Chapter Fifteen
“Not bad for our first meeting.” Brooke stood in the back of the gym at the neighborhood elementary school and surveyed the crowd filing in and taking their seats in the folding chairs she, Charise, and David had spent the last hour setting up. They were lucky the school board had agreed to let them use the space. They would have been spilling out the door of Brooke’s studio. “I’d say we’ve got at least a hundred people out there.”
“Just wait.” Charise rubbed her hands together. “We’ll have a bigger crowd next meeting when we’ve got more time to get the word out. We’re not going down without a fight.”
“The natives are getting restless.” Brooke shuffled the papers in her folder. “We should get things rolling.”
“No,” David squeaked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Not yet. It’s still a few minutes before seven.”
Brooke eyed him suspiciously. “What is with you?”
“Nothing.” He stopped bouncing and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his perfectly pressed khakis. “I just think we should give everyone a chance to get here. We need all the help we can get.”
“Okay, you win. I’m going to find a quiet corner to go over my notes.” A little extra prep time couldn’t hurt. Just as she’d predicted, she’d been distracted since her sister’s visit, Mallory’s words continuously bumping around her brain.
That guy is totally in love with you.
You owe him the chance to explain. You owe it to yourself.
Sometimes you’ve just got to trust your instincts.
Like that was so easy. Her instincts were what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Out of all the guys in the five boroughs, leave it to her to pick the one buying her building to be her one-night stand. A one-night stand that had morphed into something much, much more.
She’d thought about calling Eli a hundred million trillion times. But each time she picked up the phone, she put it back down again. He’d tried to reach out to her in the days following the auction, and she’d shot him down at every turn. What if it was too late now? What if she put her heart on the line only to find out he’d moved on? That he no longer cared about her or Candy Court?
Brooke shook her head to clear it. She didn’t have time for this now. She needed to bring her A game tonight. The rest of Candy Court—the rest of the neighborhood—was counting on her. At least she’d showered and put on pants without an elastic waistband and a shirt that didn’t advertise what she’d eaten for dinner last night. That was a step in the right direction.
She clutched her folder to her chest and headed for the hallway. She needed out of the gym, with its noisy buzz of chatter and the heat building up as the crowd grew. “Come get me when you’re ready to start.”
David found her ten minutes later in a classroom across the hall, still reviewing her notes. Zoning laws. Variances. Historical landmarks. There was a lot to remember, every bit of it important if they were going to save their homes and the area around them.
“You’re on.” He gave her a thumbs-up then let his cheerful guard down, his eyes filling with concern. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m sure.” With shaky hands, she put her papers back in the folder, checking and double-checking that they were in the right order. “I know I’ll have to face him sooner or later, but it’s not like he’s going to be here tonight.”
David was the only one at Candy Court who she’d told about Eli buying the building. Probably because, other than her sister, he was the only one brave enough to get close to her when she looked and smelled like yesterday’s garbage. The others just thought Eli had gone as quickly and mysteriously as he’d come.
They’d find out the truth soon enough. She didn’t want to be the one to disillusion them.
“Right.” David pulled on his collar. “Let’s go.”
The gym was more crowded now. Brooke recognized a few familiar faces in addition to the Candy Court crew. Her boss and some of the other staff at Flotsam and Jetsam. The two guys who owned the brewpub. Wayne, looking clean and sober with a middle-aged woman she assumed was his wife.
“Good turnout,” David observed as they climbed the stairs to the stage at the far end of the gym, where Charise and the Feingolds were seated.
“What’s the holdup?” Mr. Feingold grumbled. “I want to get to the cookies and coffee.”
“Like you need cookies,” his wife shot back. “And you know you’re not supposed to have caffeine after eight o’clock, or you’ll never get to sleep.”
Brooke stepped up to the microphone front and center. “If you’ll take your seats, we’ll get started.”
She waited a minute for everyone to get settled before she began. “As you know, we’re here to discuss the sale of Candy Court and what it means for our community.”
“It means we’re going to be the next Park Slope,” someone shouted out.
“And pretty soon none of us will be able to afford to live in our own neighborhood,” someone else added.
“That’s what we’re here to prevent,” Brooke said. “I have a few ideas…”
“If we let them take Candy Court, who’s going to come in next?”
“Our small businesses can’t compete against the big chains.”
Brooke tightened her grip on the microphone stand. “If we could all raise our hands…”
“What do we know about this development group?”
“Do we have any idea what they have planned for the building?”
Okay, so hand-raising was out. “No. Not yet. But…”
“Actually, yes, we do.”
