Fortune (33 page)

M
uttering a string of mostly self-directed oaths under his breath, Chance left the restaurant. Hunching deeper into his topcoat, he crossed the parking lot. The wind off of Lake Michigan was stiff and cold. The weather forecast called for lake-effect snow tonight, and the unusually mild fall was about to turn into a real bitch of a winter.

Dammit, what had he been thinking, coming here? Had he lost his mind? Since the day of the project meeting at Monarch's, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Skye and Griffen together. He hadn't been able to stop picturing them together.

And the picture felt dead wrong.

His thoughts ate at him, day and night, until he was certain he was going to go completely, fucking out of his mind.

So what had he done? Knowing full well he would see them together, he had come here. And he had seen plenty—them kissing and holding hands, Griffen looking at her as if he would like to swallow her whole.

Chance reached his car, unlocked it and slipped inside. He started the engine, flipped the defroster on high, then rested his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. What the hell was happening to him? He had wanted to wrench her away from Griffen and drag her out of the restaurant, caveman-style. He had wanted to warn her away from dark-haired, silver-tongued devils. He wanted her in his arms and safe.

Chance laughed, the sound angry and tight even to his own ears. He wasn't her big brother anymore. He wasn't her protector, or the champion of her honor.

Her honor? Yeah, right. That was a good one. The other day in Griffen's office, he had almost kissed her. And if he'd given in to the urge, he wouldn't have been able to stop with a simple meeting of their mouths. Oh no, he wanted her so badly, he burned with it. The thoughts he'd had about her, the fantasies, were anything but honorable or brotherly.

He wanted her for himself.

He was a complete bastard.

Chance tipped his head back and gazed up at the car ceiling. What was he doing? Trying to screw up his entire life? Trying to lose Monarch's Design and Retail, his biggest and most important account? Trying to alienate his best friend, the man who had single-handedly brought him more new business in a few months than he would have been able to earn in a few years?

Stay away from her, McCord. Keep the hell away, the farther the better.

Get used to cold showers. And to looking the other way.

A couple picking their way across the now-slippery parking lot caught his eye. He looked in their direction, realizing it was Skye and Griffen.

His adrenaline starting to pump, Chance watched as Griffen helped Skye into the passenger side of his Porsche, then went around and climbed into the driver's side. Griffen gunned the engine and then backed out of the spot.

Then Chance did something insane.

He followed them.

He had no idea where they were going—her place or his, back to the store or to another restaurant, so he stayed as close as he could without arousing Griffen's suspicions. It wasn't difficult, traffic was light and they didn't go far. Within minutes, Griffen maneuvered his Porsche into a spot in front of a rehabbed building on Fullerton.

Nice building, Chance thought, watching the two go up the short flight of steps and inside. Too nice, he would have thought, for somebody just starting out. He moved his gaze over its limestone and brick facade, taking in the oversize arched doorway and ironwork entry lights. A hell of a lot nicer than the building he lived in. A hell of a lot nicer neighborhood, too.

He narrowed his eyes as the lights in the second-floor right unit popped on. But then, maybe she wasn't the one paying the rent.

He hated the thought. It made him crazy. She was making him crazy.

And this was sick, he decided. Sitting outside her building, freezing his nuts off while he wondered what she and Griffen were doing in there. It was obsessive and pathetic.

He rested his head against the seat back and let out a frustrated breath. What did he think they were doing? The obvious, of course. Making love.

Now, there was a picture. Only the man in the picture wasn't Griffen.

Chance groaned. He cursed himself and her and Griffen. To hell with this, he thought, shoving his key back into the ignition. He was out of here.

The slam of a car door and roar of a powerful engine coming to life drew his attention. It was Griffen. And he was alone.

Chance checked his watch, a smile tugging at his mouth. Unless Griffen's nickname was Speedy, he'd been wrong. No lovemaking for Grif-boy tonight, no nookie, nothing but a few quick kisses and a lukewarm good-night.

Chance lifted his gaze to Skye's windows. He caught sight of her as she moved across one, and his heart began to thunder. Without pausing to ask himself what the hell he thought he was doing, he slammed out of the car, jogged across the street and up her steps, fat wet snowflakes clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

A couple emerged from the building just as Chance reached it. Heads pressed together, they didn't even notice him, and he caught the security door with his foot and ducked inside. He checked the mailboxes, saw that Skye was, indeed, second-floor right and climbed the flight of stairs.

He found her apartment and knocked. A dog began to bark. One that sounded more King Kong than canine.

He heard her admonish the animal; a second later the door swung open. “Griffen, I…” Her voice trailed off. “Chance?” She glanced past him, as if expecting to see Griffen or someone else in the hallway with him. “What are you doing here?”

At least he had the element of surprise on his side, he thought. But for what? He forced an easy smile. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated only a moment, then stepped aside. “Sure. Can I take your coat?”

“No. I'm not staying. I just—” He stopped because he hadn't a clue what “he had just stopped by” for. “Who's this?” he asked instead, squatting to scratch her dog's chest. The dog licked his hand, looking at him in adoration.

“That's Mr. Moo. I think he likes you.”

“Well, I like him, too.” Chance patted the animal's side firmly, then straightened. “Great dog.”

“Yeah, he is.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What are you doing here, Chance?”

He met her eyes and decided on honesty. “I don't know.”

“You don't know,” she repeated, her voice thick. “Well, isn't that just…wonderful.”

