Final Surrender (9 page)

He hid his emotions well, behind a stone façade.
But didn’t he always
, she thought.

He lacked for nothing. She could tell he had charm and charisma to spare, guts, determination, drive and a heart. The heart she loved so long ago.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she admitted as she broke eye contact, glaring at her shoes.

All she could see were his feet walking forward as he stopped in front of her toe to toe. He lifted her chin, oh so gently, to meet his probing gaze.

“Will you give me a chance? I know I don’t deserve it for how I’ve treated you in the past, but I’m just asking for a chance.”

He searched her eyes for an answer and then held his hands loosely behind his back as if he was tempted to keep touching her.

Probably just wishful thinking. Sure, he’d like to fuck you again, but he doesn’t care about you.

“A lot has happened since I saw you last. I’m not the same person I was back in Texas,” she admitted.

“Neither am I. Maybe we both needed to change, grow up…something before we could see each other again. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “All I know is my biggest regret is letting you walk away that day so many years ago. I didn’t know how to handle the situation, so I scared you off.

“I know you need help, and Mark wants someone here to watch out for you all the time.”

He rushed to continue when she opened her mouth to protest. “Yes, Mark asked me here, but if I didn’t want to be here, I would have found some excuse to get out of it. I wish you would have asked me yourself.”

Clay reached up and hooked a few strands of hair behind her ear. His touch was like magic. Like Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and the Playboy bunny all wrapped together.

They both heard Mark coming towards the door, so Clay took a step back and looked into her eyes again. “Please give me a chance, Angela. What could it hurt now?”

Oh, how little he knew.

What could it hurt?
Repeated in her head as Mark entered the room.

She stared at Clay with her lips tilted slightly downward, while she heard Mark hit the end button on his phone.

He chuckled. “Well, you didn’t kill each other while I was gone, that’s a good sign,” Mark said as he walked up beside his sister.

Despite her weariness, Angela smiled at her brother’s joke and let out an exasperated sigh before she could stop herself.

“Well, what’s the verdict, Ang? Are you going to give him a chance, or are you disowning both of us for trying?” Mark asked with more truth than he really knew. He wrapped his arms around her. She felt small and fragile. He probably knew she’d hate it if he pointed out she was merely human so he wisely kept any wise cracks to himself, waiting for her answer.

“I’m thinking about it. Disowning you, I mean,” she replied after a short pause as she returned the hug.

Mark tucked her head under his chin. “I don’t want you to hate me for doing this. You’re by yourself up here and you need someone that will watch your back. I wish it could be me, but…”

She was glad he didn’t finish. He’d always said he wished she was closer to home, but she loved her life and didn’t want to give it up due to some whack job with an unknown vendetta.

Unwillingly, she looked at Clay, who was staring at her. She knew she probably looked lost and hated that it had come to this, that he had to witness it.

Clay opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Okay,” she said, before letting out a huge sigh as she released Mark and stepped away.

They both looked at her. Mark asked, “Okay you’re disowning us, or okay you’re going to give Clay a shot?”

“Okay I will give Mr. Waters a shot…for one week.”

“A week?” Mark asked.

She turned towards them, but kept her eyes on Mark, squaring her shoulders. “One week, Mark. That’s it.”

Clay closed the distance between them then took her hand in his.

“One week,” he replied as he shook her hand in agreement.

Angela practically yanked her hand free, and left the conference room, saying over her shoulder, “Well, get your things. I’ll show you where you’re going to be staying.”

After she walked out of the room, she heard Mark slap Clay on the shoulder.

“Well, welcome to New York, Clay. Come on.” She heard them coming down the hallway after her. Her brother sounded pretty darn pleased with himself, and she wondered how much food she was going to have to withhold to wipe that smug grin off his face. Taunting him hadn’t sounded like such a good time in years.

A week.

With Clay no more than a breath away, how would she survive it?

Without touching him.

Without confessing her deepest darkest secrets.

Not to mention her feelings for him.

Then and now.

Now?

