Flip This Love (8 page)

Picking up her fork, Brooke plunged the tines into the candied top of the pecan pie. “You know I’d give you anything I could, but—”

Laney held up a hand to stop the unnecessary explanation. Brooke had quit her newspaper job to freelance. At the same time, Brian sank a good chunk of the money he’d earned as the Earth Channel’s new Jacques Cousteau into an independent research laboratory he was setting up with two fellow marine biologists.

Brooke’s voice softened as she started to toy with the hapless pecans atop the slice. “I talked to Daddy. They put a new roof on the lake house and Mama’s after him to retire.”

What her friend left unmentioned were all the thousands of dollars the Hastings’s had loaned the Tarringtons with no questions asked the moment they heard of Camille’s diagnosis. Money that had gone directly to Laney’s father, Brett, then to God only knew where. They both knew local banks would laugh her right out of their marble lobbies, and every credit card Laney’d managed to hold onto had a balance flirting with its upper limit. If she was going to get someone to invest in this idea, she’d have to look outside the box.

As if on cue, her phone began to vibrate. A snapshot of Harley Cade wearing a tuxedo and caught in the throes of a full-throated laugh filled the screen. Both women stared at the photo as it jitterbugged across the scarred and sticky tabletop. They continued to watch the damn thing long after it stopped humming. A second passed, then the voicemail alert chimed. Laney didn’t need to play the message. Though she hadn’t seen him since the night he came to her apartment, at least once a day, at some random moment, he called and said the exact same thing:

Hello, Delaney. Wanted to let you know I’m thinkin’ about you.

When she looked up, Brooke’s eyes were locked on her face.

“No,” Laney said.

The answer was instinctive. A defense mechanism. True, Harley might be the most obvious solution to her predicament, but he was also the most dangerous. Surely Brooke understood. Or not.

“Why not?” her friend demanded.

Laney closed her eyes, sending up a silent thank you to the gods of telepathy even as she hid from her friend’s probing gaze. “I can’t.”

“You keep saying you can’t, but you never say why.” For the first time since Brian Dalton came back to town and rattled her cage, Brooke’s frustration flashed through her cool demeanor.

Laney reared back, but her friend didn’t let up on her.

“For God’s sake, the man is a businessman. If nothing else, ask for his advice. If you don’t want to take his money, he may have someone he can put you in contact with who would like to invest.”

“It’s easy for you to make it sound so simple,” Laney snapped.

“You think I don’t know how hard it is for you to ask for help? Particularly from him?” Brooke jabbed the screen of Laney’s phone with her fingernail. “Hell yeah, it’ll be hard. It was hard for me to choke down my pride and ask Brian to work with me.” This time, she pointed an accusing finger directly at Laney. “You, of all people, know how hard it was. But when something is important, you do what you need to do.” She reached for her handbag. “Do what you need to do, damn it. Use him if that’s what it takes. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

Setting her teeth on edge, Laney eyed the cell phone. “What if...”

She paused and Brooke cocked her head, waiting for her to finish. When she didn’t, Brooke dropped her voice and said, “He won’t say no to you.”

Lowering her lashes so her friend wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes, Laney picked up the phone and tapped a button to return the call. Pressing the cell to her ear, she shoved the check for their lunch across the table. Brooke took the bill and, drawing a deep breath, Laney forced herself to meet her friend’s worried gaze as the line began to ring. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

* * * *

Laney resisted the urge to straighten the seams of her dress before hauling open the heavy door. Saûs had only opened six weeks earlier but it was already Mobile’s hottest restaurant. She’d been dying to try the “elevated Southern cuisine” everyone was raving about. When Harley mentioned the name, she leaped at the chance.

So far, it wasn’t at all what she expected. The interior was a shade beyond dim. Perhaps it was merely the contrast between the bright noonday sun outside and the dark paneled walls, but Laney had to blink several times until she could clearly see the hostess’ anticipatory smile.

“Welcome to Saûs.” The blonde was tiny and sleek. And she pronounced the name of the restaurant like ‘saws’ rather than the Frenchified ‘sous’ Laney imagined in her head.

