Cara Summers – Otherwise Engaged (страница 2)

“You didn’t knock,” he finally said.

Tyler swallowed. In a minute, just as soon as her system leveled, she was going to have to put those clothes right back on him again. “The door was wide open. I’m looking for Nick Romano.”

“Well, you found him, sugar—”

But it wasn’t until he glanced past her that Tyler let out the rest of the breath she’d been holding.

“And the only reason that door was open was because I was hoping that some of the air-conditioning would drift in from the hall.”

Tyler looked at the unit filling one of the windows. “Why didn’t you just turn yours on?”

“The electricity’s been shut off,” he said.

For the first time she noticed the file drawers, open and empty, the boxes stacked neatly against the wall.

“You’re moving?” she asked, turning back to him with a frown.

“That’s right.”

“That would explain your clothes, I suppose.”

He glanced down at himself, and when his gaze once more returned to hers, the amusement was clear. “Something wrong?”

Tyler’s brows rose. “You’ll have to admit, even for a dress-down Friday, they’re a little skimpy.”

Nick grinned. “Very funny. The truth is, I was thinking of taking a run, but it was hot and the couch called out to me.”

Tyler found herself staring as the warmth of his smile lit his face, transforming him into the antithesis of the warrior who’d sprung off the couch. She found herself wanting to smile right back at him. But the moment he took a step toward her, she drew herself up and focused. “The case I want you to take is urgent. In addition to your fee, I’ll cover whatever it will cost to reschedule the movers.”

“No.”

The grin had faded, but she still had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. Moving to the desk, she took her checkbook out of her purse and uncapped her pen. “I’m not making myself clear. You can name your fee.”

“No.”

She jumped when he touched her. His grip was gentle, firm, and she was very much aware of the press of each one of his fingers on the inside of her arm. So aware that she didn’t realize her feet were moving until she found that he’d led her into the hallway.

“Look, lady, let’s start over.” His tone was patient, controlled, reminding her of any one of several nannies she’d had before she’d been shipped off to boarding school.

She wanted to slap him.

“Let’s pretend you’ve just come up in the elevator,” Nick continued, “and when you got here, the door was shut. You knocked, but there was no answer because Romano Investigations closed shop last night at 5:00 p.m. You missed hiring me by about fifteen hours. I can recommend my cousin Sam. He used to work for me, and he just got a job with a big security firm uptown. See—” he tapped a finger on the door “—I taped one of his business cards right here.” Ripping it free, he handed it to her. “He’ll be happy to take your money.”

Tyler watched, stunned, as he shut the door of his office in her face. She heard the lock click, then his footsteps growing fainter. She very much wanted to give the door a good, swift kick. But she didn’t. Sheridans didn’t kick doors. That had been drilled into her by the time she was three. She wanted to scream, too. That phase had lasted until she was five.

But worst of all, she wanted to cry. She could feel the hot needle-like pricks burning at the back of her eyes. She hadn’t cried since she was eleven. Not even at her grandmother’s funeral six months ago. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the dampness. Nick Romano was not going to make her cry. So what if he’d closed shop. He could just open it up again. She had to get him to help her. There was no one else.

She had taken two steps toward the closed door, her hand raised to knock, when her cell phone rang. Only two people had her number: Naomi Prescott, her personal assistant, and Richard. Please, God, let it be Richard. Unsnapping her purse, she grabbed the phone and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“Tyler, Naomi gave me your number. She tells me you flew to New York last night. Is everything all right?”

Howard. Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler struggled to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Everything’s fine, Howard.”

Howard Tremaine was her mother’s fourth husband, the third that Claudia Tyler Sheridan had chosen to marry since Tyler’s father had died, and the only one who’d shown an interest in working at Sheridan Trust. He’d appointed himself her personal advisor ever since she’d stepped into her grandmother’s shoes.

“You’d tell me if something was going wrong with the Bradshaw deal? I could be on the next plane.”

