Chapter Five
Standing before the picture window of her penthouse flat in Pacific Heights, Ava looked out over the bay.
She loved this place, loved the view, which at night was lit up by the Golden Gate Bridge, the city lights, and the lights on Alcatraz, the bay black all around it.
She’d personally chosen every piece of furniture in the flat, all with a midcentury-modern flair—the leather sofa she could sink into, the kidney-shaped glass coffee table and matching end tables, the bookcases, the dining table and chairs. Thick, luxurious rugs partially covered the oak hardwood floors, and the rooms all had clean lines without an excess of knickknacks on every surface. Her brother Clay called it minimalist, but she had only the things she needed. A large primary suite, two guest bedrooms for visiting family, three bathrooms—hers with a massive soaker tub—and a home office where she spent much of her time.
She sipped her second champagne cocktail, though she usually limited herself to one. But tonight was different. From the moment she left Ransom’s office, her thoughts had plagued her.
I cannot believe what I’ve just done.
It was time for a little speech to herself, saying the words aloud to give them maximum effect.
“You’re going to compartmentalize,” she told her reflection in the living-room window. “Just pretend you’re working with any other man. Pretend he’s George Twisselman.” The thought made her laugh out loud. Ransom was the furthest thing from George Twisselman.
They needed to start first thing in the morning. She had only thirteen days left. She must have something in place before then.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Who on earth could it be? Maybe Dane and Cammie. At the family mastermind, they’d said they were staying over to catch a show.
She could stand there all night wondering. Or she could find out. She pressed the intercom by the door. “Who is it?”
The answer was swift. “It’s me.”
Her heart fluttered. He didn’t say Ransom Yates, not even Ransom. Just it’s me, as though she’d know exactly who he was. Which, of course, she did.
In leggings and a bulky sweater, she certainly wasn’t elegant. The outfit wasn’t even sexy. She’d had that extra glass of champagne, and though she wasn’t tipsy, she was caught off guard.
But with those thirteen days counting down, she had to let him in.
“Come in. I’m on the top floor.” She pressed the buzzer to unlock the street door.
After a soft knock on her door moments later, she opened it to find him dressed casually. His jeans hugged his body, his T-shirt beneath a bomber jacket tight across his impressive chest.
He looked like a bad boy. All she wanted to do was drag him inside and kiss him senseless before they tore off their clothes and made love right there in the foyer.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and it took every ounce of control to act cool, to hide any evidence of her thoughts. Except the flush on her cheeks she couldn’t seem to will away.
Lord. This was going to be the hardest two weeks of her life. Especially since the person she might have to fight the most was herself.
“How did you know where I live?” Closing the door behind him, she spoke mildly, not wanting to sound arrogant or bitchy, just curious.
He strolled after her into the living room, shrugging out of his jacket. “I saw the great spread they did on your place in that architectural magazine. Your flat is remarkable.”
“Thank you.” She shouldn’t feel so pleased—it had shades of always trying to please him when she was twenty-one. After taking his jacket from him, she threw it over the back of the sofa. Not in the closet, where it might stay the night, but out here, easy to grab on the way out.
“I’ve got a place just around the corner, so I know Pacific Heights, and I recognized the exterior of your building.” He took two more steps into the room, not crowding her, just filling the space with his presence. Turning to her, he smiled. “It’s elegant and beautiful, just like you.”
She willed away another flush that threatened to creep into her cheeks, but her legs felt buttery again, just the way they had in the elevator when he’d smiled at her. So she ignored the compliment. To do anything else might break her resolve.
Yet she couldn’t help another telltale flutter of her unmanageable heart. To know that they lived and worked so close. Dane had never said anything to her. But why would he? He knew nothing of her history with Ransom. But it was as if their business and personal paths had paralleled, and all this time, she hadn’t even known it. She could have seen him in her favorite market. She could have passed him as she walked through Lafayette Park.
He pointed to the champagne flute she’d left on the coffee table. “I see you still love your champagne.”
