by Jo Leigh
“Did you and Danny go out and cause havoc last night?”
A change in the subject was probably a good thing, and he’d roll with it. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say havoc.”
“Let me be the judge,” she said. “But first, I need another coffee. You want a refill while I’m up?”
“I’ve barely touched mine, thanks.”
He didn’t hesitate to watch her cross the short distance to the giant coffee urn. The timer switch had to have been set at some ungodly hour for it to finish perking so early. So like Mrs. Fitz.
The thought of her mother vanished as his gaze ran down the back of Shannon in her belted robe. The curves killed him. She’d been so straight for so long. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking of his hands on her waist. Shit, the desire to have her naked had become more and more acute with every passing night. He was the one blushing now, and he never did. He got too much enjoyment from crossing social boundaries. Blushing was for people who cared if they were offensive.
But wanting Shannon…he hadn’t been able to talk his way around that issue. This new mind-set should’ve been squashed each time he went upstairs and was regaled with pictures of little Princess Shannon, the Shannon he’d known best. In her tiaras and her tutus, she was the essence of innocence. Not like those kids they put on parade today. She hadn’t been made to look like a miniature centerfold. In fact, she hadn’t been sexualized at all, thank God. She looked like a fairy, like a Disney character come to life.
Except she wasn’t that child any longer. She was twenty-seven and she was single and only one thin wall separated their bedrooms at night.
He turned his head, stared hard at the refrigerator, which frankly wasn’t that interesting, but he didn’t want her to see his face at the moment. He wasn’t a very good actor, and his want felt bigger than his ability to pretend.
If for no other reason than out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Fitz, Shannon should be out-of-bounds. Maybe he needed to go back to staying at the hotel. He could make up some lie that wouldn’t hurt any feelings. Anything would be easier than being so close when he had to keep his distance.
* * *
THE TOTE BAG FULL OF FROZEN Irish stew servings banged against Shannon’s thigh as she walked down the path to the St. Marks basement door. For the first time since she’d joined the lunch exchange, Shannon wasn’t looking forward to the gathering. She had new cards ready, as always in a box so she could pour them out in a cascade of eligible men; all the drama she could fit into a dreary kitchen basement. She’d go through the motions—it was expected, after all—but her heart wouldn’t be in it.
Work had been eating Shannon alive. Aside from the Easter preparations, the baseball team shirts, posters and calendars and the regular day-to-day pressings and bindings, she hadn’t gone a day without making cold calls, without visiting at least one new potential client, without placing at least a dozen business cards in likely and unlikely venues.
In between, every spare second, she’d been consumed with thoughts of Nate, then feel guilty, talk herself out of that, then start the cycle over again. Midnight after midnight found her wide-awake, coming up with new approaches to get clients, or, more frequently, remembering every detail of Nate in a towel, Nate at the bar, Nate in the hallway, Nate, Nate, Nate.
She was doing all she could to increase business at the plant, and today she’d make a stand in her madness over Nate. While she couldn’t ask him to leave the house, she could send him on a date. Hopefully more than one. And, despite her insane schedule, she would go out on dates of her own. Every night, if necessary.
The thought of which made her feel sick.
It was the stress. So much of it, and so few opportunities to vent. Brady had enough of his own troubles, so she couldn’t whine to him, and she didn’t want to tell the other brothers because they couldn’t be trusted not to blurt out something in front of her parents. Thank goodness for all those years of practicing to smile and acting cheerful at pageants.
As she opened the basement door she put one of those smiles in place, ratcheted up her enthusiasm and went inside. The sound of her friends helped make both smile and attitude more true, and by the time she was in the kitchen, she felt better.
Everyone stopped. It had been one of her favorite parts of the trading cards. The expectant hush, the anticipation, the possibilities. Her, center stage. It was Christmas every couple of weeks. No, she hadn’t found her perfect man yet, but there were so many success stories. She’d done that. Not alone, but the idea had been hers, and why couldn’t she find something equally wonderful that would bring business to Fitzgerald & Sons?
