Want Me (5 page)

She decided to do the copy first. After locking her office door, she opened a blank trading card template and started by typing.

His profession was easy: architect and urban planner. No need to talk about his humanitarian efforts on the card. That information would be much more dramatic coming out when she talked him up.

Marry, Date or One-Night Stand, another simple answer: Date. Only, wait. She deleted that and entered One-Night Stand. Then she deleted that. He certainly wasn’t Marry. Come on, she’d know if he wanted to get married. He wouldn’t be rushing back to Bali as quickly as he could if that were the case. Or would he?

He hadn’t said anything about a woman. Did that mean there wasn’t one? Or was she someone exotic and adventurous, a woman who would steer clear of anything to do with New York. Who lived on the edge. Maybe a doctor from the World Health Organization, someone who put herself at risk to save lives in regions fraught with danger.

That made sense. Nate had changed so much, and wasn’t there always a woman behind that kind of transformation? She should have known there was more to it. He’d probably gone to Indonesia full of the best intentions. But then he’d met her, probably saving a small village cut off from civilization, and he’d helped her, both of them hot and sweaty, sleeping in bits and snatches as they slowly patched together the survivors. They were bound to be hyperaware of each other, especially when he heard her accent. French, had to be French. She’d be beautiful, naturally.

Shannon sighed as she realized she’d typed a long line of
B
s all the way across her document.

Okay, she would go with One Night Stand and move on.

His Favorite Restaurant was easy. It was undoubtedly something in Paris or Hong Kong or Monaco but screw that, she was going with Molly’s Pub. He was certainly comfortable there. He’d laughed a lot. He’d made her laugh. His stories were preposterous and creative. She could thank his comic books for that, she was sure.

That tale he’d told last night about pirates? Seriously, pirates? Yes, she’d read about Somali pirates in the paper, and yes, the frequency and brutality of their attacks on ships had made the waters of the Indian Ocean extremely dangerous, but Nate Brenner, fighting off armed bandits with a cricket bat and a tin gas can? He’d painted quite a picture, even though she knew the pirates he’d been talking about had nothing in common with broadswords and buried treasure.

She scratched out Molly’s Pub. That wouldn’t work. She went there too much herself, and the prospect of having to watch him with a date made her stomach feel a little off. Which was stupid. She’d be the one setting him up with the date so she’d know the woman, and wasn’t that the whole point of the trading cards? Making sure the matches were suitable and safe?

Oh, hell, she’d have to come back to favorite restaurant.

Anyway, next was his Secret Passion. Shannon exhaled loudly, thought about putting down comic books, but she didn’t type the words. Instead, she went to the break room, nodding at the people on the floor. They were doing two very large textbook runs for a university press, which was good, and all but one of the other presses were busy with baseball trading cards. It looked as though the company was standing on a solid foundation. Only she knew the depth of the corrosion of customers slipping away, and how precarious their situation was for the long haul.

No, that wasn’t quite true. Every walk through the plant was full of evidence to the contrary. The long looks, the fear in their employees’ eyes. They knew. They were on the front lines, after all. Especially painful was the change in her relationships with two of her press operators, Daphne and Melissa. The three of them had been close. Now they avoided her gaze and talked about her behind her back.

It was Shannon’s parents who didn’t quite get the dire picture. The two of them weren’t involved in the nitty-gritty of the plant any longer, and she was glad of it. If things went Shannon’s way, they would never know. Because she would fix it. She had a battle plan. At least some of the new customers she’d been working on were bound to come through.

She couldn’t think about it now. She got her coffee, put on a smile and returned to her office. She would finish the cards and scan the photos. Tonight, after hours, she’d do the typesetting and the printing. She’d complete the job early tomorrow, and that would be that. She’d be ready for the lunch exchange, she’d stop thinking of Nate as anything other than family and she’d get on with her job.

Someone had to save Fitzgerald & Sons.

After stopping to answer yet another surly question from Melissa, Shannon entered her office not feeling any better from the break.

She woke up her computer monitor, trading the screen saver for Nate’s card, and almost dropped her coffee. Her heart slammed in her chest at the picture on the screen.

It was a photograph of an obviously abandoned printing plant. No caption, but then none was needed.

A wave of anxiety swept through her, forcing her to turn away from the computer. A press of the intercom brought a quick response from Brady. “What’s up?”

“Can you come to my office, please?” Her voice had wobbled, dammit.

“Shannon? What’s wrong?”

