Her finger paused there, and the cursor blinked its agitation at the lull in activity. Minutes passed—hell, maybe even days passed—while she stared at the words, waiting for inspiration and coming up empty.
“Well, this isn’t working,” she chided herself and reached for the list of property details Val had compiled.
Distracted, she picked up her mug of coffee, took a sip, and immediately grimaced. Blech! Val had warned her the stuff had gone cold. She should have listened. Pushing the cup out of easy reach to the corner of her desk, she buried her concentration in the building sites again.
There had to be a better location than the Loughlin Building somewhere among these sites. She just had to find that golden opportunity in this bunch of numbers and street names. No matter what her mother thought about her work hours, if it took from now ‘til Friday, she’d sit here and go through this list with a fine-toothed comb, forgoing food, sleep, and even bathroom breaks.
There was no way in hell she could do business with Jordan Fawcett, even for her beloved foundation. She shuffled through the stapled packets, scanning through the notes she’d made on all the sites they’d visited: one was too small, another difficult for commuters to get to, a third would require rezoning and had included a floor plan that showed massive interior construction needs, meaning they’d be unable to move in for at least a year.
No good. They’d already wasted six months trying to cull together this handful of possibilities. And only one place called to her like a siren’s song, the one place she thought perfect, the one place with one great, big imperfection barring her from acquiring it like Godzilla blocking her from her goal.
The Loughlin site. Repped by Jordan Fawcett, her personal Godzilla. If the agent were anyone but him, she’d already have a crew onsite working on the renovations.
She ran a hand through her long hair and swerved her chair to stare out the window again. Damn you, Jordan, you ran away years ago! Why didn’t you stay away? Why did you have to come back and invade my life again?
When he’d announced he was leaving the Vanguard and her for Houston, he’d established the rules of surrender, not her. Now, she’d have to find a way to make sure they both continued to abide by them.
WHEN TEN DAYS WENT by without a word from Val or anyone else at the Delgado Foundation, Jordan figured the building wasn’t as perfect for their needs as that insistent board member thought. Either that, or Cam found out he was the agent and wouldn’t touch the place because he was involved.
Oh, well. No one could say he hadn’t tried. Even Susan would have to admit defeat and let him have the place now.
Regardless of why she’d passed, Cam’s radio silence also meant he wouldn’t have to see her, which was exactly the way he wanted things between them. He’d spent too many sleepless nights over the last week and a half, trying to convince himself he could do this deal, sit across from her at that board table in her meeting room, connect with her gaze, and remain aloof.
During the day, while his mind stayed occupied with numbers and locations and the day to day challenge of getting around the city in a wheelchair, he could kid himself into believing he’d forgotten all about Cam’s laugh, her touch, the scent of her skin. But at night, in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind chastised him for living in a fantasy world where Cam meant nothing to him. If she didn’t matter, his conscience would sneer, why return to New York? You could have gone anywhere after your football career ended. You could have stayed in Texas, or moved to any other city in the States. Why come back here?
Because you hoped, one day, you’d run into her again.
Not yet, though. Not until he’d made a name for himself in his own chosen profession—without help from family or football. Something she’d never done.
“Hell-o? Jordan? You with us here?”
Jordan glanced up at the prompt and into the eyes of his personal trainer and business partner. The clink of weights and background rock music invaded his musings. Instead of the scent of Cam’s skin, rank sweat sharpened the air around him. He shook off thoughts about the bitter past and faced his present.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Come on, dude. Focus. Eight more on each side.”
“Right.” He lifted the barbell and did his reps, counting aloud after each one, then placed the barbell back on the mat.
“Good,” Marcus replied. “Now, the left arm. Remember, you’ve got two.” While Jordan repeated the procedure on his weaker side, Marcus added, “Any news on the site yet?”
“No,” he said through huffs and counts. “Which makes me think she’s not interested, so we’re all good.”
Marcus’s forehead puckered, and he cocked his head at Jordan. “She who?”
Damn. He hadn’t told Marcus about Cam getting first-crack at their building yet. Tightening his grip on the barbells in his hands, he muttered, “There’s been a hiccup.”
Marcus sat back on his haunches and folded his arms over his chest. “What kind of hiccup?”
He took a deep breath, let the air out slowly. “It seems that Cameron Delgado’s foundation has first right of refusal on the Loughlin place.”
Marcus shot to his feet, hands balled into fists. “Aw, hell! No wonder you aren’t paying attention to me right now. You’re in Camland again.”
“That’s bull!” Jordan dropped the barbells with a loud clank and glared at his friend. “Wait a sec. Camland?”
“Yeah, Camland. Where nothing else matters but Cameron Delgado.”
Jordan gave a wry chuckle. “What the hell do you know about Cam? You’ve never even met her!”
“I didn’t have to meet her. From the first time I started working with you in Houston, you’ve railed about her, cursed her, and used her name as the provocation you needed to push forward when it would’ve been
