Swept Away by the Tycoon Page 5

  “No one ever said there was.”

  “Then why do you keep pushing me to have one?”

  “I’m not pushing anything. All I did was ask if this Ian person was good-looking. You’re the one who went off.”

  Chloe looked at her shoes. Her friend was right. She had flown off the handle prematurely. “Sorry. Last night might have made me a bit oversensitive.”

  “Can’t blame you there. If I’d been mugged, I’d be touchy, too. Although...” Larissa hesitated.

  Glancing over, Chloe noticed her friend had literally bit her lip to keep from saying more. “Although what?” Might as well finish the whole discussion. When it came to certain subjects, Larissa could be relentless. Chloe’s love life was frequently one of those subjects. “Spit it out.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You’re always so adamant about not wanting a serious relationship.”

  “I happen to like being single.”

  “So you say.” Arms folded, lips drawn in a tight line, her friend was a five-foot-two-inch block of doubt. “I can’t help wondering, who you’re trying so hard to convince with your argument. Me? Or yourself?”

  * * *

  Under normal circumstances, Saturday morning meant sleeping in and drinking coffee in her pajamas. This Saturday, however, the bridal salon called to say her dress for Delilah’s wedding was ready, so instead of being happily curled up under her comforter, Chloe found herself making the trek uptown. She wanted to run her errands before the rain started.

  And she wanted to avoid Larissa. Chloe was still annoyed with her for that comment on the elevator. Who was she trying to convince, indeed. What a stupid question. Why would she need to convince herself of something she’d known for years? La-roo’s problem was that she had an overdeveloped sense of romanticism. Her whole world consisted of brides, weddings and babies. Chloe was far more practical. She’d much rather preserve her self-esteem than chase some useless fantasy.

  Thankfully, Larissa didn’t notice how she’d dodged the original question: whether Ian was attractive. Big fat yes there. Even a dead woman would think so. For crying out loud, his voice alone qualified as sex on a stick. Add in the rugged features and obvious rock-solid torso, and who wouldn’t be...intrigued?

  Intrigued, though, didn’t mean interested. If she happened to find herself walking three blocks out of her way to visit Café Mondu, it was only because she had a craving for a well-crafted iced peppermint mocha latte.

  Just as it was surprise, not disappointment tightening her stomach when she discovered a pair of middle-aged women occupying the front corner table.

  “Good morning,” the barista at the counter said in greeting. It was Jesse, the woman from the other night. “Looks like Ian did a good job.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your chin. The cut’s healing nicely.”

  “Thanks.” Chloe ran her fingertip along the scab. She still had a bump from smacking the sidewalk, but the redness had started to fade. “Lucky for me your boss has a knack for first aid.”

  “Must have been the army training,” Jesse said.

  “You knew about that?”

  “I overheard him talking to a couple servicemen one day, why?”

  “No reason.” For a second Chloe worried that she was the only person in New York who didn’t recognize the man. She’d learned online that his military service was an important part of the Ian Black corporate story. It was his experience as a medic that inspired him to invent the Black blood clotting patch that launched the company’s success. “I only recently found out, is all. He’s not here today, is he?” she added. Only because it would be rude not to say hello.

  Jesse didn’t have to answer, for at that moment Ian’s stage whisper reached her ear. “For crying out loud, Jack, you make it sound like I’m popping in on the kid out of the blue. We’ve been in contact.”

  He walked through the storage room door, cell phone tucked under one ear, a coffee cup clutched in the other. Chloe nearly dropped her dress bag. Today was the first time she’d seen Ian without his vagabond clothes, and the result was breathtaking. He’d shed the sweatshirt and ratty jacket in favor of khakis and a sweater the same light blue as his eyes, making him look every inch the successful entrepreneur he was purported to be. He’d pushed the sleeves of his sweater to the elbows. Chloe tried hard not to stare at his exposed forearms. She’d never been one to care about arms and hands before, but Ian’s were extraordinary. So hard and lean you could see the muscles playing with every move. A jagged scar ran down his right arm. It began beneath the cuff and traveled to his wrist. As Chloe followed the line with her eyes, she recalled how capable his hands were. Strong yet tender. The consummate male touch.

