Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Page 2

  "The client asked me to come and talk to you. See what I can find out about this situation."

  When I glared at him, he shook his head. "I'm on your side, Austin. Our team's reputation is at stake here, too. I told them I have no doubt this accusation is baseless. That you're the best in the business. Yes, there's that little misstep early in your career, but since then, your record has been spotless. You were young and inexperienced, that's all. You're much more experienced now."

  He paused, but I didn't reply. He'd been the one responsible for rumors of that "little misstep" when I was right out of school. That was a baseless accusation, too. I couldn't help feeling that Randy had set me up again. Why? There were a dozen reasons I could think of off the top of my head. Any one of them could have been his motivation. Not the least of which was his obsessive jealousy over my successes.

  "You've been under a lot of pressure lately," he said to break the silence. "The whole team has. Additionally, you've been distracted lately with your little bit of fame and upcoming vacation. With your romance with the doctor. Even with all that, this charge is without merit." His eyes glittered with excitement. He was enjoying the hell out of himself. "Talk to me. Give me the keys to your code. Let me into your server. I can help you if you give me a half a chance."

  "Go to hell, Dixon."

  Chapter 2

  Blair

  The cab slowly wound its way out of the airport. It was a nice summer afternoon—sunny with a touch of humidity in the air and the promise of more heat to come.

  The closer I got to seeing Nigel again, the more nervous I became. I feared my initial reaction to him more than I imagined I would. Would my heart betray me? Would some somatic response take over and the old passion return? Would the raw chemistry that had attracted me to him in the first place take over? Or had that chemistry somehow been altered?

  As a physician, I could give you the chemical reaction of falling in love step by step. Detail it out. But as Austin had said, it's not the chemical reaction that's the mystery. It's what sets it in place to begin with. Why do some people have it and others don't? How does it die? Why does it die?

  I understood it well enough when two people grew to hate or distrust each other. But that wasn't the case between Nigel and me. Circumstance caused our breakup. Not personalities or betrayal.

  I'd never been a believer in love triangles. My pragmatic mind argued against it. If you were in love with two people at once, were you really in love with either of them? If you couldn't choose one or the other, were either right for you?

  I loved Austin with the full power of my being. But I'd loved Nigel, too. Genuinely. There were crushes and attraction. And then there was love. I'd loved Nigel for more than a third of my life. You might call me cautious, but I'd loved relatively few people—my Aunt Beth, my late parents in a fantasy, dreamlike sort of way, Nigel, and now Austin. When I loved, I loved fiercely.

  As much as I loved Austin, there were still times when I found myself wanting to share something with Nigel. It was an almost involuntary thing. A thought: Nigel would love this. Nigel would find this funny. Nigel would be so proud. They popped out of nowhere. Were they just force of habit? Habit could be broken with time. Or was the mere act of having these thoughts disloyal to Austin?

  At the time, we were at a crossroads. The long-distance relationship thing was no longer working. I wanted more. A real commitment. Marriage. Kids. That kind of thing. The types of things there are really no compromises for. You can't have half a marriage. A part-time one. Though that was the type of relationship we'd had for years. But now that I was out of med school, I had time for a husband and family. But, despite plenty of talk and long discussions, Nigel had been no closer to making the sacrifices necessary for a life together.

  He lived in London and had the job he'd always dreamed of. His family was in the UK. His history, which he was so terribly fond of, was there. He had no desire to leave and become an expat in the US.

  I'd had two job offers on the table—one in London that was unexciting and mundane at best. One in Seattle at one of the top cancer institutes in the country and the world. My only family, Beth, was in Seattle. She was sick. Though she'd never ask me to give anything up for her—she wanted me to have the life I wanted—she needed me. I was the only family she had, too.

  The cab stopped in front of the pub. A very typical, touristy looking building, the entire pub was heavily timbered and adorned with paned windows. As always when I first got to London, I had to remember that things were backward here compared to what I was used to. Look left, right, left becomes right, left, right. It takes some conscious thought. I did a dance on the sidewalk with a local, trying to step around him the American way to the right. Until he smiled, stood still, and extended his hand for me to pass. Maybe it was my nerves taking my mind elsewhere that was part of the problem.

