Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (2 page)

A
fter calling
off the roadside assistance, Micky headed up to the north Dallas suburb where Pete lived with his soon-to-be fiancée. It was nearly eight o'clock when she pulled in front of the two-story brick home because she'd stopped to pick up a bottle of red wine.

"Hello, hello!" Clarissa greeted with a smile. As Micky walked through the front door, the warm smell of roast hit her.

"Mmmm. You've been cooking. Sorry I'm late. How are you?" Before Clarissa could answer, a slow southern drawl drifted toward them.

"Peter says you had car trouble." Lila shook her head. "I suppose that's to be expected. You really ought to get a new car. I don't know how you drive that thing."

"Hello, Lila." Micky summoned the effort to be polite. That "thing" was a Toyota that was barely five years old. Normally, it was perfectly reliable. "I probably just need a new battery, which I'll take care of tomorrow." Pete appeared behind his mother, saying hello and prompting a change of topic.

"So, I take it you didn't have to wait for AAA. Hermes tie must have been pretty handy," he quipped.

Micky laughed, but didn't respond. The image of Nick Halden stuck in her mind—his dazzling smile, sparkling eyes, and tall, hard body. She warmed remembering what it felt like to be next to him. It had been too long since she'd been that close to any man, let alone one as devastatingly handsome as Mr. Halden. She wondered if he would call her and then promptly chastised herself. What was she twelve?

"Hermes tie?" Lila's question brought Micky back to reality. "What on earth does that have to do with a car battery?"

"A man who works in my building gave my car a jump start. I happened to mention to Pete that he was wearing an Hermes tie," Micky explained.

"That's hardly your usual type. Don't tell me you've snagged a winner this time!" Lila raised her hands to heaven.

"I know. Will wonders never cease," Micky countered dryly. She had no interest in recounting the sad tales of her recent love life. Even she had to admit she'd kissed a few frogs without exactly fairy tale results.

Eric. The slime of that relationship still clung to her psyche. He'd had her completely enamored. She remembered all the times she should have had a clue that something wasn't right. The abruptly ended phone conversations. The times when he would get a call or a text message and his entire mood would change. Classic signs. Still, she'd been a fool.

Before Eric had been Stefan. His stealing jewelry from her house had been the first indication of his drug problem. Psycho Dan and his anger issues preceded Stefan. And before that? Micky didn't care to remember.

These days, she'd adjusted to a sort of laissez-faire attitude about dating. She didn't have the energy or desire to keep sifting through the bargain bin of men. Plus, her work was becoming more demanding. She longed to change the subject. "Pete, show me the new kitchen."

Pete took her cue and guided her through his beautifully remodeled kitchen. Old, dingy appliances had given way to shiny stainless steel and laminate countertops to sleek granite. In his hardcore single days, Pete wouldn't have noticed or bothered. The only thing on his countertops had been Styrofoam take-out containers. Clarissa had her brother thoroughly domesticated.

Now, Pete spoke like an authority about his kitchen's newly-installed advanced features. Her brother wouldn't know anything about convection ovens without his girlfriend, a gourmet chef with her own catering business. Micky smiled.

She and Pete had both grown up with parents who married, divorced, and remarried with alarming frequency. Micky's mother was on marriage number four. Their father was on marriage number three, as was Pete's mother. Their mothers kept trading up for wealthier, more adoring men, and their father for younger, more adoring women. So cliché, and so frightening for the two children who had the misfortune to be born into their parents' mess.

Pete had been a notorious commitment-phobe until he met Clarissa a few months ago at a friend's house party. She was catering the elaborate affair. One taste of her beef bourguignon and he was smitten.

Micky glanced at Lila as she eyed Clarissa, who was stirring something savory and wonderful in a pot on the stove. As startlingly unsuccessful at relationships as Lila was, it didn't stop her from having strong opinions about the sort of woman Pete should marry. The few times he'd introduced a woman to her, she hadn't been kind.

"You're quite the gourmet," Lila mused. "I can see why Pete is so taken with you. Normally, he dates tiny little things who hardly eat, let alone cook."

