Only in My Dreams (21 page)

“Jessica Westcott.”

Dylan's ex-wife? Had she purposely gone to Craig because of . . . no, no one knew of Sara's hook-up with Dylan. Except Craig. She'd spilled the details to him the day after. “You didn't tell her anything, did you?”

Craig's eyes widened. “What?” Realization dawned and he leaned forward. “No, of course not. She called the business; I returned her call. I would never blab about your personal life.” For the first time, she glimpsed her old friend.

Sara let relief flood into her muscles and sagged against the back of her chair. “So she's my client, not yours.”

“No,
I
signed her. To Craig Warner Events.”

Craig Warner
what
? “You can't do that.”

His gaze was probably supposed to be caring, but in Sara's current frame of mind it came off as condescending. “Sara, you're completely wrapped up in your family—and rightly so. Now you can focus on them a hundred percent.”

She ran her thumb and forefinger vigorously across the braided leather of her bracelet. “While you steal my business? Fat chance.”

“I'm not stealing it. I'll buy it from you.”

How generous
. “It's not for sale.”

“The clients are all loyal to me.” He scooted forward and spoke in a sickeningly patronizing tone. “You abandoned them. They want me. They're ready to walk with me.”

Sara couldn't believe this was happening. As if things weren't awful enough. “And here I was worried that our friendship was suffering because of me being here. Is that it? Are you mad at me?”

“I'm not that petty.” He frowned. “I thought you'd be relieved after you got over the initial shock. I still think you might be.” His tone turned coaxing. “Think about it, Sara, you can be here with your mom without worrying about anything.”

“Except my livelihood. You're taking my
job
, Craig.”

He sat back in his chair and fixed her with a sarcastic stare. “Right, like you need the money.”

She'd been shocked the minute he'd asked for her business, but now, hearing him move so easily to spite, she wanted to punch him in the face. “So much for friendship.” She reached back and pulled her purse from the chair. “You can't have my business, Craig. And I'll be talking to a lawyer about the clients you stole from me.”

“Go ahead. I've already talked to Taylor, of course, and the clients that signed with me are mine free and clear. I'd prefer not to fight you for the others.”

She'd almost forgotten his boyfriend was a lawyer. She'd only met Taylor a few times and had been put off by his cool, arrogant ambition and need for praise. “Did Taylor put you up to this?” She could absolutely see that happening.

“He was . . . encouraging. But this is my decision.”

Sara wasn't sure she believed that. Yes, she'd been a lousy friend lately because of her Ribbon Ridge commitments, but Craig hadn't done any better. What was his excuse? The old Craig would've visited her, sent her funny texts, taken her and her mom for mani-pedis.

“You really know how to kick a girl when she's down, don't you? You couldn't have picked a better time to swoop in and snatch my hard work.” She stood up and swung her purse over her shoulder, her anger rolling through her like a snowball building mass as it flew downhill. “Tell me, did you target me from the start? Hey, there's a rich girl with a trust fund and a fledgling business. Looks like a gold mine, especially if I can cozy up to her and be BFFs.”

He paled slightly. “Don't say that.”

She stopped just before she turned. “I'll say whatever I want. Like this: you're fired.”

She strode from the coffee shop, her limbs shaking. She'd wanted a distraction. Now she had a full-fledged disturbance. To add on top of all of the other disturbances—her parents' fight, Kyle, Dylan.

She climbed into her car and stared into the distance as the rain began to fall, seeing nothing until Craig emerged from the shop. With a jolt, she started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Thankfully no one was around when she arrived at home. She went straight to the circular office and called her top clients. The first three went straight to voicemail. As she waited for the fourth to ring, she paced the small space, her body thrumming with the need to move.

“Hello?”

“Amanda!” Relief slowed Sara's pulse and she sank into the chair at the built-in desk. She modulated her overexcited tone. “Hi, it's Sara Archer. I was calling to check on your wedding plans. How's it going with Craig?”

