CHAPTER EIGHT
THE taxi stopped in front of the bustling nightclub. Lines of people snaked around the outside of the building, everyone jockeying for position with the bouncer. It was a typical Friday night—loud, well-lit and crowded.
Inside, Caleb knew, he’d find the antidote he needed. There’d be enough noise, enough activity, to keep him from dwelling too deep in his head. He could go inside there and spend a few hours perfecting that distance he’d gotten so good at over the past year. He could forget about the problems he was leaving at work, the ones he was leaving in New Jersey and the answers he was avoiding with Sarah Griffin.
Like why he had kissed her. Why he still wanted to kiss her every time he thought about her. And why he kept retreating to the safety of work instead of opening his heart, even a little.
A couple exited the nightclub, and a blast of loud pop music hit the night air. For the first time, the thought of heading through those doors filled Caleb with distaste. For so many nights—too many—he’d been going into clubs like this one. And for what? Had it brought him any closer to where he wanted to be? Or got him any further away from his bad decisions?
Had all those hours he’d spent surrounded by shallow personalities done a thing for absolving his guilt? Made any of this one bit easier?
Hell, nothing did.
After delivering Sarah’s sketch to the other designers and having a quick meeting about the shoe line, he’d left work early to make the long drive to New Jersey, hoping, praying, that once he got there someone would say something other than what they had been saying over and over for the last year. “No change. I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis,” as if Lenora’s silent, persistent vegetative coma were their fault.
The same two words had been uttered today, almost as soon as he walked through the door. Nevertheless, Caleb spent two hours by his mother’s bedside, trying to coax a response of any kind out of her.
No change. There never was.
“You getting out, sir?”
Caleb caught the cabbie’s inquisitive gaze in the rearview mirror. “No. I changed my mind.” He rattled off his address, and the cab pulled away from the curb. He wasn’t going to find what he wanted in that club. Why keep kidding himself?
Fifteen minutes later, he was back at his apartment, with an overjoyed Mac. Caleb clicked the leash onto the Labrador’s collar, and stepped out into the cool night. For an hour, they walked, putting miles on his thoughts. He walked block after block, Mac trotting beside him as they made their way through the still-busy streets of Manhattan. The city never slept and, most nights, neither did he.
He stopped when he realized the neighborhood he had ended up at looked familiar.
Sarah Griffin’s building. Several lights burned in the third-floor apartment. She was home. He thought about ringing her doorbell, but really, what excuse did he have for being here? For calling her downstairs?
It was far too late at night to claim he was here for another dinner. For all he knew, she was already getting ready for bed and probably didn’t want to see him at all, not after the way he had handled that kiss the other day. He’d thought by turning the discussion to business, he could put some distance between them, maybe limit the impact of that kiss, but he was fooling himself if he thought he had.
That kiss had been imprinted on his memory. Sweet, hot, amazing.
It had been all he could think about when he’d sat next to her in the coffee shop. Every time their legs touched or their hands brushed, he wanted to grab her, kiss her again and not stop until this constant ache was assuaged.
Was that how she felt, too? Had she been as transformed by that kiss as he had? After all these days together, did she see the two of them together in a new light? Or did she see him still as the man on the gossip pages? The heartless playboy only out for a good time?
He could go up there, ring her doorbell and ask. Would she open her door to him? Or shut it again?
He didn’t want to find out that the answer was no, not tonight.
Caleb turned to go, then heard the creak of a door opening behind him. Mac let out a bark, and tugged on the leash. “Caleb?”
He pivoted back. Sarah stood on her stoop, a small white trash bag in her hand. The light above washed over her, brushing her hair with golden highlights, and emphasizing the wide dark pools of her emerald eyes. Even in dark blue sweats and a V-necked white T-shirt, she looked beautiful. Sexy. “We were, uh, in the neighborhood,” he said, raising the leash in explanation. “I was going to ring the bell, but it was pretty late.”
“Did you need to talk to me about something? If it’s about that drawing for the shoe, I told you I’m really not an expert at that.”
“The sketch was great. And I’m not here about that.”
She came down the stairs and stuffed the trash bag into a plastic rubbish container, then shut the lid. “Then why are you here?”
I don’t know didn’t seem like a valid reason. I was wandering the city and ended up here didn’t, either. But really, what excuse did he have?
“I…I wanted to see you.” If she asked him why, he’d have to delve into a lot of reasons that went deeper than just desire. There was something about Sarah Griffin—something frank and honest—that called to him and had drawn his steps here, instead of anywhere else in the city. That made him want to be honest with himself and finally confront all those issues that he’d done nothing but avoid.
