Chapter 2

Tyson Andrews wasn’t often called into work on a Sunday. It was rare enough that he could always make plans, and not fear having to cancel them.

Of course, the one weekend he had plans he really didn’t want to cancel, his boss called him in.

Yeah, perfect timing. Not!

As he stepped through the gleaming glass doors into Hedonist Central, walked past the empty reception desk and to the bank of elevators, he had to shake his head at his bad luck.

Karen… he’d intended to dump her this weekend. She was getting too clingy. Too needy. Messaging all the damn time, calling him at random hours.

Not only was it annoying, but the few hours of downtime he had, he didn’t want to spend them justifying or defending himself from her accusations that he was cheating on her. He wouldn't have minded if he was cheating on her, because her suspicions would have a foundation in truth. But Tyson wasn't a cheater, so she just irritated the living shit out of him for no damn reason.

Yep, it was time to end that particular ball of misery and move on.

Thanks Gill for putting a kink in the works, he thought ruefully.

Stepping out onto the top floor of the building where  Hedonist Central’s CEO worked, and seemed to live twenty-four-seven, Tyson bypassed another swanky reception desk where two brain-dead blonds usually sat and headed down the hall to the main office.

Knocking on the white double doors, he waited for a holler from Gill. When it came, he opened up and headed inside.

The minute he did, he reared back. “Birdie?” The nickname popped out of his mouth before he could recall it.

That had to be Birdie, right? It couldn’t not be.

Lifting a hand, Tyson ran it through his hair, tousling the neat job he’d done with product earlier. He wasn’t metrosexual or any shit like that, but the better he looked, the more sales he earned, and Gill had warned him this morning the new client Tyson was about to get on his books was a chick.

A young chick, at that.

Hence the product and the swanky three-piece suit.

He wasn’t sure why the waistcoat helped him sell more packages, but it did. He’d experimented with it for a month and had categorically earned more on the days when he wore the vest.

Women were weird.

Like men everywhere didn’t fucking know that already, he thought with an inward eye roll.

Still, this wasn’t a young chick. It was fucking Birdie. Those eyes? Huge brown doe-like eyes. Those eyebrows? Like silken wings. That mouth? A dark red, even without lipstick. They’d been friends at middle school and he’d always mocked how often she had to put Chapstick on. Those Angelina Jolie-esque lips required a lot of moisturizer.

A thought that back then had made him wrinkle his nose. Now? Yeah, his cock hardened at the thought. A bizarre enough occurrence that he felt his cheeks grow a little red.

Clearing his throat, he had to ask again because his eyes really had to be deceiving him, “Birdie? That is you, right?”

The woman got to her feet, swiping down the seat of her skirt as she did so. Gill eyed him like he’d lost his mind, but Tyson ignored his boss, focusing all his attention on the woman who looked like his once best-childhood friend.

Before he’d moved state and fallen out of contact with her that is.

A kind of ache appeared in his chest at those memories. He rubbed it, then realized what he was doing, and so damn obviously too, and held out his hand.

“Yes. It’s me, Tyson,” came her tight response. She barely smiled at him as she held out her fingers and squeezed his with a grip that would have impressed any guy.

His Birdie had grown some balls over the years. He grinned at the thought. She'd been like her namesake back then. Delicate, fragile. Definitely not a ball buster.

“Although, I no longer go by Birdie.”

The grim retort had Gill clearing his throat and declaring, “Bernadette is in need of RnR, Tyson.”

Jerking his head to stare at his boss, he frowned, then smiled. “Sure. I’ll be happy to help you, Bernadette. If you’d like to step into our conference room?”

Gill held out a hand indicating the connecting door in his office, but he stepped toward it anyway, and held it open for her. “There’s a breakfast spread, Bernadette. Feel free to help yourself.”

She nodded, shot them both a suspicious look, then headed to the door Gill held open for her. The minute she was through, Gill shut the door and, striding toward him, hissed, “What the fuck was that about? Birdie? Who the fuck calls a potential client that?”

