Page 5 of Tender Offer
Nonna always challenges me to open up. “We’re not meant to carry our burdens alone,zuccareddu.” Easier said than done.
But tonight, it feels right to release the weight.
Justice is still a stranger, but my gut says to trust her. I was ready for rejection, but I’ll leave with a gift I haven’t felt in fifteen years. Hope.
Dinner is pleasant, light conversation over a four-course meal. Lamb chop fondue and onion soup decorate the table next to votive candles and red roses. Justice wastes no time digging into each plate. I don’t discuss my wealth, but her jokes about “eatin’ good” pull a grin every time. The way she puts away the twin lobster tails, truffle fries, and creamed spinach she orders should be a topic of study.
She’s humming around a bite of chocolate cake when something near the entrance to the ballroom reaches for her attention. I follow her line of sight through a sip of bourbon and freeze. The swallow I’m holding burns in my throat at the illusion only feet away.
A man who I assume to be Terrence takes measured steps to the bar, wearing a dark button-down and jeans. He’s tall and has a muscular build, blocking the view of the woman by his side. It’s hard to make her out, but what few glimpses I get prickle my skin.
French manicured feet in black heels keep pace across the ballroom carpet. I start at the toned pecan legs and move up the profile to find flared hips in a knee-length black dress and a thick ass that switches with careful precision. Her face is still hidden, the result of a half-foot height difference. Thick, wavy hair flows down her back, and my heart pistons at its cinnamon hue.
It can’t be.
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I swallow the wire caught in my throat and plaster on a smile. “I take it that was Terrence and the woman he’s about to let down.” Her presence tugs for me to bear witness with a familiarity that shouldn’t be there.
“It is. Her name is Madison. They dated for a few months in college. She broke up with him, believe it or not.”
The surrounding chatter of diners and Justice fades under the blood pounding in my ears. My mind races to keep up with the impossible reality that my eyes aren’t deceiving me.
The magnetic pull.
The body I licked and held sacred.
Sweet notes of magnolia stroking the memory of the last time we made love.
Madison is Heather.
“…she’s been pining after him all these years in a not-so-subtle way.”
Has she now?
Hearing that the woman who’s invaded my dreams for over a decade is hung up on another man lands like a punch. She was unforgettable, and I’ll be damned if she acts like I wasn’t.
Everything clicks into place. Heather—or Madison—only mentioned this ex once. Not even by name, which was clearly a running theme, given she withheld her own. He meant nothing then and only serves as a distraction now.
I smirk into my tumbler. It’s a small gesture that mimics a genuine smile to mask the predatory urge to reclaim her.
The instinct to chase overwhelms the shock of seeing her again after all this time. Here, of all places. My pulse skitters at the vow I made fifteen years ago—to never let her go should life ever bring us back together.
My evening with Justice wraps up. I walk her back to her room and wish her well before heading to security. Now that Madison is here, I won’t make it easy for her to leave a second time.
Chapter 3
Madison
I’m joining a convent when I get home. A house of nuns far away with good weather and quality panty hose. The only choice is to leave love on the altar and commit to the single life for eternity.
My back hits my hotel room door. Everything is how I left it. Drapes peeled back for a view of the winter valley. A single wineglass rinsed in the sink. The bed with the faux fur duvet I left to get ready with an excitement I later ditched at the bar.
Alone. Again.
Dating is a fruitless disappointment, a minefield of headaches and wasted outfits. Whether I’m back in New York or on location at a fashion shoot, it’s all the same. The pool of options is infested with boys who refuse to grow up or guys who prefer women half my age.
Two-day shipping on “the ideal man” isn’t an option. Trust me, I checked. I’ve Bumbled and tumbled until I almost put myself out of my misery. Is it too much to ask for an emotionally available partner with all his front teeth who won’t pick up a ride-share customer in the middle of a date?
