Tonight, though, coming face-to-face with Jordan seated in that wheelchair, left her an overwrought mess. Yes, she hated him, but she couldn’t help indulging in a teeny bout of sympathy at how cruelly fate had treated him after their breakup. She hadn’t seen him in person since before the injury that ruined his career. She’d seen the game, of course. Two years after he left the Vanguard franchise to sign with the Houston Privateers, a blitz by the defensive line resulted in him being sacked, the hit from three players at once so hard it damaged his lower spine.
Regardless of the hard feelings she’d nursed over his abrupt departure, she had immediately flown to Texas to help him in any way she could. Hospital security had refused to let her in.
Then, she spotted Paris Redmond glide by the front desk with a smile and a wave in the guard’s direction, and her heart sank. Without a word passing between them, Cam knew exactly where she stood, physically and romantically, in Jordan’s life. By putting her on his no admittance list, he had tattooed his ambivalence directly onto her heart.
Now, bad enough he was back in New York with a new career, a new look, and a new way of getting around in the world. Even after the flowers and the phone calls he’d left with Val, she never thought he’d have the nerve to show up here. To pitch his property, face-to-face.
Another thought struck her, this one razor-sharp. Was Paris with him?
Did it matter? she asked herself.
Not really.
On a deep sigh of regret, Cam removed her shoes and flexed her aching toes, then let her body go limp, boneless. She flung one arm over her head to shield her eyes from the overhead lights. God, she was a mess tonight! Wired as she was after the annual homage to her dad, toss in Jordan’s sudden appearance in front of her building, and no wonder her skin felt electrically charged and too tight for her frame. She needed a hot bath, an enormous glass of wine, and a friend to talk to.
Problem was, she didn’t have the energy to move. She dug into her teeny silver evening purse to grab her cell. Only one person she could call right now, and she didn’t hesitate, regardless of the hour.
The phone on the other end rang once before his cheery voice said, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for details all night.”
“Feel like popping over for a while?”
“That bad, huh? Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in ten.” Cam disconnected the call, dropped her phone on the cushion beside her, and closed her eyes. Without moving, she announced up toward the ceiling, “Call front desk.”
A buzz sounded in the room, and the familiar voice of the overnight manager, Tommy, intoned over the loudspeaker recessed in the ceiling’s corner. “Good evening, Ms. Delgado. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Tommy. Mr. Wallace is coming over. Send him up right away when he arrives.”
“Yes, Ms. Delgado.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your evening.” The speaker clicked off, and Cam sat alone with her thoughts again.
After several minutes of blissful silence, the bell dinged, announcing the elevator’s arrival on her private floor. Rousing her tired synapses, she pushed herself to her bare and aching feet. That one action sapped what remained of her dwindling energy, and she stayed rooted to the floor.
The steel door whooshed open, and a grizzled bear of a man lumbered inside, arms extended. He reached her in half a dozen strides and swooped her into a hug.
“There’s my beautiful lady,” he crooned in her ear as he squeezed the breath out of her lungs. “Was it that bad?”
“No worse than usual.” She wriggled out of his embrace to restart her respiratory system. “The same people, the same conversations...” On a huff of expelled air, she flounced back onto the sofa. “You know how this shindig plays out.”
For several years, until his divorce from her mother, he’d been an active participant like her. After the divorce, vindictive Mom made sure he never again made the guest list—despite his position as Daddy’s best friend and head coach of the team they once both carried to so many game wins. He probably could’ve attended the annual fete anyway. The team would have backed him up, but Bertie, the peacemaker, would never publicly humiliate her mother that way. He always saw the best in everyone, even his ex-wife.
“Well, something’s got you wound up tonight,” he remarked. “What is it? Did your mom start in on you again?”
“No. She was too involved with Mr. Ellison to notice me.” Mr. Ellison. Husband number...four?... five?... since Daddy died? She couldn’t keep track. Only Bertie mattered to her. Husband number two, the man she’d always consider her only stepfather, no matter how many men married her mother in the coming years.
Bertie gave her a meaningful once-over from head to toe and snorted. “Looking as gorgeous as you do in that outfit? How could anyone ignore you?”
Despite her mangled emotions, she mustered a smile. “Ha. Easy, with perfect-size-two Mom in the room.”
He skimmed an index finger down her nose, the way he always did when she was an insecure child with a gorgeous mother who judged her too harshly. “There’s more to you than a dress size, beautiful. Remember that.”
