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As she walked out of the Carlson and halfheartedly raised an arm to flag down a taxi, she wondered not for the first time if she’d made a mistake pursuing her career in New York. Perhaps she should have moved out of the city, or even to a new state.
It seemed no matter how fast she ran, her past would always be one step behind her.
CHAPTER TWO
GRANTSANTOSWATCHEDAlexandra Waldsworth, or Moss or whatever the hell she was calling herself these days, walk through the reception area on the security screen. She returned Jessica’s nod before stepping into the elevator. As the doors swished shut, Alexandra stared straight ahead, her hands clenched around the leather portfolio in her hands as if it was a lifeline.
How was it possible for him to feel anything approaching sympathy for the woman who’d broken his heart and orchestrated his firing all those years ago? Yet, it was most definitely sympathy that tugged at his chest as he looked down at the proposal in front of him.
She’d come down quite a bit in the world since he’d last seen her nine years ago. She’d looked good—too good—in an ivory tie-neck blouse and emerald green pants that followed the long curve of her legs. But he hadn’t missed the subtle signs that Alexandra was no longer shopping at Chanel or Saint Laurent: the scuff marks on her shoes, the slight fraying at the end of one of the ties on her blouse and the lack of highlights in her dark brown hair. A far cry from the polished socialite he’d fallen in love with.
She’d looked like a sun-kissed mermaid when he’d first laid eyes on her all those years ago, white teeth brilliant against perfectly tanned skin as she’d laughed up at him when he’d asked if she was one of the gardeners. A reasonable assumption, she’d assured him as he’d helped her to her feet, since she’d been sitting on the grass pulling weeds. It had been two days of walks in the gardens and long, intimate conversations before she’d revealed her name and that her father was the one who’d hired him as a seasonal landscaper. By then, it was too late. He was entranced.
Perhaps if she’d told him who she was that first day, he never would have allowed himself to fall for her. Never would have been duped by the illusion she’d created.
He pressed a button beneath his desk.
“Is the report ready, Jessica?”
“Yes, sir. Emailing it now.”
“Give me five minutes, then report to my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he waited for the email from his preferred security company to arrive, he clicked on the website he’d minimized when he’d heard the clicking of Jessica’s absurdly tall stilettos outside his office, signaling the arrival of his unexpected guest. TheAbout Uspage of The Flower Bell’s website featured a photo of Alexandra in a plain yellow shirt and blue jeans, her face lit up as if the photographer had captured her midlaugh. She was holding up a terra-cotta pot overflowing with some bushy white flower.
When Jessica had walked in and handed him a business card for The Flower Bell, he’d noted the name of the proprietor. He’d been annoyed at the interruption to his carefully planned day. Still, he’d typed in the website address, intrigued as to who would have the guts to show up without an appointment.
Even though his office was on the forty-sixth floor, he’d initially chalked up the dull roaring in his ears to the sounds of New York traffic when Alexandra’s smile had filled his computer screen. It had taken a moment for him to realize it was the pounding of blood rushing through his body as his heart sped up at the sight of his former lover. After that last photo of her with her new beau, he hadn’t seen her in years. And it wasn’t just being confronted with her image. No, it was that she looked so happy. Not the false smile he’d seen her paste on her face when she’d made the rounds at one of her father’s summer parties, but the kind of wide grin that made her hazel eyes crinkle at the corners.
He’d once been the source of that smile. But, he’d reminded himself bitterly as he’d scrolled through the website, it had been an act. Alexandra was an excellent actress. What game was she playing now by suddenly showing up at his office after all these years? She’d finagled not only the name of his events manager, but also the list of exclusive events Laura had put together to entice his executive team’s most-wanted prospective clients. Whatever she was up to, she had already shown herself to still be cunning and manipulative. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that Alexandra Moss, owner of a little floral shop on the outskirts of SoHo, had any connection to his past.
Although, if he’d been linked to a man as sadistic and greedy as her father, he probably would have changed his name, too. David Waldsworth had been convicted of multiple crimes, including witness intimidation, during his trial. Grant had known the bare basics. It had been impossible to avoid the twenty-four-seven news coverage. It had been a wonderful spring day as he’d watched the verdict delivered: guilty on all accounts, with a prison sentence that ensured David Waldsworth would die in jail.
