Life Shocks Romances Collection 4 Read online

  “So you came to New York to pursue a career in fashion.”

  “Among other things.” Practice kept her smile in place.

  “Are you in college studying design?”

  “I’ll be graduating from Parsons School of Design in May.”

  “And do you plan on working as a designer?”

  “No. I blog about fashion. As it turned out, I was better at critiquing it than creating it. My…blog gives me lots of opportunities to mingle with high fashion and see it actually work in the real world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fashion is at once intensely personal and utterly public, and like everything else, it has to work in reality, not fantasy. It’s never about how the size zero model looks strutting down the runway. It’s about the size eighteen woman attending a company event or a grand opening, who spent hundreds, perhaps thousands of dollars, on a dress, hoping to feel extraordinary in it. Those are the clothes I blog about. Clothes in the real world.”

  “That’s…amazing.” He sounded intrigued. “I never thought that those designers cared about real people.”

  “There are only so many celebrities. You can’t make a living selling only to the ultra-rich. Some of the most successful designers cater to people with enough discretionary income for the occasional splurge. Victoria’s Secret, for example, moved mid-market and transformed lingerie from a special occasion to an everyday luxury. Their sales rocketed.”

  “So by writing about it, are you trying to connect the designers to reality?”

  “Most people can’t tell you exactly what they like or dislike about an outfit. They’ll talk about cut, style, and color, but often they don’t really know why that outfit worked and another didn’t.”

  “But you do.”

  She nodded. “It’s a small thing, but it takes someone with a trained eye and who knows how to ask the right questions to get to the heart of the matter. Of course, my little blog has gathered a following. The designers are paying attention. They know that insights, straight from the customer, could transform their next collection.”

  “You’ve carved a niche for yourself. As a business, it’s incredibly promising. Why don’t you do it instead of—?”

  “That?” she finished when he suddenly flushed. “It takes time to go from a blog to a business. Besides, would you believe me if I told you that I like meeting people?”

  “I do, too.” He smiled, adeptly sidestepping what she thought would have been his obvious next step—blatant and impolite disbelief—or worse, knowing derision. “Despite all the jokes about lawyers, I think people like having one on their side.”

  “But it must be hard with client confidentiality at stake. Who can you talk to, and about what?”

  He stared at her as if no one had ever asked him that question before.

  Probably no one had. Oh, Tom. You really are starved for conversation and for connection. She squeezed his hand gently.

  “I…” He seemed to be running over several answers—half-truths, most likely—in his head, and finally dismissed them in lieu of a rueful smile. His only response was a nod of acknowledgement, and for a moment, they were both, emotionally, in the same place.

  Wow. Tom sucked in a deep breath as, at the end of the meal, Sheridan excused herself and walked toward the restroom. The air around him cleared immediately, as did his head.

  What was it about her?

  Not just her looks, although she was pretty in a girl-next-door way, her long blond hair tucked into a casual yet elegant knot, and her makeup light. Her body language was…confusing, especially to someone trained to read it. Her voice shimmered with energy and her smiles were dazzling, but there was an undercurrent of—something deeper. Something guarded. Something painful.

  He couldn’t place it. Neither could he shake the feeling that he had met her before.

  But where?

  Not any time recently, and certainly not with her looking as pretty as she was. He would have remembered her otherwise.

  Tom signaled for the check and handed her credit card to the waiter. He was signing the slip when she returned to the table.

  “Thank you for lunch,” she said with a smile.

  “My pleasure.” He rose and gestured to her to precede him to the door. “May I offer you a ride?”

  “Thank you, but no. I appreciate the offer, though.”

  His conscience warred against his love for his sister, and lost. “May I see you again?”

  Sheridan’s smile beamed, bright and full, as if his request meant something to her. Surely it couldn’t, though. By all indications, she ran a successful business as an escort and the continuation of one client like him would have made no different to her portfolio or her income. She handed him a business card; the number on it was different from the one listed on her website. “Call me.”

  Then she walked away, leaving Tom staring at the back of the first woman whose company he had enjoyed for the first time in a long time.

  The knot in his chest expanded into a vice-like grip around his heart.

  That she was an escort wasn’t the problem.

  That he was supposed to use her to bring down his brother-in-law was.

  Chapter 3

  Sheridan’s smartphone buzzed while she was loading clothes into the washer. She reached into the back pocket of her denim jeans for the phone. For a moment, the situation hovered precariously on the edge of a disaster as she fumbled with the open bottle of detergent, but her natural grace asserted itself and detergent landed in the washer instead of all over her floor.

  “That didn’t sound good.” Jessica’s voice rasped in her ear.

  “Your talent is calling at the worst possible time,” Sheridan retorted with a smile. “Anyway, all is okay here. Sheridan—one. Laundry machine—zero. No blood. No broken bones. No mess.”

  “How was Tom? Will he be calling back? Is he green, amber, or red?”

  Years ago, they had developed the color code to sort Sheridan’s desirable clients from the less-desirable ones. Sheridan used her shoulder to prop her phone against her ear as she walked through her apartment, straightening the little knickknacks on the side tables and the pillows on the couches. “He’s green, but I don’t think you’ll be hearing from him.”