As she heard the footsteps behind her, she wondered if this was just a stay of execution, or if she was now walking to the firing squad. “Only time will tell,” she mumbled under her breath and tried to throw the wall back up around her heart that had safeguarded her so well for years.

How could she allow the one man she feared more than any stalker to protect her?

How…

Chapter Nine

An hour later, Angela had already drank way too much caffeine for one day. After her third cup, she found herself in the backseat of a taxicab sandwiched between a proverbial rock and a hard place.

Mark, who was the rock and seemed immune to her nervousness, was chatting on about the sights they were passing, and filling Clay in on, of course, the best places to eat.

He would hold Angela’s hand or pat her on the knee while he spoke and never seemed to notice he was truly the only one talking.

Clay, on the other hand, who was definitely the hard place, sat mere inches away, completely silent, rarely taking his eyes from her for more than a minute or two. He was as solid as concrete and Angela readjusted herself, scooting closer to Mark at every available opportunity.

But he was so warm, and his smell…

Of all that was holy, if he just didn’t have to smell so intoxicatingly sexy.

Anytime he turned in his seat to look at something Mark pointed out, his thigh would brush against hers and her body would react violently.

She didn’t know if she wanted to yell at the cabbie to pull over or demand answers from Clay, after she took him, and tasted him, and showed him what he was missing.

“Ang, are you tuning me out?” Mark asked and nudged her arm with a smile.

“Not intentionally, Mark,” she replied honestly as Clay tried to cover a chuckle behind his hand.

“Clay needs to see some of the places you go most often for work and leisure. So lead the way.”

They were already heading north on 6th Avenue so she told him to head up to Lincoln Center, west of Central Park.

On the way she tried to calm herself by making small talk. She angled herself a bit more to face Clay, which gave her the added advantage of moving her body out of the
please lick me here
zone. “Most of the time I’m in my studio working, if I’m not right in the middle of a show, or photo shoot for a magazine, or traveling to Europe to handle issues with the lines over there. I do charity work for the Relay for Life and a women’s clinic as well when my schedule permits. Award shows are a busy time of year with clients flying in for fittings and to make arrangements for alterations and whatnot.

“Most of my employees have been with me for years. Maddy and Vanessa have keys to the front door and I work very closely with both of them. Thankfully, nothing has ever happened inside the studio walls. Having any of my people hurt because of me would be devastating.”

Clay interrupted. “I’ll want to question everyone and run background checks on them all as well. Best to start close to home.”

They arrived right outside Lincoln Center and the cab sat idling at the curb as Angela shook her head emphatically. “No, that’s an invasion of privacy they don’t deserve.”

“And you’re too naïve for your own good. You’re going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt here. If you’re hiring me to protect you, then you have to let me in so I can do my job.”

“If I’m paying for your protection, then you’ll do what I say, and harassing my employees won’t get my Jane Hancock on your paycheck.”

“More than a million women are stalked every year. A million. And seventy-seven percent of those women know their attacker. Stalkers don’t just go away, Angela, they escalate. The last time you were hurt, how many bones were broken? How many days did you spend in the hospital? There are a lot of people who would be broken if something happened to you. So get your lovey-dovey head out of your ass, and realize the world isn’t all rainbows and parties. This is the
real
world, princess, and we’ll start at home whether you like it or not.”

“The stalker isn’t one of my friends, so why waste our time, oh great one?”

“Let’s prove it, and then we’ll talk.”

Tension in the cab couldn’t have even been cut with a chainsaw.
The nerve of some people.

When she didn’t say anything else, he gestured outside. “Where are we?”

She stared back at him with an expression mixed with rage and lust.

Angela wanted nothing but to be angry, but she couldn’t find anything outwardly untrue with anything he had said. She cleared her throat, trying to hold her temper in check. “This is Lincoln Center where Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week is held each year in mid-February. That is the show I’m getting ready for now. Some of the other shows for the year are also held here or venues very close. The Couture and pre-fall shows are at the end of January, pre-fall is also in January but my lines are pretty much ready to go for those. Resort is in June and the ready to wear is in September usually, which I just got finished with.”

