Troy set his cup on the table. “I need this weekend to go well, especially after talking to Mick today.”
“We wouldn’t want to ruin your good fortune.”
“Especially since the partnership isn’t a sure thing,” Troy said with a hint of concern in his voice. “We’re going to have to act like an engaged couple in front of your parents. But that will be for less than forty-eight hours.”
Forty-eight hours didn’t sound too long. “I can handle it.”
“Do the terms honey or sweetheart offend you?”
Not bad—a politically correct fiancé. “I can live with them. What about you, darling?”
His eyes widened, and he sat straighter.
She laughed. “You’re not the only one who gets to use terms of endearment, oh, love of my life. I hope you can live with the kissing, and hugging, and touching, and—”
“I get the picture.” He took another sip of his coffee. “How do you want to start?”
Time to ruffle a few of those stiff feathers of his. Reaching over the table, she caressed the top of his hand. “Do you mean with the kissing and touch—”
“No, with the getting to know each other.”
She enjoyed the way he squirmed in his seat. Getting together tonight was turning out to be more fun than she thought it would be. “I ask a question, and then you ask one.”
“Sounds democratic,” he said.
“You start since it’s your celebration.”
“How old are you?” Troy asked.
“Thirty-two,” she said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
She grinned. “A younger man.”
“Three years isn’t that much.”
“Not unless you’re counting in dog years.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Huh?”
“Is that your question?”
“No.” Troy started to speak but then checked himself.
She’d seen the same hesitant look on her parents’ faces many times. “Just ask. I won’t be offended.”
He paused. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Are you in love with Eric?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. That was an easy one.
“No, that’s it?”
“You asked your question. Now it’s my turn.” She didn’t want to explore her relationship with Eric Wainwright any further. She hoped she didn’t sound too defensive, but this was a topic she didn’t discuss with anyone. She tapped her toe.
“Can I continue, please?” Troy asked.
So much for fun. The compassion in his gaze softened her resolve. “Go ahead.”
“If you’re not in love with Eric, why did you need a fiancé?”
Unrequited love.
That was what Troy thought.
Politically correct and a romantic.
Not a bad combination. Except his assumption about her feelings toward her ex was wrong.
She stopped tapping her foot. “I didn’t need a fiancé because of Eric.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed. “Then who?”
“It’s not important.” Time to change the subject. She inhaled. “Don’t you love the smell of freshly brewed coffee?”
“Who? Your sister?”
“My parents.” She swirled the contents of her cup. “They…it’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Troy sipped his coffee.
“Eric and I broke up over a year ago.”
She hoped Troy didn’t ask why. Emily and Eric had betrayed her, but that wasn’t public knowledge. Cassandra had been keeping that secret, though maybe she should reconsider staying quiet. Her parents might leave her alone if they knew the truth about how Emily’s relationship with Eric started.
“After the wedding was canceled,” Cassandra continued. “I wasn’t interested in dating.”
“And you haven’t been interested in dating since then?”
“Not really.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her insides twisted.
“Eric must have hurt you badly.”
“Yes.” She raised her mug. “Breakups are difficult.”
Not just romantic ones.
An image of Emily flashed in Cassandra’s mind.
She took a sip.
Trusting anyone was difficult when her twin sister had hurt Cassandra far worse than Eric had, and she never wanted to have that happen again. Not letting others close seemed the best option. So far, that had worked well.
Troy didn’t say anything, but curiosity filled his gaze.
The silence bristled. Cassandra shrugged though she wasn’t sure why. “What’s the adage? Once bitten, twice shy?”
“Your parents don’t agree.”
“No.” If only her parents did, she would be fine. “They think now that one twin is married, the other should be next. My dating life has become their personal pet project.”
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. It started a little over four months ago. My parents invited me and a date to dinner. I wasn’t seeing anyone, so I asked a friend.” The memory brought a smile. “Some of my friends are…unconventional.”
“Pierced body parts?”
She nodded. “Rowdy is very nice. He’d give you the shirt off his tattooed back if you asked.”
Troy laughed. “I assume your parents weren’t thrilled at meeting Rowdy.”
“You assume correctly. A couple of weeks after the infamous dinner, I bumped into my parents near Union Square. I was with another friend who happens to be a biker.” Remembering the horrified expression on her mother’s face made Cassandra laugh. “My mother couldn’t handle Otto with his spiked collar, shaved head, and black leather pants and jacket.”
“So your parents were concerned about the men you were dating?”
“Concerned is putting it mildly, and I wasn’t dating either of them.” Thinking back brought a sigh. “Suddenly, my cell phone exploded with texts and calls from the sons and grandsons of my parents’ friends asking me out. My mother made me an appointment with the city’s top matchmaker. My father told me to join a gym so I could meet suitable men. They drove me crazy.”
“You’re lucky they care so much.”
“I know they love me, but I couldn’t stand their meddling in my personal life. They’d wanted me to bring a plus one to Emily’s wedding, but I said I couldn’t due to being the maid of honor.”
That had been the only good thing to being forced to stand at her sister’s side during the ceremony.