"I certainly love to cook, and Pete loves to eat, so I guess we're a great match." Clarissa grabbed a small spoon to taste her dish, then discarded it in the sink.

"I, for one, am very glad. I've never eaten as well as I have since you and Pete started dating," Micky added. "Just wait until you taste Clarissa's sauces, Lila. She's a genius."

"That's high praise." Lila eyed Mickey. "Micky has always loved a meal. I used to be so worried about you when you were a teenager. Most men do prefer a slim woman."

"Micky's always been fit, mother. And I think most men prefer a woman who looks like a woman, not one who eats like a bird and looks like she might peck him to death." Pete interjected. "Why don't we get out of the kitchen so Clarissa can finish up? I've opened the wine in the dining room."

Micky headed directly into the other room as Pete guided his mother away from the kitchen. The siblings exchanged glances and the common silent wish that Lila would trend toward being her charming, evasive self instead of the critical, snobbish woman she was often known to be. So far, not so good.

Micky sipped her wine. "How are things with you in Jackson, Lila?"

Pete's mother lived in Jackson, Mississippi, with her latest husband Donald, a former telecommunications executive. He had settled down South for the warm weather, golf, and Lila, who would never agree to live anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon.

In between rounds, he dedicated himself to keeping his new wife—who at sixty was twenty years his junior—happy. Lila finally seemed content enough to quit trading up and let him.

"Just wonderful. We had the most delightful party last week. Sort of a farewell to summer. Donald insisted on grilling," Lila paused. "Normally, of course, we leave the cooking to the help. But he does love being master and commander of his outdoor kitchen." She laughed, oblivious to how this might sound.

"Clarissa thinks cooking for friends is a joy," Pete responded. "I can certainly understand the appeal."

"Of course. And she’s a professional, not just... Well..." Lila broke off, suddenly realizing what she'd said. "Everything does smell heavenly." She smiled broadly as Clarissa brought in her roast.

"Thank you." Clarissa smiled in return. "We're just about ready if you want to sit down. I'll bring out the sides."

The meal went by fairly smoothly, with Lila making an effort to be kind to Clarissa after her earlier insults, and enough wine flowing to keep everyone's mood light.

"Another wonderful dinner, Clarissa. I may have to get you to teach me a few things," Micky said, admiringly.

"Maybe you can cook dinner for Hermes tie." Pete laughed.

"What is the deal with this guy?" Clarissa asked.

"Nothing. He works in my building and happened to come out when I was having car trouble. It was very nice of him to help."

"Who is he? Old? Young? Hunchbacked?" Clarissa asked with a chuckle.

"Not hunchbacked, I don't think. She said he looked like Cary Grant." Pete moved his eyebrows up and down, teasing his little sister.

"Well, that sounds promising." Clarissa smiled at Micky.

"I was just making a point that he didn't look like anyone to be frightened of," Micky explained. "He's probably about my age, maybe older, and he works at the law firm in my building."

"Really." Clarissa drew the word out with a plotting tone. "Does he have a name? You can't just keep calling him Hermes tie."

"I don't see that I'll be calling him anything." Micky attempted a nonchalant tone.

"Oh, come on, dear," Lila said. "Why not? You should make an effort. He sounds perfectly charming. What's his name?"

"Nick Halden."

"Nick Halden, as in Nicholas Halden?" Lila laughed. "Oh heavens, he's engaged!"

"Engaged?" Micky nearly choked on her wine. What was it with men and their lackadaisical approach to commitment? And why was a pique of jealousy worming its way through her? She had absolutely no reason to be disappointed.

"Practically. You remember Sheila Moran's daughter Vivienne? She and Nicholas have been together for ages. I talked with Sheila last week. I've been trying to convince her and her husband to join Donald and me on a Greek cruise in the spring. She won't commit because he and Vivienne are talking marriage." Lila paused. "Apparently, Vivienne has always wanted a traditional June wedding, and Sheila expects to be busy making that happen."

The twists and turns of Lila's social scene baffled Micky. She didn't know any of these people. Micky speared her meat and tried not let the news about Nick get to her.

