His gaze dropped to her throat, then flicked back to her eyes.
He remembered. He might not want to any more than she did, but he recalled their fleeting intimacy. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"It's a relative term. I have, because circumstances warranted it, bought into this business-" he looked critically about her office "-with rather less information than I would usually insist on." His gaze came back to her face. "I've had to take Jason's assurances and publicly available information as fact."
"You're expecting sympathy?"
He almost smiled. Amusement flickered in his eyes, then was gone. "There are two ways of doing anything, Callie, the easy way and the hard way."
"Meaning do it your way, or you'll make it difficult, if not impossible, for me?"
"I have a half share in your business. Either one of us can make this difficult for the other. But I don't see why we should. You get the backing of a silent partner and I get-"
"Control. Leverage."
"Precisely. All I want from you at this point is information. Once I'm satisfied I know all that I should, I'll back off and leave you to it."
Would he let it be that simple? "What is it you want to know?"
"It's a little late for due diligence, but I'd like some more detail on what I've bought into. How about we start by you showing me the financial records?"
Callie stood and considered her options as she watched that impassive face, that deceptively calm gaze. She'd been on the dance floor with him, but she could see no sign of that man. Freedom, he'd said. Hah! Now she felt like she was in the boxing ring with him.
She could refuse, but it would serve no purpose. Reeling and tight-lipped, she strode past him to her credenza, pulled out a bound booklet and held it out to him. If she gave him this, then maybe they could both retreat to their corners and she'd have time to figure out what was happening, and more importantly, what she was going to do about it.
He took the book from her and tapped it thoughtfully. "May as well give me the last five years." He spoke casually, as though asking for nothing more than a second cup of coffee.
"We've only been going five years." Callie couldn't quite keep the exasperation from her voice.
"Even better."
Wordlessly, she turned back to the credenza and found the reports he was asking for, holding on to the thought that as soon as he was gone, she could call her lawyer and find a way out of this mess.
"So, I can work here?"
Was he baiting her? She glared at him, but could read nothing in his green eyes. "Of course you can't. I have meetings in here."
He kept that disconcerting gaze on her. "We could enjoy working together, Callie."
She took a deep breath, but this time couldn't help rising to the bait. "We won't be working together. And we won't be enjoying anything. Take those reports and go."
"You're not going to introduce me to our staff?"
She couldn't conceal her horror at the prospect. "Not today."
"I'll have questions." He tapped the reports. "We should make a time for another meeting."
The phone on her desk rang with the tone for an internal call and she snatched it up. "Mr. Keane from the rafting company," came Shannon's voice.
"I'll be with him in a minute." She turned to Nick. "Now, if you wouldn't mind leaving." She pointed, stiff-armed, to the door. "Call me if you have questions."
"Perhaps you should give me your home number?"
"Like you don't already have it?"
And this time, despite how quickly he repressed it, there was no doubting the amusement that creased the corners of his eyes. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd had an entire dossier compiled. He probably knew what she ate for breakfast and the color of her underwear. Correction, he already knew that. And she only had herself to blame.
He nodded. "You'll be hearing from me." He headed toward the door.
Callie stepped out from behind her desk, took a few steps after him. "But so long as I continue to run the business well, you'll stay out of it?" She needed that assurance. She wasn't worried about having nothing further to do with Jason or Melody; she could manage that side of things. She was, however, worried about having to confront Nick on any regular basis. Having to pretend what had happened between them hadn't, constantly feeling the pull of an attraction that was as unwanted as it was undeniable, would be torture.
He paused, turned back to her. "It's a promise."
"And I'm supposed to accept you at your word?"
"You haven't got a lot else to go on."
"There's not much reassurance in that." She shook her head. The enormity of what was happening, to her business and therefore her life, was slowly sinking in.
Something softened in his expression. "I'm as good as my word, Callie."
"Like you said, I'll have to take that."
"Believe it or not, I have a business of my own to run. A corporation that's far more important to me than this." He nodded at the financial reports in his hands, as though that was all her business boiled down to.
He was almost close enough that she could grab the lapels of his expensive suit and shake him. "You're acting like this is no big deal."
Understanding passed through his eyes. "It doesn't have to be a big deal. My stake in Ivy Cottage is an insurance policy for my sister's peace of mind. And just like with my insurances, once I know exactly what I'm getting for my money, I'm happy to pay the premiums and forget about them." He reached for the door handle, and with a nod in her direction, turned and left.
Callie stared at the door as he closed it gently behind him. If only it would be as easy for her to forget about him.
Five
B y Sunday afternoon, through grimly determined effort, several ruined canvases and a month's worth of painting supplies, Callie had succeeded in blocking thoughts of Nick from her mind. So much so that the insistent knocking on her door startled her. Horrified, she glanced at her watch. He was early, but only by five minutes. She had no time to change, no time to mentally prepare herself. With care born of a desire to delay the inevitable, she put down her brush and wiped suddenly clammy hands on her stained shirt. Taking a deep breath, she headed resolutely for the door.
Nick had wanted to meet again, and this afternoon had been the only time that worked for both of them. Usually, she refused to let work intrude on her Sundays, but in this case it suited her well enough. She hadn't yet told Shannon and Marc that there was a new stakeholder in the business. If Nick came to Ivy Cottage again there would be no avoiding that revelation, he'd make sure of it. As it was, Shannon's pointed questions had already been hard for Callie to deflect.
As Callie opened the door, Nick, who had been looking in the direction of the neighbor's property, turned toward her. The sight of him momentarily took her breath away. His suave masculinity would be at home in an ad for European cars. His own European car, parked beyond him on the driveway, gleamed in the sunlight.
He lifted his sunglasses and his gaze found hers, his eyes green and calm. He nodded. "Callie."
"Nick." She tried to hide a reaction to his presence that was almost physical, a leaping to alert of all her senses.
This was the first time she'd seen him dressed casually. A black knit shirt stretched across his contoured chest, a heavy silver watch encircled his tanned wrist. He wore dark pants and leather shoes.
His gaze swept over her, took in her unruly hair, her oversize, paint-smeared shirt, her bare feet, before coming to rest back on her face. The contrast between them couldn't be greater. A faint smile tugged a corner of his mouth up and one eyebrow lifted. She stood back from the door, resisting the urge to respond to that smile and to explain her appearance. "Come in."
He stepped over the threshold. "So, no joy wriggling out of the agreement." It was a statement of fact.
"Trust me, it wasn't for lack of trying." She'd spent the best part of the intervening week in ultimately fruitless meetings and phone calls with her lawyer.