Kismet or Happenstance? Ch. 08

Simon found her in a covert corner that had become her hideout and stakeout spot for the last fifteen minutes. He'd been schmoozing since he'd gotten here.

"I've been looking for you," he said after he caught the attention of a passing waiter. He set his half full champagne glass on the silver tray and reached into the jacket of his navy suit. This was the first time she'd seen him dressed in something besides black. A chain with a heart shaped pendant dangled from his fingers.

He opened the locket and Ana found her high-school-sweethearts parents inside.

"I wanted to give you this when you visited over Thanksgiving but the jeweler hadn't finished repairing it. It belonged to your mother and I thought you should have it."

Emotion swept over Ana and her eyes tingled before she turned her back to him. "Will you put it on for me? I don't want to lose it." The golden locket drifted down in front her face and climbed up her chest to settle below her neck. She held her hair in a ponytail while Simon fastened the chain. Gratitude warmed her voice as she absently brushed her fingers over the pendant, tracing its curved contours. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

A dimpled smile chased away the sadness that flitted across Simon's features. That he'd held onto this little trinket for close to thirty years said a lot about its value and his feelings for her mother. Her insides coiled. You never forget your first true love.

Camille Pratt-Mendoza's hawk-like eyes zeroed in on them just then. She adjusted her course, weaving through the crowd and exchanging pleasantries like a queen holding court. Even with her lithe figure poured into a shimmering, strapless gray cocktail number, she oozed her signature brand of don't-fuck-with-me power. She wasted no time in introducing herself to Simon.

"I'm a great admirer of your work," she stated matter-of-factly. The compliment withheld even the tiniest dash of sycophantic enthusiasm. "Chapter three of your latest book has helped me immensely."

Simon's brown eyes flicked over to Ana. "Is working with this one that bad?"

Ana knew he wouldn't find Camille Pratt-Mendoza intimidating; they were evenly matched in that arena. But she couldn't believe she just heard Simon make a funny...with a stranger. Medusa chuckled as though full-on laughter were foreign to her. Her patrician features softened. The woman needed to laugh more.

Camille eyed them speculatively. "I didn't know you two were such good friends." Her dark, suspicious eyes implied more while her tone bordered on condescending; as though there'd be few reasons why Simon Garret, best-selling author, would be on close terms with a DesignHaus product designer.

"Ana's a close friend of the family," Simon rushed on with a taut voice before Ana spoke. The sentiment hidden behind his explanation didn't go unnoticed. Did he really think she'd blurt out she was his secret love-child or that she couldn't offer a diplomatic explaination? A dart of rejection caught her unexpectedly. Despite the kindness and concern he'd shown, Simon Garret had a fortress of boundaries she'd have to respect. And that was...alright. More than alright.

He made Ana realize just how blessed she had a what-you-see-is-what-you-get dad. One who'd suddenly become the world's leading orthopedic specialist, giving her step-by-step phone instructions on how to care for her shoulder. He kept her phone from staying silent for too long while he checked to make sure she'd followed his protocol. Ana smiled inside, Dad acted as though the ER lacked real doctors on staff! Perhaps his bossy fussing had been his way of looking after her from a distance as he prepared for the game this weekend.

"So we have Ana to thank for your being here," Camille retorted almost flirtatiously then perched her gaze on the heart shaped locket below Ana's neck.

"Something like that," Simon drawled.

Camille's expression returned to neutral as though she sensed something personal had just played out in front of a subordinate. "Ana, when you get a chance, I'd like to speak with you." Ah, yes. Medusa didn't have a reputation for small talk.

Simon's fingers grazed Camille's and Ana's arm. "Excuse me, I just saw someone I know...I'll leave you two to talk." He shook Camille's hand again. "It was a pleasure meeting you—maybe we'll run into each other again later." Were these two having a "moment"?

Camille's body language softened a fraction. "I'd like that," she invited coyly with a hint of warmth. "It's my pleasure meeting you as well Mister Garrett." Yes, they'd definitely had a "moment". Medusa was actually flirting—albeit coquettishly with Simon. Maybe those divorce rumors weren't merely rumors after all. Camille turned her eyes on Ana as though Simon had already been forgotten.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" she prompted politely. A waiter passed by them and lowered his tray lined with champagne flutes. Camille took one and arched a perfect brow in silent offering. "No thanks," Ana said while tapping the black sling peeking out from the cardigan around her shoulders. "I can't mix alcohol with the medication I'm taking." She'd likely curl up in a corner from a combination of champagne and the weariness leeching energy from every bone in her body.

