That New York Minute (8 page)

It was hard to imagine him in the bosom of a nurturing family. Easier to picture Garrett Calder arriving in the world fully grown, complete with cool, dark eyes, hard-planed cheeks and toned physique. People-repelling shields firmly in place. Rachel took a swig from her glass, finding the room suddenly stifling.

“If this is family, it must really bug you that Papa Tony is willing to fire you,” Garrett observed.

She sputtered on her paper-flavored water. “That’s not personal.”

“My point exactly.”

She felt as if she’d swum out of her depth.

“You should have been nicer to Adam, too.” She found firmer ground and dug her toes in. “You didn’t need to make him feel bad about your mother’s death.”

Garrett glared. “I don’t see the need to pander to his curiosity.”

“People ask because they care,” she said.

He groaned. “Not more of this family crap. My mother’s death is no one’s business but mine.”

“Are any of the versions I’ve heard true?” she asked. “The cancer, the plane crash, the malaria?”

“What part of
none of your business
don’t you understand?” Garrett growled. What was wrong with her, that she ignored the don’t-go-there signs that worked with everyone else? He’d never met a woman who needled him so much. And so effectively. She was like a terrier with a bone, and the bone was his innermost thoughts. Which like all good bones should stay buried.

“Oh, no.” Rachel had frozen in place, eyes wide, fingers pressed to her lips.

Somehow, irritatingly, Garrett knew what she was thinking. He was tempted to let her jump to wild conclusions, to make her feel bad, but doubtless it would backfire on him, as things tended, weirdly, to do with her. “Rein in that imagination, Rachel,” he ordered. “There was nothing sinister about my mom’s death.” No violence, no suicide.

She let out a breath. “Really? You’re not just being nice?”

Surely she knew him better than that. He said solemnly, “I swear. On your amazing legs.”

“Stupid question,” she scolded herself. “Garrett, the thing about juniors like Alice and Adam…” She leaned forward to make her own point, and the movement shifted her chair on its castors, causing her knee to brush momentarily against his.

Garrett edged his chair back a little.

“Will you stop doing that?” she snapped. “Do you really think getting within two feet of another person will kill you?”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. She was well within two feet, near enough for him to see individual lashes above brown eyes that sparked with annoyance. Lips that, close up, were fuller than he’d realized.

“Every time I get within your privacy shield, you retreat,” she said.

“Do I?” He thought about it, and decided she was exaggerating. “No, I don’t.”

To his shock, she grabbed his hand where it rested on the table.

“What the hell?” he said.

“It’s not so bad, connecting with other people, is it?” She curled her fingers into his palm; automatically, he splayed his fingers rigid in resistance. “It doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“Are you nuts?” He pulled back, but she hung on with sudden, she-devil strength. “You realize this is sexual harassment.” He tried her own tactic on her.

“Let’s call it therapy,” she said.

His hand in hers felt so strange, he wondered if maybe she hadn’t been exaggerating after all. His muscles tensed—all of them, it seemed—and the urge to get away, to get out of here, bordered on a physical ache. What was wrong with him?

“Let go,” he bit out, struggling to stay calm. Then he realized… “But you can’t do that, can you? You don’t know how to let go of a dud boyfriend, or a firm that doesn’t give a damn about you.”

She hissed. “Better than not knowing how to hold on to something good. Like one of your many
excellent
jobs, or the people on your team. Is there anything you hold on to, Garrett? I’d bet money you don’t have any kind of relationship with your family.”

Dammit, she did
not
get to do this. He chose who got to talk to him about personal stuff and she wasn’t on the list.

No one was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
F
G
ARRETT
WASN
’
T
CAREFUL
, he’d end up yelling. He didn’t want Rachel to know she had that much power over him.

Deliberately, he reerected the barrier she’d somehow broken through when she’d grabbed his hand.

“This is childish,” he said calmly. “I suggest you end this game now.”

“Certainly.” She matched him for calm. “Just as soon as you promise to apologize to Alice and Adam and to try harder with them from now on.”

He snorted.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she said. “You need to, if you want to win the partnership.”

“Only one thing will win the partnership—” an experimental tug of his hand failed to dislodge her grip “—no matter what Tony’s saying right now. And that’s brilliant creative.”

“That’s not true.” But she licked her lips. Those full lips.

“Worried you’re not brilliant enough?” he taunted.

Her fingers twitched around his hand. “Nope. What’s more, I know creative isn’t the only consideration. This firm values its people…and therefore my team-management skills.”

“If you’re right,” he said, “apologizing to Alice and Adam would score me points with the partners. And that would hurt your chances.”

“The thought of you out empathizing me is the least of my worries,” she said. “What matters is, those guys are your team. Some of them have been my team in the past. We’re all a part of this firm.”

