Beyond Business

Chapter Ten

When seeing Evan in the office, Meredith had managed to somehow separate her memories of him from the reality they were living today.

But pulling up outside the house she’d lived in when she’d dated him in high school—a house she’d only been back in for a short time now—she felt as if she were time traveling.

From the look on Evan’s pale face, he was clearly feeling the same thing.

“I bought the place from my mother when she moved to Florida last year,” she explained.

He looked relieved. “For a minute there, I thought I was going nuts.”

She took the keys out of the ignition and said, “For a minute there, I thought you were going nuts, too.”

“Thanks.”

She loved his dry humor. “I should have put a Pixies CD on and asked how you did on your term paper,” she continued. “As long as we didn’t pass a Hummer or something, I probably could have had you going.”

“You’re cute,” he said, getting out of the car. “Real cute.”

“Uh-oh, I’ve been demoted.” She singled out her house key as they stepped onto the front porch. “A few minutes ago you said I was beautiful.”

He pointed at his head. “I was injured. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“Ah.” She put the key in the lock and clicked it open. “Good excuse.”

They stepped into the cool, air-conditioned foyer.

Evan looked around as if he was in a time warp.

“I know,” she said. “I have to redecorate. I just haven’t had time. You remember where the kitchen is?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Go on in and have a seat. I’ll run and get the first-aid kit, then meet you there.”

She rushed upstairs on legs that were shaking. Evan looked bad. He looked really bad. And it was all her fault, she thought, scrambling into the bathroom and throwing the cabinet doors open. Her father had always told her she had to be way more careful walking around downtown Chicago. He’d warned her over and over again that she was too lax about things like personal safety.

She, in turn, had told him he was paranoid, that she’d be fine and he just had to stop worrying so much.

She pushed around in the cabinet, moving cleaning supplies, curlers, half-used bottles of shampoo, until she finally found the white plastic box with the red cross on the front. It was about a thousand years old, but she doubted anything in it had ever been opened.

She grabbed a washcloth to clean Evan’s face, thought about the amount of blood, and put the washcloth down in favor of a full-size bath towel.

Thus armed, she hurried back downstairs to the kitchen, where Evan was sitting on a stool by the counter, shirtless, still looking around in a bemused way.

He’d already cleaned the blood off his cheek and while the wound was a bit less dramatic than she’d thought, it was still more dramatic than he’d indicated. He had folded a square of paper towels that he was using to alternately apply and release pressure.

“I threw my shirt away,” he said, in answer to her unasked question. “I figured it was less rude of me to sit here half-naked than to sit here in a disgusting bloody shirt.”

“Good call,” she said, but her mouth was suddenly dry.

His upper body was far more muscular and developed than it used to be, cut and contoured with sinewy muscle. His skin was bronzed from the sun of wherever it was he’d been this past decade, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of a Sports Illustrated sun-and-surf edition.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, pouring antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“It doesn’t tickle,” he said, eyeing the pad dubiously.

“Neither will this,” she said, gently pressing the antiseptic to the wound.

Evan cussed and drew back.

“I’m sorry!” Meredith stepped back. “It’s a necessary evil. You don’t want to get an infection.”

He gave a rueful smile. “I’m not sure about that. It might hurt less than this.”

“Yeah, until your face turns green and falls off. Come on.” She put her hand on his head, her fingers touching his dark hair for the first time in ages. She swallowed, took a quick, steadying breath and said, “On the count of three.”

“Don’t you want to say ‘this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me’?”

She smiled. “Sort of, but I’ll refrain.”

“Thank you.” He winced as she put the antiseptic to his face again.

Once it was cleaned up some, a closer examination of the wound revealed that it actually wasn’t quite as bad as Meredith had feared. It probably didn’t need stitches. “I think one of these sealing bandages will be good enough,” she said to Evan.

“I told you it wasn’t so fatal.”

She shrugged and took a bandage out of the first-aid kit and unwrapped it. “If it were me, I’d still go to the E.R. and make sure I don’t need stitches. You might end up with a scar.”

“My face isn’t as pretty as yours to begin with.” He grinned. “Besides, a scar would make me look more rugged, don’t you think? I’ll have to make up a story that’s a lot cooler than being outrun and sucker punched by a couple of punks, though. Maybe I could say I killed a guy defending a nun and a group of orphans. Ouch!”

“Sorry.” Meredith grimaced. “It wasn’t on smoothly.”

“Jeez, did any skin come up with that bandage?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got another one.” She smiled and put a new bandage on neatly. “There. Good as new. Almost.”

