Up Close and Personal (14 page)

A rat a tat tat tat on the edge of my cubicle interrupts my train of thought. Claudia, another junior financial analyst who shares the space next to mine, rapping on the partition we share. “You ready for the big party tonight?” We’ve become friends of sorts, a strange thing given the high level of competition at this investment firm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” At least, thanks to Sterling, I won’t have to worry about what to wear. The evening gowns I bought with his ‘wardrobe stipend’ have been hanging in my closet since I moved to New York. Either of the two fancy dresses I own is more than appropriate for a charity ball.

“Everyone who’s anybody will be there. Great opportunity to snag a prospect or two.” Our firm regularly buys tables at charity events, mainly to strike up conversations with the well to do. After all, it’s the wealthy that tend to attend these events.

“You do realize this is a charity event?” The Carmela Navone Foundation, a charity that devotes its efforts toward finding cures for eye diseases and research, is presenting an award to the Ophthalmologist of the Year, Dr. Marcello Testa. He’s the reason I asked for one of the extra tickets our firm was giving away. I don’t normally attend these charity functions, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to talk to Dr. Testa. I hope I can bring up the subject of Sterling MacKay and find out how he’s doing. From the newspaper accounts, I know the surgery was successful and Sterling regained a great deal of his eyesight, but Dr. Testa would assure me the change is permanent and not temporary, something I worry about.

“It’s also a great opportunity to network,” she says.

“If you say so.” I don’t have the killer instinct that Claudia has. She’s next in line for a senior financial analyst position and she’ll get it too. I, on the other hand, can’t generate enough excitement about the stocks I analyze. Somehow it seems obscene to study pharmaceutical stocks to determine their price/earnings ratio. I’d rather analyze how their products benefit mankind. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.

“See you then.” She marches back to her side of the cubicle leaving me once again alone with my thoughts. This job isn’t working out. At my six-month evaluation, I expect to be let go.

At five o’clock, I shut down my computer and head out. The dinner starts promptly at eight. That will leave me three hours to shower and dress. In truth I’ll only need one of those hours, but I still have to travel by cab to the Waldorf Astoria where the affair’s to be held. I arrive in plenty of time, hand over my wrap to the check-out girl and locate the table assigned to our investment firm.

Looking for Claudia, I spot her at the far end of the room near one of the cocktail stations, talking to an older couple. Her animation and excitement’s clear. With her focus on the man, she seems to miss the woman’s signals, who’s hopping from foot to foot, probably uncomfortable in her heels. Done with her spiel, Claudia retrieves a business card and hands it to the man with a dazzling smile. The female half of the couple snatches it from his hand and drops it into her clutch purse which she then closes with a decided snap. Before Claudia can say anything else, the woman hauls the man to a nearby table where she drops into a chair with a sigh of relief. Something tells me Claudia failed to convince that particular couple to invest with us.

When she sees me, she makes a beeline in my direction. “Where have you been? It’s almost dinner time.”

“It’s just going on eight. Doesn’t dinner start now?”

“Yes, but cocktails have been going on since seven. I’ve already talked to several prospects. Like that hunk of dynamite.” She waves at a spectacled thirty-something mild-mannered looking man dressed in an ill-fitting business suit who nods back.

“Who’s that?”

“That, my dear Caitlyn, is Bernard Swanson, the latest addition to the billionaires’ club. He founded the latest social media craze, “HookUps.”

“What on earth is that?”

“A social networking site. You type in your requirements and it will hook you up with someone within a twenty-five mile radius who meets your qualifications.”

“So it’s a dating site?”

“No. This is just for hookups.”

“You mean for people who only want sex?”

“You got it, cupcake.”

“Uggh. And people sign up for this?”

“By the millions.”

The bell dings and somebody announces that the guests should take their seats because dinner will soon be served. I grab my glass of Chardonnay, but somehow lose Claudia in the crowd until we meet again at our table.

