Jamie Denton - Valentine Fantasy

She smiled her thanks and dug into the delectable seafood. “What happened in L.A.?” she asked.

“I started out at Lawrence and Brooks shortly after college,” he began while adding salt and pepper to his dinner. “I worked during the day, and went to grad school at night. It took me a while to finally finish my education, but I’d been told that once I had my master’s I’d be placed on the fast track.”

She added dressing to her salad, then worked on cutting the larger lettuce into smaller pieces. “Sounds like you had a promising career ahead of you.”

“I thought so,” he said between bites of stuffed mushroom. “Once I finished my education and they promoted me to vice president, the partners talked about a senior vice presidency in my future. After a couple of years and my next promotion, they dangled a partnership carrot in front of me.” He kept his voice well modulated, conveying a lack of emotion his eyes denied.

She paused over her salad. “I take it no partnership was forthcoming.”

He shook his head, and reached for his wine. “No partnership,” he said, the hardness of his eyes creeping into his voice.

“You’re bitter,” she said without thinking.

He set his fork aside and looked at her intently. “I suppose I am. How would you feel? I was lied to, Cait. They used me. The bastards used my talent to design a multi-million-dollar high-rise development, then failed to deliver on their promise. If we won the bid for the development, I was told the partnership was mine. I worked for six months perfecting the presentation, won the bid and made the firm a hell of a lot of money, then the partnership was handed over to the nephew of one of the senior partners.”

“Gee, where would we be without a little nepotism to ruin our plans?” she complained, and shook her head in disgust. “What’d you do?”

“I quit.”

“Quit? After everything you’d accomplished, you just walked away?” No way could she walk away. Ever since she was a kid, she’d wanted to be a reporter. She couldn’t imagine giving up something she’d worked so hard to achieve.

“I don’t like being used.”

Unexpected guilt swamped her. Was she really no better than the partners who’d lied to him? She was using him too for her own ends.

She felt like a slug.

A very low, slimy slug.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure if she was apologizing for what had happened to him, or because of what she was doing to him herself. But what if he was using her? What if this was merely a fabrication to gain her sympathy so she’d hand money over by the fistful?

He let out a long breath. “No. I apologize. It’s still an open wound.”

Was it really? She had no way of knowing what was truth and what was part of the game he was playing with her. The lines were definitely becoming blurred and she needed time to sort out everything she’d learned so far. Discovering if he was truly an architect would be relatively simple, provided she asked the right questions. “So what are you doing now?”

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