by Gina Ardito
Jordan shot up a hand. “Whoa! Back up. I’m not working for her. I’m working with the foundation on behalf of HRR.”
“Uh-huh.” Marcus leaned closer and used his index finger to pull the skin beneath his eyes. “Those dark rings I’m seeing on you? You gonna tell me they have nothing to do with her? Which company are you losing sleep over? Hers or ours?”
Jordan sighed. “Okay, I admit I’m a little distracted with this project for her, but it’s not changing the deal you and I have. In fact, it’s going to make everything better.”
Marcus’s lips twisted. “Uh-huh. Right.”
“I swear to God, Marcus, the Delgado deal looks pretty much dead in the water. No one over there has called since I faxed the floor plan. I’m betting Cam still wants nothing to do with me, even after all this time. I’m just waiting for Susan to wave the white flag and agree with me. Once that happens, this will all be swept away.”
And that would’ve been great, Jordan thought a few days later, if Susan had cooperated. Unfortunately, late Thursday afternoon, when she called him into her office, he didn’t get the reaction he expected.
Anticipation racing high, he rolled down the hall with glee. In just a few minutes, his life would be back on track. He’d call Marcus and tell him they were a go for the property and they could move forward again. At the doorway to her expansive office with its ocean blue walls, cream-colored carpet, and assortment of succulents in white china pots, he stopped and waited for her to grant him admission. She sat at her desk, her head down, gaze burning into her laptop, and her rimless eyeglasses perched precariously on the edge of the bridge of her nose.
He didn’t mind that she didn’t acknowledge him right away. The pause gave him time to erase delight from showing on his face.
When a full minute passed without any kind of greeting, he rumbled his knuckles on the doorframe. “What’s up, Sue?”
She looked up at last, tossed her glasses onto the desktop, and ushered him inside. While he pushed himself forward, she rose from the desk and strode to the door to close it.
Leaning against the door with her arms folded over her chest as if to bar his exit, she demanded, “Are you deliberately screwing up the Delgado deal?”
He’d prepared for this reaction and gave her his best shocked expression. “What?! No. Of course not.” In a softer tone, he added, “I told you, Susan. Cam and I didn’t part on good terms. So either she still hates me or she’s not wild about the property.”
Her brick wall posture crumpled. “Where do we stand?”
“Nowhere. I faxed the floorplans to her assistant nearly two weeks ago. At the time, Val said if Cam was interested in acquiring the property, she’d be in touch within a week to ten days.”
“Did you follow up with her?”
“Earlier this week, yes.” He didn’t add that Val had confessed her confusion with her boss’s sudden distaste with a property she’d originally thought was ideal.
She pushed away from the door and stalked back to her seat to glare at him at an even level. “And...?”
“And she said they were looking in another direction.”
“What other direction?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t elaborate.”
“And you didn’t ask?” Before he could give any kind of reply, she slammed a palm on her desk. “Susan’s Rule Number One: Never leave an open-ended deal on the table!”
He bit back his retort about the entirely different number one rule she’d espoused two weeks ago. Six months into his employment here, he’d learned the rules always changed. What remained constant was the fact Susan had a rule for every facet of real estate. At last year’s Christmas party, he had joined a bunch of his coworkers in a friendly game of listing off as many of them as they could remember. The game took over an hour.
“Did you try talking to your girlfriend directly?” Susan pressed now. “Did you apologize? Charm her in any way?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Trust me, Susan. Cam doesn’t charm easily.”
Susan steepled her fingers in front of her lips. “That’s why I assigned this to you. You should know how to get to her. What are you waiting for? I don’t care how you do it or what you promise in return. Just get this deal. Need I remind you how much money we’re talking about here?”
“No,” he muttered. “I’m well aware.”
“Then do something. Go the extra mile. I assigned this account to you because you know her. You, of all people, should know how to reach her. Think back to when you were dating. If you wanted to wow her, what would you do?”
