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The Man Behind the Mask
Barbara Wallace
A weekend to change everything…Delilah St. Germaine fell for New York's most in-demand bachelor, Simon Cartwright, the moment she began working for him. Four years later, her heart still flutters every time he saunters into the office–much to her frustration. He's so far out of her reach it's embarrassing!Thrown together with him for a working weekend, Delilah glimpses the cracks in Simon's glittering facade. Now she's tasted the sweetness of his kisses, she's determined to uncover the secrets he's hiding and learn who the real Simon Cartwright is. But will innocent Delilah's life ever be the same once the truth is revealed?
“Don’t be naïve,” he snapped. “Any man with two eyes would be interested in you.”
“You’re not.”
Her words, soft and sad, punched him square in the gut. Not interested? Not interested? Oh, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
She gasped when he cradled her face. Her lips parted in unintentional anticipation, their surface slick and shining. He ran his thumb across the edge, earning a whisper of a sigh. The noise turned his blood hot. He dragged his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and back, only to find the blue darker. Losing himself in the colour, he felt that falling sensation again, leading him to a place warm and safe.
This time there was nothing to stop him. He lowered his mouth to hers, taking the comfort he so badly wanted. For a few moments he forgot his damaged soul and lost childhood in the taste that was uniquely Delilah.
When the kiss ended he pressed small kisses to the corners of her mouth. “Still think I’m not interested?” he whispered against her skin.
The Man Behind the Mask
Barbara Wallace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BARBARA WALLACE is a lifelong romantic and day-dreamer, so it’s not surprising that at the age of eight she decided to become a writer. However, it wasn’t until a co-worker handed her a romance novel that she knew where her stories belonged. For years she limited her dreams to nights, weekends and commuter train trips, while working as a communications specialist, PR freelancer and full-time mum. At the urging of her family she finally chucked the day job and pursued writing full-time—and she couldn’t be happier.
Barbara lives in Massachusetts with her husband, their teenage son and two very spoiled, self-centred cats (as if there could be any other kind). Readers can visit her at www.barbarawallace.com and find her on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you.
To my fellow Harlequin Romance writers, a group of women as supportive as they are talented, and to my two favorite men, Pete and Andrew, who make life worth living.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u485574ea-53e6-5089-9bc5-9f51bb95a319)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc0ae1f99-6c67-5e8b-a463-7d6dd5a66ba6)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5df3104b-a390-5726-9cbf-fed7c0f79cd9)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
“YOUR BOSS MADE the paper again.”
Plop! The folded tabloid landed smack in the middle of Delilah St. Germain’s desk, sending papers flying. “Hey! I just organized those.”
She threw the two women standing in the doorway of her cubicle a good-natured glare. “Some of us have work to do.”
“Some of us would like to point out it’s seven-thirty in the morning,” Chloe Abrams replied. “We’re the only people in the office.”
Without waiting for an invitation, she and Larissa Boyd grabbed a pair of chairs from the empty cube across the aisle and sat down. “Besides, we brought coffee.”
“Oh-my-God-I-love-you-where?” Spying the two large paper cups in Larissa’s hand, she snatched one. “You have no idea how badly I need this.”
“No,” Larissa said, “but we could guess. How you been, stranger? We haven’t seen you all week. You still working on that client pitch?”
“Bartlett Ale? Not at the moment.” The potential account had her burning the candle at both ends the past couple of weeks. “But I’m behind on everything else.” She lifted off the cup lid and breathed deep. It was still warm, too. “You two are lifesavers.”
In more ways than one. Chloe and Larissa had been her best friends since corporate orientation four years ago. Delilah was pretty sure she wouldn’t have survived her move to the Big Apple without them.
“Hey, what are friends for if not to keep you caffeinated when you’re overworked?” Chloe replied. “What time did you get here anyway?”
“Not that long ago. Six-thirty, seven.” Earlier than usual.
Her two friends shook their heads. “There are easier ways to impress the boss than making sure you’re in before he is,” Chloe told her.
“I’m not trying to impress the boss,” Delilah immediately shot back. Not too much anyway. “And you two should talk. I don’t see either of you sleeping in.”
“Hey, this hour of the day is the only time I can get any wedding planning done, since Tom is always hogging the Wi-Fi,” Larissa pointed out. “I came in to surf for bridesmaid dress ideas.”
“And I like to beat the line at the coffee shop,” Chloe replied.
“So she can have plenty of time to flirt with the barista,” Larissa shot back.
“You’re just jealous because he gave me a free size upgrade.”
“I could so make a joke about that comment right now.”
“Please don’t,” Delilah said. “I already have the image in my head.”
Speaking of images.... She reached for the paper Chloe dropped on her desk. Sure enough, there was Simon Cartwright, a third of the way down the column, a beaming blonde draped on his arm.
“Finland Smythe again,” Chloe read over her shoulder. “She’s lasted a while.”
“Two months.” Longer than most. Their boss tended to collect girlfriends the way Delilah’s grandmother used to collect souvenir spoons. Fashion models, actresses, would-be fashion models and actresses, a literal parade of beauty, every one of them wearing the same thrilled expression.
Who could blame them? Delilah stared at the black-and-white image. What she wouldn’t give to be a woman exceptional enough to capture Simon Cartwright’s attention.
Like that was possible. Simon was... She nearly sighed out loud. What wasn’t he? The man was handsome, intelligent, sophisticated. You could literally feel the energy change in the room as soon as he walked in.
Her laptop had a better chance of attracting his attention.
“Ooh, look, here’s an ad for that bridal expo I was telling you guys about.” Larissa pointed to a bold-bordered box next to the society column. “You’re both still coming with me, right?”
Both Delilah and Chloe groaned. Since getting engaged to her stockbroker boyfriend, Larissa had been in nonstop bridal mode. “Do we have to?” Chloe asked.
“Yes you do. You’re my bridesmaids. Besides, it’ll be fun. We can look at bridesmaid dresses.”
“What happened to the ones you were looking at online this morning?” Chloe asked.
“Not on company time, I hope.”
All three women jumped. Delilah quickly turned the paper over. Simon Cartwright leaned against her cubicle opening, arms folded across his broad chest. Like it did every morning, Delilah’s pulse skipped a beat at the sight.
Dear Lord, but he took her breath away. It wasn’t that he was traditionally handsome. In fact, on a different man, the prominent nose and sensual lips might not work at all. On Simon though.... The strong features fit as perfectly as his custom-tailored suits. Today’s number was dove-gray, with a jacket cut narrow to emphasize his long, lean build. A swimmer in college, he still swam laps mornings before work. In fact, the damp curls at the base of his neck said he had just come from the pool.
“Good morning, ladies. I didn’t realize there was an intradepartmental meeting this morning. I would have brought pastries.”
“Prework coffee klatch,” Delilah replied.
“Ahhh. Interesting. The things I miss not arriving earlier. Makes me wonder what other fun activities go on when I’m not here. Speaking of...” He turned to Larissa. “How are the wedding plans going, Ms. Boyd?”
