Читать книгу Little Secrets: Holiday Baby Bombshell - Karen Booth, Karen Booth - Страница 9

Two

Michael did not like to go into meetings unprepared, but he did love a challenge. He first saw Charlotte only in profile, her long, golden-blond hair framing her rosy cheeks, full lips and adorable chin. She sat straight as a pin in a dark purple jacket and black skirt, poised on the edge of her seat. That was Charlotte. Beautiful, but always on the edge. She turned toward him, her vivid blue eyes immediately putting him on notice. She was still angry. He not only saw it, he felt it, as if her eyes were slicing right into him.

It was pretty hot.

Just seeing her brought back the day they first met seven or eight months ago, when she’d come to interview for a position in his agency. She’d been professional and polished, but her résumé was thin. As they talked, he became more and more enchanted by her as a woman, but he knew she wasn’t cutthroat enough to work for him. She smiled so easily, almost as if she couldn’t help it. She laughed in much the same, affable manner. She was clearly beguiling, but he couldn’t see her playing hardball in a negotiation, or putting up with an ultrademanding billionaire client. He’d told her as much. That hadn’t gone over well. In fact, she’d argued with him about it, giving him that first vision of the fire behind those eyes. In the end, she didn’t get the job she wanted, but he called her a few weeks later anyway. He asked her out and she said no, but then she started peppering him with questions about real estate, and the next thing he knew, they’d been on the phone for an hour, the conversation ultimately drifting to more personal topics. Three or four more marathon calls after that, he asked her out again, and that time she said yes. The rest—all three months of it—was history.

“Michael, hello.” Charlotte’s words were polite enough, but the tenor of her voice was rigid. She’d never taken that tone with him before, not even when she left. That day, she’d only had tears and gasping breaths. Crying was one of his weak spots when it came to relationships. He never knew what to say. So he often didn’t say much of anything.

“Charlotte. It’s nice to see you.” He reached out to shake her hand and it was clear she was thinking twice about it. When she finally reciprocated, she was quick to retreat, but even a lightning-fast brush of her skin against his brought back memories of just how white-hot their connection had been. Charlotte might be a handful, but that was also the reason she was impossible to forget.

She folded her hands in her lap as Michael took the open chair next to her and Sawyer sat behind his desk. Michael’s full attention needed to be on Sawyer at this moment, but he had to steal a glance at Charlotte’s legs as she crossed them and sat even straighter. She was wearing jet-black heels today, and he would’ve been a fool not to take his chance to admire her, while his mind flashed to what the rest of her looked like naked as she did the simplest of things, like padding from his bed to the bathroom and back.

“Michael, the reason I’ve asked Charlotte to sit in on this meeting is because I’ve decided to make a change with the Grand Legacy condos. I’m giving half of the listings to Charlotte.”

Michael always did everything he could to keep his cool in a business meeting, but he did not like surprises. Not at the last minute. “You’re what?” His voice betrayed him. The anger was apparent and quite possibly too strong, but as far as he was concerned, he had every right to be mad. He glanced over at Charlotte, only to see her fighting back a smile. He knew that look—the corners of her plump lips twitching while she was trying everything she could not to laugh.

Sawyer held up his hands in defense. “I know this is a surprise, and it’s not the way I like to do business, but the timing just wasn’t right on this one. You were already on your way here when Charlotte and I talked about it this morning.”

“You do realize I can sell those units ten times faster than she can, right?”

Charlotte’s hair whipped through the air when she turned to Michael. “Excuse me?” She was no longer close to smiling. Her mouth was slack and gaping with disbelief.

“It’s the truth.” Michael shrugged and sat back in his chair, reminding himself to stay cool and calm, however angry he might be.

“Look, I hear what you’re saying,” Sawyer said. “You’re a rock star of an agent. There’s no denying that.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“But Charlotte is family,” Sawyer continued. “And she brings some unique qualities to the table that, quite honestly, I hadn’t considered and no one else has.”

