Love Will Always Remember, page 3
“Thank you for agreeing to meet us here after hours,” Leighton said.
“No problem at all. Like I told Chef Moran, I love his food. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a sneak peak at his new restaurant.”
Was it wrong that he got enjoyment from the waves of irritation emanating from Thomas?
Jonathan smiled. “You just have to give me your word not to tell anyone what you see, okay?”
Bridge’s posture straightened. “Oh, of course.”
“My man! Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks, Chef. I can’t stay long.”
Thomas glared at him. “Don’t you have floors to sweep or sous chef’s recipes to steal?”
Jonathan shrugged off the insult. “Nope, I’m good.”
His gaze was drawn to Leighton—again—and he caught the amusement on her face before she hid it.
“First, congratulations on your engagement.” Bridge approached the bar and lifted his case. “May I?”
“One second.” Jonathan excused his bar manager and the trainees for the evening. “It’s all yours.”
Bridge placed his case on the counter and pressed his thumb over a small panel that glowed a dull red. The light turned green, the case clicked and with a whoosh the lid sprung open. He removed a black velvet cloth.
Thomas placed his hand on the small of Leighton’s back and urged her closer. Jonathan stayed where he was, but shifted so he had an unobstructed view of the case’s contents, and Leighton.
“Mr. Moran indicated you would only be interested in diamonds in the four to five carat range.” Bridge pulled out a black velvet tray containing twelve conical ring holders, six in each tiered row. Ten of the holders were occupied. He indicated some on the first line. “These are the most expensive.”
They were certainly sparkly.
Bridge pointed to the first ring. “The three rows of smaller diamonds on each side draws attention to the large center diamond, creating a halo effect. A total weight of 5.26 carats.”
Describing the middle one, he said, “This is an art deco–style ring set with a central radiant-cut diamond surrounded by over two hundred and forty round and baguette cut diamonds. Total weight, 4.9 carats.”
And finally, “This is a popular design, a substantial oval cut diamond with a double diamond halo. It’s also the largest, with a total weight of 5.47 carats.”
A buzz followed Bridge’s explanations and the instrumental version of “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” blared in the space. Bridge fished his phone out of his pocket. “I have to take this. Feel free to look at them, even try some on. Hello, dear . . . Yes, it won’t be much longer now . . .” He walked over to the hallway that led to the bathrooms and disappeared from sight.
Thomas slid the largest ring off its holder. “I like this one.”
Why didn’t Thomas just whip his dick out and piss in a circle around her? It’d be cheaper.
Leighton wrinkled her nose. “I’m all for making a statement, but I’m not a Kardashian or a reality housewife. My value isn’t tied to the size of my ring. There’s no reason it needs to span from the base of my finger to my knuckle!”
“Any ring would look ostentatious when paired with that cuff. Take it off.”
She hesitated, then unclasped the delicate platinum and diamond-encrusted bracelet from her left wrist and placed it on the bar.
Nope, not better.
Thomas’s phone rang and he checked the caller ID. “It’s my office, I have to take it.” He headed to that Bermuda Triangle near the restrooms where callers ventured never to be heard from again.
Stay where you are, Jonathan! This has nothing to do with you, Jonathan!! She’s your brother’s fiancée, Jonathan!!!
He sidled up next to her, staring at her patrician profile as she studied the selection. Her hair caressed her cheeks. He wanted to brush the strands behind her ear, then traces the hills and valleys of the shell with his tongue.
Ahhh shit. So much for staying north of her neck. From this position he had an amazing view of her breasts, lovingly displayed by the bodice of her dress. Clearly more than a handful, the tops were plush and soft, like freshly rising dough.
Why had he thought about positions? About twenty, featuring the two of them, flashed into his mind, like exhibits from a sex museum.
“Do you like any of these?” Her voice was low and serious.
Fuck yeah. Especially the one where those long legs are draped over my shoulders and I’m sliding inside of you while you thumb your clit—
It didn’t take long to realize his error. But because the blood had forsaken his brain only seconds earlier, he replied, “Does it matter? I’m not marrying him.”
She withdrew slightly, as if disappointed by his response.
She’d expected something else? Maybe a mature, thoughtful reaction.
He gazed at the rings and his attention was caught by a solitaire in a classic setting. He picked it up. “What about this one?”
“Oh!” she breathed.
On a whim, he captured her hand and slid the ring on her finger. She inhaled audibly and contentment settled over him. Despite everything being wrong with this scenario, nothing had ever felt so right. The rose gold color of the band and the simple oval cut diamond suited the long, slim, elegant digit. She held her hand away from her, then brought it closer to her face.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” Her voice was filled with surprised wonder. “It’s the one I would’ve picked out.”
“Great minds think alike,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, conscious of her and their closeness. She smelled incredible, like sunshine and toasted spices.
“I guess so.”
She lowered her hand and lifted her head.
They were so close. A tiny mole near her temple marred the boring perfection of her forehead. The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed and he yearned to kiss it and her. Expressions flittered across her face faster than he could read them, but she didn’t move away.
