by Lyz Kelley
A fierce fury settled behind Weston’s determination. “What’s your problem, Tickman?”
“My problem? I don’t have a problem.”
Weston tapped his middle fingers together. “I think you do. I came to let you know I have gotten your waterfront project taken off the city council’s agenda.”
Alex started to stand and then sank back down in his chair. “You bastard. How did you make that happen?”
Weston felt a calm descend. Alex had taken the bait. “Instead of being such an ass, why don’t you try being nice to people? Kindness goes much further these days.”
“I’m still not going to sell you that property,” Alex moved a pile of marketing binders, giving Weston a full view of the pissed-off man. “What do you want with the building, anyway?”
The real reason he wanted the building was personal, but he didn’t want Alex to know that. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” The way his eyes flicked away and back, telling a different story.
“You care, but I understand not selling the building has more to do with my sister than me.”
Alex’s eyes flared hot. “All you Carvers are assholes. I want nothing to do with any of you.”
Not having an Alex Tickman in his life would be preferable as well. The dude ended up on the juice in high school, trying to make a run for a full-ride football scholarship. The steroids doubled his size in six months, and he assumed the coaches or recruiters would notice. According to Alex’s buddies, getting kicked off the team came as a big surprise to his father, who fully expected Alex to be assured football fame and fortune.
Seemed Alex was still angry.
“I can’t believe you’re still holding a grudge against McKenzie for dumping you.”
“If it wasn’t for your parents, we’d still be together.” Alex pushed back from his desk and stood by the window. “I loved her. She was my everything.”
Weston quietly released his held breath. “Sounds like she still is your everything. Why don’t you call and talk to her? If the feelings are mutual, she’ll pick up the phone. She’s still single.” He shrugged. Although he suspected McKenzie wouldn’t answer any guy’s call these days, much less Alex Tickman’s. Time hadn’t treated the guy kindly.
“What makes you so sure your parents wouldn’t interfere again?”
“McKenzie’s way past allowing my parents, or anyone else, to dictate her life.” Weston dropped his forearms to his knees and leaned forward. “Hey, man, don’t let past emotions get in the way of selling that building. Look at how you would improve your image by helping brutalized women and children.”
“I read about McKenzie’s kidnapping.” Alex picked up a glass paperweight, turning it over and over in his hand. “Tell you what. You get my waterfront project approved, and I’ll consider selling you the building.”
Nice try. He read the proposal. The project had enough holes in it to sink the idea to the bottom of the improvement council’s list. “How about you sell me the building and I’ll consider working with you to get the city council’s approval?”
Alex’s jaw dropped. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m a nice guy.” Weston forced a smile, but didn’t bother with adding any warmth.
“I don’t believe you for a minute. I told McKenzie I’d make something of myself, and the Carvers would be sorry.”
Weston understood that adolescent promise. He said something similar to his dad once, but he had wised up. “You were seventeen. That was a long time ago. Things change. People change.”
“Your parents won’t ever change. All they care about is the Carver image.”
True. Weston crossed one leg over the other and held onto his ankle. “My parents come from a different time and generation.”
The sound of a bird chirping made Alex reach for his cell to check the alarm. Weston recognized the sound. McKenzie had a finch growing up, just like Kirsten. Both of them loved birds. Weston stood, brushing his palms down his pants. When Alex looked up, Weston pointed at the phone.
“My sister loved her birds. But you already knew that, and I suspect that’s why you selected that ringer.” He swiped aside his suit jacket and slid his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Tickman. I’m sorry my family hurt you in the past, but I know you need to sell the Lower East Side building to finance your new waterfront project. Sell it to me and I’ll leave you in peace. This is just good business. It’s not personal.”
“Maybe not to you, but it is to me. The Carvers want something I own, and I will not sell to you at any price.”
Weston heaved a heavy sigh and slid his business card onto Alex’s walnut desk. “When you get tired of the city council burying your projects in subcommittee review, or stopping your current projects for failed city inspections, call me.”
Tickman’s jaw pulsated. “I know people too.”
“Yes, but if you weren’t such an asshole, you might have friends instead of only knowing people.” Weston turned toward the door and then remembered another important detail. “One more thing. My team is looking at all the other properties your firm has listed for sale. Good luck making any commissions in the next few months.”
The threat was hollow, but Tickman had no way of knowing whether or not it was a bluff.
He didn’t wait for Alex’s response, because it would just be more bluster and he didn’t have any more time to spend running around in circles with the man.
He understood all too well the dangers of wasting time. How one day a person could be there, and the next moment gone.
He was determined to make every minute of every day count. The ticking clock never showed mercy.
He entered the elevator and pushed the lobby button, then looked down at his shiny shoes and creased pants. Perfection. He understood Tickman’s concerns. His parents had always demanded perfection from every member of the family—and Tickman would never measure up.
He’d accepted their rigidity, but his siblings hadn’t, and they still struggled under their strict house rules.
If not for his grandparents, Weston might have ended up like Alex, bitter and resentful. Yet the fun-filled baseball stadium and fishing trip adventures added balance to his life. He extended his stride and pushed through the round, rotating exit doors.
