Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (6 page)

"My tastes have evolved," Nick countered, the heat from his brilliant green eyes creeping into her cheeks.

"What's your type now?" she asked.

"I don't know that I have one. There are lots of women in the world. Each has her unique charm."

"That doesn't bode well."

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds like you can be swayed by whatever charming woman crosses your path," Micky explained.

Nick frowned. "I just don't think there are physical characteristics—blonde hair or brown eyes, tall, short, whatever—that can tell you how you're going to feel about someone. I've dated all kinds of women, and they all have something unique to appreciate."

"Must be hard to narrow the field," Micky replied, unreasonably peeved.

"Not necessarily. When you know, you know."

"I wouldn't have pegged you as a romantic."

"Really? I thought I was pretty charming." Nick crinkled his brow and smiled.

Micky pondered what Nick said as their conversation continued, and she ordered another drink. As dinner progressed, he started looking better and better. Micky liked him despite her sense that something else was going on with him. She mentally kicked herself. The more she liked him, the more insecure she felt.

After they finished eating, Nick snatched up the bill and quickly dropped in his credit card. Micky frowned. "I thought I was paying you back for your help the other night."

"That was just an excuse to see you. I can't let you pay for my dinner," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I asked you to dinner."

"Because I owed you. Or is this a date? Seems like maybe I should pay just so you can avoid trouble with whatever other women you have in your life," Micky said. Maybe she'd had one too many martinis.

"Other women?" Nick narrowed his eyes at her.

Micky shrugged. "Something is going on with you. I can't figure it out. And anyway, it doesn't matter. I owe you, and I'm a woman who pays her debts." She reached across the table and took the vinyl sleeve with the bill from Nick's fingers.

"I can see that. You handle your business."

"I do." She handed him back his card and slipped hers into the bill instead. "You probably don't have much practice, but this is where you smile, look pretty, and say thank you."

Nick tilted his head back and laughed aloud, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fine."

Micky squelched her disappointment. He said he was single, but doubt ate at her. She didn't need to see him again. She handed the bill back to the waiter with an emphatic snap of her wrist. Her head swam, and she pulled her phone out to order an Uber ride home. What started as a fun evening out had taken a turn for the worse. Micky thought about apologizing for being short with him, but then decided she was better off if he didn't like her. The last thing she needed was another complex situation with a guy hiding something.

T
aryn stormed
into Micky's office promptly at 8:00 a.m., closing the door behind her and making herself at home in the chair across from Micky. "I know you want to go over the opening day agenda for the conference, but I can't possibly pay attention to that until you tell me about your date."

"It wasn't a date," Micky replied, tucking her hair behind her ear and avoiding eye contact.

"I can't believe you're sticking with that load of bull. I saw your face yesterday when you got that phone call. That was a date."

"It might have been a date except he's got some complication going with an ex-fiancée—or supposedly ex—I'm not entirely sure." Micky twisted her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Did you ask?"

"Yeah," Micky sighed. "I asked. He said he had been engaged, but that she'd broken things off with him."

"So, then he's single?" Taryn raised her eyebrows, and a sly smile spread across her face.

"There's some story there. Something he clearly didn't want to discuss. Sore subject, I guess."

"Maybe you can make him feel better?" Taryn waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Easing Nick's pain was a tantalizing thought, but Micky resisted. "No. My gut is telling me to steer clear. He was evasive."

"Did he look like he was lying? Maybe he just had a rough break up. So did you. It could be that you both need to climb back up on that horse. Together," Taryn said, grinning.

"Your Baptist mother would be shocked to hear you suggesting that I have a meaningless fling," Micky replied, feigning astonishment.

"I did no such thing. It wouldn't have to be meaningless. How would you know if you don't give it a chance?"

"I'm still licking my wounds from my last disaster. I do better when I listen to my gut and my head."

"Your gut and your head won't lead you to love, sweetie," Taryn argued.

Her heart had led her to Eric, the cheating liar. Micky needed time to recalibrate her heart's compass. Plus, the main part of her drawn to Nick wasn't her heart, her head, or her gut. That part sat lower, and it
certainly
couldn't be trusted.

