Chapter Nine
Six weeks later…
Kate raced for the A Train. Late again, she shoved a stale breakfast bar down her throat. The grime and humid air of the Brooklyn subway clung to her black linen dress. Crazy, but she loved this city. After elbowing past the other Manhattan castaways to the back of the car, she settled into a corner and turned up the volume on her iPod. Anything to free her mind from fixating on what would happen now that her bachelor profile had tanked.
Or more accurately, now that she’d insisted it not be published. Jake didn’t want to be Smart Cupid’s next bachelor any more than she wanted to go back to Ohio, so she’d bailed on the profile—which meant no Cosmo.
She wanted to be New Kate, free from obsessing over what tomorrow would bring, but without that job, she’d scarcely be able to afford her rent-controlled apartment. A fact her father would remind her of as soon as she told him.
At the next platform, the subway doors rattled open, and more commuters crammed onto the train. The space expanded to accommodate them like a clown car. “Next station, Columbus Circle,” a mechanized voice announced as the train lurched forward. Kate’s shoulder slammed against a dingy yellow poster plastered on the back wall. Fifteen minutes, three subway stops, and two blocks later, she strolled into the office to find her boss standing in reception, a Starbucks cup in one hand and a pink envelope in the other.
Her stomach contracted. Pink-slipped. Fired. Jane never waited for anyone in reception. Hell, the woman ran on caffeine, adrenaline, and candy. Waiting wasn’t in her skill set. But there she was, waiting in reception. Definitely about to be fired. Kate drew in a breath and braced for it. She was prepared, self-actualized. She could handle anything.
As usual, her boss got straight to the point. “Cosmo called.”
Not what she’d expected, but better, much better. “Cosmo—as in—the magazine?”
Jane offered a quick nod and handed her the Starbucks cup, probably a consolation latte to let her down easy. At least I’m not about to be fired. “Don’t get me wrong,” Jane said, “I’m still disappointed that you pushed for us to not publish the profile, but I actually kind of respect you for it. I love my brother, and after the shit he’s been through, I’m glad someone else cares about him, too. But more to the point, you actually got him to agree to do the interview. So when you got back from Paradise, I emailed your bachelor profile.”
Kate clutched the green-and-white cup. Despite her six questions and perfect context for a romantic write-up, she’d come back to work and made a case for tanking the profile. Jake wanted his peace. Whether they were good or not, he had his reasons for staying away from Manhattan, and she didn’t want to be the one who dragged him back. She understood. Some experiences are private, not meant for Facebook or Instagram.
She looked back at her boss. “But you agreed not to run the profile.”
“And I didn’t,” Jane said with a shrug of her shoulder. “I simply emailed the draft, along with your follow-up blog post, to my friend at the magazine.”
Her nerve endings fired on all cylinders. “And?”
Jane flashed her patented grin. “And she liked it. So much that she wants you to write a spec piece for her.” She held out the envelope, still pink but clearly emblazoned with the Cosmo logo. “The contract is in here, pretty straightforward. You’ve got three days to send her a brand new article, and if she loves it, the job is yours.”
“Oh my God, Jane, thank you!” This was it—her second chance of a lifetime. She reached for the envelope, but her boss’s grip tightened on its edges.
“There’s just one teeny tiny issue…not related to the piece, not exactly…” She paused for a full thirty seconds before blurting out her one teeny tiny hitch. “Jake’s coming to town.”
Her grip on the envelope tightened, wrinkling its crisp edges. She took a seven-second breath. Cleared her throat. “But I thought he’d never—”
“Come home? To the city? I know; me, too.” Jane let go of the envelope like the thing had burst into flames. “But in the middle of last night, a water line broke open in his kitchen…”
She gave herself a mental shake. “His kitchen.”
Jane gave a short nod. “Ruined the hardwood floors, which is a problem, since the place is currently in escrow, and yes, he asked me to hire a contractor to do the repairs to make sure the deal stays together, and I did, but now the contractor can’t finish the job, some kind of family emergency, so I was hoping you’d be able to complete the repairs before he gets here.”