“Very well, thank you,” her friend replied.
“Company server isn’t bogging down your internet searches?”
“I, um...no?” Her friend’s cheeks turned crimson. Ducking her head, she missed the momentary sparkle behind Simon’s sapphire eyes. Delilah caught it however; her stomach did another flip.
“Glad to hear it.” He turned his attention to Delilah. “When you’re done with your coffee klatch, I need you in my office.”
Need you. Okay, so he meant regarding business. When said in that rich baritone though, the words still managed to make her insides flutter. Pathetic? Yes. But so was being in love with your boss. If either Chloe or Larissa found out her little secret, she’d never live it down.
Fortunately, she was very good at keeping her feelings hidden. Tucking an imaginary brown strand behind her ear, she gave a quick nod. “Sure thing. Be right there.”
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Chloe noted. “I’m guessing last night went well.”
“Maybe.” As a rule, she preferred not to dwell on Simon’s romantic exploits. Bad enough the gossip columns insisted on rubbing the pictorial evidence in her face. Sitting around speculating only made her feel dumpy and depressed.
She grabbed a nearby legal pad. “Either way, I better get to work. We can gossip at lunch.” Although hopefully by then, a new topic would demand their attention.
CMT Worldwide occupied two floors of their Madison Avenue address. The first floor housed accounting and media. Creative and client services, Delilah’s division, took up most of the second. As head of the New York branch, and director of accounts, Simon’s office sat at the rear of the layout with a sprawling view of the skyline.
Simon stood at the far window bank, facing Madison Avenue. Tall and broad shouldered, with his hands clasped behind his back, he reminded Delilah of a prince surveying his kingdom. Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed down the front of her blouse. She’d been trying to wear brighter colors these days, in an effort to look more vibrant. Today’s choice was a raspberry satin with pleats and cap sleeves that looked far more stylish on the mannequin. Then, everything seemed more stylish when she wasn’t standing near Simon. No matter what she wore, she felt impossibly drab and average in his orbit. Still, she smoothed the material anyway, and then brushed the bangs from her eyes for good measure before knocking loudly. Simon hated being approached without notice.
“You wanted to see me?”
He turned around. “Jim Bartlett has narrowed his choice to two agencies. Ours and Mediatopia.”
“Fantastic.” Doubly so, given how much work had gone into pitching them the past month. Ever since the brewer announced he was looking for a new advertising agency, Simon—and by extension Delilah and everyone else in the agency—had been working like crazy to convince Bartlett Ale that CMT was the perfect choice to sell their beverages. If Jim Bartlett was down to the final two, that meant the agency’s hard work had paid off. “When do they make their final decision?”
“End of next week.”
Sooner than they originally thought. So why wasn’t he smiling the way he normally did when the agency got good news? In fact, the good mood Larissa mentioned appeared to have faded altogether. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “You don’t sound very excited.”
“Sorry. Bit of a headache. Last night was...” Thankfully, he waved off the rest of the explanation and pulled out his chair. “As for Bartlett, don’t start dancing a victory dance quite yet. We have one more hurdle.”
“What kind of hurdle?” She sank into the chair across from him. If she had to create another PowerPoint presentation, she was going to scream.
“Apparently, Jim wants to spend some time getting to know each of the candidates on a more personal basis before making his final decision. The agency he likes best wins.”
Was that all? “Doesn’t sound like much of a hurdle to me.” More like a cake walk.
“Careful. We don’t want to get overconfident.”
“Maybe, but if we’re talking a charm contest between you and Roberto Montoya, I’d rather bet on you.” She’d seen Simon work a room. The man could sell rat poison to rats if he put his mind to it.
He flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “That’s what I like about you, Delilah. You’re good for my ego.”
Yeah, because he needed a boost from the likes of her. She watched him as he arranged the objects on his desk into neat piles and rows. “So what is it they want you to do?”
“Have dinner with them tonight in Boston and then tomorrow tour their brewery. We should be back early on Sunday.”
“Doesn’t sound too difficult. I’ll clear your sched— Wait, did you say we?”
Simon looked up from straightening his wireless mouse. “Yes, I did.”
“You...?” Delilah was pretty sure her mouth did a fishlike movement as she processed his answer. “You want me to go to Boston with you?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No,” she rushed. “Not at all.” Overnight in Boston? With him? How could that possibly be a problem? If anything, the opportunity was too good to be true.
“Good, because as my assistant, you’ll be dealing with Bartlett as much as—if not more than—I will. Seeing how important this account is, I think it’s a good idea for them to get to know you, as well.”
“Sure. Yes. Of course. I’ll do anything you think will help, you know that.” Her excitement was making her babble.
That his lips slowly curled upward in response didn’t help matters. “I know you will,” he told her. “Makes me glad you’re on my side.”
Always, she wanted to reply. Fortunately, she kept her senses and her tongue, settling instead for tucking an imaginary strand of brown behind her ear to cover her blush. “I better go take care of the flight arrangements,” she said rising. Then she had to go home and pack. Oh, dear Lord, pack! The completely normal task suddenly seemed overwhelming. She was going to have to find Chloe and Larissa to ask them what she should wear. Then, at some point, she needed to tell her insides to settle down. This was a business trip; not a romantic weekend getaway.
“Delilah, wait!” Simon’s baritone reached her just as her foot reached the hallway. “Could you also dig up the name of the florist we use? I need to have some roses delivered.”
In her mind, Delilah heard a soft pop! as her excitement burst. As reminders went, she couldn’t do much harsher. “Sure thing,” she told him. “I’ll get it as soon as I return to my desk.”
Just as she had thought; the invitation was too good to be true.
* * *
Welcome to Boston, the airport sign read. Enjoy Your Visit.
Good old Boston, Massachusetts. Had it really been fifteen years since he’d visited?
Should have been longer, as far as Simon was concerned. Unfortunately, Jim Bartlett decided to base his operations here, and since he needed Jim Bartlett’s business, here he was. Otherwise, he’d never step foot in this godforsaken state again.
His breast pocket buzzed with text messages sent during the flight. Pulling out the phone, he read the top one on the call screen.
Got your roses. Go to hell.
At least she got straight to the point, unlike last night, when she insisted on going on and on.
Why did women always want to talk late at night only to get all dramatic because he’d rather sleep than share his feelings? Seriously, what did Finland think he was going to tell her? The truth? He could imagine how well the truth would go over. Sorry, Fin, but I don’t have deeper feelings. I gave them up fifteen years ago. Here, in Boston. Talk about coming full circle.
At that moment, the town car entered a tunnel, plunging the backseat into shadows. Jarred by the abrupt change, Simon’s mind jumped to a different darkness. Where you going, freshman?
He shoved the voice from his head. He didn’t have time for this when there was so much riding on his performance.
Damn, but the memories hadn’t hit him this hard in years. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.
He ran a hand along the back of his neck, grimacing at the dampness under his fingers.
“Headache bothering you? We could stop for some painkillers.”
