One to Love
Michelle Monkou
Is she the only woman for him? Nothing is going to keep Belinda Toussaint from her goal of starting a horse-riding camp for kids who need a fresh start, which means teaming up with the man who's been hired to help turn her vision into reality. But soccer legend Jesse Santiago is as arrogant as he is irresistible. Giving in to the passion igniting between them could head Belinda straight for heartbreak. After a devastating injury ended his pro sports career, Jesse's ready for a major change. The job as head contractor on this innovative project could be the new beginning he craves. It took courage for Belinda to break away from her family's media empire and follow her own ambitions. Now Jesse intends to be true to himself, as well. But when his past threatens to sabotage his future with Belinda, will he be able to convince her that they share the same dream of being together forever?
Is she the only woman for him?
Nothing is going to keep Belinda Toussaint from her goal of starting a horse-riding camp for kids who need a fresh start, which means teaming up with the man who’s been hired to help turn her vision into reality. But soccer legend Jesse Santiago is as arrogant as he is irresistible. Giving in to the passion igniting between them could head Belinda straight for heartbreak.
After a devastating injury ended his pro sports career, Jesse’s ready for a major change. The job as head contractor on this innovative project could be the new beginning he craves. It took courage for Belinda to break away from her family’s media empire and follow her own ambitions. Now Jesse intends to be true to himself, as well. But when his past threatens to sabotage his future with Belinda, will he be able to convince her that they share the same dream of being together forever?
“The kiss...?” Jesse wound the towel in his hand. Worry creased his brow.
“I’d say it was a 9.25.”
“Huh!”
She explained in a lighthearted tone, “Technique was good—”
“Good?” He shook his head. “You were moaning as soon as our lips touched. That’s more than good.”
“Fine. Excellent. Delivery exceptional. Follow-through...didn’t really maximize.”
“Not my fault. You were the hungry one.”
“And no follow-up. No information on what to do for a repeat performance.” Belinda licked her lips. Even though she teased, she did expect him to play to his bad-boy image. Instead, he was the perfect gentleman.
“Well...I’ll take that under advisement.” He paused as if considering the situation. “I didn’t want to have to hope that you wouldn’t kick me off the job.”
She shook her head. Obviously, their tentative approaches dampened the impulse to go after what they both had felt. Well, she didn’t need a do-over. Simply a continuation would suffice.
Dear Reader (#ulink_a71a5f34-4f4f-5515-85c9-1383a487fc21),
I hope all is well with you and yours. I’ve had a wonderful time digging further into the Meadows family and discovering the strength and pride that infuses this family. Cousins can be as close as blood sisters, maybe even to enjoy better relationships.
One to Love is the continuation of the celebration of family. I believe that we all need a supportive group of individuals as we journey through life. People who will love and counsel us. As we receive those gifts and blessings, we should share those gifts with others.
Think about those positive sisterly bonds that have given you strength and shaped you into the person you are and will continue to become. Now, pick up the phone and give that person(s) a call, jump in your car and go visit, or book a flight and go celebrate. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Live life to the fullest.
Peace,
Michelle
One to Love
Michelle Monkou
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MICHELLE MONKOU became a world traveler at the age of three, when she left her birthplace of London, England, and moved to Guyana, South America. She then moved to the US as a young teen. Michelle was nominated for the 2003 Emma Award for Favorite New Author, and she continues to write romances with complex characters and intricate plots.
Visit her website for further information at michellemonkou.com (http://michellemonkou.com), or contact her at michellemonkou@comcast.net.
To sisters everywhere and to those who may not share the genes, but still share those bonds.
Contents
Cover (#ua8e050d9-f7cc-57f2-a38e-7893813e50a9)
Back Cover Text (#u53655c7e-c84d-5f90-a5e1-173e8d6b7576)
Introduction (#u9bdd57fa-d74c-5d64-b0ac-bce5a46f8f88)
Dear Reader (#uc8e98cf7-b6f3-59c3-ab6e-4eac83175dd1)
Title Page (#u34ee5885-ecbe-5f4c-8d7c-4e3df6c9383a)
About the Author (#u6cb8a3cd-75f2-5964-bf11-3c710d8c1419)
Dedication (#u658ed8ad-4bea-5663-83d9-4ba1ca17e13c)
Chapter 1 (#u4be5f97c-60fe-5923-b444-e0bc3263ab9d)
Chapter 2 (#u949f96a3-fe09-53d1-bf3f-00162805ff38)
Chapter 3 (#uae743814-4630-5f87-864a-3d825e1ed9c4)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_1735fdbc-08ec-5e86-87ac-3b91bbeb05ec)
“One more, Jesse. Come on. Concentrate!”
Jesse gritted his teeth, grabbed the handgrips and grunted out five more leg presses. After the last push, he swore into the exhalation. Pain from no single source exploded throughout his legs. His back ached, as if wanting in on the torture. He stayed put in the chair until he trusted his legs to hold him upright. Sweat bathed his face and body like a second skin. With the sweep of his arm, he wiped his face dry. It didn’t really help when his skin sprouted another layer of perspiration.
“Good. You did good.” Olivier, his trainer, clapped his shoulder.
Jesse nodded. He kept his doubt to himself. Recovering from a cracked pelvis and lower back injury felt like scaling a sheer rock face with his legs tied. The last thing he wanted this morning was a chipper lecture about his future. Finally, he stood and extricated himself from the machine. A groan of bitter frustration escaped. “Thanks for coming to my side of the world.”
“Yeah, well, three days with you are more than enough. I’ll be heading back to Madrid tomorrow. Scouts are presenting their reports to management. Otherwise, I’d stick around to make your life miserable. Make sure you’re keeping up with your strength exercises.”
Jesse nodded. “Don’t worry. They work me hard here. Not quite at your kick-butt level, but they don’t mind seeing me walking, instead of crawling, out of the gym.” He hated to see his friend leave. It was good to see a familiar face, even if Olivier didn’t let up one inch on the workout.
“I’m hoping that you’d changed your mind.” The older man didn’t bother to look up from his task. He sprayed the length of the seat and handgrips with antibacterial cleanser and wiped off the surfaces.
“You and everyone else.” Jesse shook his head. “Can’t deal with any pressure right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“It’s not a debate.”
“You’re right.” Olivier held up his hands in surrender. His tone softened. “Take your time. Then come back better than new.”
Jesse didn’t respond. The last time he opened his mouth about his future, he’d announced his retirement from professional soccer at twenty-nine years old. Walking away from the game had sent an earthquake-size ripple through the league. The frenzied media still stirred like rabid dogs at any possibility of his comeback, although he had barely six months of physical therapy under his belt. On everyone’s breath was his place on next year’s World Cup team.
“We all care about you.”
Jesse shrugged, which was his favorite gesture to get anyone off his back.
Olivier motioned toward the exercise mat. Time for the dreaded stretches. Another fifteen minutes of agony. “Ease into it.” His trainer gently coaxed Jesse to hold the position until his stubborn muscles improved their range of motion.
If the pain and stiffness could be colors, the torture would be dark bloodred and stark winter white. That’s what he saw with his eyes squeezed shut, jaws clenched, while he was concentrating on not shouting out in pain.
Screaming or cussing, either option didn’t matter. Both had their place in his recovery. Bad luck had screwed him royally with a freak collision by a defender as he gunned it to the goal. For his trouble, the human bulldozer scooped him up, carried him for several feet and dumped him facedown with a crushing cleat imprint on his hip for good measure.
Most didn’t have to experience a body-numbing injury. Its suddenness felt like the quick snap of a light switch. Nor did most have to deal with panic that rushed through the body with the power of a flash flood. In its wake were thick layers of fear—could he walk? Could he finish the game? When his gaze had slid away from the concerned faces, and their voices had faded, he stared upward at the sky in all its brightness with one pressing thought—his career was over.
