Made to Love (15 page)

Two hours later, Whitney rolled off me and we
lay breathless.  My body had found release, but my mind had remained detached. 
Sex had always been just sex, but I had, in the past, at least enjoyed my
partners, no matter how shallow the arrangement may have been. 

Tonight, it hadn’t been the blonde bouncing
above me that I saw as I came; it had been Reagan.  I had wanted to fling
Whitney off me, disgusted with both myself and her.  Despite my theory that
having sex with some random hopeful couldn’t possibly be considered cheating, I
felt guilty.  Whitney had proved to be a talented and enthusiastic bed partner,
but it hadn’t been enough to assuage that guilt.

“Want to go again?”  The lazy voice was
accompanied by fingernails scratching lightly across my chest. 

I recoiled, and flung her arm to the side. 
“I need to go.  The room is paid for, so feel free to stay.  I had a great
time.” 

She seemed completely unfazed as she
stretched across the bed, before settling in against the pillows.  If she had
taken issue with being used and tossed aside, she didn’t show it.  Something
told me she had used me just as much as I had her, and that her invitation for
another go around had been made out of habit rather than any real desire to do
so.  She had gotten what she’d wanted and whether I stayed or left was of no
concern to her. 

I hastened to dress, and as I picked up my
cell phone and keys, my heart shuddered to a halt.

Reagan:  Hi  :)  Are you busy?

Reagan

Monday dawned, bright and sunny, and I went
for an early morning run in Central Park, using the time to clear my head. 

So I had texted Nathan and he hadn’t
replied.  It wasn’t the end of the world, right?  He’d probably been busy.  I
had no idea what kind of things typically occupied his weekends, but I was
pretty positive the man didn’t sit around at home with nothing to do.  I wasn’t
going to let his silence become more than what it was.  I wouldn’t even mention
it, I decided. 

That didn’t stop me from anxiously scanning
the lobby for him once I’d arrived at the office.  There was no sign of him,
though, and I used the rest of the day to update the J & J proposal and
make some expected projections. 

I later learned that Nathan had left for the
Boston office early that morning.  I started to wonder why he hadn’t mentioned
it to me, but then discarded the thought as I told myself he didn’t owe me any
explanations. 

We were just friends. 

Tuesday morning, I put on my game face as I
rode the elevator up to Marketing.  Bailey had emailed us all last night,
giving us a heads up that Isaac was returning from Brazil a week early, and
would be back in the office today.   I hadn’t seen him since our interview,
what seemed a lifetime ago.  Had it really only been two weeks?  While we had
communicated several times via email, it wasn’t the same as actually working
with him while he was physically here.  That, coupled with my disastrous dinner
date that I was sure Isaac had heard about, made me a little nervous. 

I was bombarded the moment I stepped off the
elevator by Danielle.  She was carrying a stack of folders and looked harried,
as if she’d been here since yesterday.  “Reagan, there you are.  Take these. 
Grand Central, now!” 

I fumbled for the folders she tossed at me,
having no chance to reply as she scurried off down the hall.  I quickly
followed and grabbed a seat just as Isaac appeared.  I began stacking the
folders on the table before me.           

“Miss Andrews, what’s the status of the
Johnson & Johnson account.” Isaac may have been asking me a question, but
his tone suggested he was giving me a command. 

I cleared my throat.  “The J & J account
is going well.  I have some reports for you,” I began shuffling through the
folders, knowing these were ones Danielle had asked me to carry, not any of
mine.  “Um, I need to run back to my office. . .”

Isaac raised his eyebrow at me in annoyance. 
“Anytime you come to a meeting, I expect you to be prepared.  I don’t have all
day.”  He motioned with his hand that I should get the reports he needed.  I
glanced at Bailey as Isaac turned to him and began barking orders.  Gone was
the carefree man who had joked with me about Nathan Preston’s
ass
-ets. 
Bailey was all business, hastily scribbling down notes and passing folders back
and forth with Isaac. 