From her side of the car, Delilah watched him intently. For some reason, the concern in her blue eyes gave him the extra push he needed to regain control. “I’ve already taken more than I should. Another dose and my liver will stop functioning. Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. Bartlett won’t even know I’m under the weather.”
“You better be all right because if I have to carry the conversation, the agency’s doomed.” She ran a hand around her ear. “I’m not very good at small talk.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You never seem to have a problem at work.”
“Because I’m talking work and it’s with people I know. Take away my agenda, and I’m screwed.”
Come to think of it, the two of them did seem to limit their conversations to business. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time they had had a personal conversation. His previous assistants shared everything. Delilah appreciated the value of reticence. Almost too much. He needed to remind her to speak her mind more.
“Well, Bartlett made it very clear on the phone he doesn’t want to talk about business at all tonight.” Like a male Finland, he wanted to “get to know them as people.”
“Yep, I’m screwed.”
“I doubt you’re that bad. What about when you go out clubbing? You talk to people then, right?”
She gave him a long, odd look. “If you want me to flirt, we’re in bigger trouble.”
“I don’t want you to flirt.” He tried to picture his assistant as a femme fatale and failed. “Just be yourself. The key to good small talk is to find some common ground. Shared experiences, that sort of thing.”
“What if you don’t have �shared experiences’?”
“Then you put the attention back on them. People love to talk about themselves. And if you get really stuck tonight, you can always ask about beer.”
Her response was too soft to hear. “What?”
“I said we’re going to be doing a lot of talking about beer then.”
“So long as they talk about something.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. Damn muscles were as tight as rods. “I don’t have to tell you how important signing this account is. With the economy off, clients are scaling back their ad dollars in all three offices. An account Bartlett’s size would erase the deficit and keep us from having to lay off employees.”
“In other words, the agency’s financial future depends on how well you and I socialize over the next two days.”
She could have been listening in to a conversation with the board of directors, she managed to quote his father so accurately. “You’re catching on.”
“Great. So long as there’s no pressure.”
She didn’t know pressure. Yet again, the expectations his father placed on him were almost insurmountable. Thankfully this time he had an ally. So long as she didn’t clam up from shyness. If he was going to survive visiting Boston, he needed all the support he could get.
* * *
Other than the insignia flag flying over the front door, the University Club looked like all the other brownstones lining the street—stately and old. Jim Bartlett stood on the sidewalk talking with another man when the cab pulled up. If Delilah were to describe him, she would say he looked like his product. Ruddy-faced, he had a shining bald head and a body shaped like a barrel.
He greeted both of them with enthusiasm, clasping Simon’s hand between both of his. “Right on time, even with the baseball traffic. I’m impressed. I just finished betting Josh you were stuck downtown.”
“Josh Bartlett,” his companion said, sticking out his hand. He was a younger version of his father right down to the barrel shape and matching blue blazer.
“And don’t let him fool you. We were the ones stuck in traffic. It’s a pleasure meeting you in person, Delilah. My father’s mentioned you often.”
“In a good way, I hope.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the dampness on her palms.
When she told Simon she didn’t do small talk well, she wasn’t kidding. Too many years of biting her tongue and walking on eggshells made her far better at saying as little as possible. Perhaps if she had a chance to put on the cocktail dress and pumps she packed, she might have more confidence. Unfortunately, thanks to a delay in landing, they were still in her suitcase. She was lucky to have had time to chew a mint and run a comb through her hair in the airport washroom.
Thankfully, the younger Bartlett at least acted like he didn’t notice. “Promise, he said nothing but good things. We’re glad Simon brought you out to meet us.”
“Yes, we are,” his father chimed in. “As I explained to Simon last night, I like to know the people I work with, contractors included. A lot of people can give a good sales pitch, but for me to hand over control of tens of millions of dollars, I need to know in my gut that I can trust the person. I want to know they’re going to care about Bartlett Brewing Company as much as I do.”
“In a lot of ways, Dad still runs the company like a small family business, which means going by intuition.”
“And I’ll continue running it that way as long as I’m in charge. My intuition made Bartlett Brewing Company what it is today.” He looked straight at Delilah. “I don’t care how impressive a man’s resume is. If he doesn’t sit well with me here—” he punched his breastbone “—then he’s not the right man for me.”
“Then I hope I hit you in the right place,” Simon replied.
The brewery owner gave an enigmatic smile. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” He gestured toward the front steps. “After you, Miss St. Germain.”
* * *
Delilah wasn’t sure what the inside of a private gentlemen’s club was supposed to look like, but if she were going to use her imagination, it would look like the University Club, right down to the dark paneled wood and giant lobby chandelier. A grand staircase, lined with presidential portraits—all Ivy League university graduates—led to the main dining room. Delilah tried to be blasé as she ascended, but it was hard. There were a lot of portraits.
“It’s on purpose, you know.” Simon’s breath was warm on the back of her neck, causing goose bumps to ghost across her skin.
“What is?”
“The setting. Bartlett wants us to be intimidated.”
“It’s working.” She felt more underdressed than ever. As if she’d shown up in jeans at a black-tie gala.
Her discomfort got worse as the dinner wore on. In spite of what Simon thought, small talk was not easy. Conversation centered around food and restaurants at favorite vacation spots. Her exotic dining experiences were limited to special dinner dates. Mostly, dining out meant heading to the bar near her apartment. Therefore, she mostly listened and while she did, realized exactly how few special dates she’d actually been on since moving to New York. She wished she could blame the drought on being too busy, but the truth was that none of the men she met were nearly as interesting as the man she worked for.
Simon didn’t lie when he assured her his headache wouldn’t hold him back. Not only did he match the Bartletts experience for experience, but he also controlled the flow of conversation like a conductor. She watched, impressed as he continually returned the conversation back to the Bartletts and their interests.
“Is this your first trip to Boston, Delilah?”
Jim’s question caught her off guard. “Yes, it is.”
“Pity you’re here such a short time. You won’t get to see very much.”
“I’m seeing the brewery. What else is there?”
“You have a point there,” Jim said with a chuckle.
“How about you, Simon?” Josh asked. “I’m sure you’ve been the city a number of times.”
Simon reached for his wineglass. “Actually, I haven’t been back in a long time.”
Suddenly something Delilah read in his corporate biography popped into her head. “Didn’t you go to school in Boston?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d swear her question caused his hand to stutter. “Yes, I did.” His voice sounded odd, as well. “Bates North.”
“I knew you looked familiar!”
Giving the table a firm slap, Josh sat back in his chair. “Talk about a small world. I think I might have been a few years ahead of you. You rowed, right?”
“Rowing?” Delilah asked. “I thought you were on the swim team?”
“I switched to swimming my sophomore year.”
“Oh.” From the way Simon’s jaw muscle twitched as he raised his glass, she wondered if she’d said something wrong. Surely bringing up school wasn’t a mistake though. After all, he was the one who suggested she find common ground to discuss.
Meanwhile Josh turned in her direction. “I played soccer myself. I wasn’t exactly the rowing type, if you get my drift.” He patted his stomach. “I had a couple friends on the team though. Rowed fours and eights.”
