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“No, so back off, Big Boy. I didn’t have to. Not that I really would have anyway—you and I had a deal, after all. The girl knew weddings and brought in business. Got it done all right.” Connie sighed and looked up at him like maybe he could shed some light on the situation. “She quit on me. Told me she didn’t respect the fact that I wouldn’t be honest with my brides. Fed me a bunch of malarkey about lives and futures and happiness on the line. Saving families from being the ones to break the bad news later or some such bunk. I asked her if she knew what she was doing; she said yes. She offered to give me a month, but I let her out. Like I told you, she was soft; this business eats the soft ones for lunch.”
Jason was trying to get his head around the fact that Laine wasn’t going to be there. That he wouldn’t be seeing her around every corner, brightening most of the days of the week with some bridal appointment or another. That there was nothing tying her to him or this place any more. “Has she got another job already?”
“Nah, not that I know of. She’s got contacts everywhere, though. Someone’ll snap her up in a hurry. Damn, but I hated to see her go.”
Jason showed Connie into a small office and left her to get organized. He needed to get away, get some space, get his jaw off the floor, his gut untwisted. He’d blown it even worse than he thought. Now there was only one thing he could do.
—
“Max, I’ve got to run out for a couple of errands. I’ll pick up some coffee on my way back.” Laine stuffed her foot into her New Balance sneaker and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail at her neck. “You need anything?”
Shirtless, he popped his head out of the bathroom and smiled. “No, I think I brought everything over from my apartment that I need. I’m going to try and fix this pipe under your sink while you’re gone though.”
“Wow, you really are full service.”
“That’s me,” he added with a quick wink.
He was cute. Laine grabbed her bag, bit into the thick leather braid of her key chain to free up her hands and reached for the stack of binders by the door. Straining to collect them, she pulled a deep breath in through her nose and stopped. The leather smelled like wedding cake. She closed her eyes, tamping down the images and emotions that came unbidden and walked out. She didn’t have time for her buttercream fantasies. She’d let Jason Henley get too far under her skin, too far into her heart. And he’d torn it to shreds.
She’d made herself vulnerable to him, fallen under his spell and trusted what was between them. And Jason hadn’t.
Her fingers clutched around the stack of binders as tears filled her eyes. Damn it, she needed to get control of herself. She couldn’t spend an hour crying everyday for the rest of her life. She had to focus on what was new, what was good. What she and Max were starting was going to be great. If she got her errands taken care of and got back so they could get at it again. And then she’d be able to get her mind off Jason Henley and how much not being with him hurt.
—
Jason pulled into an open space and killed the engine. Stepping out of the car, he looked up at the old brownstone apartment building—not the building he’d been at the previous Saturday night—what an ass he was. It had a classic style, perfect for Laine. The “security” door was missing the latch, which meant at least he’d make it inside. Laine had every reason to be furious with him, but he would be damned if he’d give her any opportunity to turn him away before he’d had his chance to make things right.
The building didn’t have an elevator, so Jason took the stairs up to the third floor and went to the only door in the hall. Soft music filtered through, along with the sounds of movement within. She was home. Smiling a bit, he dropped his head in relief and knocked twice.
“Laine, it’s Jason. We need to talk.” No response. “Look, I was wrong and I know you’re angry, but, damn it, I love you and I’m not leaving until—”
The lock tumbled and the door opened a few inches, revealing a man in his mid-twenties with wet hair and a confused expression on his face. Pulling on a tight t-shirt, he blocked the entrance to her apartment.
Jason did a double take, his gut clenching with his fists—this was the guy he’d seen putting the moves on Laine at the hotel. Keeping his voice level, he pushed out the words. “Is Laine here?”
Obviously having heard Jason’s professions and seeming to sense danger, Wet-hair inched the door closed a bit further. “No, I’m sorry she had to run out. Can I give her a message when she comes back?”
He wanted to grab a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drag him out into the hall, out of Laine’s apartment and out of her life. Somehow, Jason suspected the message might lose a bit of its meaning if it was delivered by this punk, who looked like he’d just rolled out of her bed and probably couldn’t wait to roll her back into it. Gritting his teeth, Jason forced the image of another man’s hands touching her body out of his mind. Finally, he looked up and nodded. “Just tell her Jason stopped by. And give her this.”
With a last look down at the pink cardboard box tied with string, Jason reluctantly handed it over.
—
Slumped against the door of the fridge, phone resting against his chest, Jason stared out into his apartment and waited. He’d lived here for ten years. No, he’d showered and slept here for ten years. He could have stayed in any room in the hotel for all the living he’d actually done. Until three weeks ago, when he’d brought a woman wrapped in a tablecloth and covered in sticky sweetness through his door.
Before Laine, the last woman had been Sophia Dolce. He’d been a fool then, just as she said he was, trusting her when she didn’t love anything but the idea of marrying into the Henley Hotel business. He’d spent ten years guarding his heart, defending his emotions, until Laine had broken through all his defenses without even trying. And he’d been a fool again. This time by not trusting her when he should have.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a week without seeing her. In Laine’s business there were always details to attend to, tastings, rehearsals, seating plans, floral adjustments. She spent nearly as much time at the hotel as he did. Or, at least, until this week she had.
Now, looking back at all of the business dinners—quick bites while they sat arm’s distance apart, him helping with arrangements rather than begging her to tell him what she loved, rather than touching her hair or her cheek—he was struck by what a waste of time it had all been.
He should have told her he wanted her the first day. Should have pulled her into his arms and made love to her two years ago. Instead, he’d waited, trying to shake his growing need. And now he had less than three weeks of memories that revolved around more than place cards and someone else’s romance. Three weeks topped off by the indelible memory of a man opening her door like he lived there, offering to take a message.
He had to get her back or he would have a lifetime to regret those few seconds that decided it all.
The phone against his chest rang out. He stared down at it like an idiot before fumbling it to connect the line.
“It’s me. You came