“It came as a surprise to see her!” Tyson defended, holding up his hands in apology. “I never thought to see her again. Never mind in my boss’s office on a Sunday goddamn morning.”

Gill shot him a sheepish smile. “She didn’t want to deal with me.”

He blinked. “Why the hell not?” If anyone knew the packages they offered better than him, it was Gill.

Gill was the creator of them, after all.

“I handed her a brochure, she saw your picture in it, then asked to speak with you.”

Tyson jolted at that. “She asked for me?” Why the fuck had she given him the cold shoulder then?

“Yeah.” Gill shrugged, apparently as perplexed as Tyson. “How do you know each other?”

“She didn’t say?” When his boss shook his head, Tyson admitted, “We were at school together. From middle school to sophomore year. My father got reassigned, we moved state, and fell out of touch.” Once again, that ache reappeared in his chest.

What the fuck was with that?

At thirty-two, he was too young to have a heart attack, wasn’t he? Sure, he was in shock, but it was a good shock… Right?

Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, he turned to the door and eyed it. “Who is she now?”

“You heard of Grafix?”

“The studio that redesigned Tor’s logo and helped rebrand them?” Tor was the biggest producer of cell phones in the US. If you didn’t have a Tor phone, you were a nobody.

“Yeah. That’s them.” Gill jerked his thumb at the door. “Your little Birdie is the President of the company.”

“Shit! No way!” How had he not known that? Read about it? “Fuck!”

“Yeah. If you can land the company account, Tyson, I’ll give you a bonus so big, you won’t even care that you missed out on that Ferrari I handed over to Jason last year.”

Tyson’s left eye twitched in remembered fury. “You totally screwed me over on that bonus.”

Gill glowered at him. “Not with that again. The commission sheets matched up. He beat you. Fair and square.”

“By a fucking dollar,” Tyson snapped. He folded his arms across his chest. “I deserved something too.”

Gill gritted out, “Stop being a baby. Consider this your bonus. If you can seal the deal with Grafix, that Ferrari will look like a kid’s toy in comparison.”

Tyson pursed his lips. “Is that why she’s here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a Sunday. Not often you shop around for shit like this on a Sunday.”

Gill tugged at his shirt collar. “She’s here for a personal vacation.”

Tyson scoffed at that. “Wow, some fucking potential that deal has.”

“You can sell shit to a beef farmer, Tyson. That little lady in there wants a vacation, I’m sure you can figure out a way to get her interested in the packages we sell for her staff at the same time.”

Tyson rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Gill grunted. “Ungrateful shit.”

“You know it, I know it,” he retorted, chuckling when Gill flipped him the bird.

“Fuck off in there and pull your magic.”

Tyson just snorted then stepped toward the conference room. As he approached it, he had to suck in a breath to try to quell the nerves flooding him.

Nerves?

Tyson Andrews?

What the hell was that about?

Tyson was never nervous. Not when it came down to business.

But this wasn’t just business. This was Birdie.

The ache appeared again, and with one hand, he rubbed at it. Of course, that had to be the moment Bernadette turned around and saw him.

With a Danish in hand, she frowned at him. "Are you okay? You have heartburn or something? You keep on doing that."

He grimaced. "Nah, it's nothing." Though he was about to speak the truth, he quickly changed the subject away from the tight pain in his chest. "Damn, it's good to see you, Birdie."

For his pains, literally, he received a cautious smile. "It's good to see you too."

"Seriously? You don't look excited to see me."

She snorted. "No? Well, you keep rubbing your chest like you're about to have heart attack or something… I mean, have I changed that much?"

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he chided. "Before I remember why I shouldn't have missed you at all. You always did have a snarky attitude when you were comfortable with someone."

Bernadette lifted her hand, complete with Danish, to cover her mouth. Not before, however, he saw her lips twitch in a more genuine smile.

"There we go," he said with a smile of his own. "That's more like the Birdie I know."

