Heat Wave Page 21

  Choice had managed to pull on her now wrinkled tee, but struggled with her snug, straight-legged jeans.

  “Hurry up!” Trey hissed through gritted teeth, while reaching to pick up his phone.

  “I’m trying,” Choice panted.

  Trey reached her in one long stride, yanked the denim up over her hips, and gathered her sandals from opposite sides of the metal square. “We’ve got to hurry. I, we, damn, I hope nobody’s out there.” Trey spoke quickly, watching the numbers as the elevator descended to the first floor.

  “I’m not so thrilled to be seen with you either, my brothah,” Choice fired back, immediately copping an attitude. She reached into her bag, quickly snatched out her jacket and scurried into it.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I—”

  “—know what you meant. I mean it too.” The elevator’s ding put a period to her sentence. The doors opened. “It’s been . . . interesting,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she exited the elevator.

  “Choice, wait!” Trey had spoken with urgency, but softly. He had no idea who was in the building. He waited one beat, two, and then eased out of the elevator. He peeked into the hallway and saw no sign of Choice or anyone else. She ran out of here as if the devil himself were chasing her. Oh well. Probably best. It looks like the coast is clear. Trey squared his shoulders and quickly moved toward the exit. No one will ever know about the foolishness I almost got into. No one! Trey reached the exit door and placed his hand on the bar. “I’m outta here.”

  He stepped into the humid, early-morning air. The street was quiet. There was no sign of Choice. He looked around for something, anything that could explain what had happened, why the elevator malfunctioned, the phones went blank, and sirens had blared through part of the night. Seeing nothing, Trey shrugged his shoulders. Whatever happened was obviously over. It was time for him to get back on track, refocus, and try to forget about her. Trey saw a taxi, motioned it over, and shifted his mind to the day’s goals, now doubled, because what he’d planned to accomplish at the office last night hadn’t happened. But what did happen . . . Trey settled back into the cab and allowed the thoughts to come. There was no use trying to dismiss images of the woman who’d made him feel things he’d never felt before. Choice. An uncommon name for an uncommon woman. One he wouldn’t forget easily . . . if at all.

  Chapter 5

  “It’s really a wonderful thing you’ve done for your father, dear. You are a kind, thoughtful young woman and I’m very proud of you.” Arnetta McKinley-Baron sat in the tastefully decorated conference room of her ex-husband’s firm, perfectly put together in an off-white designer suit, with matching shoes and bag that cost more than the average person made in six months. The bold, colorful scoop-necked shell she wore was a nod to her daughter and a show of support. Her silk Chai original made the entire ensemble come alive.

  “I’m glad you could make it, Mom,” Choice replied. “And really, the thanks should go to Denise. She did most of the work.” Which was a good thing, Choice thought, since she’d been able to think of little other than hot, sticky elevators and deep, wet kisses all morning. She’d totally forgotten her mission, to place her father’s surprise gift in his top desk drawer so that it would be the first thing he saw today. Now, she’d have to give it to him following the luncheon.

  “With pleasure, I’m sure,” Arnetta drawled, cutting a quick glance at the attractive, forty-something assistant who’d been with the firm for ten years as Charles McKinley’s valued executive assistant. Or more, as both Arnetta and Choice had thought at one time or another. “Have you spoken to Remington?”

  “No.” Choice prayed that her one-word answer would be the end of this topic of conversation, but if that happened, she’d know that the world was getting ready to end. When it came to Remington Black, and his being the perfect choice as a son-in-law, both her parents were in agreement. He’d be perfect. Never mind that Choice had dated him last year, for three months, and decided that they simply were not compatible. Granted, Remington was successful, educated, and attractive. But he also would have fit better had he been born in the fifties. His ways were older than old school, more like Leave It to Beaver or Father Knows Best. In Remington’s world, women were meant to be attractive arm ornaments, barefoot baby makers, and perfect hostesses and keepers of the home. Men, in turn, were to be the sole providers, rule makers, and absolute kings of the castle. He was only five years older than Choice, but treated her as if she were a child instead of an equal. After three months where she swore her tongue had shortened from biting it so much, she’d thrown in the towel. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously since.

  Arnetta looked thoughtfully at her daughter. “I saw him earlier and I swear that man gets better looking every time I see him. He reminds me a lot of Charles,” she continued, her voice wistful as she remembered better days with her ex. “Hard-working, driven, a perfect gentleman. I don’t know what happened between you two, honey, but Remington is still very attracted to you. Please keep an open mind. Sometimes we don’t know what’s good for us even when it’s staring us in the face.”

  Choice was saved from having to respond when Denise walked over to where the two women sat. “Everyone will be arriving in about five minutes,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “I told Charles that many of the staff had been called away for a mandatory meeting regarding emergency evacuation procedures. Yesterday’s blackout made that ruse sound perfectly legit. He’ll be coming here at twelve thirty for what he believes to be a conference with the building inspectors.”

