Chapter Four

Humming as she skipped out the door of her condo, Reece reviewed exactly what she’d say when she confronted Vin in his office. She hadn’t seen him all week, since their weird argument at the café, and she was desperate to figure out a way to follow up the conversation. So when the final numbers from the fundraiser he’d sponsored were confirmed through the independent consultants, she decided to share the news. In person. Assuming he was in his office. At eleven on a Friday morning, the man probably had meetings or a lunch appointment or—

Her heart pounded, and she rubbed her palms on her jeans. Changing out of her suit into jeans and a V-neck T-shirt had been a last-minute decision, but his out-of-character comment insulted her, and she wanted to show him that she wasn’t all Fendi pencil skirts and Stella Luna pumps. But no matter what she wore, she wouldn’t know if he was there or not until she got there and asked. She’d considered calling, but she didn’t want to give up an edge. She needed to see his face, his reaction to seeing her again. Her over-analytical brain said there was some animosity hidden under his smooth charm, but up until Monday night at the café, she’d thought they were becoming friends as well as neighbors.

Anyway, she told herself she just wanted to be friends with him because they were neighbors and—and it just made good sense to be friends with your neighbors. Right? After all, hadn’t he invited her for a nightcap? A tour of his condo? Maybe now was as good a time as any to initiate a friendship. She didn’t dwell on the obvious fault in her plan. A nightcap didn’t mean Vin wanted to be friends, and as far as she could tell, he didn’t have females of the platonic variety in his life.

If he wasn’t in his office, she’d take it as a sign to leave him alone. She’d email him the consultants’ report and thank him for the opportunity to be part of an important event. Then, she’d go back to…what? It had been a strange year, readjusting to life in South Beach. Most days, she moved through the motions at an even pace. Nothing rash. Nothing exciting.

But if he was there, she’d take the time to review the report with him. They could form a strategy for delivering thank-you notes to the major donors, and she could ask him whether he preferred to have his communication team or hers write the after-event press release. Then, she could ask him what he meant on Monday about shaking his sister’s hand, among other things. Like why he seemed to like her one moment and dislike her the next.

It shouldn’t bother her. She knew better than to get sucked into the self-esteem game, but she liked when people liked her, and for some reason, her sexy neighbor threw mixed signals. She tried so hard to be a good person, to prove she was deserving of all she’d won in the lottery of life, but watching Vin all season showed her what she was missing out on in life, and maybe that was why she wanted to be his friend. He always looked like he was having a good time.

Refueled with good intentions to stick to her plan, she slid into her car and turned up the radio. The familiar country song lightened her mood, and she sang along off-key. At the light, she checked her hair, and at the stop sign, she reapplied her lip gloss. No sense second-guessing her jeans and T-shirt, so she took a few deep breaths that did nothing to slow down her racing heart. Twice, she bypassed the main roads, convinced this was a bad idea, but then she turned back onto the touristy street until she landed at the Ferguson Building.

This is not a big deal. She had a legitimate reason to visit Vin. But the fluttering in her stomach told the truth. She was fascinated by the man, and this was a flimsy excuse to see him again.

The woman on the ground floor took her license, scanned it, and then returned it to her.

“Good morning, Miss Rowe. I see you’re on the visitor list. Mr. Ferguson is on the fourteenth floor.” The receptionist motioned toward the elevator.

She’d never been to his office before, but he must have added her when they’d been paired for the fundraiser. With a polite smile, she said, “Thank you,” and headed toward the elevators.

On the fourteenth floor, she faced another receptionist, who smiled and said, “Hi, Miss Rowe. Please, go on in.”

The nameplate read, “Vin Ferguson.”

She took one hesitant step, ready to apologize for busting into his office, when he caught her by surprise, saying, “Hello, Reece. What an unexpected surprise.” He stood from behind a glass desk and moved toward her.

The wariness in his eyes gave her pause, and she avoided his gaze by scanning the rectangular office. The door had opened at one end, revealing a sizable length from the entrance to the back wall. Between here and there was an ornamental table and a sitting area comprised of a two-cushioned sofa and two armchairs in a U-shape around a coffee table. Along the right side, a high-backed chair was positioned next to a fancy bookshelf.

No doubt about it, Vin had an impressive office.

Now that she was in his office, without an appointment, it seemed almost rude the way she’d ambushed him. No one would be allowed to get this far in her brother’s office. Yet, here she was, and his receptionists—both of them—had allowed her to just walk right in. She might as well act as if she burst into executive offices without appointments all the time.

“Yes, well, I was in the neighborhood…” She inwardly cringed at the cliché. Come on, Reece. Pull it together.

