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  In the back of his mind was the concern that he hadn’t really expected his plan to work. Certainly he hadn’t expected it to have such disastrous results.

  Plan B, Plan B, he kept thinking as the BMW ate up the country roads. He needed a Plan B. Apologize, that was his first thought and he almost laughed out loud. Like that would have any effect. Maybe not, but it was a start. Flowers. Oldest trick in the book. Could be seen as superficial, but traditionally, it was a start.

  Talk. Conversation. Communication. Court squirmed uncomfortably as he downshifted to take a sharp curve. He’d have to lay his soul bare. Be honest. He groaned out loud. He’d spent a lot of time learning how to play things close to the vest, especially with women. He’d gotten comfortable in his little shell. It kept him from getting hurt.

  No it doesn’t, his sub-conscious argued. You’re getting hurt now. Again. And dummy, you’re letting the woman you’ve always wanted slip through your fingers.

  It was well after midnight when Court steered the car back onto Wildwood Lane. He’d thought about stopping at Smokey’s for a beer. Or twelve. Maybe alcohol would dull the pain in his gut whenever he pictured Jolie’s face just before she’d walked away in tears.

  Instead, Court was stone-cold sober. His stomach felt like somebody had stretched it out from end to end and tied it into a nice big knot. But he had a plan. Plan B.

  Admittedly it wasn’t much of one. It was still sort of sketchy. A work in progress. Not at all coldly thought out like Plan A had been. He’d put a little too much time into that plan and not enough into the consequences.

  Plan B began by picking up a handful of gravel from the Kramer’s driveway to toss at Jolie’s window. He used to do it all the time before junior high. Before Jolie had turned herself into someone she wasn’t and someone he didn’t want her to be—a girl who didn’t want to be seen with him.

  Stop it, he warned himself. You were twelve years old then. Grow up.

  He tossed some of the gravel at her bedroom window, aware of the irony of this somehow being his idea of growing up. It pinged and spattered, falling into the bushes below. He waited. Nothing happened.

  He threw another half handful and waited. No light came on, but he heard her voice, low, just above a whisper.

  “Court. Stop it. Go away.”

  “Come down and talk to me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll go ring the doorbell. I’ll wake your parents up and beg them to let me see you. Your mother will call my mother. My parents will come over. They’ll put on a pot of coffee, you know how they are. They’ll think they have to solve it for us because we’re still a couple of kids who can’t figure out anything—”

  “Why are you here?”

  Court whirled. Jolie stood twenty feet away, wearing a T-shirt and boxers, arms wrapped around herself in the cool night air. He thought he saw her shiver, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “I had to talk to you.”

  The breeze blew strands of hair around her. He approached her cautiously, as if she were an exotic cat and he a big game hunter.

  “I get it, Court, okay? I hurt you. This whole week has been about payback. You wanted to teach me a lesson. You did. You can stop now.”

  “That’s not true.” Court wanted to get closer. He wanted to take her hand and make her understand, but he was afraid. “It wasn’t about teaching you a lesson. It was supposed to be about proving something to myself.” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized how selfish they sounded.

  She brushed the strands of hair away from her face. “I may have hurt you, Court. But I never purposely tried to. It wasn’t part of some master plan I created in the sixth grade. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that. So please, Court, stop. Just stop.”

  She turned away. Court followed. He touched her arm as she reached the top step of the porch. “Jolie.”

  Her arm was cool to the touch, but he felt energized being this close to her.

  “P-please don’t touch me.” She was weakening, he could sense it. He’d apologize. She’d have to forgive him. Hadn’t he forgiven her?

  Have you? a little voice inside him asked. Have you really?

  He withdrew his hand and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was suddenly so tired he couldn’t think straight. Jolie had taken two steps back to the door before he realized she thought he had nothing else to say.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stopped. “You’re sorry?” He could hear the anger in her tone. “You’re sorry? You think that makes it all okay?”

  “No…”

  She stared at him, her mouth open as if she couldn’t get past his apology, couldn’t think of anything else to say because she was in shock.

  “Jolie, I know that’s not enough.” He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to stimulate his befuddled brain. How had he gotten here again? “I love you.”

  She glared at him. “You’re pathetic if you think I need your pity.”

  “Jo—could we…would you…could we just go somewhere and talk. Just talk. Tomorrow. If you still hate me, well, I’ll just have to learn to live with that, I guess.”

  She had her hand on the doorknob, but she hadn’t opened it yet. She sighed. “Where? When?”

  Chapter Twelve

  At ten o’clock the next morning Court rang the Kramer’s doorbell. He’d decided on mid-morning to ensure both he and Jolie had the opportunity for a decent night’s sleep before they saw each other again. And also because the only florist in Oak Ridge didn’t open until nine.

  Now he stood on the porch in the nippy morning air clutching an arrangement of peach-colored roses and baby’s breath. A peace offering which, in light of his recent behavior, seemed rather inadequate. But he didn’t know what else to do. When in doubt offer flowers.