“Fours and eights?”
“The number of rowers per boat,” he explained.
“I seem to remember some scandal involving the sports teams a few years ago?” Jim said.
“Scandal?” Out of the corner of her eye, Delilah saw Simon reaching for his drink again, his lips drawn in a tight line.
Josh nodded. “Some of the teams went overboard when it came to hazing the freshmen.”
“What do you mean overboard?”
“The school didn’t share all the details, but I seem to remember something about students being asked to—”
There was a loud clatter as Simon’s glass spilled onto his plate.
CHAPTER TWO
“SIMON! WHAT HAPPENED? Are you all right?” The words rushed out of Delilah’s mouth in one giant sentence. At the same time Simon pushed away from the table. The glass lay on its side on top of his risotto, what was left of the contents pooling onto his plate.
She reached out to touch his arm only to have him wave her off along with the waitress hurrying toward their table. “No harm done.”
“Except to your food,” Josh said.
“Serves me right for being such a klutz. Besides, the spill will keep me from overindulging.”
“Wish a little spill would keep me from overindulging. I’d just treat it like wine sauce.”
“Which is why the two of us are built like beer kegs, and he’s not,” Jim joked.
All three men chuckled and conversation shifted to new topics. Delilah did her best to join in, but she couldn’t focus. Her brain was too busy replaying what happened. Not so much the spill, but Simon’s expression. She wasn’t sure if the others noticed, but he’d turned white as a sheet. Like he’d seen a ghost. Even now, while he was acting unruffled by the whole event, his complexion remained ashen. She wanted to ask him if he was ill, but didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of the moment now that it had passed.
Still, her concern lingered. After four years of watching Simon interact with clients, she knew the difference between a full-on Cartwright charm offensive and simply going through the motions. Simon might be charming the Bartletts, but she could tell that the special Simon spark had disappeared.
It was his eyes. Normally they reminded her of the prairie sky on a summer’s day, bluer than blue. But now the color had dulled, as though a cloud had blown in.
Fortunately, the mishap occurred near the end the meal, and an hour later, the quartet was back on the sidewalk where they began, saying goodbye and making arrangements for the next day’s brewery tour. A hearty, two-handed shake accompanied Jim Bartlett’s farewell too, she noted, meaning they either didn’t notice the subtle change in Simon’s demeanor or that it didn’t matter. In fact, watching the enthusiastic exchange, she wondered if perhaps she’d let her imagination blow the whole incident out of control. No sooner did the Bartletts head up the sidewalk however, than the smile faded from Simon’s face killing her theory. Wordlessly, he opened the door to their town car and waited.
She slid into the backseat, taking pains to move as far to the opposite door as possible. Although he never said anything aloud, based on how he hated being approached unaware, she assumed he preferred a lot of personal space as well, and since he never bothered to correct her behavior...well, she kept up the practice.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Yet again, he was rubbing his neck. After biting her tongue all dinner, she had to ask. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts.”
That answered that question. “Would you like those aspirin now?”
“What I could use is a drink.”
“Really?”
He turned toward her, his expression hidden by shadows. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. Last time I checked, alcohol wasn’t the best cure for a headache.”
“No, but it sure as hell cures other things.”
Like what? Whatever it was that spooked him in the restaurant? She wished she had the nerve to ask. Even more so the nerve to erase the gap between them and let him know she was there for him. In the dimness, everything seemed more acute. The sound of his breath exhaling long and slow, the rustle of fabric as he sought to find a comfortable position. Tension radiated from his body. She longed to reach across the seat to rest her hand on his arm to soothe him.
She could only imagine how well that gesture would go over. So instead, she did nothing.
* * *
When they reached their harborside hotel, Delilah assumed they would check in and go their separate ways. It surprised her then when Simon grabbed her wrist to stop her from heading to the elevator.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.
For the second time in less than a day, Delilah imitated a fish. “You want my company?”
“Do you mind? I’m not in the mood for drinking alone tonight.”
His smile was almost sheepish, so boyishly winsome, her insides turned soft and warm. How could she say no?
Ten minutes later, she sat in a bamboo fan chair waiting on a glass of white wine. Being close to the water must have inspired the hotel decorator to try a Caribbean theme. With its potted palms and soft calypso music, the verandah bar resembled a tropical hideaway. A New England version anyway. Paper lanterns strung on wires swayed in the ocean breeze. Being a Thursday night, the room was only partially full, mostly small groups of professionals visiting the city on business. She and Simon were the only couple in the crowd.
Only they weren’t a couple, she reminded herself. Just employer and employee sitting in a romantic moonlit setting.
She searched around, looking for a distraction. To her left, Boston Harbor stretched black, red and green lights guiding boats to the Atlantic. More lights dotted the horizon, the runway markers for Boston’s airport. Delilah watched as a line of planes made their way to their descent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waiter return.
Simon slid her wine across the table toward her, then raised his whiskey in the air. The gesture forced her attention back to him. Not that she needed much force, seeing how she hadn’t completely stopped paying attention.
“To getting through dinner,” he said.
Delilah frowned at his choice of words. “Wouldn’t we be better off toasting to success?”
“That depends on your definition of success.”
“You don’t think tonight went well?”
“Are you talking about before or after I dumped cabernet all over my tenderloin?” He took a long, healthy drink before speaking again. “I think we can both agree, I’ve had better performances.”
“It wasn’t that bad. You recovered nicely,” she added, when Simon arched his eyebrow.
“The idea is to not have to recover at all. Not with an account this size.”
“Jim Bartlett didn’t appear too concerned.”
Holding his tumbler by its base, he studied the contents of his half-full glass. “Didn’t your mother tell you appearances can be deceiving?”
Her mother had been too consumed by grief to teach her much of anything. “So, what do we do?”
“Nothing.” He set the glass down with a resounding thunk. “What’s done is done. We start over better and stronger in the morning.”
“Well then we really should be drinking to putting tonight behind us,” she told him.
“Funny. I thought we were.” He raised his glass. “To better tomorrows.”
“To better tomorrows,” Delilah repeated.
They clinked their glasses and Simon tossed back the rest of his drink. Inspired, Delilah took a healthy sip of her own, hoping the crisp dry liquid would help shake off her concerns.
“Funny how you and Josh Bartlett both went to the same prep school,” she remarked, still in the past but at least changing the subject. “What are the odds?”
“Better than you’d think. Sadly, the prep school world is surprisingly small.” Either she was imagining things or there was a new edge to his voice. Hard to say since Simon had turned to signal the waitress and she couldn’t see his face.
“You said you didn’t know him though.” Details of their dinner conversation came back. “Jim mentioned some kind of hazing scandal? Do you know what he was talking about?”
“It was nothing.”
Okay, there was definitely a change in tone. A newly acquired clip to his words. “Really? Because the way he spoke...”
“I said it was nothing,” he snapped. “Stupid kid stuff is all. Certainly not worth the attention everyone’s giving the subject.”