“Fine.” Amanda sounded a little uncertain, but she had a very soft, vulnerable-sounding voice, so it may be that everything she said sounded that way. “He's been great.”

Normally Sara would've been thrilled. But that had been before he'd turned into Stealy McThiefson. “That's good to hear. I'm not quite sure how to say this, Amanda, but Craig is no longer working for me. I'll be taking over.” Sara suddenly realized she had no idea when Amanda's wedding was scheduled, where it was being held, or really anything other than she'd gotten engaged at Christmas.

“Ummm,” Amanda sounded really uncertain now. “I don't know if that's going to work.”

Sara could practically hear her frown through the phone. “It'll be fine.”

“Craig just knows everything, and I really like him.” While she didn't know Sara at all.

Anxiety curled Sara's nerves. “Talk to your parents. They'll tell you how capable I am.” Capable? She just said she really liked Craig, which was hard not to do since he had a great sense of humor and a terrific eye for taking things from great to spectacular. “And I'm fun.”
Really?
“I taught Craig everything he knows.”
Better
.

“Oh, I'm sure you're great.” There was a long pause during which Sara contemplated dropping on the floor and rolling around, a sensory-processing coping tactic she hadn't had to resort to in years. “Let me talk to my fiancé.”

She considered telling Amanda that her contract was with Sara, not Craig, but decided that wouldn't help her cause. Plus, she really needed to talk to a lawyer about the specifics. “Thank you so much. I promise I'll work even harder—and better—than Craig.”

“Can I ask what happened? I mean, Craig told me you were dealing with a death in the family—your brother, and I'm so sorry about that. He said you'd decided to let him take over the business.”

He'd said what?
Sara literally bit the inside of her cheek to keep from losing her composure. Her forced smile was brittle, and unnecessary since Amanda couldn't see her, but it helped her to keep her tone even. “Craig was mistaken. I'm not
letting
him do any such thing.”

“I'll get back to you soon. Thanks.”

“Thank
you
.”

Sara ended the call and leapt up from the chair. She did a few wall pushes and resumed pacing. Then she pulled up Aubrey Tallinger's number and called her. Unfortunately, she wasn't in. Sara left an overly detailed message and a request for her to call back as soon as possible.

She cradled her phone in her lap, worry eating at her insides. After a long moment, she spun the chair around and gasped at the sight of Kyle leaning against the doorframe.

His blond brows were pitched low and his head tipped to the side. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she said tightly.

“Didn't sound like it. Did I hear you say something about your assistant stealing your business?”

“I don't want to talk about it. Especially to you.” Sara knew she was lashing out at him, perhaps unfairly, but she was still angry with him and would be until he said or did something to make things right.

“I see.” He uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the wall. “Actually, I don't see. You used to tell me everything. I'd like to be here for you.”

Sara stared at him, then blinked once. Twice. He was seriously mental. “
Now
you want to be here for me? After years of
not
being here? You think you can just show up and act like things are exactly the way they were when you picked up and left?”

He huffed out a breath and took a step into the office. “No, not
exactly
. Look, I know you're still mad, but I wish you wouldn't be. My leaving had nothing to do with you.”

So his pathetically short note had said. “That didn't stop it from affecting me, or didn't you think about that? No, I don't suppose you did, since I'm pretty sure your thoughts don't extend past yourself.”

His eyes darkened. “That's not fair.”

She leapt up from her chair and it rolled away from behind her. “No, it isn't fair. Your abandoning us—me—wasn't fair. But you know what? Maybe you were onto something. Here I've put everything on hold to help out our family, something you would never deign to do, and now I've lost the life that I built. Maybe if I'd taken your lead and turned my back on everyone, I'd still have my life.”

His face flashed with surprise and he reached for her. “Sara.”

She recoiled. Her fingers found the leather bracelet and traced the braiding. “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I think I should've done what you did. What did you lose when you put yourself first? Nothing.”

“Not true,” he said quietly. “I think I lost you.”

