Say You Still Love Me: A Novel

Ashley pounces on me the second I walk through the front door of our condo.

“So, what would you think about”—she slips my bags from my arm—“a party?”

“Uh . . .”

“Like a housewarming party.”

“She’s already making a guest list,” Christa calls out from her seat on the couch, one hand holding the remote as she channel-surfs, the other busy stroking a content-looking Elton.

“You’re home early.” I plant myself on a bar stool, inhaling the delicious fragrance of apple pie. A golden-crusted dish sits in the center of the island, caramelized juices oozing through the slats of the lattice top. Ashley’s handiwork, no doubt.

“So are you.” Christa frowns, muting the TV. “What’s going on? Is this about Tripp or Kyle?”

I chuckle despite my dark mood. She’s always been so adept at reading me. “Kyle. And my father.”

Ashley is slack-jawed by the time I finish relaying all that Kyle divulged today about being paid off.

“Wait a second. So Kyle is claiming that your father paid him money to basically disappear?” Christa asks slowly, doubtfully.

“Yup.”

Ashley frowns. “Do you believe him?”

“Yeah,” I admit with reluctance. “I do.” While my father has always portrayed himself to be an ethical man, I know he made a significant financial donation to Brown to help alleviate the concerns that Rhett’s grades might not get him accepted. And there was a case at CG, when an employee claimed she had been fired without cause and threatened legal action. My dad paid her a lump sum to make her go away, mainly because he didn’t want the hassle that would come with fighting her in court. So do I think he would be capable and willing to pay a boy he deemed “bad news” to get away from his only daughter?

Yes. A thousand percent, yes.

“It’s like some horribly cliché plot device in a show about rich people,” Christa mutters. “It’s crazy.”

I snort derisively. “What’s crazy is that Kyle could have gotten way more money out of my father.”

“Oh, to be filthy rich,” Ashley murmurs dreamily, her chin resting on her propped arm.

“So, when are you going to confront your father about this?” As always, Christa cuts right to the chase.

“I don’t know if I’m going to. Believe me, I want to look him straight in the eye and make sure he knows that I know what he did. But, as of right now my father doesn’t seem to remember that Kyle ever existed. He didn’t recognize him today, in the lobby. Didn’t so much as blink at him.”

“It’s probably better to keep it that way,” Ashley says.

“Right? Knowing my dad, he’d have Kyle escorted off the property. He’ll probably go after his job.” I feel the compelling urge to stop that from happening, and there is one thing I’m sure of—Dad would never want anyone to know that he basically threatened and blackmailed a seventeen-year-old boy. There must be laws against that. At the very least, it’s shady as hell and wouldn’t do well for his reputation.

“Pretty ballsy move, taking a job in the same building. If he’s telling the truth.” Christa still sounds distrustful.

“What else did Kyle say?” Ashley scuttles around the kitchen, collecting small dishes and forks, and a knife. “You know, besides the fact that he moved across the country for you thirteen years later and is still madly in love with you.”

“He’s not in love with me! And he moved as much to get away from his dad and brothers.” I feel the smile begin to stretch my lips, unbidden. “But he’s single. He’s living with his little brother.”

“Really?” Ashley squeals at the same time that Christa groans, “Here we go.”

“What!”

Christa gives me a flat look. “Forget about the fact that he accepted fifty thousand dollars to stay away from you for a minute. What’s going to happen when your dad finds out you’re dating the building security guard?”

“We’re not dating!”

“Yet,” she mutters, toying with Elton’s ears. “But we all know where this is going.”

“Who says?”

“History! We were there at camp, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ashley’s eyes are star-filled as she sets a plate in front of me. “Like horny magnets. Couldn’t stay off each other.”

I cringe. “That was a long time ago. A lot has changed.” Has it, really? Kyle still commands my attention when he steps into the room and distracts my thoughts constantly. From the moment I saw him in the lobby that day, I haven’t stopped wondering about him. I’m still so wildly attracted to him, I may as well be a hormonal teenager.

“Is that why you can’t look me in the eye right now?” Ashley teases.

