24 1/2 Kisses (A Bashir Family Romance) (4 page)

I tried to laugh, like I was amused by it, but it sounded a little too forced and they just stared at me like I was a giggling idiot.

A knock on the door saved me. Molly stuck her head in and found me.

“I have a message for you, Scarlett. Bashir’s people called. He’ll be available for you tonight. Franklin Bank is having some shin-dig to celebrate the latest merger.” She handed me a piece of paper. “There’s the time and address. Good luck.”

I would need more than luck. I needed a bodyguard. Or an on-call therapist.

Or better yet, a nice looking photographer with blue eyes.

“Can I take Eric?”

Bill scanned through the document.

“I don’t see a problem with it.”

Linda chimed in. “Good luck getting him into a suit.”

He can wear swim trunks for all I care if I don’t have to face Dev alone.

I
met Eric outside the entrance to Franklin Tower. He strode up to me wearing what I guessed was his only suit, a bulky camera bag hanging over his shoulder and his usual easy smile. He whistled when he saw me.

“Wow—I mean—just,
wow
.”

I blushed. I had chosen a black cocktail dress with a dangerously low open back. With matching three-inch stilettos and my blonde hair a stick straight sheath past my shoulders, I knew I wouldn’t look like a slouch tonight—even if I wanted to throw up from the nervous churning in my stomach.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” I said, taking a deep, unsteady breath.

On our way up to the top floor in the elevator, Eric must have noticed my nerves.

“You’ll be fine, Scarlett. I’m here if you need me.”

I offered him a small smile and felt a little better. I suddenly felt like a genius asking him to come with me.

The elevator stopped with a tiny jolt at the 60
th
floor, and I made myself loosen my white-knuckle clutch on my purse.

“Thanks, Eric. I do need you—I mean, I
might
need you.”

He smiled me and offered his arm as we walked into the impressive suite.

“Hey, this place isn’t half bad,” he joked.

I took in the colossal ballroom with fifty foot high cathedral ceiling, adorned with crystal chandeliers, and surrounded by a wall of spotless windows framing a view of New York befitting a five dollar postcard from a tourist shop.

The room was filled with well-groomed and important-looking people.

Beautiful.

Wealthy.

Pedigreed.

As if I wasn’t already nervous enough, he had to bring me
here
to meet him. There was a purpose behind it knowing Dev.

What’s your game, Dev
? I wondered as a waiter offered me a glass of champagne, which I declined with a small shake of my head and a tight smile.

Eric casually removed his camera from his bag. “I’m going to get some shots. See you in a bit.”

I resisted the impulse to cling to his arm and beg him to stay next to my side.

“Sure. Of course. See you.”

As soon as he left, he was replaced by a middle aged man in a dark suit, nursing a glass of brandy.

“Do you mind if I introduce myself? John O’Leary.” He put out his hand and I shook it while trying to steal discreet glances down my dress.

I knew this game. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Scarlett Sommerfield. I’m a reporter for
Time Magazine
.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“A journalist, huh? If I had to guess, I would have said you’re a
model
,” he said, expecting me to gush in reply to his compliment.

I put on my “pretend-to-be-interested” expression and tuned out as he droned on about investment banking and how he usually hated these functions while stealing peeks at my breasts. A few moments later something else in the room caught my attention.

He
was here.

Before I saw him, I could already feel his energy enter the suite. Like a moth drawn to the flame, so were my eyes as they found him on the other side of the cavernous space, maybe a sea of fifty or a hundred guests—all eager to see
him
—and separating the two of us from each other.

From my vantage point in the corner of the room, I watched him meander through his throngs of admirers, shaking his hand, patting his back, giving him their best smiles from the best sides of their faces—his employees, associates, and the wealthiest and most admired of New York society. And I also noticed more than a few long-legged, carefully coiffed vixens stand up straighter, arching their backs slightly, so to better present their own particular goods to the Brad Pitt of the banking world.

