No strings attached (20 page)

Sydney frowned, blinking rapidly, and tapped the pointed end of her pencil against her legal pad of notes. “You don’t owe us anything, Chloe. I don’t know why you would think you would.”

Now that she was being honest—with herself, with her friends—Chloe saw no need to sugarcoat the truth. She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Because all this time you’ve been putting up with a fraud.”

“Fraud?” Melanie screeched, nearly coming out of her seat and overturning her chair in the process. She righted her seat, adjusted her headset and glared. “Get real. You’re the most open, honest, tell-it-like-it-is person I know. Fraud my butt.”

Chloe closed her eyes briefly, realizing this was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought. Even painfully squeezing her fingers hadn’t kept them from going numb. “Well, okay. I’ll give you that. Personally? I am who I am. But this fashion business?”

She let the question settle and got to her feet, lifting the leather satchel from the floor by her chair as she did so. She pulled out the five binders she’d put together on her own, using feedback gained over several lunches and dinners with both Deanna and Poe.

Picking the brains of gIRL-gEAR’s gIRL and the firm’s number-one buyer had given Chloe the confidence to go forward with her plans. She was doing the right thing. And, for the first time in her life, she was going to be true to herself.

Which also meant she was going to be true to Eric. The two statements were synonymous, and it was time she accepted that fact gratefully. But first things first…

“Brace yourselves, because this is going to be a shock.”

And, hugging the binders close to her chest, Chloe told her best friends the story of her life.

She told them of being given no choice but to major in fashion design when she’d wanted nothing more than to study phys ed. She shared the news of Aidan’s unexpected visit and, with permission, of her conversation with Poe.

Leaving out the details of Poe’s modeling career, Chloe used the other woman’s pursuit of her dream as a paradigm for her own decision to change her career focus, to take what she’d learned in life and put it to use.

After all, cosmetics and accessories, for all the fun she’d had managing her product lines, would hardly make a difference in any girl’s life. Chloe wanted to make a difference. She wanted to share the riches found in following one’s heart.

“I know this is not the most conventional way to approach a change in gIRL-gEAR’s structure,” she said in closing, circling the table to distribute the binders. “But I had to see if I could come up with a halfway feasible plan before I brought it to the table. What I’ve put together is only a draft, but it should answer most of your questions.”

Sydney quickly scanned the opening page and spoke first, lifting her eyes and meeting Chloe’s gaze. “gUIDANCE gIRL? You want to set up a mentoring program?”

Having passed out the proposals, Chloe returned to stand behind her chair. Her hands anxiously gripping the chair back, she nodded. “The name is open to debate. I’m more interested in discussing the fundamentals. We have such reach, such influence. I want to do more with our celebrity than we’ve done so far.”

“Am I right in understanding that this is more than simply offering advice? Like Macy does in her column?” Lauren asked, her eyes already sparkling with enthusiasm.

That sparkle was the only affirmation Chloe needed. “Yes, exactly. Advice would be a part of it. But it’s more encompassing. I want to include career counseling and peer groups and even organized lock-ins.”

“Slumber parties?” Macy asked.

“Sure. Why not? A girl’s got to have some fun.” That said, Chloe cast a glance around the table, taking in the expression on each partner’s face as they intently read through her ideas.

Feeling the need to spread her enthusiasm, she started pacing again, circling the table and feeling five separate gazes following. “I don’t expect this to be decided today. And it’s not like I’m giving two weeks’ notice here. The entire concept will require a lot of preparation, study and development.

“But I am determined to do this. If not here at gIRL-gEAR, then wherever.” She came to a stop behind her chair once more and took a deep breath. “Which is why I’m going back to school in Septem
ber. I don’t think a degree in fashion design qualifies me for any sort of social services work.”

“What about gRAFFITI gIRL and gADGET gIRL?” Melanie asked. “You can’t mean to walk out on your babies?”

“Actually, no. I’ve covered that base as well.” She could hardly keep the grin from her face.

If they thought she was out of her mind now, wait until she told them about Poe.

