Fortune (30 page)

Chance stared at his friend a moment, searching his expression. He pushed away his lingering doubts. Griffen had been a good friend to him, he had done more for him than anyone he had ever known. What reason would he have for lying about this?

Chance shook his head. “Damn, I'm sorry, Grif. It's just that this whole thing is such a weird coincidence.”

“A weird coincidence?” Griffen repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “Okay, I'm listening.”

“Remember, a couple of months ago, when I told you about the carnival and the girl who—”

“The girl whose mother ditched her?”

“Yeah, that's the one. The one who drew the frog.” He leaned toward Griffen. “That girl is Skye.”

Griffen widened his eyes. “No way.”

“She is. Skye is that girl.”

Griffen whistled under his breath. “That is too bizarre. Are you sure?” Chance just looked at Griffen, and Griffen held up his hands. “Okay, I believe you, you're sure.”

“You see why I was so surprised?”

“Yeah, I see.” Griffen turned his gaze in the direction she had gone. “She didn't seem all that happy to see you. What exactly did you do to her?”

Chance followed his friend's gaze. “I left her behind. I had to, but I didn't even—” He bit the words back, not even wanting to say them.

“What?” Griffen urged. “What didn't you do?”

“I didn't even say goodbye. I thought it was for the best. For both of us.”

“Excellent move.” Griffen chuckled. “Very classy. I guess I shouldn't count on having you over for dinner after she and I are married.”

“She's going to forgive me.”

“Yeah, right.” Griffen didn't hide his amusement. “You, buddy, have one very large set of balls. If I were you, I'd protect them. That's one pissed-off lady.”

“You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?” Chance said, annoyed by Griffen's attitude. By his amusement. “You're enjoying this.”

Griffen shrugged, though Chance could see it in his eyes. A sly, secret kind of pleasure. Again, Chance thought of a cat toying with a cornered mouse, taking time to play with it before going for the kill.

Chance looked away, unsettled by the image. Sometimes the other man was such a prick. Sometimes Chance wondered if he even knew Griffen Monarch at all.

S
kye sank onto the powder room's vanity stool, reeling with the truth, struggling to get a grip on her runaway emotions. She brought her trembling hands to her face. When she had turned around and seen Chance standing there, looking at her, it was as if her life had passed before her eyes.

For one traitorous split second, joy had bubbled up inside her. For that minuscule moment in time, she had been thirteen again, and he had been her best friend, her brother, her family.

Then she had remembered. And remembering had hurt. Remembering had made her angry.

Now, as it had moments ago, anger took her breath. White-hot and blinding. She dropped her hands into her lap, clenching them into fists. How could Chance have done that to her? He'd abandoned her, sneaked out in the middle of the night, too cowardly and small even to say goodbye.

She'd been a child, for heaven's sake. She had needed and depended on him. She had trusted him, loved him. He'd left her without so much as a “Good riddance, kid.”

He'd broken her heart.

She hated him.

Skye gazed at her reflection, surprised by the ferocity of her emotions. She had thought she'd let him go. She had thought she didn't care anymore, not enough to be angry or hurt, certainly not enough to hate him.

She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and counted to twenty, working for control, for a semblance of calm. She wasn't thirteen anymore. She was a woman now, independent, strong, self-confident. She didn't need him anymore. She didn't have to talk to him if she didn't want to, she didn't even have to look at him. If she wanted to, she could spit on him and walk away.

Or, if she chose, she could hurt him. She could make him regret the way he had hurt her, the way he had left her.

Another of her wishes coming true.

She swallowed hard and thought of their meeting of minutes ago. How dare he simply say, “Skye and I knew each other a long time ago” as if they had been nothing more than acquaintances? How dare he say she “looked good,” how dare he be able to look into her eyes with no trace of guilt or remorse in his?

It wasn't right. She wasn't going to stand for it.

Even as she thought of her revenge, she pictured him—as he had been all those years ago and as he was now. He was taller, broader, a man now instead of a teenager. His boy-next-store face had weathered, laugh lines etched the sides of his mouth and eyes, giving his face a masculine lived-in look.

Dammit. He looked good. She had imagined many things over the years—that he had become fat and bald, that he had been disfigured in a fire or maimed in a tragic accident.

Instead, he was handsome and successful.

And he was Griffen's “buddy.”

She muttered her displeasure. Talk about bad luck, talk about a sly, mean-spirited twist of fate.

She searched her memory for what Griffen had told her about the close friend he'd wanted her to meet tonight. Not much. Only that he was in public relations and special events and that he would introduce them tonight.

