Chapter 3
THREE
SHE STAYED LATE. She shouldn’t have, but she did. It was Cam’s fault. Him and the guys were consummate hosts, even to the point of offering her one of the three guest bedrooms upstairs if she wanted to spend the night. They were sweet and didn’t seem to understand she was an employee, not a friend.
After her refusal, Cam called a cab and put her in it, going so far as to walk her out and open the car door.
Any other guy she might suspect of acting for lustful reasons.
Not Cam. Socializing with a celibate man was odd.
With him, usually suspicious behavior was completely benign.
Sometimes it took a second to remember his life choice.
She’d get used to it. Would she get used to it?
Of course, there was always a chance he was full of shit. Maybe the celibacy thing was a line. He hadn’t made a move on her the night they met. They hadn’t even exchanged numbers, so he wasn’t playing the long game.
His buddies had backed him up too. They’d spoken about his dry spell before knowing she and Cam met already.
Anyway, it was nothing to stress about. She got off the bus, smiled at the sunlight brightening her day, and started the walk toward Cam’s.
Buses didn’t go deep into his neighborhood.
She crossed the street, passed a grassy area with a tree in the middle and kept on going.
Once upon a time, pre-gentrification, the area would’ve been all industry.
Now it was sleek apartment complexes and converted factories. Prime real estate.
Cam’s warehouse faced the water. She went down the narrow street that brought her to the long black strip of tarmac serving as a private road for the revamped buildings along the makeshift promenade.
At least she didn’t have to worry about picking the wrong house this time. She ran up the stairs and rang the bell.
She waited. And waited.
Maybe she should’ve got his number in case—
The door opened. “You are so lucky, Candy,” Cam said, slurping his coffee.
“That I’m young, free, and single all at the same time?” she asked, gliding past him.
“That I haven’t gone downstairs yet. We’ll put you in the system so you can let yourself in and out. Otherwise you’ll stand out there all day.”
“I think we should talk first,” she said, taking off her jacket and scarf to put them on the couch with her purse.
“Talk about what?”
She angled her chin. “Do you want kids?”
Surprise flashed on his face. “Not before I finish my coffee,” he said, smirking as he raised the cup to his mouth again.
“I meant in general because you’re celibate, how does that—”
“It’s not a vow of lifelong chastity,” he said and laughed. “I’ll have sex again. I look forward to it. And if me and the woman I marry choose to have children—”
“Is that what you’re waiting for?” Shock widened her eyes. “Marriage?”
She’d been there and done that. Waiting until the wedding night was no guarantee the marriage would have a happy ending. That she knew for a fact.
“Why the interest?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Do you want kids?”
“Kids? I don’t know,” she said, eye drawn to the glorious view out the long, tall front windows. “I do know I never want to get married again.”
“Again? You were married?”
The shock of his tone stole her back to the moment. Shit. Stupid mouth.
“Nice. Why is that a surprise?” she said, strolling to the kitchen, choosing to dodge the subject. “I’m impulsive and lead with my heart, not my head. Did you make enough coffee for two?”
“Just put a cup under and press the—yeah.” She figured it out. “Tell me about him.”
“Know who I’ll tell you about?” She paused for the grinding of the beans, then carried on. “Brad… he’s my next date. We met at a coffee shop. He’s taking me out for drinks tonight.”
“Lucky Brad,” he said. “But I wasn’t talking about him.”
She rolled her eyes. “When I said we had to talk, I didn’t mean about me. I brought up the marriage thing. Sorry. My bad. It was an accident.”
“Doesn’t bother me. I like getting to know you. Tell me about your husband.”
“Tell me about your work.” Because it was more relevant to the moment… and their relationship. “What do you do? Or more to the point, what do you want me to do?”
“I’m an architect,” he said, moving from the front door to the living room. “How old were you when you got married?”
“An architect?” Her face scrunched. “Don’t architects work from fancy offices in intimidating high-rises?”
“Not this one,” he said. “I take on unique projects and see them through from inception to turnkey.”
