“Great,” I acknowledge, but I don’t let it go.
“Rhea, I know I’m pushing, and I won’t ask again. ButI’d really love if you could stay Friday and Saturday night. There’s so much I want to show you . . .”
And I consider just telling her what I’ve got in mind, but settle for, “and something really special.”
DAY11
She calls.
I’m in the middle of a meeting with the Donaldson Group, deep into a $55 million deal, but when her name flashes on my screen, I don’t hesitate.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rising from my chair. “I need to step away for a moment. Time-sensitive.”
Gina scowls from across the table. I give her a wink—just to keep her guessing—and slip into the glass-walled conference room next door, one eye still on the deal unfolding in the room behind me.
“Hey,” I say, closing the door. My voice drops without thinking.
“Well, Mr. Persistent,” she says, and the sound of her voice already does something to me, “I have a plan.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Two things. Gordon’s thrilled to have me present the project in person Friday morning.”
“Smart man.”
“He’s hoping it’ll make us your favorite and maybe open the door to future funding.”
“It just might,” I say, smiling.
“And,” she adds, “Laney’s agreed to keep Esme both nights. So yes, Mr. Devereaux—I accept your offer.”
Then she lowers her voice just slightly and says, “Votre proposition est trop intrigante pour être refusée.” Your offer is just too intriguingto refuse.
Lord help me.
The French. The way she says it—soft, smooth, completely unprompted—goes straight to the part of me that’s been imagining her in my bed since the minute she last was.
“Careful,” I murmur. “You keep talking like that and I might have to fly out there today.”
“Alors… fais ce que tu dois faire.” Well. . . do what you need to do.
So I do.
I cross a line I’ve been circling for days. I pull out the contact info I’ve tracked down for Laney Jefferson and give her a call.
“Laney?” I say, when she answers. “You don’t know me, but my name is Spencer Devereaux.”
A pause. “Spencer? Like…Rhea’sSpencer?”
I can’t help smiling. “Yes. Rhea’s friend,” I say carefully. “I’m calling to ask a favor…”
TWENTY-FIVE
RHEA
I don’t know when it happened exactly—maybe somewhere between the library croissants and the tiny boulangerie play set—but over the past two weeks, something’s shifted.
Spencer has shown up in ways I didn’t even know I needed.
