Chapter 14

Gretchen turned the page in her paperback and reached for another Kleenex, weeping.

“You okay?” To her side, Cooper was scooping out coffee beans to put into the grinder. He gave her a concerned look.

“Yeah.” She sniffed and waved the paperback. “It’s just my book.”

“Sad ending?”

“Something like that,” she mumbled, dog-earing the page and tucking the book under the counter. Actually, it was a romance. Audrey read the darn things like crazy, and her house had been full of them. Gretchen had picked one up on a whim and then been unable to stop reading them. The stories were so perfect. Even though bad things happened to the hero and heroine, everything would turn out okay in the end. They always did. She’d teared up when the hero had admitted love for the heroine, and then the heroine had joyfully exclaimed that she’d loved him back as they’d galloped on horseback to the hero’s castle. The epilogue was full of sweet cuddling and hints of future babies. It was saccharine and ridiculous.

And she could not stop crying over it.

Her own relationship? Hadn’t exactly been that clean cut, that fairy-tale wonderful. She’d gotten the admission of love, but she’d chickened out. Of course, then her Prince Charming had accused her of wanting him for his money, and more or less called her a gold-digging slut.

Strange how being called a whore by the man you loved tended to hurt so much, she thought wryly.

Gretchen opened up the back of the glass pastry counter and began to add some of the fresh-baked cookies she’d made to the decorative plates in the front. Some things just didn’t work out like the stories, she supposed. Some people were too damaged.

Even as she thought it, she scowled. There was no reason for her to be thinking like that. The only thing damaged on Hunter was his damn pride.

Gretchen picked off a wedge of broken cookie and tossed it in the garbage. Hunter needed to get over that hang-up about his face and come to terms with the fact that not everyone was out to get him. He needed to learn how to trust people.

“You sure you’re okay?” Cooper said, coming to her side. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, then dropped his hand. “I hate seeing you so unhappy.”

“I’m fine, really,” she told him, but couldn’t force a cheerful smile to her mouth. Things were still awkward with Cooper. She’d come back to work because she needed money—though not badly enough to beg druggie Daphne—and because she was driving Audrey crazy after a week of lounging on her couch in her pajamas. Even Igor seemed to be giving her cranky looks.

But Cooper was still hovering in a way that made Gretchen edgy. Any minute now, she expected to turn around and see him ready to confess his love again. They were nothing but friends, but—

“Gretchen,” Cooper began, his voice soft.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Cooper, please don’t—”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know. It’s weird between us right now, isn’t it? I should have never said anything.”

He sounded so unhappy with himself that she winced. “It’s not that, Cooper. I just . . . wish we could go back to the way things were before, you know?”

“Before I gave you my heart and you stomped it to pieces?”

Gretchen turned, her eyes wide in shock. “I—”

“I’m kidding,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be honest, I wish things could be different between you and me. But even what we had before was better than what we have now. I know you don’t care for me the way I care for you. And that’s fine, Gretchen. But it hurts me that we can’t even be friends anymore. I’d rather we acknowledge the problem, move past it, and get back to being just Gretchen and Cooper.”

Her eyes began to water again, and she sniffed, reaching for the wads of Kleenex she had stuffed in her apron. “I’m so sorry, Coop.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t apologize.” He reached out and pulled her into a friendly, warm hug. “I’m sorry I got all weird on you when you needed a friend the most.”

She wrapped her arms around him, sniffing hard. “You’re such a good friend. I’m not normally this emotional.”

“I know,” he said dryly, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

She clung to him for a moment, enjoying the hug and the simple comfort of a friend. “I’m glad that we’re going to go back to just being Gretchen and Coop,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “And I’m sorry I didn’t fall in love with you. If I could have picked to fall in love with someone, it would have been you.”

He chuckled, and for once, there was no pain or sadness in it. “It’s okay, Gretch. I know you’re in love with Buchanan. It was obvious as soon as I saw him with you. You lit up around him in a way I’ve never seen. I’ve had a few weeks to get over you now.”

She smiled over his shoulder, opening her eyes and gazing out into the coffee shop.