Skye remembered thinking that Griffen was acting secretive, like a person who knew a really juicy secret that he couldn't wait to share.

She frowned. Could Griffen have realized not only that she and Chance had known each other, but what their relationship had been? She had told him a little about her past, but not about Chance. Not about the specifics of losing her mother or how she had come to live with Sarah and Michael Forrest.

Skye shook her head. Ridiculous. There was no way Griffen could have known. And he certainly hadn't learned it from Chance. Chance had been as shocked as she.

Now, of course, she would tell Griffen everything. He would be curious; considering their relationship, he had a right to know.

She glanced at her watch. She had been in here for fifteen minutes. She was surprised Griffen hadn't come after her already, or sent in reinforcements.

She was a big girl. Too big to be hiding in a ladies' room. Too grown-up to be trembling and crying and feeling sorry for herself. She could handle this.

She could handle Chance McCord.

Skye stood and smoothed her dress. Leaning closer to the mirror, she inspected her makeup. Deciding she looked pale, she pinched her cheeks for color and added a coat of lipstick.

Ready for battle, she thought, recapping the tube and dropping it into her evening bag. Chance McCord had better watch out. If she saw him, she would blow him out of the water. She smiled to herself. She hoped she did see him, she'd been waiting thirteen years to tell him what a creep he was; it was going to be fun.

She got what she wanted. He was standing outside the powder room, waiting for her.

He sprang forward when he saw her. “Skye, wait. We have to talk.”

She swept her gaze contemptuously over him. “Good idea. Why don't we start with a discussion about what a complete asshole you are.”

“Only if you go first.”

She caught her breath, furious with him, with his cavalier attitude. “You walked out of my life without so much as a goodbye. Without even having the decency to leave me a note. You did that, knowing full well how much I depended on you. Knowing that I loved you. You knew what my mother's leaving me the same way had done to me. You did it anyway, you bastard.

“No thanks to you, I'm doing well. Great, in fact. I don't need you in my life, not anymore. And I don't want you in it, either.”

She started by him; he caught her arm. “Do you really think you'd have anything you have now if we had stayed together? Do you think you'd be so well educated? Or that you'd have your fancy new job at Monarch's?”

“Don't hand me that batch of crap and think I'm going to buy it. You didn't leave because you were worried about my future. Oh, no. It was your own precious future you were concerned with.”

“I was worried about us both.”

“Please, give me a little credit. ‘A rock around your neck.' Isn't that what you called me?”

She pushed past him; he followed her, catching her hand, swinging her back to face him. “True, I knew I was never going to make good on my dreams if we were together. But you needed a family. You needed to go to school—”

She yanked her hand free, so angry she shook. “We'd found a family.”

“You could stay there, but not me. You were a kid, I wasn't. I had to make a life for myself.”

“Well, you did. You've done well for yourself, Chance McCord. Congratulations, I'm happy for you. Now, get the hell out of my life.”

A
s the days ticked past, Skye's memory of her encounter with Chance at the patron party became more vivid instead of less, her anger and outrage grew rather than diminished.

She immersed herself in her work, in her relationship with Griffen and her growing friendship with Terri and her little daughter. But still, she had only to close her eyes and there Chance would be, his image taunting her.

Why couldn't she put him out of her mind?

Murmuring good morning to the main-floor receptionist, Skye stepped onto the elevator and headed up to the design department. She lifted her gaze to the floor numbers as they were illuminated, thinking of Chance. She had seen him a couple of times since the party, but only at a distance. Both times she had told herself not to stare, she had told herself to stop gobbling up every detail of his appearance, as if she was starving for him.

And she had reminded herself that she hated him. That she wanted revenge. Problem was, the more she told herself all those things, the more she thought of him.

She wished he would just go away. Get out of her head and life and leave her alone.

The elevator arrived at the fifth floor, the doors slid open and she stepped out.

“'Morning Skye.” Louise, the design department's receptionist and all-around gofer, held out several pink message slips. “Message from Mr. Monarch. About lunch.”

“Today?”

“Yes, it's all there. Also, Dorothy's called a meeting for this morning. At ten.”

Skye shuffled through the slips, noting both messages. “What's up?”

“Don't know. Dorothy was smiling like crazy, though.”

“Interesting.” She stuffed the memos into her pocket. “Is Terri here yet?”

“Yup. In her office.”

“Thanks, see you later.”

Skye headed for her office, thinking again of the events of the past two weeks. Griffen had continued to court and woo her. He was attentive and loving and possessive of her in a way that made her feel safe.

