Akira tensed, Jacob’s stupid,sexy face rushing right back to the forefront of her brain. It appeared she would have no peace from the man. “My mother had given it to her ex-stepchild before she died. He returned it to me after I went to see him.” Speaking of which, she would have to come up with some way to compensate the Campbells. Jacob could take the high and mighty,saintlike road all he wanted, blathering on about who had a moral right to the box. Legally, Kati Campbell had a proper claim. Akira refused to be beholden to Jacob in any way.
“Uh-oh.” Tatiana raised a honey-brown eyebrow. “I sense a story there.”
Akira shook her head, unwilling to discuss the anger, resentment, pity,and desire making up her feelings toward that man.
The last emotion was the most annoying. Now that she had discovered the truth about Jacob’s issues with her, nothing could ever come of it, which was a damn shame given his talented tongue. She demanded respect from her sexual partners, and she respected them in turn. As much as she lusted after Jacob,and as much as he might lust after her, he didn’t like her. Or want to want her. That was something that couldn’t be changed.
You have kind of been a dick to him over the years too,an unassailably honest part of her whispered.
It had been in self-defense, she assured herself. Driving people crazy was her time-honored way of dealing with those who disapproved of her. Give them exactly what they were looking for and they would never look any deeper.
She forced a smile for Tatiana. “No story.”
“I’m happy for you, Akira. You must feel relieved to have found this.”
She should. After all, she’d won. Recovered her grandmother’s possession.
So why did she still feel so damn itchy and off-kilter?
“I do feel great,” she lied to Tatiana. “I’ll be in touch. I owe you one.”
“Next time I’m in town, I expect a house party in my honor.”
“Already done and planned, love.”
They made plans to speak next week, and Akira hung up. She sat for a moment, pulling together the will to haul herself off the bed. Yesterday had been difficult. Marching herself off to work, putting on her cool, collected face, pretending nothing was wrong, when all the while she wanted to curl up under her covers and eat ice cream. Today would be easier. It had to get easier, right?
How much power will you give this one, insignificant man?
She showered and dressed in record time, aware that if she dawdled, she might be tempted to return to her large bed. Makeup was essential to cover the dark shadows under her eyes, but that didn’t take long either. While she might give the impression of high maintenance, she had learned long ago the value of efficiency with regards to her personal hygiene. She could probably make up her face in the time it took most women to select a lip color.
She was fastening her watch as she strode down the stairs, directly to the front door. Since she had gotten a late start, she would grab some coffee and a bagel on the way to work.
Akira almost stepped on the package on her doorstep, the crinkle of paper beneath her heel startling her into pulling back.
On the front stoop lay a large bouquet of wildflowers, simply wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine. Curious, she leaned down and picked up the offering. It wasn’t unusual for flowers to be delivered to her door, but the sunny mix of orange and yellow wildflowers, the ends unevenly cut, was out of the ordinary. Plus, it was early, far too early for a floral delivery, and this—she held up her fingers, where a stray bit of dirt clung to her skin—didn’t look like it had come from the local high-end florist.
A small piece of yellow paper peeked out from the brown paper. She pulled it out. AKIRA, it spelled out in scrawled block letters. She flipped it over. Nothing.No florist she knew of would use a Post-It for a card.
She shifted her bag and the bouquet to one arm and buried her face in the blooms, inhaling the sunshine.
Orange is my favorite color.
She shook her head. As if Jacob had trekked out here to leave her these.
High heels clicking on the flagstone, she went back into the house. Only one member of her staff stayed on premises—the rest would come in much later in the day. She pressed the intercom next to the door. “Harris?”
Her butler/housekeeper appeared almost before she finished the word. Harris had come highly recommended by a friend of a friend. In the six years he’d worked for Akira, she had never regretted her decision to hire the small, always impeccably dressed man. Dour, discreet, loyal,and unflappable, he was the perfect person to man her household, barely blinking at even her most outrageous requests. She was certain he didn’t miss a thing, including the flowers in her arms.
“Yes, Ms. Akira. Good morning,” he intoned, as if it were perfectly normal to find the mistress of the house clutching a clumsily wrapped bouquet in the early morning.
Akira hefted the weight of the bouquet. “Good morning. This was on the front stoop. It has my name on it. Do you know anything about it?”
The permanent frown lines on his face deepening, Harris looked at the bouquet with genuine puzzlement. “No, Miss. I have been in the kitchen since I came downstairs.”
“Is anyone else from the staff here yet?”
“No, Miss.”