“I don’t—”
She cut him off with an upraised hand. “I’m not asking you. I’m advising you. Whatever that wow thing is, do it, turned up to a hundred. If she likes roses, send her a dozen a day until she says yes. If she loves lobster, charter a plane to fly her to Maine. Does she have a thing for a certain celebrity? Do you know there are services where you can pay to have celebrities record a private message for you? Whatever her thing is, overwhelm her so she’ll be incapable of saying no.”
Jordan bit his tongue. At one time, he thought he was an expert on Cam’s likes and dislikes. Turned out, he was wrong.
“Isn’t tomorrow night that dinner fundraiser thing?” Susan asked.
“The Duke Delgado Awards Ceremony.” He knew it well, had accompanied her to several over the years they’d dated.
Susan punctuated the air with her index finger. “Yeah, that thing. Figure out a way to get her alone there and talk to her. As a former player for their football team, you should be able to finagle an invitation.”
Probably. But since his Vanguard teammates weren’t any more thrilled with his abrupt departure from New York than Cam had been, he doubted they’d toss out a welcome mat for his return.
“Take advantage of any insight you have, any string you can pull,” Susan suggested. “Beg and plead for her forgiveness, if that’s what it takes. Hell, crawl on your belly if you have to. Just get her to buy the property.”
Bitter ashes filled his mouth, and he swallowed hard, then grimaced at the taste. “Let’s start smaller than that, if you don’t mind.”
He’d be damned if he’d ever beg Cam for anything ever again.
Chapter 3
“What the hell?” Cam entered the front office to find a forest of roses erupting from her receptionist’s desk.
“The delivery kid just dropped them off,” Val replied from behind the mélange of ivory-frosted crimson blooms. “Three dozen roses for you.” Her blond head popped up from behind the garden like a prairie dog’s. “I wish some guy was so head-over-heels in love with me, he’d order a bouquet like this and have it delivered to my office where all my coworkers could see and be jealous. Must be nice.”
Nice? Not particularly. Even before she pulled the florist’s envelope from the plastic stick, Cam had a sneaky suspicion she knew who’d sent the Overkill Bouquet.
“Toss them out.” She waved a hand, noticed her ragged nails, and shoved her fists—with the florist’s card still clutched between her fingers—into her jacket pockets. “But not here. Take them to the hallway trash. Anywhere in here, and they’ll make the whole floor smell like a funeral parlor.”
An odor she’d rather not relive in the coming few hours. She had enough reminders to overcome tonight.
“Umm...”
Val’s unusual hesitancy ruffled Cam’s already frazzled interior. Rising on tiptoes to stretch to full-force-intimidation-six-foot-height, Cam peered over the flowers. What had happened to the competent woman she’d come to admire? Right now, her assistant blushed like a teenager with her first crush.
“Spit it out, Val.”
The woman’s teddy bear gaze darted in a dozen directions before landing on the ostentatious blooms. “Can I keep them? I mean...you probably get flowers like these all the time...but...well...”
Cam rolled her eyes. Oh, I so do not have time for this right now. The awards dinner is in six hours. I still
have to shower, change, and now it looks like I need an emergency manicure. Why did I let Hank and Luis goad me into shooting pool last night?
Because her nerves were stretched taut, she needed the stress relief, and she’d assumed a quiet game of pool would be kinder on her hands than a bout of kickboxing. Fool.
As if rubbing salt in Cam’s bleeding wounds, Val folded perfect cotton candy-painted fingernails into a clasp of prayer. “Please? I bet they cost a fortune. It’d be a shame to just throw them in the trash.”
Annoyance sparked, and for a moment Cam considered using the water in the vase to douse her rising ire. Finally, she sighed. “Put them in the kitchen area until you leave today.”
While Val reached eager hands to the cut-glass vase, Cam strode into her office and shut out the world. On the other side of the door, she lifted her purse to eye-level in front of her, dangling it from her fingertips by the thin strap.