After the surgery, his fears continued to press on him, but they were his to keep, deal with and to hide from prying minds of the analysts, his agent, the team and those behind the moneymaking decisions. It was better for him to toss out retirement as an option before they tossed him aside in a trade or to a lower division, for not meeting expectations of his contract. Although his body shifted into high gear with its healing, Jesse still didn’t retract comments about his retirement. Something held him back.
“Have you been following up with the doctors?” Olivier turned attention to the other side of Jesse’s body.
“They recommend another round of surgery, depending on how well I complete the physical,” Jesse shared.
“You’re sounding doubtful, son.”
Jesse shrugged. “All the tinkering is not going to put me back together again.”
“You don’t know that. Leave it to the experts.”
“That’s just the thing. I’m tired of the experts.”
“You’ll be one hundred percent. With the physical rehab, you’ll be the powerhouse that you are.”
“Were.”
Olivier’s frown ascended his face and settled in the narrow space between his thick eyebrows. “Cut the pity party, Jesse. You were known as a raging bull on that field. Players saw you coming and hoped they’d live to see another day. You can maneuver a path to the goal with the precision of a shark. It’s what you were born to do.”
“Now you sound like my father.” Jesse pushed Olivier’s hand away from his sore hip. Not that he was in extreme pain, but the site of his shattered bones was his personal demon that haunted him. He could barely look at the long scars, much less touch them.
“Talk to someone. Get the anger out. It’s easy for your thoughts to be scrambled. That was a major shake-up.”
“So now you want me to talk to a shrink. I know what I want...”
“To quit? Walk away? I’m not accepting your retirement. No one is, actually.” Olivier stood over him, open frustration evident in his thin lips clenched together. “You have enough time to get ready for the World Cup.”
“World Cup?” Jesse snorted. If this was any other moment, he would spring to his feet and walk away. “I’m done. I’m not having second thoughts. And now with soccer out of my life, I’ve got nothing to show for it.”
“You have money, trophies. Fans adore you. Women want to...”
“Enough.” Jesse wanted no reminders about his carefree, have-it-all mentality. Only supermodels and hot, sexy A-list actresses interested him. Used to. They never lasted long enough as his girlfriend to cause drama. His blunt attitude nipped that in the bud, but did little to shake off the determined ones.
Flashbacks of his behavior sickened him. A lot of things sickened him. Anger and sadness rotated their position in his head and heart. Recuperating for weeks in a body cast had drawn back the blinds and let the brutal reality shine in because, straight up, no one—sportscasters, any talking head expert on the sport, and fantasy-soccer aficionados—gave a damn about him now.
“You’re down, but temporarily. I get how frustrating it all feels. I’ve been working with athletes for twenty years. Trust me. This will pass.” Olivier lowered his hand to help him. The thick, bushy eyebrows twitched over his eyes, which regarded his client piercingly.
Jesse wanted to slap away the hand. He didn’t want any help. Or pity. Or comfort. He wanted to be alone without his usual flashy trappings. But even that, he couldn’t do. With nowhere else to retreat, he’d stepped back in time with his return to his hometown. At the end of the day, all he had was family. His parents were willing to offer him more than a helping hand, while he rehabilitated. They offered sanctuary until the speculation about his injury died down a bit. The supportive shoulder wasn’t quite his brother’s—Diego’s—style. Well, Mr. Ivy League could get in line with those who gloated over soccer’s “show pony” hitting rock bottom—a six-month tumultuous downward slide.
“Are we good?”
“Yeah.” Jesse swallowed his pride and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. He couldn’t be angry with Olivier. The man had become more like a substitute father and mentor when Jesse first crossed the hallowed ground of soccer by becoming a professional player with the youth soccer academy at seventeen years old.
They shook hands and parted ways in the parking lot. Olivier would return to the management of the Spanish team with no headway to report. And Jesse would get in his car to head home and soak his overworked body in the tub. Nursing a bottle of beer, he could tune out nagging doubts about his future.
Hours later, instead of grabbing another drink, Jesse tossed back two pain relievers and gulped down a glass of water. Sleep eluded him. And he was in no mood to chase after it. Rather than head for his bed, he walked out onto the deck of his houseboat and flopped into his favorite lounge chair.
The early spring season had just enough of a warm edge for him to enjoy being on the deck. Without the harsh lights from street lamps, the brilliance of the stars stood out against the inky dark sky. Stargazing was the perfect cure for his restless thoughts. Out here, he didn’t have to worry about annoying reporters. The marina had solid security and so far the sports journalists didn’t know about his temporary residence. Unfortunately, they tended to stake their reporting platforms near his parents’ home.
His cell phone rang. Probably his mother or father. He answered for the usual nightly check-in.
“Where were you tonight?” This wasn’t his mom or dad.
“Diego?” Jesse didn’t expect to hear his younger brother’s voice. “What are you talking about?”
“We were expecting you for dinner. Mom and Dad had the Tompkins family over to meet you.”
Jesse swore. He’d forgotten. After the workout and the conversation with Olivier, quiet and solitude were all he craved for the remainder of the day. His parents had set up a steady stream of brunches and dinners with him trotting, or rather limping, in to meet church members, coworkers and his mother’s crochet—or was it cross-stitch?—group. After these past several weeks of smiling, signing autographs and posing for photos, he’d come to dread the invitations. Instead of saying anything, he’d come up with excuses not to attend, arrive super late or be stoic and unresponsive to occasional flirtations. But this was the first time that he’d completely wiped it from his mind.
“And they brought their kids.”
Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t know kids were coming.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Diego pushed.
“I’ll make my apologies to Mom. Is she around?” Jesse didn’t want to get into anything with his brother. Not tonight. They could fight tomorrow or the day after when there was no threat of them running out of things to irritate each other.
Apparently, Diego didn’t want to let up. “This was a waste of my time, too.”
“I didn’t ask you to attend. Never did.” Jesse rubbed the length of his thigh. His mood turned sour.
“No, you didn’t ask, but still I came. Mom expected us to be there.”
“And you’re not one to disappoint.” Jesse stared out into the night.
No longer focused on the stars, he looked out at the lakeside houses’ lights dotting either shore. His temper brewed. Friction that had been in the making for most of their lives bubbled like a volcano. Their disagreements waxed and waned, depending on their parents’ involvement to push a peace process. While his busy soccer schedule and obligations once provided a safe zone, lately signs warned that the turbulence was on the rise, a change that he’d noticed when he returned home for his indefinite stay.
Jesse continued, “Tell Mom that I’ll call her in the morning.” No matter how much he’d rather not have to meet his parents’ friends, he never wanted to disappoint kids if he could help it. They mattered, especially with their unconditional loyalty and support. He had hundreds of letters since his injury to prove his point.
Tomorrow, he’d be on it. If he had to go to the Tompkins’ home and take the kids for an ice cream treat, he’d make the experience fun with selfies and autographs.
But Diego didn’t let up. “Sure thing. There’s always an event or woman that is more important. Let me remind you that the false love and adoration won’t last. Because, then what happens now that the soccer god is shown to be human?”
Jesse didn’t reply. He didn’t have to respond since Diego abruptly ended the call. His brother’s challenge had echoes of truth, though.
His thigh throbbed—a final punishment for the night. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes to will away the ache.
Anger was all he mustered up for himself. Disappointment was all he seemed to stir from others. So why on earth had he felt compelled to come back to the city of Midway, New York?
Three months later
Belinda Toussaint had barely nestled her butt onto her office chair for the morning when Tawny, her assistant, hovered in the doorway. At least she came with a proffered mug of coffee. Steam curled enticingly upward from the hot elixir. The robust scent magically jolted her brain awake.