Laney rolled her shoulders back, unconsciously edging one foot in front of the other. It was a pose Brooke’s mama, Emmaline, had taught them when they were young, and more than anything, Laney wanted to present herself to her best advantage as she swept the restaurant’s muted interior for any sign of Harley Cade.

“Hello, Delaney.”

She jumped, pressing her hand to her heart as she whirled to find he had somehow come up behind her. “Oh! You’re here.”

Idiot. Of course he was there. He was the one who suggested they meet at the restaurant. She let out a little laugh, then waved her own observation away. Unfortunately, she forgot about the slim leather portfolio Brooke had loaned her for the meeting, and ended up slapping her would-be investor square on the arm with it.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush.

He chuckled as he glanced down at the weapon. “Not your usual accessory,” he commented as he pried the binder from her grasp.

She tried not to notice how warm his fingers were, or the way he stood way too close. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tipped her head up to accept a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“You look incredible.” He slid his hand down her arm then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then again, you always do.”

She gulped her nervousness like a shot of whisky, then looked him in the eye. “Hello, Harley.”

He smiled, dimples flashing and eyes twinkling with mischief. Hell, his hair even picked up what little light there was in the room, those almost-curls swirling at his ears and nape gleaming a deep, burnished gold.

“Did you make this?”

Laney cocked her head. It took a half a minute for her to realize he was asking about her dress.

“Oh!” She glanced down at the garnet wool, then skimmed a hand over her stomach, pride warring with modesty as a flush of pleasure warmed her skin. “It’s a copy.”

A copy of a dress she’d found in her grandmother’s trunks when she cleaned out the house and fell head over heels in love with the stunning lines of the design. The discovery of the dress and the hours she’d spent recreating it provided much-needed respite.

She’d planned to wear a more businesslike suit but Brooke had poo-pooed the idea, saying she knew what Harley wanted and if Laney was going to seal this deal, she needed to give the man a little thrill. At last, the temperatures had cooled enough for her to even consider wearing lightweight wool. Brooke also decreed the bold scarlet-color fitting, since Harley’d been pursuing her like a bull turned loose in the streets of Pamplona.

From the front, the dress was perfectly demure—a form-fitting sheath with a slim skirt that stopped below the knee. Then the back plunged into a deep vee arrested only by a cluster of silk rosettes in the same rich red inches above her ass.

His sharp intake of breath when she turned to follow the hostess told her the outfit was an unquestionable winner. She could sense his hot gaze roaming over her as they made their way to one of the dimly lit tables in the back of the long, narrow room. She might have added a little extra sway to her hips, but he’d never be able to prove it in a court of law. She could almost feel his hands on her. Those rough, talented fingers tracing the line of her spine, peeling the sleeves of the dress over her shoulders. Hot, wet kisses trailing along the exposed skin.

“Is this okay?”

The question jolted her from her little daydream. She glanced down at the table, barely registering it was set slightly apart from the others packed into the space, and nodded. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to. Her mouth had run dry the minute she’d envisioned his hands on her.

He placed her leather folder at the edge of the table and pulled out her chair. She slid into the seat, hoping none of her previous thoughts showed on her face.

Harley unbuttoned his suit jacket and claimed the chair across from her. His tie was silk. If she wasn’t mistaken, his suit was Hugo Boss. A heavy stainless steel watch peeked out from beneath one perfectly turned French cuff. Laney tried to envision the type of cufflinks a man like Harley wore. Hammered silver? Some kind of stone like onyx?

The possibilities boggled her mind. She wanted to reach across the table, shove the sleeve of his possibly, most likely, Hugo Boss jacket, and see for herself. For some reason the thought of this man, of all men, owning jewelry beyond a watch and maybe, one day, a wedding ring, both intrigued and infuriated her. Where the hell did a guy like Harley Cade get off owning cufflinks? Did he wear one of those copper bracelets, too? Was he pierced somewhere?

She almost gasped aloud as the last notion struck. Snatching the printed menu card from her plate, she tried to decide if she was excited or repelled by the thought. In truth, she was both.

“Wine?”

She drew a steadying breath and looked up at their server with a polite smile, then turned to him, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “I don’t know. Do you usually order wine at your business lunches?”

