A Gentleman in the Street (14 page)

Call him. End this
.
If she coldly told him to knock it off, he would.

She didn’t reach for the phone.

Would he send her something else? Would he do it today? Tonight? The eagerness with which she anticipated that worried her so much she placed the scone on top of the bag and shoved it aside. Attempted to turn her attention to the salad she had longed for not ten minutes ago.

The lettuce and grilled chicken tasted like sand in her mouth. Her gaze kept skating back to that scone, the scent of peaches making her dizzy. After choking down a few more bites of greens, her hand moved. Her pinky picked up a fallen crumb. She brought it to her mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness.

It was a slippery slope from crumb to scone. She pulled out a napkin from the bag to catch the crumbs as she brought the dense, chewy treat to her mouth. The rich taste of fruit and bread exploded against her tongue, the bakery’s treats as heavenly as she recalled from the couple of solitary forays she had made to the shop, curious as to her mother’s preferences.

She caught sight of the script on the napkin, and she held it up to read it. More of Jacob’s blunt, no-frills handwriting.
I don’t really like sweets, so I never understood why this place was so amazing, but your mom should have taken you there. Or I should have taken you there.

She swallowed, sweetness lingering on her tongue. So he had remembered that encounter. This wasn’t merely a coincidence. “How I despise a clever man,” she murmured.

The problem was, she realized as she ignored the healthy salad staring at her in favor of finishing the calorie bomb in her hand, she actually didn’t.

When Tammy knocked on the door at half past five and promptly carried in a large brown bag, Akira heaved a silent sigh. Finally. Fuck work. About seventy percent of her attention during the afternoon had been on whether Jacob would send anything more.

“This came for you,” Tammy announced brightly.

For a moment, Akira missed her usual assistant. Kim would have teased her about her mysterious deliveries. Tammy was still too scared of her to dare.

The dangers of having a group of amazing friends and employees and no family. When push came to shove, those friends would always put their own families first.

Which is as it should be. Anyway, you were the one who gave Kim extra time off.
Which was the right thing to do, since a newborn was maybe a bit needier than Akira. Maybe. Not as exciting, though.

Tammy placed the bag on the desk. Thanks to her unexpected lunchtime dessert, Akira wasn’t hungry yet, but her stomach nonetheless rumbled at the scent emanating from the delivery. When she finally went home at whatever hour, there would be a frozen meal waiting for her, prepared by the personal chef who came in twice a week to make her custom dinners, as dictated by her nutritionist. They were good meals, but they never smelled as delicious as this.

Akira inhaled. Chinese, if she wasn’t mistaken. She couldn’t recall the last time she had bitten into an egg roll.

Tammy lay something else on the desk. “This was delivered with it.”

The lush red rose was a harsh contrast to the plain simplicity of the bag, a familiar Post-It attached to the stem with a pink ribbon tied in a messy bow. Anticipation zinged through her. This time she didn’t suppress it.

“Get me the number for Jacob Campbell. I have his sister’s. His may be on the same account.” Akira rattled off Kati’s number, her eidetic memory having captured it from her phone. Tammy produced a pen and pad from thin air and jotted it down. “Use the PI if you need to.”

“Yes, Akira.”

That didn’t mean she would call Jacob, she assured herself. She only wanted to have the option to call him. She picked up the flower and brought it to her nose, inhaling the scent of the fragrant bloom. She had never cared for roses when they were tight and closed up. She preferred them as this one was, at the end of its lifespan—fully blown open, every secret and flaw revealed. Her finger traced a petal, strangely loath to open the note and read what it said. Maybe the words would ruin whatever perverse enjoyment she was getting out of these weird, cryptic gifts.

And she was enjoying them. After all, when had a man ever sent her flowers, a scone, and Chinese food in the same day?

She could keep the rose and throw away the note, avoid any potential unpleasantness. The gifts would stop eventually. Probably after she gained a dozen pounds, but eventually.

Sadly, avoidance had never been a personality trait she laid claim to. She wasn’t about to start now. She tugged open the note.