“Everything is right on schedule.” Tyler sent up another quick prayer. Sheridan Trust had been pursuing Bradshaw Enterprises for months before her grandmother died, but Tyler had been the one to convince Hamilton Bradshaw to come aboard. The papers were to be signed at a family dinner at his Manhattan apartment on Sunday. Richard was supposed to escort her. Howard and her mother were to be there too, because Hamilton Bradshaw had a fondness for family-run companies.

“And you’re sure that everything is all right between you and Richard? He was supposed to fly in last night, wasn’t he?”

“Richard and I are fine, Howard. I just decided it would be easier to play hooky if I flew to Manhattan. Certainly a bride and groom have the right to do that eight days before the wedding.”

“Playing hooky?” He gave an audible sigh. “Well, I’m delighted to hear it. I think it’s great you’ve decided to relax a little. I was afraid that you might have had some kind of lover’s quarrel, or, worse still, that you’d decided to elope and cheat us all out of the elegant bash your mother has planned next Saturday.”

Tyler made herself smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “No, it’s nothing like that, Howard. Richard and I have never quarreled. And if I eloped, it would tarnish the image you’ve been helping me create for the board of trustees. They’d pull the plug on me even before my year’s probation is up. Besides, Hamilton Bradshaw is planning on attending the wedding. I wouldn’t want him disappointed in Sheridan Trust before he has time to settle in.”

Even as she spoke, a totally different image formed in her mind. It was a scene she’d watched hundreds of times in movies. Papers were rolling off the presses, the music was swelling, and there she was on the cover of the Boston Globe in her bridal dress and veil, waiting at the altar alone. Above her the headline screamed, Tyler Sheridan, Acting CEO of Sheridan Trust, Jilted!

“Tyler…are you still there?”

Tyler swallowed the tight ball of panic lodged in her throat. “Yes?”

“I thought I lost you for a moment. Tell Richard to give me a call later. I have some last-minute bachelor party things to go over with him. I’ll cover for you here.”

“Thanks, Howard. ’Bye.”

For just a moment, Tyler let herself lean against the wall. Howard was one of the few people at Sheridan Trust who had given her his unquestioning support since her grandmother’s death. And his interest in working at Sheridan Trust had brought her mother back to Boston. Tyler had begun to hope that the rift between her mother and grandmother would eventually heal. For fourteen years, ever since Tyler’s father had died, Claudia and Isabelle had blamed each other for his death.

Still, she couldn’t tell Howard, she couldn’t tell anyone yet that Richard was missing. The only person she could confide in was Nick Romano. If her grandmother said he could be trusted, he could. She had to believe that. There was no other choice. In a minute, just as soon as she was in control, she was going to make him help her.

WITH ONE QUICK SWEEP of his arm, Nick scooped everything on his desk into a box. He’d done the right thing. So why the hell did he feel like he’d kicked a defenseless puppy? Pulling out a drawer, he dumped it unceremoniously into the next box.

That woman was not defenseless. He knew the type—a spoiled rich girl, swimming in inherited wealth and certain that it could buy her anything she wanted. His sisters and his mother would have admired the style of that neat little suit she wore. His own taste ran to her legs. They were first class, just like the rest of her. And in spite of the heat, she’d looked picture perfect, not one strand of that pale-gold hair out of place, not one wrinkle in her clothes. Nothing loose, nothing unbuttoned. At any other time, he’d have been tempted to muss her up a bit. Just thinking about it made his lips curve.

Propping a hip against the side of his desk, Nick let his gaze return to the door. She’d been young too, not more than twenty-four or five. And there’d been that flash of fear he’d seen in her eyes when he’d leapt off the couch. In spite of it, she hadn’t run and she hadn’t screamed.

Courage. He’d always been a sucker for it. Nick glanced at the phone. She couldn’t have left the building yet. There was a chance he could still catch—

No. He stopped himself before he could start for the door. No way. Little Miss Picture Perfect was the last thing he needed right now. He was out of the PI business for good. After ten years, the cage door had finally swung open.