For nothing he certainly reacted strongly enough. “So, the fact you didn’t know Josh, is that why... Never mind.” The wine, added to the glass and a half she drank at dinner, had loosened her tongue.
“Finish your thought, Delilah.”
“Well...” She played with the stem of her glass. “I wondered why you didn’t make a bigger deal out of the coincidence, the two of you attending the school, I mean. Didn’t you tell me the key to good small talk is to find common ground?”
“I also said to encourage people to talk about themselves.”
“Wouldn’t this have encouraged conversation? Shared experiences and all that?”
“There are very few experiences from prep school that I wish to remember.”
“You didn’t enjoy high school?”
“Let’s say I prefer to treat high school as though the four years never happened and leave it at that.”
His comment surprised her. She’d always assumed Simon ruled whatever kingdom he entered.
Rather than push her luck by asking more, she changed the subject. “I suppose everyone has parts of high school they’d like to forget,” she said. “Personally I wouldn’t mind blocking out the tenth grade ring dance.”
“What happened at the tenth grade ring dance?”
“I caught Bobby McKenzie making out with another girl.”
“Doesn’t sound so horrible.”
“He was my date.”
“I stand corrected.”
The conversation paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. “You seemed to rebound well enough.” Simon continued after the man retreated. “Or are you still carrying a torch for the late great Bobby McKenzie?”
“Oh, I’m definitely over him.” Hopefully her cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to forget the humiliation. When you’re fifteen years old, being publicly dumped can be very traumatic.”
Simon raised his drink, the glass masking both his tone and his expression. “Trust me, there are far more traumatic things that can happen.”
No kidding, thought Delilah. Try losing your father and having your mother turn into a ghost. If only she could forget those years.
“Clearly you were never a fifteen-year-old girl. I was certain Bobby was �the one.’” That was her mother’s fault, too, in a way. “I spent the whole year practicing my married signature. Delilah McKenzie. Mrs. Bobby McKenzie. Over and over, with little hearts over the i’s. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson...”
“What lesson?”
“Did I really just say that aloud?” No need wondering if she was blushing this time. Her cheeks were on fire. She pushed her wine to the side. “No more wine for me.”
“You still haven’t said what lesson you learned.”
Not to wear her heart on her sleeve, of course. “If you cover your notebook with stupid doodles, you’ll be forced to look at them all year long. I had to stare at those foolish hearts for six more months.”
He chuckled in to his drink. “At least you didn’t get a tattoo. You could still be staring at them.”
“Thank goodness for small favors. Can you imagine? I always wondered what people did when they were stuck with a tattoo they no longer wanted.”
“They get it removed.”
Delilah shuddered. “Talk about a painful way of forgetting your mistakes.”
He turned to look out at the water, leaving her to study his profile. Shadows, cast by the table lantern, flickered on his cheek and highlighted the day’s-end stubble that was beginning to show. “Is there any way that isn’t painful?”
His eyes glazed over then, and for a second, he disappeared, his thoughts going who knew where. Instinct told her it was some place he shouldn’t be. And that he needed a far better distraction than liquor. “Hey.” She almost reached out to touch him, only to catch herself at the last second. “How about we go for a walk? My legs could use stretching after sitting all day.
“Or not,” she continued when he didn’t respond. Her spirits sagged to think she wasn’t enough to pull him from his thoughts. “I can go by myself and catch up with you in the morning.”
“No,” he said just as she got to her feet. “A walk sounds good.” Draining the last of his whiskey, he slammed the glass down, then tossed some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The pathway behind their hotel was part of a longer walkway that extended along the entire inner harbor and connected the various docks and piers along the way. On the northeastern end, you had the trade center with its large white cruise ships, while to the northwest you had the naval shipyard, the tops of the USS Constitution’s masts visible at just the right angle. In between, ships of all sizes, from beat-up whale-watch vessels to sleek dinner cruisers and private sailboats, moved about all day long.
Delilah hadn’t spoken since they’d left the bar, making him wonder if she regretted her invitation. Then again, he wasn’t winning prizes for his conversational skills at the moment, either. The whiskey, while warming his insides, hadn’t relaxed him the way he’d hoped. There was still an elastic band attached from the back of his skull to the base of his spine.
He couldn’t believe Josh Bartlett went to Bates North. Forget what he told Delilah about the prep school community being small; it was still a lousy coincidence. And naturally Jim had to go and mention the hazing scandal....
Thankfully, Delilah didn’t make the connection between Jim’s comment and his poor reaction. He wasn’t sure he could handle her looking at him with more sympathy than she already was.
The hotel pier was quiet at the moment, although a sign posted on a lamppost said the first commuter boat would arrive at 7:30 a.m. There were sailboats floating in slips, their lowered sails tucked in canvas covers, the waves slapping against their fiberglass hulls. The soft sound calling to him, he led her to the end of the main pier where he could stare at the waves lapping the pilings.
Behind him, he could feel Delilah hovering a short distance from his shoulder. Funny, he usually hated people standing close, but Delilah’s proximity didn’t bother him. In fact, he found knowing she was in his space reassuring, comforting even.
“The water’s so black,” he heard her say. “Looks bottomless.”
So it did. Black and never-ending. He let the gentle noise of the waves wash over him. “There’s something very soothing about that idea.”
“What? You mean being bottomless?”
“Sure. Knowing you could float underwater forever surrounded by silence.”
“You’re not planning to jump in, are you?”
He smiled, picturing her concerned expression. “Afraid you’ll have to jump in and swim after me?”
“A little.”
Her bluntness made him chuckle. Refreshing after so many hours putting up a false front. “Don’t worry, I prefer my water a little more chlorinated. I simply meant in general. There’s a peacefulness to being surrounded by water.”
Good God, listen to him, waxing poetic about swimming. The whiskey must have relaxed him more than he thought. Staring deeper into the depths, he felt the pier sway with the waves, proving his point. He sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge.
Delilah continued to hover; from the corner of his eye, he could see her leaning against a piling. He patted the concrete next to him. “Come sit down with me.”
Leaning back on his elbows, he looked out over the water, listening to the waves’ steady cadence as they splashed the objects around them. Once upon a time, he’d latched on to that rhythm to erase the past. Tonight he latched on again, letting it wash the memories back into place.
Over at her seat, Delilah had leaned back on her hands, as well. Not so far back as him, but enough that he could see the length of her thighs and the flash of her pants as she kicked her legs up and down. Her ponytail looked like a long brown tail. As she turned her face skyward, it hung down the center of her back. Made him want to give the thing a tug.
“Do you know, I’ve been in New York for four years now, and I still haven’t gotten tired of seeing the water?” she said to him. “I don’t think people on the coasts realize how lucky they are.”
“You make it sound like Kansas is a desert.”
“No, but watching the Missouri doesn’t have the same romantic quality.” She turned with a puzzled look. “How did you know I was from Kansas?”
“Your personnel file. I read it when I hired you.”
