Winning Back His Bride. Teresa Southwick

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it down, I’ll let Teri know. And you, of course.”

      “Good.”

      She stared at him for several moments, before her gaze skittered away. “Well, lunch is over,” she said, then started across the lobby.

      He fell into step beside her as she walked to the elevators and pushed the up button.

      She glanced at him. “You said you were looking for me.”

      He nodded and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Teri told me about you repaying the wedding costs.”

      She looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”

      “Dex just told her. He’s the money guy and he holds a grudge.”

      “Is he the only one?”

      “If you’re asking whether or not I have feelings of resentment, the answer is no.”

      A flat-out lie. He knew because of the satisfaction and enjoyment he felt at keeping her guessing. And other feelings? Definitely he had feelings—resentment, revenge, regret—topping the list.

      Geneva watched him carefully, as if she were searching for a sign of his sincerity. “Good,” she said, nodding. “No hard feelings.”

      The elevator dinged, and the doors whispered open. Geneva stepped inside and Michael joined her. What was it about being alone with this woman in an elevator that made him want to pull her into his arms? And why still this woman? At the moment, lust trumped revenge.

      He could smell her perfume and remembered the scent that always made him want to taste the hollow just below her ear. It was a dangerous thought and not exactly the way this plan of his was supposed to work.

      “Why did you pay me back for the wedding? It didn’t happen.”

      “That’s why.”

      “Meaning?” he asked, irritated.

      She sighed. “It was my fault, Michael. I had doubts and they didn’t just surface the day of the ceremony. I should have called everything off before—” She stopped and caught her top lip between her teeth. “Before I did. Before we lost more than just the deposits.”

      “I don’t need the money.”

      “But I needed to pay it back.”

      “So it’s about you?”

      “If that’s the way you want to look at it. Yes, I didn’t go through with the ceremony. Yes, there were a lot of people who saw me not go through with it. Yes, the reporters pestered us mercilessly to find out why. Definitely I’m sorry I put you through all of the above. But no way would I let you foot the bill for my mistake and somehow use it against me.”

      He was stunned that she’d believe such a thing. “Did I ever give you reason to think I would do that?”

      “We weren’t together all that long, Michael. I don’t know if you would. However, I do know some people would.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “It doesn’t matter.” When her purse strap slid down her arm, she settled it more firmly on her shoulder. “The point is, I chose to stop the wedding. And there was fallout from the decision.”

      “Decisions have a way of biting you in the ass.”

      “Yeah. Decisions.” She met his gaze and hers was filled with the hurt she struggled to hide with anger. “And I’ll tell you how you’ll know I won’t walk out on my responsibilities to you. I mortgaged my condo to pay you back. I need the job. And I don’t turn my back on the hard stuff.”

      “Neither do I.”

      “I’m not accusing you of anything.”

      “Not in so many words, but the implication is there.”

      “I didn’t mean to imply anything. No one knows better than me that you do the right thing.” The elevator stopped on the floor housing the executive suites and she stepped out. “But sometimes, Michael, the right thing can be a mistake.”

      He watched her walk away, puzzled by what she’d said. How could doing the right thing ever be a mistake?

      Wasn’t he working with her for the good of the project? So far that decision was biting him in the ass. Doing the right thing was pushing his desire into the danger zone.

      CHAPTER THREE

      GENEVA grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, then stepped into the outer office where her assistant was typing up notes.

      “Chloe?”

      “Yes, boss?” Chloe Milton was a blue-eyed redhead with a freckle-splashed nose and sass to spare.

      “I’m going to be out of the office this afternoon.”

      “I got your note. Too bad you’re not playing hooky. Or, better yet, playing with fire.”

      That only happened when Michael was around, Geneva thought. And he wouldn’t be. She planned to sneak out before he could drop in and demand to know if the chapels had pews, chairs or picnic tables.

      She hadn’t seen him for a week, not since she’d told him doing the right thing can be a mistake. An army of psychiatrists would have a field day figuring out that remark. Michael Sullivan? He probably thought she was one Jimmy short of a pair of Choos and had steered clear of her, considering himself lucky that five minutes of humiliation had saved him a whole lifetime of weird. But the change in his daily visits made her uneasy.

      “I put in a call to Melina St. George in New York,” she briefed her assistant. “I want to talk to her about doing the food for the grand opening of Sullivan Towers.”

      “Isn’t she the chef who did that celebrity event in Santa Barbara?”

      “That’s the one,” Geneva confirmed. “If she calls, let me know and I’ll get right back to her.”

      “Will do, boss.”

      “See you tomorrow. I won’t be back before you leave for the day.”

      Blue eyes widened in surprise. “So your note only says you’re checking out chapels. I’m assuming you’re not looking for a religious experience?”

      “Hardly.” Not since Michael. She sighed. It seemed all thoughts led back to him. Geneva wasn’t sure how to stop that. It had been so much easier when she didn’t have to see him at all.

      “Who’s getting married?” Chloe asked. “Anyone I know?”

      “Teri Sullivan.”

      “She asked you to plan it?” Chloe couldn’t have looked more shocked if Geneva had stripped naked and jumped into Bellagio’s dancing water.

      “Michael did the actual asking.”

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