He was taller than most men in the room and dressed impeccably in a perfectly-tailored charcoal gray suit, his hair slicked back in dark waves, and his face—the same handsome lines and strong bone structure I knew so well—was slightly older; I detected a new line or two around his eyes when he smiled, but on him, it only added an aura of sophistication.

I watched him work the room like a pro, giving each person what they perceived to be his undivided attention and then skillfully segueing into the next conversation with someone else. He was a pro.

Then he saw me.

Like being hit by two dark darts, his eyes shot through the crowd and landed on mine. In an instant, I was overwhelmed.

I can’t do this.

I tore myself away from his heavy gaze and quickly extricated myself from James or John or whatever his name was. I found Eric peering out the window at the back of the room—probably wishing he was scaling a mountain somewhere in Colorado instead of wearing a stuffy suit.

“I decided I’m not doing the story, Eric. I’ll just go back to Seattle. Can we go—like, right now?”

He looked a little taken back. I suppose he thought I was spineless.

“Don’t be intimidated by these people, Scarlett. Just imagine them naked. That’s what I do…with the exception of that bald fat guy in the blue suit.” He smiled as he rubbed my arm in consolation. “It’s just a few questions. You can do it.”

I couldn’t see Dev, but I could feel him coming for me. My body startle to tingle and my hair stand on edge—like just before you get hit by lightening.

“I need some air. I’ll be right back.”

I took a deep breath, feeling like I would soon hyperventilate, and walked away trying to find an exit or a corner or somewhere to hide. I discovered a long hallway that dead-ended in front of an ornately framed gilded mirror hanging over a massive arrangement of blood red tulips. Cell phone in hand, I punched in my editor’s number with a plan to get out of the interview.

As I walked quickly down the hallway, my black high heels clicking on the white marble, the call went to his voice mail.

“Bill, this is Scarlett. I don’t think I can do this. I’m…I’m really sick. And, uh, it feels serious. So…I have to go home and rest. Sorry.”

As I replaced the phone in my black purse, I heard footsteps behind me.

I knew that sure gait, that confident footfall.

Dev.

I froze, forcing my gaze on the vase of fresh red tulips. I didn’t dare look up into the mirror lest I see him emerging behind me; like Dracula trapping his latest victim, I knew the terror of his image would overtake me.

“Scarlett.”

I didn’t realize until that moment how much I missed how he said my name, with his slight English accent. He was standing so close to my back, I could almost feel his breath on my neck.

Pull yourself together, Scarlett.

I bit my lower lip hard hoping to gain some courage, and then whipped around, forcing my shoulders back, my chin up, and painting the widest grin on my face I could manage given my current state of terror. I was a professional after all.

“Dev, hi. How are you?”

I extended my hand.

He didn’t take it. He just stared at me with an intensity that made me feel naked…like I suddenly needed to cover up.

I pulled my hand back. If it was possible, he had become even more handsome and confident than when I knew him years ago. There wasn’t a woman who could stand near him without feeling a little weak in knees, and mine were nearing the consistency and strength of jelly.

I cleared my throat. “If this is in any way awkward for you, we can cancel the entire interview at any time.”

Please cancel.

Don’t cancel.

What?

“From what you said to your boss it sounds like you’re the one who wants to back out.” He was stating a fact, no emotion in his voice.

I shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to write this story. For obvious reasons.”

Don’t you remember what happened between us?

I could feel my forced smile cracking…I couldn’t keep this up much longer.

He shifted his weight, towering over me, his hands on his hips, a stance of authority, of control. He wasn’t used to anyone telling him what to do.

“So you’re in New York now.”

“Astute as always,” I quipped.

“Well, you’re dressing the part.” His eyes moved down my tight, black dress.

What does that mean?

“I would ask you to explain your comment, but I’m restricted to the number of questions I’m allowed to ask.”

“Twenty-four and a half to be precise.” He added quickly, looking for a reaction.

I glanced away from him, my face burning. I knew he was relishing my discomfort.

“Is this what you really want, Dev?”

I pulled out my notepad and pen then looked in his eyes, almost pleading.