Behind them, a scarred man in a long tailored jacket stood in the doorway of the coffee shop, a dozen roses in his hand. He wore sunglasses despite the cloudy weather, as if it might obscure the scars on his face—and he was watching her hug it out with Cooper. Then, he took the glasses off, and she felt sick with dread.

Hunter’s heart was in his eyes, and it was being broken all over again.

The man had shit timing.

“Hunter,” Gretchen gasped, pulling away from Cooper.

Hunter’s mouth tightened. He said nothing, simply turned and walked back out of the coffee shop. As she watched him disappear into the crowd, he tossed the roses into the nearest waste bin.

She felt as thrown away as those roses in that moment. Everything was all messed up again.

Even as she asked herself why she cared, Gretchen pulled out of Cooper’s embrace and dashed out from behind the counter, crossing the coffee shop quickly and bursting through the door.

The streets were busy, but not so busy that she couldn’t pick Hunter’s bulkier form out of the group. That, and his stiff, angry stance and the way people paused when they glanced at his face.

She raced after him. “Hunter!”

He ignored her, his shoulders set.

“Hunter Buchanan.” Gretchen planted her feet, fists clenched. “Turn around, damn it, or I’m going to run straight into all this traffic.”

He slowly turned around, a good twenty feet from her on the bustling sidewalk. He didn’t move forward and his hands were stuffed into his coat pockets. “What do you want?”

She paused at the icy tone of his voice. “You were bringing me flowers?”

“I was not.”

“Really? I suppose you just throw flowers into every garbage can outside of a coffee shop, then?”

When he flushed, she had to hide her grin of delight. Why was it that she loved teasing Hunter so very, very much? She’d fallen back into her comfortable sense of joy with him, forgetting all about that he’d broken her heart.

“I threw them away,” he bit out after a moment.

“I noticed. You shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? It’s clear you’ve moved on. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.” His jaw clenched furiously.

She folded her arms over her chest. “Were you coming to apologize?”

He gave her a mutinous look.

“Then why does it matter if I’ve moved on? You made it clear you just wanted my body. You think I’m for sale.”

“I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” He looked so tortured that she softened for a moment. Just a moment.

“You should have. You should have believed that you can’t buy my affection.”

“What other choice does a man like me have?”

For a moment, she was dumbfounded. What did he mean, a man like him? Then, she realized he meant his face. Did he truly think he was so very hideous that he’d have to purchase affection? Sure, he was scarred, and the scars weren’t pretty. They distorted the one side of his face, but they couldn’t hide the fact that Hunter had a delicious body and a generous, sensitive soul. She remembered his long fingers caressing the petals of a flower and the way he’d smiled as if it were something new and joyous to him to be happy.

Her heart ached. “You’re not ugly, Hunter. Not to me.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe that,” he said in a cold voice. “I’ve had a lifetime of being reassured that I’m only wanted for my fortune.”

“Well, if you don’t believe that, then I guess you don’t have much faith in me,” Gretchen said, her voice light. “And that hurts me that you think I’m that shallow and mercenary.”

For a moment, he looked stricken. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t you? You’re saying I’m an awful person who will only fuck a man if he’s got a fat wallet.” People on the street were starting to stare at them, but she ignored them. If Hunter could stand out here in the middle of New York City having a frank conversation with her, then she certainly could, too. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

He scowled. “Not bad enough, it seems. I see you’ve already moved on to your friend.”

Fury pushed through her and she stomped her way toward him. “Ugh! Will you just listen to yourself for a moment? You’re so convinced that you’re some sort of hideous beast that you think that someone can’t possibly see the true you inside. Yeah, well I saw the true you, buddy.”

Hunter said nothing, but he didn’t pull away. He simply watched her.

She was close enough to touch him now, and she stabbed a finger at his chest. “I saw a man who isolates himself because he’s worried about making other people uncomfortable. I saw a man who doesn’t leave his house very often, but makes sure that the staff is well paid. I saw a man who works all day tirelessly and tends to roses because he enjoys their beauty. I saw a man who expects perfection in himself but is okay with others treating him like dirt. I see a man who shuts out the world because he’s so afraid of getting hurt again. And you tell me I’m the one with the problem? How about you look in the mirror?”

Astonishment crossed his face and his mouth slackened.