Turning left, he lifted his arm to ward off the microphone being shoved in his face.
“Hey, Mr. Carver. What do you think of your brother being arrested?”
He sidestepped the paparazzi and cameraman from MYB News. “No comment.”
“Two more accusers came forward yesterday. Now what do you say?”
The reporter didn’t look old enough to be out of high school, and hadn’t done a decent job of covering his lies to get a scoop. Deception was written in neon letters across the kid’s face.
“No comment.” Weston took a step but was boxed in by the news reporter on the right and a vending cart on the left. “Come on, guys, let me by.”
“Why does your family disrespect women?” The reporter pressed.
Anger blazed up his shoulders and neck, over his scalp, and throughout his body. He stopped and turned. “Do you realize how many women I support in this city?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. He shouldn’t have said anything. Talking to the press was a losing battle.
MYB News would twist whatever he said and splash that fake news across the next Twitter feed and he wasn’t about to get into a tweet war. And clarifying his statement wasn’t an option. “Excuse me,” he turned and hailed a cab.
Mike would give him what-for for taking an unsecured vehicle, but he had other things to worry about, like fulfilling his promise to a sexy brunette.
A yellow vehicle pulled up along the sidewalk, and Weston brushed past the reporter and got into the backseat of the cab. “Canal and Essex,” he said, and settled against the vinyl seat.
He rarely allowed himself to visit his Lower East Side apartment, yet recently his garden terrace, the bustl
ing city noise, and the warmth of the space called to him. Creative solutions came more easily. There was no need to pretend to be someone he didn’t want to be. And it did him no good to imagine Courtney standing in his kitchen with a touch of Dijon mustard on her cheek that he wanted to kiss off.
Thoughts of the scrumptious woman had kept him awake most of the past two nights. If he could secure the damn building, then she wouldn’t be haunting his dreams with her brilliant hazel eyes so full of need.
He rubbed his temple to erase the vision and dropped his head back before hitting speed dial. “Linda? Tickman still won’t sell. We need to go to Plan C.”
“Got it. Liam’s lawyer left a message for you to call.”
The cabbie looked at him in the rearview mirror. Weston wanted to ask for a more detailed explanation, but he simply replied, “Understood.”
“Hey, before you hang up, Courtney called. She would like to schedule another meeting with you.”
“Tell her…” Tell her what? That she fascinated him? That he thought about her constantly? That for the first time in years he wanted to quit work early and meet somewhere quiet for dinner? That he wanted her beneath him, wrapped around him? “Tell her my schedule is full and we’ll get back to her some other time.”
“Got it. Oh, and Liam called to remind you the Chinese fabricating engineers are flying in tonight. The dinner reservations are on your calendar. And to tell you he’s going stir-crazy on house arrest. He needs…how did he put it…more important things to do.”
Manufacturing was Liam’s job, not his, but he’d be there for his siblings. Because that’s what the oldest child did, and that’s what he should have done for Kirsten. He hadn’t been there for her, and the guilt ate endlessly at his soul.
“Thanks, Linda.”
He slid his phone in his inner pocket and gazed out the side window where Madison Avenue whizzed by, but all he saw was his reflection in the taxi’s window. The one he saw in the mirror every day.
The face of a man too busy working his plan, chasing the dollar, making his parents and grandparents proud—too busy to hear Kirsten’s cries for help.
If he had stopped for a moment and listened, she might still be alive.
If only….
Chapter 12
“You’ve been moping around here for three days,” Valerie opened the refrigerator to retrieve a small bowl of blueberries and plunked them next to Courtney’s computer. “What’s up with you?”
Brutus, thinking there might be a treat for him, trotted into the kitchen and nudged Courtney’s thigh.
“It’s not your dinnertime yet. Go lie down.” She pointed to the large pad by the back stairs. Brutus dropped his head and dragged his mistreated self to his pad. When he stepped onto the stuffed fleece, he huffed a grunt, letting her know he deserved the rawhide treat she just denied him.
Courtney couldn’t say no to those sad eyes. She opened a jar on the counter and, accompanied by the sound of Brutus’s thumping tail, tossed him a treat.
Now it was her turn to huff a grunt. “I haven’t been moping.” Courtney stretched her arms wide. “I’ve been working.” She slid the berry dish aside to avoid the distraction. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve reviewed twelve new resident applications, interviewed, and checked in three new survivors.”
“Fine. Moping might not be the correct verb, but something is up. You haven’t been sleeping or eating. We talked about working around the clock.” Valerie pushed the bowl of blueberries back in front of Courtney. “When was the last time you hooked up with a nice young man?”
“Are you asking me if I’m getting any? Ms. V.! So modern.”
“I’m not talking one-night stands. However, I am talking about intimacy. There are physical benefits to indulging once in a while.”
“Name one.”
Valerie popped a blueberry in her mouth. “Well, intimacy helps keep your immune system humming, improves bladder control, and, best of all, it counts as exercise, which you don’t get enough of.”
Damn psychologist. They could read people’s motivations like an open book. Too bad she knew Valerie was right. “I’m fine.” She opened a new file, and got busy ignoring her friend again.