“Really?” she asked, picking up her coffee when the machine was done. “That’s unusual. Do you have a team?”
“Yes,” he said. “People I trust.”
“But you don’t work from an office?”
“Why would we?” he asked. “I don’t pick people based on geographical location. If we have to come together on a site, it can be anywhere on the planet. What does their permanent zip code matter?”
“Fair point,” she said, raising one shoulder in a half shrug, going around to turn one of the island stools to sit down. “So what do you want me to do?”
He came over to sit perpendicular to her. “Tell me about your husband.”
She turned her stool to him. “You don’t want to know about him.”
“I do. I really do,” he said. “I’d love to learn more about the guy who got you down the aisle… and how he fucked it up.”
“How do you know he fucked it up?” she asked, raising her cup to her lips. “Maybe I fucked it up.”
“That where your affair with the married guy comes in?”
“Can we talk about work?” she asked, putting down her cup to cross to the closed patio doors. “Can I open these?”
“You could try,” he said, getting up to join her.
It was only when his arm came between her and the doors that she noticed the fingerprint lock.
“All this tech not cost a fortune?”
“A friend owed me a favor,” he said, returning to the island. “You don’t like talking about yourself.”
“And you don’t like talking about your work. What do you need an assistant for?”
“Brooker came about through a friend of a friend… of a brother.”
She inhaled the fresh air. Having such outside space was a rarity in a busy city. It would be at a premium. This guy had to be worth plenty… Nice that he didn’t come across as one of those money flashing guys.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“That I only employ Brooker for a friend.”
Still, she didn’t get it. “So you don’t need Brooker?”
“I don’t tend to use agencies,” he said. “I like to get my own measure of a person.”
“That why you keep scaring Brooker people away? Your aversion to agencies?”
“How did you end up at Brooker?”
“How does anyone end up in any job?” she asked. “I needed a job and I interviewed.”
“But you don’t last with clients? What’s the complaint?”
“I talk a lot,” she said, showing him a broad smile.
“I speak my mind. I ask questions.” She shrugged.
“I don’t think it’s any one thing. I don’t work the way some people like.
Sometimes I’m too committed or not committed enough.
Sometimes a wife won’t like me or a husband.
Sometimes my boyfriend doesn’t like the client. ”
“Your boyfriend? The one who screwed around on you? You really quit a client because he didn’t like the job?”
“Sometimes we have to compromise to make a relationship work,” she said. “Have you ever had a relationship?”
“Yes,” he said, maybe a little too quickly. “Why would you think I hadn’t?”
“You said everything was temporary and shallow. That you got sick of it. Maybe you never tried just, you know, sticking with one woman. Were your parents married?”
“Yeah,” he said with a head bob. “Still are. You want to sit outside?”
“No.” Figuring maybe he didn’t like having a conversation across the pool table, she came back inside. “Did they spoil you?”
“My parents? They spoiled all of us.”
“You have siblings?”
“Brothers. Two.”
“Maybe you didn’t learn how to compromise with a woman,” she said. “Were you and your brothers competitive with each other?”
“My oldest brother is competitive,” he said and smiled. “He’s been fighting to win a game me and Knox gave up in preschool.”
“So you’re indifferent?”
His frown took over his smile in a snap. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“What do you care about?” Propping herself against the pool table, she crossed one ankle over the other. “Money?”
He actually leaned in, his brows going high. “Me?” Pressing his lips together, he fought to dam the laugh that escaped in his next words. “Yeah, uh huh, money’s all it for me.”
“Don’t mock me,” she said, her head relaxing. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“I’m not a puzzle,” he said, leaving his stool.
“I care about my family, my friends, and my work. I keep myself to myself. I’m not interested in glamour or flash.
I sure don’t care about dollar signs.” He glanced around.
“You see it, I bought it with my hard earned cash. I care about happiness, about the people I care about being happy.”
He stopped in front of her.
“Okay,” she said, standing straight. “Do you want me to call you Mr. Collier?”
