Trapped in Tourist Town (15 page)

On the way back to the coffee shop, Cady passed several other eateries. Pausing at one that had the cutest little bistro tables outside, she shrugged her shoulders and went in for an application. Couldn't hurt to get a jump-start on things.

By the time she'd arrived back at their original meeting place, she had five job applications and an offer for drinks to discuss “an ideal working arrangement
.
” She'd tossed that application in the first trash bin she'd come to. Ick! She was ready to celebrate a productive and emotionally draining morning. Unfortunately, this coffee shop didn't serve Diet Coke, so she ordered a cup of hot chocolate and settled in to wait for Burke.

• • •

Pacing the downstairs lobby long enough to make himself dizzy, Burke checked the time on his phone. Five minutes after ten. Satisfied that he was officially late for their appointment, he stabbed the elevator button for the top floor. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored door, he relaxed his features until the smug smile stretching across his face had disappeared. It wouldn't do to look so happy when one was about to get chastised.

Burke stepped off the elevator and into a plush lobby. It spoke volumes that he'd never actually seen his father's place of business. Though, looking around, it was really no surprise. The pale cream chairs, larger-than-life paintings, and sculptures all screamed “Don't sit there! Don't touch that!” He felt as though he were a small child again, uncomfortable even in his own home.

An older woman looked up at him from behind a curved half-wall, her hair pulled back so severely Burke wouldn't have been surprised if she couldn't close her eyelids. She nodded her head, a polite smile ghosting her lips.

“You must be Burke. Go ahead in. He's expecting you.” She remained seated, extending a skinny arm to direct him toward a set of double doors to his right.

His footsteps made no sound as he waded across the thick carpeting toward his father's home away from home. A fresh pot of coffee brewed somewhere close by. His nose twitched, his mouth watered, and he suddenly longed to have Cady by his side as he entered his father's domain. She probably would not be pleased to know that he associated her with the smell of roasted coffee beans. Even if it was the really good stuff.

Two doors. Tempted to open them both with a flourish, making as grand an entrance as possible, he refrained. But only just. Unsure if he was supposed to knock first or just let himself in, Burke rapped lightly on the door at the same time as he turned the knob. It hadn't mattered either way, as his father was on the phone. The older man lifted a long finger, either to indicate that he'd only be another minute, or to remind Burke to hold his tongue.

Okay, then. So much for gaining the upper hand by arriving late. Burke ground his back teeth together and wandered further into the spacious corner office. Sun streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in natural light. The view was amazing, although wasted on Prescott Sanders, whose gleaming mahogany desk faced the doors and not the Manhattan skyline.

His father continued to bark into the phone, so he continued to explore his surroundings. A seating area in the corner looked only slightly more comfortable than the one he'd seen briefly in reception. Two wingback chairs in that same cream color, a thick glass coffee table, and a long, white leather couch that Burke suspected was used more for afternoon naps than meetings with clients.

On the opposite wall was a bank of bookcases, matching the desk, serving as a catch-all for knickknacks. Realizing he had a unique opportunity to gain some insight into the man whom he knew so little about, Burke began to peruse the shelves. There were plaques and trophies, several from other countries, for various hospitality industry awards. Ah, and a photo of Prescott with President Obama. Burke rolled his eyes.

The bookcase closest to the desk was the hardest to get to. He had barely enough room to slip between the furniture to examine the contents. If he didn't know better, Burke would have thought that this was because these were the items his father was fondest of, that he wanted to keep close enough to view on a daily basis, to take down off the shelf and hold. He nearly forgot that his father was still in the room, he had such an irresistible urge to snoop.

Not a speck of dust marred the polished wood. A few snow globes took center stage—swiped, no doubt, from Burke's own collection when he was a kid. He picked up the one from Anaheim. Yep, this had been his. A bitter reminder of the only time he had fought to accompany his father on a business trip. The man was opening a hotel mere steps from Disneyland, for crying out loud! But his father had insisted his school work come first.