But she didn’t ask why. Instead, she just smiled. “Do you want to come up for a while? My dad is down at O’Reilly’s with a few of his old buddies from the force. And I’m…” Her voice trailed off.
“Alone?” One word sent his thoughts down paths they had no business visiting. But travel they did, along with his gaze past her eyes, over her lips, down her delicate frame. “If you’re sure you want the company…”
He should go. Leave her be. Sarah Griffin was the kind of woman who came with expectations.
She wasn’t a model, just out for a good time or a date that could lead her further up the career ladder. No, Sarah was a confident, strong woman who, he was sure, took her relationships as seriously as she did her job.
“I’d love some company,” Sarah said, and when she smiled, all those good reasons flew out of his head.
“Great. And if you don’t mind a canine companion, too—” He held up the leash again. “—this is Mac.”
“Hi, Mac.” Her smile broadened. “I love dogs. Come on in, guys.” She led the way into the building and up the stairs to her apartment. Mac, already deciding Sarah was a friend, bounded ahead, taking the stairs faster than the humans. He skidded to a stop outside the third-floor apartment door.
Sarah let them all in, then headed for the kitchen. “Do you want a glass of wine? Maybe some crackers?”
“Wine would be great. Thanks.”
She poked her head out of the galley kitchen. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She tossed him a grin. “I was talking to Mac.”
Caleb chuckled. “Mac’s got a drinking problem, but he doesn’t want to admit it, so maybe we should stick to water for him.”
Sarah’s laughter joined his, and in that moment, Caleb thought how nice it was to share something so simple as a joke with another person. Clearly, he’d spent too much time with people who had little in common with him. He unclipped Mac’s leash, then laid it on the hall table. The dog trotted over to the space in front of the heating vent and lay down, settling his head on his paws.
Caleb followed Sarah, and took a stance against the counters, watching her move around her kitchen, efficient and fast. She pulled a chilled bottle of white wine out of the fridge, followed by a block of Colby cheese, then sliced the cheese and added it to a platter flanked by large, buttery crackers. A stem of red globe grapes joined the cheese.
“Let me make myself useful,” Caleb said. He reached for the wine, then screwed in the opener and popped the cork.
“Thank you.” Sarah placed two wineglasses beside him. The jasmine notes of her perfume mingled with the fruity tones in the wine. He was tempted, so tempted, to lean over and kiss the hollow of her throat, then trail his mouth down the V of skin exposed by her shirt. To draw her into his arms, and press her body to his, to feel those curves under his hands. Again. And this time, not let go.
The wine splashed a bit as Sarah poured, her hand unsteady, and he wondered if she was just as affected by their close proximity as he was. Either way, she didn’t stay to find out—she picked up the glasses, and headed out of the room, Caleb following behind. They took up seats on the loveseat and sofa, the platter and glasses sitting on the glass coffee table between them like a barrier. Mac got to his feet and lumbered over to them, positioning himself under the coffee table—ready to retrieve any crumbs.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m not at the opening of that new club on the east side,” Caleb said.
“Well…” Sarah picked up her wineglass, but didn’t sip. “Yes.”
“Were you going to cover it for the magazine?”
She shook her head. “No. Someone else is handling my column while I work on the story about LL Designs.”
“So you’re done reporting on my shenanigans?”
“For now.”
The happiness he’d felt a second ago dissipated. But what did he expect? That she would just quit her job at the tabloid because they’d shared a couple of meals? A kiss?
Still, he wondered why she worked there at all. She was so clearly another kind of woman, not at all the type he expected to be wasting her days at a tabloid.
Sarah put the glass back on the table. “So, why aren’t you there tonight?”
“I went over there,” Caleb said, “but never got out of the cab.”
Her brows arched in surprise. “Really? Why?”
“I’ve had enough of that life.” Martha was right. It was time he got honest with himself, and if that honesty made it into print, so be it. He met Sarah’s eyes, and saw in them genuine interest, not a woman taking mental notes to use in the next day’s column, and a feeling of trust filled him. “Every time I went to one of those clubs, I thought I’d find…something.”
Confusion knitted her brows. “A woman?”
He let out a gust. “No. I’m the last person who should be trying to have a relationship.”
She sat back, as if putting distance between him and the sentence. “Oh.”
“I should be concentrating on the company instead.” Then why was he staring at her lips, and thinking constantly about having Sarah Griffin in his arms again? Why couldn’t he put her from his mind?
“True,” she said. “But even a CEO deserves a social life. And from what I’ve seen and learned in the last week, you work an incredible amount of hours. More than I thought.”
