Mr. Right, Next Door! Read online

  “The numbers can wait,” he said, reaching for the phone.

  “But…” Though she started to complain, she didn’t put up much of a fight; the phone slipped easily from her fingers.

  “Later.” Dropping the phone to the ground, he wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist and drew her close, until they stood chest to toe.

  “Later,” she repeated.

  Good, they were on the same page. Lowering his lips to hers, he walked her backward to the master bedroom.

  * * *

  Anderson St. Pierre was a pest. No matter how many times Grant said no, the guy wouldn’t give up. So here he was, up at dawn to meet him for a breakfast meeting. He’d much rather be in bed with Sophie, trying to coax her into not spending the wee hours of the morning checking the Asian stock market the way she had most of the week.

  St. Pierre was already in the diner having breakfast when Grant arrived. “One of the things I love about New York City,” he said as Grant took a seat, “is how you can get whatever you want any time of the day. You want fried chicken at the crack of dawn, you got it.” He took a bite of a deep fried wing. “You want some?”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  “Suit yourself. This chicken’s amazing, though.” His host waved a hand and a waitress dutifully hustled over to fill Grant’s cup. Ten to one the drink didn’t taste nearly as good as the stuff he drank in Sophie’s kitchen.

  “I’m glad you finally agreed to hear me out,” St. Pierre continued.

  “Hard to say no when someone calls a half-dozen times. Though I’ve got to be honest I don’t see the point. I already told you I wasn’t interested in the job last week.”

  “Renovating my building. I know.” St. Pierre pointed a crinkle fry in his direction. “But what if I doubled your labor costs?”

  “What?” Grant choked on his coffee.

  “All right, tripled.”

  The guy was kidding, right? Triple his labor was a boatload of money. “Why?” The offer made zero sense, even if this guy was a billionaire. “There are plenty of contractors around who can do a perfectly good job.”

  “But none as good as you. I did my research, Templeton. You’re good. More than good, and honest, I like to hire the best.”

  Grant had to chuckle. The man’s brazenness rivaled his. “I’m good,” he agreed, “at historical renovation. Accent on historical. What you want to do anybody can do. In fact, I’ll even give you some names.”

  “I want you.”

  “Yeah, well, if you hire me, I’m going to turn around and ask them to declare your building a historic landmark.”

  “You should. That building is an original Feldman.”

  Stunned, Grant stared at the man. “I thought you wanted to gut the place.”

  “Nah. I just wanted to see how you’d answer.” He bit off a bite of chicken. “When you turned me down, I knew I found my man. See, lots of contractors say they do historical renovations—I wanted a man who shared my level of vision. Someone who understood design as well as construction. An award winner.”

  At the last phrase Grant’s blood chilled slightly. He had done his research. “That was a few years ago. I’m not with Kimeout anymore. I’m not even in architecture.”

  “I know. You’re your own man. Exactly what I want.”

  “So,” Grant said, still trying to figure out what was going on, “all this talk about tripling my labor costs was a test?”

  “One you passed with flying colors.” Pushing his plate aside, St. Pierre rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Now, how about we discuss a real business proposition.”

  * * *

  “That has to be the most unorthodox way of doing business I’ve ever heard of,” Mike said when Grant called him. His first call had been to Sophie, but the call had gone straight to voice mail so he’d turned, reluctantly, to his older brother.

  “I know. And get this, he’s developing a housing complex out of an old block of row houses. He wants someone to head the project who has the same mind-set as he does. The person would be in charge of everything from the ground up. Design, construction, personnel. We spent the past two hours talking about the project.”

  “I owe you an apology, little brother. Turns out being a pain in the butt actually paid off. When do you start?”

  “I haven’t said yes yet,” Grant said, smiling at the waitress topping up his coffee. St. Pierre had provided such an extravagant tip when he left, Grant imagined she’d be happy to pour him coffee all day long if he wanted.

  On the other end of the line, he heard silence. Mike, busy rolling his eyes, no doubt. “Why not?” he asked finally.

  “For one thing, the job’s in Philadelphia.”

  “So?”

  “So, my apartment’s here.” His life was here. The people he cared about. Mike. Nate.

  Sophie. Her name gave him a heavy feeling in his stomach. What would she say about his job offer? She’d probably understand. In fact, she’d understand all too well.

  “Philly’s not far away,” Mike reminded him. “You can drive back and forth in a couple hours. Come back on weekends.”

  “True, but…”

  “But what? What’s got you dragging your feet this time?”

  Grant didn’t know. Yes, he did. They were talking opportunity of a lifetime. Working with Anderson St. Pierre would bring a lot of notoriety. National notoriety. Success. The kind not even Young Architect of the Year could buy. His pulse kicked up a notch, and not in a good way. Would the man—the face from the hospital window—would he return?

