There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story (9 page)

“If I only knew what?”

“He liked you in high school—a lot.”

“And you convinced him to stay away from me?”
 

“I did,” he admits.
 

I pause, surprised by his frankness. “Why? Because I wasn’t popular enough?”
 

His gaze caresses my face. “Robert wasn’t the only one who found you attractive.”
 

I throw my hands up. “I’m not following you.”

He pauses, sniffs, shakes his head, and turns to scowl out the window.
 

The pilot warns us that it’s take-off time. Right after the announcement is made, I get it. He liked me too! I think. No? Yes? Is that what he’s alluding to? Never in a million years would I have guessed Vincent Adams would be attracted to me in any way, shape, or form. He was so
that
and I was so
this
. Robert was so
neither
.

The airplane bolts down the runway and lifts off. Vincent avoids eye contact with me, so I close my eyes and try to keep them that way. My brain is too active to sleep. All I hear is Vincent typing on his laptop, and occasionally he changes it up to punch out a message on his cell phone.
 

A pretty flight attendant taps me on the shoulder to hand me a breakfast menu, but I decline. Only then does Vincent glance at me. Our eyes connect, but I turn away and close mine to think about the time I spent living in Denver.
 

I wonder if things would’ve been different for me if I’d known Vincent Adams liked me. I never paid him much attention. He was the wallpaper in Robert’s background. I was also pretty depressed. My parents didn’t have an amicable divorce, nor were they the kind of people who kept their shit locked behind the bedroom door.
 

I had been privy to all of their verbal sparring. I knew every dirty punch my father’s lawyers threw at my mother and vice versa. I harbored no delusions about what makes a happy home. Growing up, I never met anyone who didn’t have a bunch of crazy shit going on behind their rod-iron fences. Uncle Charles and Aunt Carlotta, Jack and Charlie’s parents, put on a good show, but their ultra-wealthy, cookie-cutter front was just that, a front.
 

I think I fell for Robert Tango because he had a face I could fantasize about. He didn’t look like the average boy next door. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a crooked smile. He had the face of a movie star, and that hasn’t changed.

Before long, the pilot announces that we’ll land in twenty minutes. I’m groggy. I must’ve drifted in and out of consciousness the whole trip. I sneak a glance at Vincent. He’s focused on his work. Our last discussion sits between us like a polka dot elephant, but I can’t think about that right now. It’s almost show time.
 

I take my purse off the seat and search through it until I find my press powder. Flying always makes my skin extra moist. I smooth the pad over my face to dry it off and use my fingers to tame my wild, bedhead hair. I sigh and try to tug the wayward strands into place.
 

“What are you doing?” Vincent asks.

I jump. I forgot someone was here to see how I work to tame this shrew on top of my head. “Getting ready for the meeting.”
 

I slam my mirror shut and throw it back in my bag. He has that confused look that men get when they have no idea what they’ve done to bring out “the crazy.”
 

I lift a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m mad at my hair. Normally, I’m fine with looking like a cavewoman, but ever since you gave me this opportunity, I’ve been feeling like I’m worth more. I just wish my hair would follow suit.” I smile. I was being witty, but his frown tells me that he didn’t get it.

Finally we land. Thick snow layers the landscape. The opaque gray sky hovers low. The workers on the ground are wearing extra layers.
 

We have a bitter walk from the landing strip into the terminal. I would’ve brought my faux-fur-trimmed puffer coat if I knew I was going to snowy, cold Colorado. The good news is that we get into a chauffeured Town Car as soon as we step out of the terminal. My teeth are chattering.
 

Vincent sits close enough that our arms and legs touch. “Turn the heater up,” he tells the driver.

I hug myself like a weakling. Hell, I can walk from Midtown to Tribeca in ten inches of snow. I’m one-quarter Swedish for goodness’ sake! I’m built to tolerate the cold. Yet here I am freezing to death. I’m probably so cold because I’m so nervous. If Lena or Linda could’ve come with us, then I would be calm and collected, not sitting here shivering.