Mimicking an announcer’s tone, she murmured, “Delgado lines up for the kick.”
A quick drop...
A swing of her right leg...
Contact!
Her bag soared through the miniature goalpost standing sentry on the other side of the room. Da-thump! The black canvas clutch landed in a small vinyl storage box sitting directly behind a pair of white plastic uprights on the carpeted end zone.
“A perfect extra-pointer,” she exclaimed in her best sportscaster voice. “And that’s the game!”
Exhaling air to imitate the sound of a roaring crowd, she shimmied to her desk in a victory dance. When she sat in her office chair, the ergonomic hiss was a welcome sound in her inner sanctum. She pulled the florist’s card from her pocket. The envelope displayed the name of a high-priced Manhattan flower boutique. When she removed the cardboard square, the words kinked her stomach in spirals of torment.
Please don’t let our past ruin what could be a bright future for hundreds of kids. Your dad wouldn’t want that to be his legacy. Call me.
-Jordan
Her gaze strayed to the gilt-framed photo on the corner of her desk. Daddy’s smiling face, shadowed by the football helmet askew on his head, stared back. Almost thirty years had passed since that horrible night. Yet, she still heard her mother weeping, still felt that gnawing hunger in her belly, still shivered as icy realization clutched her heart.
The dire words floated through a miasmic sea of memories.
“... storm over Guadalupe... ”
“... plane went down... ”
“... rain forest... ”
“... no survivors... ”
The tiny white envelope fluttered to her desktop.
How dare he? Jordan Fawcett, the one man she’d ever dared to let into her private life, the man who’d betrayed her, insisted on trying to do business with her. And now he thought he could use the memory of her beloved father to goad her into submission. As if nothing had ever happened between them. He actually thought a couple of dozen roses and some pointed reminders on a card smaller than the business ones she kept on her desk would make up for her heartbreak, for her inability to trust any other man, for the self-doubts that plagued her to this day.
“Sorry, Jordan.” She tore the card once, twice, a dozen times until pieces of white cardboard confetti littered her scarlet pencil skirt. “Go play on someone else’s field. I’ll figure out a way to win this game without you.”
Problem was, deep inside her brain, a shadowy voice kept saying he was right.
JORDAN HUDDLED OUTSIDE the gated alleyway. The rain, a light drizzle all afternoon, had become a deluge. Sheets of icy water streamed from the black sky, carving a path between the collar of his raincoat and his shirt, dousing his back until fabric stuck to his skin like pilot fish on a shark.
Thunder rumbled overhead and seconds later, a spear of lightning pierced the night. Great. Just what he needed. New York City, particularly this stretch of Manhattan’s Upper West Side, was a pain in his butt. With no parking available on the street, he couldn’t sit in his van. Thanks to the mayor’s Clean Streets Initiative, loiterers were quickly (and quietly) arrested before the hoity-toity residents might clap eyes on them. God forbid their sensibilities become offended by having to look upon the huddled masses.
Of all the stupid ideas he could’ve acted upon...
He supposed his name and past triumphs would have gained him entry into the honorary dinner tonight. If he’d attended the awards gala, he probably would have found an opportunity to corner her alone in some quiet alcove, instead of here on the street. But there, he’d also have to contend with a host of angry pro football players acting as bodyguards.
The players from the New York Vanguard, both active and retired, considered Cameron Delgado their lucky charm, their mascot, their Little Orphan Annie. Long before the wreckage of Duke’s plane was discovered, his daughter was a media magnet, based on her birth alone. After Duke’s demise, however, his former teammates immediately went into protective mode, closed ranks, and blocked her from the spotlight, with Bertie Wallace the biggest Papa Bear of all.
Fifteen years later, when the foundation held its annual Duke Awards ceremony and fundraiser for the Delgado Foundation, there was the fatherless waif, now fully grown and controlling the reins of Duke’s massive financial empire. With a shiny new MBA from Wharton and a corral of young and old football players surrounding her, Cameron Delgado claimed her place as the league’s princess. And there she remained.