  “What about Nate?” he asked his brother. The question just came out.

  “You come home weekends. Do your penance then.”

  “My visits aren’t penance. Besides his mother, I’m the only visitor Nate has.” For how long would he keep the visits going before work and his schedule became an excuse to stay away?

  His thoughts returned, unbidden, to Sophie. What about her? Would moving away mean the end of what they began this week? He’d managed to distract her this week, but if he were gone, what then? Would she become so busy she no longer had time for him? How long before their affair fizzled out?

  Dread washed over him. He didn’t want that to happen. He wanted Sophie. Not for a few days or a few weeks. The realization scared the hell out of him. When did he start thinking of any woman in terms of a relationship? But with Sophie he did. He wanted this thing they had going on for as long as it lasted, maybe even forever.

  He needed to see her. Right now. Needed to talk with her and see the reaction in her eyes when he shared his news. To know if this feeling that kept filling his chest was returned.

  He needed her.

  “I’ve got to go, Mike.” Tossing a second tip on the table, he took off for Wall Street.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SOPHIE was having a long, lousy Thursday. It began when she slept through her alarm. A week of Grant coaxing her back beneath the covers had started a new habit, which to be honest she enjoyed. A lot.

  Unfortunately, her new habit resulted in Allen calling to bark at her. Had she seen the European numbers? Why wasn’t she at the office correcting the morning status report? He needed to see her right away.

  Naturally, his call led to her calling both junior analysts, only to discover they were already in the office. In fact, everyone was in the office already except for her. That mistake she was certain Allen was waiting for her to make? Today wa
s it.

  She showered and dressed on the fly, opting to do her makeup during her commute—a decision that even on the best days, didn’t turn out well—and arrived at the office a little before eight-thirty, coffee-deprived and underprepared. The only saving grace was the fact that Grant left early for a meeting because if he had been around, then she, in her mad dash to get ready, would have bitten his head off. If Carla, one of her junior assistants, didn’t stop smirking at her still-damp hair, she might still bite someone’s head off.

  “Have you finished revising those figures Allen needed?” she asked, delivering a silent warning to the young woman from over the rims of her reading glasses.

  “Put them on your desk fifteen minutes ago,” Carla replied.

  Sophie thanked her, feeling foolish. She hadn’t been this off her game ever. Earlier she even sent an email to Allen and forgot to include the attachment. Her coveted managing director’s job felt as if it was slipping from her fingers.

  This is karma for having too good a week. You know that, right? She did have a terrific week. Best she could remember in a long time. Best nights, that is, she thought with a smile. Work had been tedious at best. She’d spent the past five days waiting for them to end so she could return to Grant’s arms. Scary how much she enjoyed his company. How much she wanted it. Surely the hold he had on her wasn’t healthy. Theirs was, at best, a short-term relationship.

  Their relationship certainly wasn’t healthy for her career right now. Ignoring work for five days had her playing serious catch-up.

  “Allen called,” Carla piped up over her cubicle wall. “He’s looking for the report on Harrington Pharmaceuticals.”

  “I’ll email him a copy right now.” Why hadn’t Allen called her directly?

  Her BlackBerry blinked, indicating a missed call. Allen, she told herself. He must have called when she walked out to Carla’s desk. Of course he could have called her office. She was still his go-to person, right? She hadn’t lost that title while enjoying the week, had she?

  There wasn’t time to dwell on the question. The market was going haywire. Up one minute, down three hundred points the next. Clients were bombarding the brokers with questions. Should they sell? Should they buy? It had the entire analysis department scrambling to provide answers.

  When noontime rolled around, Sophie didn’t notice. She barely had time to breathe let alone eat or grab a cup of coffee. She’d kill for some caffeine!

  David called at twelve-thirty. Soon as she heard his bland, unflappable greeting, she got sick to her stomach. She’d been having such a wonderful week, she’d forgotten all about him.

  “Thought I’d check the office temperature,” he said. “I caught the market scroll on one of the terminal televisions. How are things?”

  “Exactly what you’d expect. Wish I had time to clone myself so one of me could run to the bathroom.”

  “Except you don’t know how to harvest DNA.”

  “I was making a joke.”

  “I know,” he replied, then paused. “Everything all right? Your voice sounds off.”

  Because she was off. “Crazy day is all.”

  “I understand.”

  Naturally he did, she thought guiltily. Until she had a chance to talk to David about Grant, she supposed she was stuck with the stabbing sensation in her stomach. She wished she could tell him now, but after so much time together, she owed the man better.

  As it stood, having the conversation face-to-face wouldn’t be much easier. What was she supposed to say? I know we’ve had an arrangement, David, but it seems I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession regarding my neighbor. Wouldn’t that go over well. All her plans would go flying out the window.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t very well keep David in the dark while she waited for this thing she had for Grant to burn out.