“Like what, exactly?” Michael couldn’t imagine that anyone had a talent that he didn’t possess. If he was lacking in some way, it had yet to materialize in his life in a formidable way. If he didn’t know how to do something, he learned. Quickly.

Charlotte huffed and shook her head. “I have a history with the hotel. I know it almost as well as Sawyer. And I have the Locke name. That counts for something.”

She had him on that. “I can always introduce a client to your brother, Charlotte, if they want to meet a member of the Locke family. Of course, at that point, the only name they’ll truly care about is mine. They’ll get experience with me. How many properties have you even sold since you became an agent?”

“I didn’t come here to share my résumé with you. Sawyer doesn’t care about that.”

“It’s not that I don’t care about it. I’m simply willing to see past it in order to make a compromise,” Sawyer said.

So that’s what this was. A compromise. Michael was not a fan. “Sawyer, I have buyers lined up. It’s just a matter of giving me the go-ahead, and I can start showing units later today.”

“I already have a buyer for one unit in the building and she’s ready to make a full price offer today,” Charlotte piped up.

Michael had plenty of potential buyers and other interested agents on the line already, but no one had seen the condos yet. Sawyer had kept everything under lock and key. “She’s bluffing.”

Charlotte turned, narrowing her vision on Michael. Her jaw tensed. He could only imagine what was going through that gorgeous head of hers. Murderous thoughts, probably. “I’m not bluffing. I don’t need to bluff.”

“Then where is this mysterious buyer?”

“You’re looking at her.” She thrust her chin into the air.

Michael laughed and shook his head at the irony. “You sure you want to do that? You might not like your first neighbor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Michael gave me a verbal offer on a unit for himself a few weeks ago,” Sawyer said.

“I’m dying to get into the hotel. It’s so much closer to my office. My commute takes way too much time.”

“Are you serious?” Charlotte asked.

“The more important question is, are you serious?” Sawyer asked. “It’s a big commitment.”

Charlotte twisted her lips tightly. “Yes, I’m serious. I need a place to live. I gave up my apartment when I went to England. I’m already living and working out of the hotel. I can quite literally do a showing at any time, day or night. And these apartments will be the only thing I’m working on. You’ll have my undivided attention, unlike with another agent, who might be such a hotshot that he’s juggling hundreds of properties.”

“She might have you there,” Sawyer said. “You can’t deny that’s a compelling argument for her half of the listings.”

Michael had a long string of counterarguments cued up in his head, but the reality was that Charlotte was Sawyer’s sister. In Michael’s experience, family won out over nearly everything. Sometimes, it even won out over money. Michael needed to focus on his long game, especially with Gabe Underwood on his heels. Sawyer Locke and his brother, Noah, were quickly becoming some of the most prominent real-estate developers in the city. The sooner Michael aligned himself with them, and elbowed Gabe out of the picture, the better. That meant playing ball.

“I’d never want to get in the way of family,” Michael said. “I understand it’s important you give your sister this opportunity.”

“Thank you,” Sawyer replied earnestly. “I really appreciate it. Truly. I owe you one.”

Music to Michael’s ears. “Happy to do it.”

“We can get the paperwork in line later today and be on our way.” Sawyer rose from his seat. “I’m ready to get these sold. It’s one of the final pieces of the puzzle for the Grand Legacy.”

“I’m so excited to work together. Thank you so much for the chance,” Charlotte said, embracing her brother. That was the reason Michael hadn’t stood a chance when he walked into this room. Family bonds were always the strongest.

Sawyer walked them into the lobby, but didn’t have time for long goodbyes, as his admin let him know he had a call. Charlotte was putting on her coat. Purely out of habit, Michael lifted the empty sleeve for her. She yanked it from his hand. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

“I’ll go down with you.”

“I’m taking the stairs.”

“Me, too.”

“Suit yourself.” Charlotte held on to both railings as she descended the stairs, preventing Michael from walking next to her.

