Читать книгу His Chosen Wife: Antonides' Forbidden Wife / The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife / The Millionaire's Chosen Bride - Susanne James, Anne McAllister - Страница 6

“MRS. Antonides is here to see you.”

PJ Antonides’s head jerked up at the sound of his assistant, Rosie’s, voice coming from the open doorway. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hold off the headache that had been threatening all afternoon.

It had been a hellish day. Murphy’s Law had been written expressly for days like this. It was only two in the afternoon, but as far as he could see, anything that could go wrong, already had.

As the head of Antonides Marine since his brother Elias had, literally and figuratively, jumped ship two years ago, PJ was no stranger to bad days. He’d stepped into the job willingly enough, could never complain that he hadn’t known what he was getting into. He had known. And oddly he relished it.

But there were days—like today—when memories of his carefree years of Hawaiian sand and surf were all too appealing.

Mostly the good days outweighed the bad. For every disaster there was usually a bright spot. When something fell apart, something else worked out. Not today.

The supplier of sail fabric for his own design of windsurfers had rung this morning to regret that they couldn’t fulfill the order. A Japanese hardware firm who had been trying to track down a missing shipment reported cheerfully that it had never left Yokohama. And his father, Aeolus, had called to say he was flying in from Athens tonight and bringing house guests for the week.

“Ari and Sophia Cristopolous—and their daughter, Constantina. More beautiful than ever. Single. Smart. She’s dying to meet you. We are expecting you out at the house for the weekend.”

Subtle, Aeolus was not. And he never stopped trying even though he knew—PJ had told him often enough!—that there was no point.

A trickle of perspiration slid down the back of PJ’s neck.

Not that he wasn’t sweating anyway. The air-conditioning in the building hadn’t been working when they’d arrived this morning. The repairmen had left for lunch two hours ago and no one had seen them since. Everyone was sweltering in the July heat and humidity. The latest temp girl had gone home sick because she couldn’t stand the heat. An hour ago, PJ’s computer had stopped typing the letter A. Half an hour ago it had flat-out died. He was back to calculating requisitions with a pencil and paper.

The last thing he needed right now was a visit from his mother.

“Tell her I’m busy,” he said gruffly. “Wait. Tell her I’m busy but that I’ll be there Friday for dinner.”

Agreeing ahead of time to the inevitable dinner invitation—even though it meant meeting Ari and Sophia and their beautiful daughter—was a surefire way to prevent Helena Antonides from demanding to see him this afternoon.

“I don’t believe she asked,” Rosie said doubtfully.

“She will. My mother always asks.” In his thirty-two years on the planet, PJ couldn’t remember a weekend that Helena Antonides hadn’t demanded the presence of all of her children within a hundred miles. It was why he’d headed for Hawaii right after high school and hadn’t come back until two years ago.

“This isn’t your mother.”

He blinked at Rosie. “Not—?” He brightened and took a deep relieved breath. “Oh, well, if it’s Tallie—”

PJ had no problem with seeing his sister-in-law whenever she chose to drop in. His older brother Elias’s wife was still on the governing board of Antonides Marine and, as far as PJ was concerned, she was always welcome. She had good ideas, and she didn’t meddle.

She didn’t have time. While she had once been a hardworking full-time CEO, now she was a hardworking full-time mother. She and Elias had year-and-a-half-old twins: Nicholas and Garrett.

PJ brightened further at the idea that she might have brought his nephews to visit. They were a handful and a half, but he was always delighted to see them. But, he reflected, he didn’t hear the sound of anything breaking in the outer office, so he supposed she must have come alone.

No matter. He was always glad to have a visit from Tallie.

But Rosie was shaking her head. “Did you forget? Tallie and Elias and the boys are in Santorini.”

Oh, hell, yes. He’d forgotten.

Good grief! Surely it wasn’t his grandmother! Yiayia was ninety-three, for heaven’s sake.

She was hale and hearty, but she didn’t travel to Brooklyn on a momentary whim. On the contrary, since her ninetieth birthday, she had expected the world to come to her.

“Don’t tell me Yiayia is out there,” PJ muttered. But stranger things had happened. And she had been on his case recently.

