Because I Can Page 10

  My gaze jerks to Bella’s. “Does he know about this?”

  “He agreed to let me tip off a reporter. For you,” she adds. “You know he didn’t want you getting dragged through the press after the break-in. And we needed to control the narrative. Now he looks like he’s doing research.”

  “You’re good, Bella.”

  “I’m just taking care of my brother. And you.” She squeezes my hand. “I need to go call him and give a heads up to the studio and publisher. Sorry to run off.”

  “Go. Work your magic,” I urge. “We can talk later.”

  “Let me know if you hear anything about Allison. Oh, and I do have donations for the auction. I’ll email you my list this afternoon.”

  She heads off and I make my way back to my office, eager to get to work. I’ve just hung up with a donor when Katie pokes her head in the door. “There’s a man here to see you. A very good-looking, but cranky, man.”

  My brows dip. “Okay. Do you want to bring him back?”

  “Can you come and get him? Sorry, but when I say cranky, I mean cranky.”

  “Okay,” I say again, very confused right now. Katie has dealt with superstars on their high horses. For her to rattle over this guy says a lot. “I’ll go to the lobby.”

  “Thank you,” she says and backs out of the office.

  I walk down the hallway and around the front desk, to enter the lobby. The man is facing the elevators, his phone in his hand. A pinch of familiarity is instantly with me, as is a sense of unease. I walk toward him and halt. He ends his call and turns to face me, and I am staring into a familiar face, fixed in a steely gray stare.

  This is the man from the shelter. “Who are you?” he demands.

  “Allison.”

  “You’re not Allison,” he says tightly, arrogantly even. “And you’re not her sister, either.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The stranger and I stare at each other.

  “Who are you?” I ask softly, though of course, I know from Tyler, his name is Brad Waters.

  “Who are you?” he asks, not so softly.

  I play his game, seeing where it will lead. “You don’t seem to like to give away your name.”

  “Brad Waters.”

  At the sound of Tyler’s voice, Brad shifts to place us both in profile.

  “Tyler,” he greets.

  Tyler gives me a flick of his gaze with a command. “Go to your office.”

  I give a quick incline of my chin and turn and start walking, but before I enter the hallway, I turn back to see the two men standing toe-to-toe. Their voices are low but their spines are stiff. These were the two men in Allison’s life. And yet, neither seem to know where she is right now. I don’t know what transpires between the two men, but Brad steps around Tyler and walks toward the elevator. Tyler watches him until the moment he steps on the elevator, as do I. As if he senses me there, Tyler rotates and brings me into view, arching that arrogant brow of his, with a silent question that is pretty obvious: why am I still here?

  I give him a short nod, and back into the hallway, not sure what to make of anything that just happened. Katie pokes her head out of her door and mouths, “What was that?”

  I hold my hands out and silently reply, “No idea.”

  She meets me at my office door. “Do you know who that man was?”

  “Brad—”

  “Waters?” she asks incredulously. “As in the money man Brad Waters?”

  “Yes. I think so. He was looking for Allison. Why is that a big deal with all the big names we have come through here?”

  “He’s like Elon Musk but I think he’s one of those hedge fund, finance guys. Crazy wealthy. He’s richer than most of our biggest stars,” she adds. “For him to come here in person just seems weird. Which reminds me, did you ever hear from Allison?”

  “Sadly, no. I sure could use her input.”

  “I don’t think she’s coming back,” she declares. “Otherwise, she’d be more willing to help.”

  She’s right, of course.

  Allison isn’t coming back.

  The question is, why?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  While I trust Bella immensely, I can’t help but wonder how Dash truly feels about his newsworthy black eye. I shut my door and hurry to my desk with the intent of calling him, but I’ve barely sat down before I’m being connected to a client you might as well call Hawk Legal royalty, she’s so high-profile. Her generosity with her donations turns into a lengthy conversation. I blink and an hour has passed, and yet another call, followed by another, consumes me. Nowhere in the middle of it all, do I have a moment to talk to Dash. It seems one of the agents in the office decided to start his day by challenging all of his clients to call me and donate to the auction. Apparently, I represent good press and a tax deduction. I could be worse things, I decide. I’ll take the connection and take it readily if the charity benefits.

  Another call comes in, there’s a knock on the door, and I’m answering the line while Katie is stepping into my office to ask a question. Chaos continues until finally the calls die down a bit and I glance at the clock to find it’s nearly noon. I don’t know where this day has gone or how Katie would have survived if I wouldn’t have come back to work. I reach for my cellphone to call Dash only to have him appear in the doorway. He’s in black jeans and a long sleeve, fitted black T-shirt, with a contrasting tan blazer and just the sight of him sets my pulse racing in a way no other man has ever done. “Hey,” I say, standing. “How are you?”

  “You mean am I pissed at my sister’s stunt with the press?” He closes the space between us and rounds my desk, catching my waist, and turning me toward him, heat radiating from his palms, branding me, “Hi there, cupcake,” he says all soft and raspy. I really love when he does that soft, raspy tone.

  “You and the cupcake thing.”

  “You know you like it,” he teases.

