Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“We only have one issue,” Autumn said, entering the room behind Hartford.

There didn’t seem to be any issues as far as I was concerned.

“She won’t wear the shoes. Or one of them, at least.” Autumn raised a pair of black strappy heels in the air. “And they’re Jimmy Choo.”

“They’re a client of mine,” I said. “Apparently they’re very comfortable.”

Hartford spluttered. “Well, you can wear them then.”

I never was one to back down from a challenge. “Toss them over,” I said, unlacing my shoe.

“You’re not wearing women’s shoes, Joshua,” Hartford said, scowling at me.

I retied my lace and stood so I could see her entire outfit. “What do you think you’re going to wear with that dress? Your normal trainers?” Two strappy sandals would be better, but given her cast, one would have to do. Her dress was a perfect choice for dinner with the boss. It had sleeves, didn’t show too much cleavage, and hit below the knee. “Is that Roland Meurier?” I asked.

“You think it’s too clingy?” Hartford asked.

“I think it looks great,” I said.

“You don’t need to look so shocked.” Hartford sighed.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve known you a long time, Hartford. I’m not shocked.” Fragments of memories began to piece themselves back together: Hartford with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, slim legs sheathed in yoga pants, torso outlined in a cardigan that wound around her waist. I couldn’t remember if she’d been beautiful back then, but there was no doubt she was now.

“These aren’t going to fit me,” I said, holding up Stella’s shoes. “So you’ll have to wear them. Or one of them.”

“No way,” Hartford replied. “That’s a step too far. I’m not going to twist my good ankle when one leg is already in plaster. I’m meant to be making a good impression.”

“You won’t twist your ankle,” I said. “I’ll be there to support you.”

“Just try them,” Stella said. “Please?”

Hartford looked at me from under her lashes and for a split second, our eyes locked. The air shifted. Autumn’s cooing and Stella’s cajoling fell away until it was just the two of us.

“For me,” I said.

She paused mid-breath, as if she was going to say something else. “I’ll try.”

She blinked and we were back in the room.

“It looks great,” Autumn said as she watched Stella slip the shoe onto Hartford’s foot.

I stalked over to her. We had to get a move on.

“I’m going to fall,” Hartford said.

“You’re going to be fine,” I whispered into her ear.

I tried to ignore my friends muttering to one another behind me. They were probably creating a story about how I would be married by the end of the year and this was going to be the woman I fell in love with. They didn’t get that I wasn’t going on a date. I was attending this dinner to get the scoop on healthcare. And I was helping out the daughter of an old family friend. One who just happened to be gorgeous.

Six

Hartford

It had been a long time since I’d worn a dress. The ten-year-old scar on my leg had faded so it was almost invisible now, but every time I glanced at the silvery river on my calf, panic started to stir. Memories threatened to push through, and I remembered why my teen crush on Joshua Luca had ended so abruptly. Tonight, at least, the scar was hidden by the plaster.

I lifted my chin and forced a smile at nothing and no one in particular.

“You okay?” Joshua whispered. Gerry, my soon-to-be boss, had gone to collect drinks while Margo, his wife, was checking on dinner. The other four diners—all members of the pediatric department—chatted and laughed at in-jokes I just knew I wouldn’t get even if I’d been working with Gerry for five years. Luckily, my broken leg gave me an excuse to perch on a bar stool off to the side, away from the center of the action. Joshua stood dutifully by my side, looking as comfortable in his skin as he always did.

Margo was impossibly glamorous, so my dress and ruffles weren’t out of place at the dinner. Just out of place on me. I wasn’t built for styled hair. Or ruffles. Or glamor. By the time I might have cared about those things, I had already trained myself to focus on work to the exclusion of nearly everything else. Slowing down long enough to wander through shops or experiment with hairstyles would have invited my mind to wander—and that was the last thing I needed.

“I’m going to stain this dress,” I whispered back, deliberately looking over Joshua’s shoulder so I wasn’t taking in the crisp, white, open-collared shirt that made him look even more tanned than usual. He looked like he belonged on a yacht.

“Impossible. It’s black.”

He didn’t know me very well. I was pretty sure I could ruin anything in my way. Especially when I was nervous. I pulled the skirt of the dress down.