He gestured toward the sitting area. “Shall we?” He waited for her to choose a place and sat next to her. “Was there a reason for your impromptu visit?”

A whole new wave of embarrassed heat tingled over her neck and face. “Um…” She hated when she couldn’t find the right words. The money. Tell him about the money. “I have the report from the consultants on last Friday’s event. I think you’ll be very pleased at the final numbers.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the file.

“Numbers, huh?” His deep chuckle surprised her. “That does sound like you.”

Was he laughing at her? Events boiled down to profits, especially when fundraising was involved. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

He leaned back and unbuttoned his cuffs. Gone was the chambray shirt, replaced by the crisp white button-down and charcoal tie. As he rolled his shirt sleeves, she stared at the band around his wrist, the dark hair on his forearms, the flex of the muscles…and she almost missed his next words.

His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her, and he sounded almost caring when he said, “I’ve researched you, Reece Rowe.”

Her stomach clenched. She knew what the standard search engine returned from Google, but he hadn’t specified what kind of research. And why would he take the time? “Researched me? Come up with anything interesting?”

A casual shrug prefaced his response. “You like statistics. Measurable results. Fourteen fundraisers, forty million dollars raised.”

Sounded cold. As if all she cared about was the bottom line. That wasn’t her. That was her brother. Brothers. All Landon and Christopher cared about was business. She craved something beyond the bottom line—she sought purpose. She only wanted to make a difference. To contribute to society. But Google wouldn’t know that, and sometime in the last week, Vin’s opinion of her had begun to matter. “I hardly think that describes me.”

“I’m giving you a compliment. These are impressive numbers.”

His secretary entered and set down a tray with two water bottles and two cups of coffee. After thanking the woman, he offered a cup to Reece and picked up the other.

Reece took a sip and asked, “Well, what about you?”

One of his dark eyebrows arched. “What about me?”

“I’ve researched you, too.” See how he liked it when she turned the tables.

“Come up with anything interesting?” He parroted her early comeback, his eyes scanning her outfit and landing back on her heated face.

“‘Sprint toward your dreams like you’re flammable and time is the match,’” she quoted the saying on his website. “Interesting and curious.”

He laughed, loosening his tie just a bit. “I had to come up with a tagline for when people said I had too many train tracks for only one train. I didn’t know any other way to express my actions, to explain why I burned the proverbial candle at both ends and any other place the wick was exposed.”

True enough. He did seem to stick his fingers in anything and everything that interested him. One article mentioned greenhouses, the next, dog walking applications. His donations also held no specific pattern. A check here, a check there. Not to mention she’d witnessed him staying up way past her bedtime. “Do you ever slow down?”

“Right now.” He unbuttoned the top button, opened his collar, and sipped his coffee. “Right now I’m completely still.”

So was she. Her mind quieted, and she breathed in and out and looked at the man seated adjacent to her. It had been too long since she’d sat in silence, her brain not rattling off random lists of things she needed to accomplish. Usually she had a dozen different objectives, all aimed at showing the world what a good, productive person she could be. Overthinking everything. Weird, actually, the silence that followed her encounter with Vin.

How did he calm the chaos constantly swirling around her?

The pages she’d been holding fluttered to the floor, breaking whatever calming spell he’d woven. As they both bent to pick up the file, she said, “It seems like you’re stretched too thin. According to your website, Ferguson Holdings doesn’t have even one coordinated effort toward one specific project. You just dabble in whatever catches your interest.”

He chuckled, handing her the folder. “Not the first time someone has said that, but we only have this one life, and now that I’m in a position to help, it’s so easy to say yes.”

She understood him perfectly. That’s why she agreed to chair so many events. She wanted to be a good person, and if someone asked for her time, how could she say no and still seem nice? Were they really so alike? The idea Vin and she were similar had her excited. “I know what you mean.”

“It sucks that so many causes exist in the world. That so many nonprofits formed needing funds to save the world. When had so much rotten luck happened to so many good people? That’s why I don’t say no. Not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to.”

Her autopilot kicked in, and she spewed her usual spiel. “Think of how much more you could do if you focused on one organization. For example, at Rowe, we’re committed to promoting our community’s children through literacy and foster care support. That’s what we’re known for. Building families in our community.”

“Think of all the people who wouldn’t be helped if I only focused on one organization. Like puppies. Or horses. Our veterans? What about all those children with cancer? I’d rather help a lot of people a little bit than only help a few a lot.”

He had a solid point. But when her mother created the foundation, she’d had a certain vision for it, and so far, her father’s fifth wife had stayed true to that vision. “I’m sorry I don’t fit your measurement of effort.”