“I’ve got good news.” Tawny held her position in the doorway, only extending the hand that held the coffee, a gift from the gods. “And I’ve got bad news.”
Was the mug with the words Professional Badass supposed to energize her for the good news? Or stroke her ego for the bad news?
Belinda beckoned Tawny to come closer. She relieved her assistant of the offering. “Thanks.” She took a careful sip, letting it wash over her tongue, before closing her eyes with a grateful sigh. “Okay, what now? Lay down the yucky stuff. This Wednesday is starting on the wrong side of my emotions.”
“Mail already arrived.” Tawny raised the cluster of envelopes clutched in her other hand. Today, the fingernails were painted bright periwinkle blue. Her burgundy-dyed hair was styled in spiral curls. Bright eyes blinked out at her behind black-framed glasses.
What Belinda noted more, however, was that Tawny didn’t hand over any of the mail. “Are those bills?”
Tawny shook her head. “It’s worse.” She scrunched her nose.
“Worse than having to pay out money?” As far as Belinda was concerned, things couldn’t get much worse than starting a new business, specifically a nonprofit.
Mentally, she ticked off what she could tout as a new owner. One employee—Tawny. No real clients to speak of...yet. In this one-room converted barn-turned-office, they shared the work space and had carved out a storage area. Belinda framed her office with thin drywall and equipped it with a salvaged door that was more for aesthetics than for privacy. Other than her desk and two chairs, a single column of file drawers that hopefully soon would contain a large number of clients’ information filled a corner in her office. A small clay pot with a thriving ivy plant draped the top.
“Got a response about my complaint.” Tawny’s mouth pursed. “The secondhand store where we bought these so-called antiques won’t give us back our money. Stuff wasn’t even fit for a yard sale.”
“At least we were able to decorate the welcome room. And part of the donation went to a good cause.” Belinda wasn’t surprised. The hodgepodge furniture selection was from one of the large thrift stores in the city.
“Please. You need to check to see if the soup kitchen did get any of that money. Those people saw an easygoing, prone-to-guilt woman. And they got paid. Next time, don’t buy anything based on online pictures.”
Belinda waved off Tawny’s constant dig that, when it came to her business, she should stop giving her heart and soul. That she needed to toughen up. It was funny how the advice sounded similar to what she’d said to Dana, her youngest cousin, who now ran the family media empire.
Tawny cleared her throat. “Not done.”
“Okay, bring on the bad news. In an hour, we have a prospective client coming in to see the facility and get more information. I want to make sure that she’s blown away with the work in progress. More important that she’s willing to sign up.”
“Once we start, those good reviews will roll in, and we’ll be busier than you could’ve ever imagined.” Tawny flopped into the only chair. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. “From the Brandywine Gazette, ‘Dear Mrs. Belinda Toussaint—’”
“Good grief. I’m not married. I’m thirty and single. They’re giving me bad news and don’t give a damn to address me correctly.”
“‘We have enjoyed being a part of building the Dreamweaver Riding Program. Your dedication to assisting young people to overcome challenges with equine-assisted therapy solutions is admirable. We treasure this opportunity beyond measure.’”
“Get on with it,” Belinda prompted. Her fingers on one hand restlessly chipped away the ragged polish on her other hand.
“‘Due to budgetary constraints, we are unable to continue to be part of the sponsorship program. We look forward to working with you in the future. Good luck with your endeavors.’”
“You could’ve paraphrased all of that into we’re screwed.” Belinda leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face the wall that held her vision board for the riding program.
Her ideas, from small thoughts to grand dreams, covered the wall in the form of pinned drawings and pictures. In a separate space, a timeline displayed the renovations for the stable and riding ring and arrival dates of three additional horses, along with the training and rehabilitation equipment. In big, bold letters, the launch date mocked her goal to have a facility to open in three months.
This massive undertaking hadn’t been a smooth one. Many times, she’d had to adjust the timeline. Once she’d suffered a major meltdown and wanted to quit. Her cousins Fiona and Dana had rallied around her until her fears had retreated, somewhat. Their push was enough to get her mind back firmly on the goal.
At the start, this riding-therapy program would cater to children and teens experiencing physical, cognitive and even emotional stresses and disabilities. Success rested with using the right-tempered horses in the program. The animals had been documented to successfully help with patients’ physical and emotional challenges. Moreover, the beasts’ gentle natures coaxed children to emerge from behind their shells of shyness or low self-esteem, to learn to trust in their own abilities and to show them, through caring for the horses, how to develop connections outside of their comfort zones, with others. Eventually, her program would expand its services to include adults, especially war veterans, a need that she’d realized recently after completing research.
Right now, she had a small number of clients who used her horses for their once-a-week or weekend rides. However, regardless of her best intentions, it took money to run the operation. Where insurance or income couldn’t pay the fee, she expected donations would fill the gap. Starting at the beginning of this year, under the Dreamweaver logo, she’d held a small number of fund-raisers, strategic PR advertising and networking events that had netted a handful of donors and their financial pledges. Of course, there was more money in the flashier charities. Donors with the deep pockets preferred the major publicity that came as a result of their newsworthy gifts. All she could offer was a sincere thank-you, a glowing write-up in the local newspaper that no longer would be a donor, and a heavy piece of crystal with their name etched for all posterity to see.
She turned back to her desk, reached for the chewable antacids and waited for them to take effect.
“Don’t worry, Belinda. It will happen. What you’re doing is a really good thing.”
“Yeah, but sometimes good isn’t good enough.” The current operations cost a fortune. Her plans to expand would take her expenses over the edge. Chasing donations wasn’t her shtick. Tawny was a good organizer and cheerleader, but she hadn’t shown any prowess for prying dollars out of prospective donors, either. And that wasn’t why she had been hired. Dana had helped provide part-time volunteers for fund-raising, but it was time to have a full-time person on staff solely dedicated to fund-raising. An added expense to the profit and loss statement. She sighed.
Tawny held up her hand. “More news.”
“We’re still on the bad stuff, right?”
Her assistant nodded. “But not as bad. It’s a tweak and could work out to be better. I think—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, get on with it.” Belinda rubbed her forehead and waited for the next drop of the hammer.
“Ed Santiago, your contractor, called a few minutes ago. Actually, his wife. Ed is on bed rest. Angina.”
“Oh, no. Should he be home? He shouldn’t mess around with heart issues.”
“He’s got to follow up with his doctor. For now, he’s home and they’ve adjusted his pressure meds.”
“I’m glad that it wasn’t worse.” Belinda didn’t want to think of the dire possibilities.
“Not to worry, though. He’s sending his son Jesse to finish managing the renovations.”
Belinda waved off the additional news. “I’m going to send him flowers.”
Tawny nodded. “I pulled up a couple arrangements on my computer. Pick the one you like and I’ll have the order there by tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Belinda hated to hear about the nosedive Ed’s health had taken. The man wasn’t exactly at the youthful end of the age spectrum, but he was active and a conscientious worker. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy with his unexpected absence. Well, she felt more guilt than unease because the clock on the project ticked loudly.
“Jesse will be arriving soon to meet you and go over the remainder of the schedule.”
“I don’t want this...Jesse. I’ve never met him. There’s no way that he can replace Ed’s expertise. There’s no time for someone new to come in and putz around.”
“This isn’t just a regular person. It’s Jesse Santiago.”
Belinda shrugged and shook her head. “And?”
“Football star.”
“I don’t need a quarterback here.”
“No. I mean soccer. He’s a soccer superstar, really.”
“Calm down with the giddy smile. We don’t need a sports jock.” Belinda’s fingers had managed to clear the red nail polish completely off two fingernails.