  Nigel and I had been at a critical impasse. He claimed he couldn't ask me to give up everything for him. Whether that was ambivalence on his part, or the truth, I had no way of knowing. It could have been either. Beth's sudden life-threatening bout of pneumonia brought things to a head.

  The weeks that followed our breakup were a haze of heartbreak and worry. I was in a mild depression. Starting a new job. Dealing with Beth's illness. Nursing her back to health. Finding an apartment.

  It was all a blur, really. And not a place I wanted to revisit. The only joy during that time, besides Beth's recovery, had been working with Beth on the Elinor dress for Comicon. That, and my new patients, had given me something outside myself to concentrate on. And then I met Austin. Sweet, thoughtful, romantic Austin with his witty, funky sense of humor. It was impossible not to fall for a guy like him.

  Rolling my carry-on behind me, I struggled with the heavy pub door, one of those faux-Elizabethan or -Tudor things, all heavy wood and large iron hinges.

  What happened now? What would my heart do when I saw Nigel again? Go back to its old pattern? Or was it hardened to him? Suddenly indifferent to his charms? Would I still find him attractive? Think him funny? Or would I suddenly see him differently, warts and all, as we say?

  I think, if we are all honest, in every person and relationship there's a niggling bit of self-doubt. At least at the beginning and at major points of commitment. The doubt can take many forms—what if someone better comes along? Will this love last? Will this person betray me? Is this person who I think they are? Am I making a mistake?

  Mine took a slightly different form. I worried I'd met Austin too soon, before my heart had time to fully heal. It had only been weeks after breaking up with Nigel when I met Austin at Comicon. And fell hard, fast, and, I believed, I hoped, irrevocably in love.

  So, yes, as I entered the foyer of the pub, I was nervous, as probably should have been expected. I didn't know what to expect to feel. The last time I'd seen Nigel, I was still in love with him. Desperately in love with him. And heartbroken about leaving him and ending things.

  As much as I loved Austin, Nigel had had my heart for so long that a part of it would always belong to him. Even if that part belonged in the past. I had grieved the death of our love affair in March when I went home to Seattle. Before I met Austin. I believed I was over Nigel. I hoped I was. But hearts are fickle and delicate. I wasn't eager to reopen any wounds—either his or mine.

  It was just past midday, but there was a small crowd beginning to filter into the pub. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I looked around for Nigel, part of me hoping he'd stood me up. The other part wanting my ring back enough to brave even this for it. It was one of the few things I had from my dad's family. It had great sentimental value to me.

  Nigel, however, was punctual as always, and sitting in a corner booth. It was just like him to want to be out of the way and flow of traffic, tucked into the most private space in the place. What we had to say to each other belonged to no one else's ears. But his choice also meant that if either of us stormed off, we had to make our way through the entire
length of the room past any prying eyes.

  He waved when he saw me. For a bare instant, my heart stopped. Like it always had when I saw him again after one of our long absences.

  My reaction wasn't particularly surprising, given our history. Nigel was a handsome man. Always had been. When we'd been together, I felt lucky to be with him. Women noticed him.

  Like Austin, he was tall, just over six feet. But that was where the similarity ended. Nigel was slender and wiry to Austin's athletically muscled physique. Nigel had dark brown hair and eyes, a strong jaw, and unmistakably patrician looks—slender features, a straight, narrow nose; very English. His hair was cut in a conservative style that was as elegant as his manners. It matched the style of his distant cousin, the actor who played Reggie, Elinor's original English fiancé in Jamie. Nigel was even dressed like his more famous cousin. He'd started playing the part recently when he realized it would put him in the spotlight along with Austin and me.

  I still couldn't decide whether his desire for the spotlight was simply a desire for fame or a genuine attempt to get me back.