"See there. That's what I've been saying. He helped me with my car, and that was it. Now, shouldn't we be helping Clarissa clear the table?" Anything to change the subject. Draining the last of her wine, Micky jumped up from the table, and took her dishes and silverware into the kitchen. Pete followed.

"You don't know that he's engaged. I mean, you're taking my mother's word for it?"

"Jesus, Pete! You're making too much of this."

"Am I? The look on your face when my mother said 'engaged.' I thought you were going to drown in your pinot. You keep blushing every time you hear his name." Pete grinned. "Why do you think I keep bringing him up?"

"Unbelievable." Micky snapped Pete's leg with a dishtowel.

"Things go much better when mother focuses on you. Sorry!"

Micky knew he wasn't the least bit sorry, but figured she wouldn't call him on it.

And engaged or not, it sounded as if Nick Halden—or Nicholas or whatever his name was—was already in a relationship. A serious one at that. What's the deal with asking her out? Just friendly flirting, or was he a player?

It didn't matter. She couldn't afford to get wrapped up in another drama. Her stomach tightened. Eric had seemed like the catch of the millennium at first. He was tall, handsome, sensitive, and charming. Normally, Micky was buried in the day-to-day of her life and her all-consuming job with its long hours in the office and bringing work home. Keeping the clients happy. Keeping her boss happy. That's what she did every day. All day.

Then she'd met Eric King through Tony Harcourt, her company's head of sales who worked in the Chicago office. She'd invited her visiting colleague and his friend to a party one weekend in Dallas. She and Eric had hit it off, and he introduced her to a new kind of focus—where she was happy. When they were together, it had been magic. The only downside was he didn't live in Dallas, where she'd lived since she finished college ten years ago.

Fortunately, his job in sales meant he traveled into town at least every other week from his hometown of Chicago, but he always made it home for the weekend to care for his chronically ill mother—or so he'd said.

"I wish you could just stay the weekend," Micky said to him once. "If not this weekend, maybe in a few weeks. Isn't your brother visiting Chicago next month? Maybe he can give you a break that weekend." She was kissing his neck, but Eric had stiffened up—and not in the good way.

"I can't. I wish I could. My sister would kill me." Micky didn't press him. His sister helped take care of their mother during the week, but the weekends were his turn, he said.

"I understand. I miss you when you're gone," she said, sliding over to straddle him and bending down to kiss him on the mouth. "I guess we need to make the best of the time we have."

Eric hadn't said anything else, not that she would have expected a confession mid-coitus. Micky gripped the dish towel harder, thinking about the times she had admired his dedication to getting home every Friday evening so his sister could have a break. It had made her love him even more. She'd offered to come up with him on a weekend to help. When he'd hesitated and evaded, she thought it was because it was too soon to meet his family.

As it turned out, she wasn't entirely wrong.

She scraped the plates with a vengeance, thinking more about Nick now than Eric. So typical of a man to keep several lines in the water even though he already had a big one in the boat. She certainly didn't have time to be the plaything of some oversexed, socialite-screwing stud. As Micky scrubbed away at the pots and pans, she vowed to scrub any thoughts of Nick Halden right out of her mind as well.

N
ick thought about Micky
, the curvy brunette, all the way to dinner. He couldn't help himself. Having drinks with her was both a brilliant and suspect move, but the request had found its way out of his mouth before he could stop it. Hell, if they hadn't both had plans, he could have had drinks with her tonight.

He shouldn't. He was getting married. Maybe.

He'd tried and tried to get in touch with his fiancée, but all she would say was that she needed "time." Time for what, Nick didn't know. He and Vivienne were on their way to being Dallas' most intriguing power couple. She had the family and connections. He had the education and ambition.

The vision of their picture-perfect engagement in a spectacular penthouse apartment in Paris flashed in Nick's mind. He was down on one knee, presenting Vivienne with a very impressive four-carat, emerald-cut diamond ring. She was looking at him intently. Her professionally arched brows drew together slightly, and her bottom lip caught precariously between her teeth.

She was exactly the woman he'd always thought he'd marry. Stunning. Smart. Well-connected. And on the occasions when she relaxed and let her hair down, funny and even endearing. People didn't know that about her.