“I’m not all parties and martinis, is that it?”
“Not at all.”
“Maybe you’re right.” But not in his eyes. If he had his priorities straight, he would be putting in every hour he could at that cherry desk. Working until the profit margins increased and every general ledger showed LL Designs in the black. If he was the kind of CEO his mother would want and expect him to be, he would have put the company first and his life second.
As she had.
But what had that cost her? No man in her life. No time for friends or family. She’d spent more hours behind that desk than she had with her only child. And when she wasn’t at work, she was talking about work, even sketching ideas on restaurant napkins and taking pictures of images she thought would make great fabrics later. His mother’s life had been entirely skewed toward work.
Was balance achievable? Or did he have to do what she had done in order to keep the company afloat?
Thinking of his mother sent a pang of guilt through his chest. He got to his feet and crossed to the window, watching the traffic go by as he sipped his wine. Even through the closed windows, he could hear the soft flup-flup-flup of tires running over the pavement, the low purr of the cars’ engines. From somewhere down the street, someone laughed, the high-pitched sound carrying on the evening breeze.
Silence extended between them. Sarah was undoubtedly watching him. What was she seeing? The wild playboy from the gossip pages? The incompetent CEO whose company was slipping out of his grasp? Or a man struggling to do the right thing, even after he’d forgotten what that right thing was?
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
He nodded.
“And this is for me, not the magazine. I don’t want you to think anything you say to me when we’re not doing an official interview will end up making it onto the cover.”
He didn’t turn away from the window. Not yet. “I trust you, Sarah.”
“That means a lot,” she said, and her voice broke a little.
Now he did turn toward her, and close the gap between them. “What?”
“I’ve just been working there so long that it feels like I sold my soul. And you just reminded me that I’m still in here, and that the Sarah Griffin I wanted to be is still possible.”
“Why have you spent so many years working a job that you hate?”
She held the wineglass, and stared at the pale-yellow liquid for a long time. “I had to. Someone had to pay the bills. Someone had to be responsible. It was the only job that let me work nights, go to college during the day and have flexible enough hours to check on my dad and my sister. One year turned into two, into three, and before I knew it, I was entrenched there. It was easier to stay than move on.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m thinking about new paths. But it’s…” She sighed. “…scary.”
He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her. “I know all about scary. I’ve been terrified since the day I sat in my mother’s chair and took over the company. I’ve been so sure I would ruin the whole thing. Now, with this shoe line and throwing out the spring designs, I’m going down new paths, and it could all backfire as easily as it could succeed.”
“I think it’ll all work out.”
He grinned. “I’m glad someone’s feeling confident.” He took a sip of wine, then sat back against the sofa. “My mother always had this air about her that everything would work out. Even if she was secretly afraid it wouldn’t. I think it was because she’d never done anything else but this business.”
“She started when she was a teen, right?”
He nodded. “She used to wear all her own creations to school, and before she knew it, her friends were asking her to make some things for them. It was after she had a waiting list for prom dresses that she realized she could make a career of this. She went to school, got her degree in fashion, all the while keeping up this little business on the side. And after she graduated, she started LL Designs.”
“And your father? Was he involved?”
“My father was a news reporter.” Caleb paused, then spat out the other part of his personal history, his mother’s warnings sounding again in his head. Don’t trust the media—ever. But Sarah was different, he was sure of it. “He was also a married man.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. My mother found that out the same day she found out she was pregnant with me. He wanted nothing to do with her or the baby, so from day one, it was just her and me.”
“That must have been so hurtful. I can’t even imagine.”
“My mother may have been a single parent, but she was a fabulous one.”
“Is she enjoying retirement?”
He paused. Here was his opening, his opportunity to tell her the truth. Surely, she, of all people, would understand.
But would she? How many people really understood the agonizing decision of whether to let a loved one go? The weeks and months of watching his mother linger in a non-existence? Would Sarah see the painful reality of his choices, or would she recoil from him, and tell him he wasn’t the son she’d thought he was all along?
“I think my mother’s happy,” he said, the words scraping past his throat.
“And what about you?”
“Me?” He let out a breath. “I don’t have time to think about that.”
“Then why not just sell to Frederick K and get out of this business altogether?”
If there’d been a list of top ten questions Caleb thought Sarah would ask him, that one wouldn’t even have made it to the list. But he realized it made sense. He was struggling at the helm of LL Designs, and he had a ready buyer. Selling was the easiest path of all. “Because I won’t sell my mother’s hard work to that idiot.”