“How about you take a long, hard look at that asshole butler of yours? How about you hire someone who you actually enjoy being around? You’re a wonderful person, Hunter. You’re shy but you’re incredibly giving and thoughtful, and you have a poetic soul under all that muscle. If you’re lonely, it’s because you’ve isolated yourself. You have friends!” she exclaimed. “Your buddies thought you were happy at the dinner party and I saw their faces. They were happy for you. Why can’t you be happy for you?”

And she jabbed him in the chest with her finger again.

Hunter caught her hand. She was momentarily astonished at how warm he was against her cold skin, and longing flared through her. But when he lifted her hand to try and kiss the palm, she wriggled free.

“No, Hunter,” Gretchen said quietly. “I care about you, I really do. But I’m still mad at you.”

“I want you with me, Gretchen. If you can forgive me for what I said, I want you at my side. I just have a hard time believing that someone as perfect as you would want to be with someone like me.” He looked pained at her rejection, his scars stark on his face.

She wanted to kiss him and make him feel better. She wanted to grab him by his tailored lapels and shake some sense into him. So she just shook her head.

“Am I too late?” Hunter asked in a low, intense voice, full of pain. “Is that it? You’ve moved on? To him?”

Gretchen gave him an exasperated look. “I was sad and Cooper was comforting me. We’re just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.”

“You were sad?” His attention focused on her words. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

For some reason, his face broke into one of his rare smiles.

And she found herself smiling back at him. “I’m still mad at you.”

“But you’ll forgive me.”

“Not today.”

“Tomorrow, then.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Maybe not tomorrow. I’m still deciding,” Gretchen told him playfully, and began to walk back to the coffee shop. “You need to make some changes first, though.”

“I will,” he said.

“Good!” she called over her shoulder. “And next time, don’t throw away my roses!”

She didn’t look back as she went inside the coffee shop, but she could have sworn she’d heard him chuckle before she closed the door. A hint of a smile touched her face.

They were good. Sort of. They weren’t great. Hunter needed to come out of his shell. But they were starting in the right direction.

And she smiled.

***

The next day, as Gretchen walked into the coffee shop, she was met by a surprising scene.

Every table was covered in enormous vases full of roses. The interior of the cafe looked more like a florist, and customers were milling around, sniffing the flowers and exclaiming in wonder as they held their lattes.

Every rose was exactly the same color—that icy pale blue-purple that she’d come to associate with Blue Girl. It was the rose she’d told Hunter that she liked the best.

Gretchen unwound her scarf from her neck, feeling warmth throughout her bones. She headed to the counter, unable to stop grinning. She knew who those were from and what they meant.

And while she couldn’t be bought, well, it was a start.

Cooper gave her a relieved look as she arrived. “Thank God you’re here. Did you see this mess?”

“Mess?” she inquired innocently. “I think they’re beautiful.”

“The first delivery showed up a few hours ago, and they’ve been coming in all morning. I think someone bought every purple rose in the entire city.”

“Blue,” she corrected him absently, pulling a long-stemmed rose from one of the vases and smelling it. “They’re blue.”

“Well, there’s no name for the recipient. No sender. Just flowers coming in from every single florist in all of Manhattan. It’s crazy.” He looked frazzled.

Gretchen dragged her fingertips across the bud of the rose, feeling the soft petals and smiling. “I think it’s sweet.”

“I don’t know what to do with all of them.”

“Give them out to customers,” she said, taking scissors and snipping the stem from the rose in her hand and tucking it safely into the pocket of her apron. She’d take this one home tonight.

***

The next day, dozens of yellow roses showed up. The day after that, white roses with pink edges and a delicious scent that was so thick it made her nearly dizzy with delight. The roses never came with a card, but that was okay. Gretchen knew who they were for. Each day, she’d carefully take one of the flowers, wrap it in tissue and tuck it into her apron, and then take it home and press it between the pages of a book, carefully preserving it.

She didn’t work for the next two days, but she still passed by the coffee shop, unable to stop her curiosity.

No roses. For some reason, that made her smile even more broadly. Hunter knew when she was working and made sure the flowers were delivered just for her. That was sweet.