His family had sometimes joked about how formal and composed she was. They didn't see how well their lives fit together. They could go to a ball game together, sit at home watching a movie, go to the opera—anything.

There was never any drama with Vivienne. There was a comfort and contentment in the life they were building together. They shared the same interests and the same ambition. Her flawless sense of taste and salesmanship helped her build a successful interior design business. She didn't need a husband, but she wanted one.

After years of chasing slews of women who were hot but crazy, smart but neurotic, or just plain nuts, Vivienne was a dream. A dream he'd seen himself with for the rest of his life.

His piercing green eyes had met her slate blue ones.

"Are you sure?" she asked him.

"Never been more sure."

"You always have a way of making me feel like the world is ours for the taking," Vivienne said with a smile.

"It could be if you just say yes."

"Yes."

"Perfect." Nick slipped the substantial stone on her finger, then stroked her hair and kissed her.

The evening was the realization of the dreams he'd had since he met her at a Christmas charity ball just over a year earlier. He'd outbid her for a fabulous collection of Cabernet from Paso Robles donated for silent auction. Vivienne walked right up to him and asked if she could at least buy one of the rare bottles from him.

Nick—being quite the player before Vivienne and their engagement—had suggested they split it over dinner at his place. She hadn't been as hungrily receptive as many other young socialites in Dallas were to his provocative smile, but he'd taken that as a good sign. All the signs had pointed in the same direction.

One of the best advantages Vivienne had to offer was her father. Tom Moran owned a large, successful private equity firm that bought, sold, and invested in companies. As an attorney specializing in mergers and acquisitions, Nick appreciated the serendipity of meeting the daughter of Moran Financial's CEO at a premiere social event. Hauling in a big fish like her father as a client was doing wonders for his partnership chances.

Adding to his luck, Tom recently asked Nick to look into Azur Technologies as a possible acquisition target. Now, he'd run into someone who worked there. A pretty, sexy someone. Nick learned to leverage any connections he could.

From the outside, his relationship with Vivienne and her father might seem mercenary. It wasn't. Approaching Tom about bringing his business to Winston Stratford had been Vivienne's idea. They shared vision for his success. Smart and capable, Vivienne stood out from the other socialites he'd met. Most of them looked down their noses at Nick for being born working class in southeast Dallas. Maybe Vivienne's solid standing in Dallas society let her be more adventurous.

Whatever the reason, he and Vivienne fit perfectly together and were actually friends. He made her laugh. They got along. The passion might not be what he'd had with other women, but their friendship and mutual commitment would last longer than lust.

The latest developments, however, had Nick worried.

Four months ago, Vivienne invited him over to her gorgeous, Tudor-style, lakeside home and calmly informed him their engagement was off. Since then, she'd all but dropped off the face of the earth, ignoring his calls and texts.

Maybe Vivienne wanted more. Nick could give more. He would do whatever he needed to do, but he needed her to sit down and talk to him first. Instead, the conversation he'd get tonight was with his prospective father-in-law.

Nick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he turned onto the street housing the small, quiet sushi restaurant where they were meeting. The older man called a few days before and summoned him to dinner. Tom Moran said he wanted to talk business. No doubt that also included a discussion of Nick and Vivienne's engagement.

People like Vivienne's parents saw their children's love lives as potential mergers. That was a hazard of circulating in the high-toned set living in the enclaves of the Park Cities, Preston Hollow, and swaths of north Dallas. Vivienne resented it, but Nick always felt like their relationship was of their mutual choosing.

It's not like Nick was the ideal candidate. He didn't grow up with the elite of the elite. His young, widowed mother had struggled to keep a roof over her children's heads, working as a housekeeper and a hotel maid before starting her own business cleaning office buildings. Nick and his sister joined the family business as soon as they were old enough. He'd spent his early life scrubbing up after people like Tom Moran.

Nick pulled up in front of the restaurant and threw his car into park, waiting for the valet. Once inside, he walked around the large aquarium, which sent rippled light across the entryway. The tank stretched for nearly eight feet, separating the foyer from the dining room. Brightly striped tropical fish darted left and right, diving and then surging to the surface. Nick thought they looked nervous.