“This is what I want,” he stated, some other meaning lingering around the edges of his words. “And I usually get what I want.”

He studied me for a moment, any emotion he may have felt at that moment carefully guarded behind dark eyes. Then he abruptly glanced at his shiny gold watch. “But it turns out I don’t have time for
any
questions tonight.”

“What?”

Ignoring me, he quickly turned away and walked down the long hall.

I was dismissed.

Without even a cursory glance back to me, his parting words were professional, indifferent, as if we just agreed to the terms of a loan.

“My assistant will be in contact, Scarlett.”

I sat in Bill’s office the next morning, gutted.

Linda handed me a cup of coffee on her way in before taking a seat next to me. She couldn’t hide her curiosity to know how things went with the mysterious Dev Bashir the night before. If she only knew.

“You get anything from Wonderboy?” she asked.

I took a sip, Bill and Linda’s eyes on me.

“He postponed the interview. Someone’s supposed to call me.”

Bill leaned against his desk, his face all business.

“Just see where it goes, Scarlett. If you get anything publishable, it will be a sort of coup for us.”

“He’s just playing with me,” I stated firmly.

“Nah. He’s just busy.”

Then my cell rang. With a quick apology, I answered it.

“This is Scarlett.”

“Hi, this is Ashley, Mr. Bashir’s scheduler. He would like you to meet him tomorrow morning at the gym on the 15
th
floor of Franklin Tower.”

“The
gym
?”

Linda and Bill’s eyebrows raised in surprise simultaneously.

I quickly got the details and hung up. I was to meet him during his regular morning training session—
at 5:30 a.m.

Bill gave me consolatory smile as I left the office and trudged back to my cubicle wondering how I was going to get up so early.

Dev knew I wasn’t a morning person.

Damn him.

I
walked onto the 15
th
floor of Franklin Tower clutching a cup of coffee like it was a life-preserver. I didn’t even bother asking Eric to go with me; it was so early and so…
ridiculous
. Besides, I had gone through the hardest part: seeing Dev for the first time.

And I didn’t die.

I just wanted to.

I decided to rejoice in the fact I was still alive and I was going finish living when this was all over.

Please let it be over today.

I stepped into the private gym, a smattering of early bird exercisers on treadmills and lifting weights barely glanced at me in my burgundy pencil skirt and matching lipstick. I smoothed out my hair and stifled a yawn as a professional-looking woman in her late 30s approached me, clipboard in hand.

“Are you Scarlett Sommerfield, with
Time
?”

“Yes. Good morning.”

“Mr. Bashir was hoping you could ask a few interview questions while he has his morning workout. He’s so busy right now, I hope you don’t mind if he multi-tasks.”

I snorted. “Of course not. At least it’s not from his bathroom, right?”

She looked at me oddly, not getting my joke.

“I’m just kidding. It’s not a problem at all.”
She smiled politely and led me to a private room where Dev was reclined on a bench pressing a significant amount of weight under the careful eyes of his bulky trainer. Ashley waited until his set was over before speaking.

His muscles were impressive—he had filled out some since I last saw him.
Like beautiful chocolates filled with arsenic, Scarlett.
I made myself look away as they flexed under the cold steel.

Finally, the set was over. Dev, still flat on his back, caught his breath.

“Mr. Bashir, Scarlett Sommerfield with
Time
is here.”

He didn’t say anything or even glance up from the bench, and I just stood there like an idiot with my notepad and pen in hand. After what seemed like an eternity, he sat up and ran a towel over his face, then looked my way briefly.

“Thanks, Ashley,” he said, dismissing her. The trainer congratulated him on a good workout and left with the assistant.

I was confused.

“If you’re done with your workout, I’m ready to start the interview.” I said matter of factly.

He stood up and removed his soaked t-shirt revealing the chest I knew so well. It was even more defined and Adonis-like than when I used to fall asleep on it…
and dream the best dreams of my life…

I glanced away, feeling suddenly warm.