For one, his mother would be horrified to know her son had given up her life’s work to someone else. For another, Caleb had no doubts that Frederick K wanted to buy the company simply to see it disappear off the face of the earth. And most of all, Caleb had taken on a challenge when he’d accepted the role of CEO. Selling out to Frederick K would mean he had failed.
And he wasn’t going to do that. LL Designs would continue to be owned by a Lewis if it killed him.
“And yet…” Sarah clasped her hands and rested them on her knees, and he could tell she was gearing up to say something he didn’t want to hear. “…although you work hard, and I know you care a lot, there are times that you aren’t as invested in the company as maybe you should be.”
He snorted. “Are you kidding me? I spend every waking hour there.”
She arched a brow.
“Okay, maybe not the night ones.”
“How much of a leader do you think you are when you come in the next morning, after spending hours and hours at a nightclub?” She put up a hand to stop his objections before he could voice them. “I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s like you’re this contradiction, and even you don’t seem to know which side of the sentence you want to be on. I’ve seen what you can do. I’ve heard the praises from the customers you deal with, the workers on the factory floor, the other people in management. They all think you’re great. But there’s little piece of you missing. And I think it’s because you’re holding a little bit back. You can’t be an effective company leader if you’re also trying to be bachelor of the month.”
He scowled. “I told you, I’m done with that life.”
A soft smile curved across her face. “I heard you say the same thing two months ago.”
“I did?” He thought back, and couldn’t remember a single conversation he’d had with Sarah or any of the other reporters. “Not to you.”
“To one of your friends as you were walking out of that club in the East Village.”
He thought of the place on 21st Street that he liked to frequent. Every once in a while, one of his college buddies or one of the guys he used to work with at the marketing agency would tag along. The club was famous for its wooden dance floor, decadent martinis, energetic patrons. The night Sarah was talking about had been late in the summer. He’d gone out with one of his college friends, a guy named Rick, but Caleb had left early—for him, at least. He’d ducked out of there somewhere around eleven, just as the crowds were starting to fill the place. Rick had tried to argue him into staying longer, but Caleb had been adamant.
“I did say that,” he said as the memory came back. “I hadn’t realized you were there.”
A slight smile crossed her face. “That’s where I always seem to be, in the shadows.”
He leaned forward, his gaze meeting hers. “Why?”
“Why was I there? Because the magazine pays me to be. I—”
“I meant why are you always in the shadows?”
“This isn’t about me. I was asking about you and why you said that two months ago.”
“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”
“That’s not playing fair.”
“I’m the bad boy, remember? I’m not supposed to play fair.”
She laughed, but the sound was short-lived. Sarah got to her feet, and crossed to a CD player on the shelf. She toyed with the selection of music, as if looking at the albums of Norah Jones and Colbie Calliat would provide the words she sought. “It’s easier,” she said finally, the words so soft he almost didn’t hear them.
“Easier than what?”
She opened one of the Norah Jones CDs and inserted the shiny disc into the player, then turned it on. Soft bluesy tones filled the apartment. “Easier than being a part of that world.”
He rose, and came up behind her. His hands ached to reach out and touch the silky strands of her chocolate-colored hair, but he held back. Didn’t touch her. “Why?”
She turned to him, and that smile appeared on her face again, weaker this time. “Isn’t that like ten questions to my one?”
“You keep answering with very short sentences. Ones that don’t tell me anything.”
Like why she had hung around the world he had dived into with the enthusiasm of a lifetime swimmer. Like why she had never joined in on any of the parties at the clubs, even though he’d seen her get invited over and over again by the dozens of people in the industry who knew who she was. Always, she’d used the excuse of working, but Caleb didn’t buy it.
“If you’d really been seeking that exclusive scoop that would pull you out of the gossip pages, you would have accepted those offers to sit at the tables with the powers that be,” he said. “But I never saw you do it. Why?”
“You watched me?” Surprise lit her eyes. “Noticed me?”
He reached up and captured her jaw, unable to keep his hands away from her for one more second. God, she was beautiful. Enchanting. “Every time.”
“Just so you knew where your nemesis was?”
He laughed. “Partly. But partly because you intrigued me.”
“Me?” She let out a gust. “Yeah, right.”
“You did. I wondered whether you were some kind of nun or someone very committed to her job. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or involved with someone.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh, yeah. In all my spare time, I’m going to have a relationship, too?”
His thumb traced over her lower lip and she opened her mouth against his touch. The sarcasm dropped from her features, and her eyes widened, locked on his. Why hadn’t some smart man snapped her up already? Why was she as alone as he was? “Why not?”
