“Oh, in a heartbeat.” She offered a giddy smile. “And then I would have had you forcibly removed from the premises.”
“Tasered, too?” he asked.
“Only if the use of a stun gun proved necessary.”
“You must be disappointed, then.”
The corners of her mouth turned up as she admitted, “Maybe just a little.”
“Well, I prefer acting civilized…in a professional setting at least.”
She sent him a quizzical look. “Is there a setting where you believe in acting like a savage?”
He hiked his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”
Sam said nothing, but the flush creeping up from her neck told him that she did remember. Vividly. Unfortunately, so did he, which was why heat of a different sort wound its way through Michael. Despite his best efforts, awareness sizzled.
“All’s fair in…war and advertising,” she managed after clearing her throat.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m glad that you understand that.”
“Oh, I do, Sam. I do.”
“It’s nothing personal,” she added.
But of course she was lying. Everything between them, past and present, was personal. His next words made that clear.
“I’m glad we agree on that, because I have an appointment with the folks at Aphrodite’s Boudoir a week from Friday. I’ve been eyeing them for a while. After I gave them a little preview of what I have in mind for a new print campaign, they were very intrigued.”
“I guess we’ll see,” she said blandly.
Beneath the slab of her desktop her legs were crossed. Michael nearly grinned as her foot began to swing in agitation. She wasn’t as relaxed and unconcerned as she pretended to be.
“I guess we will.” In a bid to turn the screws a little tighter, he added, “You must enjoy working with their advertising manager. Joanna Clarkson has been very nice to me the times we’ve met in person and then again today when we spoke on the phone to set up an appointment.”
“She’s a peach,” Sam said. The foot swung faster.
“Yeah, a ripe one.”
At that she planted both feet firmly on the carpet and grabbed the edge of her desk. Relaxed and unconcerned? Not in the least.
It took an effort for Sam not to shoot out of her seat. Not only was Aphrodite’s Boudoir her biggest account, the print campaign she’d put together for the high-end lingerie maker had been a finalist for the Clio. Michael knew that, of course. Just as he no doubt was hoping his references to the “very nice” and “ripe”—not to mention stunningly attractive—Joanna Clarkson would get a rise out of Sam. As if she cared. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of losing her cool. Breathing deeply, she pried her fingers from the edge of the desk and crossed her legs.
“What? No comment?” he had the gall to ask around his smug smile.
“None. Why?” She blinked innocently. “I believe we just agreed that all’s fair.”
Michael nodded. “That we did.”
“But you were hoping to get a rise out of me,” she accused.
“I admit it. I was,” he said.
“Then you must feel let down.”
“As let down as you were not to have to call security,” Michael agreed, but then he was shaking his head. “No, I’m more disappointed than that.”
“Oh?”
“You always looked incredible when you were mad. The more ticked off you were, the lovelier and sexier you got.” He appeared surprised he’d said that, but then he turned on his high-voltage smile.
Just what kind of game was he playing? Sam wondered, but found herself going along, sucked back in time. Whoever said makeup sex was the best knew what they were talking about. For a moment she was mired in memories that made her want to blush. Memories that made her burn. She plucked out a recollection that was more mundane than erotic.
“So that’s why you used to leave the toilet seat up all the time? You wanted to see me turn into a raving beauty?”
He wasn’t put off. “Seven years late, but you finally get it,” he replied on an exaggerated wink.
“I thought you just did it to be annoying.”
And, oh, how annoying she’d found it, though at weaker moments since Michael had exited her life she’d almost missed sitting on the cold ceramic of the toilet bowl. Sam drummed her fingernails on the desktop, a habit he’d once told her grated mightily on his nerves. If a blackboard had been handy, she would have scraped them down it just to cap off the experience.
Michael’s expression turned brittle as he watched her hand, but then his gaze shot back to her face. “I see annoying you as a side benefit now, though not back then. I guess you could say I was blinded by love.”
His tone was mocking. His flippant reference to the one-time depth of his emotions shouldn’t have hurt Sam, but it did. It cut to the quick, and that left her feeling exposed as well as wounded. This time when she flattened her palms on the desktop, she pushed to her feet. It was time to show him the door while she still had a hold of her temper, not to mention her dignity.
“As entertaining as I find this short stroll down memory lane, Michael, you’ll have to excuse me now. I have a lot of work to do.”
He stood, as well, and with false politeness inquired, “More of my clients to woo away?”
“Oh, I’ve got one or two on the hook,” she replied, though it wasn’t quite the case…yet. The second he cleared Bradford’s lobby, though, she planned to start laying the groundwork and doing the necessary research into products and markets.
“Well, don’t work too hard or too late. You’ll find it won’t be worth it,” he advised before he started for the door. Two steps from it, he stopped abruptly. Though he stood in profile to her she could tell his face had paled.
Sam followed his line of vision to the small gallery of pictures that topped the credenza on the far wall. Even before he walked over and picked up the silver-edged frame, she knew it was the one that had snagged his attention. In the photograph, Sonya was seated in a wheelchair, her head braced against its high back. Even though her blond hair was the same boyishly spiky mess it had been seven years earlier, she didn’t much resemble the outgoing and energetic young woman she’d been.