“How long do you have access to the building before the actual show?” he asked.

Angela was impressed he didn’t ask what Fashion Week was, and smiled a second before answering, “About two hours before the show. There are normally around three to five designers in at one time. It’s pandemonium from the word go.”

She had a rush of adrenaline as she thought of each show. Everyone running around screaming, makeup and hair being done up to the last second, along with last-minute alterations, models being sewn into their clothes. It was her time to shine. To show the world what she could do. Made all the late nights and stress worth it.

“Great,” Clay grumbled with a roll of his eyes. From a security standpoint, not a great thing she guessed, but from her viewpoint, it was life.

“After the show I’m also in negotiations to be a guest judge on the finale of Project Runway. But I don’t have to deal with that for another couple months or so.”

“On TV?”

“Umm…yes the big box that shows you pictures. That would be the one.”

“Smart ass. So let me get this straight…you dress famous people, have fashion shows all over the world, have how many studios?”

“One here in New York, one in Milan, and one in Paris. Both international locations are managed by one of my employees named Antonia.”

“Plus, you’ve been dealing with a stalker for months on top of everything else.”

“Yes. Oh, and I’ve had a couple small parts in movies, usually making fun of myself, or the fashion industry, in general. Never dull.”

He looked at her for a long while. He seemed truly agog with what she had been able to accomplish. She was a success by most anyone’s standards and lived a very hectic and exciting life.

She gave the cab driver the all clear to keep driving. Clay turned and stared out the window, watching the world pass by. She wondered what he was thinking, and if she’d ever have the nerve to ask him.

He took in the rest of the scenery in silence as Angela pointed out several other places she frequented in the city each week, trying really hard to stifle her nervous laughter. She’d never been as proud as when she got to turn Clay’s opinion of her on its ass and actually knock him speechless. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total waste after all.

“Don’t you have a dinner tomorrow night, Ang?” Mark asked while people-watching. She almost jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice. He had been so quiet. She’d totally forgotten he was there.

Her throat was dry and her palms were damp as she answered, “Yes,” then gave the cabbie new directions. “It’s actually pretty close to here, only a few blocks southeast. The Plaza is where the event is taking place.”

Angela caught a glimpse of Clay’s eyebrows spiking just for a second as he asked, “What’s it for? Some hoity-toity dinner with people kissing your ass?”

“Not exactly, it’s a charity dinner with an auction at the end of the evening. It’s always fun.”

He didn’t have any more snide comments after that.

They rode in silence until they passed the hotel.

Clay commented, “Only one front entrance so it shouldn’t be hard to get her inside, and then I’ll fade into the shadows for the rest of the boring evening. Where do you go for whatever you need to make your clothes?”

“I shop at Mood most often, which is in the fashion district between 7th and 8th Avenues. Third floor access only, and Bernie mans the elevator. He’s great.”

They headed over so Clay could catch a glimpse of Fashion Avenue.

Her life was on display for him to see. Scrutinize. Dissect. It was uncomfortable having to categorize where she went and why. She didn’t like having to explain her actions to anyone, least of all him.

Privacy was something she held so close to her, she didn’t want to share things that were special—her sacred places where she could be herself and not worry about anyone else’s opinion. Not that she really cared about everyone else, but Clay’s opinion was different.

“You need to show him the park,” Mark commanded, as if somehow reading her mind and finding the one spot she didn’t want to share.

She turned as best she could and shot him her best
Go to Hell
look.

“What?” he asked with complete ignorance. “He needs to know where you go when you want to be alone. You love that place and you’re there all the time.”

“Yes, and it’s where I go to be
alone
, Mark.”

“What park?” Clay asked.

Angela opened her mouth to tell him it didn’t matter, when Mark butted right in. “Madison Square Park right off Park Avenue and East 26th Street.”

“Mark, shut up!” Angela barked.

“No, I’m not going to let you sabotage this, Ang. Clay needs to know where you are at all times, so you aren’t going to be able to just flit anywhere by yourself anymore. At least not until we get a handle on this.”