“You’re old,” she’d said, shaking a disapproving finger at him last month when he’d seen her at his parents’ house on Long Island.

“I’m not old,” PJ had protested. “You’re the one who’s old!”

Yiayia had sniffed. “I already had my children. I want babies around. You will need to give me great-grandchildren.”

“You have great-grandchildren,” PJ told her firmly. “Four of them.” Besides Elias’s twins, there was Cristina’s Alex and Martha’s Edward. And Martha had another one on the way.

Yiayia had sniffed. “They are good,” she admitted. “But I want handsome babies like yourself, Petros, mou. It’s time.”

PJ knew what she meant, but resolutely he had shaken his head. “Forget it, Yiayia. Not going to happen.” Or the chances were a million to one that it would. “Forget it,” he said again.

But he could tell from her narrowed gaze and pursed lips that his grandmother hadn’t forgotten what he’d told her last year. And he began to regret sharing his plan with her. Surely she hadn’t decided to bring the battle to Brooklyn.

“Not your grandmother,” Rosie confirmed.

“I don’t know any other Mrs. Antonideses,” PJ told her irritably.

“That’s interesting,” Rosie said, looking at him speculatively, her dark eyes wide as her gaze flicked from him back through the open door toward the outer office beyond. “This one says that she’s your wife.”

“Mrs.… Antonides?”

For an instant Ally didn’t react to the name, just sat staring blindly at the magazine in her hand and tried to think of what she was going to say.

“Mrs. Antonides?” The voice was firmer, louder and made her jump.

She jerked up straight in the chair as she realized the secretary was speaking to her. “Sorry. I was just—” praying this would go well “—woolgathering,” she said, raising her brows hopefully.

The secretary was impassive. “Mr. Antonides will see you now.” But Ally thought she detected a hint of challenge in the woman’s voice.

Ally wet her lips. “Thank you.” She set down the magazine she hadn’t read a word of, gave the other woman her best hard-won cool professional smile and headed toward the open door.

Six feet of hard lean whipcord male stood behind a broad teak desk waiting for her. And not just male—a man.

The man she’d married, all grown up.

Ally took a surreptitious, careful, steadying breath. Then she swallowed, shut the door and pasted on her most cheerful smile. “Hello, PJ.”

Even though he was looking straight at her, his name on her lips seemed to startle him. He took a single step toward her, then stopped abruptly, instead shoving his hands into the pockets of navy dress-suit trousers. He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Al.” The nickname he’d always called her by. His voice was gruff.

“Alice,” she corrected firmly. “Or Ally, I guess, if you prefer.”

He didn’t respond, left the ball in her court.

Right. So be it. “Bet you’re surprised to see me,” she added with all the brightness she could muster.

One brow lifted. “Well, let’s just say, you didn’t make the short list of any Mrs. Antonideses I might have been expecting.” His tone was cool, edged with irony.

And while a part of Ally wanted to throw her arms around him, she knew better. And any hope she’d entertained that they might be able to go back to being pals was well on its way to a quick and permanent death.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she apologized quickly. “Shouldn’t have used your name, I mean. I don’t ordinarily use your name.”

“I didn’t imagine you did.” The edge again.

She let out a nervous breath. “I just … well, I didn’t know how busy you were. President. CEO.” She glanced back toward the main door where she’d seen a plaque with his name and title on it. “I thought you might not see me otherwise.”

His brows lifted. “I’m not the pope. You don’t need to request an audience.”

“Well, I didn’t know, did I?” she said with asperity, disliking being put on the defensive. “This—” she waved her hand around his elegant office with its solid teak furnishings and vast view across the East River toward Manhattan’s famous skyline “—is not exactly the ‘you’ I remember.”

It might not have been the Vatican, but it wasn’t a tiny studio apartment above Mrs. Chang’s garage, either.

PJ shrugged. “It’s been years, Al. Things change. You’ve changed. Grown up. Made a name for yourself, haven’t you?”

There was challenge in his words, and they set Ally’s teeth on edge, but she had to acknowledge the truth of them. “Yes.”

And she made herself stand still under the long, assessing gaze that took a leisurely lingering stroll up from her toes to her head, even as it made her tingle with unwanted awareness.