It was a long moment before Michael said anything, though his throat seemed to work the entire time. Finally he asked in a quiet voice, “When…when was this taken?”
Sam walked around the desk and joined him. “This past Christmas.”
“But I thought…” He glanced at her, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I thought she’d recovered.”
If only that were the case. How different all of their lives and futures might be—Sonya’s most of all. Sam took the photograph from his hand.
“No.”
“But she was getting better. She was making excellent progress when I left for California.”
He sounded baffled and no wonder, since he hadn’t allowed Sam to tell him otherwise the day that she’d called. The day their relationship had suffered a fatal blow.
“She was.” The head injury Sonya sustained in the car accident had affected her gross motor skills more than her cognitive abilities. With time and physical therapy she’d been expected to recover fully. “But then she suffered a brain aneurism, a residual effect of the accident, or so the doctors said. It did far worse damage than the crash.”
Indeed, it had robbed Sonya of more than agility and grace. It had wiped away the last traces of her sparkling personality and keen intellect. What remained all these years later was a shell of a woman. Some things were worse than death. Every time Sam visited her beloved sister, that phrase came to mind.
“When did this happen?” he demanded.
“I think you know.”
What little color had returned to Michael’s face leached out again. “This is why you called to tell me you were staying in Manhattan.”
“I couldn’t leave, Michael. How could I pack up and go after that?”
He scru
bbed a hand over his face, visibly shaken. “I didn’t know, Sam. I didn’t know.”
“That’s only because you wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell you.” Saying so now held none of the satisfaction she’d long thought it would, which explained why her tone was not angry but resigned.
His gaze connected with hers. Stricken, that’s how he looked, along with sad, sorry and definitely shaken.
“Would it have changed anything?” she almost asked. But then she thought better of it. Maybe it was best not to know.
So instead, even though he hadn’t asked, she told him. “Sonya’s in a nursing facility in Bakerville. It’s a little town on Long Island that’s about an hour’s train ride from the city.”
The decision had been hard for her father to make. So hard, in fact, that Randolph had actually consulted Sam about it, one of the rare times he’d sought out her opinion on anything.
“Why not in the city?”
“Dad felt Rising Sun was the best around and that Sonya might find the small-town setting soothing. He wanted to hire a full-time nurse and keep her at home, but that was impossible since she’s on a feeding tube and prone to respiratory infections.”
“So, there’s nothing more that can be done?” Michael asked.
A familiar sadness slipped over Sam as she considered his question. Gazing at the photograph, she used the pad of her thumb to stroke her sister’s pale cheek. How Sam longed to see Sonya’s face light up with her signature grin or to hear her booming laughter.
“They can keep her comfortable. They can work her muscles to ensure they don’t atrophy any more than they already have.”
“That’s all?”
She set the photo back on the credenza. “She can’t walk or talk and she doesn’t appear to react voluntarily to voices or other stimuli. The doctors have been pretty clear that outside of a miracle, the way she is now is as good as it’s going to get.”
Michael laid a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Sam. Really sorry.”
She swallowed, nodded. “I am, too.” Maybe it was the sincerity in his tone that had her foolishly confessing, “Sometimes I feel very guilty for living her life. After all, the position at Bradford wouldn’t be mine if this hadn’t happened to Sonya.”
The account executive job, as well as the uptown apartment that their father had deeded to her older sister, were both Sam’s now. She’d earned them. She’d worked her fanny off for the past seven years and had the client list to prove it, even if she had yet to hear her father utter a compliment. But that didn’t make the guilt ebb, especially when she looked at Sonya.
Michael’s hand fell away. Sam felt it slip off her arm, not realizing how much his touch had warmed her until it was gone. She told herself that was why she shivered when he said, “Then why don’t you ask yourself why you’re you still doing it?”
CHAPTER FOUR
SAM hadn’t intended to make the long commute to Rising Sun Long-Term Care that evening. After Michael’s unexpected visit to her office, she’d planned to work late plotting ways to reel in every last one of his clients. Work, after all, had long been her refuge, as evidenced by her appalling lack of a social life, a fact her mother pointed out at every chance.
His question nagged at her, though.
Then why don’t you ask yourself why you’re still doing it?
She had answers for him. Loads of them. The same answers she’d had for the past seven years when her mother posed similar questions.
As the train clacked over the tracks to Bakerville, she admitted that part of her might still be trying to earn her father’s approval. That’s what Joy claimed. That’s certainly what Michael thought. But what child, adolescent or adult, didn’t seek a parent’s praise?
Besides, hearing Randolph finally say he was proud of Sam—every bit as proud as he’d been of Sonya—wasn’t the main reason she stayed on at Bradford. She’d built a career there and she was helping to build the agency that someday would be hers to run. That was why Sam worked herself to near exhaustion each week. She had an investment in her father’s agency that went well beyond fulfilling an emotional need. She saw no reason to walk away from that.