C
HLOE
Z
UNIGA STEPPED
inside the doorway to Haydon’s Half Time and paid no attention to the unholy blast of noise. She was a woman on a mission, and she would not be deterred by chumps with bad manners, lame come-ons or beer breath.

It was the end of June and baseball season was in full swing. Knowing now what the sport meant to Eric, she found that the crack of the bat rang like sweet music from the big-screen TV across the room.

In light of her recent journey of self-discovery, she found it hard to believe she had ever thought it sounded otherwise, especially when she considered what a powerful driving force volleyball had been during her first seventeen years.

That she and Eric shared a love of sports, one that had started at such an early age, had to be fate. An omen that they were meant to be, that they had only been waiting for Kinsey’s cosmic forces to collide and open discovery’s doors.

During the wee hours of the night they’d made love, he’d told her about baseball. About the group of kids he’d lived with going together to games. About the family who’d raised him cheering his talent, and his
affinity for the sport consuming his life. About his dreams dashed by an injury that was nobody’s fault.

He’d told her, too, that she made him a better man. She didn’t believe it. Nothing she’d shown him or offered him could have made him a better man. She just hoped he hadn’t given up on her while she’d been working to find her own better self.

Who was she kidding? Of course he hadn’t. And she’d kick his butt to Cleveland if he had—or so she had to keep telling herself. She needed all the confidence-shoring she could get to make it through the next few minutes. Her palms had started sweating against the package she held.

She’d chosen today’s outfit as carefully as she’d chosen the one she’d worn to Haydon’s two months ago. Her goal was similar: to convince Eric he was the only man for the particular job she had in mind. Then, she’d needed him to help save her reputation. Now she needed him to accept her gratitude…and her love.

Her skirt was calf length and pencil thin; her matching cowl-neck top was sleeveless. The soft pink cashmere blend hugged her hips, snugged her waist and molded her breasts without being provocatively tight.

Her sling-back sandals left her feet bare and provided sexy peepholes for her toenails, painted in bright Pixie Passion. She’d taken special care with both hair and makeup, and even she had to admit she looked hot.

A few of Eric’s customers agreed. But she ignored the wolf whistles, the catcalls and the cries of “Oh, baby, I’ve got what you need!” Her quarry was straight ahead of her, pulling a draft beer from a tap behind the bar, wearing butt-hugging blue jeans, a
white Nike T-shirt and a red Haydon’s towel tucked into the back of his waistband. It draped so sweetly over his rear end that she ached to walk up behind him and squeeze. Oh, he was cute!

He turned and slid the mug to his customer just as she reached the bar. His eyes widened, then brightened, before a wary veil came down. She clung to the lifeline of his first reaction. Wariness was a protective response, and the least she deserved. She slipped between two stools rather than taking a seat, and clasped the package tight to her chest.

Holding himself aloof, Eric managed a neutral bartender greeting. “What’ll it be? A diet soda? A cosmopolitan?”

He wasn’t fooling her a bit and she smiled. “It’s nice to see you remember.”

He reached for the towel at his back, wiped his hands free of nothing. His expression remained overtly cautious. “I remember a lot of things.”

She could read so many of the things he remembered in his eyes. He remembered more than her walking away. But it was the pain she’d put there that gave her the courage to try and take it away. To put her pride…and her love…on the line.

“Eric, could I see you in your office? Just for a minute? I, uh, have something I’d like to give you.”

He had yet to look away from her face, but when she offered the package as proof of her claim, he glanced at it and frowned. For a minute she thought he was going to turn her down. She saw the possibility flicker in his eyes. Then he called over his shoulder, “Jason! Cover the bar. I’ll be back in a few.”

Chloe took a deep breath and stepped back from between the stools.
So far, so good.
Her knees wob
bled like rubber, but somehow she managed to follow Eric down the hallway to his office. He pushed open the door and motioned her inside.