Had the man not been black, I would have
expected him to be related to Roger Preston.  Their management style was eerily
similar.  I marched back to my office for the reports I’d worked on yesterday. 
Had I known about your damn meeting ahead of time, I’d have my reports in
order, jackass.

He scanned the reports I’d prepared after I’d
handed him the folder, but made no further comment.  Bailey brought him up to
speed on the latest developments of various projects, and then Isaac dismissed
the group. 

“Reagan, I need to see you.” 

I stopped gathering up my things as I looked
at first Isaac and then Bailey.  The latter shrugged, obviously having no idea
what Isaac wanted to see me about.  But he was saved further contemplation as
Isaac turned to him.  “You, too.  My office.”  With that, he walked away.

We both hastened to follow.  Damn, was this
man always this cranky or was he simply suffering from jet lag? 

“Take a seat,” he stated, as he removed his
suit jacket and seated himself behind his desk. 

I sat down next to Bailey, and waited with
bated breath to see what this was about.  Perhaps Isaac was just curious as to
how his new hire had been faring while he’d been away.  Certainly he had a
right to check in and make sure I was everything my resume had promised I would
be. 

Or maybe he’d been told I was a complete
drunk and therefore incapable of any rational thought or oversight. 

“I received a call from Royce Johnson this
morning,” he began, and my heart rate picked up speed. 

I opened my mouth to begin my defense, but
nothing came out.  Isaac continued, unaware of my panicked state.  “He and his
brother are very pleased with the changes you have proposed and would like to
move forward.”

I was so relieved I almost fell forward out
of the chair.  Bailey looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t
comment.  “Thank you, sir.” 

Isaac stared at me over the rims of his
glasses.  “Yes, I must admit I wasn’t sure this whole thing was going to work
with you, but it seems you have been holding your own.  I’m impressed.  I can
only hope you do not become distracted along the way.”  He leaned back in his
chair and paused, as if he was trying to speak something to me in code. 

I cleared my throat.  “I assure you, sir, that
I’m very focused on my work.  There will not be any distractions,” I promised. 
As polite, although all business, as Isaac had been in our interview, I was
having a hard time reconciling him to the man now sitting before me.   I was
getting the crazy notion he didn’t like me, yet he’d just admitted he was
impressed with my ability, so perhaps I was overthinking.

I pushed the thought from my mind and shifted
focus to his next words.     

“Excellent.”  Isaac leaned forward again and
clasped his hands together as if glad he’d settled that.  “That being said, I
need you to meet a client in Vegas tomorrow afternoon.  He’s opening another
hotel and would like to completely revamp their website.  He’ll also need an
extensive marketing campaign to launch the opening later this summer.”  He
turned to Bailey.  “See if you can get her on a flight tonight—will that be a
problem?”  He raised an eyebrow at me in question.

Vegas?  As in Las Vegas, Nevada?  I didn’t
even try to hide my surprise.  Business trips were not uncommon, but again, I
was new; the low man—or woman, as it were—on the totem pole.  First, dinner
with the Johnsons, and now, jetting off to Vegas to hopefully impress yet
another client?   I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being thrown into the
Atlantic, with no direction or assistance, to see if I would sink or swim.  It
was all happening so fast and I was more than worried I was getting in over my
head. 

Bailey’s eyes opened wider as he stared at
me, giving me an imperceptible nod, reminding me that Isaac was awaiting an
answer.  “Um, yes. . .I mean . . . no.  Yes, I can go and no, it’s not a
problem to leave tonight.” 

Great, I sounded like a babbling fool.

Bailey looked just as stunned as I was, but
began making notes on his I-pad.  “And the Johnson & Johnson account?”

“It can wait until her return.  This matter
should take no more than two days, three at the most.  Arrange for a return
flight on Friday evening.  Make sure you provide her with an itinerary.”

I suppose it should have bothered me somewhat
that they were discussing me as if I wasn’t even there, but I was still too shocked
to pay much attention. 

I was going to Vegas.  My mind was still
reeling. 

Should I tell Nathan?

“I have a ten o’clock call, and I’m sure you
have work to do.”  Isaac was already picking up his phone, having effectively
dismissed us.