“I just think you’re limiting yourself with one focus at Rowe. I get it. You have this image that has to be maintained. A facade that prevents you from saying yes to all the possibilities. I’m not criticizing, and anyway”—he ran a hand through his hair, scruffing it back and forth, then peeking up at her with an adorable but regretful expression—“I can’t date you.”

Date her? What on Earth was going on in this man’s mind? From charities to dating. Like he was interviewing her for a position she hadn’t applied for.

She didn’t know how to answer him. His line of conversation threw her off-kilter. Yet, even though his rejection came out of nowhere, it hurt he’d be so blunt about not wanting to date her. Well, she could be equally as forward.

“I never asked you to. I know your reputation.” She stood, prepared to storm out. But he stood, too, blocking her path.

“It’s not that I’m not attracted to you—” He blinked at her. Then his shoulders sagged, and he whispered her name. “Reece.”

She might have heard regret in his voice, but she also might have made that up. What she didn’t make up was the little zing when he tucked a finger under her chin and then traced a line to a piece of hair that had fallen in her face. With a gentle tenderness, he slipped the strand behind her ear. “You’re not exactly a girl I could—” He licked his lips. “You’re not— I suspect you’re a hearts and flowers kind of girl.” He threw the words at her like an accusation.

He’d said he couldn’t date her. Like he’d actually considered it. Like he wanted to date her. She should be pissed he’d be so blunt, but he didn’t say why he couldn’t date her.

And now that he’d thrown that out there, she grabbed it and examined it and liked what she saw.

Dating Vincent Ferguson.

You should date for fun, not for forever.

She blew out an unsteady breath. Damn. Maybe she was crazy to say what she was about to say, but assessing the way his chest rose and fell, maybe he was attracted to her, too.

She bit the inside of her cheek and then blurted, “For the record, I don’t want to date you, but I wouldn’t say no to sex.”

This was why she’d come to his office—she’d wanted to see him. She’d wanted to confront him about why he’d turned so cold to her on Monday night, when she thought they were flirting and maybe heading somewhere fun. Not into a relationship. She was done with those. For a while, anyway. And she was pretty sure, given the quick internet search she’d done on him, he hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since undergrad.

Sometime since last Friday, she’d developed a tiny crush on the man, and standing so close to him, his intoxicating scent clouding her judgment, she couldn’t think of a better way to pass the summer months. She knew his reputation, but he’d hit a sore spot—at one time, she might have been a hearts and flowers kind of girl. Everyone expected her to find a man and get married. But the last two relationships had been disappointing, to say the least. She wanted to stray from the image in her mind of the perfect life. And she wanted to stray with him.

For ten seconds, she couldn’t read his expression. Then his deep laugh burst into the quiet of the office. “I’m not sure how to respond.”

Well, at least he hadn’t said no.

“I want to do it on a boat, on a balcony, and on a bridge, and I want to do it with you.” His widened eyes pushed her to say, “And if you could figure out a way for us to do it under a waterfall, in a river, and on an air mattress in the back of a pickup truck in the middle of an orange grove, I wouldn’t object.”

He stared at her, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a firm line. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Had he just agreed to have sex with her? Had she really asked?

With a curt nod, he confirmed, “Fine. Yes. I’ll give you the boat, the bridge, and the balcony, but I need a favor.”

Yes! She’d won. For once in her life, she’d— “Anything,” she breathed, and she meant it. He could ask her for the moon, and she’d figure out a way to disrupt the Earth’s gravitational pull for him. It scared her to realize how easy it was for her to step out of her self-imposed box.

He chuckled. “You’re a terrible negotiator.”

“Not true. I’m just feeling—magnanimous right now.” And a little hot under the collar. No one would dispute Vincent Ferguson’s hotness factor. And from the way women flocked around him, she could imagine he’d show her a new trick or two in the bedroom. In fact, the more she thought about dating for fun, the more she relaxed. Hmmm. Why hadn’t Amelie told her to date for fun sooner?

Vin’s lips—very kissable lips—pressed into a tight line. “I need a girlfriend for the summer.”

Of all the favors he could’ve asked, asking her to be his girlfriend wasn’t something she would’ve guessed. She frowned and then pressed a finger against the wrinkle between her brows. “Uh, okay. So, you do remember how you just said you can’t date me?”

He shook his head, a small grin tilting one side of his mouth. “Yes, I remember. And I want to be clear about that. We aren’t dating. Just”—he lifted a shoulder—“attending some events together.”

She got it. “Ah. This is about business. Your IPO? So you look reliable?”

“Yes.” He sounded surprised that she’d guessed, but she knew how his world worked. It was her world, too.

“How many events?”

“Boat, balcony, bridge, waterfall, river, orange grove.” His large fingers extended as he spoke. “Six events.”

“Done.”