Midnight At Tiffany's (From Manhattan with Love 0.50)

She wanted him.

A man she’d just met.

A man who didn’t even know who she was.

Clamped against his side, they made it to the edge of Times Square and started to walk down Fifth Avenue. Still he held her, his arm looped firmly around her in a possessive gesture that suggested intimacy to anyone who might have been watching.

“So which is it,” he asked, “nature or nurture? What makes a person who they are?”

It was hard to concentrate with the pressure of his arm round her shoulders and the feel of his fingers on her upper arm. “I think a lot of it is nature, but upbringing plays a part. Life experiences can shape you, don’t you think? Motivation.” It was something she thought about all the time when crafting her characters and bringing them to life. “Who was the biggest influence in your life growing up?”

“My father.” He didn’t hesitate and something in his tone made her glance at him.

“You’re close?”

He frowned. “That depends on your definition of close. We spent a lot of time together. Still do. He was taking me to the office with him from the age of eight.”

“That’s young.”

“He wanted me to learn the business. Carry on the family tradition.”

She felt a pang of envy. She’d never known her father.

“So you’re the oldest son.”

He turned to look at her. “How do you know that?”

“An educated guess. The weight of expectation was on you. You’re the one who conformed. Carried the pressure. I expect you have a younger brother or sister who is a rebel.”

A humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I have a brother. And he followed his own path. Not sure if that makes him a rebel, but he certainly didn’t waste any time telling my father he wasn’t interested in the family business.”

“And that’s a source of conflict between you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you a psychologist?”

“I told you. I’m interested in people. From the look on your face, I’d say I’m right.”

“We haven’t spoken in almost five years.”

It shocked her. She’d always want

ed a sibling and if she’d had one she was pretty sure that nothing would have come between them.

“Why? You had a fight?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

“You mean you don’t like talking about it.”

“That, too.”

“But I’ve already told you my innermost secret, so now you must tell me yours.”

“It’s not exactly a secret. More of a tangled mess, most of it my fault. I was stubborn, and a touch arrogant. I thought I knew best. By the time I realized I didn’t, time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

There was something endearing about his honest admission. “But you could reach out now.”

“It’s too late.”