“Oh, I should have realized.” She ducked the hair behind her ear, a sure sign she was blushing. Simon was sorry the pier didn’t have better lighting so he could see what shade of pink her skin turned.
“Is this the point where I make a joke about leaving home for the Emerald City?”
“Please don’t. I heard enough jokes when I first moved here. And before you ask, no, I don’t own a little dog or have an Auntie Em.”
“Does that also mean I don’t have to worry about you clicking your heels three times during a meeting?”
“To go home?” She shook her head, tail swishing across her back. “Definitely not.”
“Pretty emphatic-sounding there, Dorothy. Got a problem with Kansas?”
She definitely blushed this time. Even the dim lighting couldn’t hide the color. “I’m just really glad to have made it to Manhattan.”
“There was doubt?”
“Let’s say there was a time when I wasn’t sure and leave it at that.”
“Okay.”
Clearly there was more to the story. Her lowered gaze and pink cheeks said as much, but who was he to judge? Everyone had secrets. Some worse than others.
Smiling, he reached over to pat her hand, silent reassurance that he didn’t plan to pry any further. To his surprise, it was he who felt comforted. The warmth of her skin beneath his palm eased his muscles in a way the liquor didn’t.
He wondered if Delilah noticed, for she suddenly raised her eyes to meet his. The dim gleam of the dock light reflected in their depths, turning them a richer shade of blue. The color water should be, he thought to himself.
“How come I never noticed how blue your eyes were before?” he asked her.
“I...”
Damn. His comment made her blush again, sending her lashes sweeping downward and blocking his view. He wanted the blue back. There was a serenity to the shade he didn’t want to let go of.
“The proper answer is thank you,” he said. Shifting his weight, he used his free hand to catch her chin and gently force her gaze upward again. There, that was more like it. “When someone pays you a compliment, you’re supposed to say thank you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” The sea breeze, light as it was, blew hair into her face, again marring his view. Repeating what he’d seen her do so many times before, he tucked the errant strands behind her ear, his fingers lingering along the outer edge. Those eyes widened, and arousal, that blessed precursor to forgetting, began to curl through him. It surged when he saw her catch her lip between her teeth, as though biting back a sigh....
“Hey! You can’t sit there.”
Simon jerked back. The voice belonged to a security guard who was strutting toward them. A perfectly timed bucket of water.
“Sorry,” the guard said as he drew closer, “but you’re going to have to move.”
“Right. Of course.” He scrambled to his feet, ignoring how the rapid motion caused the pier to shift and throw him off balance. Delilah, who was on her feet, as well, reached out to steady him, but he grabbed hold of a piling instead. “It’s time we call it an evening anyway, don’t you think?”
From the look on her face, his assistant didn’t know what to think. Can’t say I blame you, he thought as he motioned for her to go ahead of him. Frankly, he wasn’t sure himself.
CHAPTER THREE
DELILAH WAS IN the shower trying to clear her head when she heard the phone ring. Grabbing the complimentary bathrobe that hung on a nearby hook, she rushed to answer before the caller hung up. As soon as she saw the Kansas area code on the call screen, her spirits sagged. Seriously, did you really think Simon would call after the way he bolted from the dock?
Pushing a smile into her voice, she answered. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Thought I’d call and see how you were doing is all. It’s been a while.”
The last comment earned a guilty stab. “Yeah, sorry I haven’t called. Things have been pretty crazy at work.”
“Crazy good, I hope.”
“Crazy great. Couldn’t be better.”
The lie rolled off her tongue like butter, leaving her a little more deflated. She wondered if her mother ever realized that life was always great when she asked. After ten years, the habit was too deeply ingrained to break. They all did it, Delilah as well as her brothers and sisters. They all put on a happy face, lest their mother worry. Because worrying was a negative emotion, and no one wanted to be the person responsible for sending her back into the depression that always seemed to hover nearby.
“In fact,” she continued, “I’m in Boston right now.” Briefly, she told her mother about Jim Bartlett’s request and the last-minute business trip.
“Honey, that’s wonderful. Your boss must think pretty highly of you to bring you along.”
Her mind flashed back to the dock and the feel of Simon’s fingers against her skin. “I don’t know what he’s thinking,” she murmured, her fingers unconsciously tracing his touch’s path.
She quickly shook the thought away. “Signing this account means a lot to him. He wants to make sure the Bartletts feel comfortable with everyone involved.”
“Which he wouldn’t do unless he thought you’d impress the man. This could be the start of big things for you.”
Delilah had to smile. There was no sense arguing the point. Her mother’s over-the-top enthusiasm was her way of making up for being mentally missing during Delilah’s teenage years. “You know you’re biased, don’t you?”
“Just because I’m biased doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” There was a pause, followed by a soft sniff. “Your dad would be really proud of you. He always said you were his brainy child.”
“Thanks.” Truthfully, who knew what her father thought; he’d been gone so long her mother’s memories had become a mixture of truth and wishful thinking. Still, the reference meant a lot to her mother so she went along. Besides, after tonight’s weirdness, the reassurance was nice to hear. “I hope so.”
“I know so. Now,” her mother said, clearing her throat, “tell me what else is new. How are those two friends of yours?”
Knowing her mother wanted details, Delilah settled back against the mountain of pillows lining the head of her king-size bed and caught her up on everything, including Chloe’s barista crush and how Larissa was treading dangerously close to Bridezilla territory.
“I swear she thinks I got myself invited on this trip just to avoid going to another bridal show,” she told her mother.
“Some women get a little crazy when it comes to weddings. Which reminds me, don’t be surprised if we have one of those around here soon. Danny and his girlfriend are getting pretty serious.”
“No way.” Delilah almost dropped the phone. Next to Simon, her younger brother was the biggest serial dater she’d ever met. “Did he hit his head or something?”
On the other end of the line, her mother laughed. “Nothing so dramatic. He simply found his missing piece. Isn’t that wonderful? I’m so happy for him.”
“Yeah,” Delilah replied, feeling strangely bereft. “Me, too.”
“That’s all I want for all of you kids, you know. To find someone as great as your dad.”
Better not hold your breath waiting for your middle daughter, Delilah thought.
She spent several more minutes being caught up on the rest of the family and the neighborhood gossip. Finally, after promising to call more often, as well as fielding a plea by her baseball-crazy brothers to send them Boston sports souvenirs, Delilah hung up and tossed the phone beside her on the bed.
As she looked around her hotel room, a sigh worked its way out of her lungs. Any other time she’d be overwhelmed by her surroundings. Things like the super-soft king-size bed and the walk-in shower the size of her entire bathroom back home. Tonight, however, they passed with little notice. Her mother’s call left her more out of sorts than ever. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Danny, who never committed to anyone for more than a week in his life, was talking marriage, while she was here, alone in a Boston hotel room crushing on her disinterested boss.
This was all her mother’s fault. All those years going on about soul mates and missing pieces, making love sound like some grand romantic concept. “I knew the minute I laid eyes on your dad, he was the missing piece to my puzzle. That one perfect person who made my life complete.”
