Jane took the money. “That is considerate of you,” she said. “I can always use laundry money.”
“No, it makes the contract binding.” His gaze caught hers and for a long moment, it held. Jane wondered what was going through his mind, if he was remembering how it felt to kiss her—or how it might feel to do more. “I guess I’ll see you later, Janie.”
“Later,” she repeated.
When she closed the door behind him, Jane leaned back against it, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. If she’d only been smarter, or prettier, or sexier, she could have convinced him to stay. She could have lured him into her bed and they could have made love all night long. Then, for the first time in her life, she could have had a Valentine’s Day worth remembering.
She drew a ragged breath and wandered back to the sofa. Picking up the remote, she settled back onto the sofa. Suddenly her evening seemed empty and pathetic compared to the memory of the kiss they’d shared.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she brushed it away, forcing her lips into a smile. “Well, at least I can say I was kissed on Valentine’s Day,” she murmured. “Even if he doesn’t remember it in the morning.”
1
“WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE Ronald? He’s the son I never had.”
Will McCaffrey stifled a groan and clutched the back of one of the guest chairs in his father’s office. “You had a son, Dad. You still do. Me.”
“Lately, Ronald’s more like a son than you are.”
Hell, he hated this conversation. He’d been through this with his father at least once a month for the past two years, ever since Jim McCaffrey had decided to retire. Choosing a successor had come down to two choices—Jim’s dull but dependable son-in-law, Ronald. Or Will, who hadn’t quite lived up to paternal expectations.
“Tell me,” Will countered, “was Ronald the son who doubled this company’s net worth in just four years? Did Ronald go out and get us the Winterbrook project or the West Washington development deal?” He paused for effect. “No, wait. That was your other son. The son who has worked his ass off for this company. Now what was his name?”
Will served as corporate counsel and executive vice president for McCaffrey Commercial Properties, but he’d worked his way up from the bottom, starting when he was just a junior in high school and ending in a permanent position when he graduated from law school. He had the brains and the drive to continue what his father had begun thirty years ago, to make it even better. What he didn’t have was a wife—which for some bizarre reason, known only to his father, would instantly turn him into CEO material.
Just the thought of marriage made him nervous. He understood the concept and its allure, and he even believed in happily-ever-afters. He’d seen his parents’ marriage and knew it was possible. But he also knew that happiness could be snatched away in just a blink of an eye.
“Ronald is not prepared to run this company,” Will said in an even tone, picking up an old copy of Business Week and flipping through it casually. “He’s too conservative, he has to triple-think every decision and then half the time he makes the wrong choice. Have you ever watched him order lunch? ‘I’ll have the salmon—no wait, how is the strip steak? Well, maybe I should have a salad. Has anyone tried the veal chop?’ It’s a wonder the guy hasn’t starved by now.”
“No wonder at all,” his father countered. “He has a wife at home who makes him dinner every night.”
“Why does a wife, three children and a house in the suburbs qualify him to run this company?”
“He’s settled. He’s made choices in his life and he has responsibilities to look out for, namely your sister and my grandchildren. I don’t have to worry that he’ll run off to Fiji with the next stewardess he meets.”
“They’re called flight attendants. And who says I can’t take a vacation every now and then?”
His father scowled. “You called on Tuesday afternoon to say you wouldn’t be in to work on Monday morning.”
“I got confused with time change. That whole thing with the International Date Line is very complicated.”
His father sighed. “I know you have your wild oats to sow, Will. But life comes down to choices. You can’t stay a bachelor the rest of your life.”
Will felt his frustration grow. Why did it always have to come down to this same old argument? It wasn’t as if he was avoiding marriage, he just hadn’t found the right woman—the perfect woman. Hell, he’d never driven the same car for more than a year. How was he supposed to choose a mate for the next fifty years? “Not everyone is going to have what you and Mom had,” he muttered.
Just the thought of his mother brought a twinge of grief, even after all these years. Laura Sellars McCaffrey had died when Will was just twelve and his sister ten, and since then it had been just the three of them. After her death, Jim McCaffrey had thrown himself into work, turning his small real-estate brokerage into one of Chicago’s most successful commercial developers. In the process, he’d left his two children to grieve on their own, and to raise themselves.
Melanie had retreated behind the responsibilities of running the household, learning to be the perfect substitute for her mother. When she was barely twenty, she’d married her high-school sweetheart, Ronald Williams. He’d come to work for the family business, she’d joined the garden club and, together, they’d produced three perfect children.
Will had had the opposite reaction to his mother’s death. He could barely stand to stay in the house, memories of her infused every room. He’d found comfort in friends, first his buddies from school and then, as he’d grown older, pretty girls. Somewhere along the line, the girls had become women, always bright and very beautiful. And though he’d always assumed he’d find a wife someday, the women he dated always seemed to fall short.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Marry someone I don’t love just so I can say I’m married?”
“You’ve introduced me to six or seven of your girlfriends, any one of whom would have made you a decent wife. You need to grow up and decide what’s important to you—your future or the next beautiful woman to cross your path.” Jim McCaffrey crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to retire in April. Either you get your personal life in order or you’ll be taking orders from Ronald.”
Will’s jaw clenched and he decided to make his escape while he could, before his father brought up more reasons why Will would never occupy the corner office and he was goaded into a knock-down-drag-out fight. Maybe he ought to just forget about a future with the family business. He was a good lawyer. Hell, he’d even taught a few seminars at his alma mater. And he couldn’t count the number of law school buddies who called each week asking his opinion on some matter of real-estate law. He’d had job offers from most of the major firms in the city over the past few years, why not just start fresh?
He retreated to his office, closing the door behind him. When he’d settled into his well-worn chair, Will groaned softly. How could he consider leaving? This business was in his blood—the excitement of putting a deal together, of anticipating the problems and smoothing them over, of watching an empty piece of land become a vital part of the city. He’d helped build the business. By rights, it should be his someday.