He rolled his eyes. “I usually have my business lunches sitting on a tailgate.”

Laney blinked, purposefully keeping her expression solemn. “Yes, but do you drink wine while sitting on the tailgate?”

She caught a flash of annoyance flickering across his features, but within seconds, he settled into his usual good-old-boy amusement. “We’ll take a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, if you have it. If not, we’ll settle for the Russian River Pinot Gris.”

Laney couldn’t help but fall for his charm. Just a little. “You know, I’m half hoping they have the Boone’s,” she confided. “But that’s more for cutting class on a warm spring day.”

“And?” he prompted. “The beach?”

“Sometimes.” A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. Then she picked a fond memory she was sure would drive him crazy. “Tommy Preston’s daddy had a place on Bayou Sara.”

He leaned in. “And did you go out there alone with him?”

She let the smile turn coy as she dipped her head to study the menu. “Sometimes.” If she wasn’t mistaken, the sound she heard was something like a low growl.

“Tommy Preston was a wuss.”

Laney rewarded his jealous muttering with a laugh. Running the pad of her finger over the edge of the menu, she played paper-cut Russian roulette and baited the bear of a man across from her. “I hear he’s made partner in his daddy’s law firm.”

Harley glared at the heavy cardstock. “I suppose I should warn you, I don’t discuss business over meals.”

Feeling as if the trap she’d set had snapped shut around her, she scowled at him. “You don’t? But you were the one who suggested lunch.”

He settled back in his chair and smiled his choirboy smile. “I’ve made no secret of wanting to have lunch with you.”

She gaped at him for a second then closed her mouth, her jaw tightening as fire burned in her gut. “So this was a ploy to get me to eat lunch with you?”

Their server approached with the wine and Harley held up one hand to stave off Laney’s protests until both their glasses were filled.

“Are you ready to order, Harley?” the young woman asked.

He bobbed a nod at Laney, then smiled up at the young woman. “I think we should go ahead, Kaci. Ms. Tarrington has an agenda.”

Delaney shot him a slitty-eyed glare, then promptly ordered the flounder grenoblaise—the most expensive entrée on the menu. Harley chuckled and requested a steak salad for himself. Their server faded into the darkness and Laney shot him a sharp glare.

“Come here often,
Harley
?”

“Often enough,” he said with a negligent shrug. Then he lifted his glass in a toast. “To successful negotiations?” he asked, quirking a brow in challenge.

She touched the rim of her goblet to his, but her throat felt like she’d already chewed up the glass and swallowed it. “Successful negotiations.”

After they’d both taken a sip, she placed her glass on the table, folding her hands neatly in front of her, and tilted her head at the perfect angle to convey polite interest. Her mama had trained her well. She was the epitome of well-bred Southern womanhood. And she would get what she came for. Even if she had to play his games.

“So, what would you like to talk about, if we’re not going to discuss business?” she asked primly.

“You. Me.” He shifted forward in his seat, mirroring her position. “What movies you’ve watched lately, your favorite flavor of ice cream, and whether or not we can ever get past this...this
thing
that keeps holding us back.”

“There is no us.”

“I want there to be an us.”

Suddenly, the ground glass in her stomach was replaced by heavy warmth. For a split second, Laney wondered if she might be bleeding to death internally. Could he be so clueless? Did he truly have no idea how badly he’d hurt her? How she’d wished he’d been there in those horrible days, weeks, and months she sat with her dying mother, and held her hand? Did he think she could forget how easily he’d walked away?

She looked to the side, willing the tears searing her eyes and clogging her throat to go away. When she thought she could manage it, she turned back and met his gaze directly. “I told you, I don’t have the time or the energy for this. I asked you to stop.”

“And I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You said you didn’t want flowers or presents, so I stopped sending flowers and presents. You didn’t want to fight, but I’m not the one arguing here,” he pointed out.

“You still called.”

“You didn’t say I shouldn’t.”

“I didn’t know I had to give you a list,” she shot back.

“I never said I would stop caring for you. Never once did I say I’d give up on you.” He stared deep into her eyes. “You called me, Delaney. I told you once you called, we’d be going all in.”