“Only if it turns you on.”
And there, right there, was the reason she spent so much time walking away, putting distance between them.
The man was celibate. He couldn’t be less interested in her wild phase.
Yet, it was there, in his eyes, that glint of flirtation, that hint of desire.
He was curious. Damn her for being curious too.
Except it was perplexing. Was he playing with her? If the flirtation could never become something physical, something meaningful, why bother with it?
“You still haven’t told me what you want me to do?”
“Want the PG-13 version?”
She laughed and slipped out from between him and the pool table to wander down the step into the living room.
“Yes, sheesh, you’re really going for the sleaze award, aren’t you?”
“Helping you feel at home. You like it.”
“I don’t,” she said, twisting her head before her body followed. “Just because I end up with those guys doesn’t mean I like it. I self-sabotage.”
“Was your husband a sleaze?”
Growling in frustration, she cast her eyes upward. “You’re obsessed.”
“The less you answer my questions, the more I want to know.”
That was true but didn’t inspire her to share.
“We’re not together anymore,” she said, opening her arms to let them flop at her sides. “That’s the only thing relevant.”
“Why is that relevant?” he asked, joining her in the living room.
Why was he always pursuing her? Whenever she put space between them, he was always on her tail, reducing it or asking her to.
“I guess it isn’t.”
He stopped in front of her. Way too close in front of her. Again.
“Did he hurt you?”
Something in the deep tenderness of that question narrowed her throat.
Distracting herself from his eyes, she traced a line on his shirt. “I’ve never known a man who hasn’t.”
His hand curled around hers, stalling it, which brought her eyes back to his. “I won’t.”
Her smile preceded a whisper of a laugh. “That’s what they all say, Mr. Collier.”
At least he didn’t fight her. “You got a computer?” She nodded. “I’ll add you to the network. Write down your phone number and email. My calls will redirect to your phone, emails will go to your account, okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send you the details of our current projects. Do whatever you can. Paperwork, field calls, we are not taking on new clients.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“I am,” he said. “The waiting list got out of control fast, so we scrapped it. I take on projects that interest me. Nothing cookie cutter. Press calls are always no comment.”
“Press calls?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t be anything personal, family members email my private account and I get back to them… eventually.”
“What about household stuff?” she asked, taking her hand from his when he tried to thread their fingers together. Playing it off, she went around him to return to her coffee. “Do you have a maid?”
“Cleaning service comes in once a week, they work under supervision. Ozzie lets them in.”
“He has a key?”
“It’s a fingerprint lock. We’ll add you to the system.”
“I don’t mind waiting for you to answer the door.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Once I’m downstairs, I’m on the phone or in the zone. I don’t handle distractions.”
“You’d just leave me standing out there?”
“No,” he said, retrieving a phone from his pocket. “Put your thumb on the screen and you’ll be on the system. If I come over there, will you run away again?”
He’d noticed? Oopsy.
“Maybe.”
“Okay then, I’ll…” He did a few things on the phone then approached to reaching distance and slipped the device onto the island, giving her a comically wide berth. “Press your fingerprint to the screen. Follow the prompts. You can put in as many as you want.”
“How many fingerprints does someone need?” she asked, picking up his phone to do as asked.
“At least two,” he said, to which she frowned. “Trust me. You want at least two.”
She continued to go through the security prompts. “What about other household things?”
“Repairs and upgrades are always done quickly… because I enjoy those. Everything else, chores and stuff, they get done as I can be bothered… or not.”
“Okay, then send me an email and I’ll take care of it.”
“You want to do chores?”
“I like to keep busy,” she said. “If I have to draw a line, I won’t be shy about it.”
“Okay. Good.”
She smiled and held his phone out to him. “Then I guess both of us should get to work.”
He took the phone. “Welcome to the team.”
Colleagues. That’s what they were. Boss and employee. Executive and assistant.
Okay, if that was true, checking out his ass as he walked away was completely inappropriate.