I’m sorry
.

Akira closed the paper before opening it again, as if the words might change.

Nope.

I’m sorry
.

Sorry?

Akira ran her forefinger over the word, her nail resting on the period. She tapped that period. Once. Twice.

She bit the inside of her cheek, a warmth settling in her chest.

I’m sorry
.

The warmth spread through her, until her cheeks heated. She twirled the rose in her fingers, appreciating that the thorns had been thoughtfully removed.

The petals looked so soft. To test that theory, she ran the velvety rose over her arm.

A knock on her door had her jerking, dropping the rose on her desk as if it were on fire. “What?” she asked, too sharply.

Tammy poked her head in. “I emailed the number to you.”

Akira raised an eyebrow in bemused exasperation. That had been easier than she thought. She supposed she ought to be grateful Jacob had such flagrant disregard for safeguarding his privacy. It was working in her favor so far. “Thanks. Why don’t you head home?”

Tammy murmured her thanks and closed the door.

In her experience, apologies were rarely as unvarnished as
I’m sorry.
It was always
I’m sorry, but,
or
I’m sorry, however,
or the classic,
I’m sorry you feel that way but…
and then everything would be ruined again, and she’d be forced to destroy him.

That would be messy.

Messier than things already are?

She reached for the phone. Drew her hand back and curled it into a fist.

This was ridiculous, she chided herself. She regularly faced rich, powerful and/or beautiful individuals all over the world, and she persuaded them to come to heel. She refused to be intimidated by a mild-mannered goody-goody author, no matter how nicely defined his abs were.

Avoidance still wasn’t a character trait she was interested in possessing. Akira turned off the sound on her computer so she wouldn’t be distracted by new email alerts, and grimly dialed the number Tammy had provided.

It rang twice before he answered. “This is Jacob.” His voice was raspy, as if he hadn’t used it much recently. A bolt of lust shook her, and her hand tightened on the phone. Was this what he sounded like right after he woke up in the morning? When he was still in bed, tangled in a mess of sheets?

Maybe he
was
in bed. His nocturnal floral deliveries of late had probably wreaked havoc on his sleep cycle.

“Hello?”

We’re done. Go away. Stop sending me presents. Your tongue wasn’t that amazing.

That last lie would have been impossible to choke out, but there were a million other words she could’ve lobbed at him. Instead, she found herself saying, “Why Chinese food?”

There was a long pause.

“Akira.”

Her fingers curled into a fist in her lap. Had he ever said her name quite like that? Caressing every syllable? Because if she had loved the way he spoke it before, this thrilled her to her toes.

“Yes.” Committed to the question now, she shifted. “I get the orange flowers. I get the scone. Why the Chinese food?”

He was silent for a long minute before he spoke. “Can I come up?”

She drew back and looked at the phone before putting it to her ear. “Come up?”

“I’m outside your building. Do you mind if we do this in person?”

She glanced at her windows, but she was in the back corner, with no view of the street. “Super creepy, Campbell.”

“I know. The Chinese place I like won’t deliver out this far.”

So pragmatic. “Are you holding a boom box in your hands?”

“No, but I can get one if it’ll get me upstairs.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to be charmed. “It’s probably not a good idea.”

“It’s probably a worse idea to talk about this where people can hear me.”

Good point. Reporters weren’t often a problem for her, unless her father was up to some shenanigans. Still, a lifetime of carefully controlling the image she portrayed to the world wouldn’t permit her to have anyone eavesdrop on even half of their conversation. “Fine. Come up.”

It took a second to alert the guard downstairs and place Jacob on the visitor list. Eager to give her hands something to do, she fished out the cartons of food from the bag while she waited for him. The rose she pushed to the corner of her desk, unwilling to let him see she’d been fondling it.

When he knocked on the slightly ajar door, she jerked and clasped her hands together to hide their slight trembling. “Come in.”

His heavy footfalls were swallowed by the thick carpet as he walked inside. Though Tammy was gone and there was no one in the outer office, he closed the door with a solid click and faced her.