  She’d barely finished the sentence when Remington Black walked through the door. Choice couldn’t deny that her childhood friend was a handsome man. At six foot one, he was a portrait of mocha-hued masculinity, with a toned, solid build and perfectly shaped bald head. He wore a tidy goatee, laced with subtle hints of gray, and dressed impeccably. His eyes were dark chocolate orbs that bore into their target and twinkled when he laughed. At one time, Choice had been quite enamored of him. And then he’d opened his mouth.

  “How are two of the loveliest ladies in all of America?” he asked as he sauntered over to the table. He first kissed Arnetta on the cheek, before sitting down next to Choice, taking her hands in his, and kissing each one. “You look ravishing,” he said sincerely, and then leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “This is a wonderful thing to do for your father. Your mother taught you well, prepared you to be a great wife and mother.”

  “Funny, Remington, but we were just discussing how—”

  “Please excuse me for interrupting,” Choice said, effectively cutting off her mother. “But the caterer is looking my way. I think he has a question.” Before either Remington or Arnetta could respond, Choice rose from her chair and made a beeline for the lavish luncheon spread on the other side of the room.

  Within minutes, the conference room filled up with twenty-five of the thirty-plus persons employed at McKinley Black. While it had not been requested, many brought gifts, which were recorded and then placed atop a table at the opposite end of the large, rectangular room. Some coworkers chatted amicably among themselves, mostly about the blackout, while others nibbled on hors d’oeuvres. At 12:27 PM, Denise motioned everyone to be quiet and at exactly 12:29 PM, the ever-punctual Charles McKinley stepped through the conference room doors.

  “Surprise!”

  Later, Choice would count the candid shot the hired photographer captured of her dad at this moment among her most treasured possessions. There were few things that surprised Charles McKinley, and nothing happened on the ninety-fifth floor that he didn’t know about. Well, almost nothing. The genuinely shocked look that followed the chorused greeting was proof that Charles had been totally caught off guard.

  He recovered quickly, narrowing his eyes as he looked around the room for his assistant, Denise. She’s got to be the one who organized this, he thought, with just a bit of chagrin, and something else he chose not to try to identify. Outside of Arnetta, no o
ne knew him better than Denise, which meant that she knew that he did not like surprises or to be fussed over in any way. While lethal in the boardroom, Charles the man was reserved, almost shy—which is why there hadn’t been a birthday party or any other party for him in the past fifteen years.

  Within seconds, Charles spotted Denise and raised his brows in question. She shrugged and nodded toward the front of the room. Only then did Charles see Arnetta and Choice. He broke out in a broad smile as Choice stood and walked to his side of the room. “We know you’d rather we didn’t, but this was a big one, Dad,” she whispered, as she gave him a hug. “Happy birthday.”

  Chapter 6

  While the festivities took place on one side of the building, hard work was happening on the other side. Trey knew his presence had been requested in the conference room, and he really wanted to make his boss’s birthday party, but he was in the middle of snagging an appointment with the players in charge of real estate development at Ground Zero, New York City’s most revered piece of real estate since 9/11. They were looking at architectural firms to design a prominent expanse of buildings that would surround the Twin Tower Memorial design. Trey knew if he could place McKinley Black in the mix of this site’s rebirth, not only would his future be assured, but he’d reach his goal—millionaire status by the time he turned thirty.

  That he was holding his own on this important telephone call was a feat in itself. From the time he’d stepped from the cool Empire State Building into the sultry morning air, he’d thought of little else but the tempting morsel he’d left behind. A passionate, provocative woman named Choice had pushed her way into his consciousness all morning long: as he hailed a taxi to take him the short, ten-minute ride to his apartment, while he stroked himself to release in the shower, while deciding what to wear (settling on the deep tan suit that reminded him of the color of her skin), and while trying to gather his thoughts for what could be the most important deal of his life. As he’d neared the Empire State Building’s bank of elevators, Trey could have sworn he smelled her fragrance. And as he’d leaned against the cool, steel walls, he’d remembered his back pressed against them with her in his arms—writhing, moaning, feeling better than anything he’d ever held in his life. He’d told himself all morning that thinking about her was hopeless, that he’d never see her again. How could he? He didn’t even know her last name. And while she’d said she was doing a favor for a friend, he didn’t know where this friend worked. No, best to forget about that little tryst and get on with what matters . . . taking care of business.

  Ten minutes later, a satisfied Trey Scott stepped into the lively conference room. He zeroed in on Charles immediately and crossed the room. “Sorry I’m late, sir,” he said, extending a hand as he reached Charles’ side. “Important business call; couldn’t be helped. Happy birthday.”

  “You’re on the right path, Trey,” Charles responded. “Business always comes before pleasure.” The two men continued to converse, with Trey relaying the good news of his upcoming meeting regarding office buildings around Ground Zero. “I don’t have to tell you how much of a coupe that will be for us to secure such a contract,” Charles finished. “Not even a month into the job, and you’d almost be able to write your own ticket in this firm.”

