The chime of my phone signals a text message. It’s Mateo and simply states, On my way. See you in twenty.
“Crap.”
I press the timer button off on the stove and retrieve the baking sheet from the floor, tossing it into the sink. I do an awkward bob and weave from side-to-side gathering the black remnants of my buttermilk biscuits.
I have a choice to tidy up my place or put on something more presentable. My oversized Christmas t-shirt and elf striped leggings will have to work. I make quick work of cleaning up my kitchen. By the time I make it back to the table to organize my research, I have ten minutes.
I started researching Mateo, and the more I read, the more I realize I'm in over my head. He's not the same man I knew. I guess some of it must be the same. His habits seem unchanged. He was always a very disciplined person, I can't imagine that changing either, not according to all the facts and figures I found this morning. The man has accomplished the impossible in such a short time.
He arrived as a freshman with a full scholarship. He could read English but didn't speak it fluently, at least not well enough for him to feel comfortable speaking up in class. He endured teasing and professors who doubted him, but his perfect grade point average quieted the most vocal doubters.
Ding dong.
I freeze, looking down the long hall from my dining room table to the front door. My breath catches. What will I say? How will I greet him? I’m stunned the same way he silenced those who felt slighted by the recognition he received.
The film of our relationship flashes in my mind. At one time, Mateo Rodriquez ranked close to oxygen, food, and water. I take several steps, and his silhouette turns from the street to face me as if he can see me.
The naysayers never saw him behind closed doors. That was the man who stole my heart, and he never gave it back. He's the best because he's relentless. Obstacles never stood a chance, and now he’s at my home.
I helped him become comfortable with speaking English, and he taught me how to study and embrace the opportunities my family provided. He stressed the need for me to love them. The same people who never gave him a chance or a second thought.
I draw in a deep breath to calm my racing heart and unlock the bolt. My shaky hand grips the brass knob, and I open the door.
“…mi querida.” My darling.
Time stands still. This is the moment when you want your ex to look busted, to have suffered without you in their life. But not him. Fucking, sexiness wrapped in a dark suit. Smelling like do me, baby.
I start at the top of his jet-black hair stopping only to appreciate his thick lashes and killer bedroom eyes. His strong jaw and tanned skin are precisely the way I remembered. My gaze hovers over his mouth. The same mouth that did wicked things to my body. The slight quiver in his jaw tells me he’s struggling to keep his distance.
I rest a hand on my chest, stepping back to let him inside. He crosses the threshold, slamming the door behind him. Then I'm folded into his arms. The musk of his cologne fills my nose, the strength in his arms hold me close, the brush of his lips over my ear renders me mute as desire pulses through my body.
“Alexandria.”
I glance up, and the passion lingering in his brandy colored pools overwhelms me.
God, I can’t breathe.
His mouth covers mine. Not hot and demanding like the heat I see in his eyes, but it's tender and leisurely as if he's taking his sweet time reacquainting himself with my mouth. The crisp lapels of his suit are crushed in my hands. The kiss slips from tame to demanding to brazen like the man is driving a six-speed, and I'm down for the ride. A delicious shudder shoots through me, I shake it off and reluctantly step away.
Curiosity causes my eyes to sweep the front of his pants, and the man is hard and ready. There's no way we'll be able to work together. The man looks at me, and I'm willing to let him have his way.
"We can't do that again," I state for the record.
“I don’t believe you in your Santa, I’ve Been a Bad Girl shirt.” The sexy smile on his face makes my cheeks burn with heat. “Do I get a tour?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I spin around with him on my heels. “My living room.”
I stand back, and he walks over to the picture wall. I have pictures of all my godchildren, the guys, weddings, parties. I have a few of my mother, stepfather, and my siblings. And one with my grandfather when we were inseparable. But most of the wall is dedicated to what I consider my heart family.
“Tell me who I’m looking at.”
I make my way across the wall. This is one of the most endearing attributes about Mateo. He loves his family. It was something I envied. But it seems the more I tried to understand my mother, stepfather, and grandfather as an adult, the more I felt like an outcast. That’s when I decided to embrace the family I had in the guys.
"From ten, you now have a clan. Look at us." He notices a picture of us from college. He removes it from the wall. The serene smile on his face is infectious. He places it back on the hook turning to me. "How are your parents?"
“They’re in good health. Business is good.”
"You guys are still distant." He faces me, dropping his hands in his pockets.
"I go when they call, but it's better when we have our own space. Can we talk about something else?"
“Certainly.”
The tour continues. My three-bedroom house isn't a mansion, but it's mine. We stop at my dining room table. He glances down at my mess and reaches for a stack of papers.
“I thought I’d prepare for our meeting today. We can talk in here or the living room. I don’t have a home office.”
"Here is fine." He removes his jacket and my mouth waters. He must be hitting the gym now. "Alexandria, you can't look at me like that and expect me to remain unaffected."
I nod. “Would you like some coffee?”
"I'll get the coffee, and you get the table. Talk me through it."
“Everything is in the drawer below the coffee maker.”