They stared at each other for a long minute. His face was somber, wiped clean of the heavy mix of lust and panic that had characterized it the last time she had seen him.

She licked her lips. Again, there were a million things she wanted to ask him.
What is wrong with you
and
why do you treat me like this
and
did you go home and jerk off, thinking about that storage closet?
All important questions. “Why the Chinese food?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. She had always preferred a man in a tux over casual clothes, but not Jacob. No, she liked him as he was, barely tamed, with stubble growing on his jaw. Another pair of those old, comfortable jeans sat low on his hips. The blue long-sleeved Henley was snug enough to display his muscles but loose enough so he didn’t look like a showoff.

He wrapped his hand around the strap of the brown messenger bag slung across his body. “It’s your favorite,” he said quietly.

Her eyes narrowed. Not true. She didn’t really have a favorite food. Food was fuel, enabling her to get from point A to point B as efficiently as possible. Her preferences didn’t come into play when she inhaled a protein shake or a salad. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“At the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“Our parents.”

She thought back. It had been a small affair, limited to the immediate Campbell family, Akira, and those friends of both sides who hadn’t disapproved of the couple’s headlong rush into marriage one month after the pair had met at a golf tournament.

Angry and young—God, so young—Akira had still been prone to hurt feelings over not being invited to the ceremony, only the reception, so she had sashayed in once she’d pregamed with shots of vodka in the back of a limo.

She couldn’t recall the food, but she was certain it had been exquisitely catered. Tasteful hors d’oeuvres, specially prepared entrees, sumptuous desserts. Her mother wouldn’t have had it any differently, even if she was celebrating her uncharacteristically tacky rushed marriage.

There hadn’t been any Chinese food, for sure. “I don’t remember,” she admitted.

“Think back to the first time you and I met.”

She drew in a breath, the moment coming back to her in crystal clarity. Even drunk, she could remember the instant she caught sight of gangly, awkwardly large Jacob. He had been standing near his family, but somehow apart, half his attention on ensuring his snickering teen brothers didn’t commit a social faux pas in the luxurious setting they were obviously unaccustomed to, the other half on politely declining the handful of women on the prowl who had been sucked in by his messy hair, green eyes, and loosened tie.

Women like her. She had glided up to him, exaggerating her drunkenness because she was certain her mother was keeping an eagle eye on her. “Hello,” she slurred. “You must be one of my new brothers.”

“Uh. I’m Harvey’s oldest.” His big paw stuck out between them. “Jacob.”

“Akira.” She had taken his hand limply. At that age she hadn’t quite mastered a strong handshake.

He grasped it, and a zing traveled through her arm, shocking her into dropping contact with him. His head snapped back, and he looked at her, really looked at her. Took in the inappropriate wedding outfit she wore of a halter top, miniskirt, and stilettos—clothes she would normally never wear unless she was busy aggravating her mother or going to a club. His gaze dipped down over her legs and arms and breasts, and then he came back to her face.

He had frowned. Such a simple facial expression, a matter of fine muscles contracting. In that frown, even tipsy, she had been able to read it all, didn’t need to speak to him anymore to understand how disappointed he was, how he disliked her, how he had examined her and found her wanting.

Out of the corner of her eye she had caught a flash of blue silk. Her mother. Acting on evil impulse, she’d stroked her hand up his arm, to his shoulder. Squeezed his strong, young flesh and leaned in, until she could breathe in his mild cologne. “Let’s get out of here, Brother Jacob. I know a great Chinese restaurant not far from here. We can grab some takeout. Head back to my place. Get to know each other.”

She hadn’t heard his response because her mother had taken a hold of her and led her away. The rest of the evening was a blur. She might have flashed the party at some point.

Akira squinted. Nope, she had definitely flashed the party.

She couldn’t remember what had prompted partial nudity. But she could distinctly recall the exact expression on Jacob’s face when he had weighed and judged her.

Her breath was coming faster. She swiveled in her chair and stared out the window, the distant view of the lush park in the setting sun, the happy families milling about, not calming her in the slightest. “You looked at me like she did.”