The Winner Takes It All (A Something New Novel) (11 page)

His sister’s face fell. “Sure, no problem.”

Cecilia shook her head. “No wait, it’s not that I don’t want to, I do. But I went over to Gracie’s and she sounded so swamped.” Her perfect mouth curved into a frown. “And, well, I offered to help.”

An interesting turn of events Shane hadn’t expected.

Maddie’s eyes widened, apparently as surprised as he was. “How sweet. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Cecilia tilted her head, her blue-gray eyes still clouded. “Can I take a rain check on shopping? Because I
would
like to go.”

Maddie patted her hand. “Of course, I’d like that.”

Cecilia’s tight expression eased. “Me too.”

Shane saw an opportunity and took it. “It’s settled then.”

“What is?” Maddie asked.

“Since you cooked, it’s only fair Cecilia and I do the dishes. That way you can go get ready.”

Cecilia blinked, opened her mouth then shut it again.

Maddie threw down her napkin and bounded from the chair. “I never turn down a chance to get out of cleaning.”

Cecilia’s hand clenched on her butter knife, and Shane wondered if she contemplated throwing it.

All innocence, he smiled at her. “I’m sure even a rich girl like you can do the dishes.”

That jerk!

Cecilia gritted her teeth as Maddie left the kitchen like she was on fire.

He’d manipulated the situation. He knew perfectly well she couldn’t object without looking like an insolent houseguest. She cataloged all the ways she could maim him with a butter knife—the list longer than she’d have thought.

She glared at him.

He looked so smug.

She threw her napkin down on the table. “You are the most despicable man on the planet.”

He laughed. “I’d never have figured you for a drama queen.”

“I am not. A drama queen,” she hissed, leaning across the table. “You tricked me into being alone with you.”

“Of course I did.”

She let out a tiny scream. Ugh! She hated this about him. He wasn’t supposed to be forthcoming. It was so irritating. “You don’t even have the audacity to deny it!”

He shrugged one shoulder, highlighted to perfection in a black T-shirt that stretched over his chest and biceps in a way that should be considered illegal. “Nope.”

“Nope?! That’s it?” She sliced a hand through the air. “Just nope?”

“What would you like me to say?” he asked, his attitude so mild and calm she wanted to throttle him. He was enjoying himself way too much.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, rational thought still prevailed, urging her to slow down. With a deep inhale she sat back. He wanted to rattle her. He baited her on purpose. If she didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d stop.

She steeled her spine and smoothed her expression over. “Nothing.” She stood. “We’d better get to work. Gracie is expecting me.”

She grabbed a handful of dishes and carried them over to the sink.

“That reminds me, why are you helping Gracie?” he asked in that amused tone of his.

She forced herself to gently place the plates in the sink instead of throwing them at his head. “That’s none of your business.” Pleased she sounded like her normal, unruffled self.

She studied the faucet. A new stainless steel number with a high arch that looked sleek and expensive. She frowned. There wasn’t a handle.

“So you’re going to play it that way, are you?”

How in the hell did you turn this thing on? “I’m not playing it any way. What I do or don’t do is none of your concern.”

The chair scraped and a second later he was behind her. She could feel the heat of his body. She held her breath as he reached around her, standing way too close. Lungs burning, she sucked in air.

Detached. Cool. All the things she was so good at. She just needed to ignore him until he stopped.

Those long, strong fingers of his brushed over the faucet’s arch and the water went on. “It’s activated by touch, rich girl.”

He didn’t move away.

She closed her eyes against the spike of desire, raw and hot, that burned brighter every time they were in the same room together. She clenched the edge of the sink. “You know, you’re way richer than I am.”

He placed his hands on either side of her and she was once again trapped.

“I know.” His voice low and seductive. “But I didn’t grow up privileged.”

“Does it matter?” Trying to remember to breathe.

“Yes. You have a different way of looking at things.”

Needing something to do, she touched the faucet and it changed streams, then she touched it again and it went off.
Do not lean back.
“Another mark against me.”

“That just shows what you know.” He leaned in close, his breath warm on the shell of her ear. “Did you come for me last night?”

She started like she’d been jolted with electric shocks.

He did not know. He did not know. He did not know.
In her best haughty tone, she said, “Don’t be so arrogant.”

He laughed, and to her extreme disappointment moved away.

A clatter of dishes sounded behind her. She opened the dishwasher and flicked on the faucet, rinsing away the sticky syrup before she put the plates in the machine.

The best thing for her to do was stay silent. Clean the kitchen then go on about her day. But she couldn’t, she was too curious about him. Since he had no problem butting into her business she decided that turnabout was fair play. “How’d you do it? Build your company from scratch?”

The noise of the dishes went silent for a moment before the clanging resumed. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Isn’t it all in that file of mine you have?”

She didn’t bother denying the file or the extent of the research she’d done. They’d already confirmed that yesterday. “It has the mechanics, but not the how. I know what you did. How you started working for your uncle, then went out on your own before branching out into the commercial side of the business. But I don’t know how.”

He put the dishes down, turned, and propped his back against the counter so he faced her. “Why do you want to know?”

That was the million-dollar question, now wasn’t it? If she wanted to keep him at arm’s length, asking him to tell her his story wouldn’t accomplish that. But the truth was, she had wondered about it for months, had thought about it late at night. She’d like to believe she needed to understand because it might help her with her own battle.

