Page 19 of Meddling with a Millionaire

“Why don’t you discuss it?” Nathan glanced at his watch. He was going to be late if he didn’t get going right away. “I’ve got a breakfast meeting. Let me know what you decide.”

Leaving his brothers to make their decision, Nathan grabbed his coat and headed out. Carley’s Café was a three-block walk, and he let the chilly winter air cool his anger as he strode along the sidewalk. For the first time in months—maybe even years—he had a project he could sink his teeth into. He would not give up because of his brothers’ timidity and lack of imagination.

He hadn’t completely banished his ill humor by the time he pushed into the tiny restaurant, but his pulse kicked up in anticipation of seeing Emma again. At this hour, there was only one table available. He stripped off his coat, ordered coffee and settled down to wait.

When the waitress offered to refill his cup a second time, he glanced at his watch. Where the hell was she? It was already half an hour past the time she’d promised to meet him. He tossed money on the table and donned his coat.

Cody had given him her address weeks ago. After their encounter at his condo, he’d considered sending flowers, a balloon bouquet, something foolish and romantic. The impulse disturbed him. He wasn’t the foolish, romantic sort. In the end, he hadn’t done anything, and after she’d ignored his phone calls, he was damn glad.

Nathan walked the five blocks to her building and slipped in without having to warn her of his arrival, thanks to the woman who exited the secure front door just as he arrived. He crossed the newly remodeled lobby to the refurbished freight elevator, imagining Emma’s shock when she answered the door.

On the fourth floor, Nathan found Emma’s unit and rang her doorbell. When no one answered, he tried again. While he considered that she might refuse to let him in, he doubted that she would be hiding inside, pretending she wasn’t home. He tried the doorknob and, to his surprise, found the door unlocked. Entering the unit, he called Emma’s name.

The only noise that reached his ears sounded like someone being violently sick.

He crossed the living room, absently inventorying the size of the place and the abundance of renovation projects left incomplete, and headed down a narrow hallway, following a hunch. At the end of the hall he hit pay dirt. What he found dismayed him.

Someone had taken a sledgehammer to the master bathroom and completely gutted the space. The walls and ceiling had been stripped down to the studs, exposing the wiring and plumbing. Where the shower should have been, he noticed rotten wood, mottled with black stains. The only fixtures in the entire room still intact were the sink and the toilet. And that’s where he found Emma, hunched over the bowl, her eyes wide and incredulous in a face the color of chalk. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Nathan?” She closed her eyes, and her face twisted into an expression of agony. “What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer she had leaned over the toilet and heaved. Concern for her overrode his earlier irritation. He knelt beside her and soothed his hand over her shoulder, buffeted by an all-too-familiar feeling of helplessness. How many times had he sat by his mom after her chemo treatments and struggled with the frustration of not being able to help her?

“I came to see why you stood me up again.”

“And now that you’ve seen why I couldn’t make it, you can be on your merry way.”

Her rejection didn’t faze him at all. “And leave you like this? Not likely.” He cast around the dismantled space looking for a towel. “I’ll be right back.”

He retraced his steps down the hall and entered her tiny kitchen. The ancient cabinets and outdated appliances indicated that her renovation project hadn’t gone far. That was probably for the best if her bathroom was any indication of how badly the remodeling was going. He found a kitchen towel and ran it under the cold water. He squeezed out the excess and returned to the bathroom. Emma sat where he’d left her.

“Here, this should make you feel a little better.” He applied the wet towel to her cheeks and forehead, peering at her in concern. “What were you celebrating?”

She had enough strength to glare at him, but not enough to fight his ministrations. “This is not a hangover. It’s food poisoning. Go away.”

He sat down on the floor beside her, not caring that the torn-up flooring would ruin his expensive suit. It bothered him to see her in these sorts of surroundings. No wonder her father wanted her married off. She obviously needed someone to take care of her.

Something reached through his concern and stunned him with its possibility.

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