So complete, she fell apart when he died. Four long years of wishing she’d die, too, while her children struggled to find a way to live without her. Soul mates. Delilah hated the word. Hated that she’d been conditioned to believe that kind of true love was possible.
Now her brother had gone and found his soul mate. And what was she doing?
Damned if she knew. The surreal moment on the pier teased her the entire shower. Did she really see heat in Simon’s eyes? Or was the whole moment a product of her desperate imagination? If the latter, someone needed to let her body know. Her entire nervous system was awash with awareness.
Tightening the belt on her robe, she got up and walked to the glass. By complete coincidence, her hotel room had the same view as the dock. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see the lights of departing airplanes. Simon’s room was only a few doors down. Was he watching the same view? For that matter, was he even in his room? After the security guard rousted them for sitting on the dock, Delilah had made a beeline for the elevator. The very idea of being in a small space with Simon turned her inside out.
No, the idea of being in a small space following Simon’s rejection of you turned you inside out. She saw how quickly he pulled away when the guard arrived. Obviously, if there had been a moment, Simon wasn’t interested in it continuing. Why would he be? Simon was probably on the phone right now chatting with his socialite girlfriend or some other gorgeous prospective lover. Or having another whiskey to forget the whole evening ever happened.
Her head fell against the glass. Maybe forgetting wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Like Simon said, the best thing she could do was start out better and stronger in the morning.
* * *
The boathouse was damp and cold. Without sunlight, the air never warmed. Simon’s breath made small gray clouds as he dragged the scull from the doorway. Every few feet he had to stop and readjust his grip because his numb fingers wouldn’t hang on. At this rate, breakfast would be over, meaning he’d have to sit through algebra on an empty stomach. Crap. This was so not how he wanted to spend his mornings. But, his father insisted he participate in sports. “Sports are an important part of prep school. They teach team spirit as opposed to those damn video games you’re always playing.” And so here he was, freezing and wet, dragging a stupid boat out of the stupid Charles River.
He didn’t see the shadows until they were on him. One minute he was fine, the next he couldn’t move. Someone had his arms pinned behind his back.
A face pushed close, the breath moist and sour from vodka filling his nostrils. “Where you think you’re going, Freshman?”
* * *
Splash! The cold water surrounded him and Simon felt his lethargic body slowly return to life. It might not be Olympic-size, but the hotel’s rooftop pool more than served its purpose. He propelled his way to the other end, his arms slashing the surface. Coach Callahan would have a fit if he saw him now. There wasn’t a bit of technique to his strokes. But Simon wasn’t interested in technique. It was the burn he craved. He wanted to push himself so hard his brain had no choice but to clear.
Last night’s nightmare came out of nowhere. Damn inconvenient, all these memories rising to the surface. Made him stupid, off his game.
He never told anyone about that day in the boathouse. Masking the broken parts of himself the best he could, he took what happened that day and filed them away in a locked part of his brain. Even when the scandal broke years later, he kept the memories quiet and carried on. No one would ever know the truth. How part of him shattered that raw, foggy morning. The world would forever see the Simon Cartwright they wanted to see. And on those rare occasions the memories did intrude and the mask threatened to slip? Well, then he had the pool.
How many times had water saved his sanity?
His fingers brushed the concrete, letting him know he’d reached the opposite wall. Hinging his hips, he pulled his torso down, dragging his memories beneath the surface. When he got low enough, he would flip directions and leave yesterday behind. Once again his life would be organized, the bad memories locked away where they couldn’t interfere with the here and now.
A pair of black patent leather flats waited at the pool’s edge when he returned, a shiny reminder that not all of yesterday’s “issues” could be pulled underwater. He flipped and took another lap, pretending not to notice the shoes or their owner.
Drowning his memories with pleasure was nothing new. He long ago learned the best place for keeping bad thoughts at bay—outside the pool—was his bed. Fortunately for him, there was never a shortage of women willing to join him, although for obvious reasons, he was always careful to keep business and pleasure separate. Until a second glass of whiskey blurred the two, that is.
Thank goodness for the security officer.
He waited two more laps before finally greeting her with a nod. “Morning, Delilah.”
She looked different today, though how, he couldn’t say. Outwardly, she looked the same as ever. Gray slacks, same brown ponytail, bangs flopping in her face. Had to be the top. Pale blue silk, it was more fitted and brought out the blue in her eyes. Blue like the color water should be. Words that should sound foolish in the morning light, but instead, one glance told him they remained strangely accurate. Looking up at Delilah’s face, last night’s weightless feeling returned. He was falling and floating all at the same time. Just like being suspended in the deep ocean.
Oh, for crying out loud, listen to him. He needed to pull himself together.
“What has you visiting me on the roof at this hour?” He rested his arms on the pool’s edge and waited while she gathered her thoughts, hoping her early appearance didn’t signal a resignation. The way he had behaved, he’d be lucky if she didn’t slap him with a harassment suit.
She gave him a long, unfathomable look before answering. “Josh Bartlett called.”
They were apparently conducting business as usual. Thank goodness. Assistants as smart and capable as Delilah didn’t grow on trees. If he had ruined their relationship with last night’s insanity, he’d do more than just mentally kick himself.
“Little early for business, isn’t it? What did he want?”
She ran a hand around her ear, a habit he remembered finding incredibly fascinating last night. Daytime proved that notion correct, as well. He’d never noticed how long and graceful her fingers were.
“Apparently the Bartlett family has a home on Cape Cod,” she told him. “They are throwing a New England clambake tomorrow night and invited us to attend.”
“Beer and seafood in a relaxed setting. What better way to catch people with their guard down?” He had to hand it to Jim Bartlett. This need of his to interview agencies on a “personal” level might be peculiar, but the eccentricity had savvy. “You told him we’d love to, right?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“It means staying another two nights, including Saturday night at their beach house,” Delilah told him. “I didn’t think I should agree until I knew your schedule.”
“I have no problem rearranging my life to win this account. You know that.”
“I know. I also know how important the account is to you.”
“Then why put him off?” Hesitation made them look indecisive, and that was the last image they wanted to project.
“Delilah?” he prompted when she looked away. “Is there a problem?”
“The account team for Mediatopia is also going to be there.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He chuckled at Bartlett’s audacity. What better way to judge people than to have them mingle with their adversaries? Made his and Delilah’s attendance all the more imperative. He was beginning to understand how Bartlett made his fortune, and it wasn’t simply because he knew how to brew a good beer. “Tell him I said the more the merrier.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just that after last night, I wasn’t sure you’d be...”
“Up to it?” he finished for her. She nodded.
Wow. He must have been more off his game than he thought. “Last night was an anomaly, I promise.”
No sooner did he speak than the strangest expression crossed her face, passing too quickly for him to decipher. “Is there something else?”
She suddenly became quite entranced with tracing a splash stain darkening the cement with her foot. “They want us to spend the night.”
Of course. “You’re worried about spending the time alone with me.”
Her face paled. “No, I...”
