“Well then, that’s a shame, because you seem like a fabulous advocate for almost everything we stand for. We appreciate your time, but as you say, the role isn’t for you.”
After he’d left, Joe stood up and rolled his shoulders. “Thanks.”
“What for?”
“One of my brothers is gay. We’re not close or anything, I’ve hardly seen him in ten years. But I don’t think it’s any of my business to tell him who he can and can’t fall in love with.”
It was the first time he’d ever mentioned his family and Cara wanted to push harder but he’d already shut up, his face closing and his eyes losing their spark.
Then he shook his hands as if trying to shake something off them. “Are the others like him?”
Cara checked her list. She’d vetoed the next three because none of them had current partners, man, woman or animal and while for two of the three it was because they’d married the church, when she’d asked the third about it, he just replied he hadn’t found the right one. “Not like him, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“This is pointless then.” He started for the door.
“Wait? What now?”
“We need someone real. Someone who will represent our brand. A brand you’ve built from practically nothing. And if you don’t feel it from these guys, then they don’t have it.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“You do it.”
“I can’t. The advertising is all around men. They’re the ones who need help expressing any type of love. Get a woman in there coaching them and most of them will shut up shop.”
“That’s a bold assertion.”
“It’s statistics,” she said.
“So I’ll do it.”
The laugh was almost out before she dragged it back in and swallowed it. “You?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes me. I can act. I can close any business deal you want to throw at me. These guys want to get a ring on someone’s finger, I can work out a strategy that will work. Guaranteed.”
Now she did laugh, but managed to keep it at a light chuckle rather than a snort of derision. “This is exactly why you’re not going to do it. Falling in love, even getting married, is not about good planning, and King Kondoms is definitely not about strategy. This is about feelings, and compassion and letting yourself give in to the hope that love is real and can heal any hurt.” As soon as she said the words she regretted them. The world compressed as they locked eyes again, but unlike on the plane, they had enough room for the zap of electricity between them to dissipate into the air.
He shrugged. “Interview away then. But the offer still stands.”
At nine o’clock that evening, Cara didn’t so much as admit defeat as fall into its wide open arms longing for a bottle of wine. Joe had given up hours earlier. She checked in with the animal handlers who were all good to go, stopped in at Macy’s and surveyed the set up, which was perfect, then flicked off an email to Joe. No winners. You’re it cupid. Please be nice. Meet you in the lobby at 7am tomorrow to talk through some non-strategic strategy for love. Macy’s didn’t open till 10am so they had time to work through replies for any curly requests he might get for advice. There wasn’t much she could do about it now anyway.
When she went back to the hotel after grabbing a quick bite she opened the door to her room wishing only to fall into a bath and into bed.
“I’ll be nice. I promise.” That voice. Cigar in bourbon. Cara froze. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Our room. It’s a suite. Turns out there’s a biker convention and about ten conferences in town. This was all they had. The clerk downstairs is either an idiot or in serious need of help. I tried to explain how much I was willing to pay to be transferred to the Penthouse but he was as helpful as a flea on a ferret. Your bedroom is through there.” Joe lounged in an easy chair next to a gigantic bed.
Her dreams of a hot bath evaporated. No chance she was having anything but the shortest shower with him just a doorway away.
“Anything we need to talk about for tomorrow? I don’t have to wear a stupid costume do I?”
“No. No costume. Smart casual.” She paused. “Do you even own smart casual?”
He looked down at what he was wearing, and her eyes followed his. His legs were slung over the arm of the chair, clad in his usual sharp gray suit pants, but on top he’d ditched the tie and jacket and his top button was undone just enough that she could see the round shadow of the edge of his well-defined pecs.
“We’ll get you something in the morning. I’ll make some calls.”
He shrugged in agreement.
“Right. Well. I’m sure you’ll do fine. We can talk more about it at seven. But right now I’m beat.”
Almost running to her room, she closed the door behind her and pressed her head against it. What was going on? She’d giggled like a teenager on a prom date with Joe on the plane, kissed him almost straight after, watched him exchange love advice with a stranger and then defend his brother’s right to fall in love with whoever he wanted to. What was going on in the universe, and where had it hidden the real Joe Diaz?
Whether it was the craziness of the day, the freezing temperatures in Chicago compared to Austin, or the fact that Joe was just a door away, Cara barely slept that night. When she did spiral into sleep it was only to dream about him. Joe fisting his hand into her skirt and pulling it up, sliding his leg between her knees as she backed into the wall. Joe trapping her to the bed as he peeled the soft fabric of her dress away from her breasts. Joe unbuttoning his pants and holding his shaft out for her to touch, to taste before dragging her pants down, tucking one hand behind her knee and spreading her legs wide so he could enter her deep.
When her alarm trilled at six thirty she felt like she’d been tossed around the bed for real. Looking at the mess of sheets on the bed she might well have been. Don’t let him get to you. Today is too big and he is nothing to you. The cold shower she forced herself into helped and by the time she was actually sitting in front of him; fake Joe, dream Joe or otherwise, she’d banished the night from her mind. Mostly.
