Rebound (4 page)

I
nstinct kicks me into action. I grab my shirt and throw open the car door. Taking Catwoman’s hand, I hustle us out of the garage. She’s laughing as we stumble back into the side yard.

“Why does it feel like we’re in high school?” she says. “Like we almost just got caught by my parents?”

“We almost got caught by Pearl, which would have been worse.”

“Pearl’s the photographer? The hostess?”

I let go of her hand and pull my shirt on. “Yep. And knowing her, she’d have made us pose for pictures of us making out in her Murano.”

“I haven’t seen much of her stuff, but what I’ve seen is amazing.”

“Exactly how I feel about you.”

Catwoman stops. I see the flash of a surprised smile just before she lets out a yelp, tripping on the flagstones.

I lunge and catch her around the waist. Then I firm my arms and lift her.

“Whoa,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“It’s dark and I saw your heels. Let me get you to even ground.”

“Okay.” She hoists herself up farther, looping her long legs around my waist. I almost trip because, Jesus. I didn’t expect her to wrap around me this way. “Onward, Zorro. I saw a gazebo on the way here.”

Part of me is seriously tempted to lay her out right on this path. She’s pretty much in the position I want her in, minus all the leather.

When I spot the gazebo, I kiss her. And because I’m walking, because I still sort of need to see where I’m going, our kisses are quick and soft, and that makes them feel playful.

I can tell she’s smiling and that makes me smile, and by the time we’re actually in the gazebo and I set her down, we’re laughing as we kiss, which I can’t remember doing with anyone for a long, long time.

We finally separate, grinning like idiots at each other. I wish I could stay here for longer than a second, but I can’t look into her eyes without feeling like I’m under siege.

“You have pretty hands,” I tell her, weaving my fingers through hers. Her fingers are slender and elegant, like the rest of her.

“You have nice shoulders,” she says. “I noticed earlier. Nice everything, really.”

“Thanks.” Glancing up, I see that she’s still smiling. “I like your everything too.”

I know three things about this girl now. She likes horses, she has an amazing smile, and she sees mistakes as opportunities. Three things isn’t much, but she doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

“This feels like an adventure,” I say. Guess I lost my filter in the Murano. But it’s not like she’ll get what I mean. It’s not like
I
get what I mean.

Her hand comes to the back of my neck. “Exactly,” she says, like she’s totally with me. Then she kisses me, a light kiss that’s gentle and soft and so . . .
sweet
. It hits me harder than anything she’s done so far. “Let’s keep it going,” she whispers against my lips. Her arms come down, and she starts twisting one of the laces of my peasant shirt around her finger. “It’s still your turn. Tell me something true.”

“You got it,” I say, like it’s easy. Like I go around speaking from the heart every day.

I draw a breath and smell her perfume. It reminds me of winter. Of brilliant snowy days and nights by a fire. Her scent is both quiet and elegant, and so much better than the climbing roses that wind up the gazebo. Unbelievable. This girl makes roses seem pedestrian.

I couldn’t decide what truth to tell her earlier. I didn’t want to unintentionally reveal who I am. This girl knows nothing about me or what I’ve accomplished. We’re connecting without any interference from my money or my image. I want to keep it that way. But then I remember what she said about horses and something clicks. I know what to tell her.

“I surf because it calms me. Because after I do, I know I’ll get a good night’s sleep.”

She tilts her head. With her cat ears, the gesture is cute. Catlike. “Do you usually lack those things? Calm? Rest?”

Nice, Blackwood. Way to set yourself up.
But there’s no backing out now. “At times, yes. I do.” I smile, realizing how it sounds. “There’s this static sometimes . . . This noise in my thoughts, and I can’t settle it down. Getting out on the waves does away with it, though. It just . . .”

“Cures it?” Catwoman offers.

I shake my head because I don’t think there is a cure for what I’ve got. Four years have passed, and I’m still not cured. “Quiets it. For a while.”

I can’t believe what I’ve just said. I’ve never even admitted this to my brother, and Grey knows everything.

Catwoman’s eyes narrow like she’s picturing it. Being on a board. Watching a wave set up. Like she’s trying to imagine how that could equal quiet and calm. I like the way she looks, like she’s dreaming, but it’s probably been three minutes since I’ve kissed her. Well past time to take care of that.

As I’m leaning in, she surprises me and ducks her head. Next thing I know, she’s hugging me. Just hugging me, hard, and not letting go.

“Sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why, but . . . I just had to do that.”

And . . . I’m sold. It’s her impulsiveness. Her total and complete sweetness.

Something in my chest starts to creak open, getting its first taste of sunshine in years, and I don’t fight it. I let it happen.

I am
in
.

Screw the masks. I need to know who this girl is. I need to see her again. So I tell her that. I tell her I want her number. I tell her I want to see her face. “Let’s keep the adventure going after tonight. What do you say?”

“Okay,” she says, smiling. “Yes,” she adds, nodding. “I want that too.”

She reaches behind her head. My heart’s climbing its way out of my chest as she unfastens the mask. Then all I can do is look.

She’s more beautiful than I expected, and I expected a lot.

Graceful features. Smooth fair skin. Wide blue eyes that are intelligent, like I’d already seen, but there’s something more now. Taken with all of her, with her whole face, there’s something gentle in them that verges on vulnerable.

I haven’t given a thought to her age but now I realize I’m surprised. Maybe my subconscious was reading her as older, upper
twenties. But she’s young. My age, twenty-three. Maybe even younger.

“Catwoman got your tongue?” she asks, giving me a small, crooked smile. “It’s okay if you change your mind. Really. If you want to call off the adventure, I can take it.”

The speech center in my brain finally comes back on line. “You’re kidding me, right? Because,
you
.
You
are—”

Whoa, Blackwood.
Settle the hell down. “Look,” I say, “you should never wear a mask again. I mean it. Do the world a favor.” I tip my chin to the mask, which she’s started twirling around her finger. “Burn that thing. Burn it dead.”

She laughs, relaxing a little, like she was actually worried I wouldn’t like how she looks, which I don’t get. How could she not know she’s beautiful?

“Okay, Zorro.” Her weight settles onto a hip. I know I’ll be thinking about the way she looks right now later. “Your turn. Show me what you got.”

Jesus. This girl is killing me.

“Okay. Be kind.”

She laughs. “I will.”

I reach for the knot securing my mask, but stop. “Before I do this, how about one more,” I say, and kiss her deep and hard, hold onto this just a moment longer before everything changes. Catwoman responds, and we catch fire again, tongues stroking, pressing closer, hands exploring.

“Mask,” I say, drawing away. I’m ready now. I want it done. I slip the black fabric off, dropping it on the bench beside me.

Catwoman’s smile disappears. Her gaze drops to my mouth. Then to my chest, my arms and hands, and back up to my face, like she’s trying to put something together.

Does she recognize me?

Do I know
her
?

No way. If I’d met this girl before, I’d remember it.

“Adam? Excuse me, Adam?” I recognize Cookie’s voice, behind me. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s important.”

“Sorry,” I whisper in Catwoman’s ear. “Give me a minute.” I force myself to turn to face Cookie. I’ll deal with her first. Then figure out Catwoman’s reaction.

“What’s going on, Cookie?” Anger seeps into my voice, but I can’t stop it. This is a private moment. Whatever she wants to tell me, I’m sure it can wait.

“You know Alison Quick?” Cookie says. “The liaison who’ll be doing due diligence for Quick Enterprises?”

My brain is skidding out trying to make this turn from Catwoman to the twenty million dollars I’m raising for my company. “Yeah, Alison Quick. Graham Quick’s daughter,” I say, finally.

Graham is the president and owner of Quick Enterprises, the company that’s going to give me the funds to take Blackwood Entertainment to the next level. I’ve been funding small-scale film and television projects for more than a year on the periphery, but I want to bring that part of my business front and center. I have plans to start my own production company with my best friend, Brooks Wright. The wheels are in motion. It’s happening.

I’d considered going public with Boomerang to raise the money I need, but Graham Quick is a much better option. I’m not ready to do an IPO yet and Graham has deep pockets. He’s smart enough to know a moneymaking opportunity when he sees one. We both win if he puts his money in my hands.

“Yep, Alison Quick!” Cookie confirms in a weirdly loud voice. “That’s the one! Well, guess what, Adam? She’s
here
!”

“She is?” I frown, surprised I hadn’t heard about this sooner. I’ve been dealing with Graham Quick and his lawyers for weeks now, but his daughter is a new development. I only just discovered she
was running point on the due diligence this week. Cookie met her on a video conference call on Friday, which I couldn’t make, so it’ll be good to do the intros tonight. “Okay. I’ll track her down when I get a chance.”

