saying he was quitting and in the process, gave Carter an angry, rambling speech about working with idiots and a corporate culture worthy of sewer workers.
That had stung. Sewer workers were probably more creative than his team, damn it. At least they unplugged problems, instead of creating them.
The call had put him behind schedule, and if there was one thing Carter didn’t want, it was a disruption in his schedule. His new, as of today, highly responsible schedule.
He was going to make this thing work—even if it took getting to the office at the crack of dawn and staying till ten—p.m., instead of his usual ten a.m. quitting time.
This morning, he’d hoped to be in the parking garage at seven-nineteen in the morning, in his office by seven-thirty. He glanced at his watch. Eight-oh-seven.
Great. Just what he needed. To be late and one toy designer short.
This CEO business had turned out to be far more time consuming than Carter had expected. It wasn’t about the missed golf games, the canceled dates, or his forgetfulness to restock his fridge. It was the way the business seemed to consume his every thought, haunting him even when he wasn’t there. Now he understood why his twin brother’s work life had nearly cost him his marriage.
Cade had seen the light, however, and exited the law work he hated in favor of supporting Melanie’s business. Now Cade was home with Melanie every night, rekindling the flame that had nearly gone out in their marriage.
Somewhere along the way, Carter had gotten the idea that he could prove himself as a responsible person, too. Considering how TweedleDee Toys was going, all he was proving was his ability to fail.
He’d avoided the office all these weeks because of the certain knowledge that despite his best intentions, he didn’t have what it took to rescue the company. Every attempt he made to improve—reduce the bottom line, increase production, shore up morale—had been met with resistance by employees too used to being on their own—
And far too familiar with Carter’s indulgent past.
Carter pushed the thoughts away and stepped out of the building and into the bright, warm sunshine. Daphne Williams stood in the parking lot, her keys in one hand, cell phone in the other, and an exasperated expression on her face. “What do you mean, you towed it? I didn’t see a No Parking sign when I left it in the long-term lot.” A pause. “That wasn’t the long-term lot? Since when?” Another pause. “If you’re going to completely reconfigure the airport parking lot, you could at least put up a sign. Mail out a flyer. Let people know so they don’t—” She let out a huff at being interrupted. “Of course. I’ll be sure to fill out the comment card on my next visit to the airport. You can count on that.” Then she clicked the phone shut and let out a half-scream/half-groan of frustration.
“Having a good day?” he asked, teasing her. Because he couldn’t resist and because, hell, he was already late.
She wheeled on him. “If you must ask, and I can tell by the glint in your eyes that you must, no, I’m not.” Her voice broke on the last words and for a moment, he felt awful. “I have to be at a meeting in twenty minutes and my car isn’t where it’s supposed to be, and the place that towed it isn’t open until ten.” She drew in a breath, seemed to steady herself, then her face brightened. “Well, I always did enjoy the adventure of a cab ride before breakfast.” Daphne flipped out her phone and started to scroll through the programmed numbers, muttering to herself as she did. “What was the name of that taxi company?”
Guilt came in many forms, Carter realized. Some of them brunette and slim and with a crushed, vulnerable look in wide chocolate eyes. “Where’s your meeting?”
“Seventh and Vine.”
“My office is on Eighth. Let me give you a ride.”
She glanced up from the phone. “Why?”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“Well, Mr. Matthews, last I checked, you weren’t feeling too neighborly toward me. If I remember right, you called me insane and shut your door in my face.”
“Not one of my finer moments.” Heck, he hadn’t had many of those at all. But today, Carter Matthews was turning over a new leaf.
Again.
She ran a hand through her hair, displacing the brunette tendrils. They settled around her neck with little flips at the ends. On another woman, he might have found that attractive.
Hell, who was he kidding? He did find it attractive, especially on Daphne Williams. With the way she had her hips parked to one side and her wide brown eyes giving him that perpetual look of frustration, he knew he got to her, too.
Granted, probably not in the same gut-stirring, fireigniting, hormone-lighting manner, but at least she wasn’t immune to his charms.
Daphne sighed. “Yesterday wasn’t one of my finer moments, either,” she said. “And I would appreciate the ride. Besides, you owe me.”
“I do at that,” he said, in a voice several octaves deeper than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, ridding it of the damnable frog inside, and pressed on the long metal handle of the glass door that led to the parking garage, holding it open for her to pass through.
And wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake.
When Daphne had agreed to ride with Carter Matthews, she hadn’t thought about the consequences of squeezing into his little red two-door sports car. It was a hardtop convertible, exactly what she’d expected from Indiana’s most notorious bachelor.
But what was worse about the Lexus was its size. The car had all the room of a takeout box and made her overwhelmingly more aware of what Kim had called his more attractive assets.
Okay, he was cute. Another woman might like the way his hair waved at the top, one lock falling down on his forehead from time to time. Another woman might like the deep dark blue of his eyes, the way they seemed to reflect everything he looked at, especially her own image, as if he were a human mirror.
And especially the way he set her off-kilter—the one feeling Daphne had done a darn good job of avoiding.
Until Carter Matthews came along.
“I know, the car’s a stereotype,” he said, reading her mind as he put the powerful vehicle into gear. A growl erupted from the engine, as if the Lexus wanted to show Daphne a little speed.
“It does scream bachelor,” she replied. “And from what the news has said about you, you’re the kind of guy who’s only capable of an intimate relationship with your steering wheel.”
He laughed at that. “Gloria does get a few good lines in her gossip column from time to time. The woman can turn a phrase, even if her observations are a bit…skewed.” Carter took a left on Prince Street, causing Daphne to sway a little toward his side. Her arm brushed against his, and she jerked it back. “Was the all-perfect, now-departed-from-your-life Jerry a car nut?”
Daphne laughed. “Definitely not. Jerry didn’t even like to drive. He preferred to let me be behind the wheel.”
“Whoa. What a man.”
Daphne