"I don't think he'd be interested anyway. I was a little rude to him."

"What? Why?"

"He just seemed," Micky paused, "blasé about women."

"Self-sabotage, my friend."

"I'm not looking for love, right now, anyway," Micky said, slicing the air with her hand for emphasis.

Taryn rolled her eyes, subtly shaking her head. "What are you looking for?"

Micky turned Taryn's question over in her mind. Easy. She just wanted a straightforward man without an agenda or secrets. Simplicity. That, and for this conversation to be over.

"Budget numbers. I'm looking for budget numbers."

Taryn picked up her manila folder and reached across the desk to smack Micky over the head.

"Hey!" Micky exclaimed, holding her arms up in protest.

"Oh, stop. You need a good smack," Taryn defended, opening the folder and sliding a spreadsheet printout across the wood-grain laminate desk.

Micky laughed and looked at the numbers, reveling in a return to the business at hand. She poured over the file, sitting back in her chair to ease the tension out of her neck. She didn't think it was too much to ask to have a life that made sense.

"By the way, I spoke to Ben. There's a new partner to add to the list. I'll get you the details," Micky explained. She hated holding back from her friend—especially with all this talk of honesty. For now, though, she had no choice.

I
n the few
days that passed since having dinner with Micky, Nick stifled the impulse to call her, even though his mission required it. As much as he appreciated the lush body she could hardly conceal in her buttoned-up office gear, she'd gotten persnickety with him over nothing. Whatever she wanted to say about his baggage, she had a truckload of her own. Nick snickered to himself. The woman had a sharp truth detector. He'd need to watch out for that and stay focused on his priorities—Vivienne, Tom, and Azur. Nick couldn't afford to engage in games with a woman to whom he had an unwise attraction. He had enough problematic intersections of his personal and professional life.

He and his team had met with his not-quite father-in-law that morning to discuss the planned acquisition of Azur Technologies. Tom thought the small company might be lured into accepting additional investment. He wanted the technology, and he wanted the customers—both of which could fetch a pretty penny down the road. Tom didn't build companies. He bought and sold them. Between the acquisition and the potential sale down the road, Tom's long-term goals could mean a tremendous amount of business for Nick's firm.

Right after their meeting, Bob Stratford, a founding partner of the law firm, took Tom into his office for some glad-handing, but not before letting Tom know how bright Nick's future looked with the firm. Nick wasn't even a partner yet, and he was bringing in profitable business. No one seemed to care about the nepotism of the deal. Billings were billings.

An hour later, Nick heard a soft knock on the partially open door to his small, gray office.

Tom popped his head in. "I know you can't have lunch, but I wanted to stop in before I left."

"Thanks. Unfortunately, I have a pile of work to do," Nick said.

"Understood. Do you think you might be able to come by the house this evening for dinner?"

Nick prayed the man hovering in his doorway couldn't see him squirming in his seat. He scooted his chair forward under his massive desk.

"I don't usually get out of here until pretty late."

"I think you can ask Bob to let you out a little early tonight," Tom said with a wink and a cold, broad smile.

Nick sensed the inevitability of his evening plans. "What time?"

"Oh, seven or seven thirty. We'll sit down at eight," Tom informed him. "Vivienne will be there, and Jonah and his girlfriend."

Jonah was Vivienne's brother.

"She knows I'm coming?"

"She does. That's not a problem for you, of course."

Nick balked. "Of course not. I just don't want to surprise her."

"No worries. Besides, when is seeing your fiancé ever an unwelcome surprise?" Tom asked.

Nick could think of several scenarios, but kept his mouth shut on that topic. "I'll be there by seven thirty." Then, Bob and Amos Winston walked past Nick's door and hustled Tom away for lunch.

Nick picked up his cell phone and dialed Vivienne's number. When she once again didn't pick up, he left her a voicemail.

"Your father invited me to dinner and said that you'd be there. I'm sitting here in my office wondering what he knows about our relationship that I don't. Please call me back," Nick said before he hung up, feeling weary. A few months ago, his life rolled out before him in perfect synchronicity with his plans. His relationship had been effortless. Now, he didn't know what was going on.

