What a Girl Wants (5 page)

She tipped her head to the right, squinting as she studied him. “You have a lovely aura. You look ready to love.”

“How can you tell?” He looked down to see if his fly was open.

“It’s what I do,” Esme said. She handed him a card that she seemed to pull out from the air. “I’m a psychic. I help people find love. No fortune, no work-related issues, just love.”

“That’s limiting your audience, isn’t it?” he joked as he slipped her card into his pocket.

“No, it isn’t,” she replied in all seriousness. “Everyone wants love, and love is the most important thing in life. The rest is just filler.”

Sebastian grinned. “Maybe I’ll come see you.”

“Please do,” she said primly. “I’ll give you a friends and family rate.”

“Are we friends?”

“You’re going to see Ariana, aren’t you?”

He frowned. “Was it that obvious?”

“
Hello.
I’m a psychic.” Shaking her head, she continued down the street.

Smiling, bolstered, he rang the bell on Ariana Warren’s door.

It buzzed open.

He frowned. Shouldn’t she have checked to see who it was? There didn’t appear to be a camera. He went upstairs.

The place was small, even by New York standards. But the studio had a lot of light and had a tiny view of the Golden Gate Bridge. The kitchen had empty glass jars of all sizes all over the place, as well as some books on herbs in disarray on the counters. The dining room table was crowded with similar bottles, filled and labeled.

“Be right out,” a woman called out from what he supposed was the bathroom.

“Okay,” he murmured, pushing a rolling cart of apothecary bottles out of his way. There was a spa bed of sorts that had crisp-looking sheets on them but not much else in the room except for a cabinet. On a coffee table there were a few books:
Brew to Bikes: Portland’s Artisan Community
,
Ayurveda 101
, and
Organic Body Care Recipes
.

He walked over to the table and looked at her products. The labels were simple—he lifted one up to inspect it closer. Each one was handwritten, with a feminine Dew Me at the top and smaller print that said what the jar contained. Several had drawings, although there didn’t seem to be rhyme of reason to them.

Not scalable. He made a mental note of that. The product would sell better on the market if the packing were more modern than homey, too. People liked sleek. He’d add his thoughts into the marketing plan he’d have to write up.

He lifted the bottle to his nose and sniffed. Coconut.

The bathroom door opened and a woman came out. “Oh,” she said, stopping abruptly. “I thought you were George.”

All thought fled from his mind as he laid eyes on Ariana Warren for the first time. She was . . .

Stunning.

He’d been prepared for a privileged princess, someone like the ones he’d dated in New York.

That wasn’t Ariana Warren. She was luminous, not fancy. She wore jeans with a hole on one thigh and a sleeveless top that said,
Don’t give up your day dream
. Her bare feet were tipped with fluorescent-green nail polish. Her purple-streaked hair was piled on her head in one of those casual twists that seemed so complicated to him. The only evidence that she came from an affluent background was the diamond earrings she wore.

She didn’t look like a mogul with a promising skincare line that was poised to go national. She looked like the girl next door you tried to catch peeks of undressing each night.

But it was her eyes that captured his imagination. Mermaid eyes, the sea blue of the Caribbean in the sunlight, alive and mercurial. They looked ready to laugh and wanting to experience life.

“But you’re
not
George,” she continued, oblivious of his state.

Who was George? He frowned. “Are you waiting for someone else?”

“It’s okay. George will come back later.”

He already hated this guy who got instant access to her.

“Are you here for a facial?” she asked, studying him with her hands on her hips. “Or did you want a consultation for specially formulated skincare?”

Without warning, she stepped right up to him, her hand holding his face.

He froze, shocked by how close she was, stunned by how she smelled. Pepperminty—like Christmas personified.

Out of nowhere he flashbacked on holidays past, when he was a kid. His father used to sneak candy canes to him at night. Dad would make a big production of closing the door so his mom didn’t hear and then tiptoe to the bed.

“This is our secret, son,” he’d whisper as he pulled out a candy cane to share.

They’d huddle on the bed, crunching on the candy as they talked about the Mets and life.

His mom always came to check on them. Sebastian smiled, thinking about how she took big stomping steps. Dad would tell him to pretend to sleep, and right as the door opened Sebastian would start to snore.

He could almost feel the dip of the bed as his dad got up. He could hear them whispering in his doorway, their words muffled. He remembered cracking an eye open and seeing them kiss in the backlit doorway.

Man, he missed his parents. He inhaled again, trying to hold on to the love that warmed his chest for a little bit longer.

No clue about his homesickness, Ariana held his chin in her hand, turning his face back and forth, before running her palm along his face. “You have good skin, but you have a little dryness along your cheeks. It’s probably your shaving cream. I can make you something that’ll work better for you.”

“Okay,” he said helplessly, caught in her gaze. He’d spent the last several months surrounded by his Summerhill cousins—he should have been immune to blue eyes.

Ariana’s were different. Ariana’s showed him the promise of the future.

Whoa
.

He stepped back. That psychic must have really gotten to him.

“What’s wrong?” Ariana asked inquisitively.

“Nothing.” He rubbed his face, where he could still feel her touch. “I was shocked that my skin is dry. Is there really shaving soap that’ll help?”

“Of course,” she said, looking at him like he was a Luddite. “Lie down. I’ll do a moisturizing mask on you now while we chat about your needs.”

The big man below woke up at the mention of his needs. Lying down wasn’t going to help matters, either. “On my back?” he asked helplessly.

She glanced at him, humor in her eyes. “If you lie on your stomach, it’ll be harder to get a facial.”

Yeah, but lying on his back and having her hover over him was just going to make it harder.