Little by little she had begun to believe—really believe—that he loved her. Loved her with the depth of emotion he said he felt. It was in his eyes when he looked at her, in the way he hovered by her side when they were out.

She was beginning to trust him. She was beginning to believe he would never leave her.

She frowned, a hint of a headache starting at her temple. Why did Chance have to show up now? Reminding her how much it hurt to be left behind. Reminding her how risky it was to trust, how frightening. Making her remember how deeply she could be hurt.

And reminding her what it had felt like to be in love.

She shook her head, forcing the thought away. She had been a kid. What she'd felt for Chance at first had been puppy love, then an adolescent infatuation. She hadn't even loved him, not really. At the carnival, he had been different than the other boys. Smarter, cleaner, nicer to her. And later, when she'd had no one else to turn to, he had become her everything—father, brother, friend, hero. It made sense that she had turned all her love and devotion his way. It had been natural for her to adore him. She was becoming a woman, she'd had new, disturbing feelings to deal with, feelings she had naturally turned his way.

It hadn't been him, she told herself again. It had been the situation. She had confused dependence for love.

But that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Now she had Griffen. He was everything she wanted in a man. Strong, attentive, supportive. He wanted to give her the world. He loved her, he would never leave her.

Pain stretched across her temple, and she massaged the place, her vision blurring.
Dammit. Not this morning. She wasn't going to let this happen today.

Skye realized she was standing outside Terri's closed office door. She drew her eyebrows together. Terri never closed her door, not even when she was deep into a project. She said it made her feel claustrophobic.

Skye tapped on the door, wondering what was going on. She and Terri had fallen into a fast and easy friendship. They had much in common, including having been abandoned by the people they loved. They had begun spending so much time together that even Griffen had commented on it, sounding almost jealous.

Skye supposed she could understand Griffen's feelings, she'd had to refuse several of his invitations because of plans she had with Terri and her daughter, but she was really enjoying having a girlfriend. Someone she could laugh with and talk to. Someone who thought the way she did.

Skye tapped on the door again. “Terri? It's me.”

Her friend called for her to come in. Skye did. “Good morning.”

Terri barely glanced up. “Hey.”

“Big meeting this morning. Did you hear?”

“Heard.”

“Any idea what it's about?”

“Nope.”

Skye frowned. “Is everything okay?”

Terri looked up then; Skye saw that she had been crying. “Terri, what—”

“Close the door.”

Skye arched her eyebrows in question, but did as her friend asked. She crossed to Terri's desk and perched on a corner. “What's going on?”

Her friend hesitated. “I've been getting these calls.”

“What kind of calls?”

“Pranks, I guess.” She bit down on her lower lip. “At least that's what I thought they were. Now I'm…I'm not so sure.”

Skye drew her eyebrows together, concerned for her friend. “If not pranks, then what?”

“Threats.”

The word, the way Terri delivered it, affected Skye like a blow. Terri was not one given to melodrama. “Go on.”

“At first the calls were nothing but heavy breathing and an even more annoying hang-up. Stuff like that.” She drew a deep breath. “Then he progressed to obscenities. This morning he…he called me a bitch.”

“Terri, how awful.”

“There's more. Then he told me, ‘The only good bitch is a dead bitch.' And hung up.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He sounded so cold. So determined. I believe he meant it.” She met Skye's eyes. “I'm scared.”

Skye covered Terri's hand, curving her fingers comfortingly around her friend's. “You called the police?”

“This morning. They're going to talk to Will. They told me to change to an unlisted number, then to notify them if the calls continue. That's about all they can do.”

Skye searched her friend's expression. “You think it's Will?”

“I thought so, and I guess I still do, but he denies it. We'll see what happens after a couple of Chicago's finest pay him a visit. At work.”

That brought a smile to Terri's face, and Skye squeezed her fingers, then released them and straightened. “Meeting's about to start. I'm going to grab some java. Want some?”

“Thanks, but I reached my limit about three hours ago.”

“It's going to be okay, Terri. This is some sick asshole who picked your number from the book, and once you change it, it's going to end.”

“What if it doesn't, Skye? What if this guy knows where I live? I've got Raye to worry about. What if he…”

She didn't finish the thought, she didn't have to. It hung between them, ugly, incomprehensible, but there, nonetheless.

What if he hurt Raye?

Skye covered her friend's hand once more. “That's not going to happen, Terri. You're not going to let it, and neither am I.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, giving Terri's fingers a supportive squeeze. “Come on, let's go see what Dorothy's so excited about.”