“They still wouldn’t let up, and their interferring got worse.” Cassandra had been humiliated. Humiliated enough to invent a fictional fiancé. “I figured a make-believe fiancé would be the easy way out. They could stop worrying, and I could have my life back.”
“Only you don’t have your life back, do you?” Troy sounded almost regretful.
His gentle voice and the tenderness in his eyes tugged at Cassandra’s heart. She wondered how many hearts Troy McKnight had broken. Several, if her intuition were on track. She wouldn’t want to join the list—she couldn’t afford to join the list. “Not yet, but I will soon, won’t I?”
“After the weekend.”
That couldn’t come soon enough.
♥ ♥ ♥
On Friday, Troy drove his truck south on Highway 101. He had no doubt he would be certifiably insane by the time they arrived in Carmel. Dealing with the wrath of Dixon Daniels would be easier than fighting these raging hormones. After being crammed with Cassie in the cab of his small pickup for the past two and a half hours, he was reaching his breaking point.
Her off-key singing had annoyed him at first, but now he missed the sound when she was quiet. She stretched her arms overhead. The movement accentuated her breasts. He fought the urge to look at her instead of the road.
He gripped the steering wheel.
Spending forty-eight hours in forced proximity was about forty-six too long. At this ra
te, he would never survive.
Each time she turned her head, he caught a whiff of perfume, shampoo, soap. Her. She smelled fresh, a bit like citrus. He felt as if he had completed a workout and desperately needed a cool drink. Cassie was like a glass of lemonade on a hot summer day, but out of his reach. He needed a taste to quench his thirst. Who was he kidding? He wanted to guzzle.
“Pretty scenery.” She stared out of the truck’s window.
“Yes.” That was the only word Troy could manage.
He was in over his head.
For the past three days, he’d thought about her at the most inopportune times—doodling her name during a board meeting and suggesting the name Cass Ale for a new beer during a meeting with a brewery startup. Nothing, however, had prepared him for what he was feeling now.
Cassie spelled danger.
Even her unconventional clothes were a turn-on. Strange, given nothing she wore could be considered “fitted” or “tailored.”
He glanced her way.
Her oversized yellow tunic, calf-length gauze skirt, and brown boots covered everything except her neck, head, and hands, but even with little skin showing, she looked sexier than a Victoria’s Secret model.
Luckily, Cassie seemed not to notice his current state. She questioned him about his background and seemed more interested in hearing about growing up in Missouri and his big family than what was happening in the truck.
Good.
“Turn right up ahead,” she said as they drove along a street with large, well-kept houses on either side. “Stop on the driveway. The gate will open automatically.”
Troy stopped in front of a pair of closed twenty-feet tall, wrought-iron panels. Suddenly, they opened as if on cue.
“Keep following the driveway,” she said.
What kind of house needed a secure entrance?
As he drove through the opening, he understood. A large two-story house that resembled a Mediterranean villa lay at the end of the drive. The white stucco home had archways, terraces, and balconies.
He shouldn’t be surprised by the size or details. Dixon Daniels had made a fortune in the nineties by taking hi-tech startups public, and continued to have success since then, but Troy hadn’t expected a house, or an estate, this sprawling.
Someday. Someday, I’m going to live in a place like this. First step, becoming a partner.
Troy parked.
Dixon walked out to greet them. A smile lit up his face and deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes.
This had better work. Troy’s career was hanging by a thin string—one that could unravel at any second.
Cassie slid out of the front seat. She greeted her father with a hug. “Hi, Dad.”
“Good to see you, sweetheart.” Dixon studied Troy’s truck. “Nice truck. Practical, too.”
Troy cleared his throat. A good thing he’d washed the truck before coming. “It gets me around.”
“Does it have four-wheel drive?”
“Yes.”
“Good in snow, I’ll bet.” Dixon smiled. “We have a cabin in Tahoe. Do you ski?”
Cabin? Troy bet the place was more like a lodge. “I love to ski.”
“How was the drive?” Dixon asked.
Sixty-five all the way, sir. Not really. “Fine.”
“Did you take Highway 1?”
“No, but we’re talking about driving that way home.”
“Do. It’s a beautiful drive.” Dixon smiled as Troy nodded in agreement. “Did you hit much traffic?”
“Some, but not as much as I thought for a Friday.” Troy grabbed their bags and his golf clubs from the pickup. Surprisingly, Cassie’s flowered-print bag was smaller and lighter than his.
Dixon took her bag from Troy’s hand. “Vanessa’s in the kitchen fixing a snack. I hope you’re hungry, son.”
Son? Dixon said the word as if he meant it.
Troy swallowed the sudden lump of guilt lodged in his throat. Respected and liked in the industry, Dixon made killer deals and never showed any weaknesses.
Troy saw one now. Dixon Daniels might be a powerful and intelligent businessman, but he had an Achilles’ heel—his daughters.
“I’m starved,” Troy said.
Cassie nodded. “We wanted to arrive while it was still light. We didn’t stop for dinner.”