Grant had toasted the jury with a beer in a café on the Santa Monica pier and then turned from the TV to order another round before the camera could pan over the people seated in the courtroom. Whether Alexandra had been there or not, he didn’t care to see her face, see whether she cried fat crocodile tears for the man she’d let witness his humiliation. Instead, he’d focused on the deep satisfaction of watching a man known for his cruelties finally get his comeuppance.
But he hadn’t completely been able to disconnect from the Waldsworth name or legacy. It had been a frequent topic in many of his early graduate courses. Fortunately, the coverage had focused on David, his firm, the victims of his crimes and the new laws that had been enacted in the wake of the trial. Very little was mentioned of David’s family. Anytime Grant had even the tiniest bit of temptation to look Alexandra up, he squashed it with a ruthlessness he’d developed in the months after their breakup.
She was a part of his past. Never to be a part of his present or future again.
Until she’d literally walked back into his life with her fake, wide-eyed innocence and her carefully-curated appearance of a down-on-her-luck businesswoman.
His lips curled into a scowl as he scanned The Flower Bell’s website. Once he’d realized who Alexandra Moss truly was, he’d had Jessica place her in the conference room as he’d conducted a quick review online while tasking his security company with digging into the past nine years of her life. Her business appeared legitimate and, given that she had started it a month before he’d decided to move back to New York, hadn’t been created for the sake of trapping him into some scheme.
Unfortunately, he’d found precious little beyond her website, an Instagram page for the shop and old news articles about the Waldsworth Fund scandal. Still, satisfaction had settled deep into his bones as he’d consumed several of the articles on the fall of the high and mighty David Waldsworth. All of his homes, including the Hamptons beach house, had been sold by the U.S. Marshals to compensate his victims. David’s wife, Susan, had filed for divorce and been allowed to keep half a million dollars. A fortune to many but, from what Grant remembered of Susan and her preference for all things name brand, probably not enough to keep her lifestyle funded for even a year.
As to David’s daughter and stepson, Finley—a spoiled brat who had made Alexandra’s life hell—there was hardly any mention of them. The majority of the news coverage had focused on David and his unapologetic interviews from prison.
Alexandra.
The first month after she’d looked at him, her lip curled in disgust, and denounced him in front of her father, he’d dreamed of her every night. He’d replayed their every encounter, from the first time he’d seen her in the gardens of the Waldsworth mansion in the Hamptons to the night they’d first kissed atop the Ferris wheel at a carnival, the roar of the ocean a background to the thundering of his heart as he’d tasted honey on her lips and surrendered himself to the fact that he’d fallen in love. None of it had made sense. He knew without a doubt he’d been Alexandra’s first lover. What had happened between the night they’d made love on the beach and the very next day when she’d broken things off?
Even though it had been so long ago, humiliation still burned a slow, painful trail in his gut. He loathed admitting that he’d hoped something would change, that she would reach out and tell him it had all been a horrible mistake. It hadn’t been until he’d seen a picture of Alexandra circulating on Instagram, smiling up at some blond Ivy League-looking trust fund brat, with the date showing it had been taken at her family’s weekend party the day after she’d broken his heart, that he’d fully accepted he had been exactly what she’d told him—a summer fling, nothing more.
You’re just a gardener, Grant. I’m a Waldsworth. It’s been fun, but it was never going to last.
Since that photo had been published—and he’d barely resisted the urge to track down the man who dared to have his arm around Alexandra’s waist and threaten him within an inch of his life—he’d purged everything that reminded him of her. He’d thrown himself into his studies and, been accepted into Stanford University’s graduate business program for the spring semester. Since the day the plane had taken off from the airport and carried him to the Golden Coast the week before Christmas, he’d allowed himself to think about Alexandra exactly once a year, on Labor Day weekend when he raised a glass of scotch to her and her father. As painful as it had been, he had them to thank for his current success.