“It’s all right, Delilah.” Stupid to think he’d escaped completely unscathed. Letting out a long breath, he hoisted himself out of the pool and made his way to the towel cart. Talking would be good. The two of them could clear the air and move forward.
“Frankly, I don’t blame you. I think we can both agree I wasn’t myself last night,” he said as he toweled off. “The whiskey went to my head and I crossed the line. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Mistakes happen.” Turning abruptly, she headed toward the chain-link fence lining the pool area’s perimeter.
“No, it’s not all right,” he said, following. “I’m your boss, and I have no business making you feel uncomfortable. Ever. I’d hate for an unfortunate mistake on my part to ruin a great working relationship. All I can hope is that you’ll accept my apology and let the two of us start fresh.”
He wished she would turn around so he could convey to her the full apology in his words. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“In other words, you want to pretend last night never happened.”
“Only if you’re willing to. The ball’s in your court.” She still hadn’t turned around, leaving him to wonder what she was thinking.
After what seemed like hours, she shrugged. “Why not?” she said in an odd voice. “No harm, no foul, right?”
“Thank you.” Simon let out a breath as some of the tension bearing down on his shoulders eased. He joined her at the fence, ready to say more when he caught sight of her profile.
Disappointment flashed behind her eyes.
Ridiculous. His conscience was playing tricks on him. Had to be. When it came to his behavior last night, he could see Delilah having many reactions: anger, embarrassment and humiliation, to name a few. But disappointment? Not possible.
“Nothing to thank me for. Last night’s completely forgotten.” She looked straight at him, wearing the same calm expression she always wore. No disappointment in sight.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
Nothing a big fat do-over wouldn’t cure. He shook his head. “Not right now.”
“Then I’ll go call Josh and let him know we can’t wait to join them. See you downstairs for the tour.”
Simon stayed at the fence watching her walk away. Talk about dodging a bullet. He should be flooded with relief right now. Why then, did he have this overwhelming desire to chase after her before she closed the rooftop door?
Unable to come up with an answer, he headed back to the only place that, while not promising answers, at least offered peace—the pool. Clearly, he needed a few more laps as everything hadn’t been left behind in the water.
* * *
“Most of our facilities have switched to brewing our fall varieties, but we’re still brewing summer ales here in Boston. For the tourists.”
Josh flashed them a grin. “Hope it’s not too early for you folks to try some samples.”
“Why not? It’s five o’clock somewhere, isn’t it?” Simon replied.
“Ha.” Josh clapped him on the shoulder. “You just named one of this season’s flavors.”
Delilah watched as Simon stiffened under the younger Bartlett’s touch and told herself she didn’t care. Simon had made his position very clear this morning. Last night was a mistake. Make that an unfortunate mistake. Mustn’t forget the adjective, in case she harbored any delusions their interactions meant anything more. Which she couldn’t, since Simon had also made it clear that he wanted to start fresh. As far as he was concerned, whatever last night was—drunken mistake, surreal dream, pick a term—it never happened.
Fine. She shot her boss a polite smile when he glanced in her direction. If Simon wanted to file yesterday away, never to be mentioned again, let him. She could pretend nothing was wrong with the best of them. After all, she’d been doing so for the last four years, right? Hell, she’d been doing it since she was a teenager.
Pretending would be a lot easier though if she didn’t have to spend the next two days in Simon’s company. This morning had been awful enough, being forced to put on an unaffected face while he stood there, his body wet and shining in the sunlight. Racing bathing suits left little to the imagination, and although they spent the entire conversation inches apart, she’d still been able to feel the moisture wicking off his warm body. He’d smelled of chlorine, the chemical scent making it impossible to chase the image away even after turning to the Boston skyline. Dear Lord, but he had looked beautiful.
How on earth was she supposed to spend another forty-eight hours with the man when a simple mental image made her weak in the knees?
Two words. Unfortunate mistake.
For goodness’ sake, the event shouldn’t be that hard to shake. Wasn’t like time stood still or she felt sparks when he touched her hand or anything like that. Once you got past the pull of those deep blue eyes, and the heart wrenching disquiet he seemed to wear around him like a shroud, it was just another touch.
Back in the present, Josh was telling the history of Bartlett brewing. At one particular point, he touched Simon’s shoulder and she saw her boss stiffen again. If she cared, she’d warn Josh about her boss’s need for personal space. Then again, she never truly understood Simon’s issue with closeness. Especially since he seemed fine with initiating contact himself.
There was a lot she didn’t understand about the man, wasn’t there?
“...gallons,” Josh finished.
Since he was looking straight at her, she assumed he wanted a comment. “That’s a lot of beer,” she replied.
Josh grinned. “Actually, we’re still in the mash stage so we’re still talking grain plus liquid, but either way, we’re still talking a sizeable amount of ale.”
He beamed with such pride, Delilah had to beam back. “This is the smallest of our brewery locations. It’s active mostly for tours and stuff. Hard to believe the original Bartlett used to make his beer in a room at the back of his house.”
“Bet the original Mrs. Bartlett was thrilled.”
“The first in a long line of tolerant beer widows.” Josh grinned again. He did an awful lot of smiling, Delilah noticed, often in her direction. She was beginning to suspect the younger Bartlett found her attractive. After this morning’s rejection, the thought was a stroke to her ego, to be sure. If only his smile made her stomach flip-flop the way Simon’s did.
“From here, we pump the mash into the brew kettle.”
They passed under an archway into another large room with different metal tanks. A bitter aroma clung to the air. “This is where we add the hops.”
He motioned for them to step closer to get a better view. As she bent over to read one of the nearby informational plaques, Delilah felt a hand brush the small of her back. The shiver passing down her spine told her the touch didn’t belong to her guide. Sure enough, Simon had joined her side.
“The mixture stays here for...whoops, hold on.” Josh’s cell phone stopped him midsentence. Delilah took advantage of the reprieve to put some distance between her and Simon by pretending to study the other tanks.
“I didn’t know you had such a keen interest in beer brewing,” Simon said in a low voice.
His breath tickled the back of her neck, the sensation sending goose bumps across her skin. “You’re the one who suggested I find common ground, remember? Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I appreciate the effort.”
“It’s hardly an effort. Josh is an excellent tour guide.”
“Yes, he definitely seems to be working the charm this morning, doesn’t he?”
“What was that supposed to mean?” she asked, giving in and looking at him.
“Nothing. Only that he’s being very charming.”
What did she expect he’d say? It means I don’t want you interested in anyone but me, Delilah? Nothing was ever going to happen between the two of them. Unfortunate mistake, remember? High time she got over him.
Josh returned, cutting short their conversation. “Sorry to break away,” he said. “That was Dad. He’s waiting for us in the sample room.”
The “sample room” as Josh called it, was a rustically decorated cafeteria filled with long tables and chairs. There was a long wooden bar along the rear wall, behind which was a line of faux wooden kegs with taps. “Most of our guests consider this room the highlight of the tour,” Josh said, ducking behind the bar. “They aren’t nearly as interested in making beer as they are in drinking a glass.”
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