Cookie gives me a smile that could penetrate a tank. “Honestly, I think that’s a good idea, and a little overdue.” She looks from me to Catwoman. “See you at the office, Ms. Quick?”

Time freezes. The earth stops rotating. Everything just
stops
.

“You can call me Alison, Cookie,” says the clear voice just behind me. “See you Monday.”

“Swell,” Cookie says; then she swivels on her heel and leaves.

I count to five, then I face Catwoman.

Alison Quick.

The daughter of the man who can change my future.

“This is a surprise.” It’s all I have right now. All I can manage. I run my hand over my forehead, rubbing away the lingering pressure of the mask. I don’t know how to process this moment. I can’t tell if I want to laugh or punch something. I feel like I’ve just had a cold shower
and
been hit in the head with a two-by-four.

I know what my image is in the business world. Hotshot, young, brash. A playboy, because I date beautiful women and drive fast cars. Doesn’t matter how well I run my business, that’s what the old-school guys see. They judge me. Until they get to know me, they worry, like one day I’m going to pick up a drug habit, gamble away my millions and go bankrupt, leaving the business I love high and dry.

Bullshit. Just because I’m young and I like to have fun doesn’t mean I’m a moron.

Graham Quick is no different. I have sources on the inside at Quick Enterprises. I know for a fact that Graham’s nervous about my reputation. So, really, the
last
thing I should do on this earth is fool around with his daughter.

Catwoman—
Alison
—crosses her arms, her posture upright and tense, like the Oscar statue.

“Sorry about all this,” I say, even though she’s been into it just as much as me.

“It’s okay.” But she doesn’t look like she thinks it’s okay. She looks anxious and uptight, like she wants to make a run for it. “We didn’t know, Adam. It was an honest mistake.”

Mistake.

That word lands like a kick to the stomach. It reminds me of the moment we had in the Murano, what I said to her.
Jesus.
Did I just tell my potential investor that I have trouble sleeping at night?
Fuck.
I want to hit Delete on the last hour.

My company is my life. It’s the only positive thing I’ve done. To keep it healthy and growing, I need an influx of money. I want a production studio. I want a full-length film in the pipeline by this time next year. For that, I need financial backing. I need Quick Enterprises.

I also want this girl—badly—but I need this money.

Wanted
this girl. Past tense. Past tense, because this ends right now.

“Right. An honest mistake,” I say, echoing her statement. “I’d never have done this if I’d known who you are.”

“Exactly,” she says, sweeping her thick blond braid over her shoulder. “Me neither.”

“It’s not like we did anything significant,” I say, just making words. Stupid, idiotic words.

She nods. “Right.”

I don’t know what else to say. Looking forward to the business lunch we have scheduled on Monday?

This is the first moment that’s felt awkward between us, I realize, and I can’t have that. I can’t jeopardize my plans. I have to straighten things out right now.

“Listen, Alison. I’ll talk to Cookie. She won’t say anything. Let’s just forget tonight ever happened. We’ll start with a clean slate on Monday. All right?”

“Sure. That sounds good. Great.” Her blue eyes are steady, but her lips wobble when she smiles. “Already forgotten.”

O
n Monday, Philippe and I sit in the first-floor coffee shop of the office building where Boomerang is headquartered. I’ve stalled for fifteen minutes, and with each minute I’ve felt more agitated, less prepared. Strangely enough, I couldn’t find any tips in
Modern Entrepreneur
magazine for handling a business meeting with someone you straddled in a Catwoman costume less than forty-eight hours ago.

Philippe stops me from sorting through a stack of papers I’ve already sorted a hundred times.

“Look, Ali,” he says, removing them gently from my hands to put them back in my briefcase, which he snaps shut with sharp emphasis. “You made out with the wrong boy, but you—”

“I shouldn’t have made out with
any
boy,” I say. “That’s the problem. I was there to
work
.”

Philippe runs a hand through his blond-tipped auburn curls and sighs. “It was a party.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be a party for me. It was my
job
. I went to meet the staff and get a feel for Adam Blackwood.”

Philippe chuckles and shoots me a look. “Well, you did get that feel. And you, um, met his
staff
.”

I put my face in my hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“Stop that. You’ll smudge.” He pulls my hands away from my face and captures them in his own. “So, you got a little tipsy and had an adventure. Big deal.”

The word “adventure” makes me picture Adam, sitting in the gazebo. Something in the way he held himself and in the sound of his voice—hesitant, relieved—when he told me his one true thing. I felt the weight of every word, and I wanted to pull more from him, let him know that I would be careful with what he gave me.