He stopped her when they reached the lobby. “Charlotte, hold up for a second.” He grasped her arm, but dropped his grip immediately when he saw the disdain on her face. “You gave up your apartment when you went to England? Were you planning on staying?” The timing still seemed odd to him. She’d dumped him, disappeared from his life altogether, and then he’d heard from a friend that she’d run off to Europe without saying goodbye to anyone.

“I didn’t know how long I was going to be in London, but my lease was up, so I just put my stuff in storage and left.”

Michael shrugged. “Must be nice. Running off at the drop of a hat, no responsibilities to tie you down.”

“I was regrouping. And spending time with my aunt.”

Regrouping. Michael wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew very well that it was Charlotte’s inclination to leave when she had a problem. “You know, you can’t run away every time you hit a rough patch. My dad practically drilled that into my head.”

“You can stop right there, okay? You don’t even know why I went to England. Don’t assume.”

“So tell me.”

“Um, let me think.” She set her finger against her temple. “No.”

Good God, she was stubborn. “All I’m saying is that you have to keep going when things get tough. This was a problem when we were together. You were always letting the little things get to you. And you were always coming to me with your problems, expecting me to fix everything.”

Charlotte nearly blew steam out of her nostrils. “First off, I don’t remember asking for your sage life advice. And second, you have a lot to learn about women. I never wanted you to solve my problems. I wanted you to listen.”

The biting tone she’d taken gave him pause. But only for a second. “Fine, then. I’m listening. Tell me why you went to England.”

She glared at him. “It’s a little late for listening. Goodbye, Michael.” She opened the building door with a shove.

Charlotte. Always the drama queen.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “I forgot to have Lily call me a car.”

Michael followed her as she shuffled to the curb. “Do you want me to do it? Or I’ll call Lily.”

She rifled through her handbag, hunched over it while resting it on her leg. “No. I’m fine taking a taxi.”

“Then let me give you a ride. I have my car. It’s cold out here. You’ll freeze.”

He took a step toward her and she shot him another one of her piercing looks. Her breaths left her lips in puffs of white and her cheeks began to turn bright pink. “I like the cold.”

“No, you don’t. You hate it.”

“You think you know me, Michael. But you don’t. You never took the time.”

Clearly, they were having two separate conversations. He didn’t have the patience for more of her thinly veiled innuendos about his personal shortcomings. “Okay, then. Have a nice day.” He turned and headed for the parking garage.

“I hope you have the worst day ever!” she called back.

Fine. Be like that.

He trudged around the corner and retrieved his car. When he pulled out of the lot, Charlotte was still standing on the sidewalk, looking for a cab. A heavy sigh left his throat. It would be easiest to turn on his blinker, take a right turn and leave Charlotte to fend for herself. But there was this little voice inside him, a voice he normally ignored, suggesting that he might have a few things to make up for, even if he might never know his actual past transgressions because Charlotte spoke in secret code most of the time.

He rolled down his window and the icy air rushed inside. “Charlotte. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

“A cab will come along any minute now,” she replied, not looking at him.

The street was dead. You’d have more luck if you walked over to Seventh Avenue. “I’ll turn on your heated seat.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. That flash of her blue eyes was still pretty damn potent from this distance. “Fine.”

Shoulders bunched up around her ears, she hurried around to the passenger side as Michael rolled up his window. The instant she climbed inside and closed the door, her sweet vanilla scent hit his nose. Her presence was impossible to ignore in the confines of the car. It sent a powerful wave of recognition through his body. Even with her prickly attitude toward him, if she said she wanted him, he’d go so far as to blow off work for an hour. He never did that for anyone.

“You have to promise you’ll drive carefully.” She rubbed her hands together in front of the vents. Without asking permission, she reached over and cranked up the heat.

“Charlotte, you know me. There is no such thing as careful.”