He reached a hand up to touch the spot and grazed her hand instead. For a moment they lingered, fingertip to fingertip, and something coursed through Meredith’s chest with the power of a freight train.

She drew her hand back and tried to look as if she hadn’t noticed the accidental contact or felt the intense reaction.

Evan touched the spot on his cheek. “Perfect.” He looked into her eyes. “You could have a future in nursing.”

“I hope not,” she said absently, still thinking about his touch. “I’m already working two jobs.” As soon as the words left her lips, Meredith clapped her mouth shut. How could she be so stupid? She was never that unprofessional. It was absolutely imperative that she keep her secrets under wraps. And Evan Hanson was the last person in the world she should let her guard down in front of.

There was so much he must never know.

“Two jobs?” he asked, of course.

She thought fast. “Yes, working for Hanson Media and working with you.” The explanation wasn’t hard to come up with, but trying to make her voice sound light and casual was almost impossible.

He laughed. “I see. I’m a whole additional problem, huh?”

She let out a tense breath. He’d bought it. Thank God. “I can’t believe it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that.”

“Hell, Meredith, it’s not even the first time I’ve heard something like that from you.”

Thank goodness he was good-humored about it, but she really hadn’t wanted to insult him. “I was only joking, Evan. You’re not that bad.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” His brown eyes caught hers again and held.

Meredith’s breath caught in her chest and lodged there like an iron fist. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move, for fear of stopping something that she knew in her mind should never happen.

He was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to kiss her.

His gaze lingered one, two, three beats longer than she expected. Inside, she squirmed under it, hoping like a schoolgirl that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Finally, without saying a word, he scooped her into his arms and put his mouth over hers.

A small voice inside of her resisted, almost begging her to pull back before it was too late. Meredith knew herself well enough to know that she had never been able to resist Evan, no matter how hard she’d tried. Though years had passed and granted her more self-control where Twinkies and pizza were concerned, it seemed she still had an irresistible weakness for Evan Hanson.

She sank against him and deepened the kiss, momentarily heedless of good sense. Lots of time had passed since they’d last met like this, and part of Meredith still held the energy of waiting for him. It was as if she was righting some long-standing wrong—even though she knew in reality she couldn’t do that.

Still, she could have kissed Evan for a week. A month. A year.

Twelve years.

Evan held a piece of her that had been missing all that time.

His mouth moved gently across hers, tentatively feeling for her reactions, clearly reaching the end of his ability to stop.

She didn’t want him to.

His tongue touched hers, and every nerve in her body tightened like strings on a dulcimer. She ran her hands up his back, languishing in the feel of his muscled back beneath her touch, until she reached his upper back and pulled him closer to her.

Closer, something in her cried to him. Come closer. Don’t let go. This time, never let go.

He ran strong hands down to the small of her back, holding her firmly against him. She felt safe in his embrace. It felt right. When his fingertips slipped under her shirt and pressed against her lower back, the feel of his skin touching hers in such an intimate way made her wild with desire.

As if reading her thoughts, he dipped his hand lower, sending shivers of pleasure through her core.

As Evan’s mouth moved against hers and his hands played against her skin and held her close to him, Meredith felt the ache that had sat hollow in her stomach for so long finally beginning to ease.

The voice within her still tried to insist that this was wrong, that Evan had betrayed her heartlessly before and he might well do it again, but it didn’t matter what she thought was wrong.

It only mattered what she felt was right.

Whoa, what was she thinking? Since when did Meredith Waters allow herself to do something she knew was wrong?

She pulled back abruptly. “I forgot to ask if you wanted some ibuprofen or something.”

Evan looked surprised. “I’m good, thanks.” He reached for her again, but she stepped back.

“Shot of whiskey?” she tried halfheartedly. “You must need something for the pain.”

“No, really, Meredith, I’m fine.” He eyed her, and hesitated before adding with finality, “In fact, I should call a cab or something and get out of your hair.”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Evan, there’s no way I’m letting you go back to sleep in the office, for crying out loud. You need to stay here.”

He did a slight double take. “Stay here? Where here?”

“Here. Up in the guest room. In fact, you can have your pick of three guest rooms.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Any of them?” he asked with a lascivious grin.

She smiled lightly. “As long as it’s not already occupied.”

He snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. “I hate to sleep alone.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you haven’t had to do it that often, either.” She was joking, but something about the words stuck in her craw a little bit.

“More than you’d think, Meredith,” he answered, his voice serious.

Their eyes met, and a frisson of energy zapped between them.

She could have thrown herself right back into his arms and kissed him until she forgot about every other thing in her life and in the outside world, but she knew better.