But this is business. I have to redeem myself with my parents, prove I can be trusted again. Especially with alcohol and boys. Right now, I’m down on both counts.

“I just . . . I didn’t want to screw up again,” I tell him. “My dad’s trusting me with something huge. And I haven’t given him many reasons to trust me lately.”

“That’s not true. You’re brilliant, Ali. And hard working.”

“And I almost flunked out of college. In my senior year. Who does that?”

Only Philippe knew that I’d failed a whole semester’s worth of classes, burned friendships, and made such a colossal mess of things that it had taken a sizable endowment to the college to allow me to walk at graduation and make up the classes during the summer. Instead of backpacking around Europe, I got to plod through online courses. I’m still waiting for my real diploma in the mail.

I look down at my hands. Already, my French manicure is
chipped, just a fraction, at the edges. I wanted everything to be perfect today, and nothing is.

“You’re so hard on yourself.”

“Apparently not hard enough.”

Glancing over at the bank of elevators, I catch sight of a familiar figure and realize it’s Mia, rushing across the marble floor to catch the elevator doors before they sweep shut.

Oh, God. Does she know about this? Adam promised he’d keep it to himself and said he trusted his employee—that terrifying woman, Cookie—to do the same. But how do I know they’re not having a huge laugh over it right now?

No. I won’t have that. I’m tired of having my bad choices define me. Worse, derail me. There’s no reason I can’t get in there and take charge of the situation. After all, I’m the one whose father has twenty million dollars to invest. Adam Blackwood needs me more than I need him. I just have to get in there and prove that. Not let the situation rattle me.

I take a deep breath and smooth my hair back from my brow, tidying the few escaped wisps back into my chignon.

“Flawless,” says Philippe.

Far from it, but I just tell him I’m glad he’s with me. Nancy and Simon, the accountant and lawyer on my team, have worked for my dad for years and still treat me like the little girl who used to do horseback riding tricks for them at my father’s parties. It’s nice to have a real ally.

“I’m sure Graham would have preferred to hire a nice intern for you. One who knows the first thing about business.”

We get up from the table and head to the elevator. Inside, I give his waist a quick squeeze. “You know more than you think.”

“Ditto.”

I nod. Now, I just have to own it.

Inside the bright modern offices of Boomerang, Philippe asks where we can find Adam.

Just his name makes anxiety spark inside my chest. But I don’t let it show. It will be fine, I tell myself. We agreed it was just a one-time thing, a mistake. We’ll move on from here.

An impeccably dressed guy rises from his desk and introduces himself as Paolo. He’s Philippe’s height, with bronze skin, gorgeous warm brown eyes, and a pocket square in tan and blue stripes that matches his shirt and no doubt wins him extra points with my best friend.

“I’m Alison,” I say and extend a hand.

“Ah, the big kahuna. Welcome.” He shakes my hand and then Philippe’s. “Let me take you to our fearless leader.”

We follow him, and he introduces us to a few other employees—Pippa and Sadie, who I recognize as the pajama-clad girls from the party. Then a few others who barely glance up from their work to acknowledge us. They’re not rude, just intent on their work, which I take as a good sign.

I turn from a quick handshake with one of the coding team, and find myself face-to-face with Adam.

Only he’s not Adam from the party. He’s professional Adam, in a tailored dove-gray suit that looks sewn onto his body, the way my costume was sewn onto mine. Though it should be impossible, his clothes make him look even more impressive—and sexier—than when he dressed as Zorro.

My face warms at the sight of him, and my body responds on its own, drawing me right back into that car. I see the tattoo of falling birds winding along his muscled arm, hear the sound of his laughter, and feel, once again, the urgency of his lips on mine. That’s the Adam I wanted to find here, I realize. Even though I know we can’t have that again.

“Welcome to Boomerang,” he says, and his smile is all white
teeth. Easy charm. “It’s good to . . .” He settles on “see you,” since he can’t pretend we’re meeting for the first time. But he doesn’t add, “Again.”

“Thanks,” I say and hold out a hand. Part of me expects some kind of supersonic boom when we touch. But it’s just a handshake—firm and dry.

We make introductions all around. When an employee distracts Adam for a moment, Philippe cuts me a look and mouths, “Oh my God. So hot.” I give him the evil eye, though of course I agree.