She spent her days off with Audrey, baking, cleaning Audrey’s apartment as payment for letting her live there, and shopping. Her normally capable sister seemed a bit morose and stressed, and Gretchen wondered if Audrey was worried about Daphne. The rest of the family had written off Daphne long ago, but Audrey refused to give up on her twin. Every time Daphne sauntered back into their lives, Audrey was the one who paid the price.

Gretchen had invited Kat to lunch, but Kat had called off, citing work. Gretchen suspected her agent was still mad at her since canceling contracts had meant that it cost Kat money, too. And her agent was probably not very pleased with the mess she’d scraped together for the last Astronaut Bill book, but she didn’t care.

She wasn’t writing a single thing and, for once, she felt wonderfully, gloriously free. She hadn’t realized how unhappy writing had made her until she no longer let it rule her life.

Maybe, like Hunter, she was still figuring out parts of herself.

***

The roses continued for a week and a half, until one day Gretchen walked into the cafe and saw only one bouquet sitting on the counter. The roses were the deepest, darkest velvety red, and she immediately recognized them—Papa Meilland.

“Well,” Cooper said as she came around to the back of the counter, tying on her apron. “We finally got a note with the roses.”

“We did?” Gretchen perked up, her hands suddenly twitching with want. “Where is it?”

Cooper’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know it was for you?”

“Just a hunch. Now, where’s my letter? Gimme.” She made a grabbing motion at him.

He dropped a cream envelope into her hand. It simply had a large G printed on the front, and the back was sealed. Hastily, she tore the envelope open and was surprised at the sight of the paper inside.

It was soft, yellow with age, and wrinkled. Gretchen sucked in a breath as she carefully removed the folded paper with reverent hands.

“What is that?” Cooper asked, peering over her shoulder. “Looks old.”

“It’s a letter,” Gretchen said in a soft voice. “And it’s very old.” She touched it with reverent fingers, remembering the contents of the letters at Buchanan Manor. “I need a moment in private.”

“Sure,” Cooper told her, giving her a puzzled look.

She raced to the back room and then shut herself into Cooper’s office, sitting at his messy desk. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the letter and began to read.

My lovely Lulabelle,

I never thought a day could seem longer than twenty-four hours. Once, I cursed that the days were so short, for they seemed to rush past. I have found a way, though, to make the day seem interminably long, for the hours to slow to molasses and minutes to crawl past as if unmoving.

I simply need to be parted from you.

I miss you, my darling. I miss you so very much that my heart aches in my breast. I long for you, for your body next to mine. I long to wake up and feel your hair against my cheek, to taste your sweet breath against mine, to hear your warm and happy laughter. I miss your body, of course, but it is your mind and your spirit I miss most of all. It is you who brings the light and warmth into my life. I am cast into darkness without you at my side.

And so I sit, watching the minutes descend into hours, and count the days until you return to my arms. I live for the day that I can see your brilliant smile again, touch your lips to mine, and know that we will never be parted again. I know that day will come soon, and my aching heart is eased at this.

All my love,

Benedict

Tears pooling in her eyes, Gretchen clutched the letter to her chest. No raunchy words of love this time. No longing for sex. Just a simple, aching loneliness that spoke to her soul. She hadn’t seen this letter before. Had it been at the back of the box that she’d been unable to get to? Had Hunter read through them, thinking of her? Looking for just the right letter to soften her heart?

It had worked. It had worked wonderfully.

She looked over the letter again, touching it with amazed, trembling fingers. She’d ripped open the envelope in her haste and now she regretted that move. She wanted to keep it and press it into her scrapbook like she had with the roses. Gretchen carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.

There was an address printed in the top left-hand corner. A return address.

Curious, she read it. Then she read it again.

And then she bolted from her seat. Rushing back into the main room of the cafe, she shrugged her jacket back on, winding her scarf around her neck once more. “I have to run out, Cooper.”

He gave her a concerned look, a frown wrinkling his brow. “You coming back?”

“I am. I just need to see something,” she told him, and rushed out the door before he could question her further.

Gretchen raced down the streets of New York City, her heart pounding as she wove through the crowds. SoHo was always busy this time of day, but she didn’t pay attention to anyone. Instead, she was lost in thought, running her thumb over the green embossed return address on the envelope.

