It was a dick move, but I knew Beatrice, and in my heart I knew she was never going to let us go together. I was pretty sure Billy felt bad for me because she asked me to come over, and did my hair and makeup. Of course I wasn’t going to waste my mom’s hard-earned money on a makeover. I was going stag—
As she was curling my hair, Billy told me not to be upset. “Mom controls everything. You know that. And if she doesn’t get her way, she finds a work-around way to get it. Every single time.”
That comment stuck somewhere in the recesses of my brain. There shouldn’t have been any question. I’d lose my job.
“…see you tomorrow,” I told Val on the phone before hanging up.
Checking my phone, I saw it was inching toward five o’clock. Looking out the window, where the sun was still shining in the sky, I couldn’t help but smile. Summer was underway, and I loved the longer summer days, especially since my desk now faced a window, and I could take long walks or runs at the end of the day. Runs where I desperately tried to derail my thoughts from running away…to him.
Not allowing myself to gothere, I confirmed the information in my calendar for tomorrow before I opened my presentation and reviewed the details. I was speaking at a conference at the university where Val worked, onFundraising Dos and Don’ts. She’d booked the gig with me while I was still in transition. And I didn’t want to agree to it, but Val forced the issue. She’d insisted I had the expertise; it didn’t matter I didn’t have the job.
Now, my current boss was pleased with the publicity it was bringing to our upcoming charity walk. I’d signed up several teams of college students and professors as walkers. Connecting with donors at a young age was crucial, especially with the early fall gala coming. Volunteers were a huge commodity.
When I’d been let go from the hospital, I wasn’t shocked. I’d committed a cardinal sin—I’d gone against Beatrice Conway. I knew it was coming the minute she spied me at the memorial. My former boss offering to find me a soft landing was what ultimately shocked the hell out of me.
He’d called me late in the afternoon on my last day and was more transparent than I’d believed he had in him. Apparently he didn’t enjoy being bossed around by Beatrice and wanted to “stick it to her.” His words, not mine. Beatrice thought I’d flounder around the area looking for work, but I’d secured an amazing job at the Breast Cancer Foundation thanks to my former boss. I oversaw national development and worked from home. I’d been given a fair amount of authority which, quite frankly, I’d earned.
Looking around, I was pleased with how I’d converted my spare bedroom into an office, especially finding a desk to fit in the bay window. Maybe I’d get a dog now that I was home, except when I met with donors.
Shoving that idea away, I went back to my presentation. It wasn’t until I took a break and looked up that I saw a town car pull out front. It stopped across the street and idled for a beat before the back door swung open. Wondering if Beatrice had come back to haunt me, I was shocked to see Ford Conway exiting the car, waving the driver to get back in. I imagined him saying something about how he could open his own doors but following it up with how appreciative he was. In my mind, I heard his authoritative yet gentle voice instead of wondering why he was crossing the street to my place. As always, his haphazardly stylish look led to a flurry of butterflies in my stomach and my throat going dry. Looking down at my work-from-home wear—sleeveless ivory blouse on top and camo leggings on the bottom—I wondered if he’d go away as the doorbell rang.
My legs wouldn’t move. My butt was glued in my seat.
Why is he here?
I hadn’t spoken to him and hadn’t planned on ever seeing him again. I was going to be the old lady with all the cats—without the cats.
I ran a hand through my loose waves, and realized he’d think the change was for him…and then the pounding started.
“I know you’re there,” he bellowed, accompanying his furious pounds.
I could hear him on the second floor of my house and realized my neighbors could hear him too. This got me moving.
Racing down the stairs, I hoped opening the door would get him to quiet down and then I could ask him to leave. Except it didn’t work out as planned because as soon as I opened the door, Ford Conway busted inside, yelling, “What the fuck, James? What the ever-loving fuck? Why didn’t you call me? Tell me what she did? I had to go to the hospital and hear you’re gone? You made me look like an absolutely callous…idiot.” He paced while he vented. Long gone was the gentleman from below the Mason-Dixon line. Noma’amornice to see you. No staring at my eyes or my birthmark.
I finally found my voice. “Is that why you’re upset? Because you look like an idiot?”
He closed in on me, my back to the wall, his arms on either side of my face. “Is that what you think I’m furious over? Yeah, I looked like an idiot. But first off, you should have told me and I could have helped. Been there for you.” At least he whispered as he spat out the last part, realizing that had not been his strongest suit until now.
He seemed to have exhausted himself of the yelling, staring right at me, seemingly not noticing my mismatched outfit or—
“You’re back to red, Red.”
Well, there went that. He noticed. His words still hushed, he moved a hand to my head and brushed his fingers through my hair before his mouth collided with mine.
I didn’t want him to stop. Of course, I knew he should stop or apologize first. I should want him to stop. But when it came to this stubborn male, I couldn’t be helped.
With my back still against the wall, Ford’s hands tangled in my natural red hair, I succumbed to the one addiction no amount of self-talk helped me to kick. His mouth continued to work me over, assaulting every one of my senses. His masculine smell and wild hair were a deadly combo. My fingers combed through the side of his hair where gray peppered the blond. Only someone who was as close as I was would notice, but it was sexy nonetheless. His tongue entered my mouth, tasting like mint and coffee.
Then I heard him mumbling, “Fuck, Red, I missed you.”
He chanted it like a mantra, holding his lips within an inch of mine. He pressed a hard, closed-mouthed kiss on me, sealing some deal I didn’t know the details of, but I was too high to care. No matter how many times Ford Conway exited my life, I was tapping a clean vein when he walked back in.
“You ran,” he said, breaking free from me.
“Actually, you were the one who ran back to California. You ignored me for the last week you were here before running. Not me.”
Unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up, exposing his forearms, Ford paced my foyer. “You didn’t tell me about my mom.”