“No. I’m just enthralled with this delicious pie,” I mutter around a mouthful. “Mmm . . . so good. Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“How you haven’t stopped thinking about hooking up with Kyle since you found out he was single,” Christa says dryly.

“Or . . . our housewarming party.” Ashley stares at me through wide, pleading eyes. “Please, please, please, please . . . It’d be a good excuse to invite Kyle.”

My heart skitters at the thought of seeing him outside of the office. Somewhere more comfortable, more social. “Shouldn’t we have more than a couch and TV set up before we host people here?”

Ashley bites her lip in thought, her gaze skating over the cheap round table in the middle of the room, and then to the empty, white walls, and out to the barren patio behind the glass. “It’s just such a waste, to have a place like this and not throw a party.” Her shoulders sag with disappointment.

“I mean, I guess I could hire that interior decorator who did my office to fill up this place, but I don’t have time to field all those questions—”

“I’ll do it!” she bursts, putting her hand up as if in class. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Really?”

“Are you kidding me? I know your taste; just give me your budget. Questions will be limited, I promise.” She grins. “And then we can have a party, right?”

I chuckle. “Sure. Okay.”

“Perfect.” She slides over a notepad with her chicken scratch. “Early list of invitees.”

I shake my head with amusement as I scan the list. “My brother?”

“You keep saying we need to meet him.”

“I guess . . .” I frown. “Who are George and Harriet?”

“Our neighbors.”

“We have neighbors?” There are only two units on this floor and the other one hadn’t been sold when I moved in.

Ashley’s eyebrows arch. “Yeah, for like two months now. She’s a teacher at a private school. He’s an investment banker. They’re nice. Well, she’s nice. I haven’t met him yet. I had afternoon tea with her last week. She has great taste.”

Leave it to Ashley to gain herself an invitation to Earl Grey and crumpets.

I keep skimming the list, until one name jumps out at me. “Eric?”

“You said Kyle still talks to him.” She shrugs innocently. “I’m sure he’d love to see all of us again.”

“Right. He missed everyone at Wawa so much that he dropped off the planet and never returned your emails,” Christa mutters, heaving herself off the couch to stroll over to the kitchen island, Elton tucked in one arm. She leans over my shoulder to scan the party invitation list. “You’re kidding me.” She shakes her head firmly. “You are not inviting Zelda to our housewarming party. No way. No psychics.”

Ashley rolls her eyes. “Relax. I’m doing it to be polite. She won’t come. But do you think we should invite your dad, Piper? This is his place.”

“He definitely won’t come. And no.” I would have said that before finding out about the payoff. Now . . . “He’s not welcome. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be too busy intimidating seventeen-year-old boys somewhere. God, what is that sound?” I exclaim, no longer able to ignore the odd rumbling coming from Elton as he nuzzles Christa’s ear.

“He’s just happy. Right, Elton?” Christa rubs her nose affectionately against his while she walks away, her voice shifting several octaves to croon, “Who’s a good kitty? Yes, you’re a good kitty.”

“He snuck into my room last night while I was in the bathroom, pruned the aloe vera, and then puked on my slippers,” Ashley offers as proof of the very opposite to Christa’s claims. “If there’s any chance you’ve developed a sudden allergy to cats, now would be the time to speak up.”

“I heard that!” Christa stops at the hallway that leads to her bedroom. “And Piper? You’re not fooling anyone except yourself.”

I sigh heavily, stabbing at my pie. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do. You need to figure out if you and Kyle can actually make this work in today’s world. Is this going to be an epic star-crossed lovers’ saga or some tawdry two-hour romance where the heiress to billions is banging the security guard on her desk?”

“I’d read either of those stories,” Ashley murmurs through a sip of milk.

Christa rolls her eyes at our romance-obsessed friend. “Figure it out, and decide if you’re okay with it.”

I sigh. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She disappears down the hall.

“So, Shakespeare in Tights has a desperate friend in need of a job, and I’m just supposed to hire her,” David mutters. Thwack. The tennis ball bounces off the window and back, landing in his grip so smoothly that it seems tethered.

