Now Tate was ready for some “me time.” Only there was nothing to do. She’d thought of running a hot bath and soaking with a good book to read, but the thought of going back into the bathroom made her temples throb. Opting for a quick shower instead, she entered her bedroom and was about to switch on the television when something caught her eye. Tate looked toward the two windows on the side of the room. The blinds were pulled up to the halfway mark, and navy blue valances that matched the comforter on her bed covered the top.
Before she could stop herself, Tate yelped at the sight of a masked face pressed against the window. Moving quickly to her nightstand, she picked up the softball bat she kept against the wall between the stand and the bed. She’d played second base in high school and now gripped the bat in her hands as if she were ready to hit a home run. Nervous legs carried her closer to the windows, but as she approached she felt a tingle of relief. There was no one there. Hurriedly, she pushed the blinds farther upward to check the locks on each window and then pulled on the blind strings until they were completely unwound and the edges were dangling on the floor. She could do without sunlight tomorrow morning.
With a sigh and a nervous chuckle, she berated herself for overreacting. As tired as she was, she could have seen sheep running around her room. She went to the television and turned it on.
Tate had only been in Miami for six months and had just recently gone over to the dark side and ordered cable. So far, so good.
She climbed into the full-sized bed she’d finally purchased after sleeping on a futon for the first five months of her time here. The first thing that caught her eye on the screen was that vaguely transparent DNT logo at the bottom left of the screen. Donovan Network Television.
“Can’t get away from them, huh?” she said fluffing her pillows and positioning them so she could sit up and watch television until her eyes demanded she sleep.
Tate never slept well, hadn’t since the last night Patrick was with her. She convinced herself it was because she was in a strange town and didn’t know anybody. What if Briana cried out in the middle of the night? She had a baby monitor in her bedroom, and the transmitter was hooked up in Briana’s room. Still, she couldn’t shake the edgy feeling of being in a new place.
She had no idea what she was watching on television, but she didn’t change the channel. The program went to a commercial with a gorgeous woman wearing a stunning dress. She was on a fashion runway, and then the camera panned over to the guests of the fashion show and a smiling Regan Donovan. Tate knew her from work. Regan was the only female Donovan working at the magazine. She was as pretty as the model, especially when she smiled, which she was doing right now as she announced a new show coming to DNT.
“With photography by Lyra Donovan and judging by Camille Davis Donovan of CK Davis Designs, one lucky woman’s dreams will come true. The Fashionista promises to bring you everything you’re looking for in reality television—beautiful women, great clothes, sexy men and drama, drama, drama!”
Music followed Regan’s pitch with the date and time of the show’s kickoff running across the bottom of the screen.
Tate smiled, wondering just how it would feel to have her own dreams come true. Growing up she’d dreamed of going to college, getting a good job as a writer and having a family. It wasn’t much, but it was her dream. And once upon a time she’d had it.
Then she didn’t.
And that pissed her off. She snapped the television off and plopped down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over her shoulder. But when Tate closed her eyes, she didn’t see the normal memories from her past. The usual aching in her chest at what had been lost or what had never been hers in the first place wasn’t there. All of that was replaced by one set of intense brown eyes, one solemn look and the name of one man: Sean Donovan.
* * *
A glass of red wine in hand, Sean sat in a lounge chair watching the city skyline at sunset. He was on the wraparound patio of his penthouse condo in downtown Miami’s Marina Blue. After taking a sip from his glass, he set it on the arm of the chair and could almost hear his mother scolding him. There were two things about Janean Donovan that were a definite: she loved her family fiercely, and she demanded respect of people and their belongings, which she saw as blessings from the good Lord. The latter were her exact words.
The fabric was some type of leather, but not really leather. And that was on purpose, even though for the price he paid, Sean couldn’t figure out why. All he knew was that his mother had picked out the charcoal-gray set, which consisted of a six-section sofa and a solo chair and ottoman. The color complemented the smooth cement finish of the patio and its four-foot walls. The tinted glass doors that lead to this outside oasis were in a dark gray tone as well.
Admittedly, he loved this space. It was perhaps his favorite of the entire condo because it was so peaceful. He could sit out here and actually hear himself think. Or he could sit out here and hear absolutely nothing because it was so relaxing. The inside of the house wasn’t his absolute favorite. Not because of the décor, because again, Janean had made sure he had the best designer in Miami. And while his mother had tried to make a lot of the decisions for him, she allowed herself to be nudged when he was really adamant about something. He was her youngest child, so it had been a little harder for her to let go of him when he’d moved out. Even though that was every bit of five years ago.
Tonight his mood was somber, which wasn’t abnormal for Sean. He was the quieter of Bruce Donovan’s sons, the reserved and serious one. It was true that he preferred to be alone the majority of the time, but there were times, more lately than he cared to admit, that he craved company. He’d turned thirty last year and since that time had been seriously thinking about his future.
Along those lines, work had been really on his mind lately. Infinity was his baby. It was his father’s creation, and Dion ran the magazine with his smooth expertise. But this magazine meant something to Sean he doubted his family could ever imagine. He was in control of distribution and the daily supervision of the writing staff. He kept a close eye on their bottom line, making sure they were always operating in the black. This job was his purpose in life, the one he’d seemed born into. His father and his brother were counting on him to do his very best at all times. And so that’s what he tried to do.
But Sabine was moving in on them. Her distribution was way up, and her sales were getting dangerously close to Infinity’s. And she was trying to get close to him. Even though there was definitely no interest there. She was older than he was and carried it well, but her tone could become vicious in mere seconds, and she wasn’t worth his time.
Just like that, a mental picture of another woman appeared. She was about five feet five with a pretty caramel complexion and eyes that he presumed held every emotion she felt at any given time. She’d been flustered when he was there, then a tad annoyed. Tate Dennison was definitely not what he’d pictured when he’d thought of the “Ask Jenny” column. She was too damned pretty to be holed up in that small office all day answering questions about someone else’s relationship problems. She should be out enjoying a fulfilling relationship of her own.
Then he’d seen the picture of her daughter and a few things had clicked into place. What he hadn’t seen was a wedding ring on her finger, and that added to his assessment of her. Single mother, bitter female, believes she knows the secret behind every man and is out to expose them.
He could find that unappealing, but he didn’t. He could be just a little bit angry at the woman who took her time to write detailed articles on why a woman should ditch a man that wasn’t treating her right. Yet, he found himself more than a little intrigued.
The