“Very nice.” A corner of his mouth quirked in a cool deliberate smile. “I’ve changed, too,” he added, as if she needed it pointed out.

“You own a tie.”

“Two of them.”

“And a suit.”

“For my sins.”

“You’ve done well.”

“I always did well, Al,” he said easily, coming around the desk now, letting her feel the force of his presence at even closer hand, “even when I was a beach bum.”

It was hard to imagine this man as a “beach bum,” but she knew what he meant. When she had known Peter Antonides, he had never been about the fast track, never cared about wealth and ambition. He’d only cared about living life the way he wanted—a life on the beach, doing what interested him.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I thought … I mean, I’m surprised you left it. It was what you liked. What you wanted.”

But PJ shook his head and shoved a lock of hair off his forehead as he propped a hip against the corner of his desk. “What I wanted was the freedom to be me. To get away from everyone else’s expectations but my own. I did on the beach. And I’m still free now. This is my choice. No one pushed me. I’m here because I want to be. And it doesn’t define me.” He paused, then fixed his gaze intently on her. “But I’m not the point. What about you? No, wait.” He shoved away from the desk. “Sit down.” He nodded to the armchairs by the window overlooking the East River. “I’ll get Rosie to bring us some coffee. Or would you rather have iced tea?”

She hadn’t come to sit down and be social. “I don’t need anything,” she said quickly. “I can’t stay.”

“After ten years? Well, five since I last saw you. But don’t tell me you just ‘dropped in’?” He arched a skeptical brow. “No, you didn’t, Al. You came specifically to see me. You said so. Sit down.” It wasn’t an invitation this time. It was an order. He punched the intercom. “Rosie. Can we have some iced tea, please? Thanks.”

Ally took a deep breath. He even sounded like a CEO. Brisk, no nonsense. In command. Of course he had always had those qualities, Ally realized. But he’d never been in charge of anyone but himself when she’d known him.

Reluctantly she sat. He was right, of course, she had come to see him. But she’d expected the visit to be perfunctory. And the fact that he was making it into something else—something social, something extended even by a few minutes—was undermining her plans.

It wasn’t personal, she assured herself. At least not very. And PJ didn’t care. She was sure about that. This was simply a hurdle to be jumped. One she should have jumped a long time ago.

She needed to do this, make her peace with PJ, put the past behind her. Move on.

And if doing so meant sitting down and conversing with him for a few minutes first, fine. She could do that.

It would be good for her, actually. It would prove to her that she was doing the right thing.

So she sat down, perched on the edge of one of the armchairs overlooking the East River and downtown Manhattan and tried to muster the easy casual charm she was known for.

But it was hard to be casual and polite and basically indifferent when all she really wanted to do was just feast her eyes on him.

PJ Antonides had always been drop-dead handsome in a rugged, windblown, seaswept sort of way. Not a man she’d ever imagined in a suit.

He hadn’t even worn one to their wedding. Not that it had been a formal occasion. It had been five minutes in a courthouse office, paid fees, repeated vows, scrawled signatures, after which they’d come blinking out into the sunlight—married.

Now she looked at him and tried to find the carefree young man he’d been inside this older, harder, sharper version.

His lean face wasn’t as tanned as she remembered, and the lines around his eyes were deeper. But those eyes were still the deep intense green of the jade dragon that had been her grandmother’s favorite piece. His formerly tangled dark hair was now cut reasonably short and definitely neat with very little length to tangle, though it was ruffled a bit, as if he’d recently run his fingers through it. His shoulders were broader. And though jacketless at the moment, apparently PJ really did own a suit. She could see its navy jacket tossed over the back of his chair.

He obviously owned a dress shirt, too—a narrow-striped, pale-gray-and-white one. He had its long sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms, as if, even in running a corporation, he was still willing to get down and dirty with whatever had to be done. Beneath his unbuttoned collar dangled a loosened subdued burgundy-and-gray-patterned silk tie.

Ally wondered idly if his other tie was equally conservative.

It wouldn’t matter. At twenty-two PJ Antonides had been a sexy son of a gun in board shorts with a towel slung around his neck, but at thirty-two in tropical-weight wool, an open-necked dress shirt and a half-mast tie, he was devastating.

