Читать книгу Back in His Bed: Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! / Unfinished Business with the Duke / How to Win the Dating War - Heidi Rice, Aimee Carson - Страница 15

“YOU know, Brenna, I don’t know if this is such a good idea.” Dianne carefully unwound a lock of Brenna’s hair from around the curling iron and the hot curl landed against Brenna’s neck.

Brenna met Di’s eyes in the mirror. Dianne shrugged and reached around her for a comb to section off another piece. Brenna sighed. “I know. I mean, me and Jack again? It’s crazy and it doesn’t make any sense at all, but I just can’t help it.”

Dianne cleared her throat. “I was actually referring to this up do. I’m not sure your hair will hold the curl.”

Brenna flushed. “Oh.”

“However,” she said, as she twisted and pinned up another lock, “if you’d like to talk about this thing with Jack, I’m certainly willing to listen.”

Brenna went back to filing her nails while she thought. Dianne didn’t say anything. Finally, unable to meet her eyes again, Brenna asked, “Do you think I’m making a mistake? Getting involved with him again?”

“Are you two involved again? I mean, are we talking about just a little temporary thing or are you thinking this might be long-term?”

Brenna tossed the file onto the vanity. “I wish I knew. This weekend was amazing. After we quit fighting, at least. It’s like all the old baggage is gone, and we’re kind of starting over.” That much was true, and the giddy, lighthearted feeling she remembered so well had her grinning so much most of her employees were giving her strange looks. If only she could shake that other, not-so-giddy feeling that sat low in her chest like a shadow of doom…

“In bed?” Dianne twisted and pinned another piece of hair into place.

“What?” She had to scramble to catch up with the conversation. “Oh. Well, that kinda is where we started from the first time.”

“And that ended well.” Dianne snorted.

“We were younger then. This time we’re actually talking, too. Ouch! Easy, there.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Hold still, okay?”

Brenna squared her shoulders. “There’s a lot to Jack—more than meets the eye—and he seems to understand me now.”

“Well, it’s good someone does.”

She made a face at the mirror. “You’re so funny. I’m not that complicated.”

“So you say. I’d say the fact you’re running off to San Francisco to hook up with a guy you couldn’t tolerate last week falls smack into the ‘beyond-screwed-up’ category.”

That same thought had occurred to her as well, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it. “So you do think this is a bad idea?”

Di shrugged and reached for the curling iron again. “I don’t know what I think. I don’t know Jack as well as you do, but I know you don’t have a history of making good decisions when it comes to him.” Her voice dropped a notch. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Me neither, she thought, then shook it off. People change. Things change. They could both learn from the past. “I’m an adult. I know what I’m getting into.”

“Do you?” Dianne stared sharply at Brenna’s reflection. “What’s changed? What’s so different about this time that will keep it from going horribly wrong?”

She’d been asking herself the same question for two days now. “We’re older. Wiser. Less volatile. We understand things better now. You saw him Saturday night. Tell me he’s not different than he used to be.”

“He does seem to be calmer than he used to. And he gets major points for playing along at taco and Scrabble night.”

“See? We were just too young to cope with the reality of a relationship. Now we’re not.”

“That’s great, Brenna. Really.” Di’s words sounded forced.

“You think I should quit while I’m ahead?”

Dianne rested her hands on Brenna’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “I just want you to be happy, Brenna. If Jack can do that, then great—I’m on board. But don’t let one fabulous weekend in bed and those flowers blind you to everything else. Use your head this time, too, okay?”

Brenna thought of the enormous arrangement of peonies and hydrangea on her desk in the office. “How’d you know about my flowers?” The flowers had arrived Monday afternoon, but Brenna had intercepted the delivery up by the entrance to the vineyard. No one had seen them arrive—or at least that was what she’d thought—and she’d stashed them where no one—Dianne specifically—should have seen them. At least Di didn’t know about the late-night phone calls…

“That’s what you pay me for, right?” Dianne pushed one more pin into the mass of Brenna’s hair and eyed it critically. “That should do it. Close your eyes.”

Brenna did, and Dianne sprayed her handiwork liberally with hairspray. Coughing, Brenna waved the mist away from her face.

“What do you think?” Di asked.

Long, loose ringlets framed her face, while the rest of her hair was up in an artfully arranged chignon. “You’re a genius, Di. Now for the dress…”

Brenna held her breath as Dianne worked the zipper. The simple black sheath hugged her curves, making her feel feminine and elegant, and the beading around the neck and hem caught the light of the afternoon sun and sparkled. She slid her feet into Dianne’s prized pair of slingbacks, and twirled in front of the mirror. “Wow,” she said to her reflection.

Dianne eyed her critically and tugged at the hem of the dress, straightening it. “Wow is right. You clean up nicely, Brenna.”

“In your clothes.” She laughed as Dianne handed her jewelry and a handbag. “I’d be going to this shindig in jeans if not for you.”