  What girl wouldn’t want this man to have a silly and somehow sexy nickname for her? I think. “I guess it’s kind of our thing now,” I say, “and on another note, I hear Bella played fixer-upper with your reputation. Did that all work out okay for you?”

  He sits on the edge of the desk. “She kept you out of the spotlight and answered a lot of questions I didn’t have to. The Hollywood people are impatient. They can’t wait until the end of the week to talk. We’re doing a conference call with them. You have time for a fifteen-minute lunch in the café?”

  “You do know the entire place is going to talk about us, right?”

  “Not if you treat me like a client and keep your hands off me,” he says, grinning. “But we both know you can’t do that. I don’t care what they talk about, baby. We’re together. Unless it bothers you, let them talk.”

  “It doesn’t bother me.”

  Approval lights his eyes. “Then feel free to put your hands all over my body.”

  I laugh and the truth is, his reaction pleases me. It’s also the first time in my life I’ve ever really felt what I feel right now with Dash. And I can’t even explain what that is. It’s just right and good and more different than anything I expected to feel or even knew I could feel. “All right then,” I say. “Egg salad sounds good and they do have them prepped in the cooler.”

  “Egg salad it is,” he says warmly, his eyes alight with approval of my reaction as if I’ve just agreed to a coming out of sorts. And I guess I have.

  We exit the office and head to our left, toward the café. “You’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t wreck your car,” I inform him.

  His lips curve. “That’s good to hear. I got you a car to use while you’re here. It’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You got me a car?” I glance over at him. “As in a rental?”

  “Something like that,” he says noncommittally, holding the door to the café for me. “You’ll see when it gets here.”

  I’m curious about the car, of course, I am, and that should be what is in my mind, but the “while
you’re here” comment he made is what really kind of dampens my mood. We’re both living like I’m leaving, aren’t we? I seem to be going back and forth and all over the place in my assessment of me and him.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, wondering the cost of the car, not wanting him to have to pay my way, and needing to control my spending.

  “No,” he agrees. “I didn’t have to do it. But I wanted to.”

  His words and his eyes are warm all over again, and while I want to object to him spending money on me, we’re already at the café counter. For now, I focus on food. We each make our selections and settle in across from each other at a small, intimate corner table. “Do you think the whole press thing worked?” I ask, opening the plastic container holding my sandwich.

  “It’s our story and I’m sticking with it,” he says, and while he digs into his sandwich, I’m wondering how he dealt with the aftermath of his fighting in the past. Because obviously, this isn’t his first rodeo where that’s concerned.

  The bottom line for me is that Dash enchants the world with his stories but it’s his story, his real story, that I want to know. I wonder if I will ever truly know him. For now, though, I set aside the hunt for his real self and focus on this day and this moment. “Something weird happened today,” I announce.

  “Weird how?”

  “Remember how I told you that man showed up at the shelter?” I ask.

  His lips press together. “The one you gave your name and didn’t get his?”

  “Yes,” I say primly. “That one. That man showed up here today asking for Allison. The staff thought he was asking for me so I met him in the lobby. He was confrontational with me, demanding my reason for being here at all. Tyler showed up just in time and sent me away, but I lingered and watched them interact. They had words, not good ones, and then the man left. Apparently, he’s some really wealthy finance guy. Brad Waters is his name.”

  “Brad Waters,” he says. “Interesting.”

  “Interesting how?”

  “Aside from the fact that Hawk Legal represents some of his brands,” he says, “he and Tyler have a colorful background.”

  “How colorful?” I ask.

  “Our time right now is way too limited for that topic. I’ll leave it at that until later when I’m certain you’ll pick my brain.” He changes the subject. “I guess you decided to see the auction through at Hawk Legal?”

  I hesitate to drop the subject of Brad, but I accept the swift change of topic with his promise of more on the Brad topic later. “Tyler and I talked,” I state. “I told him I won’t be used against you. He, of course, told me if I resign again, I’m gone for good. Paraphrasing, of course, but that’s the general gist.”

  “Of course,” he says, dryly. “That signing I have in New York is a charity event on Halloween weekend. Books for Kids is a good organization that strives to stop illiteracy. You’re passionate about books and reading, and so am I. And yes, I’m trying to sell you on why you should go with me. And as a bonus, I can see your apartment.”

  Any pleasure I have over his invitation is quickly replaced by rejection. “No,” I say, images of his glorious home in my head, our home, right now, I correct. “It’s tiny and embarrassing.”

  He leans in closer and softens his voice. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything with me, Allie. You know that, right?”

  “I do know that,” I assure him. “You don’t make me feel less than you, Dash.”

  “What do I make you feel, Allie?”

  “Too much, Dash,” I reply softly. “Too much.”

  His eyes lower to my mouth, lingering as if he’s wishing he could kiss me as if he’s thinking about doing it anyway. “Tell me about the guy who burned you, Allie.”

  My pulse races. This is a topic I do not like, not one little bit. “Right now?”

  “Yes. He’s in New York?”

  “Yes. I thought our time was limited.”

  “Give me the condensed version.”

  “I didn’t live with him, if that’s what you’re getting at, but I was sort of, actually, engaged to him.”