Vivienne's dad could be overbearing, but he could manage that. Vivienne managed her parents like a pro. She'd once given him the best advice on that front, "The key is to make them think that what you want is what they want." That had seemed easy enough as long as he knew what he wanted.

Nick leaned back in his leather office chair. He'd strapped himself to this freight train, and it kept chugging toward its destination. He clasped his hands together and straightened up. The partnership at Winston Stratford entailed everything he wanted—status, wealth, influence—and proof that he deserved it all.

T
he only message
Nick received from Vivienne was a text answering none of his questions.

She couldn't wait to see him? He'd left her messages nearly every day with sporadic responses. In the past month, he heard nothing. Vivienne's text made even less sense than her enthusiastic welcome when he walked through the door of her parents' extravagant home.

The three-story mansion of cream stone sat imposingly in a wide clearing at the end of a long drive. The road to the house wound its way back from a gated guard station through a thicket of heavy-limbed oaks and maples. Nick took note of the Morans' small concession to water conservation—the large fountain ensconced in the circular driveway was reduced to a low trickle until later in the fall.

Vivienne closed the heavy wood door behind him and grabbed his hand to walk together under an arched stairwell to an expansive family room in the rear of the house. Her parents already sat on the huge brown leather sofa, holding cocktails. Vivienne snaked her arm around his. The sudden physical contact along with the brightness in her eyes and smile startled him. She leaned in and whispered, "I'm so glad you came," and gave his arm a tight squeeze.

Nick returned a hesitant smile. Her affection gave him hope for their future together, but he didn't understand its sudden resurgence. He suppressed his alarm and shook Tom's hand. If Vivienne was happy again, he would be happy again.

"It's lovely to see you, Nick. You two are such a striking couple," Vivienne's mother, Sheila, exclaimed. Nick walked over to her and leaned down to kiss her pale, powdered cheek. He looked from the older woman to Vivienne and back again.

Sheila didn't have Vivienne's height, but the two looked alarmingly alike. They both had pale blonde hair that almost read as silver even in the younger woman's shoulder-length bob. Both had an elegant length to their neck and limbs, and both moved their slender bodies with practiced grace. According to Vivienne, her mother preferred to sacrifice a more youthful plumpness in her face to maintain her size two figure. "When you get old, it's either your face or your ass," Vivienne had told him.

Jonah, Vivienne's brother, waved at him from the arched portico outside. He had the same tall frame and blond hair, though a darker gold than his mother or his sister. He likely didn't maintain a standing appointment with a colorist like the women in his family. At forty-one, he was Vivienne's senior, but his girlfriend looked like she couldn't be more than twenty-five or twenty-six.

"Nick! Good to see you. This is Emily," Jonah said, extending his hand. Nick shook it and then turned to the smiling woman with fine, light brown hair.

"Nice to meet you, Emily."

"Nice to meet you," Emily said. Her eyes darted around him as Vivienne came to stand next to him.

"Emily teaches kindergarten. Isn't that delightful?" Vivienne said in a way that made it sound not delightful at all. Nick got the feeling Viv wasn't Emily's biggest fan. Despite Vivienne's tone, Emily kept smiling and clinging to Jonah's hand.

"It is. I love that she works with kids. She's got a big heart," Jonah said.

"It's admirable," Nick replied. They stood in awkward silence until Tom came over and slapped Nick on the back.

"What can I get you to drink?" he asked while cradling his tumbler of Scotch in his hand. Nick asked for the same. He'd grown to appreciate the drink, and he knew whatever Tom was serving would be spectacular. Tom motioned to Miranda, their housekeeper.

"Daddy was telling us that you had a meeting today," Vivienne said.

"We're helping your father with a new venture," Nick explained.

Miranda handed Nick his drink, and his prospective father-in-law raised his glass.

"Cheers," he said, raising his glass along with his host.

"Getting involved in the family business, huh, Nick?" Jonah asked.

"Not exactly. Your father was looking for new counsel, and I introduced him to the partners in my firm."

"Trust me," Jonah said with a sideways grin. "That's being in the family business. And, hey, I think that's great. I'm still looking for that save the date for the wedding, though."