“I started early this morning, Scarlett. Guess we’ll have to reschedule.”

Was he playing a joke on me?

I met his dark eyes in disbelief. “So you don’t have time for any questions today?”

He shrugged.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you up so early. I know you’re not a morning person.” He grinned wickedly as he said it. “I’m off to the shower—you’re welcome to join me and take notes. It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

Then he turned away and headed for a door on the other side of the room.

I guess he thought I would crawl away, pathetic, weak, embarrassed by his obnoxious suggestion.

I wanted to.

But instead I stood there waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know. He had obviously just wasted my time and savored every moment of it. Why was I letting him do this to me?

Because you have to. You’ll lose your job.

I tapped my toe on the industrial carpeting in frustration.

Interview him in the shower?
I could do that.

I stomped in after him.

My heels clicked over the damp tile in the men’s locker room, and I was relieved to see the place was empty. I found Dev in a spacious shower stall at the end, his face turned toward the shower head on the opposing wall, facing away from me. He was aggressively rubbing shampoo in his dark hair, the white foam trailing down his tall, muscular body and merging with the hot water on the gleaming white and gray tiles. I drank in the perfection of his naked form for a moment. Michelangelo’s statue of David had nothing on him.

“I’m ready when you are,” I announced, making sure my voice was as strong and confident as I wanted him to perceive me to be.

He froze for a moment, his hands in his hair, the soap bubbles now faded into clear, hot streams of water.

Ha ha, Dev. Feeling awkward, are we? Two can play at your game.

But then he did something I wasn’t planning on. He turned around and faced me, not a hint of unease on his face, and then casually strode over to me, stopping four inches away from my face, the water from his naked body dripping onto my black pumps.

What the hell?

His voice was calm and confident, as if I were the one naked and not him. “Is this how reporters for
Time
conduct interviews, Scarlett, or is this an exception you’re making just for me?”

I forced myself to hold his gaze, even though my stomach was churning like the ocean during a category 5 hurricane.

As much as I was desperate to, I couldn’t deny my attraction to this man, naked and wet standing so close. I quickly recalled how he would often joke that one of us was gasoline and the other a lit match.

Together, we burn out of control.

I searched his eyes for some hint of his intentions. I found nothing, his dark eyes the ultimate chameleon. I couldn’t keep this up; it was draining me.

“Why are you playing with me, Dev? I thought you were better than this.”

He broke my gaze and grabbed a towel from the hook on the wall. His parting words were direct and they cut to my heart.

“That’s just it, Scarlett. You didn’t.”

He put the towel around his waist and left me there, a steaming, confused mess holding a now-damp notebook full of empty pages.

I didn’t know what had just happened, but I did know one thing: I needed a drink.

After hearing my version of the morning’s events, Linda took me to her favorite hole-the-wall pub for some “it’s-after-five-somewhere” dirty martinis. I was happy to have a friend.

“And you really
followed him
into the shower?” She asked with the most amused smile on her face—the first one I had seen since I met her.

“Linda, you don’t understand,” I tried to explain.

How do I say this?

But she saved me the trouble. “Bill told me…about your past with Bashir. I just didn’t realize there was so much…
unfinished business
between you two.”

I looked at her quizzically.

“Unfinished business? I don’t think so. It’s emphatically, decidedly,
unmistakably
over with him. This is not an Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton kind of thing. He’s just toying with me because he’s sadistic…and he has temporary access to me.”

I took a deep breath and slouched over my martini. “And I have to chase this story or I’m out of a job.”

She sipped her martini as if deciding whether or not to say something.

“I knew this guy once—okay, my ex-husband actually.” Her face filled with memories as she stirred her olive with a long toothpick. “It’s still like that between us. We just love to hate each other. And we hate that we still love each other.”

“Why not get back together?” I asked.

“Too much time’s gone by. Too many things said and done—
we both regret
. If I could erase it or go back, I would in a New York minute. No pun intended.”

As I let her words sink in, my cell rang.

“Yes?”