Tawny rolled her eyes. “That term is so ’80s. Because I’ve heard of Jesse and his mad skills, I did research.” She placed a one-page printout on the desk that had a small photo image in the right corner of the page. With her blue-painted nail, she slid a finger over the information.
“A résumé?” Belinda didn’t bother picking up the paper. She really wasn’t interested in whatever the internet had captured, unless he had a mug shot or arrest record. Tawny’s nail-tapping for her attention finally motivated her to act interested. She picked up the page and scanned the details.
Jesse Santiago was a former professional soccer player for Madrid’s El Sol team. All the teams he’d played for, wins, athletic accolades, modeling contracts and other endorsements took up most of the page. Being independently wealthy at twenty-nine years old, he had accomplished a lot in his short life. But though everything in his current and future life appeared to be looking rosy, he’d walked away from his career. Who does that? That tidbit of mystery was added to the list of why Jesse wouldn’t be a suitable substitute for his father.
“This doesn’t change my mind. Nothing on this page makes me believe he can finish the job.” Irritation tightened Belinda’s shoulders, heightening her tension. “This is too much of a big deal and an important part of the rollout to rely on the unknown, even if it’s Ed’s wish to send his soccer-playing son as a replacement. And did you really read this? Why is he home anyway?” Belinda pushed the paper back to Tawny. “He worked on a few charities. In addition to being a real pro with the soccer ball, he had set a few records with female groupies and celebrities. I’m surprised he had energy to play the game.” A man with the sexual stamina of a bull wasn’t in her list of requirements. Not even if he had the lean, angular pretty-boy face that could melt away her inhibitions. And what was up with the sensual cast of his lips? Was that a pout, or the natural plump and curve of his mouth? Who knew soccer players were so hot? “This is so not the right man for this job. I need a man with real skills, not a professional panty chaser.”
“You are harsh.” Tawny laughed hard. Even Belinda’s dark, scolding gaze didn’t subdue her assistant’s amusement. “Based on that photo, he might have just cause to earn that label, though.” Tawny pretended to kiss the photo. “Should’ve seen the pics of him without his shirt. In one magazine spread, he only held a towel in place between his legs. Hello!”
“I didn’t pay attention to the picture.” Liar. “And I don’t plan to waste time drooling at a computer screen.” Maybe later. It still wouldn’t change her mind about what she thought of his skills. “He could have one eye in the middle of his forehead, for all I care. I need someone to make that happen on time.” She pointed at the wall, where various parts of the project still had to be completed. “I need a project manager on-site, someone who can get his team moving and roll up his sleeves, when and if necessary. This is all I care about.”
“Ed won’t have led you wrong. I’m not the only one who believes in you and what you’re doing. You will have a place that is special and a haven for a lot of kids and teenagers. I’m crazy confident that you will.”
Belinda heard Tawny’s loyalty in her voice. As the project passed each milestone, that enthusiasm and co-ownership of the dream were more than welcomed. She needed to stop calling it a dream. The goal was on the verge of reality. The final stage. She felt through every cell of her body duty-bound to protect her project. As the bad news tumbled out, one item after the other, not even Jesse Santiago’s unplanned substitution could put an exclamation point on the sucky morning. By September, Labor Day, the facility would be, should be, opening its full-service programs.
Belinda continued voicing her reservations. “You do realize this write-up of Mr. Sexpot doesn’t explain why he’s here in upstate New York and why he’s now working on his daddy’s business.”
Tawny shrugged. “He suffered a brutal injury while playing. Now it’s too late to do any further digging on the matter. He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay, Grim Reaper. You said good news. It better be darn good.”
“Now I’m feeling pressure to appease your grumpiness,” Tawny groused, before a wide grin spread across her face.
“Spill. I’m going to need a mimosa instead of this coffee in a hot second.” Reluctantly Belinda felt drawn to Tawny’s suddenly upbeat attitude.
“Miss Grace is coming over.”
“When?” Her smile fumbled and disappeared. Her grandmother didn’t do visits.
“This morning.”
“And you’re only telling me now.” Belinda fixed her clothes, leveling a glare at Tawny.
Tawny waved away her protests. “She needs to talk to you.”
“I don’t have time for my grandmother.”
“You never do. If you don’t call her by nine o’clock...” Tawny looked at her watch. “Yikes. It’s nine thirty. Anyway, if you don’t call, then you don’t get to find out what she wants before she visits.”
“Not today. Not in the mood for my grandmother and her commands. And you can stop acting as if you’re the president of her fan club.”
Tawny remained silent. Wisely.
“Any other news?” Belinda hated to ask.
“I bought a box of donuts.”
“That you didn’t bring with the coffee.” Belinda patted her belly. “Anyway, after that double helping of Chinese food last night, I’m on a diet, at least for the day. Let me get to work since my office will have folks in and out all morning. Only one of them, hopefully my new client, is someone I really want to talk to.”
As Tawny left her office and disappeared from view, Belinda yelled, “I’ll take one instead of two donuts, please.”
“More coffee, too?” Tawny shouted back.
“Yeah. Bring it on.” Belinda shifted her mind to pressing matters. She turned on her computer and waited for it to power up. After a series of keystrokes, she pulled up the list of remaining donors. One donor leaving did hurt. Two would cause her to make harsh cuts before the operation manager could start. Contracts with the therapists would be terminated. Training of the horses would be curtailed. And the loss of three donors would cripple her in a matter of months. Who was she kidding? The downfall would happen within weeks. The Dreamweaver Riding Program, her heart and soul, could not be an epic fail. It was the only way she knew how to say sorry.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_691da4d6-f158-5438-aaf3-be9d75e04448)
“Boss, I just saw Miss Grace park her car.” Tawny set down the coffee and donut in front of Belinda and made a quick backtrack to the entrance door.
Belinda slid the plate with the donut off to the side. The cup of coffee could remain. She might need something to keep her hands busy through her grandmother’s visit.
She desperately tried to smooth back the loose hair that hung wildly around her face. After her morning ride on her horse in the June humidity, Belinda knew her ponytail holder couldn’t maintain control over her hair. Normally, her disheveled appearance didn’t bother her. She wasn’t one to fuss over wardrobe and makeup. After all, this wasn’t an office job. But the next few minutes of her life with her stiff and starched grandmother would cause enough anxiety that she’d wished she dragged out a skirt suit from the deep recess of her closet, dug through the underwear drawer for a pair of panty hose and found a tube of lipstick to quickly sweep over her mouth.
Instead, she groaned after quickly surveying her clothing. It was her standard uniform of black T-shirt and black jeans, kind of a night and day contrast to whatever Grace usually wore. The old lady had to have been off her game at one time in her life. At almost eighty years old and still getting front-page coverage on how fabulous she looked, her grandmother was a fashion icon. Deservedly so, but still.
Belinda wiggled her toes. As a rule, when she came to the office, she stepped out of her boots and left them at the entrance door. The treks back and forth, from the office-barn to the stables, the torn-up dirt around the renovated areas near the riding ring, and general outdoor work pushed the necessity for the rule. Not only did it save the brand-new Berber carpet, it cut down on the strong odors of horse urine, manure, and tack that combined with the hay that would be tracked into the office. Usually, her old pair of sneakers was in the office for her to slip on. Of course, today would be the day that she couldn’t find them.
Meanwhile, Tawny, who didn’t have many dealings with the stable, could balance herself while walking around the office in her skinny, skyscraper-high heels and flaunting the latest fashion trends. She belonged in New York City, not in the small city of Midway in upstate New York, working in a barn with horses as their closest neighbors.
“Belinda, are you here? It’s Grace.” Her grandmother’s distinctive elocution shot her musings to pieces.