“It was an impulse.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I left the restaurant and sat in my car awhile, then I saw—” He bit the words back, knowing how they were going to sound.

“You saw what?”

“I saw you and Griffen leaving. I followed you.”

She looked completely, utterly, taken aback. He laughed hollowly. “I know it's ridiculous and obsessive, but I…I can't stop thinking about you, Skye.”

She glanced away, then back. Moo whimpered. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don't know.” He made a sound of frustration. “I just had to see you, that's all.”

Skye shook her head. “How do you expect me to respond to that?” she asked softly. “What can you possibly expect me to say?”

“I don't know.”

She looked at the floor for a moment, struggling, he could see, to collect herself. Finally, slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. He saw that she was angry. “Then
what
do you know, Chance? You come here tonight and hand me this load of…” She let the thought go, and shook her head again. “I think you should go, Chance. I want you to leave.”

He took a step closer to her. “I hate the thought of you and Griffen together. I think about you day and night.” He took another step. Then another. “The other day in Griffen's office, I wanted to kiss you. I still do. That's what I know, Skye.”

She met his eyes. Hers were bright with unshed tears. “And I still think you should go.”

“Skye—”

“Now, please.”

A part of him wanted to refuse, wanted to drag her into his arms and convince her that he was the one she wanted, not Griffen. But she was right, he had nothing to offer her. As he moved past the dog, Moo whimpered again but didn't get up. Chance bent and scratched behind his ears. The dog moved his legs as if trying to get them under him, to stand. But he couldn't seem to do it. Finally, he fell awkwardly onto his side.

Chance drew his eyebrows together and glanced over his shoulder at Skye. She was staring past him and hadn't seen the exchange. “I think there's something wrong with your dog.”

“Very funny. He was fine a minute ago.”

“I wouldn't joke about something like that. And I know he was fine a minute ago. I'm not an idiot.”

“Here, I'll show you.” She turned to her pet and clapped her hands. The dog's head snapped up. “Moo, get your leash, buddy. Go on, get your leash.”

The dog tried. But it was as if he couldn't get all four legs to work together. Finally, whimpering once more, he clawed his way upright, then tried to walk. He couldn't keep his balance, moving as if he was drunk. He lurched sideways, into a potted plant, toppling it. He took a few more wobbly steps, then his legs just seemed to slide out from under him.

Chance looked at Skye. She was white as a sheet. “Skye,” he said calmly, “call your vet. He'll have an emergency number.”

She lifted her gaze and met his eyes, hers terrified.

“I don't think we should waste a minute. Get directions to the emergency clinic. I'll get Moo down to the car.”

“But…what if the vet says that's not necessary?”

“He won't.”

For one moment, he thought she was going to fall completely apart, then she raced for the phone. Chance went to Moo and, crooning reassuringly, scooped the big animal up as best he could.

No wonder Skye loved this dog so much, Chance thought, carrying him out into the hall and down the stairs, he was a sweet animal. Even though he was in obvious discomfort and no doubt scared, he let Chance handle him, only whining in protest.

The snow was coming down harder, making it difficult to see, let alone cross the street with the huge animal in his arms. Chance made it to his car; luckily, Skye was right behind him. She ran across the street, reaching the vehicle only a second behind him. “My keys are in my coat pocket,” he said.

She dug them out, unlocked the doors and they loaded the dog into the back seat. Skye ran around to the other side and climbed in beside her dog. She stroked Moo's big head which she put in her lap and talked softly to him.

Chance slid behind the wheel and started the car. “Where are we going?”

She met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Ten blocks up, straight shot. The veterinary emergency clinic's on the right. The doctor said we couldn't miss it.”

The doctor had been right. With its big sign and brightly lit front, they spotted the clinic easily. Chance stopped the car right outside the entrance, hopped out and ran around to help Skye with the dog.

The vet was waiting. Skye begged the doctor to allow her to accompany Moo into the examining room. Her dog needed her, she said. He was scared and hurting. She couldn't leave him alone. It took some doing, but the man convinced Skye to wait by explaining that the room was small, and that she would distract him and his assistant from their work.

So, Skye waited. And paced, wringing her hands, obviously near hysteria.

“Skye,” he said quietly, “it's going to be okay. Moo's going to be okay.”

“But what if—” She pressed her lips together, as if she couldn't bear to say the words. They hung between them, anyway.

What if he's not okay? What if he dies?

“He'll be fine,” Chance said again firmly. “Just hold tight, baby. The doctor will be back out soon.”

She nodded and resumed pacing. The wait was hell. With each second that ticked past, Chance watched her confidence crumble a bit more. Finally, after thirty, excruciating minutes, the doctor returned, his expression grim.

Skye looked at the man, her heart in her eyes. “Is he…is he all right?”

“I think he's going to pull through.” The doctor slipped his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “If you had waited any longer to bring him in, it might have been too late.”

Skye paled. “I can't believe this happened. One minute he was fine and the next…”

“That's how this stuff works.”

“This stuff?” Chance crossed to stand beside Skye. He put his arm around her, and she leaned into him. “What exactly is wrong with Moo?”

The vet looked from one to the other. “I thought you knew. He was poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” Skye repeated, shocked. “But how—”

“Ethylene glycol. Antifreeze.”

“Antifreeze?” Skye shook her head, obviously confused. “But how did he get it?”