“Shannon? You all right?”
Ariel was at her side, looking concerned. Shannon had forgotten she’d be there despite the fact they’d spoken two days ago. Shannon wasn’t surprised to see that her cousin had gone all out for her first meeting. She’d worn her hair down, swept into a Lauren Bacall bob that looked slinky and sophisticated. Her jacket was of a theme—big shoulders, fitted waist—as was her pencil skirt and five-inch heels. It worked.
“Shannon?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “No problem finding the place?”
“None. And everyone’s already been nice, although there’s no chance I’ll remember the names.”
“I’ll take you around. After.” She held up the box of new cards. There weren’t many brand-new ones, but there were a number of men for the taking. Some hadn’t been chosen at all, though very few. Most had come back to the pile because that elusive piece of magic had been missing. Shannon had returned several cards of her own.
The room was relatively warm, no thanks to the inadequate radiator. They were lucky, though, that the church let them use the place to hold their exchange and in some cases cook their meals.
Long, rectangular tables had been set up in a circle of sorts, every participant had fourteen frozen containers stacked and ready to be distributed, waiting for the bagging portion of the afternoon.
For now, though, the women who were still seeking their special someone were gathered in front of Shannon’s table. She put the box down as well as her heavy tote. “This is Ariel, everyone. I know she’s met some of you, and in no time at all she’ll be one of the regulars. She’s a paralegal, smart as a whip and gorgeous, but you’ll like her anyway. She’s my cousin and she understands that we don’t discuss the trading cards with outsiders. Lucky for us she’s contributed a very attractive lawyer.”
Her friends were smiling and shuffling closer, and she wondered if they could tell she wasn’t herself. Part of her wished someone would take her aside, get her to spill all her woes. But while it was true she did consider most of these women true friends, they weren’t like the girls she’d been close to in high school and college. Completely her fault. There had been ovations, invitations, phone calls. But for years now, the plant had been her life. The plant and her family.
Shannon began the ritual. She lifted the box of cards high, and the energy of the room expanded, a palpable spark. The box tilted and the cards fell into a gorgeous pile while the women dove in.
Only one pick was allowed each session. Only returned if there was no hope, or a one-night stand. How lucky were those guys? If they only knew. But sometimes the date turned into a relationship, and the one-night stand became a series of dates. In the two most famous cases, those one-night stands had turned into life-changing, living-together, monogamous relationships.
There they were, standing back by the kitchen itself, Bree Kingston and Rebecca Thorpe. They had become very close friends in the last two months. Bree was living with Charlie Winslow, owner and editor of the Naked New York media empire. Rebecca was responsible for that match because Charlie was her cousin. Then Rebecca had been rewarded with Jake.
Fairy-tale romances, both of them. The outcome every woman in the room prayed for.
And Shannon had forgotten to look for another card and now the pile had dwindled considerably. She sighed, not surprised. T
hings weren’t going her way lately, so why should the trading cards be any different.
“I got him!” Ariel said, her voice an octave higher than normal.
“Who?” Shannon asked, her cousin’s excitement infectious and fun.
“Nate. Your friend Nate. I had to fight for him, though. There were three of us who grabbed for the card but I was fastest. I told you I’d get him.”
Shannon had to struggle to keep her smile, her composure. Ariel was going to go out with Nate. If he accepted… But of course he’d accept, why wouldn’t he, especially because Shannon herself was going to set the date up.
“I can’t wait to find out what he’s got under that suit,” Ariel said.
Shannon knew Ariel would be pleased. From the way the towel had draped, there was every reason to think Nate was fantastic all over.
Why had she thought this was a good idea? What kind of moron was she, thinking this would be the solution to her problem? As much as she liked Ariel, Shannon was seconds away from ripping the card from her hand and running for the hills.
He was hers, dammit.
Her breath stilled as a shudder ran down her back. He was hers? Really?