Camille looked a bit embarrassed. "I thought not—how are you feeling by the way?"

Ana grinned. "Like I almost got hit by a car," she drolled.

Camille grimaced sympathetically. "Please don't feel like you have to stay on if you're not feeling well. Everything looks to be under control. You did a splendid job given the amount of time you had."

Medusa knew all of that?

Camille took a sip of champagne. The pleasantries were over. "You may have probably heard by now that I'm leaving DesignHaus."

What?

Camille's brow arched again, this time in surprise. "Oh. You didn't know."

"No. I thought you were being promoted to the senior vice president position."

Camille pursed her lips and fidgeted. "I turned down the offer," she replied with a hint of wistfulness lacing her words. "I've decided its time for a change and accepted an offer to be the creative director for Bergman New York."

Ana's eyes dropped to the rustic little sail boat cutting through the waves—the deliberately antiqued silver pendant she'd designed over a month ago. If Camille were jumping ship, Bergman New York was a mega yacht to New York. The venerable, high-end department store had been around for over century. Had Camille known back then that she'd be leaving?

"Congratulations—that's...very exciting news," Ana offered with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

"Thank you," Camille said as nodded to a couple who'd greeted her in passing. "Linda Roberts is moving over from bed and bath to take over as senior vice president and John Prida will replace me."

Ana was stunned. That meant the design department would remain unchanged. All of her hopes popped like balloons. The senior product designer position: Poof. The extra five-hundred-and-twenty-five dollars a month: Pop. The trip to Orlando to hang with her girls: gone.

"What about Stacy?"

"Stacy," Camille paused as though choosing her next words carefully, "Stacy's unfortunately not ready to oversee product development. She's incredibly talented but you've to be decisive and able to delegate when you've got deadlines, budgets and creative people to manage. I think all of that would interfere with her creativity."

Stacy must've been devastated. She had such a considerate way about her, insisting on playing Ana's chauffeur for the day. Stacy even loaned her an old crate for Dodger. Yet she couldn't dispute some of Medusa's observations. While much more approachable than Camille, Stacy didn't do great with a lot of things coming at her at once. But Ana wondered if Stacy's snub had more to do with her boastful confidence in her vision for DesignHaus.

Hers was a radical departure from the one that had been set; one Linda Roberts would surely follow. Stacy believed her ideas would lead DesignHaus past Pottery Barn, their main rival. Ana had gently advised her not to spout off too often and too early, making the current regime rebel at the idea of being outshined. The conservative board could get skittish over the whispers of an abrupt change and the idea of risking the company's market share. But Stacy had been so bold, so sure, that she had the department believing in her. What a morale buster...and over the holidays too.

Camille Pratt-Mendoza pinched the bridge of her nose in a way that said she was a minute away from wasting her time. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Uh-oh. "Okay," Ana said quietly, managing to feign a confidence she didn't quite feel.

Her soon-to-be ex-boss touched the pendant resting on her alabaster neck. "This jewelry designing...is it a hobby or something you'd consider pursuing seriously."

"I'd love to devote more time to it, why do you ask?"

"One of the senior buyers at Bergman commented on this. I think they'd be very interested in selling your pieces. You'd have to meet with their retail buyers and let them evaluate your work of course—provided you had enough pieces to show and if designing jewelry is something you see yourself doing on a larger scale,"

Ana almost blurted out: "Are you serious?" But Camille Pratt-Mendoza's reputation wasn't one of joking around especially when it came to business. Still, Ana was so God smacked she half expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out from one of the palm fronds yelling, "Ah-hah!"

"I'm definitely interested," she understated. The conversation had buoyed Ana's spirits until she heard the first chords of Exit Twenty-Nine.

Ana's pulse galloped.

There he was on the stage in a black suit and a white shirt. Why did he have to look so good? While her inner world and body had been tossed into a blender, Sean sang and danced with the same masculine sensuality of last Saturday night. But the lyrics about forgiveness and understanding had taken on a deeper, bittersweet meaning now. She retreated to a secluded corner, wondering if Sean had totally lost himself in the music or did he think about her at all?