Shoving the snow globe back in place, Burke knocked over a picture frame that sat in the middle of the shelf, hidden in the shadows. It was a photograph of a woman with long, platinum-blond hair. She sat in a meadow of daisies, cradling an infant in her lap. Burke didn't recognize her and was tempted to assume the photo was the original that came with the frame. Until his eyes lit on the next one, also hidden behind the row of snow globes. It was the same woman, her hair trimmed to just brush her shoulders. The infant was now an adorable little boy with his mother's pale hair but eyes that looked familiar. They looked like—his. Burke scrunched his nose in confusion. The child looked like him, but not.

Moving on to the next item tucked toward the back of the shelf, Burke felt a burning in his gut that intensified with each labored breath he took. A Little League trophy. He'd never been allowed to play baseball. His mother had insisted sports were too dangerous. His father was too busy to argue on his son's behalf. Or he just hadn't cared. Either way, it didn't matter. This was not his trophy.

“If you're quite through poking around in my belongings, I have a meeting with finance in twenty minutes.”

“Who's the kid?”

“Excuse me?” His father waved off the question with an impatient hand. “Your cousin. On your mother's side.”

“What's his name?” Burke's voice was careful, measured.

“Scott.”

“Clever.” He set the trophy back in place before he could be tempted to use it as a weapon.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“How old is he?”

“Who? The kid? I don't know. I guess he'd be about five years old in that picture.”

“How old is he now, Dad? Your other son? How old is the kid you actually wanted?”

His father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to stare out at the billion-dollar view laid out in front of him. He didn't look guilty, or ashamed, even. Just tired.

“This isn't what I called you here to discuss.”

“No, of course not. You called me here to discuss taking over the family business. But for how long, I wonder. Just until your namesake comes of age? Then I'd get kicked to the curb?”

God, he didn't even want the job, so why did this hurt so much? He'd come in here with his own agenda. Burke couldn't take his eyes off the fucking trophy.

“What do you want? More shares? I'm giving you the reins, Burke. It's yours now. It will always be yours.” Whatever the man had been about to add, he bit off at the end.

“Ah, that's it, then. I'm the rightful heir. The son born on the correct side of the sheets.” His short laugh was cruel.

“Just name it. Name it and be done. I shouldn't have insisted you come down here. I should have come to you. Where is your latest dalliance? Cape Cod?”

“I've already told you what I want. I want nothing to do with ... this.” Burke spun in a circle, his arms flung wide. “I want to write. I want to live a quiet life in the beautiful little town I've discovered. And now, more than anything, I want to pretend I was born into another family—any other family.”

“And just who am I supposed to get to run this company so I can retire?”

Everything suddenly became crystal clear to Burke. The reason he was being pushed to take over a position he had absolutely no formal training in, no background whatsoever. His father had another family, one that he actually wanted to spend time with. And his mother? He had a feeling that if the woman had any idea at all, she'd thrown up blinders so she wouldn't have to acknowledge the truth. If she didn't acknowledge it, it didn't exist.

“Mother deserves a divorce. Your kid deserves your name—your
last
name.”

“I didn't ask your opinion. Things are fine exactly the way they are. No sense dragging the media in and creating a circus. Your mother doesn't deserve that.”

“Yeah, it wasn't like she did anything wrong.”

“You don't know anything about my life. Don't presume to judge me!”

They faced off, father and son, Burke's expression carrying more disgust than real anger. His father was right. He didn't know him at all. And he had no desire to.

“Bottom line? I want out. You want to do something to assuage your guilt, sell off a couple of hotels and set up a cozy little trust fund. You wouldn't even miss them. I want someone else—anyone, really—to step up as CEO. I want to start my life over in my new town, with my new friends.”

He spared one last look at the Little League trophy and headed for the double doors. “I don't want to be contacted in any way, for any reason—not even a Christmas card. And you can be the one to explain to Mother why I have cut you out of my life.”