  Jessica was silent for a moment. “You gave him your direct line. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I think we’re about to find out, but there was something about him. Something different. It was like a first date as opposed to a guy trying to weasel around the contract. It felt like he wanted to know me.”

  “I knew he was special the moment he asked what your favorite restaurant was. No one’s asked me that ever—not once in the five years I’ve been working for you.”

  Sheridan shook her head. “It’s sad how low our expectations have gotten.”

  “Nicholas Dragov did right by you.”

  “Yes, he did, but he didn’t love me.” She spoke the words without bitterness. Nicholas Dragov had been her friend when she had most needed a friend. He had gotten her off the streets and paid for all her expenses so that she did not have to prostitute herself for food and shelter. He had bought her the time she needed to find solid ground beneath her feet. She still dated men who paid a great deal of money for her time, but sex was no longer on the menu.

  Her thoughts flicked to Tom. Perhaps sex could be on the menu, but only for the right reasons, and the right man.

  Jessica continued, “I haven’t seen Nicholas in a while. How is he?”

  “He’s deliriously happy, now that he’s married to Marisa. Did you know that he adopted her little girl?”

  “He did?” Jessica chuckled. “Good for him. Ten bucks says she becomes a dancer.”

  Sheridan laughed. “Only an idiot would bet against it.” Her phone buzzed, and she pulled her cheek away from it. “It’s Tom,” she told Jessica. “I have to go.”

  “Knock ‘em dead.”

  “I don’t want him dead,” S
heridan said, and then accepted Tom’s call. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Tom Lancaster.” His voice sounded smoother and deeper over the phone when not juxtaposed against his slightly insecure in-person presence. In a professional setting, fully assured of himself, Sheridan suspected he would cut a formidable figure. “Is this a good time?”

  “I can chat.”

  “I wanted to say thank you again for joining me for lunch.”

  “It was a pleasure.”

  “I thought about what you’d said over lunch, and it hit me today. All my conversations at work were about work. And all my conversations at home have been about addition and subtraction.”

  “What? You don’t gossip with your legal secretary over the latest idiocies of reality television?”

  Tom laughed. “From the little I overhear of her conversations with others, I don’t think I want to get into the world of reality television. I did want to thank you though for the fashion tips. After generating all kinds of bad blood over math homework, I pulled up the kids’ fashion websites you recommended.”

  “Did Aria like them?”

  He was silent for a moment. “She loved them,” he said finally just as Sheridan was beginning to wonder what was wrong. “She’s in her room now, making a list of what she wants. She’s practicing handwriting while she’s at it, but don’t tell her that or it’ll get her back up.”

  Sheridan laughed. “Ah, I’d forgotten how sneaky parents can be.”

  “Were yours?”

  She inhaled sharply and hoped the sound wasn’t audible to him. “My mother passed away when I was twelve.” And my stepfather was a—Sheridan gritted her teeth against the tremble in her mental voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I lost my parents too, but I was older—sixteen—and I had an older sister who stepped into their shoes and did a great job raising me the rest of the way.”

  “She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

  “She is.” He seemed to hesitate. “Would you be free for a drink or a meal sometime this weekend?”

  “I’m babysitting for a friend this weekend, unfortunately, but perhaps we could do an early brunch on Saturday.”

  “I…” He grunted softly. “I promised Aria I’d take her to the Central Park Zoo on Saturday, before my sister takes her shopping in the afternoon. I’m not sure the timing is going to work out.”

  “No worries. Next week, then?”

  “Sure,” he said, but did not suggest an alternate date. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

  “Picking up. My cleaner is coming tomorrow. She’s honest and thorough, but doesn’t seem to have figured out logical places to put things. If anything’s not where it should be, there’s a 90 percent chance I may not find it again.” She sat on the couch and pulled her feet up, tucking them under her.

  He chuckled, the sound warming her. “Hide and seek is my specialty. I play it every morning. Socks. Sneakers. Clips. Hair ties. Schoolbooks. Backpacks. Lunch boxes. It’s the same game every day, and most of the time, the things are in the same places where they were the previous day. Out in plain sight.”

  She laughed as she relaxed against the cushions. “Parents. Creating value every day.”

  “I wonder if I was ever this blind as a child.”

  Despite the humor in his tone, she heard something she’d heard often enough in her mental voice—wistful regret that he could not share his experiences as a parent with his parents, that he could not see them smile knowingly as he rolled his eyes at his daughter. “Tell me about your childhood,” she said.

  He paused only for a moment before sharing a hair-raising episode of the impish twelve-year-old boy he had been. The escapade had involved a skateboard and a homemade ramp. It had, unfortunately, not included a helmet. She chuckled at the description of his emergency room visit, and his conviction that if he were not already dead, his parents would kill him anyway for smashing several windows and cracking the baseboards.

  It occurred to her then that she had never had conversations like that either—not stories of childhood silliness told with the hindsight of adult wisdom. Nicholas was emotionally distant; he had never been available and at least on that front, he had not misled her. He just wasn’t the kind of guy one traded childhood stories with. And of course, it didn’t seem suitable topics when she was at an event with a client. It was current affairs, celebrity gossip, charity fundraisers, and even politics—not deeply personal childhood topics.