Adam turns back to us. “I’m sorry things are a bit cramped. We’re in the middle of relocating the offices and had an opportunity to lease out the space downstairs. That’s making it a bit cozy here.”

The word cozy makes me think of ski lodges, of snuggling under a blanket. And then I’m there, right there in that fantasy. I’m kissing his neck, smoothing my hands over his body to distract him from paperwork. We’re laughing, and his eyes are on mine, and it’s Adam from the car—open and warm.

God, who am I?

“No problem,” I say. “Are Simon Evans and Nancy Silvestri here yet?”

“I believe so,” he says. “Cookie made the arrangements for your team.” He looks at Paolo. “Want to lead the way?”

“Sure, boss.”

Adam, Philippe, and I follow him down another short hall to a kitchen area, next to which sits a polished partners desk with sleek chairs rolled up to it and another much smaller desk, with a set of cheap folding chairs, now occupied by Nancy and Simon.

The espresso machine burbles noisily. Stacks of supplies lean against a long center island not three feet away. And we’re right out in the open, where it will be impossible to speak confidentially. Or to avoid the foot traffic of two dozen employees microwaving burritos at lunch.

Nancy and Simon look at me expectantly, their displeasure clear. They’re used to being treated a certain way. If I don’t take care of this, they’ll report back to my father. And I’ll be subject to another discussion about whether or not I have what it takes to be part of Quick Enterprises. Whether or not I have what it takes to lead.

Everything I do here is a test, and I have to pass. No. I have to excel.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Adam. “But this won’t work for us. Do you have a place that’s a little more private? With a lot more space?”

I hate to come across as spoiled or particular, but I have to command authority here. Have to make Nancy and Simon see that I’m not just some daddy’s girl put in place as an indulgence.

Adam looks at me—not into my eyes exactly, though his gaze is still intense enough to wrap around me, riveting me to the spot. “I’m sure we can accommodate you,” he says in a coolly pleasant tone. “Why don’t you all come with me, and we’ll talk to Cookie?”

Even her name makes me cringe.

Simon and Nancy rise and gather their things.

“How about the conference room?” Paolo suggests.

Adam shakes his head. “Too much going on this month. We’re putting the final touches on the team-building retreat, and I told Brooks he could set up a temporary space for the film project.”

We stand there, at a cordial impasse. Behind me, my troops—Nancy, Simon, and Philippe, shore up my position. Though I can’t help noticing the starry-eyed gaze Nancy levels at Adam. Not that I can blame her.

The staccato of heels clicking down the hall interrupts us, and Cookie appears.

“What’s going on here?” she asks in a needle-sharp tone.

She’s in a white A-line dress, with broad Tiffany-blue piped
lapels. She looks like she’s still in costume, like a flight attendant from a class of futuristic airships.

I can’t help cutting a look at Philippe, who I know is thinking what I’m thinking. Someone needs a makeover.

“Good to see you again, Cookie.”

She raises an eyebrow and gives me a limp handshake. “Yes. And you’re certainly . . .
different
from the last time we met.” Her mouth twists into a smirk, letting me know she doesn’t think much of me, and that smirk lights a fire in me.

I want to say,
Oh, I still have my whip with me,
but I decide it’s better to leave that night out of the conversation.

“Ms. Quick and her team aren’t comfortable in the space we’ve provided,” Adam says. His ramrod posture tells me he’s not thrilled, either. With her, or with me, I don’t know.

“We just want to be comfortable and free of distraction,” I tell her. She’s tall, but with my heels, I’m taller. Up close I see that her skin is almost pore-less, like glass. She may not actually be real. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

I think of my father’s words,
“Alison, when you’re in a pissing contest, you gotta pee right in the eye of the big dog. Don’t waste time on the whelps.”

Adam breaks in, changing the energy—like puncturing the surface tension of water.

“My office.”

“What?” Cookie says. “That’s—”

Exciting, I think. Terrifying. To be so close. Though I’ll have my staff there too.

“Perfect,” Adam says. “There’s plenty of room, and I’m running around so much, we won’t be . . .” His eyes shift to me. “On top of each other.”

“But Adam—”

“That’s so generous,” I say. “If we won’t be a distraction.”

“Not at all,” he says, giving me a challenging look. “I’m sure we’ll all work well together.”

I don’t know if my brain will be worth a damn with him so nearby, but I can’t let anyone else know that. Especially not him.

“I think so too,” I tell him, and then I meet Cookie’s icy glare with a wide smile. “Problem solved.”