“That’s my lucky dress. It’s what I was wearing the night I met Ted.” Di collapsed into the chair Brenna had only recently occupied and smiled at the memory.

Brenna winked at her. “Sounds more like a get lucky dress. All the better.”

“You don’t need my dress to get lucky tonight. Just be careful, okay?”

“Your dress is safe. I doubt Jack will be ripping it off my body.”

Dianne stared at her evenly. “I’m not worried about the dress.”

A movement of something black outside her window caught Brenna’s attention, and she moved the curtains fully aside to check. “Jack sent a limo. He doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” She grabbed her overnight bag and shawl.

“Brenna…”

“I hear you, Di. And I will be careful. I’m not some naïve kid anymore.” She wrapped Dianne in a one-armed hug. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Have fun. You’ll be home when? Tomorrow? Friday?”

“I’ll be back by Friday for sure. Jack leaves for New York that morning. Hold down the fort for me.”

“I will.”

“Just don’t forget to check—”

“It’s under control. Go. Have fun.”

She didn’t recognize the chauffeur who took her bags and offered a hand to help her in the car, but he had a friendly smile as he introduced himself as Michael.

“And may I say how lovely you look, Miss Walsh?”

“Thank you.” She settled back against the butter-soft seats and sighed. The last time she’d been in a limo Jack had been with her. They’d been out somewhere, but left early because they were fighting again. They’d reconciled in the privacy of the back seat, and she’d knocked the decanter of Scotch to the floor with her enthusiasm. They’d been drunk off the fumes by the time they’d arrived home…

That was the story of her life with Jack. Fight. Make up. Fight. Make up. The when, the where and the what might change, but the pattern was part of the whole. Funny how she couldn’t quite remember what that fight had been about, but she could remember exactly how Jack had held her, and the things he’d whispered in her ear…

Man, it was stuffy in here. She fumbled with the air vent, directing the cool air at her heated cheeks. Di’s concerned face swam into focus. She had a point: why should this time be any different? And what, exactly, was she hoping for? A new start with Jack? Just a good time? And for how long?

Miles of vineyards flew past her window in a blur as the limo passed through the Sonoma Valley toward the city. Much more than fifty miles separated Amante Verano from San Francisco. It was a whole different world—one that she’d failed miserably to join or even enjoy the last time.

Was Dianne right? Was she walking right back into a disaster? Had this weekend been just Jack humoring her, or could he really want her—Scrabble and all—again?

It could be different, she told herself. She and Jack didn’t have any misconceptions about each other anymore. They knew where they stood, and she was a big enough girl to know when to pull the plug on this experiment. But she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try. She’d always wonder otherwise…

Belatedly, she noticed the small bouquet of flowers tucked into a vase on the bar. White orchids tied with a red ribbon, with a small envelope peeking out of the blooms. As she pulled it free she saw her name written across the front in Jack’s bold handwriting. It felt lumpy in her hand as she released the flap and pulled out the note inside.

Glad you decided to come after all. See you soon.

Jack’s initials, MJG, were scrawled in the corner, almost illegible if she hadn’t seen them a million times before. She shook the envelope and something sparkly landed in her hand.

A bracelet. No, an anklet. The sunlight, muted slightly through the tinted windows, caused the rubies set in a thin gold chain to flash. Rubies—because she’d told him once that diamonds were too cold and rubies reminded her of her wines.

Jack had a good memory. Orchids and peonies, not roses. Rubies, not diamonds. An anklet because she didn’t like bracelets because they caught on things. Little things that should have faded from his memory long ago, but touched her now simply because they hadn’t.

She propped her foot on the seat and fastened the chain around her ankle. The slowing of the car caused her to look up, and she saw the orange railings of the Golden Gate Bridge. How had she got here so fast? This really was the point of no return.

The limo crawled through the city traffic at an infuriating pace. Now that she’d made the decision, got in the car and clasped Jack’s gift around her ankle, she was eager to see him. Her heartbeat picked up as the limo pulled to a stop. But it wasn’t the multi-colored awning of Garrett Towers outside her window.

It was the concert hall.

Michael opened her door and extended a hand to her. “Don’t we need to go get Jack first?” She didn’t want to imply Michael had forgotten to stop at Garrett Towers…

“No, Miss Walsh, Mr. Garrett asked me to bring you directly here.”

“So he’s inside?”

“Mr. Garrett has been delayed in a meeting. He will meet you here shortly.” Michael extended his hand again to help her out.

She definitely didn’t want to go inside alone. “Can’t you take me back…?” She stopped as Michael’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. Of course not. That would be silly.

She was an adult; she could walk into a party by herself. More importantly, she was the owner of Amante Verano, Max’s pride and joy, and this party was in his honor. She allowed Michael to help her from the limo, and took a deep breath to steady herself as a doorman opened the massive entry doors for her.

She could do this. No problem.

She was also going to kill Jack Garrett later.

An hour later, Brenna was plotting inventive and painful ways for Jack to die as she made awkward small talk with strangers. The fake smile was starting to hurt her cheeks, and she wished she’d stuck to her earlier resolution not to come at all.