“Good morning, grandma...er...Grace.” Belinda rose and headed around the desk, but her grandmother had already marched across the room. That was a good thing. She could keep her shoeless feet a secret for a little while longer.
Her grandmother got everyone in the family to call her “Grace” whenever the subject matter concerned Meadows Media. In the case of Dana, she not only called their grandmother Grace, but also boss. Their special bond had blossomed over several years as Dana worked her way up the ladder, culminating in her leading the company. A strategic move that had been met with resistance by business experts, not to mention a few family members, because of Dana’s young age. Belinda’s take on the issue remained in full protective support for her cousin, as long as Grace had Dana’s full buy-in.
“How are you?” Belinda resumed her seat in the safe zone, behind the desk.
“Good as can be. Still busy even though I’m out in the pastures.”
The image of her grandmother whiling away time in a field couldn’t have been further from the truth. Grace was still making business deals and her social calendar hadn’t shrunk. Grandpa Henry had spilled the latest at the last family dinner.
Belinda probed, “Are you still heading to the office every day? You should enjoy retirement. Take a trip. See the world from beyond corporate offices.” She’d consider talking her grandmother into a worldwide trip a major coup. Every chance she got, she pushed the idea.
“Is that what your cousin complains to you about?”
“No.” Now Dana was going to kill her for putting Grace on alert. It had taken a while for the former CEO of the family business to step down. Dana had shared how much she looked forward to flexing her leadership muscle without Grace’s shadow. Even the staff was coming around to relying on Dana without the constant presence of Grace. The cousins had joked that the complete separation might require Grandpa Henry to kidnap his wife and keep her off the grid for several months.
Grace looked around the office. Then her gaze hovered and settled on the wall behind Belinda. She remained silent. But her gaze shifted over the entire visual presentation of the riding program’s trajectory. Though Grace’s expression remained stoic, Belinda sensed her grandmother’s keen interest.
“Renovations are underway. We still have major work to be done. I’m sure that we’ll be ready on opening day.” Grace’s quiet regard unnerved Belinda.
“Really? That’s good news. Who are you using?” Her grandmother slowly slid her glance away from the wall to Belinda. “I did take note that you didn’t ask for my help after I sent Santiago to you.”
“I used Ed. I felt good with your referral since you’ve used him on several projects. That was enough of a recommendation.”
“He’s dependable. Not terribly creative, though, when it came to designing the trellis frames in the garden.” She sighed with such regal pretension that Belinda wanted to snort. “But his work is solid and above par. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Belinda nodded. Now wasn’t the time to mention the switch from Ed to Jesse. She had her own misgivings. There was no need to hear her grandmother pile on with her criticisms. No matter what Grace would say, all Belinda would hear was that she wasn’t good enough. Out of the three cousins, she was the “rock,” per Grace’s compliment and with her mother’s implicit agreement. Belinda was the solid base to provide support, but lacked Dana’s nimble, razor-sharp leadership skills. She’d accepted the evaluation, partially relieved that she didn’t have what it took to lead anything, including Meadows Media. As a result, she had remained uninspired to prove her grandmother or mother wrong. Early discussions about starting this business hadn’t been met with enthusiastic cheers outside of her cousins, Dana and Fiona.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Her grandmother stood, smoothing her dress and waiting for her to move.
“Where are we going?” Belinda made a mental promise to kill Tawny if she conveniently had forgotten to tell her about this part of Grace’s plan.
“Show me the work that’s been done.” Grace’s attention shifted back to the wall in her office where the full layout and status of the project were mapped out. “I want to see what you’ve been up to.”
Tawny slid into view. Her attempt to nab Grace’s focus was as loud as her blue dress with white polka dots.
“Tawny, my dear, hope all is well with you. You’re looking quite...modern.”
Belinda considered Tawny’s mission accomplished. Her assistant looked beyond giddy over Grace’s remark. If she wasn’t mistaken, Belinda thought that she saw the young woman dip into a quick curtsy. As expected, Grace, her nose in the air, soaked in the adulation as she passed Tawny.
Bowing down to Grace had never been Belinda’s style. That was not to say that her grandmother didn’t intimidate the heck out of her. Grace and Grandpa Henry were her substitute parents when hers were too busy pursuing careers and she’d been like a satellite office they’d occasionally visit. That’s why, despite Grace’s hard-nosed demeanor, Belinda had a soft spot for her grandmother.
Today, however, she’d rather spend the morning tweaking her business plan and schmoozing with potential clients, not escorting Grace on a random tour of the area with the uneasy feeling that there was more to her visit than she’d let on so far. Her grandmother’s stern profile provided no hints, even after she stared at Belinda’s mismatched socks before she could stuff her feet into the boots.
Belinda led Grace to the golf cart that she drove to get around the property quickly. “Hold on,” she said. It was an unnecessary warning, since her grandmother had death grips on her arm and the side of the golf cart. She drove slowly down the road that led from the barn to the larger area dedicated to the riding rings and stable.
“Have you ever considered selling off some of the property?”
“No!” Belinda uttered a shaky, apologetic laugh and repeated the negative in a softened tone.
“It’s not an outrageous question.”
They’d stopped at the stable. Belinda rounded the cart to assist Grace.
“I’m asking because you have ambitions that don’t match your pocket.” Grace stopped short at the large wooden doors that led into the stables. Her nose twitched as the signature ammonia smell of horse and hay hit them.
Through these doors was magic, the place that brought Belinda peace and joy. She headed over to the stall that was home to her American quarter horse. From the start, Lucky Ducky, her own personal mount, had held a special place in her heart. When she was first looking for horses for the program, her network of business owners with similar equine-therapy services advised her that the retired show horse was up for sale. While she’d need therapy horses for now, she wanted her own horse. It was this gelding’s gentle nature and agility that convinced her that she was on the right path with her decision to acquire a member of this breed.
Grace joined her at Lucky Ducky’s stall. “Are you a bit over your head with this monster-size project?”
“I can manage. I’ve been managing.” Belinda hoped that she’d retained a knack for reading her grandmother’s trains of thought. Although, sometimes, she wasn’t sure that she ever had the ability and only had mastered feeling defensive.
From her pocket, Grace withdrew sugar cubes, which she fed to the grateful horse. Despite her grandmother’s reaction to the stable, she was a wet noodle around the chestnut gelding. Belinda wished she could take a secret photo of her grandmother making kissing noises. Lucky Ducky certainly loved Grace’s attention. His head bumped against her hand to make her continue scratching his muzzle.
“Why are we here...in the barn?” Belinda walked over to a new horse that she’d bought two weeks ago. She’d rather have waited on buying another horse, but, by acquiring him, she had rescued a pet that the owner could no longer afford to keep. She grabbed a brush and stroked Black Pearl’s powerful side with it. His head bobbed as he pranced in place.
“We needed to talk. And since you don’t have a proper office...” Grace pointedly looked over at her. “We must stand out here for privacy.”
No matter how much Grace worked Belinda’s nerves, being disrespectful was never an option. “No, we don’t have to, Grandma. Let’s go up to the house. I have tea.”
“Okay, for the house. No, on the tea.”
“It’s not the regular supermarket tea.” Belinda offered Grace a hint of a smile. “Herbal. Rooibos from South Africa.”
Grace clapped her hands. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” She bid farewell to Lucky Ducky with an extra sugar cube and accompanied Belinda out of the stable.
Her grandmother resumed her death grip as they rode the golf cart eastward across the property.
On a small hill, the farmhouse stood out, its exterior painted in sunshine yellow accented with winter-white shutters. The morning sunrise was an amazing sight that climbed above the mountains in the distance.
Belinda gazed on her little home with pride. Well, it wasn’t so little, with five bedrooms ranging from a closet-size one to the master suite. Though many of the rooms were unused, here was the house for her future. One day, she wanted it full of children and a loving husband.