And he made her want things she knew were not for her.

She shut her eyes against the sight.

When she opened them again it was to watch as PJ dropped easily into the chair opposite her and sat regarding her steadily from beneath hooded lids. “So, wife, where have you been?”

Wife? Well, she was his wife, of course, but she didn’t expect him to simply toss it into the conversation.

Her spine stiffened. “All over the place,” she said quickly before any tempting thoughts could lead her into disaster. “You must know that.”

He cocked his head. “Fill me in.”

She ground her teeth. “Fine. Prepare yourself to be bored. As you know, I started out in California.”

“You mean after you walked out?”

“You make it sound like I dumped you! I didn’t, and you know it! It was your idea … getting married. And you knew the reason! You offered—”

“—to marry you. Yeah, I know.” He shifted in the chair, then recited, “So you could get your grandmother’s legacy, foil your evil father and live your own life. I remember, Al.”

She pressed her lips together. “It wasn’t exactly like that.”

“It was exactly like that.”

“He wasn’t evil. Isn’t evil,” she corrected herself.

PJ shrugged. “Not what you were saying then.”

“I didn’t think he was evil then! I just … I just didn’t want him controlling my life! I told you what he was like. All ‘traditional Japanese father.’ He who must be obeyed. He thought he knew best—what I should take at university, what I should do with my life, who I should marry!”

“And you didn’t.” PJ shrugged. “So, what are you saying, that you were wrong?”

“No. Of course not. I was right. You know that. You saw me when—” But she didn’t want to go there particularly. So she started again. “I just … I understand him better now. I’m older. Wiser. And I’m back in Hawaii. I’ve been seeing him again.”

PJ raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

So Ally explained. “He had a heart attack a couple of months ago. I’ve always kept in touch with my mother’s cousin Grace. She knew. She rang me in Seattle, told me he was ill. It was serious. He could have died. And I knew I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I wanted to make peace. So I went back to Honolulu. It was the first time I’d seen him since … since …”

“Since he said you were no daughter of his?” PJ’s tone was harsh.

And Ally remembered how incensed he’d been when she’d told him what her father had said.

Now she had some perspective, understood her father better. But at the time she’d turned her back and walked away. Run away. And even now she tried not to think about the rift between them that had lasted so many years.

“Yes.” Because her father had said that. Her fingers twisted in her lap. “When I went back, I … I thought he might still act that way. Might just turn away from me. But he didn’t.” She lifted her head and smiled at the recollection. “He was glad to see me. He reached out to me. Held my hand. Asked … asked me to stay.” She blinked back the tears that always threatened when she reflected again on how close she’d come to losing her father without ever having made her peace with him. “And I have.”

“Stayed? With him?” PJ was scowling.

“Not at his house. I think he would like that, but no—” Ally shook her head “—it wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m an adult. I’m not a child anymore. I have my own apartment in downtown Honolulu. I’ve been back there since May. I did … go back to the beach and … look for you.”

His mouth twisted. “To see if I was still waiting for the perfect wave?”

“I didn’t know you’d left Hawaii altogether.”

“I can’t imagine you cared.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I went to your place, too.”

His brows rose a bit at that, but then he shrugged. “Did you?” His tone was indifferent. Clearly he didn’t care if she had or not. “There’s a high-rise there now.”

“Yes, I saw. And Mrs. Chang …?” She’d wondered about his elderly landlady.

“… went to live with her daughter before I left the island.”

“Which was a couple of years ago?”

He raised a curious brow. “I left Honolulu earlier than that. Oahu isn’t the only place with surf, you know.” He paused, and she thought he might explain where he’d been. But he only shrugged, then added, “I came back here two years ago if that’s what you mean. You’ve been doing your homework.”

“I saw an article in the Star about some former local turned billionaire—”

PJ snorted and rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. Newspaper writers like that sort of thing. Gives them a reason for living.”

“Everyone has to have a purpose.”

“Some people have better purposes than others.” He shifted in his chair. “We were launching a new windsurfer in a new venue on the island and—” he shrugged negligently “—my sister-in-law said we should promote it. Suggested I give them a local angle.”

