She wiggled her hand free. “We could’ve talked outside.”
He took a step, wandering deeper into the cave, marveling at it. “No, we couldn’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Nick. I’ve changed.”
“Are you sure? It’s only been a year or so,” he said, facing her now. “You look the same.”
“I’m sure.”
She stepped back and found there was no ground to gain; the cave was wide but shallow.
Nick closed the gap between them.
The past echoed in the enclosed space. Light of my life.
“Nick.”
His tone softened. “Come on, Leila. It’s me.”
Oh God, yes. She closed her eyes, all her late-night fears confirmed. He had only to say her name and her resolve turned into confectioner’s sugar.
Nick moved closer and threaded a hand through the high slit of her dress, brushed her thigh.
He had no right to touch her that way. Why wasn’t she fighting it?
The truth rose around Leila like floodwater. Her posturing was a ruse. All along she’d been actively plotting her capture. A fish seeking the fisherman’s net. He was the man who’d once called her his prize. And tonight, despite everything, she wanted him to win.
Leila drew him to her and kissed him full on the mouth. He tasted like mint and sweet cane.
Nick came alive. He pressed her into the cave wall and ran his palms over her body, rediscovering familiar terrain.
She’d expected him to take her by storm, to invade her. But his touch was unhurried, deliberately slow. He knew he had her.
The scent of wild orchids and damp earth enveloped them. She was water, the bay at high tide. He was rock, the one obstacle she could not overcome. He gathered the soft lace of her skirt. She eagerly unfastened his belt. He grabbed her hands and whispered in her ear, “Tell me what’s changed.”
Leila had no answer. She let him take her, the rough surface of the wall biting into her back. Over the distant party music she heard him groan, heard him murmur her name over and over until her moaning took over, filling the cave.
Leila had not—not at all—set out to be the girl who sat at her desk pining for the guy in the office with a view. She had big plans and her own reasons for taking the job at Kane & Madison Realty. But that’s exactly the girl she’d turned out to be. The transformation happened on a bright summer morning, a year and a half ago, on her very first day on the job.
To shake off the jitters, Leila slipped out of her North Miami apartment at dawn for a quick run. Keys and pepper spray in hand, she sprinted along upper Biscayne Boulevard. She was hounded by a feeling that her tightly sealed world was about to crack open. It didn’t make sense—a job was a job was a job, after all. If it didn’t work out, she could always go back to retail.
She made it home, out of breath and still very anxious. The small apartment was quiet, her roommate asleep. After a quick shower, she studied her reflection in the steamy mirror a long while. She hadn’t slept well and it showed. She swept on concealer then bronzer to liven her matte brown complexion. Much better. Her pageant days were behind her, but the tricks of the trade were hers for life.
Then, on impulse, she did the thing she rarely ever did except under exceptional circumstances. She pulled a wooden box out from under her bed. Inside, among several keepsake items, was a sparkly but flimsy tiara. She placed it on her head and studied her reflection again. She was ten, a little girl playing dress-up. A skinny, awkward child, she’d longed for grace, poise and a smile that could bankroll her dreams of escape. All she’d ever wanted was to escape her sleepy hometown in the outskirts of Naples, Florida, and create a new life, a big life, somewhere exciting. Over a decade later, she still wanted those same things.
You can do this.
She placed the tiara in the box and the box under the bed.
In the kitchen, Leila filled a travel mug with coffee and skipped breakfast. She was as antsy as a child on the first day of school and, in her pleated skirt and Mary Jane pumps, very much dressed like one. She’d never had an office job and her wardrobe proved it. I’m out of my element. No! I’m finding my way. She glanced at the oven clock. And I’m wasting time.
* * *
From the outside, the Brickell Avenue high-rise was sleek and modern. Inside it was sterile with marble floors, leather seating and paintings of palm trees bending to hurricane-force winds. Or was this true of all office buildings? Up until a week ago, she’d worked at Bal Harbour Shops. When she thought of the designer boutiques, koi ponds and actual palms trees, this place fell short. But if she wanted a fresh start, this was where she needed to be.
Leila followed the manager past a row of offices, hiding her disappointment with a careful smile. Jo-Ann Wallace wasn’t fooled by her performance. The sharply dressed woman pointed to an open cubicle fitted with a steel desk and ergonomic chair. A window offered a view of a parking lot spread wide like an asphalt lake. “This is yours.”
“Oh, nice! A window.”
“The better views are for the top associates. Speaking of which, we hired you to work with one of our best. He comes to us from headquarters in New York and travels there often. Part of your job will be to keep him up to speed when he’s away. Come. I’ll introduce you.”
Jo-Ann took the lead, head high, so proud of her position of gatekeeper to the throne. Leila fell one step behind. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she was wrong for this job. Was it too soon to quit? Was it quitting if you hadn’t worked a day? Oh, enough! She willed herself to snap out of it, whatever “it” was. At an age when most girls stayed home battling acne, she’d stared down panels of judges wearing nothing but a bikini and a pair of heels. To now be intimidated by these office drones? Ridiculous.
The nameplate on the door adjacent to her workspace read Nicolas Adrian, Associate. Determined to make a good first impression, she smoothed her hair and squared her shoulders.
Jo-Ann raised her hand to knock, but stopped at the sound of laughter on the other side of the closed door. Mr. Adrian was apparently having a good old time, engaged in a lively telephone conversation that might or might not be work-related. He followed statements like “I had a great time last night” with “Is that really your best offer? Can’t you come higher?” Leila focused on the voice. Low in tone, smooth and without the hard snobbish edge she’d grown accustomed to with the patrons of Bal Harbour Shops. It immediately roped her in.
“He sounds nice,” she said.
Jo-Ann frowned. “The associates are sharks. There’s nothing ‘nice’ about them. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
There was nothing “nice” about Jo-Ann, either.
The door swung open. Both she and Jo-Ann jumped back, confronted by a pair of inquisitive inky-blue eyes. Nicolas Adrian filled the doorway. He wore a beautifully tailored navy suit with a starched white shirt open at the collar. His golden complexion betrayed a devotion to the sun. If he was a shark, Leila thought, he was a Great White.
“Good morning. How can I help?”
Jo-Ann stretched her neck to confront him. “Nick, meet your new assistant, Leila Amis.”
Ignoring Leila, he asked, “What happened to Monica?”
“You