She smiled despite herself. “Yes. But I can afford something a bit better than the Two Buck Chuck we used to drink.” Just as quickly as the words were out, she wanted to slap herself for dredging up their past when this was supposed to be business only. To hide the misstep, she asked, “Would you like one?” He’d always loved champagne, too.
“That would be great,” he said with a grin that might have held a note of triumph.
As she poured him a glass in the kitchen, she reflected that they’d progressed past the way she’d stomped into his office. He’d made her a latte, and now he was in her living room while she made him a cocktail. It didn’t seem possible. She couldn’t have imagined this even in her wildest fantasies.
As she handed him the flute, Ransom took the edge off her thoughts by asking, “There’s something I don’t understand about the situation. You agreed that unless it was for something pretty damned important, I was the last person you’d come to. But you didn’t explain why. I’d like to know.”
Was he talking about why she’d come to his office, what her desperate business need actually was? Or was he referring to the past? To the way he’d left her, that he’d simply taken a night flight and she’d never heard from him again.
She answered the first question, the most important one. Because after unloading all her feelings on Gabby, she was over the past. “I told you, the catering company totally sucked.”
But he persisted. “You’ve got a ton of catering companies in the Bay Area. I’m not even a catering company in the same sense. So why me?” His use of the word me said it all. He was talking about far more than her catering issues.
But she wouldn’t let him stray from the topic. “I tried everyone else. No one could do it. I got someone for the next two weeks, but that’s it.”
He stared her down, and she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away with that answer.
“But I’m the last person.” He stressed the word.
Ava, however, was good at deflection in a way she hadn’t been fifteen years ago. “My brothers suggested you. And I realized they were right. I didn’t have another choice. You were it—the only one.”
* * *
There was a harshness to her tone, and he knew the reason was far more than her brothers, more than her failed caterer. He wanted her to say it out loud. “But you wouldn’t have come to me otherwise. And we both know it. So tell me why it was so hard.”
“Because we have history.” She almost spat the word at him. “And history can get in the way of business.”
For her, their history was all bad. But to him, he’d made a mistake—yeah, a big one—and then they’d simply ended. She hadn’t liked what he said, and she’d stalked out. With another business trip in the way like always, he’d lost the chance to run after her. Back then, everything had been about his career. He hadn’t called her while he was away, which was a jerk thing to do, but he’d told himself he was giving her time to cool off and that they’d talk it through when he got home.
But he returned to an empty apartment, all evidence of her erased as if she’d never been in his life at all.
It was clear she’d never forgiven him for that last fight. Yet they’d been so good together in every other aspect. Yes, they’d been like ships passing in the night—maybe he should say planes—but she’d given up after one fight. He couldn’t remember them fighting before that other than in the minor disagreements every couple had. Mostly, they argued about his travel. But she had her job at the nursing home and her education. It wasn’t like she had any more time than he did.
Yet he realized now that he had screwed up. That he was the one at fault. That if he’d given her dreams the value they deserved, things would have been different. It was seeing her again. The confident woman. The elegant woman. The totally sexy woman. It was the clarity that came after fifteen years of absence.
And Christ, she was sexy in tight leggings and an oversized sweater that made him ache to find out exactly what she was wearing under it. Which did he love most? The suit she’d worn earlier? Or the leggings and sweater? His heart pumped faster and harder no matter how she was dressed.
But she was still not giving him a full answer, saying instead, “I’m willing to put our history aside because my residents are more important.”
He couldn’t say why those words in particular cut through him. Maybe because she was bending over backward to do anything and everything she could for her people… but when he’d asked for something, she’d walked out and never looked back.
As if their history had been satisfactorily dealt with, at least in her mind, she sat on the sofa, pulled a pillow across her stomach, and settled in. “Let me tell you about my residents.”
Even as his insides felt sliced and diced around her, he admired her empathy, her compassion. It wasn’t simply catering. These people she took care of were hers.