“She won't understand.” The older man's voice sounded higher than normal. Burke had no sympathy for the rising panic he detected.

“She will if you tell her the truth.”

Turning at the doors, Burke speared his father with one last hard look and added, “Oh, and I want the deed to my penthouse changed. It now belongs to a Ms. Cadence Eaton. I'll leave an address with your receptionist on where you may send the proper paperwork for her to sign.”

“Burke, wait.” His father rounded the desk and started to approach. “I'm sorry.”

“That's funny, because I'm not. You made this a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.”

The door barely made a sound as it closed behind him.

“Was he at least happy to see you?” Cady had been trying all day to get Burke to open up about the meeting with his father. He'd been trying just as hard to avoid the conversation.

He steered her away from a man selling designer purses on the sidewalk in Times Square. Okay, perhaps designer was too strong a word. She shrugged. Prickly as he was today, she appreciated him looking out for her.

“I wouldn't say so, no. He was in a hurry to get to his next meeting.”

“Well, the guy needs to slow down and appreciate what he has.” She slipped her hand into his, giving it a quick squeeze.

“That's exactly what he's trying to do.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” She looked up at Burke, the smile fading from her face when she saw that his own expression had gone from grumpy to downright pissed off.

What the hell was she missing? She didn't even dare ask how his meeting with his editor had gone. This was not how she'd envisioned their adventure in the city.

“I need to get my mind off things.” His voice was clipped. “What do you say we go all-out touristy and visit the Statue of Liberty?”

He closed his eyes, composing himself, and when he opened them he was able to smile. Just a bit. She'd take it.

“Sounds fun—if you aren't completely sick of seeing it.”

“I've never been, actually. My parents avoided the tourist spots around the city. Said they were all tacky and they wouldn't be caught dead there.”

“But surely your school took a field trip? She's an icon—Lady Liberty!”

Burke shook his head. “I didn't go to public school. I didn't even go to private school in the city. My parents shipped me off to boarding school in Connecticut.”

A shudder went through Cady at the thought of being raised in such a cold, impersonal environment. She didn't know what to say. He didn't want her pity and she didn't want to piss him off any more than he already was. Chewing her bottom lip, she concentrated on the sidewalk.

This time it was Burke who squeezed her hand, then slipped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. Uncertain, Cady peered up and was happy to see the twinkle back in his eyes. Well, if seeing the Statue of Liberty was all it took to snap him out of his funk, then she was all for it.

“I'm sorry. I was being a grouch. I owe you an explanation.” He paused, pressing his lips together as he stared intently into her eyes.

“Of course you don't. I shouldn't have pushed.”

“I want to tell you. Really. Another time.” Swinging her around, Burke waved an arm and hailed a cab. He helped her in and slid beside her, letting the driver know where they were headed.

“We'll talk about it. I promise. Right now I want to be happy. I want to see the Statue of Liberty. I want to take cheesy pictures and buy stupid souvenirs and make sappy memories with you. Is that all right?”

Relief washed through her now that he was making an effort to be happy again. And something else, too, a deeper feeling that made her slightly breathless. He didn't owe her anything, yet he'd promised to tell her what had happened that morning. He was trusting her with his feelings, with his heart. Cady knew this for the huge deal that it was.

Heart tripping in her chest, she raised her head in time to be met with a kiss that stole her breath. Burke threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape and pulled her up against his chest. Instinctually she opened her mouth, moaning as his tongue swept in and took possession. Oh, the man could kiss! Her blood heated and her muscles loosened. She looped her arms around his neck, becoming frustrated with their awkward positioning in the cramped back seat of the cab. The back seat of the cab!

With a low squeal, Cady pushed at the wall of Burke's chest. He broke off the kiss, his deep chuckle doing delicious things to her insides. His eyes were still hooded, darkened with passion. His tongue sneaked out to lick his lips and she followed the movement until it disappeared back into his mouth. She braced her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.