For a second, Brooke thought she was hallucinating. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She’d been hearing Eli’s voice in her head for weeks. His sexy growl. The way he cried out her name as he climaxed. But it usually started up when her head hit the pillow and she tried in vain to sleep, not in moments of full, waking consciousness. She hadn’t gone that far off the deep end. Yet.
Then she saw him, striding down the center aisle with a cardboard tube tucked under his arm, moving like he owned the goddamn world.
Why did he always have to look so good? If there were any justice in the world, he’d look as bad as she felt. Bloodshot eyes. Scraggly hair. At least some three-day-old scruff on his jaw.
But no. Eli was bright-eyed, neatly coiffed, and clean shaven, looking like he stepped out of the pages of Esquire or GQ in what must be business casual for him—a crisp, white button-down shirt, lightweight gray cardigan, and dark jeans.
He climbed up onto the stage, exchanging hugs with a squealing Charise and an equally excited Mrs. Feingold and a fist bump with her more reserved husband. Then he motioned to David, who scrambled to set up an easel he’d procured from who knew where.
“You were in on this, weren’t you?” Brooke glared at David, who merely shrugged as he struggled with the easel. “Traitor.”
She wheeled on Eli, who was so close she felt like she was drowning in the scent of him, fresh soap mixed with spicy cologne. She tried to ignore the tingling sensation in her nether regions. “And you. You’re just as bad, showing up here without any warning.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice. Wouldn’t take my calls. Didn’t answer my texts. It was the only way I could think of to get you to listen to me.”
Okay. She’d give him that one. “And you had to do it in front of half the neighborhood?”
There was that drop-your-panties smile that made her stupid. “Less chance you’d run.”
Again with the running? Did everyone think she was afraid of confrontation?
“Besides,” he continued, waving an arm at the crowd below, who watched the proceedings with interest. “This concerns them, too.”
He pulled a sheet of paper from the tube and taped it up to the easel. She studied it over his shoulder, not quite believing what she was seeing. Where was the glossy high-rise? Where were the three-thousand-square-foot luxury condos?
“What’s this?”
“My plans for the Sunset Park Chocolate Works.”
“What’s the Chocolate Works?” someone asked.
“Good question,” Eli said, taking over the microphone. “First, let me introduce myself. I’m Eli Ward from Hearthstone Development, the new owner of the Sunset Park Chocolate Works, formerly Candy Court.”
“Great, he’s changing the name,” someone grumbled from below.
“What else are you going to change?” someone else asked, louder. Other voices joined in, and the hum of the crowd rose to a dull roar.
Eli seemed unfazed. “I suggest we adjourn for a few minutes. Give everyone a chance to come up and have a look at the plans. Then I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”
He put his hand over the mic and turned to Brooke. “And you and I can discuss this in private.”
She stared at him for a long, awkward moment, weighing her options. It was decision time. Open up to hurt or walk away. Finally, she pushed his hand away from the microphone and leaned in.
“Meeting adjourned.”
…
Meeting adjourned.
Funny how two little words could make his heart soar.
Eli grabbed Brooke by the hand and dragged her off the stage before she had time to change her mind. Once in the hall, he pushed open the first door he found, which of course, turned out to be a supply closet, this time stocked with glue sticks and markers and pencils as round as his thumb.
“What is it with you and closets?” Brooke rested her perfect ass on a shelf of spiral notebooks. “Do you have a fetish or something?”
Eli willed himself to focus on the speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times on the way to Brooklyn. He had one shot to get this right, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Even if it meant having one of the most important conversations of his life in a closet.
Again.
She gave him a don’t-bullshit-me glare and crossed her arms. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Okay. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him. He couldn’t say that he blamed her.
He braced a hand against the door. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to keep you in the dark about Candy Court.”
She smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I thought I could wait until the sale was a lock. I didn’t want to leave anything up to chance. I’ve lost a few deals recently at the eleventh hour, and I didn’t want that to happen again.”
“So you could make a small fortune turning our building into a haven for yuppies and elitists?”
“At first, yes, that was the plan.” She bristled, and his heart started to pound. He couldn’t afford to lose her now, not when he was just getting to the good part. “But that changed once I moved in and got to know you. All of you.”
“So those drawings out there…”
“They’re the real deal,” he insisted. “The only thing that’s going to change at Candy Court is the name. Well, that and some upgrades. All in keeping with the history and character of the building, of course.”
“No luxury condos?”
“Studio apartments, one bedrooms, maybe a handful of two bedrooms for families. Quality, affordable housing for hard-working, middle-class people. That’s what Hearthstone is going to be all about.”
“What about Momentum?”
