Chapter Two

Two years later, December

Rachel hated surprises.

In her experience, even when they looked good at first glance, they almost always came with a catch. She much preferred her life to be carefully planned, neatly organized, and surprise free. So when her boss texted her as she was walking into the building with Come straight to my office when you get in, her stomach immediately pitched down toward her toes.

One of the best things about working for Trista Dale Events was that Trista didn’t like surprises any more than Rachel did. Everything in the office was beautifully, efficiently planned well in advance. The other best thing was that her hours were flexible—so when her life erupted into chaos, as it had developed an unfortunate habit of doing lately—she could work from home or make up the hours later. Which was why it was nearly noon and she was only now walking into the historic three-story building in downtown Boulder that housed TD Events.

The lobby was decked out in full Christmas cheer—which should have put her in the spirit of the season, but all it did this morning was remind her that all of her own Christmas decorations were still neatly packed in her storage locker, waiting for her to get around to putting them up. It was only the first week of December, but Rachel had always put up her tree and decorated her place on the day after Thanksgiving. The fact that she hadn’t gotten around to it over a week later was hanging over her, making her feel like she was running behind on everything in her life.

This was the first Christmas Sofie might actually have some inkling what was going on. Rachel had wanted this year to be perfect, to set the precedent for all the Christmases to come, but life kept getting in the way. She felt like she’d been running late for two years—just a few steps behind where she wanted to be at all times. Like feeling caught up and in control of her life was a luxury she could no longer afford.

Taking the stairs, since the time to go to the gym was another bygone luxury, she jogged up the two flights to the TD Events offices. Most of their clients didn’t come here, preferring to have the Trista Dale Team come to them, but the office was still a showplace. Classy. Refined. Flawlessly organized.

It always made Rachel feel calmer—her oasis of a neatly ordered world.

Her throat tightened at the thought of the text, but she forced down the flash of nerves. She was good at her job. Trista liked her. She was not being called into the boss’s office to be fired three weeks before Christmas. Even if she had been taking advantage of the company’s loose schedule more than usual lately.

Sofie had seemed to catch every bug she came into contact with this fall. On the plus side, Rachel had told herself the baby was building a strong immune system—but when Sofie was sick, she got Rachel’s mother and grandmother sick, which meant they couldn’t watch the baby as they normally did while she was working. And then, of course Rachel had caught the plague herself—

But her events had been perfection. She’d made sure of it. None of the chaos in her home life had affected her work. Her work was the one place where things went right. She couldn’t lose this job.

She moved quickly to her office, shrugging off her coat and setting her laptop bag on the desk, before smoothing her hair. She never used to wear it up. She’d always been a little vain about her hair, the thick, dark chocolate waves falling over her shoulders, making her feel feminine and flirty. But after cleaning enough spit-up out of her hair to last a lifetime, chignons had become Rachel’s hairstyle of choice.

She knew she looked sleekly professional in her pencil skirt and silk blouse—after a hurried wardrobe change this morning when Sofie had somehow managed to smear banana on her dress. Her heels sank into the plush carpet as she made her way toward Trista’s office, giving herself a pep talk along the way.

She was probably being assigned a new event. Maybe even a big one. More responsibility. A raise. The text could be any number of good things. Trista had loved the ideas she’d come up with for the Russell House fundraiser at last week’s staff meeting. This was probably about that. A pat on the back. A bottle of champagne.

Though Rachel had sworn off champagne after a certain event two years ago. She hadn’t even had that much to drink, just a couple glasses, but her judgement had clearly been compromised because Rachel Persopoulos was never impulsive, never threw caution to the wind, and never fell head over heels for a guy she barely knew. Her mother had lobbied that Sofie should have been named Cristal—after the reason she was conceived—but Rachel had never confessed that it was the guy, more than the two glasses of champagne, that had made her feel so fizzy and deliciously reckless that night. Hell, that entire three and a half weeks. She’d been intoxicated by Cam.

More the fool her. He hadn’t turned out to be who she thought he was at all.

Rachel smothered the thought, evicting him from her brain. She didn’t think about him. He didn’t matter. He wasn’t in the picture. Period.

Her boss’s admin assistant wasn’t at her desk, but Trista’s office door was open, her voice drifting out. Probably on the phone. Her own phone in hand, ready to make notes on whatever project Trista was probably assigning her, Rachel tapped on the doorframe as she popped her head inside to let her boss know she was here.

Except Trista wasn’t on the phone. A client sat opposite her desk. A large, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man in a sport coat.