She leaned over and patted the other end of the sofa, or at least as far she could stretch, inviting him to sit. He wanted to crowd her, sit right in the middle, right next to her, his thigh pressed against hers, her scent filling his head.
Yet he took the seat she indicated. Coming on too strong right now wouldn’t get him the answers he wanted. Nor would pushing for those answers succeed until she was ready to give them. “All right, tell me all about it.”
Passion took over her features, glittering in her eyes. Not the same passion she’d once shown him, but passion nonetheless.
“I visited our San Juan Bautista facility and witnessed one of the servers abusing my resident, Mrs. Greeley. He told her to her face that she ate like a pig.” Her hands came up in an angry gesture, her fingers fluttering, as if she wanted to strangle the man. “He actually said she should be ashamed of herself.”
Ransom had to admit that shocked him. If he ever heard one of his servers speak that way, they’d be gone before he could snap his fingers. “That’s pretty damned reprehensible. But one server isn’t the whole bunch.”
The glitter in her eyes could have been tears, and her voice came out with a slight tremor. “Mrs. Greeley was beside herself. She was in tears. It took me ages to calm her down. And yes, I fired him on the spot—or tried to. But honestly, if that had been the only incident, I would simply have called up the president and jumped all over him for hiring someone like that.”
“I assume there were more.”
She nodded, her hair shimmering in waves against her shoulders. The bun she’d worn earlier today had been brushed out. He’d always loved running his fingers through her hair, loved its shampoo scent, loved the silkiness of it falling over his skin when she kissed his chest or his stomach.
When she’d—
She went on as though she had no idea of the effect she had on him. “When I got back to the office, my assistant, Naomi, showed me reports from other facilities. They were all about the same kind of disrespect.” Disgust laced her words. “The disrespect the lovely men and women who live in my homes received. I understand that the company has recently undergone a massive management change, but there was never anything like this before. And when I talked to their president—” She gritted her teeth. “—he actually implied that my people were too touchy.” She looked at him, her eyes almost caramel in the room’s low lighting. Or that might have been her emotion shining through. “My people deserve the best.”
He smiled. “Are you calling me the best?”
Over a sip of champagne, he watched her face flush and her chest rise with a deep breath.
For all the months they’d been together so long ago—almost a year—he had been the best for her. And she had been the best for him. He wondered if he could make her see that he was still the best, and for far more than catering.
But he let her off the hook. For now. “I admire how much you care for your residents. And not just as CEO of a billion-dollar company.”
She wasn’t just beautiful, confident, and smart. Ava Harrington had a heart of gold.
Even as she said, “Thank you. I appreciate your saying that,” he saw how the compliments touched her in the warmth on her cheeks, the sparkle in those caramel eyes, her quickened breath.
He told himself she was fighting their innate attraction. Something that hadn’t died in fifteen years.
Oh yes, he knew her signs. The slightly dilated pupils. The way she bit her lip for just a moment. The way her fingers laced so she couldn’t reach out to touch him.
She burned. The way she’d always burned for him.
The way they still burned for each other.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
“Right from the beginning,” he said, “that’s why you went into healthcare management for seniors. You wanted to open your own facilities because you hated the apathetic, uncaring way in which older people were often treated.”
She let out a long breath. “Did I ever say that?”
“Maybe you didn’t. But I knew. I saw.” He saw her. He saw her dreams. Yes, he traveled a lot, and they always came together with a bang, tearing off their clothes, sometimes never even making it to the bed. Loving each other for hours until they fell into an exhausted sleep.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t see her.
If her parents hadn’t died, if she’d gone on to get her business degree, she might never have found her true path. Because her negligent parents had left their family of five in terrible debt, she’d gotten a job as an aide at the eldercare facility where his grandmother resided. Ava had loved the old people she cared for. She’d always had time to offer kind words, to listen to the same stories she’d heard over and over. She never scolded his grandmother for repeating herself. She just nodded, smiled, and if his grandmother forgot the end of the story, Ava seamlessly finished it for her. Ava was that way with all the residents, speaking gently even to the ones who couldn’t understand her anymore. She bathed them with gentle kindness, smoothed lotion into their dry skin, brushed their brittle hair. He’d even seen her use a curling iron on a woman who hated the flatness of her gray hair.