And he couldn’t.
What would happen if he touched her? Just once. Brushed his thumb along her parted lips, slid his fingers through her hair? Would she let him? And if she did, could he stop there? Or would he want to do more? Like take her juicy bottom lip between his teeth and tug? Would she allow him to do that? Or more? Would she touch him?
“Did you see something you . . . Oh!” Bridge skidded to a stop.
Jonathan shifted smoothly away from Leighton, grabbing a nearby towel and setting to work scrubbing a non-existent spot on the bar. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest it drowned out any other sound. What was he doing? Things may be difficult with Thomas now, but if he’d done what he’d been thinking . . . There would be no coming back from that.
Bridge’s interruption was both the best and worst thing to happen. His biggest problem was he honestly didn’t know which.
Chapter Three
That meeting had been a total waste of time.
Not that the executives of Rappahannock Pharmaceuticals knew it. Leighton had been so prepared, she could’ve given that presentation while completing the New York Times crossword and playing Double Dutch. She had no doubt they’d retain her firm and request her specifically for the account.
But while her mind had been able to provide information, it hadn’t been capable of accepting it, which meant her assistant would have to find a surreptitious way to get it later. All because she’d been mentally berating herself for her behavior the night before.
She’d ignored her own pep talk. She’d gone from refusing to succumb to this inconvenient attraction to eye-fucking Jonathan while her fiancé—his brother—stood nearby. Thank God Thomas hadn’t come out and seen them. It was bad enough Mr. Bridge had, but he’d been too much of a professional, and a gentleman, to comment on it. In the end, she’d decided to pass on the selection he’d brought. The one Thomas had liked was a bit much and the one Jonathan had . . .
Cursing herself and her Moran sensitivity—similar to gluten, only more disruptive—she slid on her sunglasses and exited the office building, one of the many housed in Tysons Corner, one of the largest business districts in Northern Virginia. She needed to keep her distance. She didn’t like the way he made her feel: flustered, hot and needy.
None of this was helped by the fact that the man was the walking, talking, breathing personification of sex. Everything about him teased her. Taunted her. Called to her. If she gave in, his essence would lift her off the ground and draw her to him, like an old-style Looney Tunes cartoon. It had been that compelling. And it had taken a massive amount of self-control to resist it.
His dark hair had grown a little longer and a little shaggier and the gleaming strands contained a wicked wave, giving him a disheveled I-will-fuck-you-long-hard-and-oh-so-well look. He’d worn a dark green t-shirt that had draped itself across his chest and broad shoulders like a possessive lover. A tattoo on his bicep had played peek-a-boo with her, guaranteeing her eternal curiosity, while jeans sat low on his hips and highlighted strong thighs and a bite-able ass.
She’d noticed his every movement—where he stood, what he was doing—and she could feel him watching her, his gaze leaving invisible love marks on her skin. She could barely look him in the eye, afraid that what she was feeling would show. Or even worse, that looking at him would intensify those feelings. Feelings that reminded her of her father’s deception. Feelings that she’d amputate and cauterize if she could, because the last thing she wanted was to be like her father.
Her need to escape Jonathan’s presence had been so great that she’d left her diamond cuff behind. She’d call Thomas later and ask him to retrieve it for her.
That was all the mental energy she planned to waste on Jonathan Moran. She needed to get back to DC.
Speaking of . . .
She shifted her Goyard St. Louis tote on her shoulder, pulled out her cell and placed a call to her office.
“How did it go?” her assistant asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Great. Rappahannock should be contacting us within the next few weeks.”
“That’s wonderful.” Nicole hesitated. “And Ramsey?”
That’s right. Leighton hadn’t been in the office this morning. “He’ll do it.”
Nicole blew out a breath. “Ramsey agreed to champion the bill through committee?”
Leighton pictured the incredulity on the stylish young woman’s face.
“I’m offended. You doubted my skills?”
“Will you fire me if I say, ‘a little’?”
Would she? This was Leighton’s third assistant in two years. Her co-workers would blame it on her exacting standards, but Leighton never asked her assistants to do anything she wouldn’t—or hadn’t—done herself.
“It’d take too long to train your replacement. But I might decide to revoke the additional two days off I authorized so you could go on your cruise next week.”
“I should’ve known better.” Nicole’s response was offered without equivocation. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Good, and I’m kidding.” This time. “I’m on my way back. I’ll be there in time for my appointment at two.”
“Did you grab lunch? You’re back to back all afternoon.”
“I will. Make sure all my notes are uploaded to my tablet and I need you to block off an hour for us to conference tomorrow morning.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“Ramsey brought up the safety issue.”
Nicole cleared her throat. “Is that a problem?”
“Absolutely. I took precautions to make sure it never got out.”
Which meant there was a leak in the office and she needed to find out who it was.
