Mustang.
She reached up again and grasped the dime-store chain that had once held the sapphire ring he’d given her a few days before he’d died. Oh, how she wished he’d loved her enough not to risk his life racing cars. Unfortunately, the ring was gone now….
Erin closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the pain of the day her mom had yanked the chain from around Erin’s neck to pawn the ring for cash. Fighting off a wave of grief and yearning, she forced herself to focus on her predicament rather than her innumerable old hurts. She was totally intrigued with a man who would probably stick pins in a voodoo doll with red hair, given the chance.
How was she going to dig herself out of this mess? She didn’t have a clue, but she wasn’t about to roll over and let fate knock her to her knees again. Not after the sheer hell Brent had put her through. One way or another she’d get her interview and the bonus, and she’d satisfy her reporter’s curiosity and discover exactly what kind of man Jared was—without drooling.
She turned the corner, again noticing the beautiful day, complete with clear blue sky, warm, calming breeze and green trees gently rustling in the light wind. It was too lovely a day for her life to fall apart. Yes, she would turn Jared around. She had to.
Failure simply wasn’t an option.
Chapter Two
Erin stepped through the door leading to the roof of Jared’s office building and shielded her eyes from the bright sun and intense blue sky. She hung back, gathering her courage, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him.
When she’d returned to her office yesterday after she’d seen Jared and the singing dog, she’d done a little research on Mr. Warfield. She’d found oodles of information about his father, who was a business icon in Portland, having made a fortune in commercial real estate investments.
She’d come across a little information about his half sister, who’d had problems with drugs and was the daughter of Janet Worthington, a former Hollywood actress who’d died of cancer three years ago. She’d also found a bit of information on Jared, mostly stories about Warfield’s, especially in its early days when coffeehouses were still novel. But she’d hit the jackpot when she’d found an article in another paper about Jared adopting his niece when his sister died in a motorcycle crash.
Bingo. The mysterious car seat had been explained. Jared was a dad to his adopted niece.
Even though she had her answer about the car seat, she still needed to convince Jared to give her an interview. Taking a deep breath, she pressed a shaking hand to her twisting, rolling stomach, her white silk blouse sticking to her damp palm, praying that the sparks and heat she’d felt at Warfield’s were nothing but a fluke.
She glanced around, taking in the colorful rooftop garden Jared had presumably created, and suppressed an inward cringe. He did like to garden. Way to go, Erin.
She spotted Jared in the corner, squatting with his wide back turned, his hands buried in a large pot. Her stomach somersaulted again, and her heart jumped in her chest like a hyper kangaroo. With a muttered oath, she backed up a few steps, urging herself to calm down.
After she’d sucked in several long breaths and dried her hand on her beige linen skirt, she moved forward again, summoning up the courage to speak. “Mr….Mr. Warfield?” Oh, great start. She sounded like a scared little girl about to confront the boogeyman.
He snapped his head around, his face pressed into a surprised frown, then stood. Walking toward her, a crease in his brow, he wiped his hands on the denim work apron he wore over a pale-yellow oxford shirt that made his eyes look like dark, creamy chocolate. “How did you get here?”
Erin raised her chin, trying to ignore how he loomed over her, the masculine breadth of his shoulders blocking the bright sun and azure sky from her view. “Your secretary told me where you were.”
“Really? Now why would she do that when I gave very specific instructions not to be disturbed?”
Erin uneasily lifted a shoulder, forcing herself to display a nonchalance she hadn’t felt since she’d laid eyes on Jared yesterday. “I sort of told her I had a few more questions to ask you.”
“A few more? Did you forget to mention that I canceled the interview?”
She glanced down, wishing she were a better liar. “I, uh, might have forgotten to mention that, yes.”
“What do you want?”
She suppressed a flinch at his rude tone, smiled tremulously and stood her ground, forcing herself to remember what was at stake despite the anxiety ripping her in-sides apart like razors. “I came to apologize for my…unprofessional behavior.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And what else?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You didn’t come here just to apologize.”
He was right, and it was time to quit quaking in her boots, get the job done and claw her way out of the hole she’d dug for herself.
She swallowed. “Actually, Mr. Warfield, I was hoping you’d reconsider and consent to the interview—”
“Why should I?”
“Because you promised you’d give it?” she asked, hoping to appeal to his sense of fair play—if he had one.
He shook his head. “I never agreed to be insulted and pigeonholed with all of the other jerky men in the world.”
She held up her hands. “I know, but I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m much too outspoken, it’s my biggest fault. I’d like to start over.”
He squatted down and put his hands in another pot. “I’m sure you would, but that’s impossible. I only agreed to the interview because my advertising people thought it would be good publicity. But no publicity is worth being badgered about my money or lifestyle.”
While she didn’t really think she’d badgered him exactly, she would say anything to convince him to give her a second chance. “Can I explain?”
Without waiting for him to reply she kept going. “I… I’d had several other interviews and all of them were the epitome of the spoiled, lazy rich guy. I guess I assumed you were, too. I made a mistake and I’m very sorry I offended you.” She paused and drew a deep breath, prepared to beg. “I really need this story. Please, won’t you reconsider? I know the story idea is a little lame and the date you’d have to go on might be awkward—”
He swung his head around. “Date? What date?”
“That’s part of the article. The Beacon features you in the Saturday edition, and then women write in and try to convince you to take them on a date. My editor chooses a winner and then—”
“No way.” He rose and rubbed the dirt from his hands. “No one but me chooses who I date. Sorry, Ms. James, my decision stands.” He untied his apron, yanked it off and threw it in a box of gardening supplies next to the door. “If you’ll excuse me?”
As she vaguely wondered why Jared seemed so against one little date, panic seeped through her. With as much bravado as she could muster, she shoved the desperate feeling aside. This wasn’t the time to become spineless.
Jared