She fell asleep on the train, waking with a start when it pulled into Bakerville. The nursing facility was a little over a mile from the station. Generally, Sam didn’t mind the walk. In fact, she almost looked forward to it. Once one got away from the depot and small downtown area, it was all tree-lined residential streets. But today she wasn’t exactly prepared for the trek. Her snug-fitting black pencil skirt and three-inch high heels were perfect for the office, but they slowed her progress on the uneven pavement.
It didn’t help that it was nearly dark outside or that halfway to her destination it began to rain. By the time she reached the unassuming two-story brick building at the end of Cloverdale Lane, the light sprinkling was well on its way to a torrential downpour.
The facility sat back from the street on impeccably groomed grounds that during the day teemed with spring flowers and budding shrubs. Sam raced up the lighted walkway toward the entrance, ignoring the protest of her feet and nearly oblivious to the scent of lilacs. Inside the lobby, she took a moment to dry the rain from her face and fuss with her hair. No doubt both were a mess. Not that Sonya would notice, much less care, she thought sadly.
Technically, visiting hours ended at eight and it was ten past that now, but all of the nurses knew her and tended to look the other way. Still, she felt the need to apologize as she passed the front desk.
“Sorry that I’m a little late getting here tonight. I hope it’s all right, Mae.”
The heavyset blonde smiled at Sam. “No problem. Sonya’s awake. In fact, she still has company.”
This news came as a surprise. Sam crinkled her brow. “Company?”
Randolph had been in a managerial meeting when she’d left for the day. As for her mother, Joy wasn’t likely to make the trek to Long Island by herself, especially at this time of day.
“It’s a gentleman,” Mae said. She leaned across the laminate countertop and in a hushed tone added, “A very good-looking one, too. Sandy-brown hair and to-die-for eyes. He had all of the second-shift nurses flipping coins to see who got to deliver your sister’s evening meds.”
A good-looking man? Sandy brown hair? To-die-for-eyes? A face took shape in Sam’s mind. No. It couldn’t be Michael. Just the same, she hurried down the corridor past the nurses’ station. Her sister’s room was at the end of the hall. When she was halfway to it, the door opened and Michael stepped out. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on earlier in the day, though he’d loosened the tie and undone the top button of his shirt. They both stopped, eyeing each other across the distance like a pair of Old West gunslingers waiting for high noon.
“What are you doing here?” Samantha managed at last as she continued toward him on a pair of legs that had turned to rubber.
“I…I came to…” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door, but then he shook his head and let whatever words he’d been about to say drift off.
He didn’t look cocky now. Rather, he appeared pale. His mouth was pinched, his gaze hollow. Grief. As Sam drew even with him, she saw it reflected clearly in the deep blue of his eyes.
“It’s a bit of a shock when people who haven’t been by in a while first see her,” she allowed.
He gave a jerky nod. “Yes. The picture—”
“In some ways it makes her look better than she actually does,” Sam finished. Maybe that was the reason she’d framed it and put it on display in her office. Sonya’s office. Other than changing out the pictures on the credenza, Sam had left it exactly as her sister had decorated it.
“I’d hoped it made her look worse. I’d hoped you were—” he swallowed hard before finishing “—exaggerating.”
“So you came out here to see for yourself.”
“Yeah. Sorry. God, Sam, I wanted you to be wrong.” His voice was emphatic, despite being soft. Hearing
it did funny things to her heart.
“I wish that were the case.”
“I always liked Sonya. She had so much energy, so much imagination.”
Michael referred to her in the past tense, but Sam didn’t correct him. That’s how they all referred to her sister when they talked about the person Sonya had been.
“She liked you, too. In fact, before the aneurism, she was pretty annoyed with me for postponing our wedding, even though she was in no shape to walk down the aisle. She thought I should have married you before letting you leave for California.”
“I thought so, too, remember?”
Sam had no comeback for that. She changed the subject. “It was really nice of you to come all the way out here to see her tonight. Sonya doesn’t get many visitors these days other than family. Even her closest friends only make it out a couple times a year. This is a great facility. The staff and caliber of care are outstanding, the absolute best according to my father. But its location…” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s not exactly convenient.”
“But you’re here, and often, too, if the nurses are to be believed.”
“I try to make it out a few times a week. She’s my sister.”
“Yeah.”
Because looking at him was too hard, she focused on a spot on the wall just past his shoulder. “You know, people always expected Sonya and me to be rivals. They figured that since we were only a couple of years apart and both in advertising that we were in competition. But that was never the case. We wanted the best for each other. Sonya loved me and I loved her. I still love her.”
“This must be so difficult for you.” He squeezed her arm just below the elbow.
“It’s harder for her.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yes, she did. “Some days I don’t want to come,” Sam admitted. “After the doctors told us she’d never recover, I just wanted to pretend that she was away somewhere. Later, God forgive me, I just wished she had died.”
She didn’t realize she was crying until he brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“I think that’s normal, Sam. Seeing her like this is hell.”
Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire Page 5