He spotted Mr. Moran in a corner booth. The other man lifted his silver-gray head and smiled in Nick's direction. Nick strode over, pulling his shoulders back and leveling his eyes on his target.

"Nicholas. Good to see you. You're looking well."

"You, too, Mr. Moran."

"Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?" Vivienne's father blew out a stream of air and studied Nick.

"Just ice water for me, thanks."

"You sure? Friday happy hour." Tom gestured toward the bar area.

"Yes. Nothing for me."

"Well, then let's get some business out of the way before we order dinner. What are you going to do about my stubborn little girl?"

Nick almost laughed. At thirty-three, Vivienne ran her own business, owned her own home, and managed her own life. From the childhood photos he'd seen, the nearly six-foot-tall blonde hadn't been a "little girl" for quite some time. Nick supposed a father might always see his daughter in those terms, but he didn't have the same delusions of influence over Vivienne's behavior.

"I've reached out to her over and over, but I think she needs time."

"Be careful giving her too much time. You could lose her altogether."

"I don't think there's any danger of that. She still has the ring. Knowing Vivienne, if she wanted to call the wedding off completely, she'd give the ring back and square things with me. You raised a very direct, plain-speaking daughter."

Tom drained the clear liquid in his martini glass. "Trust me. I know. But, you should know that Vivienne's mother and I are incredibly supportive of your engagement. We'd like nothing more than to be hosting the wedding of the year next summer. Her mother and I want to make sure that you're just as committed. Hell, it's one of the reasons I wanted to work with you. Keep things in the family."

Nick panicked at the edge in Tom's voice. As Nick and Vivienne's relationship developed, her father had been more and more helpful in advancing Nick's position at work and within the local community. Nick had the firm partnership at his fingertips.

Neither of them had ever explicitly stated Tom's business was dependent on the status of Nick and Vivienne's relationship. One had simply led to the other. Nick focused his breath to keep his heart from pounding, loosening his tight grip on the edge of the table.

"I'm staying in touch with her and letting her know I'm here for her. She has a preliminary case of cold feet, but I'm not worried. We love each other. It'll work out." Nick took a sip of water and peered at Tom over the glass.

"I certainly hope so," Tom replied. The man's eyebrows furrowed briefly, before his usual congenial smile smoothed his demeanor. "Let's get some sushi ordered. I hardly ever get to eat sushi. Sheila can't stand it."

Nick forced a chuckle and grabbed the slip of paper and small pencil the waiter delivered with the menu. Sheila Moran couldn't stand a lot of things. As intimidating as Vivienne's dad could be, he didn't scare Nick near as much as her mother.

"How is Sheila? Are you still thinking about taking a big trip next year?"

"Probably. I'm already going to be taking time off—hopefully—for your wedding. Sheila doesn't understand that I can't step away for every whim of hers. Maybe in the second half of the year. It depends on how the Azur deal goes. How's your research coming?"

Nick wasn't prepared to discuss work with Tom. They'd had a meeting only two days before.

"I may have a direct line to the company," Nick told him. Perhaps he stretched the truth a little. He doubted Micky Llewellyn was at a level that could offer him real intelligence. An exec wouldn't have a Toyota that needed a jumpstart. Still, she could be an in. When they met for drinks, he'd find out more about her position. At this point, anything might help him.

"Really?"

"They do have their offices in our building, and I've run into a couple of people there. Give me a few days to suss things out."

"Who are you talking to over there?"

Nick blanched. "No one at a high level, but they might help me map out the organization, get some insight into how they function."

"Let me know who it is, and we can check him out."

Nick didn't feel the need to correct Tom's pronouns. "Micky. Llewellyn." He tried not to think about the bulldog he'd just let off the chain.

"Do what you can. And bill me, of course."

Nick nodded. The memory resurfaced of the woman's hourglass figure barely concealed by her prim business clothes. He'd had worse assignments than a couple of hopefully informative dinners with a stunning brunette.

Maybe if he proved his worth to Tom in other ways, he could insure himself against any fallout from a broken engagement—not that he'd conceded on the marriage front. He could get Vivienne back, but he might need to move faster than he'd thought.