Then I strolled forward, letting my thoughts roll along, and started to center myself, focusing on the deep-breathing exercises one of my friends had taught me and thinking about nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. After a moment, I realized that I was already feeling more relaxed than I had in weeks. Months. Maybe a year.
It had been too long since I’d actually felt the tension in my shoulders melting away. Too long since I’d literally stopped to smell the roses. Too long since I’d taken any time for myself.
When, exactly, had my life become all about work? When had I stopped taking the time for anything else? When had I started finding myself thinking only about the office, and nothing more?
And was that really what I wanted from my life? Was this stress, this constant competition, this always-amped-up feeling… all there was?
God, one spat with the board and I’d become absolutely maudlin—without the benefit of even had any wine. Or a margarita. I gave myself a good mental slap at the path of my thoughts.
“Get yourself together, woman,” I breathed.
This was my life. This was the life I had clawed and hissed and fought for, and I was happy. I was. This was everything I’d ever wanted, and I would have been an absolute fool to let it go.
So I was feeling as if there was something missing. So what? Everyone felt like that; it was what made us successful. If I felt like I had everything I wanted, I would stop fighting to move forward, and then where would I be? That feeling of wanting was just my mind’s way of keeping me moving. That was all.
At least, that was all I’d ever let it be.
I needed to stay on top. I had to stay in power. Because I’d been in a position where I was depending on someone else before—when I’d been married, too young and too naïve to know any better—and I was never going back there again.
I was never going back to a situation where a man didn’t have to treat me right if he didn’t want to and could force me to beg for things like money for groceries. I was never going to put myself or my daughter into a situation like that again, where we had to worry about whether we were going to have enough food to eat or lights on at night.
Never.
And that meant that I had to stay on top. Live the workaholic life. Whatever it took. No matter how hard it was.
I came around a corner through a rose-covered trellis, making that promise to myself again—for the millionth time in the past ten years—and stopped short.
Because standing right in front of me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my entire life. And he was smiling right at me.
Chapter 3
Alice
I made a superhuman effort to close my mouth, thinking that it had be the least attractive picture possible, and tried to take another step forward. Unfortunately, my legs and feet seemed to have stopped working, and I ended up stumbling on absolutely nothing on the path and falling forward.
The man darted toward me, his arms out, and caught me before I could hit the ground.
Because of course he did. He just had to be not only devastatingly good-looking, but also quick and heroic, didn’t he? He had to be the kind of guy who rushed to save strange women from falling flat on their faces in the middle of a rose garden. Hell, he had to be the kind of guy who was just hanging out in a rose garden by himself.
And he just had to be there to see me do something as stupid as forget how to walk.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand still under my elbow.
I looked up, and I’m not at all ashamed to say that I was even more dazzled by him up close than I had been before.
He had inky black hair, slightly too long and starting to curl around the edges, and eyes that almost matched, but had golden sparkles toward the irises. His jaw—so sharp I thought I could have cut glass with it—was covered with enough stubble to make him look sexily rugged, but not sloppy. And his arms. My word, his arms. A quick glance down told me that I would have had trouble getting my hands around his biceps, and that his forearms were toned like a rock climber’s.
He was strong enough that it had taken next to no effort for him to catch me and support me. And it would have been a lie to say that I wasn’t deeply appreciative of that sort of strength.
Theoretically speaking, of course.
To be honest, he looked like he should be riding a horse across the range, a cowboy hat shading his eyes, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Wearing tight jeans and walking with a bit of a bow-legged swagger that spoke of too much time in the saddle. All heat and sun-bronzed skin.
And what was wrong with me that I was even thinking things like that?
“I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten how to walk like a normal human being,” I said, trying to act like I wasn’t at all embarrassed.
He eyed the heels I was wearing and gave a low whistle. “In those shoes? I’m surprised you can take three steps. What are you doing out here walking around a rose garden in shoes that look like that? Training for something?”
I chuckled. “The rose garden wasn’t exactly what I was thinking about when I put these on this morning,” I admitted. “They’re not very good for hiking.”
“And even worse for running long distances, I presume,” he said, his face completely serious.
I shrugged. “True. They’re absolute hell in a marathon. But if someone comes nears me and I don’t want them touching me—”
“Smart,” he said, nodding—and still completely serious. “Weapons in your shoes. A man would never see them coming.”
“Or a woman,” I protested. “Women can be just as deadly as men, you know.”
And at that, he finally laughed, revealing a smile that was just as bone-melting as the rest of him. “I agree with you. Some of the most dangerous creatures I’ve known have been women.”
I laughed as well, too charmed to stop myself. And it felt like the first time I’d genuinely laughed in days. Weeks, maybe. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually laughed—and that made me very sad.
There had been a time when I liked to laugh. When I did it all the time. When I went out of my way to do it. These days, it felt like a… distraction. Something I couldn’t really afford to do if I wanted people to take me seriously.
The thought must have shown on my face, because my new friend frowned. Then he gave me a long, considering look, as if he had something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure he should say it. Finally, he opened his mouth and took the leap.
“You look as if you’ve had nearly as bad a day as I have,” he said quietly. “Like you could use a night off and some friendly conversation. Maybe a drink. Maybe two. And definitely some food.”
I stared at him, shocked… and pleased. Because that was one more thing that hadn’t happened in way, way too long: a man asking me out. I’d been on top for so long, and built such a reputation, that few men bothered anymore. Most men didn’t like powerful women—and they didn’t like women who were used to being in charge.
Of course, this guy didn’t know who I was or what I did for a living, and that probably had a lot to do with it. He didn’t know I was in charge of anything but a set of very lethal shoes. It must have made him braver than the average Silicon Valley male. Or at least more willing to take a chance.