Charming You

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

NickI thought about Micky, the curvy brunette, all the way to dinner. I couldn't help myself. Having drinks with her was both a brilliant and suspect move, but the request had found its way out of my mouth before I could stop it. Hell, if we hadn't both had plans, I could have had drinks with her tonight.

I shouldn't. I was getting married. Maybe.

I’d tried and tried to get in touch with my fiancée, but all she would say was that she needed "time." Time for what, I didn't know. Vivienne and I were supposed to be on our way to being Dallas' most intriguing power couple. She had the family and connections. I had the education and ambition.

The vision of our picture-perfect engagement in a spectacular penthouse apartment in Paris flashed in my mind. I was down on one knee, presenting Vivienne with a very impressive four-carat, emerald-cut diamond ring. She was looking at me intently. Her professionally arched brows drew together slightly, and her bottom lip caught precariously between her teeth.

She was exactly the woman I’d always thought I’d marry. Stunning. Smart. Well-connected. And on the occasions when she relaxed and let her hair down, funny and even endearing. People didn't know that about her.

My family had sometimes joked about how formal and composed she was. They didn't see how well our lives fit together. We could go to a ball game together, sit at home watching a movie, go to the opera—anything.

There was never any drama with Vivienne. There was a comfort and contentment in the life we were building together. We shared the same interests and the same ambition. Her flawless sense of taste and salesmanship helped her build a successful interior design business. She didn't need a husband, but she wanted one.

After years of chasing slews of women who were hot but crazy, smart but neurotic, or just plain nuts, Vivienne was a dream. A dream I’d seen myself with for the rest of my life.

I had met her slate blue eyes with an entreating glance.

"Are you sure?" she’d asked me.

"Never been more sure."

"You always have a way of making me feel like the world is ours for the taking," Vivienne said with a smile.

"It could be if you just say yes."

"Yes."

"Perfect." I slipped the substantial stone on her finger, then stroked her hair and kissed her.

The evening was the realization of the dreams I’d had since I met her at a Christmas charity ball just over a year earlier. I’d outbid her for a fabulous collection of Cabernet from Paso Robles donated for silent auction. Vivienne walked right up to me and asked if she could at least buy one of the rare bottles from me.

Being quite the player before Vivienne and our engagement, I had suggested we split it over dinner at my place. She hadn't been as hungrily receptive as many other young socialites in Dallas were to my provocative smile, but I’d taken that as a good sign. All the signs had pointed in the same direction.

One of the best advantages Vivienne had to offer was her father. Tom Moran owned a large, successful private equity firm that bought, sold, and invested in companies. As an attorney specializing in mergers and acquisitions, I appreciated the serendipity of meeting the daughter of Moran Financial's CEO at a premiere social event. Hauling in a big fish like her father as a client was doing wonders for my partnership chances.

Adding to my luck, Tom recently asked me to look into Azur Technologies as a possible acquisition target. Now, I’d run into someone who worked there. A pretty, sexy someone. I learned to leverage any connections I could.

From the outside, my relationship with Vivienne and her father might seem mercenary. It wasn't. Approaching Tom about bringing his business to Winston Stratford had been Vivienne's idea. We shared a vision for my success. Smart and capable, Vivienne stood out from the other socialites I’d met. Most of them looked down their noses at me for being born working class in southeast Dallas. Maybe Vivienne's solid standing in Dallas society let her be more adventurous.

Whatever the reason, we fit perfectly together and were actually friends. I made her laugh. We got along. The passion might not be what I’d had with other women, but our friendship and mutual commitment would last longer than l**t.

The latest developments, however, had me worried.

Four months ago, Vivienne invited me over to her gorgeous, Tudor-style, lakeside home and calmly informed me our engagement was off. Since then, she'd all but dropped off the face of the earth, ignoring my calls and texts.

Maybe Vivienne wanted more. I could give more. I would do whatever I needed to do, but I needed her to sit down and talk to me first. Instead, the conversation I’d get tonight was with my prospective father-in-law.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I turned onto the street housing the small, quiet sushi restaurant where we were meeting. The older man called a few days before and summoned me to dinner. Tom Moran said he wanted to talk business. No doubt that also included a discussion of my engagement to Vivienne.

People like Vivienne's parents saw their children's love lives as potential mergers. That was a hazard of circulating in the high-toned set living in the enclaves of the Park Cities, Preston Hollow, and swaths of north Dallas. Vivienne resented it, but I always felt like our relationship was of our mutual choosing. Who cared if it also had other benefits?