Vivienne stiffened. "We're working on it, Jonah. I didn't think you'd be in a rush to have your younger sister get hitched before you."

Jonah laughed. "I'm a man, sister dear. I've got time."

"Don't take too much time, Jonah. Your girlfriends are staying the same age, but you're not," Vivienne retorted.

Poor Emily looked back and forth between brother and sister.

"She's kidding, Em." Jonah tilted his head toward his younger girlfriend, who gaped, none the wiser.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes if you'd like to head into the dining room," Miranda announced.

Tom and Sheila headed down a hallway, past their massive kitchen, and into the dining room. Jonah took Emily by the arm and down the hall, turning back briefly to shoot his sister a dirty look. Vivienne smirked and started to follow, but Nick touched her arm to stop her.

"Wait, Viv. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure," she said, maintaining her broad smile until her family left the room. Then, she faced him. One of her brows lifted as she bit her bottom lip.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes," she said, succinctly.

"We have barely spoken in four months, and then I get this invite from your father. You act like everything is perfectly fine. I want to know if it's really fine. Why haven't you answered my messages?"

Vivienne sighed. "I needed to step away and think about some things. With the pressure from the wedding and my mother," she paused. "I don't want to talk about this now, but everything is fine. We can have dinner this week. Come to my place. We can talk."

Nick didn't know whether he should be feeling more, or less, encouraged, but regardless, he resolved to get their plans back on track. Dinner with just the two of them was a start.

"Absolutely. I'll come by one day after work. Let me check my schedule."

He watched Vivienne's eyes dart in the direction of the dining room, but he couldn't let her go yet. Nick took her hand and pulled her close to him, lifting her hair to stroke the back of her neck. She tipped her head back, and Nick seized on the invitation to kiss her. Her lips yielded under his. Their softness stirred his memory.

While they'd never had a burning passion between them, Nick longed for the physical contact. He tasted her lips and her tongue and tried to recapture the feelings he'd lost in her absence from his life. Vivienne pushed back on his chest.

"They're all waiting," she said, evenly and with a hint of chastisement. Nick recovered himself easily and ran his thumb along her delicate jaw line from her chin to the soft spot behind her ear. Something unnamable compelled him to try again.

"I don't think they'll mind if we take a moment to catch up."

Vivienne shook her head and glanced again over her shoulder. "Maybe not, but Miranda will be quite displeased if the food gets cold while we're fooling around."

"Fine," he said, reaching to pull her close to him one more time.

Vivienne shook her head. "Uh, uh. Dinner. I'm starving."

Sex or food? Right now, Nick would take sex, but he knew he couldn't drag Vivienne down to the Brazilian rosewood parquet floors and get it on in the middle of the Morans' den. He surveyed the wood's dark brown whirls, and the color brought to mind shining waves of espresso hair. Micky had fire. She might take his head off, but he'd love it. Nick blinked and focused on Vivienne. Indulging in brunette fantasies had to stop.

Nick ate many dinners here, but the Morans' dining room still stunned him. The room broke off the wide hallway between the kitchen and the formal living room. Three walls of divided light windows framed an immense, antique table that sat sixteen people. Foot-wide crown molding sat atop the walls, breaking at the corners for scrolled sconces. On the right wall, a stone fireplace sat in the center, providing warmth and ambiance in the winter.

The first time Nick set foot in the room, he'd been amazed at the size of the Persian rug laid out under the impressive table. It had to be at least twenty-five feet long. He looked up and out the many windows.

Although it was nearly eight o'clock, he could still appreciate the view in the twilight. At the far end of the room, a pair of French doors opened out onto a stone patio as large as the indoor living area. It curved around to the left of the dining room and led to a set of steps taking you down to an Olympic-size swimming pool. Another flagstone staircase outside the doors on the right took you down to a clearing centered around a picturesque, 100-year-old oak tree, which formed the view from the family room.

The tree was only slightly older than the house. The acreage surrounding the house stretched beyond the entire scene, all the way down to their private tennis courts and guesthouse.

Tom sat at the head of the table on the far side of the room. Nick followed Vivienne and sat to the left, opposite her mother and brother. Sheila swept her hand through her pale hair and then straightened the napkin on her lap. While she'd always been pleasant to Nick, he found Vivienne's mother more than a little intimidating.