Given her lack of a social life, however, said loving husband would have to magically fall from the sky in front of her like an airdrop package.
“Have a seat. I’ll bring it to you.” Belinda motioned toward the living area before walking into the kitchen.
“No need to wait on me. I’ll follow you to your kitchen.”
Belinda hoped that the kitchen wasn’t a mess. The bad part about living alone was that any messiness could only be blamed on her. She cringed as she watched her grandmother swing her survey around the room before she took a seat at the four-seater table.
“You haven’t been to visit, much less sit in my kitchen, in a while. I’m nervous.” Belinda couldn’t deal with waiting for Grace to reveal the reason for her impromptu visit. There was no way that this was a casual visit.
“I’ve been remiss with keeping up with my grandchildren. Turning over Meadows Media to Dana was a bigger deal than I thought. It made me think about all of you. Our legacy as a family.”
“Dana’s doing fine, right?”
“Oh, yes. Dana was born for that job.”
“Proud of her.” Belinda always knew that her cousin was the only one to step into Grace’s shoes. Her mother and aunts, Grace’s daughters, grumbled a bit, but no one could deny that Dana had the brains and passion to take up the heavy responsibility.
“We all are. Meadows Media should always remain in the family.”
Belinda carefully set down the steaming cup of tea. “I’m not coming to work for Meadows Media.” For once, she wasn’t backing down. Not even to look away from Grace’s deep-set eyes.
“Not even for Dana?”
“Did she ask for me?” Belinda wasn’t biting, though the mention of her cousin needing her gave her pause.
“You know your cousin. She’d never ask for help. She’s too afraid that it would reflect on her. However, since stepping back from it all, I have a good view from the sidelines. What I see, in my overall vision, is for all of you cousins stepping up and taking your rightful places in the company. Making it bigger and better. Besides, you get along with each other. That’s half the battle.”
“What if the cousins aren’t interested?”
“Why wouldn’t you be? I built this company to hand down, not to sell out. Not that my three daughters ever stepped up to the plate.” Grace sniffed. The woman was a born queen and didn’t need a title to go with her mostly formidable demeanor. The one subject that could tighten that mouth and send the lines in her forehead into deeper grooves was her daughters—their mothers.
Away from the Meadows family home estate, away from the Meadows Media headquarters, Belinda had never heard Grace open up with such a sad, longing commentary. Took a visit, while sitting at her dining table, for the intimate disclosure. Anytime Grace’s tale was told in front of an audience, the rags to riches story had all the polish and shiny glint of a spin doctor’s touch. Not that her accomplishments were make-believe. However, Grace believed that imperfections of any sort belonged behind the family wall of privacy and loyalty. It was the one trait that was supported by every family member as a united front.
“Look, Belinda, the time is right. Dana is on the verge of taking the company to new heights. Kent is on board. Hopefully, they’ll be married soon. You’re turning thirty-one this year. I couldn’t be happier with all that you’ve done.”
“I’m running my own business here.”
“I’m not taking away from your plans. Not one bit.” Grace leaned in and took her hand. “I’m expanding on what you have.”
Belinda tried to avoid her hypnotic stare. Instead, she looked down at her hand still captured by Grace. Her grandmother’s rings and bracelets shimmered as the light caught the diamonds and bounced off the gold. The older woman wasn’t exactly touchy-feely. So to have her hands imprisoned in her grandmother’s firm grasp made her want to clutch on to something else and hang on for dear life.
“Come work for Meadows. I’ll give you the money to fix this place into what you want and hire a full staff. You don’t have to be here.”
Money, the one thing that she desperately needed, landing in her lap. Hers for the taking. If only her stomach didn’t constrict at the idea. Her heart instantly ached at the steep price to her dream. Although the proposal came with a win-win solution—money and the riding program—she didn’t like it because of the sacrifice to her independence.
“I see you’re ready to say no.” Grace patted her hand. “Don’t jump into the deep end to show that you can.”
“I have something here. It’s important to me. At a young age, you had something that was important. We’ve all benefited from it. But Meadows Media isn’t for me.” Belinda stood and hoped that her legs would stop shaking. “And there is nothing more to discuss, Grandma.” This wasn’t business. It was personal. “I’ve got to return to the office. I’m expecting someone.”
Even the unsuitable Jesse Santiago would be a welcomed diversion.
“You’ve got moxie, kid.” Grace chuckled. She braced herself with her walking stick and pushed up from the chair. “I’ll mark my calendar. Same time, same place, next month—I’ll make the offer again. By then, reality might have a way of nipping at your heels.” The gravelly voice laid down the somber forecast.
Belinda nodded. A faint whiff of victory danced a fleeting pattern with her ego because Grace’s prediction had that edge of inevitability. But she’d take the victory lap and enjoy it. “I’ll drive you to your car.”
Grace nodded. Signs of sentimentality vanished with her stiff march to the front door. She pulled it open before Belinda could reach for the doorknob.
“Oh, hello. Who might you be?” Her grandmother effectively blocked Belinda’s view.
“Jesse Santiago, ma’am.” The man’s deep, crisp voice hooked Belinda’s attention.
“Grace Meadows, here.” Handshakes were exchanged.
Belinda tried to see around her grandmother’s formidable stature.
“Santiago? You must be Ed’s son.” Grace turned her head slightly toward Belinda and finished, “Devilishly handsome, this one.”
Good grief, her grandmother’s abrupt switch to playfulness embarrassed her. However, if she felt the need to comment, then maybe the subject on hand was worth a look-see. Belinda couldn’t deal with any trigger to tap her emotions out of sleep mode and distract her from the Dreamweaver facility. This man had better have the skill set to impress the heck out of her.
In the meantime, she really wished Grace would move out of the doorway.
“Now, be sure to say hello to your father. I’ve sent a fruit basket to the house.”
“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”
So Grace knew about Ed’s health issues and his son taking on the job. Now she wondered if that was why Grace seized on the timing to put in an appearance to pressure her to work at Meadows Media. It was too much to figure out, right now. Time for the big reveal at her front door. All she could see were his faded jeans and scuffed construction boots.
“Make sure you do a good job for my granddaughter, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Belinda heaved a sigh of relief when Grace finally walked out through the doorway. Under the direct light of the morning sun, Jesse Santiago moved center stage into the frame. Wow. Now, that was tall, as, with her five-nine height, she still had to look up. Thick black hair framed the top of his head in a trimmed style that enhanced the attractive contours of his squared jaw and high cheekbones.
His hands were pushed down in the front pockets. Head tilted to the side. While his eyes remained hidden behind dark shades, her attention was transferred to the slender, prominent line of his nose. Her continued admiration landed on his mouth, the one feature that she’d lingered on in the photo, and it looked better in real life. Now she could verify that he had wide, full lips that were pure sexy. His pose didn’t shift under her perusal. In fact, he looked casual, but in control.
“Your assistant sent me over here.”
Belinda stepped out of her house and closed the door. “I’ve got to take my grandmother to her car. Mind meeting me back at the office? We can chat there.” She shook his hand and continued on her path to the golf cart where Grace waited.
He was handsome as all get-out, had a firm handshake and smelled like heaven. Having this man around would be tempting. If she didn’t stay on point, she’d do silly things like give him a second or third look. Because, that fast, she already connected to whatever wildly charged energy he exuded.
Crazy. It was not happening, even if the electricity shot in one direction, from her to him.
“Child, no need to kill me on the way to my car.”
“Sorry.” Belinda didn’t realize that she pressed on the accelerator, jostling her grandmother in the process.
“Trust me. He’s not going anywhere. He’ll be there after you drop me off. I don’t think he took his eyes off you once.”