It's not like I was the ideal candidate. I didn't grow up with the elite of the elite. My young, widowed mother had struggled to keep a roof over her children's heads, working as a housekeeper and a hotel maid before starting her own business cleaning office buildings. My sister and I joined the family business as soon as we were old enough. I’d spent my early life scrubbing up after people like Tom Moran.

I pulled up in front of the restaurant and threw my car into park, waiting for the valet. Once inside, I walked around the large aquarium, which sent rippled light across the entryway. The tank stretched for nearly eight feet, separating the foyer from the dining room. Brightly striped tropical fish darted left and right, diving and then surging to the surface. They looked nervous.

I spotted Mr. Moran in a corner booth. The other man lifted his silver-gray head and smiled in my direction. I strode over, pulling my shoulders back and leveling my eyes on my target.

"Nicholas. Good to see you. You're looking well."

"You, too, Mr. Moran."

"Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?" Vivienne's father blew out a stream of air and studied me.

"Just ice water for me, thanks."

"You sure? Friday happy hour." Tom gestured toward the bar area.

"Yes. Nothing for me."

"Well, then let's get some business out of the way before we order dinner. What are you going to do about my stubborn little girl?"

I almost laughed. At thirty-three, Vivienne ran her own business, owned her own home, and managed her own life. From the childhood photos I’d seen, the nearly six-foot-tall blonde hadn't been a "little girl" for quite some time. I supposed a father might always see his daughter in those terms, but I didn't have the same delusions of influence over Vivienne's behavior.

"I've reached out to her over and over, but I think she needs time."

"Be careful giving her too much time. You could lose her altogether."

"I don't think there's any danger of that. She still has the ring. Knowing Vivienne, if she wanted to call the wedding off completely, she'd give the ring back and square things with me. You raised a very direct, plain-speaking daughter."

Tom drained the clear liquid in his martini glass. "Trust me. I know. But, you should know that Vivienne's mother and I are incredibly supportive of your engagement. We'd like nothing more than to be hosting the wedding of the year next summer. Her mother and I want to make sure that you're just as committed. Hell, it's one of the reasons I wanted to work with you. Keep things in the family."

Panic knifed through me at the edge in Tom's voice. As my relationship with Vivienne developed, her father had been more and more helpful in advancing my position at work and within the local community. I had the firm partnership at my fingertips.

Neither of us had ever explicitly stated Tom's business was dependent on the status of my relationship with his daughter. One had simply led to the other. I focused on my breath to keep my heart from pounding, loosening my tight grip on the edge of the table.

"I'm staying in touch with her and letting her know I'm here for her. She has a preliminary case of cold feet, but I'm not worried. We love each other. It'll work out." I took a sip of water and peered at Tom over the glass.

"I certainly hope so," he replied. The man's eyebrows furrowed briefly, before his usual congenial smile smoothed his demeanor. "Let's get some sushi ordered. I hardly ever get to eat sushi. Sheila can't stand it."

I forced a chuckle and grabbed the slip of paper and small pencil the waiter delivered with the menu. Sheila Moran couldn't stand a lot of things. As intimidating as Vivienne's dad could be, he didn't scare me near as much as her mother.

"How is Sheila? Are you still thinking about taking a big trip next year?"

"Probably. I'm already going to be taking time off—hopefully—for your wedding. Sheila doesn't understand that I can't step away for every whim of hers. Maybe in the second half of the year. It depends on how the Azur deal goes. How's your research coming?"

I wasn't prepared to discuss work with Tom. We’d had a meeting only two days before.

"I may have a direct line to the company," I told him. Perhaps I stretched the truth a little. I doubted Micky Llewellyn was at a level that could offer me real intelligence. An exec wouldn't have a Toyota that needed a jumpstart. Still, she could be an in. When we met for drinks, I’d find out more about her position. At this point, anything might help me.

"Really?"

"They do have their offices in our building, and I've run into a couple of people there. Give me a few days to suss things out."

"Who are you talking to over there?"

I blanched. "No one at a high level, but they might help me map out the organization, get some insight into how they function."

"Let me know who it is, and we can check him out."

I didn't feel the need to correct Tom's pronouns. "Micky. Llewellyn." I tried not to think about the bulldog I’d just let off the chain.

"Do what you can. And bill me, of course."

I nodded. The memory resurfaced of the woman's hourglass figure barely concealed by her prim business clothes. I’d had worse assignments than a couple of hopefully informative dinners with a stunning brunette.

Maybe if I proved my worth to Tom in other ways, I could insure myself against any fallout from a broken engagement—not that I’d conceded on the marriage front. I could get Vivienne back, but I might need to move faster than I’d thought.