Her nose wrinkled. "That Birdie died a death a long time ago." She blew out a breath. "Going public really did it. It's been… Crazy."

He folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the door. The conference room was bright red. It looked either like a hooker's boudoir, or a serial killer's pad post-spree. Scarlet walls, which were lined with paintings in various shades of red, Hockney style, seemed even darker thanks to the gleaming black glass table and side table. The main table seated ten and was surrounded by black leather and chrome chairs. The side table was where the breakfast spread had been laid out. The huge array of freshly cut fruits, several various types of pastries, cold cuts and sliced cheeses, and two loaves of baguettes with butter pats beside them - the spread alone told Tyson how big Gill thought this deal would be.

The breakfast feast and Birdie were the most neutral colours in the gaudy room.

She'd been given the title of Birdie because her hair had been fluffy and feathery like a bird's. She'd been like a little wren back then. All delicate but strong, so brown but creamy too.

Now?

He could see why she was called Bernadette.

The feathery hair had been straightened to within an inch of its life. Not that that was a bad thing, because it was beautiful. It gleamed in the overhead lights, and ironically enough, the red in the room brought out the faint highlights of auburn on her shiny head of hair. Her cheeks were rosy, but her skin was still like fresh cream. It augmented her chestnut eyes, and made the dark rose of her lips more noticeable.

She wore an outfit that was more fitting for a day at the office than a Sunday. Granted, so was he in his three-piece suit, but he was here on business. She was here to book a holiday.

Not that Hedonist Central specialised in holidays. They sold experiences.

That wasn't even bullshit, either. He'd been in some of the packages they offered, because Gill knew it was easier to sell something as expensive as the luxuries they peddled when the salesperson knew just how damn good the package was from first-hand knowledge.

Bernadette wore a tight pencil skirt that hugged her rounded hips, flaring out slightly at the tops of her calves, and a neat jacket that was buttoned at her curvy waist, she had a rose-pink camisole peeping out at her cleavage. The slight colour went well with the neat tailored outfit she wore. The café au lait tone enhanced the creaminess of her skin.

And her heels?

They screamed fuck me.

The sound of a voice clearing jolted him from his perusal. "Are you ever going to stop staring?"

Though he knew he should be embarrassed, he wasn't. He grinned at her. "Can't blame a man for looking."

Bernadette snorted. "Can't I?"

He shook his head. "Not when you look as good as you do."

Birdie huffed out a breath, but he could tell she was pleased by his flattery. He wasn't even trying to be charming. Where she was concerned, his usual M.O. had flown right out of the window because he was still reeling from the fact that she was here. And that she'd asked for him.

She folded her arms across her chest; the move plumped up her breasts, deepening her cleavage, and stunning him by making his cock twitch. Tyson’s eyes flared at his body's reaction, and quickly, he took a seat at the head of the conference table. In front of him, there was a large tray of the makings of coffee and tea.

"Would you like a drink?"

She nodded. "Coffee, please."

She turned her back on him, picked up a few items from the breakfast spread and placed them on a plate, then she returned to the table, taking a seat at his side. When she turned away, it had given him a chance to check her out from behind, and she didn't disappoint.

When Tyson looked at the plate, he had to smile. "You remember my favourites."

She shrugged, the gesture sheepish rather than embarrassed. "I made my fortune on the details."

Silence fell at her statement, the only sound in the room that of the liquid pouring from the coffee pot as he served them both a drink.

"I guess we should get down to business then.… If details are what you do."

Bernadette blinked at him, maybe it was just his ego talking when he thought she looked disappointed by his words. "Sure."

The last thing he wanted was to talk about work, even though that was why they were here on a Sunday morning… If anything, he wanted to know about the last sixteen years.

How had she gone from the little bird to the phoenix before him?

The transformation astonished him, and he determined to find out more about her. Determined that though they were here on business, they'd have to meet up soon to discuss the past, and the present.

Because suddenly, the present seemed a whole hell of a lot brighter than it had half an hour ago.