She brushed by, purposefully touching her shoulder to his chest, feeling his heart pound as she did. He was so warm and he smelled so wonderfully familiar, and if she screwed this up she’d never forgive herself. And she’d never forgive Eric, either, for making her fall in love. She’d never known anything so scary as the possibility that she’d waited too long.

He closed the door, crossed the room to his desk, putting the huge piece of furniture between them. She wanted to jump across the wide expanse and into his arms and break down all of his barriers. She wanted to demand he give her another chance. Instead, she handed him the magazine-size package she’d wrapped in nondescript brown paper.

Reluctantly, he accepted her gift. “What is this?”

“It’s a thank-you.” She twisted her fingers together, held her hands in front of her waist. “A belated token of my appreciation for your help with my redemption.”

“You mean all that exchanging of favors we did worked? You’ve been redeemed?” A hint of amusement softened his grim features.

Her heart leaped with hope, even as she narrowed her eyes. “Very funny.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page here. I don’t want to take credit that belongs to one of your other escorts.”

“I know I hurt you, sugar. And I’m more sorry than I can say. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently, but, since I can’t…” She was so ready to grovel. “Would you please just open the package?”

For one horrible moment, she sensed his hesitation. His urge to shove back her gift unopened, a fitting revenge. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Ripping off the paper in one home run swing, he stared down at the simple black document frame.

Her heart in her throat, her fingernails drawing blood in her palms, her lungs working like a pair of bellows, Chloe waited.

And waited.

And waited, while Eric’s inscrutable gaze roved over the autographed eight-by-ten glossy photo, similar to the ones already hanging in his office gallery. Only this one wasn’t of any hometown or nationally known sports figure.

It was a portrait of Chloe herself, standing in the sand pit at Stratton Park, her back to the net, a volleyball in her hands. She wore her cross-trainers, her long denim shorts and a Haydon’s Hammers T-shirt.

And scrawled in black marker across the bottom of the photo was her autograph: “To Eric, who holds all the strings of my heart. I’m ready to play for keeps. Love, Chloe.”

It wasn’t enough, she thought. It was too little, too late. She wanted to speak, to ask, but she had no voice and her lips were quivering and Eric wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t even moving.

She shouldn’t have come. He’d told her weeks ago that their business arrangement was a done deal. She’d blown her chance of continuing their relationship on a personal level by not showing up for the volleyball game. He couldn’t forgive or forget—

He looked up. And she stopped breathing.

His eyes bright and liquid and swimming with some
powerful emotion, he moved from behind the desk and walked…away from her and toward…the couch? No, not toward the couch, but the trashcan on the floor at the end! Chloe wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to run screaming into the night.

Instead, she forced herself to watch…as Eric reached over the can to the wall behind, where his beloved photo gallery stretched.

When he removed his most prized photo of all, and tossed Anna Kournikova into the trash, Chloe choked back a strangled sound. When he reverently hung her gift in the center of the shrine, she pressed her hands against a heart too full to be contained. When he opened his arms, she ran, launching herself into them with a sob of joy and relief.

Eric caught her up and swung her around until she thought she would pass out. Dizzy, laughing giddily, she punched his shoulder. “Eric, put me down before I puke all over you.”

He slowed and let her slide down the length of his body, and since she was wearing cashmere, top and bottom, her skirt stayed bunched around her waist. She reached back to tug the material down over her rear, which was now feeling a rush of cool air. But Eric got in one good smack before she finished.

“Hey. That’s no way to treat a princess.” With Eric’s arms still wrapped around her waist, she had to push against his chest and lean back to see his face. “Especially a princess who loves you.”

He blinked hard and he smiled, and then he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her hairline for several long seconds. Her hands, trapped between their bodies, absorbed his every heartbeat. Her hair fluttered with his every raspy
breath. She watched the rhythm of his pulse in the hollow of his throat, and she flexed her fingers into his chest.

He’d understood what her gift had meant and considered it—and her—precious. She was the luckiest woman alive. Her own eyes burned with the emotion she couldn’t wait to share with this most amazing man who loved her. This man whom she loved. She sighed in contentment as Eric set her away.