* * *

Charlotte’s heart was beating so fiercely, it didn’t even faze her when Michael laid on the horn and yelled at the car in front of him. Everything was getting to her right now, like having the air sucked out of her triumphant announcement that she was going to buy an apartment, only to learn from Michael that he’d made an offer to Sawyer weeks ago. It was bad enough that he’d never said a thing while they were together about cooking up a deal with her brother to sell the Grand Legacy units. It was the perfect illustration of the divide between Michael and Charlotte. A normal couple, a real couple, would have discussed such things.

She felt like such a fool, but she had to go through with buying the unit. Her brother knew Charlotte as the woman who made bold, sweeping promises and later changed her mind. Plus, she couldn’t stand the thought of Michael being one sale ahead of her.

“Dude. You’re killing me with this.” Michael jammed the heel of his hand into the car horn again. “Just go.”

“See? This is why I didn’t want a ride from you. It’s more relaxing having a complete stranger take me somewhere.”

Michael zipped into the next lane without using a blinker or even looking. “You’re in excellent hands.”

She slumped back in her seat, unable to ignore the conflicted feelings pinging back and forth between her head and her heart. She hated Michael. Or at least she was trying very hard to. Every logical brain cell in her head knew the reason why—she’d tried harder with him than she had with any other guy, and she still wasn’t enough. So why was there some fragment of her that was happy to be in the car with him, even when she also despised his driving? Who had decided that this irrational part of her brain, hopelessly turned on by the vision of his hand wrapped around the gearshift, should have a voice?

She’d spent an awful lot of time during those five weeks in England talking with Aunt Fran about Michael, about the differences between men and women, heartache and the ways in which Charlotte was regularly sabotaging herself. It was good to be open and optimistic, Fran had said, but it wasn’t so smart to dive in headfirst every single time. Well, she hadn’t quite put it that way. Her exact wording was, Charlotte, stop picking out your children’s names on the first date. Call it what you will—jumping the gun. Running away with the circus. Going overboard. It was Charlotte’s greatest inclination. She knew this about herself.

By all reports, she’d been that way since she was a little girl. Her brothers teased her mercilessly about her endless string of crushes, all of which she’d been stupid enough to identify by name, starting at the age of four with the first boy she ever kissed, Darren Willingham, on the playground in preschool. As the story went, Charlotte had announced her engagement to be married to the unwitting Darren at the dinner table that night. She had no way of knowing if Sawyer and Noah were making up the part of the story where Charlotte produced crayon drawings of her wedding dress, the flowers and the church. The only other witness to the conversation had been their mother, and she’d passed away before Charlotte could ever ask her about it.

Despite the regular razzing from Sawyer and Noah, Charlotte remained undeterred on her quest for love. By the time she was sixteen, she’d figured out that the affection she wasn’t getting at home was easily obtained by sneaking out of the house, taking the train into the city and partying all night. It wasn’t love, but it was an acceptable substitute, and after a few drinks obtained with a fake ID, a handsome guy flirting with her on the dance floor, wanting to kiss her and hold her and take her home, it sure started to feel like something real. Love had always been Charlotte’s drug of choice. She’d wanted it more from Michael than she’d wanted it from any other man.

What a shame she’d invested so much time and effort into the Michael project. She’d killed herself trying to be the perfect girlfriend, making him meals that took hours to prepare because everyone knew what a horrible cook she was. She’d tried to get him to open up about work problems—she could see how stressed he was—but he wasn’t big on talking about any of it. Charlotte had been so sure that whatever was wrong, she could make it better. None of her efforts seemed to make much of an impression on him. Maybe it was because he was used to women fawning all over him. Even if that was the case, it still hurt. Of course, cooking and listening had become the least of her worries when she’d finally decided that the best approach with him was a direct one.