Valerie closed the lid of Courtney’s laptop. “Don’t blow me off, missy. Talk to me.”
Courtney pressed the backs of her knuckles to her eyes to rub out the tired, achy exhaustion, then dropped her arms to rest on the counter. “If you must know, I made an ass out of myself again.”
“When?” The skeptical glance allowed the idiot factor to drop a notch.
“When I presented my plan to Mr. Carver.”
Valerie slid into the chair next to her. “And, I’m just finding out about this now…why?”
“Because you’re right and I’m an idiot.”
“Baby, we chatted about your negative self-talk. It’s not good for you.”
“If I’m not an idiot, then why am I still letting Dave control my life? I swore I’d never let a man influence me, yet when a good one comes along, I don’t trust him because Dave shattered my trust in men.”
“Your distrust of men is understandable.”
“Is it? Is it really? After all this time?”
Valerie enfolded Courtney’s hand in hers. “If the love of my life drugged me and then invited his buddies over to have sex with me, I wouldn’t be too trusting of men either. Pile on top of that horror, a university, police department and district attorney who didn’t do their jobs and protect you from further bullying, and I think you have good reason to be wary of people.”
“All because the guy in my life was a senator’s son.”
She’d met Dave at a political black-tie fundraiser. He was magnetizing, and she adored everything about his good-looking, funny, engaging self from the moment they met. She ran into him again when she interviewed his father for the school newspaper.
She’d always regret taking the assignment. At twenty, she’d been terminally naïve, especially when it came to the senator’s youngest son.
Valerie lifted her hand and began massaging Courtney’s finger muscles. “So what happened with Mr. Carver?”
She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm and her friend’s touch ease the tension knotting up her brain. “He tried to kiss me and I pushed him away. The problem is, I wanted him to kiss me.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No. And to make matters worse, he apologized twice. Twice! He told me he was attracted to me and would no longer take one-on-one meetings. He says I’m a risk he can’t take.” She rubbed her temples, trying to hold off the oncoming ache. “How am I supposed to explain my reaction if he refuses to meet with me? I’m not Jessica Pallson, and he’s not Liam Carver.”
“Baby, he’s respecting your boundaries. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I know. It’s just he’s a smart guy, and I respect the way he thinks. He’s like a walking genius, and now I don’t have access to him.” Or that sexy smile that lit her day on fire. “I could use his help. This job will be challenging, and I’m not sure I’m entirely qualified to handle such a high-profile position.” She tunneled her fingers into her hair and scratched her scalp, hoping to ease the sensual itch she couldn’t scratch.
“Why? You’re smart. Educated. You ran one of the largest shelters in Jersey before getting discouraged and starting your own business. There are so many reasons to take this job, helping other women being number one. So tell me again why you don’t want to take the job?”
“Because maybe for once in my life I want to be selfish. If I hadn’t taken the job, I might have been able to be with the one guy who makes me feel safe. He’s smart and respectful and...and...nice.”
“Not to mention yummy.”
“Valerie!”
“What? Honey, I might be wrinkled, but I ain’t dead.” Valerie folded Courtney’s hand inside both of hers. “Being selfish is not a bad thing. And sometimes you can’t avoid fulfilling what the heart
wants. If your gut is telling you Weston Carver might be the right guy for you, why are you still sitting here three days later?”
Heat welled in her cheeks. “I told you I was being an idiot.”
“Enough self-abuse. Go take a shower.” She waved toward the stairwell. “Use that new peach shampoo I bought. Men can’t resist it. Put on some makeup, and that lacy bra we found last month. He’ll love it.”
“Who says he’ll see it?”
“Who cares if he sees it as long as you feel pretty wearing it?”
She stood, cupped a hand on either side of Valerie’s head, and pulled her forehead closer so she could give her a loud, smacking kiss. She looked into her friend’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Enough. Off with you.” Valerie found a sudden need to adjust her earrings, and tossed a pile of her hair weaves over her shoulder to straighten the rows. “Go. Impress your man.”
“He’s not my man.”
“No, but he might be if you show him the kindness in your heart, the intelligence in your brain, and your pretty lace bra.”
Courtney rolled her eyes but realized it would be nice to impress someone with her peach and gray lace bra. She bought the garment on sale a while back, when she was hoping to hook up with Matt, a friend’s brother.
She first met Matt after a concert when he dropped in from Chicago to visit his sister. Rumor had it he was back in town last week. He never called. Like all the other half-dozen dates, nothing stuck. The bra and thong with the fancy tags still attached languished in the bottom of her drawer.
“I’ll see if Weston’s around. I need more information about my job responsibilities, anyway.”
Valerie patted her cheek. “Go easy on you. You’re a good nut. You remember that.”
“I remember. Just some days the voices of the past are louder than I want them to be.” She unplugged her computer from the charging station. “Can you make sure all the ladies’ chores get completed today?”
“That’s what I’m here for, baby girl. I want you to achieve your dreams.” Valerie’s cheerleading excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Now go. Stop procrastinating.”