Kathryn Shay - A Man She Couldn't Forget

“What the hell are you trying to pull, Langston?”

Innocently, he raised his eyebrows. “Nothing. I’m Clare’s best friend. I’ve made arrangements to take care of her.”

“You may have been her best friend before, but we both know things changed over the last year.” Harris started to punch in a number on the phone. “I’m getting the aides back.”

“Not after you see this.” Feeling smug, Brady turned away and strode into Clare’s office off the living room. He found what he was looking for in the tray of her fax machine. He’d gotten the form in case Harris tried to pull something. Brady skimmed it to be certain Clare’s sister, Catherine, had done what he’d asked. She’d been thousands of miles away when the accident had occurred, shocked and frustrated when he’d called…

“OH MY GOD, IS SHE OKAY?”

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

“Brady, I can’t come home from France. I’m with fifteen people who depend on me.”

“You don’t have to come home. I’ll take care of her. But I need something from you.”

After he told her what, she asked, “Why do you want to do this, Brady?”

“Because we’re her friends.”

“I know, but after what she did to all of you. To all of us.”

“None of that matters. And she needs you now, too.”

“I know. I wish I could come back sooner.”

“Leave it to me, Cath. Send the fax, and come to Rockford when you get back…”

QUICKLY, HE READ THE SHEET of paper. Perfect. He left the den, crossed to Harris and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“A notarized directive from Clare’s sister, who’s her only living relative and has power of attorney in case something happens to Clare.”

Harris cocked his head. “I thought they were estranged. That’s why I’ve never met her.”

“You thought wrong.” Brady folded his arms over the chest of the shirt Clare had given him for Christmas one year. She thought the color matched his eyes. He thought it might bring him good luck. “Wrong about a lot of things, I might add.”

Raising his chin, Harris scowled. “I’ll have my attorneys look into this.”

“You do that, Jon.” A name he knew the guy hated to be called. “Meanwhile, we’ll take care of Clare.”

“Don’t you dare try to keep her from seeing me when I get back from my trip.”

“Go ahead, see her. We’re starting with a clean slate, at least for a little while, and this time, I’m not giving up on her.”

As he’d done before, which had been a huge mistake. One he’d tried to rectify the night of the accident and felt slicing guilt over now. He pushed the thought away.

Harris drew himself up to his six-foot height. If Brady were to sketch him, he’d put a sheen over him that conveyed the word polished. Right from his expensively styled blond hair down to his Armani suit to the wing tips on his feet. For a second, Brady glanced at his jeans and sandals. No, he wasn’t going to do this again. “Shall I show you out?”

The guy spat an expletive, which only made Brady laugh at his loss of composure. But when Harris finally left, Brady stopped laughing and sank onto the expensive leather couch Clare had bought a couple of years ago. He preferred the tapestry one and matching love seat he and Max had carried up the stairs years ago.

Watch out, you’re going to hurt your back.

I’m tough, babe. No worries.

She’d laughed, and cooked them all dinner that night.

God, he missed how she looked, how she smelled, how close they’d been. He’d give anything to have those days together back.

And now he had a chance to make that happen.

JONATHAN SLID INSIDE HIS JAG but didn’t start the engine, despite the plane he had to catch to meet with the people from Chef’s Delight. They’d approached the station about Clarissa using their products on her show and he intended to close the deal, once more getting her exactly what she wanted. His fingers curled tightly on the steering wheel in an effort to bring himself under control. He was furious at Langston for his shenanigans. Clarissa would want a nurse, someone impersonal to take care of her needs. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type they all thought she was. Delia Kramer, Max Mason and her sister, Catherine, didn’t know the real Clarissa. At least the person she’d evolved into over the past few years, when she’d finally come into her own. The person she was when she was with him. No longer was she a simple chef in an ordinary restaurant or even a mildly successful writer of cookbooks. She was a star; her show on TV was considered Rockford’s Rachael Ray clone. And Jonathan had big plans for Clarissa to go to the top of her profession. He’d already made inquiries about syndication. Even the brass from the Cooking Channel, the crème de la crème of food networks, had indicated some interest.

They had big plans, too, as a couple. Or he thought they had. A sick feeling in his gut at the idea of losing his chance with her immobilized him. Damn it, he’d always gotten whatever he wanted in life, and he’d gone after Clarissa with the same verve with which he’d pursued a business degree at Wharton and ownership of WRNY TV. Sure, he’d been born into a wealthy family, but he’d worked hard to get the degree. And though trust funds from his beloved grandparents had helped him buy the station, he’d put in long hours to make it successful. When Clarissa had come to work there, he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her. She was a diamond in the rough, and he’d helped her polish her exterior until she shone like a brand-new gem. She’d appreciated him for it.

He glanced at the house. Damn those people. He’d been on the verge of getting her to move out of the condo into a lovely home in a more upscale neighborhood of Rockford. Though she’d been on the fence about it, he’d bought the property and had pretty much talked her into moving there with him. That he might not get to do that with her now because of some quirky twist of fate made him sad and angry.

Forcefully, he pushed out of his mind the images of the night Clarissa had been on the expressway and her car had skidded on the slick pavement and hit a guardrail. An unfortunate accident, the police and papers had called it. He could barely stand the thought of her being hurt, the fact that she could have been killed.

And his part in it.

Jonathan straightened and started the engine. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel responsible for what had happened to her. When guilt, deep and piercing, hit him, he forced it back as he’d done since the horrid event occurred. Instead, he’d concentrate on getting Clarissa back to her old life—the part where she remembered him, loved him. The longer her memory was kept at bay, the easier it would be for him to prove once again how good they were together.

And then he’d get Brady Langston out of the picture permanently.

CLARE WAS SMALL, AND CATHY was even smaller, both so little they could barely reach the counter in Grandma’s house. Her kitchen always smelled so good, and Clare loved being there. Her favorite was the spicy sauce Grandma had on the stove, but her sister liked the cookies best.

“Come, bambine, you are not too young for this.”

Eagerly, Clare climbed up on one stool and Cathy on the other. Mommy put them both in pretty blue dresses and Mary Janes, and Grandma had tied the tiny aprons she’d made for them over their outfits.

Cathy smiled at Grandma. Clare was three years older, so she helped take care of her sister. Outside, through the big window in the kitchen, she could see her parents, sitting on the swing, holding hands. She liked it when Mommy and Daddy brought them to Italy for a visit, especially a long one where she and Cathy would stay for a month when their parents went back to Rockford.