  The door swung open and Sue-Ellen Kramer stared at him across the threshold. She stared for a moment, puzzled by the bouquet he held. “Court. What can I do for you?”

  The normally warm tone was gone. Her words were frosted around the edges and her expression was not at all welcoming.

  “Jolie and I had plans to meet this morning,” Court replied.

  “Did you? She never mentioned it. Jolie left early.”

  “Left?”

  “I imagine she’s on a plane back to New York by now.”

  So much for Plan B. “I see. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He turned away.

  “Since you’re here, there’s something I’d like to say to you.”

  Whatever Jolie’s mother had to say, it was probably no less than he deserved. He turned back.

  “I always thought you were a good boy. You were always kind to Jolie even when she didn’t deserve it. I have no illusions about my daughter, but I love her, and I know when she’s been hurt. Frankly, Court, I never thought you’d grow up to be a cruel man.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything. She never does. But I’m not blind and I’m not stupid. I’ve known both of you your entire lives. I always hoped the two of you—well, it doesn’t matter now.” She nodded at the flowers. “I only hope this means you’re man enough to apologize to her—”

  “I did. I tried. Last night. That’s why I’m here now.” Would Jolie’s mother notice the desperation in his tone? Because he was desperate. Desperate to make things right.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Court.” She gave the bouquet a pitying glance. “Good luck.” She stepped back and shut the door.

  Damn it! Court went back to his parents’ house and sat on the porch steps. The cold concrete froze his backside, but he didn’t care. He laid the bouquet on the broad stucco railing and stared out at nothing in particular, barely noticing the cars parked along the street where he grew up or the leaves drift
ing from the trees.

  He’d been so sure he could explain himself to Jolie, so sure she’d understand. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she wouldn’t give him the chance. Jolie’s mother was right. He’d been cruel. No matter how Jolie had behaved toward him when they were kids, she didn’t deserve such treatment now. What had seemed like a brilliant plan to put his feelings for Jolie behind him once and for all had turned into a twisted kind of revenge. He had no idea where to go from here.

  The door opened behind him. His mother stepped out and sat down next to him, nudging his shoulder with hers. Jolie’s mother had called to report his botched visit, no doubt.

  They sat in silence for a little while. “She’s in love with you, you know,” she said.

  He looked at her. “She’s gone.”

  She tugged her sweater around her and gave him a sad smile. “I know.”

  “Her mother told you.”

  “No. I haven’t spoken to Sue-Ellen since last night. I saw Jolie leave when I came out to get the paper this morning.”

  Court sighed. “I screwed up.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I wanted to show her she no longer had a hold over me. That I was over her. That was the plan. But I’m not.” If he told his mother the rest of it she’d probably never forgive him, either.

  “You didn’t need a plan, honey. Jolie’s probably been in love with you since junior high.”

  Court scoffed at the idea. “I don’t think so.”

  She nudged his shoulder again. “Sometimes the hardest thing to see is what’s right in front of you.”

  Court stared at the Atlanta skyline from his office window and hit the disconnect button on his cell phone

  It had been three days, and Jolie still wouldn’t return his calls or his texts. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, and the more he thought about it the less sure he became about how he could explain his behavior without looking like a pathetic, selfish jerk. Pathetic because he still pined after her all these years. Selfish because it had been about himself and his needs. A jerk because he’d never considered that she might get hurt in the process.

  How to make things right with Jolie ate at him. He’d have to formulate Plan C, although his confidence in his ability to come up with one was practically nil. Somehow he had to swallow his pride, make things right, see if there was any way at all that he could salvage her love. If he couldn’t, if he didn’t…he didn’t even want to think about it. He’d felt more alive with her in Oak Ridge than he had in years. More challenged, happier. Excited just being with Jolie, even before that night at the lake.

  He swiveled back toward his desk and stared at the collage that would remind him every single day of what he’d had…and lost.

  He wasn’t going to give up on making things right with Jolie, but for now his work beckoned. He straightened his desk, preparing to leave for the day. Melina had requested a meeting this evening and she hadn’t sounded happy.

  As always, his meeting with Melina included cocktails. This time at her place since it was so conveniently located near his. Her cousin Krystian, who also served as her personal assistant, let him in. Another one of her constantly rotating in-residence relatives served them drinks. Court couldn’t keep the members of Melina’s extended family straight. They were all equally competent in mixology, however, which seemed to be a prerequisite for a temporary stay under Melina’s roof.

  Melina paced in front of the bank of French doors that led to the pool deck. Court knew he’d have his hands full soothing her agitated feathers, whatever the cause.

  “Court!” She came toward him for the kiss-kiss on both cheeks. Her minion set a glass of ice and Jack Daniels on the coffee table next to Melina’s vodka and disappeared.

  “What’s up?” Court asked as they settled into adjacent seats of a plush sectional. “You’re upset about something.” He took a sip of his drink and held onto the glass.