“Just come, Brady. Now.” She disconnected the intercom and took several deep breaths. She wanted to get rid of the image, but her brother needed to see it. This wasn’t the first incident of what—vandalism? protest?—although it was the most brazen. She’d been in the break room for all of five minutes. Enough time to pour, to stir in milk and a sugar substitute. Her conversation with Melissa had been uncomfortable, but brief. Whoever had done this had raced.

Brady had raced, too, because he was at her door amazingly quickly. “What happened?”

She nodded toward the computer.

His sigh held so much of her own frustration. “What do they think this will accomplish?”

She turned to her older brother. He was a redhead, but not like her. His hair was dark and so were his eyebrows. He was also a hell of a decent guy. Of all the brothers, he was the most down-to-earth. He liked running the plant, knew the machines as if they were his own creations. Nothing was too complex for Brady except the human capacity to be cruel.

“They’re scared. They feel impotent and terrified.”

He gesticulated wildly even before speaking, which only happened when he was extremely riled up. “They think this will help save the shop? Save their jobs?”

“That’s just it. They don’t know what to do.”

“But you’ve told them the truth. You’ve been there to help them when they needed it. Just last week you gave Terrance an advance on his wages. Again. At this rate, he’ll never pay us back.”

“It’s for medical bills. Taking away the health plan was a horrible blow.” She inhaled deeply. Brady wasn’t totally on the mark. It wasn’t so much that she’d told the whole truth as she hadn’t lied.

“Would they rather we closed down? Would that be better?”

She shook her head. There weren’t words. She was doing everything in her power, but it wasn’t enough. Never enough.

All she could do was keep trying. So she sat, and she got rid of the picture on her screen, found where it had been loaded on her desktop and deleted it. She’d have to lock her door now, whenever she left, even to go to the bathroom.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was a good company. A conscientious company. She wished she could understand how things had spun so far out of control.

She saved Nate’s trading card in her private folder and clicked out of that program. There was no time for frivolous matters. She had to get new customers before it all went to hell.

5

“Y
OU
’
RE
UP
EARLY
.”

Nate jumped at Shannon’s voice, although he covered it quickly with a cough. It was 6:30 a.m. and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected someone to be in the kitchen—the light was on, coffee made—but he hadn’t seen her sitting at the table in the breakfast nook. For reasons that only made sense when they’d been nine, he and Danny used to sit underneath that table for breakfast every morning until they did something horrible and messy and had to report to the big table in the dining room, where the first and last meals of the day had been family affairs, complete with table settings and lessons in manners.

It was yet another adjustment to find Shannon in the nook, half in shadow, in the now familiar pink robe. “I’m house hunting,” he said, bringing down a large mug from the cupboard.

He’d missed her the past few days. According to Mr. Fitz, she’d been staying late at work, and Nate and Danny had been catching up with friends at old haunts. He’d looked for Shannon, though, each morning. Each night. Hoping he hadn’t spooked her on their walk home from Molly’s. He didn’t think so, he’d shown restraint, but seeing her smile now he knew for certain things were okay between them. And up to him to keep it that way.

“Where are you looking?” Sleep still clung to her voice, lowering the pitch and giving her a sexy rasp he had no business thinking about.

Great. His resolve had lasted all of two seconds. “Starting in the East Village. Then Greenwich and SoHo if there’s time.”

“All town houses?”

“The Realtor convinced me not to be so set on a specific type of building. She’s basing her suggestions on the maintenance companies.”

“That makes sense,” Shannon said, “considering you won’t be around if something bad happens.”

The scent of the coffee was enough to kick him into the next phase of waking up. He hadn’t showered, hadn’t done anything but put on his robe. It was damn cold to be barefoot, but he hadn’t brought slippers and hadn’t thought to put on socks. The chill hurried him to the bench across from Shannon’s. “You should come with me.”

She coughed, having just sipped some of her own coffee. “Just come with you, huh? Blow off my whole day?”

“I’ll buy you a good lunch. And you can say rude things about people’s decorating choices.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

He gave her a look that told her she wasn’t dealing with an amateur. “You couldn’t have changed that much.”

“It’s not rude if it’s constructive criticism.”

“Like hell.”