* * * * *

They sat next to each other, so lost in their conversation they wouldn't have noticed if they'd been transported somewhere else. Ana often touched the necklace Simon had given her just before the set began. She had lit up as Simon fastened it around her neck. Then she hugged him. There was something about the way he focused on her. His gaze remained thoughtful and intense but with an element Sean couldn't name. Those two were far from just acquaintances. The way their gestures mirrored each other suggested an intimacy that made him wonder. Ana was entitled to having a past—as long as it stayed there—and unlike last time around, he'd listen to what she had to say.

Ana got up slowly just as a small, pale haired woman sat at the table. The beginnings of a smile played across her mouth when her eyes met his then died. Her tentative moves matched her expression, one that said Ana wasn't sure how she'd be received. Sean released a frustrated breath. This time he didn't doubt who'd put that look on her wan, pretty face.

The orange-yellow backdrop and diffused light mimicked a fiery sunset, it set off her billowy sapphire blue dress and the metallic threads embroidering the U-shaped neckline. Her dark waves fell past her neck, making her look very touchable, despite her rigid stance. She looked elegant and exotic and so very beautiful. Sean tried not to stare at the heart shaped pendant below her throat. But he found himself doing just that when he saw the sling peeking out from under the black cardigan draping her shoulders. He hurried his stride, the piece of jewelry around her neck and its possible meanings quickly forgotten.

"Hi," she said quietly when he caught up to her, sparing her most of the walk around the tables and clusters of bodies. "I think the set went well tonight."

He hated this small talk, this feeling that they were circling each other like strangers. His eyes traveled the room for the sake of playing along before settling on her face again "Everything looks like it turned out great."

Ana checked around them then leaned in closer before she answered. "I'm so glad it's almost over," she said in a conspiratorial hush.

He focused on her bent, encased arm and asked the first obvious question. The second would have to wait for when they were alone. "What happened?" And why didn't you tell me?

He inventoried every inch of her while she explained what had happened. Her black cardigan concealed everything the knee length dress didn't, except her legs. Modest black pumps covered her feet instead of vampish heels. But the blank expression in her eyes concerned him. Ana should be home resting.

She could've been seriously injured or— He didn't let his mind go there. "Why didn't you call me?" The horrific images her words painted made the question tumble out despite his intention to hold off. He wondered if he sounded too harsh when she tensed. "You didn't have to be alone," he said, trying to soften his tone. He didn't want her on the defensive.

Ana threaded carefully, not wanting to put Sean on the offensive. "I wanted to call you but I...I wasn't sure. Anyways, I wasn't alone. Simon was there."

"You didn't think I'd come just because we had a fight?" While he sounded more curious than accusatory yet Ana felt she was tiptoeing in front of a sleeping tiger.

"I knew you'd come...I just didn't want you to feel like you had to. I didn't want you to feel manipulated."

Did Ana think he'd just turn his back on her because of one fight? Did she think he'd be that sophomoric? Well she had written as much online. And why was Simon there? He reined in the urge to grill her. This wasn't the time or place. Ana touched his arm and he regained his focus. Be patient. Don't blow it. Chill.

"Are you staying much longer?"

Ana looked around. "No, I think everything's under control here. Did you want to leave soon?"

She looked relieved when he said "yes". "I have to say goodbye to a few people first," she said and paused to wave to someone behind him. "I didn't drive it here—" she trailed off sheepishly.

"I'll take you home."

After making sure a semi-tipsy Stacy had someone to drive her home, Ana trekked back to her table. The jazz quartet's mellow hum, the chorus of whispers and clanging dishes jangled her nerves. She'd delayed taking the last painkiller to remain lucid throughout the evening but right now she couldn't care less. All she wanted was a warm, quiet corner and some sleep. And Sean.

She was saying her goodbyes to Simon and Camille, when Sean left his cluster of new friends to join her. "Sean, this is Camille Pratt Med—" Sean's hand pressed the curve of her back as she swallowed her near slip-up. The unbridled laughter dancing in his blue eyes said he'd caught it too. Embarrassment heated her face and Sean's knowing smirk didn't help.

