Swept Away by the Tycoon. Barbara Wallace
because believe me, he isn’t. I’m simply not looking to do any replacing. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a bad track record. I’m not what you’d call the best judge when it comes to people, as you know.”
All the more reason he’d made the right decision last night. “How do you know Officer Kent wasn’t the exception to your track record?”
Leaning forward, she lowered her sunglasses as if about to share a secret. “Because there is no exception.”
“You sell yourself short.”
“I’m not selling anything short,” she said, wrapping her lips around her straw. “I know I’m a prize. It’s the men that fail to meet expectations.”
“Present company included?” Ian couldn’t help himself; she’d left the door wide open. When she didn’t answer right away, he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Seems to me a guy who lied about being poor shouldn’t ask stupid questions.”
Ian laughed again. No sense arguing, as she’d only reboot her lie-of-omission argument. Given neither of them were likely to concede ground, the argument would last all day.
They were alike in a lot of ways, weren’t they? Stubborn, quick with the verbal cut. It’s why he knew she wasn’t as cavalier about men as she made out to be. The sunglasses might hide her eyes, but you couldn’t kid a kidder. Last night’s vulnerability tinged her voice.
Of course, she’d deny the charge to her dying day. Ian knew, because he’d do the same. Better to face the world with bravado. Hide the scars and fears, lest your weakness show.
So why did he talk about his mistakes last night? Reaching across the table, he pulled the other coffee close and peeled off the lid. The aroma of fresh brewed arabica greeted his nostrils. Hot, steaming and black. The one habit from his drinking days he never planned to drop. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Heaven. “What did man do before the invention of coffee?”
“Killed each other.”
“In that case, I’m starting a petition to award the man who brewed the first cup the Nobel Peace Prize. I’m not sure, but I think his name might have been Starbuck.”
This time Chloe was the one who laughed. Ruby-red lips parting to release an indulgent lilt. The sound wound through his insides, warming places long dormant.
He took a long drink, reveling in the relaxation. It had been a long time since he’d dropped his guard around someone—someone besides Jack and his rehab counselors, that is. No wonder he’d backed off last night. Subconsciously, he recognized the potential friendship and didn’t want to screw things up.
“I should let you get to work,” he said, setting his coffee down. “Going out on a limb, I’m going to guess you didn’t show up early just to buy me a cup of coffee.”
“If only. That is—” her eyes dropped to her cup “—I have to make up the work I didn’t stay late and finish last night. I don’t like leaving things hanging.”
Me, either, he thought, glancing down at the letter he’d started and restarted a half dozen times. Another ex-lover whose feelings he’d crushed. Every apology he wrote was a reminder of how many “things” he still needed to address. “You have a good excuse, though,” he told Chloe. “I’m sure your boss will understand. Especially when he sees your chin.”
“Why do you think I kept the bandage on?”
Damn, but he wished she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she got cheeky. “If you really want to ratchet up the sympathy, add a limp. Nothing tugs on an employer’s heartstrings like a little hobble.”
“Did the tactic work for your employees?”
“Hell no. Why do you think they were happy to see me go? I was a major hard-ass.”
“So I read last night.”
“And yet you still talk to me.”
“Today, anyway.” She started to leave, only to stop suddenly. When she spoke again, it was without the saucy edge. “In case I didn’t make myself clear earlier, I really do appreciate everything you did last night. This probably sounds silly, but if there’s anything I can do for you...”
“Don’t sweat it. And you don’t owe me a thing. Believe me, the good karma points are more than enough.”
“Trying to avoid a receding hairline and beer gut?”
“You’re onto me, Curli.”
The corners of her mouth curled into a playful smirk. “I don’t think you need to worry too much, Ginger. Man your age? The damage is already done.”
Didn’t he know it. Exactly why he forced himself not to watch her behind strut out the door. His blood was stirred up enough for one day. Stir it any further and he’d have to add another letter to the pile.
* * *
The transition from toasty coffee shop to the harsh outdoors hit hard. Chloe shivered and hugged her bag tight. She might have acted all laissez faire to Ian, but the truth was last night still had her feeling vulnerable. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he hadn’t been there to lean on. His steady presence was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. If she concentrated, she could still smell his scent. Twelve hours later, the memory alone warmed her nerves. He’d been so strong, so dependable. She wasn’t used to dependable.
Of course, you could have knocked her over with a feather when his photo popped up during her internet search, and she found her slacker slash coffee shop owner was none other than the CEO of a major defense company.
Former CEO, she corrected. A fact Ian had been quite keen on emphasizing this morning. Something to do with his abrasive management style leading to a power shake-up. She’d been too shaky to do more than skim the story last night.
Wonder where the ouster fell on his list of “issues”? She’d ask, but feared opening a wound. Especially recalling the pain he’d so clearly tried to mask when speaking. And here she thought knowing the slacker’s story would end her speculating.
Up ahead, she spotted a familiar blonde head wrapped in miles of dark blue scarf and moving slower than the rest of the pedestrians. La-roo didn’t do cold weather well.
“Trying to dial the phone by telepathy?” she asked when she caught up to her friend.
Larissa frowned at the cell phone in her hand. “I could have sworn Tom said he would be in the office early this morning. We’re supposed to talk about groomsmen gifts. Oh my God, what happened to your chin?”
“I got mugged last night.” Chloe did her best to sound casual, but her friend stopped short anyway.
“You’re kidding! Are you okay?”
“Other than the chin and a few scrapes on my hands and knees, I’m fine. My bag suffered the brunt of the damage. Two hundred dollars down the drain.”
“Thank goodness. You must have been terrified.” Larissa took a step, then stopped short again. “What about your stuff! Are you going to have to cancel everything?”
“Fortunately, no. Ian tackled the guy before he could get too far, and saved my credit cards.”
“Who’s Ian?”
Chloe told her the whole story, including Ian’s true identity, although she left out the part about last night’s odd sense of closeness. Knowing La-roo, she’d get all romantic over what was nothing more than an overblown reaction to Ian’s heroics.
When Chloe finished, her friend shook her head. “Unbelievable. This guy sits around a coffee shop all day? Why? I know running a small business takes a lot of time, but moving in seems extreme.”
“No clue. Maybe he likes being idly rich.” Which