Ava had climbed mountains for the people she took care of.
Her billion-dollar business was really all about her big heart.
“You know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. But I admire everything you’ve done for your people. I admire how you feel about them. That’s why I said yes to helping you.”
* * *
His words wrapped around her as if he’d folded her into his arms.
If her parents had ever spoken like this, if Ransom had spoken like this all those years ago, what might have happened?
Oh God. She’d just hired the devil. A silver-tongued devil who knew exactly what to say.
Her devil.
Stunned by his empathy and his admiration, all she could say was, “Thank you.”
Then, afraid he’d melt everything inside her just like he’d done every time he touched her, she got down to business as if that could ward off the emotions warring inside her. “So let’s talk about what I really need.”
His mouth curved slightly, as if he was thinking about all her physical needs he’d satisfied so perfectly when they were together. That knowing smile made her rush on. “I don’t use the same caterer for all my facilities. I like to choose someone local because I feel we get better menus more specific to the local area.” She huffed out a breath. “Except in this case.”
“I can manage the five in the Bay Area.”
“I’m hoping you can bring some of the flair to the menus that I’m sure you have on your cooking show.” She couldn’t help smiling. “I saw your face on the side of a bus yesterday. Advertising your show.”
That handsome face affected her again. Though older, he was still stunning. The silver in his hair only added to his magnetism.
But she needed to stop thinking about how attractive he was, how his shirt outlined his muscles, how the faded jeans fit him so well. How his hands would feel on her skin.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d start drooling. Just like she had in his office.
Ransom saved her. “Let’s see what your menus look like now.”
On safer ground, she led him along the hall to her office, where her computer was already running. She opened the first week’s menu. “Pull up that chair.”
He didn’t just sit beside her like a normal person. No, he eased in at an angle, his legs spread around her as he leaned in to see the screen. Surrounded by him, she felt heat rise in her all over again.
Concentrate, Ava. “We rotate menus every week for four weeks. So we require four weeks’ worth of meals. But I’ll understand if the time limitation means we have to give up the rotation for now.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he read each menu item carefully, his breath warm across her hair. Finally, when she thought she might be going a little crazy, he said, “The food looks pretty appetizing, if the names mean anything.”
She nodded. “The food wasn’t the problem. It’s the service that sucked.”
“I see you’ve got a special Sunday brunch.”
“Yes. People love it. They all dress up in their Sunday best.”
He touched the mouse to flip to the next menu, and his scent washed over her. Something indefinably him—more than aftershave, potently male. The scent that came to her in the night when she thought of him.
It set her nerve endings jangling. She even had to push her chair back, away from him, so she could breathe.
After going through all the menus, he sat back in the chair. “I can do four weeks. We need to give your people their same routine. I’ll get you some initial plans right away.”
It was more than she could have expected. “The sooner the better.”
The sooner he got it all done, the less she’d have to see him. Scent him. The less she’d close her eyes and envision him the way he’d been all those years ago. Naked. Ready.
If she didn’t stop herself, she’d have to turn on the air conditioning. Or tear off her sweater.
* * *
Ransom walked back to his flat, his hands shoved in his bomber jacket’s pockets. Late September could be lovely in the city, especially this year, but the air cooled down quickly at night.
He couldn’t get the scent of her out of his head. Not now. Not then. He’d never gotten her out of his head. She’d haunted his dreams, though he was only now seeing that.
He would get this done for her, even if it took all freaking night. Part of it was to make up for never reaching out to her after he’d returned from that business trip to Paris. For letting her slip away. For never explaining what he’d really meant by the offer he’d made.
There was all that, but there was also the compassion she had for her residents. He needed to help her.
Maybe he even wanted to impress her. The truth was, as he strolled from streetlight to streetlight, he wanted that badly.