She smiled at him behind her Gramercy Park mug. Her skin stopped him, his own cup an inch off the table. She looked as if she were made of cream and silk. Something that couldn’t possibly exist in nature. Like the ads in the magazines that made every flaw disappear with the magic of airbrushing. But he was close, and she was as real as anything. He ached to touch her, not just on her cheek, although that’s where he’d start. He could barely imagine the feel of her inner thigh, what it would be like to rest his cheek on her tummy, right below her belly button.

“Okay, that’s pretty creepy,” Shannon said.

He put his cup down. “What?” He knew he’d been staring. So why was he playing dumb?

“You do that a lot,” she said. “There’s a pattern. Am I that different from who you remember?”

“Yes,” he said, and he should have hesitated there. For a few seconds at least.

“Okay.”

She sipped more coffee and, ahh, there it was. The blush. He wanted to watch it evolve in all its heated glory, but he’d already crossed the polite behavioral line.

What he didn’t understand was the reason for the blush. Yes, he’d stared too long, and that was rude, but was she blushing because she was embarrassed at the attention? If he’d been anyone else, would she have blushed or would she have walked away from the situation? Was she reacting to the stare itself, or had she sussed that he was thinking about her sexually?

“Did you and Danny go out and cause havoc last night?”

A change in the subject was probably a good thing, and he’d roll with it. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say havoc.”

“Let me be the judge,” she said. “But first, I need another coffee. You want a refill while I’m up?”

“I’ve barely touched mine, thanks.”

He didn’t hesitate to watch her cross the short distance to the giant coffee urn. The timer switch had to have been set at some ungodly hour for it to finish perking so early. So like Mrs. Fitz.

The thought of her mother vanished as his gaze ran down the back of Shannon in her belted robe. The curves killed him. She’d been so straight for so long. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking of his hands on her waist. Shit, the desire to have her naked had become more and more acute with every passing night. He was the one blushing now, and he never did. He got too much enjoyment from crossing social boundaries. Blushing was for people who cared if they were offensive.

But wanting Shannon…he hadn’t been able to talk his way around that issue. This new mind-set should’ve been squashed each time he went upstairs and was regaled with pictures of little Princess Shannon, the Shannon he’d known best. In her tiaras and her tutus, she was the essence of innocence. Not like those kids they put on parade today. She hadn’t been made to look like a miniature centerfold. In fact, she hadn’t been sexualized at all, thank God. She looked like a fairy, like a Disney character come to life.

Except she wasn’t that child any longer. She was twenty-seven and she was single and only one thin wall separated their bedrooms at night.

He turned his head, stared hard at the refrigerator, which frankly wasn’t that interesting, but he didn’t want her to see his face at the moment. He wasn’t a very good actor, and his want felt bigger than his ability to pretend.

If for no other reason than out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Fitz, Shannon should be out-of-bounds. Maybe he needed to go back to staying at the hotel. He could make up some lie that wouldn’t hurt any feelings. Anything would be easier than being so close when he had to keep his distance.

* * *

T
HE
TOTE
BAG
FULL
OF
FROZEN
Irish stew servings banged against Shannon’s thigh as she walked down the path to the St. Marks basement door. For the first time since she’d joined the lunch exchange, Shannon wasn’t looking forward to the gathering. She had new cards ready, as always in a box so she could pour them out in a cascade of eligible men; all the drama she could fit into a dreary kitchen basement. She’d go through the motions—it was expected, after all—but her heart wouldn’t be in it.

Work had been eating Shannon alive. Aside from the Easter preparations, the baseball team shirts, posters and calendars and the regular day-to-day pressings and bindings, she hadn’t gone a day without making cold calls, without visiting at least one new potential client, without placing at least a dozen business cards in likely and unlikely venues.

In between, every spare second, she’d been consumed with thoughts of Nate, then feel guilty, talk herself out of that, then start the cycle over again. Midnight after midnight found her wide-awake, coming up with new approaches to get clients, or, more frequently, remembering every detail of Nate in a towel, Nate at the bar, Nate in the hallway, Nate, Nate, Nate.

She was doing all she could to increase business at the plant, and today she’d make a stand in her madness over Nate. While she couldn’t ask him to leave the house, she could send him on a date. Hopefully more than one. And, despite her insane schedule, she would go out on dates of her own. Every night, if necessary.

The thought of which made her feel sick.

It was the stress. So much of it, and so few opportunities to vent. Brady had enough of his own troubles, so she couldn’t whine to him, and she didn’t want to tell the other brothers because they couldn’t be trusted not to blurt out something in front of her parents. Thank goodness for all those years of practicing to smile and acting cheerful at pageants.

