Teresa Southwick - Winning Back His Bride

Geneva’s workspace was always cluttered. If anything was put away, she couldn’t find what she needed when she needed it. Her desk was teak and glass, although she couldn’t prove it at the moment. But she knew it was there somewhere.

She eyed the bag suspiciously. “If it’s going to blow up, you can chuck it down the hallway.”

“Turkey and tomato isn’t explosive.” He stared down at her, his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “You have to let the whole retaliation thing go.”

“No, I don’t.” She moved a stack of papers and he set down the bag. “I can hang onto my paranoia just as long as I want.”

Retribution could come at any time, in any form. Like just before Sullivan Towers grand opening where she could publicly take the blame if the event tanked. That would seriously undermine her reputation and in her line of work that was everything. But so far, Michael only showed up in her office every day, just long enough to stir her up. Advance and retreat. To her that spelled guerrilla warfare. Only, instead of camouflage, he wore gray slacks, a white shirt and a pewter and black striped tie. As commandos went, he sure knew how to dress.

“Paranoia it is then.” He stared at her desk, probably looking for an uncluttered place to lean against.

For once Geneva was grateful to her inner slob. It kept him out of her space and set up a perimeter. “Thanks for the sandwich,” she said, trying to be gracious.

“You’re welcome.” He sat in one of the chrome and tweed upholstered chairs in front of her. “So, you were talking to Teri. How are the wedding plans coming?”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “You know.”

“Actually I don’t know.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied his face, but his expression was hooded. “There’s not much to tell. Everything is preliminary at the moment.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers. “Tell me about the preliminaries.”

“It’s all very vague. I’ve got threads here and there. When I pull them into some kind of cohesive plan, I’d be happy to update you.”

“Actually I’m not asking for a favor. It’s your job to keep me informed every step of the way.”

She stared at him. “Define every step.”

What he was proposing would mean seeing him a lot more than she’d thought. After leaving her wedding, she’d kept two phones and a pager at her fingertips in case he wanted to talk to her. She’d waited and hoped for the opportunity to explain, but he’d never contacted her. He’d just let her go. She’d thought he would fight harder, but he hadn’t fought for her at all. Now he wanted to be joined at the hip?

His gaze captured hers. “Every step means every single decision. If you pick out flowers, I want to know what color the pistils are.”

“You’re micromanaging.”

“You bet I am.” His voice lowered dangerously. “Everything is going to get media attention. It’s got to be perfect. Millions of dollars are riding on it. I’ve got a lot at stake and I need to know I can depend on you.”

The look in his eyes, the tone in his voice, both added up to one thing and it wasn’t about bugging her or retribution. It was so much worse. “You don’t trust me.”

“Based on your behavior, give me one good reason why I should.”

“That was personal,” she said. “This is business.”

“Most people don’t check their character at the door when they come to work.”

She leaned forward and rested her arms on her desk. “You really think I’d walk out and leave you in the lurch?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Okay, that had been a bad way to phrase it. “I’m good at my job,” she defended.

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise. But you can’t do it if you’re not here.”

She was stunned that he believed her capable of walking out on her work. “If you think that, why didn’t you simply terminate my contract?”

“Believe me, if I could have you’d be gone. But that would cause media attention, too.”

She struggled for composure as emotions zinged through her. She’d sort them out later. “Isn’t publicity what you’re after?”

“Not that kind. You’re a high-profile employee and we have a past. Making a change like that would spook the investors. I can’t afford to make any move that could be construed as a chink in my armor. The money guys want to see strong, steady leadership and that’s what they’ll get.”

Anger smoldered in his eyes and told her he wasn’t over their past, in spite of what he’d said. But his showing up every day wasn’t about seeing her. He was keeping an eye on her.

Geneva really didn’t want to be any more involved with him than she already was. Especially with another wedding-related event. She’d made her choices; she had her regrets. She didn’t need more of his presence than she already had. But this was another choice out of her hands.

“All right, Michael. I’ll be sure to keep you informed about everything from tablecloth thread count to font size on the invitations.”

“Then we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

Silly her for the tiniest little hope that his dropping by every day was a good thing. She hadn’t even realized the hope was there until he’d crushed it under his cold, calculated mistrust. However much she didn’t want to be fair, she had to admit he had his reasons. He might not mean this as retribution, but the result was effective. She was good at what she did. Her job was the only part of her life she trusted. And he’d just taken that away.

Michael pressed the call button on the elevator, then turned to survey the lobby while he waited. The marble floors were tough enough to withstand foot traffic, yet elegant. Several crystal chandeliers winked down on the leather love seats and chairs. Graceful cherry wood tables topped with fresh flowers were cleverly arranged around the large area. It was a place he would be proud to put his parents’ names on at the Towers dedication.

Then, breezing through the revolving lobby door, he saw Geneva. The woman who’d refused the Sullivan name.

She smiled at someone and Michael felt a pull in his gut—the same tight, tensing of muscles he’d felt the very first time he’d seen her and knew he had to have her. Her smile could drop a man’s IQ into the idiot range and he’d been no exception. Her sleeveless white dress caressed every luscious curve of the body he’d once caressed, the body that had held and lost his child. He still carried that pain; he always would.

He was used to success; Geneva had been his first failure. He hadn’t asked for the attraction that had turned him inside out, but a lot of things happened in his life that he hadn’t asked for. He’d slipped up by letting her become important. He hadn’t gotten where he was by making the same mistake twice.

If only she wasn’t so damn beautiful. If only she hadn’t walked out. If only he didn’t still want her with the same intensity as the first time he’d seen her. But he was working on that. The success of the Towers had forced him into keeping her around, but he intended to use the situation to his advantage. They would spend time together and when the dust settled, he would feel nothing for her.

The elevator doors opened, then closed again when he didn’t step inside. He watched Geneva stop and study the three-dimensional display of his residential tower project.

He crossed the lobby and stood beside her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Here I am,” she said, glancing up at him. “Are you checking up on me?”

“Do I need to?”

“Only you can answer that.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I forgot to inform you that it was a working lunch.”

“Oh?”