“Until we’re not,” he said. “Those kids are replaceable, just like everyone else. And in a few weeks’ time, two of us will get fired. I hate to say it, Rach, but your loyalty is misguided.”

“Rach
el,
” she corrected. “And I don’t agree that people are replaceable— What are you doing?”

He’d flipped his hand within her grip, his fingers now curled around hers. Her fingers were slender, fine-boned…but surprisingly strong. The nails were painted a pale pink, a misleading suggestion of demureness.

“I’m showing you I can hold on,” Garrett said. “Now you need to show me you can let go.”

She pffed. “As soon as you promise to take a gentler approach with Alice. And be nice to Adam. He’s trying his hardest.”

He scraped his index finger across her palm. She gasped. And tightened her grip.

“Careful, Rach. Are you sure you’re brave enough to play chicken with me?” he asked.

She squared her shoulders. “I am if you are.”

“That’s generally how chicken works,” he said drily.

Who would have thought he’d be having such a bizarre battle of wits with Rachel Frye? And enjoying it so much?

They stood like that, holding hands, for maybe another half minute.

“You have sexy fingers,” he said in an attempt to creep her out.

“You have a sexy butt,” she returned.

He was pretty sure she hadn’t been looking. “Thanks,” he said. “Good to know.”

Clive stuck his head around the door. “Hey, Garrett—” He registered their clasped hands and stopped.

Rachel groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t she pulled away when she had the chance? Somehow, it had felt important to rise to Garrett’s challenge. Now it just felt stupid.

Garrett squeezed her hand hard enough to not quite hurt. She gritted her teeth and stayed put.

Clive chuckled. “Three’s a crowd, right?”

“Sorry,” Garrett said with no regret.

“I’ll catch you later.” Clive waved in farewell as he left.

“Why does he want to talk to you?” Rachel asked.

“No idea.” Garrett’s thumb traced a circle on the back of her hand. Something clenched deep inside Rachel. Her hand must have tensed, because his gaze sharpened on hers. Slowly, holding her gaze, he traced the circle again. She put every ounce of willpower into not blinking, into suppressing that response.

I am not attracted to Garrett Calder.

“Very good,” Garrett said admiringly, sending a flutter of warmth through her.

She kept her face immobile. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I wonder who’ll be the next person through that door,” he mused. “Probably Papa Tony.”

“No!” Rachel said, dismayed. Tony would hardly trust her ability to coach Garrett if he came in and found them holding hands.

To her surprise, his face softened a fraction. “Will you let go if I agree to at least pay lip service to the idea of being nice to the junior staff?”

“You mean…you’ll
pretend
to care?” she asked.

“You say
pretend,
I say
fake it,
” he said lightly.

It was a silly offer, a nonoffer. But something about holding Garrett’s hand gave the words
lip service
a whole new meaning. Rachel found her eyes drawn to his mouth, her brain following swiftly behind. Making it impossible for her to explain that lip service was not an acceptable alternative to genuine respect for his team.

Though it was a thousand percent better than what he was doing now.

Garrett caught the direction of her gaze…and for the first time since he’d started work at KBC, she felt the full effect of his smile, the real thing.

There was a sudden absence of air.

Rachel concentrated on not gasping.
This is The Shark. Don’t show weakness.
“I suppose…what you said…would be a start,” she said.

Garrett released her hand. The sudden lack of contact left her chilled, her fingers tingling. Rachel rubbed them against her skirt as he strode out of the room without looking back. As if he’d already forgotten they’d held hands for ten minutes.

Doesn’t matter.
Garrett had agreed to try harder with his team. Or to pretend to try harder.

I won,
Rachel told herself. She ignored the little voice that asked,
Are you sure about that?
Ignored the prickling in her fingers that wouldn’t let
her
forget she’d been holding hands with The Shark.

* * *

T
HE
SHORT
,
ASSERTIVE
BUZZ
of the doorbell at six o’clock on Wednesday evening told Stephanie the identity of her visitor. Her pulse jumped. She hadn’t expected him so soon—was this a good sign?

She pressed the button that would let her guest into Garrett’s building, then waited for the firm rap on the door of the condo.
Please,
she prayed, as she went to open it.

“Did you even look through the peephole?” Dwight demanded.

He knew she hadn’t; he would have been watching. Stephanie didn’t answer, just stepped aside to let him in. His service khakis, his daily office attire, suggested he’d come straight from work.

“
And
you buzzed me up without asking who I was.” He was rigid with anger, far too much anger over such a trivial thing. “I could have been a serial killer.”

“I knew it was you. I recognized your touch on the buzzer.”

He stared at her as if she was crazy. Then he turned his head away, focusing on a blank stretch of wall. Garrett really needed to decorate.