When Mark mentioned a friend who was looking for administrative work and asked if David would consider interviewing her, my first instinct was to ask what she did to make him hate her so much. But when he explained that he gave her the rundown on David, that she has a glass-is-always-half-full attitude, and is in fact desperate for a job, the wheels in my brain started churning. This would solve the problem of David—an albeit small problem in comparison to my complications with Tripp, Kyle, and my father—and having David out of my hair is always a good goal to keep.

“She has administrative experience.”

“Yeah, at a truck leasing company.” His voice is filled with disdain as he scowls at the résumé Mark printed out and left on his desk this morning.

“What was that important thing you missed yesterday?” I mock-frown, my index finger to my lip. “Giving a keynote speech, was it?”

“Point taken,” he mutters with a huff. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“Promise you’ll at least give her a fair shot?”

“Well, of course I’ll do that. You know me.”

“I do. Which is why I’m asking you to not be yourself.”

He rolls his eyes.

I want to slap him upside the head and tell him to stop being an idiot. But David is much more receptive to having his ego stroked. “Look, you are far too busy a man to be managing these trivial things.” I keep my voice calm and soothing. “I need Mark’s support full-time and you are not poaching Jack’s assistant. Mark has known Renée for years and can vouch for her as being a competent and hardworking woman.” More important, Renée has already completed David Worthington 101, a course taught by Mark and one that I can guarantee was not complimentary.

She still wanted to interview.

Mark’s smooth voice carries down the hall, announcing their arrival.

“Okay, she’s here. Don’t be a dick,” I warn, turning to watch my sacrificial lamb approach. I struggle to keep my mouth from dropping. “Wow.”

Renée is compact in stature, especially next to Mark. I’m guessing five feet tall without the towering heels. She’s fit, the navy pencil dress showing off tight, hour-glass curves and muscular legs. Her shock of platinum-blonde hair reaches down past her chest and is poker-straight.

Large, expressive blue eyes take me in as Mark leads her forward, and she bites her pouty bottom lip before realizing it and stopping herself.

She’s nervous.

She’s also knockout gorgeous.

“She’s hired,” David murmurs from behind me, watching their approach.

I shoot him a warning look.

“What?” He shrugs innocently. “I’ve always wanted an assistant who I carry around in my pocket.”

As covertly as possible, I elbow David in the ribs before stepping forward. “Renée, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Piper Calloway.”

For as tiny as she may be, she has a broad smile that takes up half her face, and it flashes now to reveal perfect, white teeth. “I could have guessed. Mark has told me so much about you. He loves working here.”

Oh lord, she even has a Southern accent.

David clears his throat and then maneuvers past me with an arm, offering his hand and his signature killer smile. “Hello, I’m David Worthington, vice president of Sales and Marketing at Calloway. You’ll be interviewing for a position as my executive assistant.”

She stiffens in posture. “Yes, of course. Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Come on into my office.” David steps back to give her space to enter, his arm extending in a leading, welcoming gesture. “So, Renée. That’s French, isn’t it?” His voice fades behind the shutting door.

Mark’s nervous gaze is on them.

“So . . . she seems nice.”

“Renée? Oh, yeah. She’s . . .” He clears his throat. “She’s great.”

Huh. “And how long have you had a thing for her?”

“What?” Mark’s head whips around. “I don’t have a thing for her.”

“Really? Because your red face would say otherwise,” I tease.

He sighs and bows his head in defeat. “Five years now, I think? Basically since the moment I met her.”

A burst of laughter sounds from David’s office. Whatever David said must have been funny, because Renée is practically doubled over.

“What have you found on that person I asked you about?”

“Oh, yeah . . .” Mark opens his desk drawer to pull out a sheet of paper. He glances around us, then nods toward my office, and my stomach begins to flutter with anticipation. Whatever he has, it’s something he doesn’t think people should overhear.

“Okay, spill it,” I demand as soon as my door shuts.

“So far, I know that Tripp and Hank Kavanaugh were roommates at Minden College. They also played in a men’s soccer league together for a few years in their twenties.”

