Only, her work at their family company had been a disappointment from the beginning. While she’d been prepared for her father’s dominant personality and his need to have a say in every decision, he hadn’t given her any independence. Worse, he’d second-guessed many of her decisions. In the end, she’d come to the conclusion that their relationship would never satisfy either of them—she would never be the son he’d always wanted, and he would never respect her. Her dream of them working well together had turned to ashes. While it had been difficult to tear herself away from the family business and her wish for her father’s approval, she’d flourished as an independent consultant.
When Quinn had called her shortly after she’d made her resolution at the beginning of the year, she’d taken it as a sign that there were more wrongs to be righted. She’d steeled herself to see him again. To help him. She had lived with her own pain. But she couldn’t live with the fact that she’d broken his heart too.
And yes, she had wanted to see if they could find a way to be together again. When she’d told him that she didn’t see it working, she’d been willing him to paint her a picture. He hadn’t, only talking of feelings neither of them had been able to put behind them.
Which she couldn’t deny. None of her mental preparation had fortified her heart for his presence.
She hadn’t expected her skin to tremble from her attraction to him, but his very presence had shaken her. At twenty-three, he’d been plenty manly; now he was thirty-eight and all alpha—hot, tough, and so built she’d fought the urge to rub herself all over him like she used to.
He’d been her most satisfying and memorable lover, and the only man to ever capture her heart.
Despite what she’d said, she knew Rumi had it right. For her, Quinn was the root of heaven, the morning star, the bright moon, and the house of endless love. She suspected he always would be.
For years, she’d watched for news that Quinn had finally found someone. But it had never happened. In the past year, all of his siblings had found love, and still no one whispered any rumors about him. Somehow she’d known he’d never gotten over her. She’d certainly never gotten over him.
But if they couldn’t make it work between them, she planned to exorcise him from her system. It was past time to move on. She couldn’t let another year pass regretting him and what might have been.
A knock sounded on the front door, and then Alice came bursting into the room with her contagious energy. “Check out my hair. Their stylist is a master with short layers. You’re drinking! Let me catch up. The meeting must have been just as intense as you expected.”
Francesca hadn’t wanted Quinn to meet Alice quite yet. They’d needed to square off alone. But that was over now, and she could breathe easier knowing Alice would be within earshot when Quinn was around from now on. “You rock the pixie style. And yes, it was intense. But it’s done now.”
At five eight, Alice was thin as a rail with a big, bright smile that always lit up a room. Her large brown eyes were equally expressive, all the more so because they were framed by thick, dark lashes. Their friendship was just as important as their working relationship. Alice’s humor, kindness, and blunt way of speaking had made her Francesca’s sister of the heart.
She’d also dragged Francesca out of a depressing pattern she’d fallen into after her breakup with Quinn: working herself into the ground. Alice had reawakened her joy in celebrating life. For that alone, she owed her friend a great deal.
Alice poured herself a glass and dangled her flute against her thigh, the champagne tipping toward the rim. “I know it’s not very professional, but it has to be said. I hid behind a bush in the garden so I could check him out as he strode away from the house, and he’s hot. I mean, I knew he had to be incredible if you wanted to marry him, but grrr.”
Francesca laughed out loud. “Grrr?”
“His photo didn’t quite convey his presence,” Alice said, fanning herself with an endearing grin.
“No, it didn’t.” Her mouth went as dry as the champagne just thinking about the way he filled out his suit. “We’re a go for the consultancy. I’m going to need you to do your best chaperoning. I had a hard time resisting him, Alice. I expect it to get worse.”
“Who can blame you?”
“He seems determined to win me back,” she said, smoothing her hair behind her ear, striving for a cool she didn’t feel.
“Are you going to let him?”
She laughed. Could she stop him? “I’m still on the fence.”
“There’s no rush.” Alice took a long drink of champagne. “It’s a big decision, and you need to know how it’s going to work before you jump in. You are the master of taking the big picture and bringing it to life—”
“One action step at a time,” she finished for her friend, chuckling softly. “I love the details too.” Details made her feel safe, her crutch after being born into a country often in volatile, uncertain conflict.
“Make him work for it then. At least he ponied up straight away. He brought Dom. Your fave… And is that jasmine I smell?”
“Yes, the variety we have in Lebanon.” When she’d seen those star-shaped yellow and white flowers, she’d gone weak in the knees. She’d often told him about picking them outside their home when the flower was in bloom and giving them as gifts to welcome guests. As a young girl, she used to greet her father with fragrant bundles on days when he stayed particularly late at the office. But she’d stopped the tradition after seeing him cast them aside. Despite all his talk about loving his family, he’d never been sentimental. When she’d told him once he was a hard man, he’d scoffed at her, telling her he was simply acting like a man should. They’d never understood one another.
“Wow! It’s hard to come by this variety.” She would know—Francesca had asked her to find them before. “Impressive. But don’t worry. I’m going to chaperone the hell out of you.”
She downed the rest of her champagne. “Thank you.”
“It won’t be anywhere near as bad as that time at the Saudi palace, when I knew that prince was going to sneak into your chambers, and I had to sit in front of your doorway all night in lotus position. Remember how embarrassed he was to be caught in his Calvin Klein underwear? Haram.”
Alice’s Arabic wasn’t fluent yet, but she had a good command, and her use of the word that meant shame or forbidden made Francesca utter an unprofessional giggle. “Do princes even wear Calvin Klein?”
“I didn’t check the label or anything,” Alice said. “I’ll bet Quinn Merriam doesn’t wear— Forget I went there.”
“No, he doesn’t wear anything to bed.” Francesca fanned herself for real, making them both laugh. “And that’s enough of that.”
“So what’s the plan? Where are we going to do this?”
Francesca looked around. She rather liked the privacy and nature around her at their rented house. “Let’s start here, I think. I like the spa and the dining options on the property. Speaking of… I have something for you.”
She walked over to the envelope the hotel staff had delivered and held it out to Alice. Her friend set aside her champagne and tore it open.