“I can’t believe you came
here,
” he said.

Stephanie had texted him her whereabouts on Monday night so he wouldn’t worry. And so he would know where to find her. She hadn’t expected him to pursue her so soon. He was more the type to let her cool her heels.

“I wasn’t sure Garrett would let me stay,” she admitted.

Dwight snorted. “He’d do anything to annoy me.”

She didn’t doubt that was part of Garrett’s rationale, but she believed there was also something less bitter, some buried seam of tenderness inside her stepson. She was counting on uncovering it. “It was kind of him. I’d have been forced to find a hotel otherwise.”

“You have a perfectly good home in New London,” Dwight said. “You have. Me.”

The hesitation jolted her. For half a second, he’d sounded vulnerable.

“I can’t come back until things change, Dwight,” she said.

“I still don’t understand why you left. Your note made no sense.”

If he hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to tell him the past few months, it was unlikely he’d suddenly get it now. Maybe if she’d said it a few years ago…but it wasn’t until she’d had some bleeding in her first trimester, and the doctor had told them to abstain from intercourse for a couple of months, that she’d realized their excellent sex life had been masking other problems. That every other aspect of their marriage was unsatisfactory.

She’d always known Dwight could be too
commanding;
it was a by-product of his job. But his desire for her had always balanced the power between them. With sex off the table, she’d discovered how uncompromising he could be, how little he was prepared to give emotionally. The warrior in him, without the moderating influence of the lover, demanded total surrender.

“I don’t want this baby to feel as if doing things your way is the only way to be good enough for you. To never know your unconditional love.” She perched on an armchair. “I don’t want our child to leave us and never speak to us, like Garrett. Though I’m not blaming you for all of that,” she said quickly. She did blame Dwight for most of it. But Garrett was far from perfect—too stubborn, like his father—and Stephanie herself had made some mistakes in those early years.

“I’ve told you I’m willing to. Do things differently,” he said. “I meant that.”

“But I don’t believe you can,” she said. “Unless you want to change with your own heart, not just because I want you to, it won’t happen.”

“This mumbo jumbo psychobabble is meaningless,” he said. “Stephanie, you’re pregnant and it’s playing havoc with your brain. The car’s downstairs—collect your things, I’m taking you home.”

It was an order from the Admiral.

Funny how she’d got used to obeying him without realizing that was what she was doing. He was sixteen years older than she was, and when they’d married, she’d assumed he knew best about most things. They’d become entrenched in this pattern, where he gave orders and she followed them. Stephanie swallowed. “No.”

Dwight reddened. “If you expect me to wait while you get over this tantrum, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

He’d always described Garrett’s behavior as a “tantrum,” too. Who knew Stephanie would share this bond with her difficult stepson?

“Did you ever love me?” she asked, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t have asked. Because if the answer was no, he wouldn’t lie.

He turned almost purple. “Of course I did. I do. And I’ll love our baby.”

She let out a breath of relief. He meant it…as far as he
could
mean it. Which was better than nothing. But he didn’t know the love she meant. The kind of consuming love that would make you go against all good sense and do anything to be with that person. As she had, marrying a man so much older than her, a man fresh from the loss of his first wife. His character had been stamped on his rugged face. She’d known he would be faithful. He would protect her with his life. Powerful factors in themselves. But even more than that, she’d been giddy with the excitement of having this strong, honorable man wanting her so much he’d trembled in her arms.

Yet when he’d proposed, she’d hesitated. And he’d said, “I won’t ask you again.” She’d loved him too much to let him get away.

“I love you, too,” she said. “More than you know. But having this baby has made me realize I can’t live with you. Not the way we’ve always been.” She paused. “Dwight, I need to be able to do things my way without being afraid of losing your love.”

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You have medical appointments…did you think about that?”

“I can get to my doctor more easily from here than from home.” She’d chosen an obstetrician on the Upper East Side in order to be close to Dwight’s office, if he wanted to attend appointments with her. But he was too old-school for that—his halfhearted agreement to attend was nearly always superseded by some important meeting.

“We have the admiralty dinner in Annapolis this weekend,” he reminded her. “I expect my wife to accompany me.”

She’d forgotten about the event that was the highlight of Dwight’s year. Momentarily, she wavered. “You can go without me.”

“And what do I tell people?” he demanded.

So this was why he’d come running so fast. Not because he missed her desperately. Although she knew Dwight was too self-contained, too disciplined for desperation, it stung.

“Tell them…tell them Garrett needed me so I stayed in New York with him,” she said.

“But that’s not true.” He was the most honest man she knew. If their marriage wasn’t working, it wasn’t because Dwight had pretended to be anything other than he was. It was because she’d refused to face their differences.

She thought about Garrett and the walls he’d built around himself. “Maybe it
is
true.”