“Really? That lazy bastard actually chased after a ball?”

“Maybe it was a beer league?” he offers, then hands me a stack of papers. “Here’s a printout of his calendar for the last six months. Every meeting with Hank is highlighted in yellow.”

I begin flipping through the pages. “A lot of Friday morning golf meetings.”

“Those are the ones Jill has a record of.”

“What did you tell her?” If I didn’t know firsthand Jill’s disdain for Tripp, I would never have suggested that Mark reach out to her. Then again, Mark knows nothing of the kickback suspicions.

“I asked her if Tripp’s been meeting with a guy named Hank and she sent me all this. Then she offered to comb through his emails to see if there are any from KDZ, though she doesn’t remember any coming in.”

As one would expect, if he’s been working this deal for months, as he claims.

“She knows to keep this between us?” The last thing I need is the administrative grapevine catching wind of this.

“She won’t say a word.” He pauses. “What are you hoping to find, anyway?”

“Proof that Tripp’s up to no good.” I know that’s a vague answer, but this level of betrayal is far above Mark’s pay grade. He’s a smart guy, though; he’ll figure it out.

Either way, I don’t have enough to confront Tripp or accuse him of anything yet. “Keep digging.”

Mark nods, and then his gaze wanders back to the office across the hall to watch David and Renée chatter and laugh like old friends. Worry pulls his brow. “Did I just make a huge mistake by introducing them to each other?”

I set a comforting hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. David has too much integrity to sleep with his assistant.” I hope. There’s no doubt David will hire Renée, though; that stupid grin hasn’t slid from his face once. At least I can mark off a mental check box next to one of my dilemmas and move on to tackle Tripp, and my father.

And Kyle.

Christa’s sage advice from last night lingers in my mind. As always, she’s right.

I need to figure out if Kyle even fits in my life anymore. And if he doesn’t . . . I need to let go of my fond memories and move on.

“Thank you,” Renée offers, rushing into the elevator beside me. I used the need to stretch my legs as an offer to walk her down—mainly so I have an excuse to stop by the security desk. “Mark said you made this happen.”

“I just set up the interview. And, trust me, this is more advantageous to Mark and me than it is you.”

“Are you kidding? Yesterday I was pounding pavement and handing my résumé out at restaurants in desperation, and today I have this dream job!” She looks ready to squeal.

Her interview with David lasted nearly an hour—forty minutes longer than any of his other interviews.

“I hope you still feel that way after your first day. David’s expectations of what an assistant should do are a tad high at times.”

She waves my words away with a broad smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Mark gave me the whole rundown on David. I’m ready for it. Bruce, my old boss? He used to make me clean his office fish tank every week.”

I cringe.

“Yeah. And he made me do recon on the birthday party his ex-wife was throwing for his daughter so I could plan another party for her. And I mean everything, from printing the invitations to booking the spa and the food. And it had to be better than his ex’s party.” She shrugs. “Sometimes these guys are clueless.”

I decide that I like Renée. She has an easy, charming way about her. It’s no wonder Mark has been pining over her for years. The question is, does she realize his adoration for her? I push that thought aside for now; it’s too early to start trying to play matchmaker for my assistant. “You’ve come to the right place, then. You won’t have to make children’s birthday invitations for him, but David is definitely clueless at times. I should know—I almost married him.”

“Mark told me.” Her blue eyes widen. “What happened?”

“I smartened up.”

“Well . . . I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you two were an item. He’s so . . . I mean . . .” Her perfectly shaped brows pinch together as she searches for a way out of the unprofessional hole she just stepped into. “Oh God.” Her manicured hand flies to cover her mouth.

I let her squirm for another second before I laugh. “It’s okay. Yes, he’s gorgeous. We all know it. He definitely knows it.” The elevator doors open and we step out.

“Oh, hey, Piper! I was just coming up to see you.” Serge’s gaze flickers to Renée, where it sits a moment, his olive skin taking on a pinkish hue.