She’d planned a romantic evening at his place, bought a gorgeous silk nightgown and had his favorite meal brought in. They’d had dinner that night, they’d made love and Charlotte had waited for the perfect moment to confess her love to Michael. They were curled up in his bed, warm under the covers, lips inches apart. She was just about to profess her love for him when she was preempted by Michael’s own confession. He was getting the impression that she wanted a lot more out of their relationship than he was equipped to give. He was too busy for a real girlfriend. It never worked out. Of course. It never worked out for Charlotte, either, just for different reasons.

“So? What’s your plan?” Michael asked.

If only he knew the true breadth of that question. Her hand instinctively rested on her lower belly. She had a lot to plan for, and a lot to accomplish. It all scared the crap out of her, especially the notion of telling Michael. If he’d managed to anticipate and fend off “I love you,” there was zero chance he was up for the challenge of a child. Even so, the baby seemed like the one truly bright spot on her horizon. Motherhood was going to be a lot of work, and she was in no way confident she was up to the task, but she liked the idea of finally having a deserving vessel for the love she was so eager to give. “My plan?”

“Yes. For selling your half of the apartments.”

She wasn’t aware she needed a plan outside of getting out her address book and calling her contacts, starting with the wealthiest ones. “I don’t really feel like I should share my strategy with you.”

“So you don’t have one.”

He was so arrogant it made her want to scream. And kiss him. Again, confusing. “That’s not true. My plans are just more fluid than yours are. It’s called being flexible and thinking on your toes. You should try it sometime.”

He shook his head, his signature dismissive move. “Being flexible isn’t a strategy, it’s a coping mechanism. You sell with a strategy. That’s the name of the game in real estate. Sell, sell, sell.”

Blah, blah, blah. If only he knew that his little lecture on business was like rubbing salt in the wound. She didn’t need constant reminders of how he lived and breathed his job. She was collateral damage from the importance of Michael’s career.

“You know,” he continued, “if you need some help networking, I host a party every year on December twenty-third. I invite other agents, potential clients. Usually some pretty big hitters. I always get a great turnout. I think people enjoy avoiding their families at the holidays.”

“Is that what you do? Avoid your family at Christmas?” Michael had never talked about his family when they were a couple, however hard she’d tried to get him to do it. She didn’t know anything more than he had a brother, and parents who he’d hinted were perfectionists.

“You might say that.”

She didn’t want to take his help, but it might be good to keep her options open. “I’ll think about it.”

Michael pulled up in front of the Grand Legacy and put the car in Park.

“It really is a beautiful building.” Michael rested his hand on the center console, leaning over her and peering up at the building. He was so close, she could practically count the hairs in his perfectly tended stubble. She had once loved to hold on to his face right before he kissed her. He had no idea, but it was her way of reminding herself that Michael Kelly actually wanted to make out with her. The man was an Olympian, as shrewd a businessman as there ever was and the finest male specimen she’d had the good fortune to take to bed. She’d wanted to mark the moment and thank the universe.

But that was in the past. And today was all about her future, as well as that of the baby, the two of them on their own. “It is. I love it. I absolutely love it. Which is why I’m going to sell my units before you do. I simply care more.” She reached for the door handle.

“Are you challenging me to a race?”

“No,” she scoffed, even though she knew very well that she would take extreme glee in selling her apartments before him. She might be forced to take out a full-page ad in the New York Times, or at least go to his office, blow raspberries at him and say, “I told you so” a few hundred times. “I’m a grown-up. I’m not racing you.”

“Right. I mean, how would we even decide what the prize is?” He bounced his eyebrows at her, his voice so low and husky that she worried she might pass out and knock her head into the dashboard.

“You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

“Or I can just tell myself it’s a race. To stay motivated.”

“What? You can’t do that. You need someone else to race you. I refuse to be that person.” Except I already am that person.

“I’m pretty sure I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” It would be just like him to do this. The doorman appeared and opened Charlotte’s car door. “I’m going now.”

“You’re welcome for the ride, neighbor. Oh, and by the way, we’re totally having a race.”

Fine. I’ll just have to figure out a way to beat your sorry butt.