  Nigel's family was old and had distant connections to the throne. He came from a line of lesser nobility and gentlemen, and looked—and sounded—like it. His accent was educated, elegant, and upper crust. It was exactly the kind of accent we American women find so hot. It certainly didn't dim his appeal, that was for sure. His family still had property and money. Nigel was a beneficiary of that as well.

  He was dressed as if he'd just come from work, standing out from the working-class atmosphere of the pub.

  I waved back to him and made my way to the booth with my suitcase trailing behind me, my heart pounding in my ears, and my stomach doing uneasy flips. It had been a long trip. I hoped it was just exhaustion and nerves upsetting my stomach.

  He slid out and stood as I approached. There was an awkward moment where I wondered what the proper greeting was now that he was my ex. The usual enthusiastic embrace and kiss were obviously out. Nigel solved the problem by pulling me into a warm hug, close to his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne brought back a rush of memories, most of them passionate and loving. I fended them off.

  We're off to a promising start. That may have been a lie, but I told it to myself firmly all the same. Nigel was a gentleman. But sometimes the manners were a very clever and cool cover for seething emotions beneath the surface.

  "You look beautiful, Blair," he said as he released me. He didn't sound facetious.

  "You've always been a prodigious liar. I look tired and feel frazzled." I slid into the booth.

  "Frazzled?" he said. "Sorry to hear that."

  As he slid in across from me, I noticed my suitcase, the one I'd left behind on my last trip to London, sitting on the bench next to him.

  "How was your flight?" he said.

  "Long." I pulled my rolling suitcase close to the table.

  And so this was us—reduced to awkward small talk while I waited for word from Austin.

  Nigel glanced around. "Where's your bodyguard?"

  I feigned surprise. "You mean Austin?"

  He flinched ever so slightly at the mention of Austin's name. I'd never seen him be intimidated by another man before, certainly not the mere mention of a name.

  "I promised I'd be alone," I said.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "You promised. I don't recall getting his word." He paused. "I'm a tolerant man, but if the situation were reversed, I would have insisted on coming with you." He glanced around, making a point of it. "He's not hiding in the hedgerow somewhere nearby, is he?"

  I laughed, somewhat nervously. That had been Austin's plan. "If he were, he wouldn't hear much. There aren't any bushes in sight." I took a deep breath and became serious. "I can assure you. He's not here. Or anywhere nearby." I tried to keep the worry out of my voice.

  "His loss." Nigel paused. "You might not believe this, but I would like to meet him."

  I cocked my head and studied him. "Morbid curiosity doesn't suit you."

  Before he could respond, a waiter came by. Nigel ordered me a pint. Maybe he hoped plying me with beer would loosen me up. His motives were hard to read.

  I had rehearsed what I was going to say to him over and over in my mind since first arranging to meet him. During the trip over, I'd fine-tuned it and worried about Austin.

  Seeing Nigel again in the flesh reassured me. I'd made the right choice—Austin. A part of me would always love Nigel, but there was no room in my heart for two men. The passionate love I'd felt for Nigel had mellowed into affection. But the affection was doomed, I feared. Did it ever really work to remain friends with an ex in circumstances like these?

  "Thanks for meeting me." I nodded to the suitcase next to him. "And hauling my luggage across London."

  "Part of me is glad to get rid of it." As he patted it, his voice became soft. He gave me an imploring look. "It was cluttering up my flat, really. And reminding me too bloody much of you. And how much I missed you. Blair, how can I live without you?"

  "Nigel—"

  He put up a hand, silencing me as he pulled an antique ring box from his pocket.

  My heart stopped. No. Not now. Not here. Not like this—

  Anything I might have said stuck in my throat.

  Holding my gaze, he opened the box, took a look at the ring inside, spun the box in his hand, and held it out to me, balanced on his palm.

  My grandmother's ring. Not an engagement ring for me.

  I went weak in the knees with relief, glad I was sitting down. Glad he wasn't foolish enough to propose now, after all that had happened. After Austin. Feeling foolish and vain, very arrogant, for even imagining he would.