Sarah swallowed hard, and in the background, Norah Jones sang a melody about temptation and love. “Because my family needs me and I have the job and…”
“Excuses.” He should know; he’d been using the same ones for years to justify his one-night interactions with the models that flocked around him. A few drinks, a spin on a dance floor, and more often than not, he went home alone, unentangled.
“And who would I have a relationship with?”
Her question hung between them, asking something neither of them wanted to come out and say. But both of them had clearly thought. Get involved with each other? Or not?
“I know this CEO of a fashion house…” Caleb said, unable to take his gaze off hers or to release her. Everything inside him pounded with the same insistent message—
Kiss her. Kiss her.
“You do?”
He nodded. Slow. “And he might not come with the best personal recommendations when it comes to relationships, if you believe the tabloids, but I hear he’s not so bad in person.”
She shook her head. Slow. Her silky skin slid against his fingers, so, so tempting. “No, he’s not so bad, not at all.”
“Then maybe you should give him a try.”
Now a new smile curved on her lips, one that teased and tempted him. “I believe I already did that.”
“Ah, yes. I remember that. Very well.” He brought his face closer to hers, until his mouth was only a millimeter away from hers, until they were sharing the same breath. “Perhaps you should do that again. Just to make one-hundred-percent sure, of course.”
“Perhaps,” Sarah breathed, and before one more second of agonizing want passed—
Caleb kissed her.
Desire surged through him the second their lips met, and instead of the tender embrace he’d planned, Caleb found his arms going around Sarah’s body. She fumbled to put the wineglass on the shelf, the crystal goblet nearly toppling and sloshing both of them with drops of chardonnay. Then her fingers wove through his hair, pulling him closer, closer still, until Caleb couldn’t tell where he began or she ended.
Their kiss was fire, tongues dancing and intertwining, lips claiming one another. He crushed her to him, feeling the smooth temptation of her breasts between the soft fabric of their T-shirts. He pulled back just enough to slide a hand between them and under her shirt, drifting over the creamy expanse of her belly before his hand claimed one breast, fingers cupping the soft round flesh, his thumb tracing over the sensitive nipple. She arched against him and let out a gasp. Her pelvis pressed against his erection, and in that moment, Caleb thought for sure he’d go insane if he stopped touching Sarah.
“Caleb,” she whispered, his name sounding deep and throaty. “Oh, God, Caleb, we shouldn’t—”
“Mmm…probably not.” He dipped his head to taste the sweet skin of her throat while his hand continued to play with the sensitive peak of her breast. Sarah pressed into him even more.
“No, seriously. We, uh, really need…to…stop.”
Something about her tone made him draw back. He connected with her gaze and saw that she was serious. “Why?”
“Because we’re working together and I don’t want to taint what I write with a personal relationship with you.”
He grinned. “Are you saying I’m a conflict of interest?”
“In every way possible.” She let out a sigh, then slipped away from him. “Let’s be real, Caleb. Even if we didn’t have this article as an obstacle…” She paused, then met his gaze. “I’m not your type.”
“How do you know what my type is?”
“I’ve been photographing it and writing about it for a year.”
“Those are not the kind of women I want to have a relationship with. You are.”
A smile surged across her face. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really, really.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then drew back, a question in her eyes. “Then we’re back to my original question. Why are you out every night if you don’t want to be and these aren’t the kind of people you want to spend your time with?”
He let out a long breath. He’d just told Sarah he wanted to have a relationship with her, and in a relationship, people were open. Honest. About everything, even their worst faults. And their worst choices.
If he told her the truth, how would she react? Would she ask him to leave? Or would she understand that he was merely a man who was wrestling with an impossible decision? “Like you said, it’s easier.”
“Than dealing with the problems at the company?”
“Something like that.” If he stayed any longer, he’d do one of two things—kiss her again, and she’d made it clear that she didn’t want him to do that unless he answered her question—or tell her the real reason he went clubbing all the time.
So he didn’t have to make the agonizing decision to let his mother go.
He crossed the room, picked up the leash. At the sound, Mac scrambled to his feet and hurried to his master’s side, dropping into a sit to wait for the leash to be attached. “I should go. It’s late and if I stay…”
“We’ll probably end up right where we were before.”
He nodded. “And you’re right. We shouldn’t do this.” He couldn’t, not without being honest with her, which was only fair. And right now, he’d rather leave than see the look in her eyes when he gave her the answer she wanted.
Caleb clicked the leash onto Mac’s collar, then headed out of Sarah’s apartment and back into the cold, lonely night.