  And for the moment, it was Tom who crossed the bridge, sharing his stories, while she stayed on her side, listening but not committing to the nebulous expression of trust and friendship.

  Not yet.

  On Saturday morning, the sun rose over a cloudless sky, and Sheridan, her nerves on edge, walked through her spotless condominium. It would not remain spotless for much longer, but it was all for a good cause. She glanced at the clock. They should have been here. What if Marisa changed her mind—?

  The doorbell rang and Sheridan flung the door open before it could ring twice. Nicolas Dragov and Marisa Chantilly stood on the welcome mat—Nicholas laden with bags and Marisa carrying a three-year-old girl. The golden hair and blue eyes belonged to a cherub. The toothy and mischievous grin was more appropriate for a leprechaun.

  Eva flung her arms out. “Sherry Belly!”

  “Oh, I missed you!” Sheridan opened her arms and Marisa transferred Eva to her. She nuzzled her goddaughter’s curls and cuddled her close as Marisa counted off the bags.

  “Only a diva or a little ballerina could have this many bags for an overnight visit.” Sheridan laughed.

  “We play dress up,” Eva told her imperiously.

  So that explained all the bags. Sheridan nodded sagely. “It’s my favorite game ever.”

  Marisa looked at Sheridan. “You’ve got our numbers. Anything at all, just call.”

  Behind Marisa, Nicholas shook his head. “Don’t call,” he mouthed.

  Sheridan chuckled. Time off was hard to come by for Nicholas Dragov, who was a principal dancer at the American Ballet Theater. No wonder he was so protective of the weekend getaway he had managed to scrounge up for him and Marisa. Sheridan hugged Eva; the child smelled of oranges and love. “We’re going to have such a great time; she won’t want to go home. Say bye to Mommy and Daddy. They have to go now or they’ll be sitting in traffic for half the day.”

  Nicholas and Marisa gave their daughter a kiss before Nicholas ushered Marisa out the door, which closed behind them with a finality that almost made Sheridan dance. She really did have Eva for the weekend. How could it get any better?

  It could. Her thoughts flashed to another child. She kissed Eva’s chubby cheek. “So, after breakfast, would you like to go to the zoo?”

  Crowds were unusually thin at the Central Park Zoo. Sheridan suspected most people were still caught up in the post-Thanksgiving shopping binge. She and Eva managed to get a front-row view at the sea lion feeding before wandering over to the seabirds and penguin enclosures. Eva could not move quickly, but they were not in a rush. While keeping a firm grip on Eva’s hand, Sheridan kept an eye open for Tom.

  Just in case.

  Their exploration took them past the grizzly bears and up to the snow leopard enclosure.

  “Cat,” Eva said.

  “Snow leopard,” Sheridan corrected.

  Eva pouted. “It’s a cat.”

  A deep, male voice cut in. “May I arbitrate? I could make a case that you’re both right.”

  Sheridan spun around. “Tom.”

  He smiled at her. “Hello, Sheridan.” Dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, a leather jacket layered over for warmth, he looked slightly younger and far more relaxed than the man she had met for lunch earlier in the week. Next to him stood a young girl, perhaps six years old, with striking dark eyes, long black hair, and a pout worthy of Angelina Jolie. She gave Sheridan a narrow-eyed look, which did not soften when her father said, “Aria, this is Sheridan. Sheridan, my daughter, Aria.
”

  “Hello, Aria.” Sheridan gently tugged Eva forward. “Eva, my goddaughter. I’m babysitting her this weekend while her parents are out of town.”

  “Quite a coincidence meeting you here,” Tom said blandly.

  “Indeed.” Sheridan smiled.

  His smile broadened into the intimacy of a private joke. “If you’re not in a rush, perhaps we could check out the exhibits together.”

  “Great idea,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t been thinking about it, planning it, and hoping for it all week.

  Keeping track of two young children did not leave Sheridan and Tom much time to chat, but it was enough for her that they moved as a pair. It was enough to glance over her shoulder and receive a confirming nod that he and Aria were ready to check out the next exhibit.

  Looking like a couple was not a new experience for her.

  Looking like a family was.

  She had thought that having Eva with her was breathtakingly amazing, but it fell short of being a part of an even greater whole.

  They stopped by the kids’ zoo; she and Tom sat on a low bench while Eva and Aria petted the baby goats and sheep. “She’s a beautiful girl,” Sheridan said.

  “Looks a great deal like her mother,” Tom replied. His voice was quiet, but his tone was matter-of-fact.

  “May I ask what happened?”

  “Lynnette wasn’t ready to be a mother—which was fine, not everyone’s suited to be a mother—but she didn’t realize it until after she gave birth. She left three days after Aria was born.”

  Sheridan’s eyebrows shot up. “Three days?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry; I’m being nosy.”

  Tom shrugged. “I can’t escape the questions. The situation didn’t make sense then; it still doesn’t make sense now. I received divorce papers a year and a half later; she had given me full custody of Aria.”