Bailey and I exited the office, and I turned
to him and blindly clutched his arm.  “Tell me this is not a joke.”

He peeled my hand away from his arm, and
patted my shoulder.  “It’s not a joke, honey.  And please, no claw marks.  I do
not want to have to explain something like that to James.”

We arrived at his office, and I paused. 
“Bailey, seriously.  Why me?  I mean, surely there is someone more qualified—“

“Stop it,” Bailey commanded, as he held up
his hand.  “You are just as every bit qualified as someone else, and they
obviously see that.  Look, I’ll get the information to you asap, but you need
get out of here.  You have a trip to pack for!”  With a wink, he disappeared
into his office.

 Bailey was good on his word, and the details
on the client I was to meet arrived less than thirty minutes after I’d gotten
back to my office.  Tyler Winston had done business with Elite before, and
owned a hotel chain in the mid-west.  It was quite the lucrative one, as well,
although it was known as “the other W”, and not to be confused with the
Westin. 

Bailey’s information also included an
itinerary and my flight schedule.  I was leaving tonight at six-thirty, and
would be staying at the hotel itself, Winston Suites.  I fired off a quick
email to Brooke, then took Bailey’s advice and packed up the information on
Tyler Winston and headed home early.  I’d never been to Vegas; what was the
weather like this time of year?  I had no idea what to pack, and not for the
first time, wished Brooke was here.

“Vegas?  Wow!”  Helen was excited for me, as
I quickly brought her up to speed on my travel plans.

“I know, right?  I’m nervous, but kinda
excited, too.  I just hope I don’t blow it.”  I pulled a suitcase from my
closet as I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder.

“Honey, I’m sure you’ll be fine.  Your boss
must have some confidence in you or he wouldn’t send you,” Helen echoed
Bailey’s earlier encouragement.  “I am so happy for you.  You’ll have to call
when you get back and fill me in.”

“Thanks, and I will.”

I punched the end button and began rifling
through my closet.  I was contemplating a simple navy knee-length dress when my
cell phone pinged.  I had a response from Brooke.  I brought up my work email
on the screen and scrolled through her reply:

Am so happy for you!  You will love Vegas!  Wish I was
there with you.  Feel free to borrow anything from my closet.  . .Vegas is HOT
this time of year.  Dresses will be good!  Knock ‘em dead, gorgeous!  Brooke

P.S. Have fun!  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. . .or would
do!
J

I smiled as I turned back to my closet. 
Brooke was proving to be a good friend.  Our schedules didn’t always allow for
much bonding time, had I been so inclined to actually ‘bond’, but we were
getting to know each other.  While our conversations never became too deep or
personal, I was grateful for the friendship.  She had never pressed me about my
mom’s dress, although I had caught her staring at it on more than one occasion
while she’d been browsing through my closet.  She obviously knew there was a
story there, but she’d never asked beyond that first time. 

Truth was, I missed having her here. 

Heaving a sigh after deciding my wardrobe
options were rather limited, I headed into Brooke’s room.  The girl had enough
clothes to fill a department store.  As I pulled a coral and white striped
pencil skirt from a hanger for inspection, I thought again of Nathan.

Should I tell him I was leaving? 

I didn’t know when he would be returning from
Boston.  Would he wonder where I was when he got back?  I knew I didn’t owe him
any explanations, but part of me wanted to let him know.  Perhaps it stemmed
from my own selfish wish that he would actually care if I would be gone, and
want to know where I was. 

Then again, he hadn’t let me know he was
leaving for an undetermined amount of time, so why did I feel obligated? 

Why was I stressing over it? 

He’d find out when he came back.

Nathan

Thunder rolled outside my window, an evening
summer storm blowing in.  The darkened sky matched my black mood, and the booming
thunder seemed to give voice to the growing frustration I felt curling through
me. 

It was Tuesday morning, and I had been in
Boston since Sunday night.  I had dealt with Jerry Blackstone, and his crazy
ass whims, since I’d gotten here.  While that hadn’t helped my mood, it wasn’t
the reason for my frustration.