The PJ she had known wouldn’t have done anything anyone else suggested. Apparently her surprise was evident.

“It was my choice,” he said sharply. “And look at its unforeseen consequence. I not only may have sold a few windsurfers, but my wife turns up on my doorstep.”

Back to the “wife” bit again. “Er, yes. Something we need to talk about.”

But before she could take advantage of the opening, there was a quick tap on the door and his assistant came in carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea and a plate of delectable-looking cookies.

She was completely professional and efficient, but her eyes kept darting between PJ and Ally as if she were in a minefield and either one of them might explode at any moment.

PJ didn’t seem to notice. “Thanks, Rosie.” He paused, then said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Not officially. Ally, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is Alice.”

Rosie’s eyes grew round as dinner plates. “You mean, she really is? You haven’t been joking? I mean …”

Rosie didn’t look like a woman who would be at a loss for words, but she seemed to be now. And Ally was at a bit of a loss, too, at the notion that Rosie’s surprise didn’t simply stem from her saying she was PJ’s wife.

He’d told his secretary he was married? Ally was sure she had misunderstood.

But then Rosie mustered a polite, slightly amazed smile and held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said. “At last.”

Ally blinked. At last? So PJ had spoken of her? She turned confused eyes his way.

“Rosie runs the show here,” PJ said, not addressing her confusion at all. He smiled easily at his assistant. “Hold all my calls, please. And get Ryne Murray to reschedule.”

“He’s already on his way.”

Ally began to get up. “You’re busy,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to disturb you. I can just leave—”

“Not a problem,” PJ went on, still talking to Rosie as if Ally weren’t objecting at all. “When he gets here, tell him we’ll need to get together another time. My wife and I have things to discuss.”

“We don’t, really,” Ally protested.

“And then set up a time early next week.”

“Are you listening to me? I don’t want to upset your schedule. I don’t want to upset your life. The opposite in fact! I should have called first. I don’t want—” She started toward the door, but PJ caught her arm.

“It’s all right,” he said firmly. Then he smiled at Rosie. “That will be all, thanks.” And he waited until she’d shut the door behind her before he let go of Ally’s arm and settled back into his chair again. “Sit down,” he said. “And tell all.”

But she shook her head. “What did you do that for? Why do you keep saying that?”

“Do what? Say what?” He handed her a glass of iced tea, then nodded toward the cookies. “My sister-in-law bakes them. They’re fantastic. Try one.”

“I’m not here for a tea party, PJ! Why did you introduce me as your wife? Why do you keep saying I’m your wife?”

He took a bite of one of the cookies and swallowed before he answered. “You’re the one who told her that. I just confirmed it.”

“But why? And she already knew that you were married!” It was the last thing she’d expected. She’d imagined he’d be keeping it quiet. Instead every other word out of his mouth seemed to be the W word.

“Yes. You’re my wife, so I’m married,” he said simply, and punctuated the reality by taking another bite out of a cookie.

“Yes, but—”

He wiped powdered sugar off his mouth. “You’d rather I’d call you a liar?”

“No. Of course not.” Ally sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t imagine you shouted it from the rooftops. You didn’t say anything in the article about being married,” she reminded him. “On the contrary, the article said you were dating hordes of eligible women.” She could have quoted word for word exactly what it had said, but she didn’t.

“Hordes.” PJ gave a bark of laughter. “Not quite. I escort women to business functions. Acquaintances. Friends. It’s expected.”

“But they don’t know you’re married.”

“Hell, Al, most of the time, I barely even know I’m married!”

His exasperation relieved her and swamped her with guilt at the same time. “I know,’ she said, clutching the glass tightly in both hands. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me, marrying you. We never should have. I—” she corrected herself “—never should have let you do it.”

“You didn’t ‘let’ me,” PJ retorted. “I offered. You just said yes. Anyway—” he shrugged it off “—it was no big deal.”

“It was to me.”

Marrying PJ had given her access to her grandmother’s legacy. It had allowed her the freedom to make her own choices instead of doing what her father prescribed. It had been the making of her. She owed PJ for her life as she knew it.

“Well, good,” he said gruffly. “So tell me all about it. We didn’t have much of a chance to talk … last time.”