“Hi Miss Sommerfield, this is Ashley again—Mr. Bashir’s scheduler.”

“Hi Ashley.” I gave Linda a look that told her it was about
him
.

“Mr. Bashir wanted me to apologize on his behalf for running out of time this morning. He’s extremely busy.”

“I’m getting that impression. If he doesn’t have enough time for an interview right now—

“Oh no, actually he wanted to invite you to his office tomorrow morning at ten. He has an entire hour free.”

“He’s giving me a
whole
hour?”

She missed my sarcasm.

“Yes, isn’t that great? Can I pencil you in?”

I glanced at Linda stirring her martini endlessly, remembering what could have been with her ex.

“I’ll be there. Thanks.”

***

In Dev’s large corporate office with a dominating view of Manhattan, I sat waiting—
again
—for the prince of New York to arrive. This time I was ready. My digital recorder sat on his massive, empty desk and I had my list of questions—all 24 of them—memorized. I would worry how to phrase the “one half question” later.

Eric was busy on another assignment so I was alone again. He had left me a single white rose on my desk that morning with a note wishing me luck. The memory of his sweet, simple gesture brought me a small measure of comfort in Dev’s cold, emotionless black and gray habitat.

After making me squirm for ten minutes, the door opened behind me and Dev rushed in dressed in an expensive suit, his toned body underneath filling it out in all the right places. He fell into his chair like he’d just run a marathon, and then noticed me like he would notice a gnat on the wall.

“You’re here.”

Please, no games today.

“Should I just jump into the interview or do you have an in-office massage scheduled?” I asked right away.

“Don’t be snippy, Scarlett. It doesn’t suit you.” He looked me over like he was looking over a car rental for scratches or dents. “And neither does your straight hair.”

Ignoring his slight, I clicked on the digital recorder making sure he saw me; he was now on record. I was going to dive in, no asking permission.

“Mr. Bashir, please tell me about yourself. Where you’re from, where you went to school, your philosophies on life, hobbies and interests, and when you started your career at Franklin Bank.”

He smiled, amused.

“That’s six questions.”

“No, that’s one open-ended question. I was merely giving you some ideas of what you could cover in your answer. Presuming you actually give me answer.”

“I’ll count it as four.”

“Please don’t. Just tell me about yourself. You fill in the blanks.”

I clenched my hand around my pen almost to the point of breaking it.

I hate you.

“I was born in Mumbai, India and spent most of my childhood in London, before moving to Texas when I was middle school. There, I learned the art of business from my father who ran several local hotels.”

As he talked about his upbringing—which was everything I already knew about him—I held back the temptation to interrupt and ask follow-up questions as I would normally do when conducting interviews. I had to hold back lest I quickly use up the twenty four—
and a half
—I was rudely rationed.

Thankfully, he seemed to be giving me something of substance.

I’ve got two paragraphs of an article now. Thank god he’s taking this seriously.

“…and then after my MBA at Wharton, I fell in love—

He paused, letting it hang in the air. I caught my breath but tried to remain unaffected by his words.

You fell in love with me
.

“I fell in love…with New York and the banking industry,” he finished, returning to his cool, indifferent demeanor.

A quick knock on the door and a tall, young brunette strode in with a file in her hand.

“Sorry, Dev, I hate to interrupt but we need your signature on this right away.”

She saw me and gave me a cursory smile.

That face. I know it.

“Greta, this is Scarlett Sommerfield, a writer for
Time Magazine
.”

Greta?

She shook my hand, a curious look on her face.

“You look so familiar. Have we met?”

I felt hit over the head.

The woman from Dev’s apartment that fateful morning. The woman who was falling all over him…and kissed him on the cheek like a lover would.

Like I used to.

I held my breath as I answered. “I just moved here.”

“Oh, okay. Welcome to New York.”

Dev handed her the document back and she left.

“That was one of our lawyers,” he stated, flatly.

You slept with her. And then you flaunted her in my face. Again.

“She’s very beautiful,” I responded, letting him know that I knew
exactly
who she was.