The last dinner Nick attended had put Vivienne and him squarely in the woman's crosshairs. Two weeks before Vivienne went radio silent on him, he'd sat at this mahogany dining table, staring out into the darkness. He'd imagined what would happen if he grabbed Vivienne by the hand and made a break for it.

"Your wedding is just over a year away, Vivienne. It's not going to plan itself. Have you even made the guest list? Nick has his family, his college friends, and his work colleagues. That's wonderful, but you have an entirely different set of social balances to strike. Your wedding will be an event, and we have to think carefully about the right people to attend," Sheila had explained.

Vivienne's mother had beamed with enthusiasm. She would surely love wielding the social hammer of an invitation to her daughter's nuptials. Nick thought of how she'd reacted when Vivienne intimated she'd invite her college roommate's family.

Sheila and the other woman's mother, a woman named Birgit Schoen, had fallen out. The lady headed up a charitable committee to host a fundraising event for a local women's shelter. When Sheila had asked to join the board, Birgit had told her "yes," but then called one week later full of apologies. They decided to keep the committee membership to a minimum, but maybe next year, Sheila could try again. Of course, Vivienne's mother had been outraged.

Birgit had extended an invitation to the wife of one of the Dallas Cowboys instead. Some "unfortunate girl" from the Ozarks who'd dropped out of the University of Missouri once her then-boyfriend was drafted. Social capital had to be earned.

When Vivienne brought up inviting the Schoens, Sheila's rage had flared red on her usually pallid face. Over the following week, Sheila had swerved between not inviting the woman and inviting her, but putting at the worst possible table—near the kitchen with her husband's strangest cousins from Baton Rouge.

The wedding had quickly turned into an opportunity for doling out high-society justice rather than a celebration of their commitment to one another. Now, the urge to run away hit Nick again. Eloping sounded like heaven, but he'd have to grit his teeth and make it through the wedding.

The last thing he needed was to end up on the receiving end of Sheila's retribution. Nick smiled at Miranda as she slid a soup bowl in front of him. He stared down at the pool of pale green in the shallow bowl.

"Cream of asparagus," Miranda informed him.

Nick's throat closed at the thought. Creaming vegetables into odd soups must be a favorite pastime of the wealthy. One seemed to make an appearance on every high-toned menu. He picked up his spoon and took a deep breath.

"I had a wonderful lunch with Bob Stratford today. I'm looking forward to working together on our next venture, Nick," Tom said.

"I take it you're not talking about his and Vivienne's wedding?" Sheila asked.

"Precisely. Must we talk business?" Vivienne asked and directed a soft pout at her father.

"No, but I thought you'd like to know how well your fiancé's boss regards him," Tom explained. "And I am glad that Nick, Jonah, and I will have a chance to work together. Nothing solidifies a relationship like working toward a common goal."

"I'm looking forward to it," Nick said as convincingly as he could. "I've already started getting some background on your acquisition target. In fact, I met with my contact and got a little insight into some areas of concern."

"Really? Maybe you can introduce me to her."

Nick saw no reason for that. As Tom sipped his wine, Nick thought he detected a smirk and wondered what else the man had found out about Micky.

"We don't want to complicate matters. I have some other suggestions, but we don't have to talk about that now. I have a feeling the ladies don't want to talk business," Nick noted, trying to draw the conversation away from business, and Micky.

"Business is what makes everything else possible," Tom retorted with his brows raised in admonition.

Vivienne eyed Nick curiously. Nick hadn't meant to sound like the little women didn't need to worry their heads with business. But more questions about the tall brunette he'd met didn't seem like a good topic with his fiancée's father.

"What we should be talking about is getting your wedding plans back on track," Sheila interjected. "We talked about June of next year. I fail to see how that's possible now. The best venues book up at least a year in advance. You two need to pick a date."

Vivienne squeezed Nick's knee under the table.

"We're on it, and we'll let you know as soon as we do. I think June is still possible. We could always do it here. That might be nice actually," Vivienne said.

"Jonah showed me the grounds earlier. A wedding here would be beautiful," Emily piped in.