Last time. Five years ago when she’d come back to Honolulu for an art opening, when he’d showed up with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Ally gave herself a little shake, determined not to think about that. “It was a busy time,” she said dismissively.

“So it was. You’re a household word now, I gather.”

“I’ve done all right.” She’d worked very hard, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. But she didn’t want him to think she was bragging.

“Better than, I’d say.” PJ leaned back in his chair and ticked off her accomplishments. “World renowned fabric artist. Clothing designer. International entrepreneur. Business owner. How many boutiques is it now?”

Clearly he’d done some homework, too.

“Seven,” Ally said shortly. “I just opened one in Honolulu last month.”

She had gone to California to art school after leaving Hawaii—after their marriage—and to supplement the money from her grandmother’s legacy, she’d worked in a fabric store. Always interested in art, she’d managed to put the two together rather quickly and had begun to design quilts and wall hangings that had caught the public’s eye.

From there she had branched out into clothing design and creating one-of-a-kind outfits. “Art you can wear,” she’d called it.

Now her work was featured not only in her own shops, but in galleries and even a few textile museums all over the world.

“Impressive,” PJ said now. He balanced one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I worked hard,” she said firmly. “You knew I would. You saw that I had.” Five years ago, she meant.

“I did,” he agreed, lounging back in his chair, and regarding her intently as he drawled, “And you didn’t need any more favors from me.”

Ally stiffened. But she knew that from his perspective she was the one who had been out of line. “I was rude to you that night.”

It had been the last time—the only time—she had seen PJ since the day of their marriage.

She’d come back to Honolulu for her first local public art show. It had been in the heady scary early days of her career when she certainly hadn’t been a “household name” or anything close. In fact the show itself had doubtless been premature, but she’d wanted desperately to do it, to prove to her father that she was on her way to making something of herself, and—though she’d barely admitted to herself—she’d hoped to see PJ, too, to show him that his faith in her had not been misplaced. So she’d jumped at the chance to be part of the show when another artist backed out.

She’d sent her father an invitation to the opening and had waited with nervous pride and anticipation for his arrival.

He’d never come.

But PJ had.

Looking up all of a sudden to see him there across the room, big as life and twice as gorgeous as she remembered, had knocked Ally for a loop.

She hadn’t expected to see him at all.

When she’d known she was coming back, she’d casually asked a friend who had gone to the same beach with them about where PJ was now.

May had shaken her head. “PJ? No idea. Haven’t seen him in ages. But you know surfers—they never stay. They’re always following the waves.”

So the sight of him had been a shock. As had the sight of the woman on his arm.

She was, in a blonde bombshell way, every bit as gorgeous as PJ himself. With his dark hair and tan and her platinum tresses and fair skin, the contrast between the two was eye-catching and arresting. The artist in Ally had certainly appreciated that.

The woman in her didn’t appreciate him striding up to her, all smiles, hugging her and saying cheerfully, “Hey. Look at you! You look great. And your stuff—” he let go of her to wave an arm around the gallery “—looks great, too. Amazing. I brought you a reviewer.” He’d introduced the blonde then, took her arm and pulled her forward. “This is Annie Cannavaro. She writes art reviews for the Star.”

He had not said, “This is Ally, my wife.”

In fact, he hadn’t mentioned any relationship to her at all. Not that Ally had expected him to. She knew their marriage had been for her convenience, not a lifelong commitment. He’d done her a favor.

But standing there, being introduced to the Star’s art critic, made her realize that PJ thought she needed another favor now. The very thought had made her see red. She was not still the needy girl she’d been when he married her!

He’d been perplexed at her brusqueness. But Ally had been too insecure still to accept his freely offered help.

And—a truth she acknowledged to no one, barely even to herself—seeing PJ with another woman, a far more suitable woman for him than she was, had made it a thousand times worse.

She’d been stiff and tense and had determinedly feigned indifference all the time they were there. And she’d only breathed a sigh of relief when she’d seen them go out the door. Her relief, though, had been short-lived.

Right before closing, PJ had returned. Alone.

He’d cornered her in one of the gallery rooms, demanding, “What the hell is wrong with you?” His normally easygoing smile was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d replied frostily, trying to sidestep and get around him, but he moved to block her exit.