As she opened the basement door she put one of those smiles in place, ratcheted up her enthusiasm and went inside. The sound of her friends helped make both smile and attitude more true, and by the time she was in the kitchen, she felt better.

Everyone stopped. It had been one of her favorite parts of the trading cards. The expectant hush, the anticipation, the possibilities. Her, center stage. It was Christmas every couple of weeks. No, she hadn’t found her perfect man yet, but there were so many success stories. She’d done that. Not alone, but the idea had been hers, and why couldn’t she find something equally wonderful that would bring business to Fitzgerald & Sons?

“Shannon? You all right?”

Ariel was at her side, looking concerned. Shannon had forgotten she’d be there despite the fact they’d spoken two days ago. Shannon wasn’t surprised to see that her cousin had gone all out for her first meeting. She’d worn her hair down, swept into a Lauren Bacall bob that looked slinky and sophisticated. Her jacket was of a theme—big shoulders, fitted waist—as was her pencil skirt and five-inch heels. It worked.

“Shannon?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “No problem finding the place?”

“None. And everyone’s already been nice, although there’s no chance I’ll remember the names.”

“I’ll take you around. After.” She held up the box of new cards. There weren’t many brand-new ones, but there were a number of men for the taking. Some hadn’t been chosen at all, though very few. Most had come back to the pile because that elusive piece of magic had been missing. Shannon had returned several cards of her own.

The room was relatively warm, no thanks to the inadequate radiator. They were lucky, though, that the church let them use the place to hold their exchange and in some cases cook their meals.

Long, rectangular tables had been set up in a circle of sorts, every participant had fourteen frozen containers stacked and ready to be distributed, waiting for the bagging portion of the afternoon.

For now, though, the women who were still seeking their special someone were gathered in front of Shannon’s table. She put the box down as well as her heavy tote. “This is Ariel, everyone. I know she’s met some of you, and in no time at all she’ll be one of the regulars. She’s a paralegal, smart as a whip and gorgeous, but you’ll like her anyway. She’s my cousin and she understands that we don’t discuss the trading cards with outsiders. Lucky for us she’s contributed a very attractive lawyer.”

Her friends were smiling and shuffling closer, and she wondered if they could tell she wasn’t herself. Part of her wished someone would take her aside, get her to spill all her woes. But while it was true she did consider most of these women true friends, they weren’t like the girls she’d been close to in high school and college. Completely her fault. There had been ovations, invitations, phone calls. But for years now, the plant had been her life. The plant and her family.

Shannon began the ritual. She lifted the box of cards high, and the energy of the room expanded, a palpable spark. The box tilted and the cards fell into a gorgeous pile while the women dove in.

Only one pick was allowed each session. Only returned if there was no hope, or a one-night stand. How lucky were those guys? If they only knew. But sometimes the date turned into a relationship, and the one-night stand became a series of dates. In the two most famous cases, those one-night stands had turned into life-changing, living-together, monogamous relationships.

There they were, standing back by the kitchen itself, Bree Kingston and Rebecca Thorpe. They had become very close friends in the last two months. Bree was living with Charlie Winslow, owner and editor of the Naked New York media empire. Rebecca was responsible for that match because Charlie was her cousin. Then Rebecca had been rewarded with Jake.

Fairy-tale romances, both of them. The outcome every woman in the room prayed for.

And Shannon had forgotten to look for another card and now the pile had dwindled considerably. She sighed, not surprised. Things weren’t going her way lately, so why should the trading cards be any different.

“I got him!” Ariel said, her voice an octave higher than normal.

“Who?” Shannon asked, her cousin’s excitement infectious and fun.

“Nate. Your friend Nate. I had to fight for him, though. There were three of us who grabbed for the card but I was fastest. I told you I’d get him.”

Shannon had to struggle to keep her smile, her composure. Ariel was going to go out with Nate. If he accepted… But of course he’d accept, why wouldn’t he, especially because Shannon herself was going to set the date up.

“I can’t wait to find out what he’s got under that suit,” Ariel said.

Shannon knew Ariel would be pleased. From the way the towel had draped, there was every reason to think Nate was fantastic all over.

Why had she thought this was a good idea? What kind of moron was she, thinking this would be the solution to her problem? As much as she liked Ariel, Shannon was seconds away from ripping the card from her hand and running for the hills.

He was hers, dammit.

Her breath stilled as a shudder ran down her back. He was hers?
Really?