Why hadn’t I texted Reagan back the other
night?  Or, better yet, why hadn’t I called her?  Reaching out to me,
unsolicited, was a big thing for her.  I knew it.  She had probably mustered
every ounce of courage she possessed to send me that innocent text and I hadn’t
given her the courtesy of a reply.  I couldn’t use the lame excuse that I
hadn’t received it.  I always had my phone; we both knew that.

Of course, the real reason I hadn’t responded,
and the ultimate source of my pissy mood, was what I had been doing when the
text had come through.  Even now, the thought of Whitney Bradshaw, and the
things we had done, caused my stomach to turn.  I had regretted it the minute
my body had found release; sooner, if truth be told.  And now, because of my
inability to keep it in my pants, the woman was becoming a nuisance. 
Apparently my mother had felt the need to provide Whitney with my office
number—not my cell; even my mother knew better than that—and since my office
calls were routed to my cell anytime I was away, I had already received three
voice messages to make sure I knew her stay had been extended another week, and
did I want to get together?

I knew it wasn’t because of some great desire
to insert herself into the Preston family.  No, she was bored, and looking to
appease her aunt’s desire to insert herself into the Preston family.  I
probably wasn’t the only one she had banged in the short time she’d been in
town, either.  Whitney Bradshaw didn’t strike me so much as a social climber,
as she did a bed hopper.  I was thoroughly disgusted with myself for joining
the ranks of her bedmates.    

I had chosen to simply ignore the woman,
hoping she’d take the hint.  She was thankfully scheduled to leave town by the
weekend so perhaps I would escape without further interaction.  Her calls,
though, had simply kept our interlude in the forefront of my mind, when I
wanted nothing more than to pretend it had never happened.  The unwarranted,
yet undeniable, guilt it brought me was crushing.

And that is why I hadn’t responded to
Reagan.  She didn’t know about Whitney, and probably never would, but I did. 
And the knowledge had gnawed at me all weekend. 

But now, I had a new outlook.  Now, I was
anxious to put the ugly episode behind me and concentrate on solidifying my
friendship with Reagan, inserting myself in
her
life and thereby
increasing my chances of eventually wearing her down and getting her in my
bed. 

Because really, this had gone on long enough. 

I wanted her.  Badly.  More than I’d ever
wanted a woman in my life.  I was weary of only dreaming of having those
incredible legs wrapped around me as I brought her to release, of feeling her
bare skin writhing against mine, of biting that deliciously plump bottom lip of
hers and making her scream.  

I would have her, I didn’t doubt that.  It
was not a matter of if, but when.  And I wanted that when to be soon.

Very soon.

Feeling an urgency to be done here and on my
way back to Manhattan, I left some last minute instructions with Chase Martin,
the Boston account manager, and then headed to my car.   With any luck, I would
be back in town by early evening. 

                I woke early Wednesday morning, eager to seek
Reagan out at the office.  I had punched out a hasty text reply to her late
last night, but had deleted it.  It had been three days since she’d reached out
to me; I figured it would be better to smooth over my lack of reply in person
rather than some random text in the middle of the night when she was most
likely sleeping. 

“Good morning, George,” I said by way of
greeting as I leaned over the security desk.  I had been to my office, but knew
Reagan usually arrived around this time.  Deciding I could not wait for a
report on her whereabouts in the building, I would pace the lobby, and chat up
George until she arrived. 

My eagerness to see her outweighed my concern
over looking like a stalker.

“Mr. Preston, good to see you back.  How was
Boston?”

“Crisis diverted; thank you for asking.  How are
things here?” I asked.

“Quiet.”  He shifted in his seat and then,
“She’s not here, you know.”

That much was obvious.  “Ah, I’m sure she’ll
be arriving any minute.”  No sense in pretending we both didn’t know why I was
here. 

George’s face furrowed, and he again shifted
in his seat.  Something was making him uncomfortable and I felt a sense of
foreboding.  “What is it?” I demanded.

“Miss Andrews left last night.  I thought you
knew.”