Belinda deliberately brushed off the remark. The strange ping of excitement blipped on her romantic radar. “Good seeing you, Grandma.”
“Hmm. As I said, I’ll be back.”
Belinda waited until her grandmother drove away before she made a U-turn back to the office and pushed down on the accelerator. One thought muscled past her body’s silly reactions to this stranger. How would she stay focused, with Jesse Santiago sabotaging her steely determination with such übersexy maleness?
Chapter 3 (#ulink_d767fb96-7fc6-58e2-bd90-0478a566dac2)
Belinda stood outside the office for a few seconds to get herself together. Being outed by her grandmother was a bit like someone pointing out a pimple on her forehead, an embarrassing fact that didn’t need to be put on blast. The best solution would be to ignore him as much as she could after she acknowledged that Jesse looked good from head to toe. She would file her reaction under Do-Not-Entertain Thoughts and move on to the matter on hand—the equine-therapy center.
She kicked off her boots and padded in her socks past Tawny. Her assistant held up several full-size printed pages of Jesse, some solo, some with a female companion. She gave a thumbs-up gesture, which Belinda ignored. Despite being in full agreement that, yes, the man was more than just handsome, fine, drop-dead gorgeous, she refused to confirm it. With the last photo of him on her mind, Belinda stepped into her office.
“Oh...” She couldn’t help feeling flustered. With all those thumbs-up signs, Tawny didn’t bother to give any indicators that he was already here.
Belinda stepped farther into the office and took notice of the small details about him. He sat back in the chair which was turned slightly outward as if he waited for her to enter. While some salespersons came on business in a nervous and eager state, this man owned his calm demeanor. Meanwhile, he cupped the bottle of antacids from her desk in his hands, before repeatedly tossing it in the air. His gaze never left her face, except for a casual once-over when she walked toward him.
In the small space, the disturbing wild energy she’d sensed from him before grew more intense. Close up, the man was more than handsome with his rich, brown skin, striking features and tall stature. His voice hadn’t been hard on the ears, either. Cool and casual seemed to be his signature style, as if the only place that he’d break a sweat was on the soccer field. The dark shades he wore and kept on in her office tossed in a bit of mystery, an attitude that somehow he was detached from, and bored by, the world of regular folk.
“Is the light bothering you?” she pointedly asked. It was time to get down to business. Not being able to read him wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make it better.
He shook his head and removed the glasses. He blinked. Or maybe she did, several times. The corner of his mouth hitched into a half smile. He tossed out the net, and she got caught. Gotcha.
Gray eyes with hints of olive and amber. Thick, dark lashes to go with the heavy eyebrows. Put the glasses back on. Now her admiration volleyed between the deep-set eyes and his mouth. In between the points of her indecision, the angles and planes of his cheek and chin were chiseled to perfection. Once more, he blinked and her stomach did a flip. She had to cut that out. Right now, her mind was a little preoccupied and her body reacted accordingly like a starved woman at a buffet.
No wonder he had females ready to lose their common sense. Falling under his spell sounded far-fetched in the gossip magazines. But when the subject sat in the chair a few feet away looking like God’s gift, the reality certainly had a different spin. Her recommendation—he needed a warning label.
She wouldn’t react to him only if she was dead or celibate, and since neither applied, she stood the chance of succumbing to Jesse Santiago fever. Those good looks had to be all window dressing. She remained unconvinced that there was anything of substance behind the rock-hard physique.
He broke the silence. “Didn’t realize that I was working with Grace Meadows.”
“You’re not,” Belinda responded with deliberate sharpness. “You’re working for me.” And that new arrangement wasn’t a given, although it had moved from “heck no” to serious consideration.
“That’s what I thought until I met Mrs. Meadows. Cool lady.” His mouth twitched. Not really a smile. Again with the casual tilt of the head—he was studying her.
“She is.” Belinda settled into her seat. “Would you like coffee?” she offered. Personally, between the coffee and tea, she would float away with another cup.
“No. I’m good.”
She nodded. No argument there. Time to get down to business. Sharing her vision would be the best way to figure out if Jesse had what it took to do the job. She’d listen to him weigh in on the plans, then she’d evaluate his potential contribution.
Although construction was near the midpoint of completion, Belinda started her presentation with what had been accomplished and her expectation of the final facility. Several times, she paused to see if he was onboard. He said nothing, but sat poised, leaning forward. Maybe he was a silent thinker.
“That’s it in a nutshell.” She closed her speech by turning his attention to the final mock-up of her facility in full use with trainers, horses and children.
“A lot of kids are in need of such a place?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there is a need. And more doctors and therapists are agreeing on the effectiveness of this alternative.”
Again, the silent regard. Unnerving.
Belinda reiterated, “The project must be completed by September.”
“Really?” He pushed himself out of the chair and strode around the desk.
Remaining in her chair set her at a disadvantage. It didn’t help that his hips were too close to her eye level. The jeans, even with the way they loosely draped his lower body, couldn’t diminish certain assets. Retirement had not reduced him to a squishy mound of flesh. The corded muscles of his forearms, with tattoos winding around one limb, provided a visual sampler of a man who once seemed fond of celebrating his goals with a massive roar while gripping his soccer shirt in one hand.
Thanks, Tawny, for flashing me that photo treat.
“Barely three months to finish.” Now he looked closely at her vision board.
“Is that a problem?” She stood and matched his crossed-arms stance.
“Why are you building such a large riding ring? Plus, you’re adding a building.”
“Renovating,” she corrected, not liking his accusatory tone.
“A lot of horses.”
“A lot of children.”
He frowned. “Thought it was also a horse-training stable for jumping.”
“Why would you think so?”
“I figured you competed. You’ve got the body for it.” He spread his arms wide and offered the first real smile she’d seen with a flash of bright white. “Just being on the up-and-up. No harm. No foul.”
Immediately, her cheeks warmed. The compliment rushed at her like a rogue wave and covered her in tingly excitement. But enough willpower kicked in to keep her from giggling like a nitwit.
“You’d wear those skintight pants. The little black helmet tied under your chin.” He grinned. “I’ve seen it on TV.”
“Are you quite finished?”
He opened his mouth to respond.
She waved off any further trek down this strange, winding path. “Don’t answer that.”
“Hey, I’m just paying you a compliment.” He returned to his seat and settled in, resting his elbows on his knees. “I see the brains with all of that on the wall and the beauty right in front of me.”
“Thanks.” Holding off this man and his penchant for flirtation needed to be handled like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Cheesy compliments are unnecessary.”
“But, I’m sure they were not unwelcome.” Again, the smile flashed.
Did he wink his left eye? Her gaze narrowed. Unfortunately, her body’s reaction wanted to listen to his drivel. Her cheeks hadn’t cooled down over his last comments, and the temperature in the room had escalated a notch.
Belinda struggled to stay on firm ground. “You do realize this is an interview.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t know? Or don’t care?”
“I’m open to whatever you may need.”
“What I need is someone who is serious about working. What I want is for this job to be completed on time.” Talking about her dream project was the perfect wall to ward off the effects of his flirtation. “Are you up for the job?”
“My father seems to think so.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“Not really. I’m holding down the job until Dad gets better.”
Belinda didn’t care for his plain speak, in this instance. “Because you may head back to playing soccer?”
Light to dark. Amusement to irritation. Expressions flitted across his face, accompanied by the stiff set of his shoulders. A nerve had been plucked. It was accidental on her part, though, since she didn’t know enough about him to judge potential landmines.
“My only plan right now is to help out with projects,” he replied with a measured tone. “Yours included.”
In other words, she had to back away from soccer chitchat.
“Do you mind if I get a cup of water?” He headed for the nearby cooler before she nodded. “You?”