She took the subway toward Madison Avenue. Envelope in hand, it took her a few minutes to locate the building, and then she entered, eyes wide, as she read the placard at the front of the office building.

Buchanan Real Estate—4th floor.

He had an office here in the city? She thought he only worked out of his house. In the entire month she’d stayed with him, he hadn’t left it. Mystified, she entered the elevator.

The fourth floor was a bit of a surprise. Not because it wasn’t the Buchanan offices at all—it was—but that the walls seemed to be made entirely of glass. For a man who prized his privacy, this struck her as either bizarre . . . or deliberate. Glass panels displayed the waiting room of the office, with six chairs neatly lined up next to end tables that were covered in real estate magazines. Fresh roses decorated each table, and at the far end was a reception desk. If she headed further down the main hall, the glass walls continued, and she could see straight into Hunter’s office. She touched her fingertips to the glass, staring at the office. It was set up exactly the same as his office at home, right down to the mirrors on the wall, the enormous TV, and the vase of roses at his side.

His desk was empty.

When had he gotten an office here? Had he always had it and she wasn’t aware of it? More questions that she had no answers to. Gretchen paced the hall, not willing to go inside, not quite yet.

A woman appeared out of one of the back rooms and paused at the sight of Gretchen, and then waved enthusiastically, beckoning her in.

With a deep breath, Gretchen pushed open the glass door and smiled.

“Well, hi there, ma’am,” the receptionist said in a thick twang that told Gretchen that she wasn’t from New York or anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon Line. She wore a cheap suit that was a little too ugly to be anything but homemade, and she had freckles going across a snub-nose and rounded cheeks. She also had the palest, most wild corkscrew blonde hair that Gretchen had ever seen. She waved Gretchen in again. “Don’t just stand in the hall like you done lost your britches. We don’t bite in here!”

Gretchen blinked. My God, this girl was . . . country. What was she doing working for Hunter? “Um, hi.” Gretchen gestured at the hallway that she’d been stalking. “I was just, uh, looking for someone.”

“Well, I’m someone,” the girl beamed. “Can I help you find something?”

She held up her envelope. “Is this the Buchanan office?”

“It surely is,” the girl drawled. “My name’s Maylee—that’s all one word, not two. It’s after my Nana and Pepaw,” she said casually, as if these were things you normally tossed out into conversation. “I’m Mr. Buchanan’s secretary. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry, I’m just . . . is Mr. Buchanan here?”

“Naw. He went to lunch with some fancy-looking guys.” She pulled a Post-it note off her desk and sat down, whirling in her chair. “Gimme your name again and I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“It’s Gretchen. I—”

“Oh, my lordamercy!” Maylee clapped her hands together in excitement. “Mr. Hunter’s your beau, ain’t he? Oh, my gosh. You are so pretty! Of course you are.”

Gretchen was having a hard time reconciling stiff, proper Hunter with this secretary who seemed straight off the turnip truck. Had he paid for a new assistant who could take care of all of his needs? Maylee was pretty in a disheveled sort of way. Jealousy gnawed at Gretchen. Was she thinking he’d turned over a new leaf when he’d just decided to buy a cheaper model?

“Mr. Hunter’s gonna be so dang sad he missed you,” Maylee continued, scribbling on the Post-it. She stuck it to her monitor, where dozens of other Post-its fluttered. “He makes me call all the flower shops in the city lookin’ for your flowers, you know. Man’s lost his cotton-pickin’ mind over you, if you don’t mind saying so. It’s really cute.”

And just like that, Gretchen blushed. Maybe Maylee wasn’t a replacement after all. She shouldn’t have doubted him. “Do you know what time he’ll be back?”

“No ma’am,” Maylee drawled. “But if you’ll give me your number, I’ll give you a holler when he gets back.”

“That’s okay,” Gretchen said, her lips twitching to contain her smile. “I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure and tell Mr. Hunter,” Maylee beamed. As Gretchen turned to leave, she called out, “Y’all have a nice day, now.”