The broiled chicken with the sage bechamel rub is to die for and so is the asparagus and the parmesan truffle fries. After the decadent New York cheesecake with orchard fruit sorbet dessert is served and enjoyed, the awards ceremony begins. The charity executive director announces the speaker who will introduce Dr. Testa. When she does, my heart skips a beat.

Sterling MacKay, walking without so much as a stutter step to the podium, dressed in a gorgeous tuxedo, his beautiful dark hair tamed for once and those gorgeous gray eyes which saw little more than shadows crinkling at the corners as he reaches out to clasp the director’s hand.

I choke back a sob. He can truly see.

His introduction covers Dr. Testa’s qualifications and his innovative treatments and surgeries. But it’s only when he relates his experience at the hands of the esteemed physician that he touches the hearts of those present. He explains how he came to lose most of his vision and how dark his world became. But then Dr. Testa worked a miracle. By performing a risky operation, he gave him back his sight. After his speech, there isn’t a dry eye in the house. Even Claudia is touched. When Dr. Testa comes to the podium, the two men hug. And for a second, you can see how close they’ve become. They’re much more than doctor and patient; they have truly become friends.

After dinner, the band hired for the evening strikes up and the dancing begins. Some of my dinner mates join other guests on the floor, but Claudia goes trolling for business once again. I keep my eye on Dr. Testa, who’s being swarmed by good wishers. When the crowd dissipates, I head for him. I’ve seen the proof of Sterling MacKay’s sight, but I want to know it’s permanent and that there’s no chance he will lose his sight again. Once Dr. Testa reassures me, I’ll head home knowing that I did what I had to do even if it cost me the love of my life.

Chapter 20

______________

Sterling

AFTER DINNER, the editor of the charity’s newsletter pulls me aside to interview me. Obviously, the organization knows my story, but they’d like to do a lengthy piece on me. So I follow her to a private alcove she’s commandeered where the interview will take place. For the next fifteen minutes I reveal the most painful events surrounding my accident, my months of darkness. And my decision to undergo the surgery. How I’d worn bandages after the surgery during which I didn’t have even the shadows to guide me. For one week, I’d existed in stygian hell, totally dependent on those around me for everything, from eating to getting dressed.

But it had been worth it in the end. When Dr. Testa removed the bandages, I’d finally been able to see, even if it was only the inside of his office, his nurse, him. But it had been more than enough. It had taken weeks of wearing special glasses while my eyes accustomed themselves to the light, and more weeks of wearing lighter tints until finally I needed no glasses at all. My eyesight’s not perfect. I’ll never regain 20/20 vision, but 20/40 is darn close. I’m grateful for every second of every day that I have my sight back. My only regret is I wish I could see—

Cait.

I don’t share that last tidbit with the reporter, of course. After I’m done with my tale, she thanks me and leaves, probably eager to transcribe her notes and write her article. Journalists are always under one deadline or another. Her eagerness, her enthusiasm reminds me of the one woman in my life who managed to get under my skin.

How could Cait burrow into my life as deeply as she had? I’d known her for such a short period of time. And yet there it is. My heart craves the sight of her. Oh, I know what she feels like, smells like, tastes. That last memory has driven me insane for the last six months. Even though I have Moseley’s description of Cait, it’s not nearly enough. I don’t know what she looks like. Oh, I could have easily found her photo on the internet, but I refused to search it out. An image could never compare with the real thing.

The temptation to search her out while I’m in New York claws at my gut. It’d be easy to find out where she works. A phone call to one of the investigators my company employs and I’d have that information in less than fifteen minutes on my desk. But I don’t want to be that person who craves the sight of the woman who lied to him, fucked him, while she plotted a move to New York to be with her boyfriend. I refuse to be that pitiful excuse of a man.

