LITMIR.BIZ

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soaked my lap.”

      Chase chuckled. “Priceless moment.”

      “Glad you’re amused.” He tapped the monogrammed portfolio in front of him. “Do you think we could stop gossiping about my love life and focus on business?”

      “She’s single. You’re single,” Chase said without so much as reaching for the graphs Rafe spread out on the coffee table. “What’s to stop you from following those sparks?”

      “Did you not hear me, my brother? We’re here to work.”

      “No need to start without Preston and Tanner.” Both men were top-level executives, part of the very small inner circle of the trusted few in his own personal Dream Team.

      Rafe looked sideways at his stepbrother. “You’re a real pain in the ass today.”

      “You’re extraordinarily crabby yourself, and I think we both know the root of your bad mood.” Chase leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She could only bother you this much if she still means something to you.”

      A damned good point and Chase was the only one who could say it. Rafe would have flat-out denied the claim from anyone else. “I’m seeing her tonight for supper. Now can we get to work?”

      “Dinner date? Where are you taking her? I hear Jacques’ keeps a table reserved for you all the time now.”

      Just the mention of the exclusive French restaurant stoked his bad mood even more. Back when they’d been teenagers, he’d planned to take her there for Valentine’s Day. Then the electric company had been ready to shut off their power. His dad had been flat broke from paying off medical bills even three years after Hannah’s death. Rafe hadn’t hesitated to pay the bill, which meant no special Valentine’s date.

      He’d settled for taking her to the beach with a picnic meal his dad’s fiancée had cooked. Fourteen years later, his pride still stung over how little he’d been able to give Sarah then. “I thought you were my business manager, not my social secretary.”

      “I’m your brother and your friend.” Chase pinned him with an intuitive look as effective as any wrestling neck lock they may have resorted to as teens. “I know you better than anyone. Even your old man doesn’t know half the things about you that I do. There’s an edge to you lately and it’s not good. Is it so wrong that I want to see you happy?”

      “Once the changeover is complete, I’ll be very happy.”

      Chase opened his mouth to respond only to be cut short by a knock.

      “Come in,” Rafe called, so ready to end this conversation he didn’t much care who walked through the door.

      Luckily for him, the rest of the Dream Team had arrived—Preston and Tanner. Max Preston, his public relations guru, came from old California money. However, despite his privileged upbringing and inheritance, he never depended on it. Max was a real go-getter who’d never met an image crisis he couldn’t solve. Max would be moving on soon to devote his time fully to charity foundation work, but for now, Rafe intended to make the most of his input here.

      Next through the door was William Tanner, CFO of Cameron Enterprises. The New Zealander was unflinchingly ruthless in the business world, the only individual Rafe had ever met who was equally as hard-nosed—all the more reason to make sure Tanner worked on the Cameron team.

      Rafe shifted into business mode, on the outside at least, going through the motions of starting the PowerPoint slides on breaking down the redistribution of Worth Industry assets. But he knew his mind was only half in the game today.

      Already Sarah proved a distraction in the workplace. Because in spite of the high-profile presentation flashing on the screen in front of him, Rafe could only think of the upcoming dinner at her place. Even the thought of seeing her ramped anticipation inside him. Ignoring her hadn’t worked for the past five months, much less for the past fourteen years.

      The time had come to take a more proactive approach to working Sarah Richards out of his system, once and for all.

      Doorbell echoing through her two-bedroom stucco home, Sarah wiped her hands on a dish towel, checked the throw pillows on her rattan sofa, straightened a rag scatter rug with her toe even though she knew everything was perfectly in place. Her house might not be on as grand a scale as Rafe’s these days, but she took pride in every perfectly maintained square foot.

      The bell rang again and she drop-kicked the hand towel out of sight under the sofa before opening the door. Rafe stood on the tiny porch beside a potted cactus. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt that likely cost more than her couch, but the less formal clothes made him seem more approachable, more like the boy she’d known all those years ago.

      Although the five-o’clock shadow and perfect blue-jeans butt were far more manly than boyish. What did he think of her denim shorts and layered tank tops? She hadn’t wanted to dress up and seem like she was trying to impress. But of course her pride cared that he would eat his heart out over dumping her.

      “Come in.” Her voice came out raspy and she swallowed fast before trying again. “Supper’s ready to go on the grill.”

      Stepping aside for him to come inside, she noticed the bouquet in his hand. Oh God. Her stomach flipped faster than any burger on a grill as she remembered all the blooms he’d given her while they dated. He’d been short of cash in those days, yet somehow he’d always managed to bring her flowers.

      Tonight, he’d chosen orchids, a mix of pinks and purples so gorgeous her fingers itched to gather them up to her nose.

      “Thank you,” she said simply, suddenly nervous about being alone with him and all these memories. How had she let her grandmother talk her into this?

      Expensive flowers clutched to her chest, she couldn’t help but see her home through his eyes. No doubt her little house could fit into his whole master bedroom …. And wait, how had her thoughts gone to his bedroom?

      Quietly, Rafe followed her into the kitchen. They’d never lacked for things to talk about, had only needed more free time to say it all. Now, her mouth dried right up as she filled a glass pitcher for the flowers. She didn’t have a vase. She and Quentin had poured every extra penny into fixing up their home. And he hadn’t been the sort to bring flowers and chocolates anyway. He’d bought her new windows and light fixtures ….

      She and Quentin had purchased the house with the intent of starting a family. They’d repainted and decorated every room together, except the spare bedroom. She’d delayed any work on that space, planning to make it a nursery. Why paint it one color only to have to change it once the baby arrived?

      Except there wasn’t a baby. Even after nine years of marriage and trips to a fertility specialist that had stripped every penny of their savings, there never was a baby. Three miscarriages in her first trimester. The last one occurred after the car wreck that took Quentin’s life.

      Water overflowed from the pitcher. Gasping, she turned off the brushed-nickel faucet—an anniversary gift from Quentin—-and carefully placed the flowers inside. Too bad the emotions swelled inside her until she felt like that glass container, unable to contain it all.

      Putting on her best game face, she turned back to Rafe. “Let’s go to the backyard. There’s a nice breeze tonight.”

      “Lead the way.” His footsteps echoed behind her on the freshly scrubbed linoleum, then on the stone walkway outside.

      Her garden haven spread in front of her, enclosed with a wooden plank fence.

      After Quentin and her third unborn baby died, she’d devoted herself to cultivating the outdoor space. While Quentin had been gifted with a hammer, he’d never had a green thumb. She couldn’t bring herself to sell the house, but she found herself hiding out here more and more. She’d been driven to create something, anything alive and bright in a world so horribly full of death. She’d chosen sturdy plants at first, cacti putting down roots around a fountain. Finding her confidence and her footing, she’d added lemon

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