“Simon will make sure Momentum keeps doing what it does best. High-end commercial development. Hearthstone’s my baby.”
“You’ve really put a lot of thought into this.”
He took a step toward her, and his spirits lifted when she didn’t flinch. “Did you seriously think I could throw the Feingolds out on the street? Or Charise and her baby? And I’m not about to destroy the rooftop garden we worked so hard on. Chris and David would never speak to me again.”
She lifted one eyebrow, a gesture that was incongruously both imperious and endearing. “Aren’t you leaving someone out?”
“Not just someone.” He reached up to touch her face. “The one.”
“Not so fast.” She caught his hand and brought it down. “I haven’t forgiven you.”
His heart stuttered. “What do you think it’ll take?”
“Well, let’s see.” She kept hold of his hand, twining her fingers with his, and his heart kick-started into high gear. “You’ve admitted you were wrong.”
“Check.”
“Said you were sorry.”
“Check.”
“Hmm.” She titled her head thoughtfully. “What else could there be?”
Shit. The three little words.
“I’m an idiot.” Not exactly the three words he was going for, but they were the ones that spilled out.
“You’re not an idiot.” She let out a strangled laugh. “I take that back. You are kind of an idiot for thinking your money would color my perception of you. But it’s not like I can throw stones.”
“Ah, yes. Brooke Worthington, heiress.”
She winced and relaxed her hand, letting his fingers slide through hers. “You know.”
He nodded. “I didn’t expect to see you at the auction that night. Of course, maybe if I had realized it was at your family’s hotel…”
“I never meant to mislead you. It just never seemed important. And it’s not something I like to discuss.” She blushed and ducked her head, her dark tresses shadowing her face. “I guess we both made mistakes.”
“Me more than you,” he admitted. “Is it too late to fix them?”
She raised her chin and faced him head on, her green eyes clear and honest, hiding nothing. Now he understood that whole windows-to-the-soul thing. “We’ll never know until we try.”
He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Eli Ward. I’m filthy rich, and I’m buying the building you live in, but I promise not to tear it down, kick you out, or raise your rent. Oh, and I’m truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you.”
Slowly, carefully, like she was about to touch a live wire, she took his hand, her fingers curling into the warmth of his. “Hi. I’m Brooke Worthington. My family owns a bunch of hotels, and I was raised in the lap of luxury, but that’s not really my scene. And I’m truly, deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with you, too.”
“Thank God.” He pulled her in and crushed her to him, relief swelling his chest. “I was hoping you meant it when you said you loved me in that closet at the Worthington. Hoping I hadn’t fucked it all up beyond repair.”
“You came close.” She smiled against his throat. “But lucky for you, I’m a forgiving kind of gal.”
“I can’t promise not to fuck up again.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “But I can promise not to keep anything from you. No more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” she repeated on a shaky breath.
His hand went around to the back of her neck, and his lips brushed hers in a soft, tender kiss that, laced with two weeks of unrequited longing, almost immediately turned passionate. Their mouths clashed as he moved against her, backing her up against the wall of shelves. No shrinking violet, Brooke demanded equal participation, her hands moving up to her shoulders, digging into his shirt and tugging him closer.
He kissed her long and hard and deep, their breath coming hot and fast, until he heard a high-pitched, girlish giggle. When they pulled apart, Mrs. Feingold and Charise stood in the doorway, beaming at them.
“Don’t mind us,” the older woman said, already closing the door. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Although, you might want to wrap it up and save it for later,” Charise suggested. “There’s a gym full of people waiting to hear about your plans for the Chocolate Works.”
“You know,” Brooke said when the door had swung shut, her breath still coming in staccato pants, “this could be a thing for us.”
“A thing?” He nuzzled her neck.
“Yeah.” She reached up to stroke his hair. “All our declarations of love take place in a closet.”
“No way.” He raised his head, needing her to see the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke. “I fully intend to tell you I love you wherever and whenever I damn well please.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “I can live with that.”
“Good.” His lips returned to her neck. “Now, where were we?”
She laughed and pushed him away. “Hold it right there, Mr. One Track Mind. You heard Charise. You’ve got a room full of people waiting on you.”
“Waiting on us,” he corrected. “None of this would possible be if it wasn’t for you.”
“Then let’s not keep them waiting.” She held out a hand to him. “The sooner we show them your brilliant ideas and convince them you’re not going to run them out of their neighborhood, the sooner we can go home and pick up where we left off.”
Home. He had plans for that, too. Ones he’d share with Brooke when the time was right. For now, it was enough that she was his and he was hers.
And if that wasn’t a damn good reason for him to feel like the luckiest man in the word, he didn’t know what was.