  Remington, who in a bid to rekindle their relationship had barely left Choice’s side during the luncheon, noticed Charles and Trey talking intensely across the room. His eyes narrowed as he pondered what they were discussing. There were few men who intimidated Remington, and he’d never admit that Trey Scott was one of them. But something about the cocky, twenty-something Ivy-league whiz made Remington want to step up an already extraordinary game. On the surface, there appeared to be no reason for competition. Remington was one of the firm’s top architects and a partner. Trey was merely the director of business development. Remington had been by his father’s side since he began interning at McKinley Black during his junior year of college. His continued presence at the firm was guaranteed for as long as the company was in business, and he was being openly groomed to become CEO whenever his father chose to relinquish that position. Trey had an exceptional work record, especially for someone so young, but came to the firm with lots to prove amid a competitive, cutthroat field with hundreds of thousands of dollars in commission on the line. Still, there was something about Trey that unnerved Remington. Maybe it was how the women in the office looked at Trey the way they used to look at him. Maybe it was the young man’s confident swagger, his self-assured demeanor, and the fact that he dressed as impeccably as Remington did, which was no small feat. Quite simply, the man seemed almost too good to be true, which is why Remington had decided that Trey Scott was an employee that bore close scrutiny . . . until he decided otherwise.

  Choice turned to see who had caught Remington’s eye. In the same moment, a pair of intense, deep green eyes looked over at her. Choice’s mouth went dry. Her heart stopped. That she was surprised was a gross understatement. What is Trey doing here, talking to my father? A troublesome thought followed. Did he know who I was in the elevator, and is that why he was so ready to get me out of my clothes? More than once, an ambitious soul had mistaken Choice for a rung on the ladder to McKinley Black success, had assumed that, one, sleeping with the boss’s daughter was an option and that, two, securing said option would ensure their success. They’d been wrong on both counts. Charles McKinley was a hard man to please when it came to suitors for Choice; and his apple/daughter hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  It’s her! As soon as he’d seen Choice, Trey’s legs had moved of their own volition. He’d barely uttered an “excuse me” to Charles before moving slowly yet purposefully to where she stood. Now, he worked to connect his mouth to his brain, so that he could keep his cool under the watchful eye of Remington Black, a man who Trey knew had been watching him from day one.

  “Choice, meet McKinley Black’s newest director, Trey Scott,” Remington said. “Trey, this is Choice McKinley.”

  “Choice,” he said softly, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss atop her knuckles. “Interesting name.”

  Choice’s stomach flip-flopped as his lips touched her skin, and she immediately felt heat spread through her core. It was crazy to get this turned on by a simple touch, in the middle of the day, in the middle of a crowded conference room, with her parents mere feet away. Especially with a man who could have an ulterior motive where charming her was concerned. She forced herself to smile and respond somewhat dryly, “I have interesting parents.”

  Their eyes caught and held, and for a moment they were the only two people in the room. The air fairly crackled between them, and seconds later, Choice realized that Trey was still holding her hand. Massaging it with his fingers the way he’d earlier massaged her mouth with his tongue.

  She snatched her hand away. Remington noticed, frowned, and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “Choice and I have known each other since we were children,” he said, looking at her in a way that suggested admiration if not love.

  “Yes, we have,” Choice added. She wanted to be wrapped in Trey’s arms instead of Remington’s, wanted Remington to release the firm grip he had on her. “Our parents are close.”

  Remington chuckled, squeezed her tighter, and placed a kiss on her temple. “Our parents aren’t the only ones.”

  As if on cue, Arnetta walked over to the trio. “Darling, thanks again for putting together such a wonderful surprise for your father.” She turned to Trey. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Arnetta McKinley-Baron.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. McKinley-Baron,” Trey said, shaking her hand.

  “Choice, you will join us for dinner this evening, won’t you? We’re dining at your father’s.”

  Choice nodded. “Sure, Mom.”

  Arnetta turned to Remington. “And we’ll see you as well?”

  Remington beamed. “Of course.”

  “And your mother is bringing her to-die-for carrot cake?” Arnetta queried.<
br />
  Remington winked. “By special request.”

  With a nod to Trey and air kisses to Choice and Remington, Arnetta waltzed out of the room, leaving Choice to marvel at her mother’s cunning ways. She’d invited Choice to dinner, knowing that she’d never turn down an invite to her father’s private birthday dinner, and then, without Choice having known beforehand, had invited Remington as well. And for her to drop this little tidbit in Trey’s presence? Mere coincidence or strategic planning? Choice’s bet was on the latter.

  Chapter 7

  “Choice!”

  Trey’s voice pierced through the din that was midtown Manhattan, stopping Choice in her tracks. She spun around. “What?”

  Trey was taken aback by her harsh response. “And you’re angry with me because . . .”

  “Because I don’t appreciate being used to further a man’s career.”

  Now it was Trey’s turn to be angry. “And I don’t appreciate being accused of something for which I’m not guilty.”

  “Are you saying you had no idea who I was when you entered the elevator last night?”

  Trey took a step closer. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Fiery green eyes bore into sparkling brown ones. Trey noticed how Choice’s nostrils flared slightly when she was angry, and how her rapidly rising and falling breasts strained against the soft-looking material that covered them the way his hands longed to. “How could I have known who you were last night?”