While struggling to make a name for himself in the pros, Jordan had been so focused on his career he hadn’t given much thought to some dead has-been’s foundation for needy children around the world. But he’d noticed her, and he’d done everything he could think of to get her to notice him. They’d been the perfect couple—until he’d gone for broke and proposed. That was when it all went to crap.
Tires hushed over wet pavement, and a black limousine pulled to a stop outside the sleek, modern building.
Thank God. He pushed himself forward out of the shadows, but remained far enough back that he stayed invisible to anyone standing on the sidewalk.
The green-coated, white-gloved doorman reached for the handle of the passenger door while simultaneously opening a black umbrella. Out stepped a pair of shapely legs, tanned and supple, shod in strappy black shoes. Rhinestone clips near the toes glinted beneath the streetlights.
Time to get this show on the road.
Rolling forward, he held out his hand. “Darling! I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was brutal.”
Cam stood on the sidewalk, the car door yawning open behind her. Crap, he’d forgotten how tall she was. An average woman’s height worked against him these days, thanks to the chair, but in comparison to Cameron Delgado, he might as well be a Lilliputian. Yet, despite her six-foot frame, she always looked delicate and lovely in dresses and heels when he knew damn well she was meaner and stronger than a linebacker.
Judging by the disgusted expression that crept over her face, she saw him as a pile of dog crap on the bottom of her shoe.
“You should have called, honey,” she purred.
Without missing a beat or disclosing any revulsion in her tone, she leaned low enough to kiss his cheek. Her cologne, lightly floral with a hint of musk, tickled his nostrils and evoked memories of long ago days filled with laughter.
A sharp pang of regret pierced his chest. Maybe she had run scared that afternoon, but he’d screwed the follow-up—badly. If he had stayed with her, had never left for Houston, would they have found their way back together by now? Would he still have the use of his legs? A thriving football career? Hell, for all he knew, she might have already discarded him for another husband, following in the footsteps of her illustrious mother.
The doorman, hovering with the umbrella, also leaned closer, and the rainwater flowed over the convex edge directly onto Jordan’s head to shock him back to the here and now.
“When you didn’t show,” Cam added, straightening to her full height again. “I made other plans.”
/> As a final insult, she ruffled his sodden hair through her fingers before turning away, effectively dismissing him. Her familiar laughter, this time filled with derision, rang over the clack of her heels as she strode into the apartment building, the doorman running to keep up with her fabulous, long, perfect legs.
Chapter 4
The elevator whooshed Cam up to the penthouse suite while she struggled to rein in her skittering nerves and remain on her feet.
Oh, God. Jordan. Here. Outside her building. Waiting for her...
The door slid open into her living room, and she stumbled to the couch, peeling off her raincoat along the way. By the time she collapsed into the plush gray cushions, the trembling in her legs had made any further movement impossible. Tears filled her eyes, and she sniffed them back to keep her makeup in place. The Duke Awards, an annual fundraiser and celebration of her father’s life, always ripped her emotions apart. Drafting and giving her speech every year made her antsy. Greeting all the most famous names in professional sports who attended the event exhausted her. The endless reminders of her father and his generosity brought on melancholy. Watching her mother dancing with the man she’d married last year riled her. So many emotions whirled inside her. Everywhere she turned, everything that met her gaze, evoked some kind of physical reaction.
Tonight, though, coming face-to-face with Jordan seated in that wheelchair, left her an overwrought mess. Yes, she hated him, but she couldn’t help indulging in a teeny bout of sympathy at how cruelly fate had treated him after their breakup. She hadn’t seen him in person since before the injury that ruined his career. She’d seen the game, of course. Two years after he left the Vanguard franchise to sign with the Houston Privateers, a blitz by the defensive line resulted in him being sacked, the hit from three players at once so hard it damaged his lower spine.