Over a year ago, her boss assigned her to the Concord Tires case. The company had improved on the current process used to self-inflate tires on commercial and military vehicles, finally making them viable for consumer vehicles. They’d realized the potential but lacked the access and know-how to make it happen.
That’s where Leighton came in. She’d urged, pushed and persuaded members of Congress until she’d amassed a cadre of support, including one to sponsor a bill that would make the external air valve, Concord’s new invention, a requirement for all automobiles that travel on interstate roadways.
Plainly speaking, every tire on every car to be sold in the US would be required to carry the Concord valve. Billions of dollars of profit were on the line.
“And if word got out you knew about the problem, did nothing and people got hurt—”
“I’d be subpoenaed to appear as a witness at the biggest congressional hearing since Jack Abramoff was investigated for defrauding his own clients.”
“That would be . . . unfortunate,” Nicole said.
Unfortunate? Understatement of the year.
“Concord will have time to fix the problem before the rollout begins. Until then we need to quash any whispers of danger that may arise.”
But discovering the mole and establishing a strategy for damage control would have to wait until another day.
“You got a call from District Life,” Nicole informed her.
District Life magazine was the premier guide to affluence, influence and sophistication in Washington. Their associate editor was a sorority sister who called on Leighton if she needed a quote from a Washington society insider or an identification of someone photographed for their “Gallery of Galas” section.
“Were they looking for a quote or an ID?”
“Neither. They’re doing a story on the merger and they’re considering a small profile on you.”
She pumped her fist and gained a wink from a passerby. “Fantastic.”
This could be great timing. And if they scheduled the interview soon, the article would come out just after the bill passed.
“They mentioned the possibility of the cover . . . if you could get your mother to pose with you.”
Resentment squeezed the air from her lungs and she let her hand drop to her side. Her first instinct: tell them to fuck off! But the publicity would only help to raise her profile. And the higher her profile, the better it was for work. She could interact civilly with her mother to achieve that outcome.
“She’s out of the country, but she should be back in a couple of months. She’s guest lecturing at Howard University for the second semester. See if that’s amenable for another article at a later date.”
“Have you told her yet?”
She knew what her assistant was asking. Nicole had a soft spot for Beverly Clarke and couldn’t understand Leighton’s remoteness. Not surprising since the Clarkes excelled at projecting the perfect image. “No.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“She’ll find out when she gets the Save the Date card. Same as everyone else.”
“Leighton.”
She gritted her teeth against Nicole’s censorious tone. It wasn’t any of her mother’s business. If she didn’t need to know the pertinent details about her parents’ personal lives, her mother didn’t need to know about hers.
“Anything else?”
“Kimberly Reed called.”
The wedding planner. “What did she say?”
“She offered two options. She could meet you next month or, if you didn’t mind, she could see you after hours, tomorrow night at her office.”
Next month? Unacceptable.
“Where’s her office?”
“On Eleventh and N Street.”
That was only two blocks from Sedici. Two birds, one stone.
“Call her back and tell her I’ll meet her at her office.”
“Will do. I’ll see you back here soon.”
Leighton disconnected the call and started to call Herb when a familiar profile several yards away caught her attention. Although Leighton couldn’t see the woman’s full face and people streamed between them on the busy street, she’d know that patrician nose, strong jaw and severely cut silver bob anywhere.
She hurried toward the older woman who’d taken on the role of her unofficial mentor when she’d first started on the Hill. When she was close enough that she could reach out and touch her shoulder, she said, “You promised me you’d quit after the last campaign!”
Andrea jumped then coughed and a plume of smoke wafted from between her lips. She turned, her expression warning a cutdown was coming, but a smile immediately smoothed out her features.
“Leighton! You scared the hell out of me!”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know . . .” The hand wielding the cancer stick twirled in the air. Andrea wrinkled her nose and dropped the lit cigarette, stomping it with her heel. “Need to cut out these filthy things.”
Like Leighton hadn’t heard that before.
“I stopped for a while,” Andrea said, blowing out a noisy breath, “but you know how it is when I get stressed.”
“Why are you stressed?”
Andrea shrugged. “Never mind. I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m doing well.”
“Clearly. I’ve heard talk about the tire bill you’ve been shopping around. Oh, and I understand congratulations are in order.”
Leighton shrugged. “Thanks. If we can get pull it together, we’re thinking of getting married in the spring.”
Andrea frowned. “Wait, you’re engaged?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Really? “Thomas Moran.” A thought occurred to her. “If you didn’t know about my engagement, why were you congratulating me?”
“I was talking about the list.”
Leighton froze. “The Top One Hundred Lobbyists?”
Every year, policymakers on the Hill curated a list of the city’s top lobbyists. It was a prestigious listing and hard to crack if you were under fifty. Year after year, most of the same names appeared. She’d never made public her desire to be on the list, but she’d wanted the recognition.
Badly.
“How did you find out? They aren’t releasing it until next month.”
But she already knew the answer to that. Andrea Ferris was an institution in DC politics. She knew everyone and everything that happened in their small, incestuous world.