 I ignored the increase of my heart and
gripped the edge of the security desk.  “No, I did not know, George.  Do you
think I would be standing here like an idiot if I did?” I snapped.  Realizing
this was not his fault, I closed my eyes briefly and willed myself to calm the
hell down.  I was sounding just like my father, and I hated that. “Details. 
Now.”

 “She left last night on a flight to Vegas
for some meeting.  Mr. Reynolds—he’s back, you know—requested she go.  I’m not
quite sure of the duration, but I believe she is scheduled to be there until
Friday.”

My eyes narrowed as I racked my brain,
searching for a reason she was needed in Vegas. 
What the hell?

I wasn’t sure I even thanked George for the
information as I swiftly turned and headed for the elevators.     

                “Isaac, glad to have you back.”  I walked into
Isaac Reynolds office unannounced. It didn’t go unnoticed that his jaw twitched
with annoyance at my intrusion.  I didn’t give a shit.  Reagan was over a
thousand miles away and he was going to tell me why. 

“Nathan, I wasn’t expecting you this
morning.” Isaac pushed back from his desk and stood. 

I unbuttoned my suit jacket and sat down in
the chair across from his desk.  If he had plans for this to be a brief
interruption, he was mistaken.  He shuffled through some paperwork, and upon
realizing I wasn’t going anywhere, sat back down.  “What can I do for you?”

For the first time since hearing she was
across the country, I stopped and thought about how my demands of her itinerary
would appear, to not only Isaac, but anyone else who learned of it.  She was
fiercely protective of her work, and the ability to stand on her own two feet, and
I didn’t want to raise any red flags.

Of course, I had convinced this man to hire
her, a decision that seemed to be benefitting him greatly. 

“I need an update on the Johnson and Johnson
account.  I stopped by Miss Andrews’s office, but she doesn’t appear to be in
yet.”

Isaac gave me a small smile that didn’t quite
reach his eyes.  “The account is coming along just fine.  I sent your father an
update just this morning.”  He leaned back in his chair and looked at me over
the rims of his glasses.  “I wasn’t aware you needed an update as well, or I could
have emailed you and saved you a trip.”

He wasn’t going to give me the answers I
wanted so quickly, and we sat in silence for a moment, sizing each other up.    

I have never liked this man. 

“Well, now you know. Why don’t you have Miss
Andrews meet me this afternoon?  Bring the necessary players and we can go over
the details,” I casually suggested, ignoring the urge to pick him up by his
cardigan sweater and slam him up against the wall, forcing him to give me the
information I needed.

Perhaps I was more like my father than I
cared to admit.   

“I’m afraid Miss Andrews is unavailable until
Friday,” Isaac answered, seeming to find pleasure in delivering this blow. 

I leaned forward in my chair, waiting for
more, but again, he was determined to keep me in the dark.  I gave him a
mocking smile of my own.  “It’s not like you to be so forgetful, Isaac.  I
shouldn’t have to remind you that the Johnson and Johnson account is a priority. 
Unless there has been some personal emergency, Miss Andrews is needed here.”

                He looked as if he would rather tell me to
piss off, but Isaac Reynolds knew on which side his bread was buttered.  He
could only go so far.  “Miss Andrews’s personal affairs are of no interest to
me.  Since you weren’t privy to the update I sent over this morning, I’ll fill
you in.  The Johnsons are more than pleased with the newest developments and
signed off on everything approximately,” he checked his watch, “thirty-seven
minutes ago.”   He leaned forward.  “Again, Miss Andrews is consulting on the
Winston project and will be unavailable until Friday.”

I felt gutted.  The Winston project. . .as in
Tyler Winston. 

Tyler Winston? 
The man who had, just
a little over a week ago, bragged about wanting to get in her pants?

Like hell he would. 

I stood.  Enough with these cryptic
statements, filled with only enough truth to appease me as his superior and
keep his job intact.  I would go to the source myself.  “I expect a progress
report daily.”

Without waiting for a response, I stalked
back to my office.  I needed to plan for a way to get her out of there. 

Now.