  A flush washed over her. Why on earth did this man waste himself on baggy sweatshirts?

  “Because some things can’t be said long distance, and the longer I wait...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unhappy. “My gut says different.”

  “Three eighty-five,” Jesse said. Chloe handed her a five dollar bill and waved off the change. She was far more interested in the conversation behind the counter.

  “Fine. Your opposition is duly noted.” Heaving a sigh loud enough to be heard across Manhattan, Ian slammed the phone onto the counter.

  Chloe spoke without thinking. “Problem?”

  He’d been staring at his cell and didn’t hear her come around to his side of the counter. Her question caused him to look up suddenly, revealing a look of such weariness, it tore her insides in two. “Difference of opinion,” he replied. He looked back down at the phone and sighed. “Damn. Now I’m going to have to call back and apologize at some point for hanging up.”

  “Sounded like this Jack person ticked you off pretty good.”

  “Nah, more like me taking my frustrations out on him. A habit I thought I had a handle on.”

  “Sorry,” she replied.

  Ian frowned. “What are you sorry about?”

  To be honest, she wasn’t quite sure. The lack of sparkle in his eye made her want to say something. “You being frustrated.”

  “No need to be sorry there. It’s my own damn fault.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  As expected, he shook his head. “If only, Curlilocks. Afraid this is a problem only I can fix. I just wish people would stop giving me advice I didn’t ask for.”

  “I hear ya there,” Chloe said, thinking of Larissa. “My friends are very big on advice. I wish I could make them understand that when it comes to my life, I know best.”

  “Exactly.” A fabric of understanding wove them together as he gave her the first smile of the day. A half smile, with a hint of sadness, but a smile nonetheless. “I keep trying to explain to him these are my mistakes. I need to fix them my way. Especially this one.”

  Must be one helluva mistake for him to react so strongly, but then, some events marked you more than others.

  “I take it this Jack disagrees.”

  “To put things mildly. I swear, if he had his way, I’d still be on step one.”

  “Step one?”

  “Yeah, out of twelve. I take it that that fact didn’t show up during your internet search.

  “What fact?”

  He reached for the nearby coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “That I’m a drunk.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “TECHNICALLY, FUNCTIONAL ALCOHOLIC would be a better term, since I preferred to keep a steady day-long buzz rather than get rip-roaring drunk. Enabled me to—”

  “Function?” The remark came out far more sardonically than Chloe meant it to.

  Ian saluted her with his cup. “Couldn’t build a company otherwise.”

  Following his pronouncement, the two of them moved their conversation to a nearby table. In a way, Chloe was surprised he wanted to talk with her about such a personal subject. On the other hand, she wouldn’t deny being curious. Not so much regarding his alcoholism as the shadow crossing his features. She’d seen the same shadow t
he other night. The slip suggested that while Ian spoke matter-of-factly, he felt far from casual about his past. His mistakes, whatever they were, struck him hard. If he wanted or needed a sympathetic ear, then she was willing to listen.

  “What happened?” she asked him. A naive question, but she didn’t know where else to start.

  “I drank. A lot,” Ian replied. “You mean how did the drinking get out of hand, though, don’t you?” He shrugged and focused on stirring his coffee. “There wasn’t any kind of traumatic event or anything. Started out with a few drinks to de-stress. As the stress grew, so did the drinks. Before I knew it, I was drinking all the time.”

  There was more to the story; Chloe could tell by the way he avoided her eyes. She was willing to bet that missing component caused the shadows, too. “What about work?”

  “Functional, remember?” He laughed over the rim of his coffee. “Work was everything. Well, everything other than alcohol. The rest of the world took a backseat.

  “People especially,” he added in a soft voice. This time Chloe caught the shadows.