“Shannon? Something is wrong. You look terrible.” Ariel put her hand on Shannon’s arm. “I think you should sit down. Have some water.”
Everyone hustled to make sure she was seated, that she had a fresh bottle of water, that she wasn’t too warm or too cold. At least five palms pressed against her forehead. Which was sweet, it truly was.
What mattered most, though, was that she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t, because that’s not what she did, not in front of people. Not because of a man she shouldn’t be thinking about, not like that. She was tired, that’s all. No breaks, no sleep, no answers.
Bree, pretty as a picture in her weird purple-and-orange dress, crouched down beside her. “Do you want me to call a taxi? Get you home?”
“No, thanks. I’m just tired. Insomnia. It’s a bitch, but I’ll get over it. I need to sit for a little while. Sip some water. Do you think you can get everyone back on track?”
“Absolutely. But I’ll check with you again later, all right?”
“Thanks.”
Bree squeezed her shoulder and Shannon relaxed as much as she could in the awful plastic chair, letting the commotion wash over her like a wave.
She’d set up the date between Nate and Ariel, she would. Just not right now.
* * *
THE SIXTH PROPERTY HAD seemed so good on paper, standing in the actual living room of the duplex made Nate’s chest hurt. He’d been dreaming if he thought he could get a two-bedroom place for even a million. He turned to his Realtor, Aiko, and shook his head. “I know you warned me. Sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
“It’s no problem, Mr. Brennan. You needed to see what’s happening for yourself. If you can believe it, this condo would have sold for twice what they’re asking before the bubble burst.”
“That’s a terrifying thought.” It wasn’t as if it were filthy or had active rat colonies. The problem was the size. He’d lived in New York most of his life, and he’d thought he understood what that meant. But he’d been spoiled. His family home had been a relic, like the Fitzgeralds’, only not as many floors. And not as much warmth, and the windows had been small even after the remodel. This condo looked as if they’d taken a moderately sized one-bedroom and split it into doll-sized rooms. He doubted either bedroom could hold more than a double bed, and that’s with no other furniture included.
“Okay, so, what’s next?”
Aiko smiled cheerfully, even though she had to be exhausted, hauling him all over hell and back looking at inappropriate buildings. “There’s a nice condo in the Lower East Side you might really like.”
“From now on, you lead the way.” He glanced at his watch, surprised that it was after five. “I had no idea it was so late. We can reschedule.”
“It’s not a problem for me, if it’s not a problem for you.”
“Won’t the building manager have an issue?”
“If I wanted to look at anything in this city at midnight, I wouldn’t have a problem. But it’s completely up to you.”
He had a meeting with his attorney tomorrow, but not until eleven. There was one thing that he could do with, though. “One sec,” he said, as he pulled out his cell.
Shannon answered on the first ring. “Hey,” she said.
“Are you still at work?”
“Not at work, but working.”
“Thinking of quitting anytime soon?”
“You read my thoughts,” she said, sounding tired.
“I have a proposition. Meet me at a condo in the Lower East Side and I’ll take you to dinner after. What do you think?”
She was quiet for so long he figured she’d beg off, but then she said, “Where? I’m in Little Italy. If it’s going to take me forever—”
“Hold on. I’m putting you on with Aiko. She has the address.”
The women spoke as Nate rocked on his heels, anxious now to get to the new condo. Or maybe he was just anxious to see Shannon. He wanted her opinion. Her eyes. Hell, he wanted her.
6
SHANNON MET NATE AND AIKO in the lobby of a twenty-story building. The maintenance of the grounds, grass, shrubbery and trees was impressive, as was the location itself.
The Realtor, a pretty Asian woman in her early forties, was dressed impeccably and sensibly in heels that would merely hurt after a long day, not maim.
Nate looked wonderful. Very Euro in those crazy slim trousers that did wonders for his butt. Although, come to think of it, it was probably the other way around. A dark plum shirt tight enough that it stretched a tiny bit at the buttons. His black jacket was equally tailored and fit him like a glove. Oh, this had been such a bad idea.