She had to keep reminding herself, of course, but she definitely knew better.

“Anyway,” she said pointedly. “The fact is that tonight you’ll be sleeping alone and you’ll be doing it here.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“What kind of person would let someone risk life and limb to get a stupid purse back and then just send him on his way?” She shook her head. “Not me. Now get upstairs, mister. You need to rest.”

He stood up and faltered, losing his balance ever so slightly, but enough for her to say, “See? That proves my point.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I have some big old T-shirts,” she went on. “I’ll get you one and you can sleep in that.”

“I sleep naked,” he said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Have you forgotten?”

She sucked in a breath. No, she hadn’t forgotten. When she was sleeping with him, she slept nude as well.

It saved time.

But she wasn’t going to think about that and she wasn’t going to give Evan any indication that she’d thought about it, so she simply said, “I thought the circumstances might make you more modest.”

“The circumstances are making me more.” He shook his head. “Well, anyway, I get the point.”

“Good. Keep it covered. There’s a bathrobe on the door of the bathroom. You can put that on and toss me your jeans and … everything. I’ll wash them.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Stop saying that. Just give me the clothes, would you?”

“You’ve sure gotten bossy over the years.”

“Evan.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I hear you. I’ll strip for you. No problem.”

She sighed. “You know all that stuff I said about being able to work with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m starting to think I should ask for a raise.” She smiled. “They’re not paying me enough for this.”

He laughed. “I’ll talk to the boss on your behalf.”

“Good.” She led him to the bottom of the staircase. “Now go. Toss your stuff down to me when you’ve got it off.”

“Fine.” He made his way up the stairs and she leaned against the wall and waited for him.

About two minutes later he tossed his things down and said, “No starch!”

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Eleven

It was a strange feeling having Evan Hanson sleeping in her house.

A very strange feeling.

As Meredith sat by the washer and dryer, waiting for them to complete their cycles so she could take Evan’s clothes to his room and go to sleep, she had to keep reminding herself that this was all really happening.

There was once a time when she would never have imagined herself forgiving him and facing him again, but that was fading now. It wasn’t Evan’s fault that her father’s business had been ruined, it was George Hanson’s. The more she dug around Hanson Media Group, and the more people she spoke with, the more obvious it was that he had been a completely ruthless businessman for whom nothing was personal and everything had been war.

Now, instead of blaming Evan for his father’s misdeeds, she pitied him for having had that sort of man for a father. As rough as it was to compete with him in business, it had to be almost as rough to live up to his standards as a son.

As a matter of fact, she remembered some of Evan’s struggle with George Hanson. Not that Evan had talked about it much, but he’d gone through periods of quiet introspection that had worried her sometimes, and it wasn’t until she’d drawn him out that she knew it was because of his father’s heavy hand.

For her, it was just one more thing to hate about George Hanson.

When she’d taken this job, she’d thought it would be easy because of the unpleasant connotations she had with the Hanson family name. She thought she’d feel no hint of conscience or betrayal because any personal warm feelings she’d had for anyone in the family had long since died and been replaced by the opposite.

In a way it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get back at them, even though they’d never know it was her.

Now … well. Now things were getting a little more complicated. She’d still do her job; she was nothing if not professional.

But she was going to have to get some perspective where Evan was concerned. And that she would get by reminding herself how, even though he didn’t have anything to do with the greatest tragedy of her life—her father’s ruin and death—he was directly responsible for the greatest heartbreak of her life.

There was no way around that one.

The dryer stopped and she took the warm jeans out. Size 32 waist. He’d filled out.

But of course she knew that.

She started up the stairs and remembered a conversation she’d had with him once. The memory hit her with crystal clarity and hit her so hard she had to stop and sit down.

They’d snuck out in the night once because it had seemed so romantic. It had been her idea, as she recalled, but Evan had indulged her. He’d come to her window at 2:00 a.m. and she’d climbed down the trellis, just like a cliché in a movie.

It was summer, and hot. Even the nights were hot, and the air was damp with humidity. They’d gone to a small private cove he knew of on Lake Michigan and they’d sat on the beach and talked for hours.

She couldn’t remember most of what they’d said. It was a lot of talk about their pasts, their dreams and the other typical things that kids that age could expound upon.

She remembered the night specifically because a quick but wild thunderstorm had come out of the blue, interrupting the clear starry night with about ten minutes of drama.

Kissing in that thunderstorm had been one of the most romantic moments of her life.

It was amazing that she could remember anything else, but she did. Evan had asked her if her father had ever thought about selling his newspaper business.

“I don’t know. Why?”

