Robyn Grady - One Night, Second Chance

“So, Wynn,” Cole went on, “you’re definitely coming?”

Dex’s voice lowered. “You’re okay after that breakup now, right?”

Wynn wanted to roll his eyes. He’d really hoped he’d get through this conversation without anyone bringing that up.

“The breakup...” He forced a grin. “Sounds like the title of some soppy book.”

“Movie, actually,” Dex countered.

“Well, you’ll all be relieved to know that I’ve moved on.”

“Mentally or physically?” Dex asked.

“Both.”

“Really?” Cole said at the same time Dex asked, “Anyone we know?”

“As a matter of fact...remember Grace Munroe?”

Cole blinked twice. “You don’t mean Brock Munroe’s girl?”

“Whoa. I remember,” Dex said. “The little horror who crushed on you that Christmas in Colorado when we were all kids.”

“That’s back to front.” Wynn set them straight. “I wanted to crush her—under my heel.”

“And now?” Dex asked.

“We caught up.”

“So, we can put her name down beside yours for the wedding?” Cole prodded.

“I said I’ve moved on.” Lifting his chin, Wynn adjusted his tie’s Windsor knot. “No one’s moving in.”

In the past, these two had nudged each other, grinning over Wynn’s plans to settle down sooner rather than later. Now Cole and Dex were the ones jabbed by Cupid’s arrow and falling over themselves to commit while Wynn had welcomed the role of dedicated bachelor. Once bit and twice shy. He didn’t need the aggravation.

The men signed off. Wynn could see his personal assistant Daphne Cranks down the hall trying to get his attention. She pushed her large-framed glasses up her nose before flicking her gaze toward a guest. A man dressed in an impeccable dark gray suit got up from his chair with an easy smile. Christopher Riggs was almost as tall as Wynn. He had a barrel chest like a buff character from a comic strip. When Wynn joined him, they shook hands, introduced themselves and headed for the boardroom.

“My father seems impressed by your credentials,” Wynn said, pulling in his chair.

“He’s a fascinating man.”

“He worked hard to build Hunter Enterprises into the force it is today.”

“I believe it was very much a local Australian concern when Guthrie took over from your grandfather.”

“My father ran the company with my uncle for a short while. Two strong wills. Different ideas of how the place ought to run. I’m afraid it didn’t work out.” Wynn unbuttoned his jacket and sat back. “That was decades ago.”

“Hopefully I’ll have the chance to contribute something positive moving forward.”

They discussed where the company was positioned at the moment, and went on to speak about publishing in general. Christopher handed over his résumé and then volunteered information about his background. Guthrie had already mentioned that, until recently, Christopher’s family had owned a notable magazine in Australia. Like so many businesses, the magazine had suffered in these harsh economic times. The Riggses had found a business partner who had buoyed the cash flow for a time before pulling the plug. The magazine had gone into receivership.

Christopher had a degree, a background in reporting and good references in marketing. Alongside that, he could talk rings around Wynn with regard to web presence statistics and methods, as well as social media strategies aimed at optimizing potential market share.

While they spoke, Wynn tried to look beyond the smooth exterior, deep into the man’s clear mint-green eyes. No bad vibes. Christopher Riggs was the epitome of a composed professional. Even in his later years, Guthrie Hunter possessed an uncanny ability to sniff out true talent. Wynn could see Christopher well-placed in his marketing and tech team.

They discussed and then agreed on remuneration and benefits.

“Come in tomorrow.” Wynn pushed to his feet. “Daphne can set you up in an office.”

The men shook again and, with a bounce in his step, Christopher Riggs headed out.

After collecting his briefcase, Wynn came back into his private reception area. When he said good-night, Daphne held him up.

“These tickets arrived a few minutes ago.” She gave him an embossed envelope. “A gift from the producer.”

He was about to say that he wasn’t interested in Broadway tonight—she was welcome to the tickets—but then he reconsidered.

Daphne was the most efficient personal assistant he’d ever had. Always on top of things, constantly on his heels...a bit of a puppy, he’d sometimes thought. Behind the Mr. Magoo glasses and dull hairdo, she was probably attractive; however, from what he could gather, she was very much single. He wasn’t certain she even had friends. If he left those tickets behind, chances were they’d be dropped in the trash when five o’clock rolled around.

So he took the envelope as his thoughts swung to another woman who was his assistant’s opposite in every sense of the word—except for the being single part.

Brock had mentioned Grace was in town for a few days. Her hotel was around the corner. As he entered the elevator, Wynn thought it over. Perhaps Grace had left New York by now. And hadn’t she made herself clear? She didn’t regret that night spent in his bed but she wasn’t after an encore. Grace didn’t want to see him again.

As he slid the envelope into his inside breast pocket and the elevator doors closed, Wynn hesitated, and then, remembering their last kiss, slowly grinned.

What the hell. He had nothing on tonight. Maybe he could change her mind.

Three

Exiting the hotel elevator, Grace headed across the foyer and then pulled up with a start. Cutting a dynamite figure in a dark, tailored suit, Wynn Hunter stood at the reception counter, waiting to speak with someone behind the desk.

No need to assume he’d come to see her. There were a thousand other reasons he might be here tonight. Business. Friends. Another woman. An attractive, successful, single male like Wynn... Members of the opposite sex would flock to spend time with him.

She’d been on her way out to mull over a decision—whether or not to spend more time in New York before getting back to her job. Late last year she’d left New York to join a private practice in Florida as a speech-language pathologist. Providing tools to help both adults and children with communication disabilities was rewarding work. Just the other week, she’d got an update from a young mom who had needed additional support and advice on feeding her baby who’d been born with a cleft palate. The woman had wanted to let Grace know that the baby’s first surgery, which included ear tubes to help with fluid buildup, had been a great success.

Grace had made good friends in Florida, too. Had a nice apartment in a great neighborhood. But she missed so much about New York—minus the memories surrounding Sam and his accident, of course, which seemed to pop up everywhere, constantly.

Except during that time she’d spent with Wynn.

Her lips still hummed and her body sang whenever she thought of the way they had kissed. She wasn’t certain that, if she strolled over and started up a conversation with him now, one thing wouldn’t lead to another. However, while the sex would be better than great, she’d already decided that their one-night stand should be left in the past. She wasn’t ready to invite a man, and associated complications, into her life.

Best just to keep going without saying hi.

He seemed to wait until she was out in the open before rapping his knuckles on the counter and then absently turning around. In that instant, she felt his focus narrow and lock her in its sights. No choice now. She pulled up again.

He crossed over to her at a leisurely pace. People in his path naturally made way for him. In the three days since they’d spoken last, his raven’s-wing hair had grown enough to lick his collar. The shadow on his jaw looked rougher, too. And his eyes seemed even darker—their message more tempting.