But really, she wanted to understand him. How he’d overcome such impossible odds.

Their gazes locked, and she found herself giving him the truth instead of an evasion. “I’m curious about you. It’s remarkable. What you’ve accomplished—that kind of drive and perseverance—it boggles my mind.”

He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You probably have more drive and perseverance than I do.”

She thought about her own overachiever tendencies. The constant drive for perfection that had run through her veins for as long as she had memories. But her drive had never been about her. It had been about her need for approval. She had plenty of accomplishments but wasn’t accomplished. She’d always worked hard to be the best, but only at the things in which her father wanted her to excel. Her own desires had never factored into the equation.

It struck her then like a slap in the face.

For the first time she was trying to do something for herself. To accomplish a lifelong goal and she was
failing
. Worse, she couldn’t even force herself to get started.

What was wrong with her?

Once again she thought of her abandoned laptop and all the research she could be doing to transform into the perfect political candidate. She was so good at it. It was one of her talents. She’d even helped her father’s colleagues on more than one occasion.

So what was she so reluctant about?

Maybe she was still recovering from knowledge of what she had to do to accomplish her dream. And that there was no way around it. She’d been perfectly fine with her decision, and whom she needed to climb into bed with, until she’d shown up in Revival.

Although maybe that was coincidence; after all, the press release happened on the same day.

She frowned. Had it been only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. All this thinking was making her head hurt when all she wanted to do was go bake with Gracie.

It was the only thing that seemed clear to her at the moment, so that’s what she was going to do.

She glanced up from the sink, realizing too late that Shane was studying her. What had they been talking about? Oh yes, drive and perseverance, and his belief that she had any. She shook her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He crossed his arms. “I know you graduated with a near perfect grade point average. I know you’re well respected in the political community.” He gave her a sardonic grin. “Even though you’re on the wrong side.”

The teasing tone brought surprised laughter to her lips, and she was happy for the diversion from her future. “My side is the only sane, rational one out there.”

“Clearly somebody’s been watching too much news.” He grinned, scooting closer to her. “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, Ce-ce.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Um, excuse me, but the only one crazy here is you.”

He ran a finger down her arm and goose bumps broke out over her skin. “Before we get into a big political debate, tell me: Did you pick the party because that’s what you believe, or because that’s what the senator is?”

At the mention of her father some of her enjoyment dimmed. “I’m my own woman.”

Those green eyes of his met hers. “Are you?”

The question was a direct hit and she jerked away, turning back to the dishes. “Yes.”

He grabbed her wrist and the sponge fell from her grasp. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. He’d touched a nerve she had no intention of talking about, so she shifted the topic back to him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He released his hold and crossed his arms. “Hell, I’m not sure I know.”

She flicked off the faucet again and dried her hands on a dish towel. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t a plan. I barely graduated high school. For the most part I was a fuck-up, but when my dad died . . .” His jaw hardened and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “When he died, everything was a mess. My mom was a wreck. Maddie was on the verge of death. My dad had a pile of bills. Maybe those would have been manageable, but the insurance ran out. There was the cost of the funeral. Hospital bills that just kept coming. Catholic school tuition. The list went on and on. James and Evan were school; what could they do? Somebody had to pick up the pieces and make sure we didn’t lose the little that we had left.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I just did what had to be done.”

She closed the dishwasher and looked at him. “I think that’s bullshit.”

His head jerked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s bullshit, although I believe that’s what you tell yourself.”

“What in the hell do you know about it?” His voice raised several decibels.

The gruffness didn’t scare her. “People don’t build multimillion-dollar companies by chance. And they sure as hell don’t just”—she made air quotes—“happen.”

He dragged a hand through his hair again. “It’s not bullshit, that’s how it started.”

“And?”

He peered at her with those intense, catlike eyes of his. “It’s not all that exciting, but if you want to know, you have to give me something in return.”

“What’s that?” Excitement played tug-of-war with trepidation.

He gave her a slow, sinful smile and trepidation won as her belly dropped. “Tell me if you came last night.”

A hot flush crawled unbidden up her neck. She turned to the counter and wiped down a water spot. “On that note, I should be getting to Gracie’s.”

“Chicken.”

Absolutely.

Chapter Eight

Two hours later she stood over one of Gracie’s industrial-size mixers and frowned. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

Gracie planted her hands on her apron-covered hips. “Did you or did you not help your grandma make the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the world?”

“I was six!” Cecilia said indignantly. Somehow, over the past several hours, they’d fallen into the pattern established in their youth when they’d been summer best friends: affection mixed with antagonism.

She’d forgotten. How wonderful Gracie was. How fun and real. And now, standing in her kitchen¸ she missed it and wished she could go back and make sure their friendship didn’t drift away.

Gracie dismissed her with a wave. “It’s like riding a bike.”

“We weren’t selling those cookies,” Cecilia insisted, holding a recipe card in her hand that seemed more daunting than the Declaration of Independence. “You’re making this for a customer. What if I screw it up?”

Gracie threw her hands up in the air. “Well, obviously my whole business will die a miserable death.” She clucked her tongue. “Duh, get over yourself. It’s pound cake for the school bake sale. I’m not asking you to create a four-tier wedding cake with sculptures made out of modeling chocolate and fondant.”

“But—”

Gracie shot up a hand. “You’re throwing stuff in a bowl, mixing it up and pouring the batter into loaf pans. It’s not rocket science.”