The long day sinks its hooks into me. I’ve been awake since five a.m., flown in my corporate jet to the Big Apple, checked into this hotel, while planning high level negotiations with a new company. Excited as I am by the prospect of partnering with a new organization to produce organic products in South America, I can’t help but be beat. Tomorrow I’ll leave for Peru and I need to get as much rest as I can. Dr. Testa cautioned me to get at least eight hours’ sleep every night to give my eyes a rest. Fine. I’ll take his advice. Nothing to do except say goodnight to him before heading up to my room.

I hunt around the cavernous ballroom and finally find him on the edge of the ballroom talking to a woman, a twenty-something with hair down to her ass. Something stirs within me, and I breathe in hard. Even from across the room, her allure draws me like a moth to a flame. Strange. I haven’t felt an attraction for any woman since Caitlyn, not even Minouette, who I never bothered to invite back. I inwardly shrug. It’s probably my cock reminding me it’s beyond time I bury myself in some woman’s heat and forget about the one who betrayed me.

Curious to discover if the stranger’s allure is the same or stronger up close, I head in their direction. When I arrive by their side, Dr. Testa greets me with a cautious smile. His gaze stutters from me to the beauty and back again. How very … strange.

“Hello—” Before I say another word, the woman mumbles something and turns away.

But I’ll be damned if I let her go before I get her name.

“No. Please. Don’t leave.” I offer my hand. “Sterling MacKay.”

Wide-eyed she gazes at me, a haunted look on her face. When she doesn’t offer her hand in return, I prompt her. “And you are?”

Dr. Testa clears his throat, and his face takes on a look I can only describe as odd. “Sterling, this is Caitlyn Bennett.”

“Caitlyn.” My breath cuts short.

“Yes.” When we were together, I’d sensed she was stunning, but the reality is so much more than that. She shimmers from shoulder to toes in a beaded, one-shoulder gown, the shade of which exactly matches her eyes. Moseley said her eyes were brown. But they’re a gorgeous chocolate, ringed with cinnamon. No wonder she always tasted so sweet.

“Excuse me.” Dr. Testa departs, barely noticed by either of us.

We take each other in, not saying a word. What can you say to the woman who walked out after making a fool of you? Something polite. Something that won’t make a scene. “Nice to see you again.”

Her breath hitches, and she bites down on her lip. “I have to go.”

No. That I won’t allow. But we’re in a crowded ballroom. And the conversation we’re about to have can’t be overheard. I grab her by the elbow and drag her along with me.

“Where are we going?”

“My room. Upstairs. We need to talk.”

“I can’t. We can’t.” Holding up the skirt of her gown, she trips along taking two steps to each one of mine.

I stop and glare at her. “Are you here with someone? Your boyfriend maybe?” I spit out through gritted teeth.

“No. I . . . came by myself.”

“Good.” I continue our march to the exit and head for the elevators with their cast nickel doors on the other side of the space. She doesn’t say a word as we climb into the car along with two other couples. I punch 25. With my hand still clamped around her arm, I step back against the elevator’s wood paneled interior.

Her body trembles against mine and she does that lip-licking thing again. Swear to God, if she does that again, I’ll haul her against me and kiss her. I don’t care how many people I shock. Bending toward her, I whisper in her ear. “Smile. You look like you’re headed for the guillotine.”

She obeys me, even if her smile wobbles a bit. Good.

By the time we reach my floor, the crowd has thinned and we only have to make our way past one other couple to exit the car.

While holding tight to her, I pound the thick carpet toward my room. “Why didn’t your boyfriend attend the dinner with you?”

“He . . . we’re no longer together.”

Something inside me bursts loose. I push her to the wall, clamp my hand around the back of her head and devour her mouth. She tastes just the way I remember. Of red-hot innocence and want. She struggles against me for a second or two and then she gives in to the insanity that’s us. I let go of her hair long enough to tug on the zipper of her dress, but before I can pull it down she pushes me away.

“Someone’s coming.” She nods down the hall. Footsteps. Two people chatting.