He walks in the kitchen spinning around as if getting himself familiar with the space. He stops in front of the coffee maker and pulls out the drawer.
"Bingo." He throws his hands up in a touchdown fashion. I laugh, shaking my head. "Tell me about Platinum Prestige."
"You'd get a kick out of it. We started because Hunter's father threatened to take away her inheritance. Then he gave her an ultimatum. She created a business plan with her then boyfriend, and when her father agreed to invest in the company, she asked us to join her."
“The mugs?”
“Above you.”
He opens the cabinet with his index finger. “Aren’t you an organized one?”
“I live on coffee. So, clients work with us on a subscription base. We have celebrities, executives, political officials. We’ve even started establishing corporate accounts.”
“Still two cream, two sugar?”
I stop. “Yes.”
He walks to the refrigerator, stopping at the trash can. “What happened?”
“I almost set the place on fire. I got distracted reading about the great Mateo Rodriquez.”
“The great? I like the sound of that.” His head disappears into the refrigerator. “What are the next steps for Platinum Prestige? You mentioned international expansion.”
I sit at the table, watching him move around in my kitchen. He gathers the mugs and strolls into the dining room.
“I guess we’d like to consider duplicating what we’ve done here in other countries. We currently in the consideration phase. I plan to research and present my findings to the rest of the guys. And we’ll take it from there.”
“And my role?”
"Do what you do best, advise. Are there particular services we should consider? Should we focus our efforts on the US? How should our financials look before making this type of move? Should we open an international office?" The questions are flowing, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if we're ready. Having Platinum Prestige
based in Austin works for us.
“What’s that face about?”
"As I hear myself talk, it makes me think about why our business works in Austin. Eight of our ten partners are married, and all of them have young children. We come and go as needed. It's not easy, but we make it work. I imagine adding an international arm to our business would disrupt that flow."
“It could. But working internationally can take many forms. Are you asking for an evaluation and a recommendation?”
“No, I’d like for you to mentor me.”
“Mentor?” His eyebrow creeps up.
"Yes, mentor. I'd like a solid understanding of where we should stand as a company and how I can assist my business partners with this transition. I think handling it in-house could strengthen our structure and give us another level of expertise." I lean forward facing him. "I don't want to be a thirty-year-old intern, but I think I can learn a lot from you. We've exceeded our wildest dreams in the first ten years, I'd love to triple it in another three to five years."
“That’s aggressive.”
“But we can do it.” I’m confident in my team. We’ve managed to turn trust fund babies into millionaire bosses. The GIB are a formidable powerhouse. It can only go up from here.
"I can help you, Alexandria."
I smile, ready to hug him.
“But…I have a request of my own.”
"Okay. And that is?" I search his eyes, trying to anticipate his response.
“Marry me.”
Chapter 4
“Marry you? No… Is this a joke?”
I sit back, reevaluating my approach. In business, I learned the first no is never final. They're usually a knee jerk reaction. I'd be highly concerned if she outright said yes. But I will get a yes.
Alexandria pushes her dark brown hair behind her ears, giving me a full view of her beautiful face. Her plump lips twist in a frown, and I'm not ready to admit defeat.
“Mateo, you can’t walk in and propose.”
“Would you rather I lie like you did about this boyfriend of yours?” I wait for her response. “The Alexandria I knew wouldn’t let me kiss her if she had a boyfriend. Are you the same woman?”
“No, I’m not the same woman. I’ve changed. That’s what time does. You grow up, have mortgages, and stretch the truth a little. I don't have a boyfriend, but we can't just start where we left off."
"Says who? Rules serve the creator, not the subject. I create my own rules. Except on this one thing, I need your help." Hesitation lingers in her eyes, but she doesn't look away. I take a deep breath and notice the magazine in question on the table. "You know I was born and raised in Santo Domingo. But I've only returned for holidays since finishing college. I had more opportunities here after graduating, and I see New York as my home—to my parents' dismay."
“You still can’t get them to move here?”
She remembers. “No, which is part of the reason for my proposal.”
"Okay…I'll listen." She stands up and walks to the kitchen. She pulls out a carton of eggs and a cast-iron skillet. "But this isn't a yes."
I nod, fighting to contain my smile, she sounds like my mother. "My parents have people following them, and earlier this week, they received a nasty threat." I reach for the magazine. "Thanks to this article going into depth about my business and finances."
“A threat?” The clank of the skillet hitting the stove echoes from her quick release.
"I can't get them to move here, but I figure if I can get them here for Christmas, I can hopefully neutralize the situation."
"Why do you have to be engaged to do it?" She leans back against the counter, crossing her arms.
“My mother hates flying. It will take a death, a baby, or a wedding to get her here. She’s so ready to marry me off that I’m betting an engagement to you will get her on the plane.”
“Why can’t you just tell them it’s what’s best?”
“Did that work when your parents hid the truth about your father?”
“No.” Sparks of pain flicker in her eyes before turning away. I stand not stopping until I’m behind her. I wrap my arms around her waist.