  His brows shoot up. “Engaged. Alright. I didn’t expect that. For how long?”

  “Three months. The minute I said yes, he changed. Or maybe I changed. I don’t know. I never felt for him what I—” I stop myself. God, what was I about to say?

  Dash narrows his eyes on me and he catches my hand under the table. “Finish that sentence.”

  I comply. Almost. Not quite. “I told you how I feel about you, Dash. And it’s not how I felt about him.”

  “And yet you said yes?”

  “It’s complicated. If we were two pieces of a puzzle, we wouldn’t be working on the same puzzle.”

  “And what are we?”

  “Confusing. Undefinable.”

  “Agreed,” he says. “You are nothing if not unexpected, cupcake.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together.” He glances at his watch. “Damn. I have to get to my meeting.”

  “And I need to give you the car keys.”

  “Keep them, baby. I’m going to walk to the bookstore to sit there and write anyway. I’ll just stay there until you can meet me.”

  “I should be able to take my work home by late afternoon.”

  We enter my office and linger in the doorway, as he says, “Halloween is a Sunday but the signing is Saturday. Why don’t we leave Wednesday? That gives you time to go to Riptide, check on your apartment, and for me to take you to your favorite restaurant there.”

  Not his favorite restaurant. Mine. “I’ll talk to Tyler and see if I can make it happen.”

  “Remind Tyler that a charity event is a great place to find people willing to donate.”

  He leans in and kisses me. “I’ll see you soon.” He exits the office then, but the scent of him, earthy and male, lingers in the room and teases my nostrils.

  I’m still standing there, thinking about that undefinable something that is me and Dash, when my phone buzzes on my desk. Sighing, I sit down and grab the receiver. “Allison Wright,” I greet.

  “Ms. Wright.”

  The male voice is familiar, too familiar for my limited contact with the man. It’s Brad Waters. Suddenly on edge, I proceed with caution. “What can I do for you, Mr. Waters?”

  “We should meet and don’t ask why. We both know why.”

  Unease slides through me. “You can come back here.”

  “We both know that’s not an option. Pick a location. I’ll meet you there.”

  I could say no, but he’s a powerful man. He’s also a client of Hawk Legal. But that said, having been raised by a protective mother, I play it safe. “Cupcakes and Books in fifteen minutes.” And just for safe measure, I add, “My friends own it.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” he confirms and disconnects.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I arrive at the bookstore through the bakery entrance, scanning the seating area to find the odd hour of two o’clock a quiet one, with all seats free. Adrianna is behind the counter, her long hair silky and beautiful around her shoulders, her smile bright as she greets me. “Hello, my love. We haven’t seen you in a few days.”

  “Busy, busy, working on the charity event. Which reminds me, I need to order the cupcakes before you get booked, but now is not a good time. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “That works. I haven’t seen Dash in here lately either. Did you edit his book?” She wiggles her eyebrows, most likely not talking about editing a book at all.

  But I play dumb and reply like she is. “No, I didn’t edit his book. And he’ll be in soon.”

  “He will? And you know this how?” Her smile is wide. “Are you two—”

  “We are actually,” I say. “I guess you were right about how he looks at me.”

  “And how you look at him. I need to know everything.”

  The bells on the door chime and I turn to fi
nd Brad entering the bakery. I eye Adrianna. “We’ll have to talk later. I have a work meeting.”

  She in turn eyes Brad Waters, Mr. Money, power, and good looks, in an expensive suit, and then looks at me. “Work?”

  “Oh yes,” I assure her. “And not a pleasant meeting either. That’s why I picked here. You can be my bodyguard. I’ll take my normal coffee. No cupcake right now. The last thing I need is to try and eat in front of this man.”

  “You got it, honey,” she says. “I’ll bring it over. Good luck.”

  I turn and bring Brad into full view. He motions toward a table. We both walk in that direction and sit down. I slide out of my coat, settling it on the back of my chair. He’s not wearing one of his own. Perhaps the entire idea of taking it on and off feels weak to him. I think it must. On that note, I don’t bother to offer him coffee. He’s the kind of guy you could insult by assuming he can’t handle his own drink requests. His eyes are gray. That’s the first thing I think when I meet his stare. A cold gray. Icy. Brutal.

  “You look like her,” he observes.

  I blanch when I shouldn’t. I mean it’s not the first time the comparison has been made. It’s just the flat way he announces his own observation, without so much as a greeting.

  “Not really,” I say, recovering from his unexpected remark. “I’ve seen her photos. Our colorings are the same. That’s about all.”

  “And your name.”

  “I go by Allie.”

  “But you were born Allison.” He doesn’t give me time to confirm the obvious. “Are you her sister?”

  Obviously, he’s now questioning all he thought he knew about Allison. “No. We’re not sisters.”

  I steel myself for him to ask why I lied about such a thing. Instead, he asks simply, “Do you know where she is?”

  “No,” I say, watching him for a reaction, as I add, “and she seems to have walked away from Hawk Legal in a firm way. She doesn’t even return messages.”

  “My experience as well.”

  “I know you’re a client of Hawk Legal, Mr. Waters,” I say.