His words gutted her. “Yeah, you did.” She pushed past him and saw Mom standing next to the island, her face pale and her eyes wide. Sara felt a pang of regret, but she was too wound up to do anything about it. She spun around and ran out of the house, uncaring that the heavens were raining sorrow down upon her.

A
FTER PEELING OFF
his wet clothes and refreshing himself in a hot shower, Dylan tramped barefoot down the hardwood stairs of his half-renovated farmhouse and padded to the kitchen. He normally didn't cut a workday short due to weather, but the torrential downpour had made pulling the roof off all but impossible.

On the other hand, quitting early gave him the opportunity to clean up and get started on his one-night-forget-fest sooner. He'd have a quick beer and head out.

As he went into the kitchen, his eye caught the boxes of pendant lights waiting to be installed. The weather was especially shitty. Maybe he ought to just stay in and work on finishing the kitchen.

Was he avoiding going out?

He pulled a beer from the fridge and went into the great room to check out sports highlights. As he popped the cap from the bottle, the doorbell chimed.

No one came up here unless they were invited—it wasn't exactly on the Girl Scout cookie sales route. Not that Girl Scouts would be selling cookies this time of year. He shouldn't know that, but his sister had sold cookies for years.

He set his beer on the coffee table and went down the narrow hallway, past the stairs, to the glass-paned door. What he saw on the other side of it took his breath away.

Sara was standing there, her blonde hair dripping water and her clothes plastered to her body.

“Jesus, Sara.” He pulled her inside, closing the door behind her. He took her purse and dropped it on the floor. “Stay here.”

He dashed upstairs and got a towel from his bathroom, but when he got back to the upstairs hallway, she was there.

He rushed over to her and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. He rubbed at her with the towel, trying—ineffectually he realized—to dry her clothes. “What happened? Why are you all wet?”

Her gaze was pale and fragile. “I . . . I couldn't decide whether to come in.” She clearly hadn't been standing on the porch.

“Why did you come here?” What a stupid question when she was standing there soaking wet and freezing. “I want to hear what happened, but first you need a shower. Come on.” No way was he taking her to the crappy bathroom he hadn't renovated in the middle of the hallway. He put his arm gently around her and guided her to his bedroom. She looked around as he led her through to his bathroom.

“Wow.” Her eyes moved from the double sinks set in polished stone to the massive oval soaking tub to the huge river-rock-floored walk-in shower with its plethora of knobs and faucets.

“Just toss your clothes into the bedroom and I'll dry them for you.” He went into his closet and pulled out a robe his mom had given him for Christmas the year before last, but that he'd worn maybe twice. He just wasn't a robe guy. “You can wear this.” He saw dust had collected on the collar.
Crap
. He swiped it with his hand. “Sorry, I'll clean it up while you're in the shower.”

“No.”

He stared at her. “No, what?”

“I don't need the robe.”

“You can't stay in your clothes.”

“No, I'm . . . I'm freezing.” She peeled her sodden sweater off over her head. Underneath, she wore a camisole that stuck to her body with sexy, no-imagination-needed precision.

Dylan's mouth went dry.

Then she kicked off her shoes.

Okay, what was happening? He tried to focus, but damn, it was hard with her stripping in front of him. Right, she hadn't wanted his robe. “Do you want something else to wear?”

“May . . . maybe later?” Her voice was shaking with cold. She leaned down and pulled her socks off. Then her hands were on her jeans, peeling them down her legs.

He couldn't stand it anymore, even though he hated to disturb the energy coursing between them. “Whoa, what's going on here?”

“I need a shower.” She looked up at him with expectation. The frailty she'd displayed earlier was nowhere to be seen. “I think you should take it with me.”

And with that, he went fully and completely hard. And lost the ability to speak. And pretty much lost the ability to do anything but watch her kick her jeans to the side and shimmy out of her camisole. Clad in pink lacy underwear and a pink and white bra, she went over to the shower. “How does this thing work?”