Evan had shrugged. But now, when she saw it again in her memory, she realized he had looked tense.

“Just seems like a really competitive business. I’ve heard sometimes it gets ugly, one paper accusing another of publishing lies and whatnot. It’s hard for a newspaper to come back after that kind of accusation.”

She’d laughed—laughed!—seeing no significance in what he was saying at all.

“Oh, come on, Evan, no one takes that stuff that seriously. Look at all the tabloids at the grocery store that say aliens are walking among us. Everyone knows they’re full of lies, but they’re still in business.”

“It’s different, Meredith. I wouldn’t want to be in the news business for anything. I’d hate to see a nice guy like your dad get into trouble in business.”

“As long as he keeps the aliens off the front page, he’ll be fine.” She could remember saying that, because then she’d looked up and seen a shooting star.

She’d wished for a long, happy future with Evan.

Maybe the star had been an alien.

She started up the stairs with his warm clothes now, playing and replaying his words in her head. How on earth had she forgotten that hugely significant conversation until now?

Or, on the other hand, how had she remembered it at all? Given how little thought she’d put into it at the time, and how many other things had happened that night that were a lot more interesting to the mind of a teenage girl, she was amazed that it was still in her head at all.

She wondered if Evan remembered.

She stopped at the door to the guest room she’d directed him to and knocked softly.

No answer.

Slowly she opened the door and peeked in. Light from the bathroom spilled in and she could see he was on his side, breathing softly and rhythmically.

She set his clothes down on the dresser and started to leave but then she turned back.

As if watching someone else, and completely incapable of stopping them, she walked back over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. She told herself she just wanted to make sure he seemed all right, in case he had a concussion, but the truth was she wanted to be closer to him, to see him without his knowing it.

It might have been ten minutes that she stood there, looking at that handsome face half hidden by the shadows of the night. It was a face she’d thought about many times over the years. At first with love, then later with pain and confusion, then finally with anger.

Now she wasn’t sure how she felt.

And that scared her more than anything.

She turned to leave and stepped on a creaky floorboard that protested loudly.

She froze, listening for the even breath of his sleep.

Instead she heard his voice. “Meredith?”

She turned back to him. “I just brought your clothes back. They’re on the dresser.”

He looked through sleepy eyes at the dresser across the room, then back at her by the bed and clearly not anywhere near the clothes.

“Then I came to check on you and make sure you were breathing normally,” she explained in answer to his unasked question. “You know, all the typical concussion checks. Steady breathing, ability to wake up. Congratulations, you passed.”

He sat up in bed and the sheets fell away from him, revealing a bare torso.

So much for the T-shirts she’d offered him.

And so much for her resolve to keep a professional distance from him. This was a sight that would easily fuel the romantic fantasies of any red-blooded American woman, and it was right here in her own house.

“Thanks,” he said. “Am I okay?”

“I think you’ll live.”

“Can’t ask for more than that, I guess.”

This was hard, all this small talk in a room filled with such big tension.

“If there’s nothing you need, I’ll be going to sleep now,” she said to him. She swallowed. “Do you need anything?”

Three heartbeats passed.

“There is one thing …”

“What is it?”

“I—” He stopped. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure …”

He nodded.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

She started to go, then stopped and turned back. She had to ask him this. If she didn’t, it would drive her crazy. “Evan?”

“Hmm?” He sat up again.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.” He scooted back in the bed. “Have a seat.”

She went over and sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “I want you to be absolutely honest, okay?”

He frowned. “Okay.”

“Did you know what your father was planning to do to my father’s business?”

He blew air into his cheeks, then let it out in a long, tense stream. “I guess we were going to get to this someday.”

“So you did.”

“I had an idea, yeah.”

“An idea? Or you knew?” The possibilities mounted in her mind. “Did he tell you?”

He raked his hand through his hair and looked at her. “You sure you want to do this?”

Her stomach began to feel shaky and upset. It was like getting a phone call and knowing it was bad news before even picking up the receiver. “Tell me,” she said.

“I knew my father wanted to buy your father’s paper. Everyone knew that. He even made an offer, but your dad refused.”

“He loved his work.”

“I know,” Evan said softly. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Obviously not,” she said, a tad too defensively. “So your father told you he was going to plant lies about my father’s paper to cast doubt on the credibility?”

“No, he didn’t tell me.” He was choosing his words carefully, talking slowly.

Meredith wanted answers now. “Then how did you know?”

“I heard him talking to someone on the phone one night. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together and figure out what he was planning to do.” He shook his head. “I tried to warn you one night—”

“At the beach?”