We’re on the way to the venue. I’m dizzy from the altitude, the fact that we’re still touching, and the clean scent of his soap. Although it’s been awkward between us, it hasn’t been uncomfortable. Vincent Adams is one of those people I could sit in silence with forever.
 

He faces me. “Are you warmer?”
 

“I am.” I wait for him to scoot away, but he doesn’t.
 

His gaze lingers on my face. Vincent and I are treading dangerous ground. Our breath crashes into each other. My lips want to do the same thing. Instead, I stare aimlessly out the window, hoping that breaking eye contact will allow my heart to slow down.
 

“We’re scheduled to meet with Darius at Deer Mount Lodge,” he says.
 

“Are we having a lunch meeting?” I refuse to meet his gaze. I’m starving. My stomach wishes I hadn’t declined breakfast earlier.
 

“No, but we’ll grab a late lunch afterward.”

“That sounds fine with me,” I squeal as I look down at my leg. He accidentally brushed my thigh. I have no idea how that happened, but it felt good.

The car moves slowly because of the ice on the roads. It’s also snowing, so visibility is low. I keep checking my watch. Our meeting starts in fifteen minutes.

“Don’t worry,” Vincent says. “There aren’t going to be any ramifications if we’re late.”

I chuckle, still tense. “Okay.” I take a deep breath.

“You’re uptight when it comes to the job. Why is that?”
 

I take another deep breath. “I’d like to know the answer to that myself.”
 

“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that, Maggie.” He used his sexy voice again. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then who’s coming to your place for drinks tonight?”

I pucker my eyebrows. “What?”

“Saturday, on the phone, you told someone that they can come by your apartment tonight.”

I gasp. “Oh, shit!” I scramble for my purse, grab my phone out of it, and power it up. “What time does our flight leave this afternoon?”
 

He hesitates. “We’re scheduled to fly out at five p.m.”
 

I grunt, frustrated by the fact that my phone is out of power. “Could I use your phone?”
 

“To call your boyfriend?” he asks.

“What boyfriend?”
 

“This overreaction that you’re having has to do with missing a night in with him, right?”

“What?” I scowl. “No. It’s one of my friends. She’s stopping by tonight, and if I don’t tell her I won’t be there, she’ll get really nuts.” I flip a hand aimlessly. “I’ll hear about how I disrupted her tight schedule and the precious time she wasted waiting for me. I often wonder what could be so demanding for someone who’s never had a nine-to-five and lives off a trust fund.” I hold my palm up. “Please, can I use your phone?”

He smirks. “Yes, you may.” He sets it in my palm.
 

I call Monroe. She never answers numbers she doesn’t recognize. I can’t leave a message because her mailbox is full. I grunt out of frustration and put his phone back in his hand. “I’ll call her later.”
 

He chuckles as he stuffs the phone inside his suit coat. “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“No, why?” I’m still a little irritated.

“I figured someone who looks like you would have one.”

I snort. A question hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask it. I want to know what the hell he wants from me. He’s confusing as hell. “Well, someone who looks like me doesn’t have a boyfriend. So there you go.”
 

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. As a matter of fact, from now on, I want to keep my relationship with the puzzling Vincent Adams strictly professional. “Let’s talk about the meeting.”

“What about it?” His tone is sharp.
 

“Did you discuss anything with Darius prior to our coming here?”

“Only that we’re interested in sponsoring the event.”

He’s doing the staring into my eyes thing, but I can handle it. I will not let Vincent Adams mesmerize me. My heart will continue beating at a normal rate. My head will not fly above my shoulders. He is the boss. I am the employee.
 

“What kind of sponsorship did you entice him with? Major or minor?” I ask. “We don’t really need a major presence because we don’t want to make it look as if we’re trying too hard. We want to be enticing but modest.”

He flexes his eyebrows twice. “I like the sound of that,” he croons.

Our noses are close. I bite my lower lip to stifle a spontaneous exhalation.
 

Vincent breaks eye contact to lean forward and point out the front window. “See, we’re here.”
 

The town of Aspen is spread across a valley at the base of a mountain. The buildings of the shops and lodges have a quaint, remote European village feel.
 