She barely stifled her giggles until she got to the elevator. Well, she had told him to get himself a nicer assistant, but Maylee wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

***

The next day, before she stopped into the coffee shop, she headed straight for Hunter’s office. It was just after lunch and she hoped she’d catch him before he left again. She’d chosen her clothing carefully today, too—casual but still sensual. She wore leggings and knee-high leather boots that showed off her long legs, and a draped tunic sweater that clung to her body. She wore a fringed scarf that she’d borrowed from Audrey—who was always perfectly accessorized—and had worn her hair in a soft ponytail, deliberately leaving her bangs and a few tendrils loose. She’d even worn makeup for the man.

Of course, the look was slightly ruined by the peacoat she’d had to toss over the ensemble thanks to the cold weather, but that was okay. She’d strip it off as soon as she got to his office and show him what he’d been missing out on.

As soon as she emerged from the fourth-floor elevator, her breath caught. Hunter was in his office, typing on the computer. He was intent on his screen, and he hadn’t noticed her in the hallway yet.

His scarred side was facing the hallway, exposed for all to see. Was it deliberate? She hadn’t realized his desk was set up so anyone coming up the elevator would see it.

As she stood there studying him, Hunter glanced up. His gaze caught hers, and he slowly colored red even as he got up from his chair.

Her heart began to pound, and she smiled at him, slowly, sweetly, and then opened the door to the main lobby.

“Well, hi there, Ms. Gretchen,” Maylee called cheerfully. This time she was dressed in a lavender plaid suit, her baby-blonde corkscrew hair pulled up into a messy, frizzy knot. “You caught Mr. Hunter in the office today. Ain’t that somethin’?”

“It sure is,” Gretchen said, smiling. She gestured at the door to his office. “Mind if I go on in?”

“’Course not. Lemme just ring Mr. Hunter.” Maylee picked up the phone.

“He saw me come in,” Gretchen said.

“I know, but I’m s’posed to ring everyone, Ms. Gretchen. Mr. Hunter says it’s the rules.” She held the phone to her ear, beaming. “Mr. Hunter? Ms. Gretchen’s here to see you.” After a moment, she nodded. “You can go in now.”

“Thank you,” said Gretchen, her lips twitching again. This time she was able to contain her laughter until she shut the door behind her in Hunter’s office.

His expression was unreadable and wary. He stood behind his desk but made no move to approach her. “Hello, Gretchen.”

She shook her head, still chuckling. “Where exactly did you find that secretary of yours?”

He grimaced. “It’s a long story.” His gaze moved over her, devouring her. “You look gorgeous.”

Oh, right. She was supposed to shrug off her bulky coat and show him what he’d been missing. Gretchen fumbled with the buttons of her coat, then struggled to pull her arms out of the sleeves. Not smooth. By the time she got her coat off, her sweater—and her ponytail—were sticking to her body thanks to static. Lovely. “I thought I’d come by and say hi.”

Her lack of grace didn’t matter, though. She was pleased to see that his fascinated gaze was riveted on her.

He gestured at the seat across from his desk. “Please sit.”

She did, deliberately crossing her legs in a slow motion, enjoying when his eyes followed her. Now this was a heady, feminine power. “I wanted to come by and say thank you for the roses.”

Hunter inclined his head, studying her.

She suddenly felt awkward and unsure. What did she want to come out of this meeting? For him to beg for her to return to him? Keep teasing him for another week or two and make him suffer?

Actually, she kind of just wanted to bask in his presence for a bit.

Gretchen glanced around. “Nice office. I didn’t know you had one here.”

“I didn’t until last week.”

She looked at him, startled. “What made you decide that you needed one?”

“You were right,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been hiding away from the world for a long time. I told you about my accident. Things weren’t easy for me after that. It became easier to hide from the world than to go out into it. When I . . . returned to my father’s house after the hospital, he hired private tutors for me and I hid from the world. He’d insisted I go to college, though. I tried to get out of it, but he refused. It was like living in a waking nightmare. Being amongst all those strangers . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he cleared his throat. “College wasn’t easy for me. If it weren’t for the friendship of . . .” His words died and he looked frustrated for a moment, then said, “Logan and the others, I would have never made it through. I was picked on and women flinched at the sight of me. When I inherited my father’s business, I set up in my house and it was just easier not to leave unless necessary.” He shrugged. “It became easier to avoid the world than to live in it . . . until I met you. You’re why I bought this place.”