“Sure. Thank you. I should’ve offered.” Belinda waited for Jesse to bring the water. This man intrigued her, with his steady level of confidence evident as he moved around her office. Despite him being off the field, his body appeared fit. Even her inexperienced eye spotted the overall well-toned physique. Her imagination guessed that the rest of him was equally hard and ripped. She couldn’t stop recalling the photo of Jesse celebrating a goal with his shirt off. Sweaty and victorious looked damned good on him.
“Here ya go.” He handed her the cup.
She carefully took the drink from him, afraid to touch his hand, no matter how briefly. There was no need for a repeat of the shock to her system that had taken her by surprise. She sipped the water in an attempt to cool her emotional jets. “Let’s get back to our discussion. This is a personal endeavor that has nothing to do with equestrian competition or training show horses. Far from it. It’s about bringing joy and changing the lives of a special group of children through the use of horses.” She wanted him to understand. Otherwise, there could be no business connection between them.
“Is there a great need for this type of business? In this area?” His continued doubt poured out with each question.
“Whether I help one person or twenty, it’s worth it. Do you have any experience with working on stables, riding rings, fences?”
“Yeah.”
She waited for further explanation. None seemed to be forthcoming. “How did you learn?”
“My father. Shoulder to shoulder, we worked on a lot of things when I was younger. I can show you all my scars.” He raised his hands and flicked them to show the back, and then the palms, of his hands. No scars or calluses were visible. Instead, she noted the long, blunt fingers with veins and muscles leading up to lean forearms. “These hands have seen a lot of action.” He interlocked said hands and rested them on his lap.
A lot of action. Her truth? She loved a man’s hands. You could see strength and beauty, gentleness and caring—all necessary parts of a man’s character—there. Her analysis had never steered her wrong. Nice hands meant a sensitive touch, from casual communication to intimate cuddling, sexy foreplay and beyond.
Belinda took another sip of water.
“What have been some recent projects that you’ve worked on?”
“I’ve helped out my father on several assignments around town. There was nothing that I couldn’t do.” His blasé tone turned curt, precise. “And references aren’t a problem.” His cell phone rang with a horrendous series of chimes. He looked at the screen and pushed to connect. “Do you mind if I get this?”
Belinda waved him on.
With the phone at his ear, he strolled out the office.
After Jesse left to take his call, Belinda worried. In all the scenarios of her dreams, she’d never envisioned the project incomplete. The image of things unraveling made her panicky. And the arrival on the scene of Jesse, equipped with more blatant sex appeal than possible construction management expertise, didn’t quiet her unease.
Waiting for him to finish his call, all she could do was take a seat, cross her arms and stare at the timeline. One option would be to wait for Ed to recuperate and get the facility built to her specifications without drama. Another option was finding another contractor, but Dreamweaver Riding Program had a scheduled start date in three months. And nothing so far was supporting that time frame. She reached for the bottle of antacids.
“And where the hell is Tawny?” Belinda muttered. Her assistant had the knack of calming her. As she exited her office to look for Tawny, she heard Jesse still on the phone. By now, she didn’t care if he had a call. He was on her time. But there wasn’t any sign of him.
Instead of holding his call in the office, apparently he’d taken the call outside. Before she took another step, his voice escalated. It was intense, possibly angry. She froze.
“I’m not going to change my mind. Olivier, it’s been over. Chapter closed. A documentary on my life? Are you kidding me?” Jesse’s laugh held little humor. “Not happening because I know it’s going to somehow get twisted in my supposed comeback as the final point of this publicity stunt to get the fans worked up. I don’t need the pressure.” His footsteps marked the small area.
Belinda pressed against the wall. Her heart thudded its rapid drumbeat.
Not until she heard his feet resume their pacing did she exhale. His angry statements were now indecipherable mumbles. She inched closer, pushing away any guilt at eavesdropping. She would save feeling guilty for when she was caught. To hear him so agitated shocked her. What happened to his casual cockiness?
“Pop is on the mend. At home, grumbling. Driving Mom crazy.” There was a mix of a snort and chuckle. “I’m safer on the outside of Santiago and Sons Construction. That’s Diego’s domain. I pop in when needed.” He paused for a while. “Call me all the names you want. I’m not meeting with anyone to be browbeaten. I get enough of that here.” He quieted, even his pacing slowing until he stood still. “For your information, I’m on a job. With horses. Yes, horses—smell and all! Stop laughing. I can smell the stable a mile away.”
Belinda was interested, now that the heated conversation had turned to her business.
“The owner? She’s cool. A bit over the top with all these plans.” His pacing brought him closer to her hiding spot. “What do I think?”
Silence.
“Of her? Man, I’m not heading down that road. Stop laughing. Okay, she’s not hard on the eyes. Bumpin’ body. Got a smile that can light up a dark room. See...right there, you’ve got me talking nonsense. I’m going to be busy with my demons. Not on board for anything. End of that discussion.”
“What are you doing?”
Belinda almost jumped out of her skin when Tawny whispered in her ear. “Shh.”
Now they both listened.
“I know that she wants my father, not me, on the job. Too bad Diego is working on a project for the mayor’s office.” He paused. “In the meantime, I’ll push around the hay until Pop’s back. Then I’ll move on to find my next chapter.”
His feet shuffled closer. Belinda backed up, pushing Tawny away from the area.
“Thanks for the heads-up about the documentary. I’m sure my agent will be lighting up my phone. Bye.”
Belinda continued pushing Tawny ahead of her as they hurried back to her desk. They made it to her office before Jesse rounded the corner. Tawny froze into position with an exaggerated lean over the paperwork on the desk. Meanwhile, Belinda pointed to a random spot on the paper. By the time Jesse entered, Tawny came to life and nodded, as if in agreement with a point they’d discussed.
“Done with my call. Sorry about that.” He didn’t walk over to the desk. Instead, he remained in the doorway. The way his face was set meant that he hadn’t shaken off the effects of his call.
Belinda stepped away from Tawny. Regardless of the chiseled good looks, she only had one message for him. “Mr. Santiago—”
“Jesse.”
She ignored the casual interjection. “Upon careful consideration, I will only work with your father. The bid was accepted based on his ability to do the job. His reputation is pretty stellar. I respect how he treated the project, and how he managed the team to stay on task. I knew what I was getting and wasn’t ever disappointed.” Deliberately pausing to deliver the closing blow, she clasped her hands. In a soft, but frigid tone, she finished, “In other words, Jesse, I’m not interested in using you as a substitute. I will be making alternative arrangements for another company to take over. Of course, this will delay my plans. Quite unexpected, although I realize that it was unforeseen. This program is important and I want the best. Having you push around hay is the last thing that I’m going to settle for.”
“What?”
“Have a good day. I’ve got to get back to some pressing matters.” Belinda returned to sit behind her desk.
Tawny had turned into a statue. Her gaze locked on to Belinda. Her eyes open wide, her expression frozen.
“When is the next appointment, Tawny?”
“Um...now,” her assistant squeaked. “I’ll go...maybe they’re here...now.” Tawny sidled her way out of Belinda’s office, probably to the safe zone of her own area. Belinda was too irritated over the situation to find the humor in Tawny’s comedic contortions to avoid looking at Jesse.
At first, Belinda thought she’d have to be the first to make a move. He hadn’t budged. Plan B was to get up and leave him in her office until he got the message that she meant business. Although stomping out in socks didn’t have the same kiss-my-behind vibe that she’d want.
Finally, he shifted out of his stance. Without making a big deal or pretending to give a damn, he shrugged and left. She stared at the empty space he left behind. The tumultuous energy of anger and sexual attraction evaporated, sucked out with his departure. In its wake, something akin to disappointment settled softly into place. For the first time since she started this company, she’d fired someone. Well, she hadn’t hired him. A mere technicality.
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