  “My designer!” Melina came straight to the point. “I work out everything. Is all perfect. I wait only for her attorney to review and she will sign. And now? Pfft! She say no.”

  “That’s too bad, Melina. But I’m not part of that deal. I don’t see how I can help.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I suspicious.”

  Court grinned. “Suspicious? About what?”

  Melina’s eyes narrowed. “You show me sketches months ago by high school friend, you remember?”

  “Yes. You didn’t care for them as I recall.”

  “Aha. Yes. But you go see high school friends last week and you send me more sketches. New ones.”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize you’d already contracted a designer. I thought my friend, Jolie—”

  Melina slammed her palm down on the arm of the sofa before she jumped up and stormed away, pivoted and came back. “I knew it! Same person. Your friend say she will design for me. She say not to tell you. You send me sketches. Now she say no.”

  Court tried to quell the sick feeling that was rising in his gut. “Whoa, whoa. Are you saying you’d already decided to hire Jolie Kramer to design your line? You had a contract with her—”

  “We work out all details. She not sign contract yet. Now she says she cannot.”

  Court slumped against the cushions, trying to absorb what Melina had said. Jolie hadn’t said a word about her deal with Melina. Not a damn word. She let him think he was doing her a favor when the whole time she was waiting to seal the deal. He’d stepped right in the middle of it and unwittingly blown the whole thing apart.

  Melina was Court’s client and Jolie wanted nothing to do with Court. Ergo, she’d backed out of working with Melina.

  “Something fishy goes on here,” Melina declared. She picked up her drink, drained it and moved to the bar to refill her glass. She turned back to Court, her eyes hard, her mane of hair swirling around her shoulders. “I ask you one time what you know about this.”

  Court held Melina’s gaze, weighing his options. Melina was his client, but they were also friends in a way. There had been moments in the past couple of years he’d viewed her as he might a younger sister. She was impetuous and tough, but she possessed an understanding heart.

  But he didn’t fool himself. Melina was a formidable businesswoman. She wouldn’t hesitate to find someone else to manage her tennis career if he gave her a good enough reason to do so. His best move might be to accept responsibility for screwing up her deal with Jolie and see if he could come up with a way to fix it.

  Already a seed of an idea for Plan C began to form. He gestured to the seat Melina had vacated. “Let me explain. I think we can work something out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jolie had rehashed her trip to Oak Ridge and everything that happened there to Val until she was sick of talking about it. Val was determined to help out by keeping her distracted as often as possible. Tonight he’d promised to bring Chinese and a movie.

  There was a knock at the door, which was odd. Val had keys to her place, so there was no reason for him to knock unless he’d forgotten them, which he never did.

  Jolie set aside the accessories catalog she’d been leafing through and approached the door. Through the peephole she saw Court. He stood, hands clasped around the handle of a soft-sided briefcase. All business. Jolie’s anger, never very far out of reach, rushed over her. She’d be damned if she’d let Court Harrison get the better of her, though. She’d be damned if she’d let him see how devastated she still was.

  She opened the door, managing, just barely, not to glare at him. She had years of experience acting like she didn’t care. How hard would it be to do it now?

  “Court? Can I help you?” It was Academy Award time. She hit the perfect note of being genuinely perplexed yet unaffected by his appearance on her doorstep. Her high school drama teacher would be proud.

  “I’d like to talk to you.”

 
“All right.” She waited.

  “Could I come in?”

  She hesitated a moment before she stepped back. She wouldn’t offer him a seat or a drink or to take his coat. Civil she could be, but that was about it. Welcoming was more than she could manage and more than he should expect and it seemed he knew it.

  They squared off a few feet from each other after she closed the door.

  “You didn’t return my calls,” he began.

  “No, I didn’t.” She wouldn’t admit to him that she feared a complete loss of self-control if she’d talked to him. That night at her parents’ she’d allowed him to see how much he’d hurt her. She’d be damned if she’d ever let him see it again.

  “Damn. I really made a mess out of things, didn’t I?”

  Jolie watched him. Cool, confident Court. Was it at all possible he was as out of his depth as she was? Was it all an act?

  “What do you want?”

  “You,” he blurted out.

  For a second her heart soared, but she pulled it back down to earth. One of her father’s favorite sayings came to mind—if something sounds too good to be true it probably is. Court had caught her off guard and she couldn’t think of how to respond.

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked after an awkward silence.

  Jolie led him toward the living room. Court tossed his coat over one of the chairs and took a seat in the other one. He gestured at the sofa. “Do you mind?”

  She’d shown enough childish resistance for one evening, she supposed. She plopped down on the end of the sofa and hiked one knee up under her chin, curling the other beneath her. Now she’d play the defiant teenager.

  Court glanced at the abandoned sketchbook on the cushion next to her and the half-full glass of white wine on the end table. He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Jolie, I’m sorry.”