But if she’d been gob-smacked by him the day before, Valentine’s Day had her reeling. Video after video came out of his Truth Booth with men imparting impassioned pleas to girlfriends and lovers to take the next step on their journey towards a life together. There was even a husband whose heartfelt declaration of love to his wife and their brand new daughter had Cara’s eyes brimming with tears.
Just before lunch she couldn’t resist and ducked in to listen in on Joe’s advice. Hidden behind a pillar, neither of the men could see her, but she could watch their faces in profile. A young man sat with Joe, and with his body hunched to get down to the other’s smaller size, Joe was a picture of compassionate attention.
“I thought it was over,” the young guy said. “But since seeing her again I can’t get her out of my head.”
“And what happens when you think about her now?”
The young guy looked up and Cara caught a glimpse of his wistful face. “I get lost,” he said simply.
Neither of the men spoke and then the younger man went on. “I want to be with her now. She kissed me. The other day, sort of by accident, but it was amazing. Just like it had been before, only better, because I know myself better. I felt strong. Centered, you know. God I sound stupid.”
“No,” Joe cut across him for the first time. “Not stupid. You sound like you grew up while she was away, and now that she’s here you get to decide if she still fits. Or if, even though it’s good, she’ll never quite work in your new world. Timing is just as important in these things as everything else.”
Cara had to stuff her hand in her mouth to stop from gasping. Was Joe talking about her? Calm it girlfriend. He’s playing a role.
“I think she fits,” the young guy said.
“Well then. The next bit is up to you,” Joe said. “If you can let go of the past, of the hurt, then what have you got to lose chec
king out the future?”
His words reverberated around Cara’s heart as if they were thunderclaps in an echo chamber. Did he really mean that? The men’s chairs scraped and Cara ducked out before she was discovered but couldn’t shake the feeling that Joe was talking about them just as much as he’d been giving advice to the young hopeful lover.
At the end of the day, they’d amassed an impressive 46 videos in the Truth Booth, 82 in the animal den and a bunch of written love notes to the animal sanctuary. Calling in to her teams around the country, Cara discovered that the other centers had done similarly well. And better than that, three of their videos were already going viral on all social media channels with the hashtags #KingLove and #ValentineKing both trending.
The store manager of Macy’s Chicago had called her personally, saying they were definitely up for a repeat next year and that he’d be speaking to Head Office recommending making it a nation-wide event in all Macy’s stores. Cara had to pinch herself to stop from doing a little dance surrounded by the pack-down of animal pens and red ribbon. She looked around the Macy’s foyer for someone to share the amazing results with, but the only people remaining were from the animal shelter and AV techs from the event company she’d hired. No, wait, there he was. Heart pumping with glee, she bounced over to the tall, dark haired man lifting a box and waited for him to turn to her. “Guess who might have nailed us a nation-wide Macy’s slot next year?”
The guy turned around and Cara’s heart shrank into a tight fist. “Um, you have?” The guy was not Joe. Not even remotely close. Standing right in front of him, she wondered how she could have thought he was, for even a second. He wasn’t tall enough, or broad enough, or dark enough, and his voice left her cold. As she apologized and hurried away, remembering that Joe had already left to take a conference call back at the hotel, the picture of the real Joe Diaz laughing at her filled her vision.
Idiot. Why, of all the people in her world, had she wanted to share this with him? With Joe Diaz? The man who had seemed set on hurting and humiliating her only a couple of days ago? The man who practically threatened her job? Because that wasn’t the real him? Seriously? One kiss and she was going to write off his nasty barbs as a hiccup of personality? No, the kiss had been an accident. And him being nice? Being kind to that kid in the Truth Booth? Being nice to you? She shook her head and after checking everything was under control, texted her mom as she started for the exit. Like she always did, her mom sent her a rapid fire pep talk in three efficient sentences that had Cara feeling tall again by the time she got to the front door of Macy’s.
Grab a taxi, pack, eat, catch the red eye back to Austin and collapse into her own bed. That was her plan, and if she could manage it, she was going to get a seat at the other end of the plane to Joe.
That plan? Not so much.
She’d been up before it was light, and inside all day. Weather had not been on her radar. So no part of her expected that when she finally got outside, Chicago would have turned into a wind tunnel. A wind tunnel with occasional flurries of snow, and driving rain. She was wet through before she’d even lifted her hand to hail a cab.
Shivering and miserable, all she wanted was a hot shower.
“Weather’s still crappy then?” Joe drawled before she’d slid her key-card out of the lock.
Damn. “Why aren’t you out, I don’t know, buying companies or something?”
His raised eyebrow said more than if he’d given her a lecture. But despite her filthy mood she was distracted by a weird smell. She sniffed. “What is that? Smells like a cat drowned in a vat of shampoo.” She sniffed again. “Rancid shampoo.”
His laugh was sharp but not without humor. “You’d be amazed at how close you are. We’re moving as soon as my PA can make it happen. One night was long enough in this crappy little room.”
“Excuse me?” But Cara didn’t wait for him to continue. Bursting into her room she gave in to her incredulity and let her jaw drop. “What the hell happened?” Her bed was covered with plaster. Wet plaster and water and who knew what else. “My suitcase!”
