If the Stiletto Fits.... Wendy Etherington
several different looks before settling on one. Then she perused her giant, walk-in closet—complete with custom-made, revolving shoe rack. She needed something semi-sexy but not too obvious.
Since Brian was probably more interested in her industry connections than her legs, she ought to dress accordingly.
She finally decided on a trim black pantsuit with a silver satin camisole peeking between the folds of the jacket. She picked out silver, ankle-wrap, heeled sandals that might hurt like hell if they went dancing later, but they’d look festive.
After she piled her shoulder-length dark hair on top of her head in a loose twist, she strolled back through the den and into the kitchen. She had to eat something so she wouldn’t pig out during dinner.
Knock, knock.
Lily paused with her hand on the Parmesan cheese, which she was currently shaking over her slices of reheated pizza. “Yes?”
“It’s James.”
Well, damn. She’d forgotten all about him. He’d wanted to talk to her before she left.
She shoved a bite of pizza in her mouth, then muttered around it, “Be right there.” Opening the door, she found him with his suit jacket now on and buttoned, and a serious expression planted on his face. Well, James was serious most of the time, but this was a new level—even for him. “Come on in.”
Hesitating, he glanced past her. “You’re alone?”
“Yeah. I’m just getting ready to go out. Sorry I forgot to come by your office.”
He still hesitated. He’d been in her apartment many times, of course, but he always seemed slightly out of place. The intimacy probably offended his professional sensibilities.
Lily grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. “Oh, come on. I was just about to pour some wine.” She headed to the kitchen, leaving him to trail behind. “Did you ever find out what was wrong with Garnet’s computer?”
“The CAT5 cable connection was loose between the router and the modem. I fixed it.”
She blinked. She understood about three words in that sentence—and they were and, the and it. “O-kay.” As she poured chardonnay into a glass, she asked, “You want some?”
James pulled one of the iron bar stools away from the black-tiled counter and slid onto it. “Sure.”
Mildly surprised—he no doubt considered this a business conversation, not a social occasion—she handed him the glass, then selected another one for herself.
“What’s up?” she asked after her first sip. “There’s not a problem with the Spectacular, is there?”
He took a healthy sip of wine. “No.”
Again, with the serious tone. Curious, but not alarmed—James could get uptight on occasion—Lily snacked on her pizza. “Hungry?”
He leaned forward, peering at the slices. “Pizza?”
She grinned. “It pairs well with the chardonnay.”
After another sip of wine, he folded his hands on the counter. “I’m not really sure how to say this, so I guess I’ll just blurt it out.”
Her stomach tightened. Something was wrong. Had orders drastically fallen off? Maybe Bloomingdale’s and Neiman Marcus had both pulled their business. “Okay.”
He met her gaze. “I’m retiring.”
She angled her head. “From what?”
“My job. This job. I’m going to finish the last three months of our contract, then I’m—”
“You’re quitting.”
2
LILY’S HEAD actually spun. She gripped the counter for support. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—
“I know this comes as a shock,” he said gently. “I’d really planned to retire last year, about the time you came along with your offer. But your business seemed like such a challenge, and I just couldn’t resist.”
Her mama had always said she should have had “Born to be a Diva” tattooed on her butt the moment she was born. And she could feel a massive fit coming on hard. He couldn’t do this to her. He was deserting. “Old people retire! You’re, you’re—”
“Thirty-two. But I’m financially set, and I’m ready to get out of the city, out of the rush and craze. I’m ready to settle down. I’m going to Connecticut and open a café.”
“Connecticut!” She paced across the tiled kitchen floor. “What’s so freakin’ great about Connecticut?”
“It’s quiet and relaxing. I’ve already bought the farm. You should see it.”
Lily ground to a halt. This was a nightmare. “You bought a farm? Like with cows and chickens and stuff?”
He smiled and looked thoughtful. “No animals yet, but there are stables, so I guess I’ll get some horses. Or maybe I’ll breed dogs. Cocker spaniels or Labradors.”
She tried to picture James, suit-and-tie-at-every-hour-of-the-day-and-night James, rolling around a stable with a litter of baby cocker spaniels. Nope. The picture just wouldn’t focus.
She’d spent more than half her life on a farm. Her father had grown corn, which he’d sold to make ethanol, and her mother had believed in growing or raising nearly everything they consumed.
The work was backbreaking, hard and mostly thankless. Tractors were expensive and hard to maintain. You were always at the mercy of the weather. Chickens stank. Cows had to be led around by the nose, or they’d get struck by lightning during thunderstorms.
Suave, urban James had absolutely no idea what he was getting into.
Lily wanted to panic. Or scream. She was hitting her creative peak thanks to him. She never had to worry about the business details, because she knew he’d take care of them. He was critical to her business, to her life. She absolutely couldn’t run either of them without him.
“James, you can’t do this. I need you.”
“You’ll be fine. You were fine before I arrived.”
She shook her head, rushing toward him, tempted to jump across the bar and into his lap and bodily force him to stay. “I wasn’t fine. I was a mess. I went through two assistants in four months before you came. Before that, I was alone and clueless.”
“I’ll help you find someone else. Someone who’s reliable and understands you.”
Knowing she was acting like an idiot but not caring, she poked out her bottom lip. “I want you.”
His eyes softened. “You don’t need me, though.”
“Yes, I—”
“I have to go, Lily.” James stood, shoving his hand through his hair as he turned away, walking across the room toward the windows. “I had plans for my life. Plans that didn’t include managing spoiled movie stars and out-of-control divas.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “No offense.”
She nearly crushed the stem of her wineglass. “Oh, gee, thanks.”
He turned back to the view. Darkness had fully enveloped the sky, so the buildings were just a shadowy outline dotted with millions of lights. She knew without standing beside him what he saw when he looked down—the cabs and limos crawling through the streets, the rectangular grid of office buildings set against the silhouette of high-rises, throngs of pedestrians moving like a single determined wave across intersections.
“I’d always planned to go to culinary school,” he said quietly. “Or business school. Instead, I wound up managing my parents’ crazy career, then their friends’, then I