"It's just Pratt these days," Camille averred mostly for Simon's benefit. Ana's breath returned and the wild thumping in her ears stilled. "She's our vice president of design development."

Sean noticed two things while they all chit chatted: Camille had relaxed visibly when she understood Ana and him were together and Simon wore a secret expression when his hand grazed Ana's waist—one Simon shared with Ana. Oh, yes these two definitely were more than acquaintances. He got the impression Simon knew what had happened. Even though he'd known the man for years, Simon always maintained a certain self-edited reticence about him. But he lightened up and lifted his mask for Ana.

"We're going to head out now. You enjoy the rest of your evening," Ana said before directing her attention to Simon. "Thanks again...for everything."

Simon nodded in silent affirmation, something mysterious and profound passed between them. "I'll see you Monday," he said to Sean referring to their lunch plans. His brown eyes turned solemn when they jumped from Sean to Ana and back. "Take good care of her."

What's that all about?

This time his hand didn't just linger a few seconds on Ana's waist. "I will."

Simon's tone reminded him of Sarah Tilson's over protective dad when he'd shown up at her doorstep ready to take her to their senior prom. At the time, Sean couldn't fathom loving another human more than Sarah. But two other loves came along and proved him wrong. Then Ana walked up to him, challenging him with a mix of sass and a hint of shyness. Her honeyed-vanilla patchouli fragrance wafted beneath his nose, reminding him how much he missed the scent, how it heralded her proximity and the nights she wore it. The perfume was as complex, mysterious, and rich as his feelings for the woman who wore it so well.

Ana made sure they'd left the ballroom doors with no ears to hear before she spoke. "I can't believe I almost called her Medusa to her face," she groaned while trying for levity.

It worked.

"The look on your face was priceless!" His words rumbled around his laughter

Ana sent him a mock stern look. "And you weren't any help," Ana accused while her confidence grew that they had a real chance of fixing things.

While she filled their slow journey outside the hotel lobby with the news of the DesignHaus shakeup and the prospect of turning her hobby into a business, Sean resisted the urge to scoop her up. Her careful, stiff moves made him wonder how much she'd downplayed her injuries.

"Tired?"

"A little—it's hard to sleep with this," she admitted as she tapped the black sling.

The feeling that he'd been unfairly cut out gnawed at him again. An uneasy silence lay just beneath the orchestra of crickets, footsteps and vague chatter. The valet drove up just as the stillness became heavier. Sean thought he heard a soft whimper when Ana climbed into the Range Rover.

"My seatbelt—" she began as he released the hand brake

"I got it," Sean said gently as he drew the belt across her body and clicked it into place. The faint dusting of chest hair and exposed skin between the gaping "v" at the top of his shirt tempted Ana's eyes. His crisp, masculine scent teased her nose. The way his gaze pinned hers while the back of his hand had brushed down her right shoulder made her doubt his touch had been accidental. Sean was so close she only had to lean a few inches to kiss him. She settled into her seat instead, marveling at the comfort of the well made seat. Playing on their chemistry wouldn't resolve things. Why did he have to look and smell so good?

The SUV rocked. The unexpected jarring fired off a flurry of darts into her shoulder. Ana swallowed a whimper.

His expression and voice were tender and apologetic. "Sorry—speed bump."

"It's okay," Ana hissed.

The SUV barely shook as it climbed the next mini-hill. "Sean?"

He spared her a quick glance, letting her know he was listening while he checked for oncoming traffic. "I'm sorry for what happened."

"We'll talk about it later, Belle" he said in a gentle hush.

He called her Belle. That's when Ana started to believe everything could be okay again.

Street lights, buildings, cars, and the people in them rushed by in cascade of changing shapes and twinkling stars. Ride carried through the cabin, the perfect epic score for their night-drive home. The sweet guitar sounds and the lush, achy voice fell over her ears as everything faded away.

* * * * *

"Belle. Belle."

A whiskey-rough, masculine voice scratched Ana's ear and pulled her from a delicious slumber. Faint citrus and woodsy notes played under her nose and sharpened her awareness despite the exhaustion blanketing her body. She burrowed into the warmth beneath her cheek and pulled in more of that sexy, Sean scent. Sean. Her eyes snapped open but she blinked several times against the bright light. She was suspended in the air.