Gretchen’s cheeks warmed. “So I made you buy real estate? That’s a pretty good super-power, I have to admit.”

His mouth tugged up on one side. “I already owned this office. I just decided to keep it for myself.” He glanced out the window onto the main section of the floor. “It reminds me to be out there in life, instead of hiding away.”

“I’m very proud of you,” she said softly. “And I hope that you someday realize that you’re not this monster you’ve painted yourself to be. You’re just a man.”

The man who I love.

But the words clung to her throat.

“I took your advice about Eldon, too.” Hunter folded his hands on his desk. She noticed his knuckles were white, as if he were gripping his hands tightly despite his casual pose.

Oh, no. Did he fire his assistant-slash-butler? Now she felt bad. “He’s very loyal—”

“He’s a cranky old bastard,” Hunter admitted. “But yes, he’s very loyal. He’s also elderly and has family in the west. I gave him a very large retirement bonus as thanks for his tireless work, and I suggested he visit his daughters for a time. And I hired some additional staff at Buchanan Manor. It’s rather . . . quiet lately.”

She inclined her head back to the main room. “Maylee’s not exactly what I had in mind when I suggested you hire a new assistant.”

To her vast amusement, he grimaced. “Maylee is a . . . problem.”

“She seems like a sweet girl.”

“That is the problem.” Hunter sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “When I had Eldon call the agency, I told them to find me someone pleasant. She’s very pleasant,” he said in a sour voice. “But I feel I should have been more specific. She’s not good with computers. Or phones. Or the copier.”

A giggle escaped her throat.

He gave her a vexed look, seemingly aggrieved. “Yesterday, she set up a meeting for a client and then didn’t tell me about it because she couldn’t find her sticky note. I was extremely . . . annoyed.”

“Oh, no. What did you do?”

“I suggested she use the computer to keep my schedule instead of Post-it notes.”

Gretchen thought back to the sea of yellow sticky notes on Maylee’s desk. “And what did she say?”

“Nothing,” he said in a pained voice. “She cried.”

“What did you do?”

“What else could I do? I gave her a raise.”

Gretchen burst into laughter. “Really?”

He looked aggrieved. “This is her first job since leaving Arkansas and no one else will hire her because she is a hick, as she likes to tell me. I can’t fire the poor girl simply because she’s unorganized.”

“You big softy,” Gretchen teased, her heart swelling with warmth. “Maybe you should hire an assistant for your assistant.”

“Maybe so.” His gaze moved over her with obvious pleasure. “You look beautiful.”

She shivered at the husky tone of his voice. He looked so delicious that she wanted to crawl across the desk, start kissing him, and never stop. She forced herself to look at the gigantic windows instead.

“Forgive me,” Hunter said in a tight voice. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. Did you see my invitation?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I haven’t been by work yet. You sent me an invitation?”

His nod was short. “Today’s flowers came with an invitation to a charity fundraiser scheduled for this weekend. A ball. It’s at Buchanan Manor.”

Her eyes widened and she sat on the edge of her chair. “You’re hosting a charity ball? Are you serious? Who are you and what have you done with Hunter?”

Hunter gave her a patient look. “I was approached because the venue that the charity ball had originally been scheduled for cancelled on them. They were desperate. It seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Polite had never bothered him before, though. “What should I wear?”

His eyes warmed at her question. “Something formal. I’m told there will be dancing.”

“Do you plan on dancing with me?”

“If you’ll be my date.”

“Oh, you just want me to be your date because I put out,” she said in a teasing voice.

His face flushed an angry red and he jerked to his feet. “I’m sorry you think that of me.”

And just like that, their easy banter ended. Gretchen felt a moment of sadness. She’d messed it up this time, and it was clear from Hunter’s stiff posture that the moment had vanished.

“The invitation is yours if you want it,” he told her in a cold voice. “Feel free to decline with no obligations. It was meant as a friendly gesture.”

And she’d killed it. Clearly if she was going to bring them back together she’d have to be the one to do it.

“I’ll think about it,” she lied.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 511