Fight or Flight

Then I waited nervously across the street behind one of the granite pillars of an office building. When Harper appeared a minute later, looking left and right with concern etched over her pretty face, I stopped hiding like an idiot.

“Harp!” I called.

She caught sight of me, waited for a gap in traffic, and jogged across the street. She immediately slung her arm over my shoulder and didn’t say anything as we began to hurry away together.

We were a couple of blocks away when she finally said, “You are way smarter than her.”

A surprised laugh burst out of me as I realized she must have seen Jen next to Caleb. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry, and I’d already promised myself no more crying. “How could you tell?”

“He looked bored out of his mind.”

“Really?” I hadn’t noticed that. To be fair, I hadn’t noticed much in all my panicking.

“Oh, God yeah. When you were in the room, he watched you like a hawk. He looked at you like everything you said was fascinating. He was barely looking at her at all.”

Although this information hurt, I also craved it. “He looked at me like that?”

Harper nodded at me sadly. “He loves you. He might be too messed up in the head to do something about it, but I can’t hate the guy for loving you.”

That familiar burn started in my chest and I needed it to go away. “Can you hate him for not loving me enough? Because I can’t, Harper. I can’t hate him. You need to do it for me so I don’t look back on my life and regret him. Because if my best friend hates him, then he isn’t worth my regret.”

“I hate him,” she answered instantly and seriously. “He’s quinoa to me.”

Harper detested quinoa. Like, more than she hated most things. “I love you.”

“I love you back. Another beer? In a bar where there’s no quinoa in sight.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, clinging to my strength. “This city is big enough for the both of us.”

“It belongs more to you, though. He’s an intruder. He should really leave.”

My heart ached at the thought even though I wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d just stayed in Scotland. “He should. He can have Scotland. I want Massachusetts. I don’t think I’m asking for a lot.”

“Yeah,” Harper agreed enthusiastically. “He should go and take his little Mini-Me with him so you can visit my apartment.”

“Jamie wants to paint you,” I blurted.

Harper appeared stunned by this news. “What? Paint me?”

“You know he’s an artist?”

“Yeah?”

“He thinks you’re interesting.”

“Meaning he wants to get into my pants,” she scoffed.

“No, I actually think he really means he wants to paint you. Apparently he doesn’t sleep with the models because his art is more important to him than sex. From what I’ve gleaned about him, I think that’s true.”

“Well, whatever.” Harper shook her head, seeming a little dazed by the idea. “I don’t have time to be some guy’s model. Doesn’t he know I am a very important person?”

“I don’t think he got that memo.”

“I’ll slip it under his door. ‘Hey, weird Scottish dude. I make very important art too. And mine tastes better than yours so I win. Find another muse, Mini-Quinoa.’ ”

I burst out laughing, my love and affection for my friend pushing away the pain I felt at seeing Caleb. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lucky for you, that’s something you’ll never have to know.” She stuck her tongue out at me playfully and skipped ahead. “Now let’s find a bar. There are many sorrows to be drowned!”

Isn’t that the truth, I thought as I hurried to catch up with her in my strappy heels.

Thirty-one

My carry-on suitcase bumped along behind me as I walked down the Jetway to the plane. The nice thing about flying first class—besides the more spacious seats and complimentary dining—was getting on the plane first. There were very few things I disliked more than waiting at a gate to board a plane. At least once you were on the plane you could get settled and crack open a book or put on a movie.

Not that I had been expecting to be getting on a plane at all. This was the second time in as many weeks that Stella had put me on one at the last minute.

The Monday after I saw Caleb with Jen Granton at the bar, I’d walked into the office to start my day only to be interrupted by Stella. She’d perched her pert ass on my desk and announced, “You need a distraction.”

I wasn’t going to lie. A distraction would be wonderful. “What kind of distraction are we talking about?”

“Chicago.”

“Chicago? The musical?”

Stella smirked. “No. The city.” She handed me a slim portfolio. “Calum Scotia. Banker. Divorced. Looking for a design overhaul on his penthouse apartment in the River North area. East North Water Street.” Her smile was smug. “Quite the property and quite the find.”

“How did he find out about us?” I asked, reading through the information Stella had collected on the potential client and what he was looking for.

“He’s friends with one of our Boston clients. She recommended us.”

“And you want me to go out there?” I felt my excitement build as I looked over the photographs of the property’s current condition. The design was about fifteen years out of date and very feminine. But the duplex had extraordinary views and stunning high ceilings and vast spaces. There was a lot of fun to be had with it.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why such late notice?”

She shrugged. “He gave us late notice. He has a few other designers coming out to give him their pitch. I don’t want to lose out on this. We haven’t had work in the Chicago area in a few years.”

“Fine,” I agreed. In fact, it was more than fine. This was just what I needed right now. Although, I said, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this design on top of everything else.”

“You’ll make it work.” Stella patted my hand reassuringly as she hopped off my desk to leave. “The best thing for you right now, sweet Ava, is to throw yourself into your career.”

I studied the portfolio again. This place would be worth the stress. “Okay.”

“I’ve booked you on a first-class flight leaving tomorrow morning at nine fifteen. Oh, and a suite at the Sheraton Grand. It’s not far from Mr. Scotia’s apartment.”

“That was presumptuous!” I called after her.

“I knew you’d say yes!”

And my boss is always right, I mused as I boarded the plane. I had a window seat, and whoever was sitting in the aisle hadn’t shown up yet, so I managed to get my luggage into the overhead bin without knocking anyone on the head. I winced at the memory and threw it away.

This business trip was a distraction, I reminded myself.

Settling into my seat, I pulled down my tray table and placed the portfolio with the photos and info about the client on it, along with a sketchpad. Keeping my brain occupied was of the utmost importance, and although I usually waited to sketch until I’d seen a space in real life, I decided to get a head start on my ideas.

Soon I was so lost in my drawings that I forgot where I was. The slight jolt of my chair filtered into my awareness and I realized the person sitting in the aisle seat had arrived. I didn’t bother to look up, but I felt their heat. As I sketched ideas for the kitchen, however, the tantalizing scent of a familiar cologne began to invade my senses and my pencil scratched to a halt on the page.

No.

Not possible.

Slowly, I think because I feared it was him, and feared that it wasn’t, I turned my head to the right and felt the breath knocked out of me at the sight of Caleb Scott sitting beside me. He stared at me with such tenderness and affection my lungs tightened with the ache of seeing it. Caleb wore his usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, so all his tattoos were on display. I preferred him like this, I decided finally. The suits were hot. But this was the Caleb I first met, and the biker guy look suited him better than Armani. All the longing and loss I’d felt became so acute now that he was in front of me. Strangely, it hurt more than it did when I couldn’t see him.