Everyone had known Max, so he was a safe and easy topic of conversation for her, but without fail the conversation would turn quickly to Max’s other interests in San Francisco—which she knew little to nothing about—and then on to people she didn’t know and places she’d never been. She had nothing to add to the conversation, and she could only ask so many questions before she began to look like some hayseed hick from the boonies.

She certainly felt like one.

A server offered her another glass of wine, and for the first time in her life she declined. The caterers had the Cabernet too cold and the Chardonnay too warm, totally ruining them both. But several people, on learning she was the vintner at Amante Verano, complimented her on the wines. One older gentleman, who owned a chain of popular restaurants across the state, seemed very interested in adding her wines to his wine list. Jack had been right about that much: this was as much a business affair as a social one. She didn’t feel bad, since it was Max’s celebration anyway and he’d be happy to see his wines’ reputation grow, but if she was making business contacts here it meant everyone else was, too, and that just felt wrong.

Escaping to the ladies’ room, she touched up her lipstick and checked to see Di’s up do was staying put. For once, Di was wrong: her hair was holding the curls just fine, and none had escaped the mass of pins she’d used to hold them in place.

She stared at herself in the mirror, oddly pleased with herself. In spite of everything, she’d handled this event just fine. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth: she, of all people, had just mingled her way into what could lead to a lucrative business contact. A small surge of pride moved through her.

She hesitated, though, before heading back out into the party proper, and glanced at her watch one last time.

Jack was now an hour and a half late. Damn it. What was keeping him?

“Excuse me. Have we met?”

Brenna turned to see a woman about her age; while her face looked vaguely familiar, she couldn’t place her. She plastered a smile on her face regardless. “Possibly. I’m Brenna Walsh, from Amante Verano Cellars.” At the woman’s blank look, she added helpfully, “Max Garrett’s vineyard?”

“Oh, you’re Jack’s ex.”

She’d known this moment would come. “Yes, that, too.”

“Is Jack here?”

“Not yet, but he is planning to come.”

“Oh, good. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.” The woman opened her purse and pulled out a lipstick.

“And you are…?” Brenna prompted.

“Libby Winston. We met years ago at another event. I think it was shortly after you and Jack got married.”

Brenna still couldn’t place her, and it must have shown on her face.

“You probably met so many of Jack’s friends, and it was so long ago…”

Embarrassed, she tried to explain. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m really bad at…”

Libby brushed the apology away. “Don’t worry about it. You were so shy and quiet. I’m not surprised you don’t remember many of Jack’s friends.” Libby smiled, but it held no warmth at all. “Everyone remembers you, of course. Jack really surprised us all, getting married like that. And we certainly weren’t expecting you, either.”

What was that supposed to mean? She tried to sound flippant. “That’s the thing about whirlwind romances. They surprise everyone.”

“Thank goodness you came to your senses, then. I never could figure out what brought you two together.”

Brenna officially no longer liked Libby Winston.

Libby’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You and Jack aren’t back together again, are you?”

Brenna nearly choked. She had a feeling Libby might be overly interested in the answer, and after Libby’s earlier comment she was tempted to say yes. But Brenna herself wasn’t even completely sure what she and Jack were right now. “Jack and I are business partners.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Technically, they still were. She hadn’t signed the sale agreement yet.

“That must be interesting, considering your past.”

“Actually, it’s working out quite well.” Thankfully her phone beeped, alerting her to an incoming text message. Jack. About damn time. “Excuse me. I need to take care of this.”

She slipped out the door before Libby could bring up any other uncomfortable subjects and read Jack’s message: “By the bar. Where are you?”

A quick glance toward the bar, and she spotted his dark head scanning the crowd. When he spotted her, she waved, and his answering smile gave her a jolt even through her ire at his tardiness.

“Bren, you look incredible.”

He leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek and she muttered through her teeth, “You’re late.”

“Unavoidable,” he whispered.

“You’re dead meat.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He pulled back, still wearing that same smile for anyone watching. Stepping back, he let his eyes roam appreciatively down her body. “You look better than incredible.”

The look sent a zing of electricity through her. Damn it, he wasn’t getting off that easy. He’d asked her to come, and she had. The least he could have done was be here. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Tugging on her hand, he pulled her close again and said quietly, “Then let me start making it up to you now.”

“What? How?” Jack was leading her behind the crowd, out a side door by the kitchen, and down a back hallway as she sputtered her questions. “Where are you taking me?”

In answer, he pushed open a door marked “Private. Rehearsal Room One.” The door closed behind them, and she heard the lock snap into place. “I apologize for being late. There was a problem with the New York property I had to sort out.”

“And you had to bring me here to apologize?” The small room held a baby grand piano and a music stand, but little else.

“No, I brought you here because I’ve missed you.” Jack sat on the piano bench and pulled her into his lap. “And this room is soundproof.”

That was all the warning she got before his mouth landed on hers.