The lodge we’re visiting is a beautiful chateau with big windows and steeple roofs. It sits near the base of the mountain range. The lights inside are warm and inviting, especially since the snow is falling harder. The car stops under a carport, and Vincent and I scurry into the lodge, barely touched by the frosty air.

Darius Shockey is not who I expected. He’s freckle-faced and has long ginger dreadlocks. His trousers and cream-colored turtleneck sweater are baggy.
 

The meeting starts with him giving Vincent a ski report of some sorts. Of course Vincent’s into skiing; he’s a Colorado boy. After that’s over, Darius shows us the indoor staging areas. We look out the windows at some of the nearby outside areas. The snow is whipping down.
 

“I was going to kick up some powder, but the storm moved in earlier than reported,” Darius says.

“That’s a storm?” I ask. I’ve been praying the snowfall would ease up, but it’s done the exact opposite.

He nods. “And it’s a bad one.”

“Okay,” I say in a conclusive tone. “I think this will be a great opportunity for the IK App. I’m sold. Maybe we can discuss this further in a phone call tomorrow.” I want to wrap this up and get back on the airplane.
 

“Phone call tomorrow?” Darius asks. “You’re planning on flying out today?”

I look to Vincent. “Well, yes.”

Vincent’s been quiet because he’s reading on his cell phone. I don’t like the way he’s frowning.
 

“Actually, no,” he says without looking up.

“What do you mean no? Is the flight delayed?”

“Maggie, airplanes don’t fly in snowstorms,” he says.
 

That was condescending, but I’m too rattled to care. Now what do I do? Where do I go? I don’t have a fresh change of underwear or my toothbrush. I use a special soap because my skin is sensitive to harsh perfumes, and I don’t have that either! Those excuses are my way of avoiding the most frightening part of these circumstances: I’m stuck in Aspen with Vincent Adams.
 

I sigh. “Okay, fine, then I’ll get a hotel room.”

“You’ll stay at my home. It’s big enough for the both of us,” Vincent says.

I’m dazed. Vincent asks Darius if a certain road is closed. His voice sounds a million miles away. Darius mentions a snowplow and says he’ll give us a ride. I blink at Vincent in his fitted dark-gray suit pants and crisp long-sleeved shirt. There’s no denying I’m sexually attracted to his mounds of manliness.

Vincent says something about stocking up on food. He tells me, “Wait here.”
 

“We’ll be looping video during breaks on the concert stage. If you give me a one-minute reel before next Thursday, I can add you to the lineup,” Darius says.

“Yeah, sure, I will,” I barely say.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks.

I squeeze my eyes tightly, hoping to halt my fear. It doesn’t work. “I guess. Hey, so how long is this storm supposed to last?”

“About two or three days,” he says casually.

I stifle a gasp. I don’t want Darius to know I’m afraid to be alone with my boss. I smile and listen to him run down the lineup for the concert stage.
 

Vincent returns with four large paper bags filled with enough entrées to feed a platoon. I suspect Vincent Adams knows just how long he’s going to be stuck in Aspen, Colorado, with me.

Chapter 7

Alone At Last

Darius does drive a snowplow. I ride shotgun, and Vincent takes the back seat. I’d rather it be the other way around, but both men insist. Their chivalry is literally a pain in my ass. It’s cold up front because there’s an opening at the bottom of the door. The engine must be right under my ass because I feel the vibration. I just want to get out of this thing already and between four warm walls, preferably with the heater blasting.

It takes forever for the snowplow to chug up Main Street. It’s snowing so hard I can barely see five feet ahead of us. Darius seems to know where he’s going though. Nearly thirty long minutes later, he drops us off in front of a contemporary vacation home that’s boxy with lots of glass. It’s a bachelor’s pad extraordinaire, and I don’t have to be psychic to know who owns it.
 

We say good-bye to Darius, and I follow Vincent up the curving steps. He’s carrying all four paper bags. I have my bag slung over my shoulder and my hands stuffed in my pockets to keep them from turning into fingercicles.
 

Vincent sets the bags on the covered porch to unlock the door. I reach down to pick them up, figuring it’s time to pull my weight, especially since I’m ready to devour whatever’s inside of them.