“Ah. Here she is,” Trista said, breaking off what she was saying with a smile. Her boss rose as the man turned—

And all the oxygen whooshed out of the room.

Not just a client.

Cameron Cole.

All-Star catcher. Local hero. Beloved by one and all. Handsome, rich, talented.

And Sofie’s father.

Sofie’s very married father.

She was hallucinating. That had to be it. But Trista was rounding her desk, smiling as if Rachel wasn’t having a coronary on the spot, and Cam was rising from his chair, recognition flashing over his face before he erased the expression.

“Rachel, I’d like you to meet Cameron Cole—”

“We’ve met,” Rachel blurted—then immediately regretted the words. She did not want to explain to her boss how she knew Cam. “So good to see you again," she said with what she hoped was professional poise, thrusting her hand at him in an attempt to prevent Trista from asking where they’d met. “I thought you’d moved to LA.”

It had been part of the reason she hadn’t. Her half-brother lived there and last year she’d been offered a job with an incredibly prestigious wedding planner who was looking to expand their business—but she hadn’t wanted to risk running into Cam. She knew LA was a huge city, but she’d had a recurring nightmare about bumping into him while walking with Sofie in the park. It had kept her up nights until she turned down the job offer and decided to stay in Boulder.

“I did,” he confirmed—his voice the same deep, distinctive tone that still haunted her dreams. There was something about his voice—it always sounded layered to her, with an extra rasp that cranked the sex appeal up to eleven and made the little hairs rise on her arms. As they were doing now. “But I’m back for the off-season. Colorado will always be home and I’m still connected to the community here.”

His pale grey eyes searched hers and she tried not to let her panic show in her gaze. What was he trying to say? Connected to the community? Could he mean a genetic connection? Did he know about Sofie?

Not that she was trying to hide her from him, but she didn’t want her daughter to grow up feeling about her cheating ass of a deadbeat father the way Rachel had always felt about hers. Better to keep him out of her life entirely.

“Cameron is one of our celebrity victims for the Bachelor Auction at the Russell House fundraiser.”

Rachel jerked, dropping Cam’s hand abruptly as she became aware of her boss’s presence again. “Bachelor?” she blurted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice, but Trista didn’t seem to register it.

Trista turned, her body language steering them all back to the seating area in front of the desk. “He’s also agreed to be the face of our last promo push to raise awareness for the event. There’s a photo shoot with all the bachelors this afternoon and we’ve arranged to have a reporter from a local lifestyle magazine sit down with him after for an interview.”

There was that word again. Bachelor. Trista really needed to do more research on her so-called bachelors, or some unsuspecting bidder might get her hopes up only to find out he was married the hard way—by bumping into his wife, like Rachel had, on the same day the lying bastard told her he was in love with her.

Cam resumed his seat and Rachel forced her body to act naturally, sinking down onto the other chair facing the desk. Trista leaned against it. “I figured you were the best person to brief him on the details of the event, since so many of the ideas were yours and you’ll be taking over the final preparations while I’m out of town.”

Rachel tried to keep the shock off her face since Trista clearly intended to play this off for Cam as something that had been part of the plan all along, but this was the first she was hearing about Trista going anywhere or her taking over anything.

The Russell House fundraiser was huge. Easily one of the biggest events they handled every year. Rachel had done several smaller events on her own and helped with the major ones, but she’d never actually been in charge of one of the tent-pole events before. Her breath went short at the heady surge of pride that Trista would trust her with this.

Though that still didn’t explain where her boss was going.

That would have to be a question for another time. Rachel kicked into work mode, her smile smooth as she faced Cam. “Absolutely. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

Cam’s grey eyes met hers and a little zing of panic shot down to her chest at the look in them. She should have been more specific that she was only answering questions about the event—but Trista stepped in before he could speak.

“Perfect.” She beamed, evidently happy that Rachel had played her part well. “Cameron needs to head to the photoshoot now so we can get him started on hair and make-up and I need to have a quick word with you, Rachel, but then you can head along to the shoot.” She turned her attention fully on Cam. “Rachel can answer any of your questions there. And you already have her number if you think of any other questions or concerns over the next few days. She’ll be your point person during the press push.”

Cam had been unusually quiet—she didn’t remember him being nearly mute, but then how well had she really known the man? The sum total of their relationship had been three whirlwind weeks—starting with too much champagne at a charity gala and ending with that disastrous ballgame.