“I can’t step on my father’s toes because he’s the man of his house. I can’t freak my mother out by telling her the details of the threat. But I won’t let my status as a businessman ruin their lives. It’s not fair to them, they didn’t ask for this.”
“I admire your commitment to your family. But what does this have to do with me?”
"You'll buy me a little time. I'm hosting a family Christmas gathering at my place. We'll attend a few Christmas parties. In exchange, I'll mentor you. You'll work in my New York office and get hands-on experience. Then I can help you strategize on a potential rollout approach for Platinum Prestige."
I turn her around to face me.
“Will you please come to New York for the rest of December as my fiancé? That will give me three weeks to have a full security system places on their home. I can hire a detective to investigate the threat. And you can experience a big Dominican Christmas.” I used to tell her about them every year. Now, she can experience it for herself.
“How long do you think I’ll need to work at your office?”
"Give me six months, and I'll make you a beast in international strategy and negotiations. And I'll have time to introduce you to some vendors with offices in New York."
She sighs. "Start a fresh pot of coffee, and I'll make breakfast."
I step back unbuttoning the cuffs of my sleeves. I roll them back, watching her. Alexandria believes we can't pick up where we left off. But from the looks of things, the core of who we are remains the same. I'm still ready to storm the castle, and she still folds into herself to address the world. It's part of her charm and her flaw. I'd rather make as much noise as humanly possible.
I put on a fresh pot of coffee. I ask for a knife, and she points to the drawer near the refrigerator. I slowly chop the onion and tomatoes. I don't cook, but I'm an excellent sous chef.
In the end, our love was the casualty of her desire to peacefully reach a solution with her family. And in my youth, I chose her happiness over my own. So, I packed up my bags and moved to New York.
I place the bushel of cilantro on the chopping board. “Do you think we would have been married by now had I stayed?”
“You can’t ask questions like that.” She glances over her shoulder.
“Why not? We didn’t break up because of infidelity or because we fell out of love with each other. We were kids trying to figure life out.”
“And I let my family drive you away.” I hear the slight break in her voice before she returns to scrambling the eggs.
I stop chopping and take a moment to look at her. Her squared shoulders, the hard scrape of the spatula across the skillet, the pain in her eyes. These are all the signs I didn't notice before. I thought leaving was best. Family first is how my parents raised me, and I wasn't family. I couldn't love her and be the source of such pain.
“Was I wrong?” I ask. The smell of fresh spices and bacon fills the air.
“Wrong about what?”
“Leaving you.” I lower the knife to the cutting board. “I didn’t care that they disliked me. The fact that they didn’t know how to cherish you and protect you made me feel responsible for the wedge. I didn’t want to be the reason for their callus behavior towards you.”
“That’s in the past.” Her onyx eyes shut me out.
“Not if it keeps us from moving forward.
Was that distance always hidden in her voice? This awakens more questions within me. Questions I didn't consider in my youth like the reason her parents had such strong objections to our relationship. Then I assumed it was the differences in our bank accounts.
Alexandria was born a millionaire. I was born with only my name. I never questioned it further, and she made no attempts to disprove my assumptions. But judging by the tense stance of her posture and her tone, I can't pursue those questions
today, not if I want her to let me in.
I move in her silence. The light chopping sounds and the sizzle of the bacon are the only indications that I'm not alone. I get a good look around. There's no Christmas tree or lights. The house is deathly silent.
And between kissing her and asking her to marry me, my fake proposal and her real "no" hit on my old insecurities. That I'd never be good enough for her. That I wasn't worth choosing, worth her love. I left, but she never once called me. The threats against my parents and her first phone call to New York brought me back to Austin.
I’m still in love with her.
Shock crashes through me, and I fold forward, thankful her back is turned. I slowly exhale the mounting pressure around my racing heart. I grip the edge of the island as my heavy-lidded gaze examines her profile.
I allow my mind to formulate the real question. Is this request for her, my parents, or me? It’s for me. I’ll protect my parents, even if I have to relocate my life back to Santo Domingo. But from the moment I heard her voice, I wanted her back, as this man, not the man I was before.
God, please, give me a second chance to love her, to shower her with all you’ve blessed me with, to give us a different outcome.
Alexandria glances back as if she heard my prayer. Her eyes probe, holding me captive. I search the depths of her beautiful eyes until I reach her soul, and I know she still loves me too.
Springing a marriage proposal on her, whether fake or real, is shocking. But if this is our opportunity to have Alexandria and Mateo again, it can't happen in Austin. Not with her parents and family around.
The moment comes, and I'm anchored to a truth about us, we once had something special. We'll get it back.
We eat, and I notice the time. "I need to get going. I have a meeting with Liam."
She walks me to the door, and I cup her face in my hands. Her cinnamon-brown skin is as smooth as satin. Her plump lips are covered in gloss. I kiss her once, and once more. I step back from the warmth of her arms and remove the ring from my pocket.
Lavish Love: A Second Chance Romance (Blazin' Love Book 9) Page 3