  “Anyway, about eighteen months ago, I started the program, and I’ve been busy working on step eight—making amends to the many, many people I hurt.”

  Fixing his mistakes. Understanding clicked in, setting off a swell of admiration in her chest. She’d been right, he did beat karma. Leading her to the puzzling phone call she’d overheard a few minutes earlier. “Is your friend Jack one of those people you have to apologize to?”

  Ian offered another mirthless laugh. “Jack’s my sponsor. I deep-sixed my friends, good, bad and otherwise, a long time ago. In case you didn’t guess by the fact I’m sitting here pouring out my guts to you.”

  So he did need someone to talk to. “I don’t mind.” If anything, she was flattered to make the cut. Meaningful conversation didn’t happen with the men who usually crossed her path. Ian’s inclusion made her feel substantial.

  “You’ve only just met me. Give me time.”

  Meaning what? That he’d deep-six her, too? The comment made her nerves flare onto to quickly extinguish when she saw the melancholy in his eyes. Reminding her that his story was far from over. “I’m confused. Why doesn’t your sponsor want you to make amends? Isn’t he supposed to be encouraging you?”

  “This is where we come to the unsolicited advice,” Ian replied. “Jack thinks I’m moving too quickly. I need to ‘move with caution’ to use his favorite phrase. He doesn’t get that I can’t afford to move slowly. I’ve already wasted thirteen years.”

  A long time. Chloe watched Ian sip his coffee, trying to hide the expression she knew matched his voice. Her own drink had grown lukewarm long ago. She didn’t care. His story was far too engrossing.

  “This person must be pretty important to you, to want to reach out after a decade and a half,” she noted. Or else the crime so egregious he couldn’t forget.

  “He is,” Ian said. “He’s my son.”

  His son. Her insides froze, killing the sympathy she had regarding Ian’s pain.

  “You abandoned your family?” She didn’t bother hiding the edge in her voice. A man who abandoned his child didn’t deserve consideration. To think she’d actually thought Ian was different. Better.

  “Not entirely. I gave financial support. Paid his and Jeanine’s—ex-wife’s—bills. Made sure he lived well, but otherwise I kept my distance. Figured he was better off.”

  Oh yeah, the kid was so much better off. All those years, wondering what he’d done to chase his father away. Thinking he must be horrifically damaged if his own parents couldn’t love him.

  “You get what you deserve,” she murmured.

  Ian mistakenly thought she meant him. “You won’t get an argument here. I wrote to him once I thought sobriety was going to stick. We’ve been corresponding for about a year now.”

  “Letters and money,” Chloe repeated. More than she ever got from her father. Still, the kid deserved better. Apologies were as flimsy as promises. More often than not the child still ended up with her nose pressed against the picture window, waiting in vain.

  “Not enough, I know,” Ian agreed. “I wish I had an excuse, but the truth is I was a miserable son of a bitch and a drunk. He was better off without me around.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “I know it.” He washed a hand over his face, leaving an expression of regret behind. “I was not a nice person, Chloe. I stepped on and hurt a lot of people to build my company. I would have hurt him, too.”

  “And a lifetime of being without a father didn’t?”

  “Hurt him a lot less.” Ian sounded so resolute, Chloe decided not to argue. Perhaps he had a point. Drive-by visits certainly didn’t do her any good other than trick her into hoping again.

  Shaking off the memories, she returned to the topic at hand. “So what is it Jack doesn’t think you should do?”

  “I got Matt’s number, and I called him. There are things that can’t be said in a letter.”

  Yes, there were. “What did Matt say?”

  “He hasn’t returned my call yet. I told Jack I wanted to drive out to see Matt in person. That’s where you walked in.”

  Ian’s long fingers played with the cup handle, tracing the top curve again and again. Disappointed as she was, Chloe still watched the movement, remembering how those fingers had drifted across her skin. It hurt to think a man capable of such tenderness could hurt people.

  “He thinks I should stick with letter writing,” he continued. “But Matt’s my son. He needs to hear the apology out loud. So he knows I’m serious.”