He stood now, straightening his cuffs, his eyes never leaving hers. “I look forward to it,” he murmured in that raspy sex god voice—and her panic level hit critical as she tried to decipher what he meant by that.

She rose as well, hoping her movements didn’t look as jerky and wooden as they felt. She automatically shook his hand when he finished shaking Trista’s. It was the second time she’d touched him, but this time her initial shock had retreated enough that she could actually feel her fingers—and his. His hands were large and calloused and warm. Incredibly warm.

She remembered that now. A little detail she’d forgotten in the last two years. His hands had always been hot where hers were cold. He would chafe her hands between his, absently, without even seeming to notice he was doing it, tucking her against him to warm her up.

She jerked back her hand, smiling to cover the abrupt movement. She needed to act naturally. Not just to assure her boss that she was fully capable of taking care of the largest fundraiser on TD Events’ Christmas docket, but also to avoid making Cam suspicious. He probably barely remembered her. The last thing she needed was him thinking he was anything more than a random guy she’d hooked up with a few times two years ago.

Casual. She needed to keep it casual.

Trista guided Cam to the door of her office where her admin assistant had reappeared. JoJo beamed and took over the job of showing him out. Trista waited until he was out of earshot and then turned back toward Rachel, closing the door behind her.

“Sorry to spring that on you. Everything all happened at once and I only had the chance to send you the one text.” Trista strode back behind her desk, waving Rachel back to the seat she’d vacated.

“What all happened at once?” she asked, trying to ignore the frantic panic rabbit that was bouncing around her brain at Cam’s reappearance in her life.

Trista flicked a glance at the photo on her desk. “Apparently I’m going on my honeymoon.”

Rachel blinked. “Didn’t you get married three years ago?”

“We did,” Trista confirmed. “But we never took our honeymoon because we were always waiting for it to be a good time to be away—which isn’t entirely my fault. Audrey works as much as I do. But this morning my darling wife issued an ultimatum. Honeymoon or divorce. Apparently she thinks we need drastic measures—which translates to three weeks at some eco-resort in Fiji. Starting next Friday. Which means I need someone else to take over the Russell House Christmas auction. You were the obvious choice—though I would have preferred to talk to you about it before introducing you to the talent. I’m sorry about that. I already had the meeting with Cole scheduled. He was walking in the door as I got off the phone with Audrey confirming the dates.”

Her usually unflappable boss sounded more flustered than Rachel had ever heard her—though by most people’s standards she was still two Xanax past calm. Rachel leaned forward in her chair, projecting as much confidence as she possessed. “Don’t worry about the auction. I’ve got this.”

“I know you do,” Trista said. “And I know the timing is terrible—during the holidays when you want to be spending time with your family—but so many of the new features were your ideas, it didn’t seem right to offer it to anyone else.”

“No, I want to do it,” Rachel assured her. If she proved she could handle a major event like this, more big things were certain to come her way. “I’ll have it so organized it will practically run itself. Just concentrate on enjoying your vacation.”

Trista smiled. “I knew you were the right person for the job. You already have access to all the files you’ll need on the company server. And I’ll be here for the next week if you have any questions as you’re taking over.” Her gaze flicked to the empty chair where Cameron had sat. “How do you know Cameron Cole?”

“Passing acquaintance.” Rachel felt her face heating and hoped her blush didn’t show. “We met at a charity gala a few years ago—and I’m fairly sure he wasn’t eligible for a bachelor auction at the time.”

“Ah. He’s divorced now.”

Shocker. His wife had probably dumped him when she discovered he was a lying, cheating ass.

Rachel ignored the bitter voice in the back of her mind as Trista continued, “Though the Bachelor Auction is less dates and more experiences. I’m still not sure we made the right call by labeling it that.”

Rachel vividly remembered that discussion. It had been a coincidence that all the early volunteers donating experiences happened to be single men and the marketing team had latched onto the idea. “I thought Boulder Life loved the bachelor angle?”

“They do. But they aren’t the ones asking people to shell out a hundred and fifty bucks a plate to attend.” She grimaced. “It’s your headache now, I guess.” She glanced at the clock on her desk. “You should probably head over to the photo shoot. I don’t trust Amanda Smith from Boulder Life not to arrive early and blindside our boys.”

Rachel suppressed her cringe at the reminder that Cam was expecting her.

She could do this. All she had to do was organize the largest charity event she’d ever coordinated while trying to avoid the lying scumbag sperm-donor—who happened to be the public face of the event.

Easy.