Get a grip, he told himself as he settled on the bed. He watched her get a towel out of some sort of warmer. She transferred it from hand to hand and then unfolded it and waved it in the air. “Tell me if it’s too hot.”

“Before or after my face scalds?”

She grinned. “You mean, ideally?”

He chuckled and then sighed as the heat wrapped around his face. “When I lived in New York, I used to get shaves all the time, but it’s been a while.”

“Why did you stop?” she asked, her palms pressing the towel to his face.

He tried not to inhale her minty scent, or notice how her breasts brushed against his arm. “I, uh, have been traveling a lot.”

“Where?”

“London. I have family there.”

“Are you British?”

“No, just an earl,” he heard himself say. It still boggled the mind.

She lifted the towel and studied him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t really look the part, do I?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen an earl except when my sister makes me watch
Downton
Abbey
with her.” She rolled the cart closer and opened a bottle. Delicately, she smeared it all over his face. It tingled a little, but then it felt cool and soothing.

“A couple of my cousins do this all the time. I should have gone with them.” He laughed, picturing getting a facial with Bea. That’d have been entertaining, for sure.

“Are you close to your cousins?” Ariana asked as she recapped the bottle.

“I am now.” At her inquiring look, he shrugged. “I didn’t know they existed until a year ago.”

“Really?” She stared at him as she wiped her hands on the towel. Tossing it on the bottom shelf of the cart, she asked, “How did you find out about them?”

“I inherited that title I mentioned before.”

“I don’t have cousins either,” she said suddenly.

There seemed to be something cryptic underlying her statement, but he didn’t know what she meant or how to reply.

Before he could say anything, she began rummaging through her bottles. “What brings you here?” she asked.

“To San Francisco?”

“And to me.”

He leaned up on his elbow. “Actually, your dad asked me to come see you.”

She stiffened, then she turned slowly. Her eyes widened before they honed on him. She took him in like she wanted to eat him up.

But he was probably projecting.

“You’re Sebastian Tate,” she accused.

“At your service.”

“No, you’re not. You’re at Edward’s service.” Her eyes narrowed, sparking defiantly, as she waved in his general direction. “Was all this a ploy?”

“No, it was an interlude I’m quite enjoying.” He studied her expression and sighed. “But I’m guessing we’re at an end.”

“You guessed right.” She strode to get another towel. This time she used it to wipe his face without the care she’d taken the first time.

“I think you rubbed off a layer of my skin,” he joked.

“Think of it as exfoliation.” She tossed the towel aside. “You can leave now.”

He swung his legs over the side and considered what to say. In the end, he went with honesty. “Your dad did me a huge favor by using my company when I was just starting out. I told him any time he needed a favor to let me know, and he asked me to help you. It’s a debt of honor, and I can’t just walk away. My conscience won’t let me.”

Sometime during his speech, she’d closed her eyes. He was wondering if she was trying to block him out when she reopened them and said, “So what are you asking me?”

“Just hear me and my ideas out. If you don’t like them, then we’ll ask Edward to call it even and we’ll both move on. But give me a chance. I’m good at what I do.”

He was sure she was going to say no, but she shrugged, albeit grudgingly. “Come back Wednesday at noon and we’ll talk,” she said.

For some reason, he was flooded with relief. “Great.”

“But I’m not promising anything,” she warned.

“I don’t need you to.” He smiled and headed to the door. Before he stepped outside, he said, “You’re still making my special shaving cream, right?”

“You really want it?”

“Of course.”

Ariana hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she nodded. “I’ll have it Wednesday.”

“Great.” He jogged down the stairs, feeling happier than he should about something simple like shaving cream.

‡

E
dward had a moment of disorientation when he walked into Cotogna. It was everything all the places he took Lillian wasn’t: noisy, young, and lively. Hip.

As he waited for the hostess to greet him, he looked around the dining room to see if he recognized anyone. His offices had been in Silicon Valley and the times he’d made it back in time for dinner out, they went to stuffier restaurants, where the waiters wore gloves to serve and the patrons wore designer clothing. Here, half the people enjoying lunch were wearing jeans.

“Hello.” The hostess smiled at him as she approached. “Do you have a reservation for lunch?”

“Yes. Warren, for two.”

She checked her screen and then flashed her smile again as she grabbed a couple menus. “This way.”

As if she knew, she settled him into a corner table. She told him his waiter would be there shortly and then hustled away to the podium up front again.

Edward straightened his pants and then crossed his legs. He pushed the menu away, drumming his fingers on the table as he waited.

He hadn’t seen Diane Brauer in four years.

What would she think of him?

He changed his shirt three times that morning before he realized he was being ridiculous. In the end, he put the first one he’d picked out back on, because one time she’d complimented him on how blue looked good on him.

He glanced at his watch. She was late. Had she always shown up late, or was she reluctant to see him? He wondered if she’d want him less now that he no longer ruled the world.

The restaurant door opened and she walked in with a blaze of sunlight. She looked the same as she had the last time he’d seen her four years ago: energetic and confident, despite the fact that she wore all black.

Black didn’t look incognito or basic on her. Her slim, fitted leather pants had a sheen, and her top was mesh, see-through to the lacy thing she wore underneath. The million chains around her neck added enough glitz to keep the black entertaining, too.

He tried to picture Lillian wearing something like that. He tried to picture what Lillian wore on a normal basis, but he couldn’t.

Diane’s large sunglasses masked her feelings—until she smiled when she saw him.

“Edward,” she exclaimed, taking her glasses off, arms outstretched as she approached their table. She kissed either side of his face and sat across from him, staring. “You look good. I heard you retired, and that doesn’t usually suit men like you.”