  I plucked the ring box from his hand. "Thank you. This didn't used to have a box." I glanced at him, trying to hide the relief I felt, both at being wrong about what he was offering, and at getting my ring back. "The box is very pretty."

  "You're careless with your things, Blair. You left your ring lying on the nightstand. Anything might have happened to it. I had to put it in something so I wouldn't risk losing it. You'd never forgive me for that."

  "I would have forgiven you. Eventually." I smiled softly at him and returned my focus to the ring. "I'm not as unforgiving and hard as you think." I pulled the ring from the box and slid it on my finger, glad it fit after the long flight. I wiggled my fingers, admiring the way the ring sparkled and caught the light.

  It was an old-fashioned thing with a small diamond set in the center on a plate of what I assumed was white gold. The center diamond was surrounded by several other very small diamonds set on the plate around it. The white gold was cut in diamond patterns to add sparkle and give the illusion the other few diamonds were larger and there were more of them. The band was yellow gold.

  "You had it cleaned?" I said to him as I studied it. It was more brilliant and shinier than it had been.

  "Appraised."

  "Oh?" I looked at him questioningly.

  "The appraisal certificate is in your case. You're so incurious, love. You really should know what your jewelry is worth. For insurance purposes, at the very least."

  He was always practical about things like money and valuables.

  "I don't think you realize what you have there." He sounded amusingly annoyed with me. As if he was humoring a naïve child. "You always said it wasn't valuable."

  "It isn't." I shrugged, admiring it again. "Except to me. It has sentimental value."

  He shook his head. "I suppose it depends on what your threshold for valuable is. That ring is worth several thousand pounds."

  My eyes went wide. "I hadn't realized—"

  "I thought as much." He nodded. "It's an art deco diamond engagement ring from the forties. From the war. Did you know this was your grandmother's engagement ring?"

  I shook my head. I wasn't a jewelry expert or aficionado. "No." I studied it again. "It doesn't really look like one, does it? I thought a cocktail ring, maybe."

  He pointed to it. "Whoever pur
chased it had more money than the average soldier. The band is eighteen-karat gold. The face is platinum.

  "Platinum," I whispered.

  He nodded. "It was more common than you'd think on jewelry of that era. Though modest in size, the diamonds are high quality and have good clarity." He finished off the beer he'd been drinking. "I had to search around for a box befitting it. I finally found one online at an antique shop in Northumberland and had it shipped to me.

  "The box is also from the forties and is supposed to be very like the box it would have come in from the original jeweler. If you look on the inside of the ring, you'll see the jeweler's mark. They were prestigious in their day."

  "Thank you." My voice caught. It was the kind of touching thing he sometimes did that caught me off guard. He'd very effectively derailed my carefully crafted speech.

  "I couldn't get you off my mind, Blair. Or out of my heart." His eyes were dark. His voice full of fervent emotion. "I did everything I could to get you out of them. Everything. I couldn't sleep. Nothing worked. Not sleeping pills. Nothing. I worked until I was exhausted. And still you were on my mind."

  "Nigel—"

  "Please, Blair," he said. "After the hell you put me through, you owe me this. You have to hear me out." He took a deep breath and implored me with his eyes.

  He was right. It had been unintentional and beyond my control, but that didn't lessen the effect my behavior had had on him. It didn't ease the pain. I owed it to him to listen. But, damn it, it wasn't easy.

  "You were in the spotlight, killing me with your public romance—"

  "That wasn't my choice." I couldn't even defend myself properly. I couldn't tell him that, at first, the "romance" had been a publicity stunt to help Connor Reid and Jamie. Something thought up on the spot by the show's PR people.

  He stared at me, hurt filling his eyes. "Even so."

  Unable to face him, I dropped my gaze to the table and put a hand to my abdomen. My stomach was still misbehaving.

  "I drank. I gambled." His voice broke. "I went to the country and rode hard. I drove too fast. I was reckless with my life. I didn't bloody well care what happened to me."