“You know damned well what I’m talking about. So you don’t want to know me, okay. Maybe you’re too much of a hotshot now. Fine, but that’s no reason to be rude to Annie.”

“I wasn’t! I’m not—a hotshot.” Her face had burned furiously. She’d been mortified at his accusation. “I just … I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t need your help. You don’t need to keep rescuing me!”

“I’m not bloody rescuing you,” he’d snapped. “I thought you’d like the exposure. But if that’s the way you see it, fine. I’ll tell her not to write anything!”

“You can tell her what to write?” So it was true!

He’d said a rude word. “Forget it. Sorry I bothered.” He spun away and started out of the room.

But she couldn’t let him go without calling after him, “Is that all?”

He looked over his shoulder. “All? What else could there be?”

Ally’s mouth was dry. She had to force the words out. “I thought … I thought you’d be bringing the divorce papers.” She’d feared there was a quaver in her voice, but she tried not to betray it.

PJ stared at her. She met his gaze even though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“No,” he said at last, his voice flat. “I don’t have any divorce papers.”

“Oh.” And there was no accounting for the foolish shiver of relief she’d felt.

Still they’d stared at each other, and then she’d dragged in a breath and shrugged. “Fine. Well, I just thought … whenever you want one, just let me know.” She’d tried to sound blasé and indifferent.

“Yeah,” PJ said. “I’ll do that.” And he’d turned and walked away.

She hadn’t seen him again, hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t contacted him—until today.

Now she said carefully, “I apologize for that. I was still trying to find my own way. I’d depended on you enough. I didn’t want another handout.”

“Is that what it was?” There was a rough edge to his voice. The cool irony of his earlier words was past.

Their gazes locked—and held—and something seemed to arc between them like an electric current.

Or rather, Ally assured herself, more like a sparkler on the Fourth of July—bright and fizzing, ultimately insubstantial—and definitely best ignored.

Determinedly she gave her head a little shake. “I’m sure that’s what it was,” she said firmly. “I shouldn’t have done it, though. Anyway, I’ve found out who I am and what I can do. And I owe it to you. So I came to say thank you belatedly and—” she reached down and picked up the portfolio she had set by her chair and opened it just as she’d rehearsed doing “—to bring you these.”

She slid a file of papers out of the portfolio and held it out to him.

He took the file, looked at it, but didn’t open it. “What are they?”

“Divorce papers. About time, huh?” She said it quickly, then shrugged and grinned as brightly as she could, willing him to grin back at her.

He didn’t. His gaze fixed on the file in his hand, weighing it, but he didn’t say a word.

“I know I should have done it sooner,” she went on, papering over the awkward silence. “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought you’d do it. You could have had one at any time, you know. Well, almost anytime. After I turned twenty-one anyway. I told you so, remember?”

He still didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink. His face was stony, his expression unreadable. And so she babbled on, unable to help herself. “I know it’s past time. I should have taken care of it ages ago. It’s a formality really—just confirming what we already know. I don’t want anything from you, of course. No settlement, naturally. But,” she added because she’d already decided this, “if you want a share of my business, it’s yours. You’re entitled.”

“I don’t.” The words cut across hers, harsh and louder than she expected.

“Well, I wanted to offer.” She took a breath. “Okay, then it will be even easier.” She reached inside her portfolio for a pen. “In that case, all you really need to do is sign them. I can take care of the rest.”

“I don’t think so.”

The rough edge was gone now. PJ’s voice was smooth and cool, like an ocean breeze. Ally looked up, startled.

He was sitting up straight in the chair and was regarding her steadily.

“Well, of course I’ll understand if you want a lawyer to look them over.…” Still she fumbled for the pen.

“I don’t.” Still cool. Very cool.

She frowned, rattled. “Well then—” Her fingers fastened on the pen at last. She jerked it out and thrust it at him, giving him one more quick smile. “Here you go.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t take it.

And of course, she realized then, he didn’t need one. He already had a pen in his shirt pocket. She felt like an idiot as she gestured toward it. “Of course you have your own.”

But he didn’t get it out. Instead PJ dropped the papers on the table, then looked up and met her gaze squarely. “No divorce.”