“You should always eat, Cassie,” Dixon said like a typical father. “If you don’t eat three meals a day, you get cranky.”
“Daddy.” Cassie sounded horrified. “I’m never cranky. Emily’s the one who needs to eat, not me.”
Forehead wrinkling, Dixon rubbed his chin. “It is your sister,” he said finally. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Troy, forget what I said.”
As Cassie entered the house, Dixon grabbed Troy’s shoulder to hold him back.
“Cassie gets cranky, too,” Dixon whispered. “Make sure she eats.”
Troy smiled. “I will.”
He stepped inside. Terracotta tiles covered the entryway. Original artwork, illuminated by recessed lights, hung on the textured walls. The house looked like something out of an HGTV show—the ultimate after scene once a designer remodel was complete.
“Leave your bags in the foyer. We’ll take them upstairs later,” Dixon said. “Let’s go into the living room and relax.”
Cassie held Troy’s hand and led him into the large room filled with elegant furniture. He’d grown up with five brothers and sisters in a four-bedroom farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The sculpture in the corner of the room probably cost more than redoing his parents’ house after a flood destroyed everything. No doubt, the painting hanging over the fireplace would pay off the mortgage on the farm.
Cassie stopped in front of an elaborate flower arrangement. She broke a lily from its stem and tucked it behind her ear.
Dixon motioned him to sit. “Have a seat, Troy.”
The white couch looked too clean to sit on, but Cassie pulled him next to her. As she and Dixon chatted, Troy took in the room. He wasn’t much into interior decorating other than watching his mom’s favorite do-it-yourself cable TV shows, but he recognized quality. He’d visited mansions in Pacific Heights and estates in Hillsborough. He’d been impressed then, but this house overwhelmed him.
Cassie elbowed him. “Honey, do you want a drink?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“What would you like, sweetheart, a beer?” Cassie asked.
As Troy nodded, Dixon spoke up. “I’ll have one, too.”
Her nose crinkled. “But, Dad, you always drink—”
“I want a beer,” Dixon said with authority, ending further discussion.
Cassie kissed Troy’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, sugar.”
“Don’t forget to see if your mother needs any help,” Dixon added as she left the room. He dipped his head at Troy. “You’re going to have your hands full with her.”
Troy already did. “She’s spirited.”
“That’s one way to put it. Vanessa spoiled the girls.”
He didn’t think so. Cassandra appeared to be the definition of unspoiled. Her wardrobe consisted of casual and eclectic clothes. More thrift or vintage-store variety. Nothing like the designer labels other women he knew wore. When he picked her up earlier tonight, she’d been waiting on the porch of an old Victorian with peeling paint and squeaky front steps that had been converted into apartments based on the number of mailboxes. He assumed this was where she lived.
“I suppose I had a hand in spoiling them, too,” Dixon added. “It’s difficult not to when you have all of this.”
Troy glanced around the room until his gaze rested on a photograph of Dixon’s two daughters. The portrait showed a younger Emily and Cassie. Both wore sweaters and strands of pearls. Cassie looked so…normal.
Troy leaned forward to get a better look. “When was the portrait done?”
“After they graduated from college.”
That would have been ten years ago. He squinted. “Cassie looks so—”
“Yes.”
“She was. Nothing like the non-conformist she is today, but… Let’s just say Cassie got my stubborn streak. Once she decides something, that’s it. She’ll go to the extreme to prove her point.”
“She’s strong-willed. I respect that.” Their pretend engagement was making Dixon open up and share things about his daughter, but Troy didn’t want the conversation to go too far. “Cassie and I will do fine.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Dixon smiled. “So, tell me. How is Mick treating you at the office? Has he offered you a partnership yet?”
5
Cassandra walked toward the kitchen, unsure if this was her parents’ house or not because her mother rarely cooked and her father had never asked for a beer.
Who were these people? Where were her real mom and dad?
At the doorway to the kitchen, Cassandra froze.
The scent of fresh-baked brownies lingered in the air. A pan of them sat on the stove. Dirty bowls and pots filled the sink. If that wasn’t a bizarre-enough sight, her mother stood at the counter. She was—Cassandra did a double take—arranging a platter of vegetables.
Cassandra blinked, but when she opened her eyes, the image remained.
That was when Cassandra realized her mom wore a pale pink apron over her black pants and white blouse. That was not a normal fashion accessory for the refined and elegant Vanessa Daniels.
Not knowing what to say, Cassandra went with the obvious. “Can I help, Mom?”
Her mother turned and smiled. “I didn’t hear you come in. I told your father to let me know when you arrived.”
“He sent me in for beers. I think he wants to talk to Troy alone.”
“I’m sure of it.” Her mother returned to arranging the broccoli florets. “He’s been talking about Troy all week.”
Cassandra swallowed hard. Convincing her parents she and Troy didn’t belong together might be more difficult than she anticipated. But, hopefully, her mom and dad would soon see they came from different worlds with incompatible goals.
A venture capitalist?
Talk about repeating similar patterns.
Not a big deal. Her parents would soon realize the relationship would never work.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 291