Her palm smoothed the line of her new pencil skirt, shooting for casual, probably missing the mark completely. “And when does he arrive?”
“Well…” Jane bit down on her bottom lip. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, her time on the island had been an adventure, but seeing him here, in New York, where she lived, in her city, her home, where she might actually fall for the man.
Jane gave her a curious look. “Is that a problem?”
Kate drew in a deep breath to realign her ch’i. It had been painful to walk away from him, and maybe that was part of why she’d sacrificed the profile. To prove to herself she was different. The new new Kate, a super-smooth (maybe) Cosmo girl who’d enjoyed a one-night, one-afternoon romance, experienced the mystery of multiple orgasms, and walked away without expectation. No strings, no regrets.
“No problem.” Kate offered a beatific smile, not wanting her friend to see that she’d felt rattled—slightly rattled—by the imminent arrival of her ex–island romance.
Her friend peeked over the rim of the coffee cup. “Maybe Jake could give you some kind of exclusive, you know, for the spec piece.”
She shoved the paperwork into her tote. “I thought we were respecting his privacy?”
“Kate, he doesn’t want people to think of him as an eligible bachelor, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do an interview about the book that made him famous. Cosmo is giving you a shot, but you need to come up with something that will wow them. What could be better than twenty-first century advice from a relationship expert?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I don’t know. He’s already turned down the bachelor profile.”
“So find another angle,” Jane continued with a wave of her coffee cup. “Take him to dinner. Pin him down. Ask a few questions, and before he knows what hit him, you’ve got a red-hot exclusive you can use to wow them over at Cosmo. You’ve got this.”
“A red-hot exclusive.” Her mouth twisted to one side. This was it. Her dream on the line. But the words “red-hot” and “Jake Wright” sent her pulse racing, and he wasn’t even in the room.
“He owes you for not publishing the bachelor profile.”
Kate shook her head. “No, he…”
“If it was up to me, he’d be Smart Cupid’s Most Eligible, so…” Jane reached out and gave her hands a squeeze. “Trust me, he owes you.” She turned and walked toward her office. “Big time.”
Jane was right. If she wanted her dream job at Cosmo, she needed something special. From a professional standpoint, Jake Wright fit the bill. But on a personal level, could she handle seeing him again? She chewed on her lip. Yes. Absolutely. For Cosmo, she could absolutely handle him. She needed to meet him on her terms, that’s all, preferably dressed in a preppy suit, sitting on the opposite side of a large table in a well-lit restaurant teeming with people, where kissing and everything it led to would be out of the question. Her mouth twisted to one side. Not exactly a bulletproof plan, but yes, she could handle Jake Wright.
In New York. In a carefully controlled setting.
Absolutely.
No problem.
…
Jake needed to crash. Standing on the empty sidewalk, he adjusted the weight of the black leather bag from one shoulder to the shoulder and fished the phone from the pocket of his cargos Damn. 3:50 a.m. He pressed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The midnight flight from the island to Manhattan in a cramped puddle jumper had been killer, trumped only by the brutal cab ride that made one thing abundantly clear: he was back in New York. He’d been out of touch with its urban rhythms for a long time, but from Brooklyn through every stop on the Henry Hudson Parkway, the city was still home. Once he settled the issues with the apartment and the new book, he’d head back to the island. But New York would stay with him, for better or worse.
Looking up at the penthouse apartment of his yellow brick and limestone building in Tribeca, he considered calling his sister to see if she’d found someone to fix the floor, but this was not the hour to call Jane. He hoped she’d found a guy, though. If not, the damage to the hardwood would be so extensive they’d need another month for the repairs.
He needed to sell the place. He needed to move on.
As he punched his code into the security system, the numbers felt strange and unfamiliar. He’d been away a long time. A helluva long time. But the door clicked open, so he pressed forward and walked through the well-appointed lobby. Nothing too swanky. Nothing out of place.
He’d always liked this building. His apartment? Not so much. Not after his ex had overhauled the place with chandeliers in the bathroom and gilt ceilings. He liked it simple. Neutral colors. The hardwood floors. The view.