  No, she was going to have to let David know she was seeing Grant.

  Seeing Grant. Such a bland term to describe the week. Was there a word that did? She’d spent the past five days simultaneously excited and scared. Reluctant yet unable to control her behavior. The minute he entered her orbit, her brain ceased working. She felt breathy, giddy. Girlish. Nothing at all like herself.

  On his phone at the airport, David seemingly failed to notice she’d drifted off and continued talking in her ear. “With luck,” he was saying, “the market will have rebounded by Saturday so we can enjoy a nice quiet dinner. I was hoping to try Troika. I read a review of the place on the plane. Sounds fabulous.”

  “Sounds good.” Wonder if Troika had secluded tables reserved for awkward conversation. She swiped away a few errant strands of hair that had worked their way out of her ponytail. The two of them really needed to talk.

  But like everything else today, that would have to wait. No sooner did she hang up with David then she received a call from one of the brokers on the buy side of the company looking for information on health care market projections. A snippy new hire who mistook bossiness for authority, he demanded Sophie have the figures he needed as soon as possible. “Dial it down a notch, Bud,” she wanted to say. Moments like this made her seriously consider throwing professionalism to the wind. She was tired, and she didn’t need the attitude. If the guy wanted people to treat him with respect, he should try acting like he deserved it. Take Grant, for example. He conveyed authority simply walking into a room.

  Grant. She groaned. When did all her thoughts start revolving around him? She woke up thinking about him, she went to bed thinking of him. In between, she wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking about her. When did he become the nexus of her universe?

  She had a real problem.

  “Allen’s still looking for the Harrington report,” Carla called.

  Give the email a chance to be delivered. “Should be in his in-box in a second,” she called back. Carla needn’t sound so self-satisfied about her new gopher status.

  A knock sounded on her door. “For crying out loud, I said I sent the report,” she snapped. “No need to scurry in here to double-check.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re comparing me to a rat.”

  What? Now she was hearing Grant in her head?

  * * *

  Looking up from her computer screen, her heart stopped. Unless she’d gone completely round the bend, which was possible given her obsession, Grant stood in the doorway.

  “Grant?” she asked. Just to make sure.

  “I take that as a yes.” He strolled in wearing faded jeans and a summer wool blazer. Suave meets sexy. From behind his shoulder Sophie saw the head of every female employee, along with a couple males, peering over their cubicle walls. The man literally caused work to stop. This is how you command authority.

  “Bad time?” he asked in his slow-honeyed voice. Her body immediately reacted. She definitely had it bad. Very bad.

  Clearing her throat, she pulled herself back to reality. “What are you doing here?”

  “I, um…” There was uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice, along with an emotion in the back of his eyes she couldn’t quite define. “Coffee?” He held a green-and-white cup in her direction.

  Talk about reading her mind. “I was just dreaming of a cup.”

  “Must have been sharing a psychic moment.”

  Their fingers brushed as he handed her the cup, sending sparks up her arm. He dipped his head slightly and leaned toward her cheek. Sophie felt her body sway, drawn as always by his inexplicable pull. I
f they weren’t in her office…

  But they were in her office, and people were watching. Abruptly, she pulled back, leaving him leaning into air. Surprise and something more—hurt?—flashed across his face.

  “Thank you. For the coffee.” Hoping the heat coming off the cup would burn away the feelings rippling through her body, she curled her fingers tightly around the cup.

  “Well, I know how much you appreciate your caffeine.”

  The air in the office felt thick and awkward. She could see the junior analysts still stealing glances. Sophie’s nerves started rising. Tomorrow she’d be topic number one on the office grapevine; if it took that long. She could already see Carla’s devious little gleam. Might as well take out an ad in the company newsletter—Senior Analyst Caught Mooning Over Boy Toy.

  Grant was watching her, too, with an inscrutable expression that made her insides even more self-conscious. “Was coffee the only reason you came by?” she asked, smoothing her hair. Even if her insides were trembling, she could at least give the appearance of professionalism.

  “Do I need more of a reason?”

  No. That is, yes. That is, “Things are really crazy here at the moment. Unless you have something important…”

  Another flash of that emotion. “I did, but I’ve decided it can wait.”

  “Are you sure?” She was getting an uneasy feeling about the emotion she saw.

  “Sophie, about this Harrington report. Do you have the figures broken down by month?”

  Terrific. Exactly the person she didn’t want popping in.

  “Hello, Allen,” she greeted, pretending as though having a stranger in her office was perfectly routine. “I’ll pull those figures up right now.”

  “If it’s no problem.” His critical stare moved from her to Grant and back. Her already jumpy stomach plummeted. Hop. Skip. Drop.

  “I was on my way out, anyway,” Grant said. “I’ll talk to you later.”