved his hand toward the slender brunette sitting next to him. "Christa Blake from the Morrison Group and Ed Hoffman from Sharp Enterprises. Lizzie Palmer, from Damien, Falks and Palmer."

  "Actually, it's Liz," she corrected, shaking Ed's hand.

  Ed was a middle-aged man with glasses and a serious expression. He was dressed in tan slacks and a polo shirt. Christa appeared to be in her early thirties and wore a red clingy dress that showed off her great body.

  "I know your father," Ed said. "I heard he was ill. I hope he's on the mend."

  "He's doing his best to get there," she said, taking a seat between Christie and Michael.

  "Can I get you a drink?" Michael asked.

  "I'll have some white wine."

  Michael motioned to the waiter and ordered her drink.

  "It's my understanding, Miss Palmer," Ed continued. "That your firm is doing some reshuffling. I'm a little surprised they sent you here. I would have thought Bill Falks would be handling the account."

  "No, it's all mine," she said, determined not to get into a discussion of her office politics.

  "Really?" Ed asked doubtfully. "I spoke to Bill last week. He told me that you were considering other career options now that your father is retired."

  "You must have misunderstood," she said evenly.

  "Perhaps."

  She was relieved when the waiter set down her wine, not just because she really needed a drink, but also because she didn't care to discuss her job with her competitors.

  "Is Bill Falks still an arrogant asshole?" Christa asked her.

  Liz choked on her wine. "Uh, what?"

  Christa laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. I worked as an intern at Damien, Falks and Palmer right out of college. Worst six months of my life. I learned a lot, but it wasn't worth having to put up with Bill Falks, who loved to accidentally bump into me and steady himself by putting his hand on my ass."

  Liz was a little shocked at Christa's assessment of Bill. But then she'd come into the company as her father's daughter, so even as an intern, she'd never dealt with Bill the way Christa had. Christa was probably six or seven years older than her, too, which meant she'd probably been an intern about the time Bill was going through his midlife crisis and subsequent divorce. Not that that was any excuse for what sounded like bad behavior.

  "You ever had a problem with Falks, Lizzie?" Michael asked.

  "No, but I don't deal with him that often."

  "Lucky you," Christa said. She gave Liz a speculative look. "Do you and Michael know each other? Lizzie sounds like a nickname."

  "We went to high school together," she admitted.

  "We hadn't seen each other in almost ten years until yesterday," Michael added.

  "Well, isn't that fun," Christa drawled. "Did you two date each other in high school?"

  "No w
ay," Liz said with vehement shake of her head. "Michael and I were not in the same group."

  "What group were you in, Michael?" Christa asked.

  "Dumb jocks," he said. "Lizzie was a nerd. Actually, that's not even true. She was an artist, one of those girls who always seemed to have paint on her clothes."

  She frowned at his words, wishing she could say they weren't at all accurate, but she often would get lost in her art project and then the bell would ring, and she would have to run out the door so as not to be late for her next class. Sometimes, the paint ended up on her clothes or hands.

  "I was never artistic," Christa said. "Thank goodness we have an art department at our firm so I never have to worry about that."

  "We all have art departments," Ed grumbled.

  "That wasn't my point," Christa said.

  "I'm sorry. But I need to go. I have to study my notes. Thanks for the drink. I'll see you all around."

  "You sure you don't want to have dinner with us?" Michael asked.

  "I think it best if we keep some distance between us," Ed replied as he got to his feet. "Good luck to you all."

  "I guess that leaves the three of us," Michael said. "Want to grab a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant or we could venture away from the park. I know a great Italian place in old Sacramento."

  "That sounds lovely," Christa said. "Unfortunately, I have another dinner to go to. Maybe I could have a rain check? I'd love to hear more about your football career, Michael, and how you got into Public Relations."

  "Any time," Michael said.

  "Nice to meet you, Liz," Christa said, getting to her feet. "I'm sure I'll see you around the park."

  "I'm sure you will," Liz agreed.

  "And then there were two," Michael said with a grin. "What do you say? Have dinner with me?"

  She really needed to say no. It was one thing to have drinks and get to know her competitors and another thing to go out to dinner with Michael.

  "Don't say no. You already made me spend the day alone in an amusement park, which is really not that much fun. You're not going to make me eat alone, too?" he asked.

  "I'm sure you could find some company if you tried."

  "I'm trying right now."

  She couldn't help but smile and give in. "All right, but we split the check, and we don't talk business."