“You go ahead with your meetings. I’ll drop my badge at the desk.” Renée reaches out to give my forearm a friendly squeeze. “And again, thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“It was nothing. I’m glad it worked out. You should get an email with all the necessary paperwork from HR within the next few hours. If you don’t, call Mark and he’ll help straighten it out.”

She flashes one last beautiful smile and then strolls off toward the security gate, her heels clicking against the travertine.

My gaze catches on Kyle, his attention glued to the security camera monitors. I’ve lingered around Gus long enough to know those are the ones aimed at the parking garage. He’s standing, giving me a full view of that cut body and those muscular arms.

“So I just got off the phone with my guy from Jameson about the Marquee project,” Serge says, snapping my attention back to him. “Apparently he tried to set up a meeting with Tripp so we could go over the proposal and Tripp told him that we’ve decided to go in another direction.”

“He did what?” It comes out in a hiss, though the voice inside my head is screaming.

Serge takes a step back, as if he can see the rage ignite in my eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t know.”

I take a deep, calming breath. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it.”

His forehead pulls together. “So that means we haven’t made any decisions on the construction contract, right?”

I force a wide smile. “That’s right. I will call Gary right now and make sure he knows that Calloway Group is still very much interested in their proposal.” A third-generation Jameson, Gary is a burly man who has an affinity for cigars and the Vegas strip, but he has always been a reliable partner. I can’t imagine the mood in his office right now. We’ve had dozens of conversations about the Marquee project already and all of them conveyed the same message—that Calloway Group had every intention of signing on with Jameson if the terms lined up.

Does my father know about this?

“Okay, I’ll just . . . keep the team working until you and Tripp figure out which direction we’re going.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Serge’s voice and I can’t blame him; I’m annoyed and I’m not the one managing all the finite details.

“We’ll have this sorted soon. I promise.”

Musical laughter carries from the lobby as Serge ducks into the elevator, holding me back from joining him.

Renée is leaning against the security desk, one leg crooked so only her toe touches the tile. Gus has just said something—charming, I’m sure—but her attention keeps shifting to Kyle.

Who is smiling down at her.

Not just a polite “have a nice day, ma’am” smile but that eye-crinkling, lip-curling one that used to make my stomach flip.

That flirtatious one.

Mark’s words echo in my mind then, about whether it was a mistake to introduce Renée to David.

Maybe the mistake doesn’t involve David at all.

A burn radiates in my chest and grows, as I start playing out a scenario before me—where Renée comes to work every morning, flashing that beautiful smile and saying hello in that sultry Southern accent, lingering at the security desk longer each day, until one Friday she mentions grabbing a drink after work and the next thing I know they’re moving in together.

And I’ve missed my chance.

“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath, standing in the middle of the corridor, an obstacle for the people filing out of the elevator, jealousy gnawing at my insides.

I may not know how—and if—Kyle can fit into my life today, but I sure as hell know I’m not willing to lose my chance to find out.

The elevator doors open and out comes Tripp, a satchel over his shoulder, looking ready to leave the building.

“Piper. That’s a lovely dress,” he offers in a patronizing voice, flashing me a smarmy smile.

“Off to sabotage the Marquee project some more?” I throw back before I can bite my tongue.

His bushy gray eyebrows arch. It takes him a moment to process my words. “Excuse me?”

“Jameson.”

His lips twist as if working out a bitter taste in his mouth. “He called you? What did he say?”

“Does my father know you’ve basically set dynamite under our bridge with them?”

“Jameson can’t beat the bid KDZ is going to come in at. Kieran will agree with me.”

You mean the one that lines your pockets with half a million dollars?

I grit my teeth to hold back from accusing him right then and there. He’ll just deny it and without more evidence, I will look like an incompetent asshole.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” He sails past me, his head high as he strolls toward the security gate.

Where Kyle is now stealing glances my way, in between Renée’s chatter, his sharp eyes narrowing at Tripp as he passes.

As much as I’d like to interrupt whatever is going on over there, I have a project and a long-term business relationship to save.

With that, I take the next elevator up.

Hoping Kyle doesn’t fall for Renée’s charms too quickly.