But the condo was the last piece of their settlement. He’d hung on to the place long enough. Time to let go. He was ready. Sell the apartment. Let his ex have her half and start moving forward. He’d spent the last six weeks going over the past. And writing. Learned a lot. He needed to let go of more than his expectations. He needed to let go of his dreams of what his marriage could have been.
If he wanted a future, he needed to let go of the past.
At the back of the lobby, he stepped inside the glass elevator. Smooth as silk, he ascended to the penthouse, watching the floors disappear under his feet until the elevator doors opened into the apartment, the place he’d called home a lifetime ago. He stepped into the entry, expecting to be alone. Hell, it was four in the morning. But the place wasn’t empty. Classic rock blared from the kitchen. Apparently, Jane had found some guy to take the job, which was great news, even if all he wanted was twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. But working after midnight? He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. Probably costing him a fortune.
“Hello,” he called out. No response came back, thanks in part to the blasting of Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.” He dropped his bag in the foyer and walked toward the music. “Hello?” Still nothing.
His footsteps echoed on the marble floors as he moved toward the archway that led to the kitchen. The opening was covered with plastic sheeting, so he peeled away where it’d been duct-taped to the wall and slipped through. The staccato sound of a nail gun punctuated the drone of several industrial fans and the pulsating rock music.
Halfway through the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of a woman reflected in the glass along the back wall. A gorgeous, windblown, blonde woman. His brain spun out unexpectedly. His sister had managed to find someone to do his repairs. Not just any someone. Kate Bell.
Shit. He’d figured there was a chance he’d run into her in town, but…
Shit, shit, shit.
He’d written this new book as a way to purge her from his system. But seeing her proved he’d done no such thing. His entire body came alive again. He wanted to grab her, touch her, kiss her. All bad—very bad—ideas.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already spinning around, her eyes rounded in surprise.
“Holy shit, you scared me.”
Jake stepped back, hands raised. Damn, this wasn’t what I had in mind. Not at all. “I didn’t know you were back here.”
She grabbed a remote and clicked down the volume. “Didn’t you hear the music?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat had gone dry. Completely. Totally. Desert in the middle of August. He felt…transfixed. Crazy, considering he’d been an authority on sexuality his entire adult life. Hell, he was writing a whole new treatise on sex and freedom—how to experience romance without love—but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the woman standing in front of him, in her white tank top, tiny denim shorts, and studded tool belt.
Sex on the beach is one thing, but holy Freudian fantasies, talk about a dream come to life. He swallowed hard and tried not to stare, but fuck, there was no safe place to look. His brain fell into lockdown. All he could think about was grabbling her by that damned belt, hauling her up against the back wall, and burying himself so deep inside her she’d beg him to make her come.
He ran a hand across his face. Forced his brain back into gear. “Obviously, I knew someone was here, but I never expected—”
“Me? Never expected me?” Hip cocked, she stared over at him, her pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat, the remote dangling against her naked thigh. “Well, I didn’t expect you, either. In fact, you weren’t supposed to be here until morning, which is the whole reason I’m working through the night, so I don’t have to—”
Not wanting her to finish that sentence, he crossed the dusty, demolished floor in three long strides, took her face in his hands and kissed her. He backed her against that damn wall of windows and kissed her. Kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her, every day, every hour, of the past six weeks. Slowly and completely. Kissed her to tell her that she’d inspired him. To tell he’d missed her. Tell her without words. Tell her with a kiss. To make her know he wanted her.
Still.
Now.
He kissed her.
His first, tender kiss tested its boundaries, slowly delving into the sweetness of her lips. He savored the feel of her body melting against him, the sweetness of her addictive scent, the sizzling heat of a Manhattan summer.
With every ounce of willpower left in him, he shook himself and pulled away from her. “Kate, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re goddamn right you shouldn’t have. Who do you think you are?” She looked at him with the intensity of an atomic bomb about to go off. She was either going to kill him or…
She grabbed him and kissed him. Deeply. Completely.
And he kissed her right back.