  A kernel of sympathy worked its way toward Chloe’s heart. It was clear Ian regretted his behavior. Pain clung to every word he spoke. And he was trying to repair the damage. Letters, a phone call. Driving to see the boy. What she wouldn’t give for one of those efforts.

  “I know I forfeited my rights as a parent a long time ago,” he continued. Chloe couldn’t tell if he was making his argument to her or himself. “All I want is five minutes so I can let Matt know I didn’t forget him. My staying away was for his own good.”

  He reached into his wallet and handed her a photograph. “His high school graduation picture. I asked him to send me one.”

  Chloe saw a handsome boy with tight auburn curls and a wary smile. She could identify with the wariness. It was the fear that the camera would capture the inner flaws. “Handsome boy. Looks like his father.”

  “Smart, too. Salutatorian of his class. You should have heard the speech he gave at graduation.”

  “You were there?” In her surprise, Chloe nearly dropped the picture. “Why didn’t you go see him then? Were you...?”

  He shook his head. “Not at graduation.”

  “Then why not let him know?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin his day. His mother and I can’t be in the same room without killing each other. I always made a point of flying under the radar so he wouldn’t get caught in the middle.”

  Always? “You attended other events?”

  “As many as I could. Just because I wasn’t visible in his life didn’t mean I didn’t care.”

  A lump rose in Chloe’s throat. Ian couldn’t say more magical words if he tried. During how many basketball games, art shows and teacher nights had she fantasized about her father hiding in the back? Ian had done exactly that for his son.

  How she envied Matthew Black. Ian was offering his son the gift of a lifetime—the chance to know he mattered.

  She reached across the table and grabbed Ian’s hand. “Jack’s wrong. Your son deserves to hear your apology in person. Don’t let him talk you out of going.”

  * * *

  Ian stared at the fingers resting on his arm, soft and golden against his own pale skin. Comfort seeped from her touch, warming places inside him he hadn’t realized were cold. Common sense said he should pull away, but his selfish side wanted to enjoy the sensation. “Sweetheart, did you read any of those internet articles? Once I ma
ke up my mind, you’d need an atomic bomb to move me from my position.”

  “So you’re going to see your son.”

  He nodded. “Today. He’s attending the state university in Pennsylvania.” The trip couldn’t be more than three or four hours. With luck, he could be there by late afternoon, and home before midnight.

  Chloe was smiling. “Good. The sooner the better, if you ask me.” She spoke emphatically, with an unreadable emotion behind her words that didn’t fit the situation. From the glow in her eyes, you’d think she was the one receiving the apology.

  “No offense, but for a woman who heard my story only five minutes ago, you sound pretty darn invested.” Reluctantly removing his arm from her grip, he sat back so he could better see her face. “How come?”

  “No reason.” Her darkened cheekbones disagreed. “You’re doing a good deed. I’m showing support.”

  “Good deed? Hardly.” This apology was as much for him as it was for Matt. Guilt over his many sins had driven him to drink in the first place. If he didn’t atone for his mistakes—or at least make every effort he could—how long before the face he saw in the mirror drove him to drink again?

  So no, his actions weren’t good. Like everything he did, they were underscored by selfishness. The last thing he needed was a beautiful young woman looking at him with stars in her eyes.

  Much like Chloe was looking at him right now. As though he was about to climb Mount Everest or cure cancer. A man could live on a look like that for days. If he deserved the admiration. “I’m no hero,” he said. Reminding her and himself.

  “At least you’re reaching out to your son and letting him know you care. Some fathers couldn’t care less.”

  Hers, perhaps? The way the sparkle faded from her eyes suggested as much. Ian’s insides hurt at the thought. Then again, maybe it was his own guilty conscience needling him.

  He could ask her, but the mood had already grown far too somber and serious. Funny how he opened up around her. Even after pulling back the other night, here he was, sharing his biggest secrets. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t stop himself, either. He simply felt comfortable around her in a way he never felt around anyone else.