“Maintenance are on their way up. Seems that we’re in the old wing and some of the pipes aren’t up to this weather. Cracked pipe, old ceiling, and well...” He pointed upwards. “No wonder I’ve never stayed here before. It’s a dump.”
Looking in dismay at the carnage around her, something he’d said suddenly registered. “Why aren’t you ready to go? We’re on the red eye.”
“You’ve just been outside. How was it?”
She frowned. “Windy. Cold. Sleet and snow. General misery. The cabdriver was in a filthy mood. All the more reason to get back to Texas pronto.”
“Cold. Snowy. Windy.” He counted the words off his fingers. “Three of the best ways to stop planes flying.”
Crap on toast. No, crap burger. No, just…no. Cara felt her face fall but forced herself to pull her muscles up and bare her teeth in a broad miserable echo of positivity. “I’ll find my own room.”
“Good luck with that.”
Ignoring him, she dialed down to reception, only to receive an apology, an offer of a complimentary bathrobe and not much else, before calling every hotel in the state of Chicago. The answer was the same. Well, not quite the same. There was a room at Missie’s Boutique, but when she discovered that they rented by the hour and the room came with a guest already in the bed, man or woman, or both, she politely declined.
“Shit.”
“Probably. The smell is definitely getting worse,” he said.
“Did your PA find a room for me too?” Just then there was a knock at the door and a staff member led them upstairs to the sprawling Penthouse suite.
Cara looked around, properly remembering who she was with and the strength of his bank balance.
“Get in the shower. Your skin is blue.”
Cara looked down at herself and realized that yes, she was still wet and growing colder by the second. The shower here would be incredible and the towels, she could already imagine the extreme fluffiness dabbing at her aching skin. “I don’t have anything to change into. My suitcase is soaked.”
“Just wear the robe for now. We’ll sort something out.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll get my PA to call a shopping service while you defrost. Someone in this city must be able to deliver a dress while you wait for your things to get dry cleaned.” He held up his hand. “My shout. You did great today.”
Her stomach gave a great rumble as she stood there, wondering how the heck she’d been thrown together with Joe like this.
“I’ll order room service too.”
Merely nodding, she dragged herself into the shower and let the hot water burn away the pins and needles that had started to set in on her fingers and toes. Closing her eyes, she tried to inhale and exhale the mess out of her head and repeat her mom’s empowerment text. The day had been a success. An amazing success by anyone’s standards. So why was she feeling so off-center? Through the rush of water she heard whistling. A man whistling. And she let herself admit the problem. She still had feelings for Joe Diaz. And despite the impossibility of them, of the vitriol he’d thrown at her, at the threat to her livelihood, at the possibility he might hurt her mother, she couldn’t help wanting to pull his head down to hers and kiss all her worries away. Because that was what it had been like when they were together. They had created their own bubble. A world where nothing else mattered except the two of them. Where anything was possible. Magic was real. And now, she wanted that bubble back.
Could she? Would she? And even if she allowed herself to give in to whatever it was surging around inside her like a herd of snowy wilder beasts, what then? He was her boss. She turned her head up to the hot water and let it blast over her face.
He wouldn’t be around all the time, he’d already said that, right? Now she’d proved how competent she was, how safe his brand was, he’d move on to looking after other parts of his empire. Maybe they could do this. Even for
just one night. It was Valentine’s Day after all.
7.
Don’t look. Don’t look. The food arrived just as Cara emerged, pink and shiny from the hot shower, followed by a flood of steam, and it was all Joe could do to not stare at the crease of her cleavage where the bath-robe didn’t quite pull together.
When she went to perch on the edge of the massive, white bed, he had to sit on his hands to stop himself pushing her into the covers and investigating that crease of cleavage properly.
Forcing himself to pick up another piece of fruit instead, Joe focused on what she was saying. The promotion had been a runaway success. Since she’d been in the shower, the three videos that had gone viral had ticked up millions of views. “Has it translated into any sales yet?” she asked. He checked his phone and yes, there was a message from the head of sales.
“Looks like it. We don’t track sales hourly but the warehouse has been asked to restock in big numbers.”
She fist pumped the air and he couldn’t stop his chuckle. This was not how this was supposed to be going. He was supposed to be pumping her for information and here he was, sharing a room with her. All. Night.
He should have got them separate rooms. With all his money, even the storm and the conferences wouldn’t have mattered. But he hadn’t tried all that hard. He’d told his PA to find them a Penthouse, and, just as Cara had discovered, most of Chicago was fully booked. But his billions could have opened doors if he’d really wanted them too. So why didn’t you let them? He still wasn’t quite sure, although he did still need to keep an eye on her, he reassured himself.
“This is sooo good.” Cara put another piece of chocolate dipped pineapple in her mouth and closed her eyes as the sweetness took her over. He watched her lips, glistening with sweet juice, watched the rapture on her face, and every muscle in him wanted to be the one to put that look there.
She opened her eyes and almost caught him staring. “Man, this place has some serious room service. Remind me to stay here again next time I’m in Chicago.”
Valentine's Vengeance Page 6