“It’s on the third floor,” Aiko said, leading them to the elevator. After a quick ride they went to the farthest corner unit and she took them inside.
For its location alone, Shannon could see straight away that the unit was worth considering. It had low ceilings, standard in high-rise buildings that weren’t off-the-charts expensive, as were the smallish rooms, but at least the living room would comfortably hold a couch and a couple of decent club chairs, and there was a fireplace. Gas, but ah, well.
“This is much better,” Nate said.
Aiko then led them into the kitchen. It was a typical New York nightmare, everything crammed into the size of Shannon’s mother’s pantry. But the cabinetry wasn’t bad, and neither was the flooring. Stainless-steel appliances. No task lighting, though. She’d seen professional chefs deal with less.
Aiko told them about the security, the gym, the laundry room, which was all fine, but the bedrooms had terrible closets, neither bathroom had a tub and, again, most of the lighting sucked. Still, there was natural light from two sides, which was a big deal. Depending on the price, he could do worse.
“It’s seen some interest, but it’s only been on the market for five days,” Aiko said when they returned to the living room. “Why don’t you think about it, and give me a call tomorrow. If you want to see more, we’ll set up times then.”
Nate smiled, put his hand on the small of Shannon’s back and escorted both women to the door.
Shannon was absolutely, completely certain that he had not only felt the electrical jolt that had scorched through her at his touch, but could also sense the full-body blush that was going to set her on fire if he continued to let his thumb make little circles on her blouse.
She didn’t breathe much on the way down, letting out a loud gush of air as Nate stepped away to shake hands with Aiko.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said.
Shannon made some sort of sound, cleared her throat and somehow managed to say, “You, too. Have a good evening.”
Nate turned to Shannon and narrowed his eyes. “I was thinking Katz’s.”
“Katz’s sounds great.”
He held the door open for her, b
ut didn’t touch her as they left the building. She would tell him about Ariel the moment they sat down at the deli. He’d be delighted. Why wouldn’t he be delighted? Ariel was great. Pretty. Shannon had a picture of her on her cell so she could show him. It would be done in a flash, then she’d have the matzo ball soup, and they’d talk real estate. She knew a lot about real estate.
“I’ll warn you right now, I’m ordering all the stuff I can’t get in Indonesia. A knish, latkes, kishke, the works.” He grinned.
They walked to the curb, where they waited to get a cab, as several, occupied, drove by. It was dinner hour and it would be nuts at the deli, but that was okay, because she was going to set up the date with Ariel first thing, then it would become easy. Simple. Eating good things, talking square footage and hardwood floors.
Finally, an empty cab stopped in front of them. Nate opened the door, and she jumped inside, grabbing the door handle in a panic. “You know what, I forgot. I’m supposed to be… I’m sorry, I have to… I’ll see you at the— Sorry.” Then she slammed the door shut and pretty much screamed her address at the cabby.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Nate said, to no one in particular. Stunned, he watched the taxi weave into the bumper-to-bumper traffic as he tried to interpret the past few minutes.
He was certain she hadn’t forgotten anything. Unless the thing she’d forgotten was hugely embarrassing, but that seemed unlikely.
Had he said something out of line before the deli talk? He reran the evening as nearly as he could remember and nothing jumped out at him. Nothing even whispered vaguely. Everything had been fine, then whoosh, she was out of there like a shot, and her cheeks had burned pink, and he was utterly bewildered.
He debated going after her, but he doubted she wanted to be chased. So he raised his arm and flagged down another cab, too dazed to care about how long it took.
The wait at the deli was even longer. He tried to think about the condo, then about tomorrow’s meeting with the attorney, but each thought was hijacked by Shannon. He gave in and picked up one of the free papers at the door and turned to the classified section. It wasn’t very big, and most of it was for rentals and rent shares.