“The only situation I have at the moment is an overbearing brother who doesn’t know when to back off.”

“Yes, you definitely have that,” he admitted with a smirk.

“The fact that you think this is a good thing is really starting to piss me off.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to lessen the tension building again.

After a minute of silence, Clay asked, “So, where do you grocery shop?” Obviously trying to change the subject so he didn’t have to separate the siblings next to him.

“Meat district, west of the island, on 14th Street, straight down from the studio.”

“Food. I’m hungry,” Mark admitted.

“You’re always hungry, Mark. Do you not eat at home?”

On cue his stomach growled and he patted it, as if to quell the rising beast within.

“Where are we now?” Mark asked no one in particular.

“In Midtown on Park Avenue. Why?” Angela wanted to know.

“Meli Melo is right up the next block. Let’s get takeout and we’ll go back to your apartment and eat, so I can crash early and get packed since I’m leaving pretty early tomorrow morning.”

Angela’s heart stopped, not certain why she thought her brother would be staying longer. Obviously he didn’t know she needed a chaperone.

Clay asked, “What is a melli marshmallow anyways?”

Mark threw his head back and laughed as Angela gave a small snort and said, “You are a Texan, huh?”

“Born and branded,” Clay admitted with no humor whatsoever.

“Meli Melo is a restaurant with
the
best food.”

“That’s what you say about every restaurant in New York.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s true. What about you, Ang, you up for it?”

“That’s fine with me. I’m not really hungry, so just order me something little and you guys get whatever you want.”

“Clay, what about you?” Mark asked, completely pleased he was going to get his way.

“Sure, as long as I don’t have to eat raw fish, back home we call that bait, so other than that, I’m game.”

“Sweet, head over between 29th and 30th on Madison.”

While the cabbie maneuvered through traffic, Angela glanced at the clock and couldn’t see where the time had gone.

Clay had already been there more than five hours.

As they pulled up in front of the restaurant, Mark asked, “You guys coming in?” as they all exited the cab.

Angela paid, before Mark could even get his wallet out then said, “No, just order me a salad and some crepes.”

“Clay?”

“Just order me something that’s not rabbit food. I’ll stay with Angela.”

His eyes raked over, but she kept her gaze on the passing traffic, trying not to notice.

“’Kay, see you guys in a few,” Mark agreed as he entered the restaurant, more or less drooling on the patrons trying to leave.

Angela took a deep breath, trying to calm her still racing heart.

Unable to help herself any longer, she stole a glance in Clay’s direction.

He caught her looking and smirked.

Being taunted really wasn’t what she needed, so she turned and faced him head-on. She may have added a little bit more sass to her walk as she sauntered in his direction. Let’s see how he felt if he was put on stage to answer personal questions.

“So when did you get the scar on your cheek, Clay?”

The instant scowl on his face was all she needed to know.

She looked at the ground before glancing back at his gorgeous face. “You don’t have to answer if it’s private.”

“We’re a bit past private at this point, don’t you think, Angela?”

The rhetorical question hung in the air as they glared at each other, no more than two feet apart.

“It’s been a long time,” she admitted.

A lifetime
, she almost said out loud.

He reached out and brushed the hair past her shoulder, barely grazing her bare skin, but sending tendrils of desire through her body.

“Not long enough to forget,” he replied as he took another step closer.

After a minute of tense silence he surprised her by answering her rude question. “Before an IED went off in the middle of a house we were clearing, I realized we were walking into a trap. I had all of my men evac, but it was too late for me when the house blew. Everyone got out with minimal damage except…” Instead of continuing he just ran a finger down his scar.

“We made our way to our pick-up location and then a second one blew directly in the middle of us. I was in the lead…I’ll never forget what it sounded like.” He closed his eyes and continued stroking her shoulder. “We got everybody to the choppers then I lost consciousness.”

“What happened? Your injuries, I mean?”

“Several broken ribs, an arm, mostly soft tissue, but they put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” He looked up into her face and she hoped it wasn’t just the surgeons that had pulled him through. That maybe someone else had a hand in it as well.