Tyler made herself smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “No, it’s nothing like that, Howard. Richard and I have never quarreled. And if I eloped, it would tarnish the image you’ve been helping me create for the board of trustees. They’d pull the plug on me even before my year’s probation is up. Besides, Hamilton Bradshaw is planning on attending the wedding. I wouldn’t want him disappointed in Sheridan Trust before he has time to settle in.”
Even as she spoke, a totally different image formed in her mind. It was a scene she’d watched hundreds of times in movies. Papers were rolling off the presses, the music was swelling, and there she was on the cover of the Boston Globe in her bridal dress and veil, waiting at the altar alone. Above her the headline screamed, Tyler Sheridan, Acting CEO of Sheridan Trust, Jilted!
“Tyler…are you still there?”
Tyler swallowed the tight ball of panic lodged in her throat. “Yes?”
“I thought I lost you for a moment. Tell Richard to give me a call later. I have some last-minute bachelor party things to go over with him. I’ll cover for you here.”
“Thanks, Howard. ’Bye.”
For just a moment, Tyler let herself lean against the wall. Howard was one of the few people at Sheridan Trust who had given her his unquestioning support since her grandmother’s death. And his interest in working at Sheridan Trust had brought her mother back to Boston. Tyler had begun to hope that the rift between her mother and grandmother would eventually heal. For fourteen years, ever since Tyler’s father had died, Claudia and Isabelle had blamed each other for his death.
Still, she couldn’t tell Howard, she couldn’t tell anyone yet that Richard was missing. The only person she could confide in was Nick Romano. If her grandmother said he could be trusted, he could. She had to believe that. There was no other choice. In a minute, just as soon as she was in control, she was going to make him help her.
WITH ONE QUICK SWEEP of his arm, Nick scooped everything on his desk into a box. He’d done the right thing. So why the hell did he feel like he’d kicked a defenseless puppy? Pulling out a drawer, he dumped it unceremoniously into the next box.
That woman was not defenseless. He knew the type—a spoiled rich girl, swimming in inherited wealth and certain that it could buy her anything she wanted. His sisters and his mother would have admired the style of that neat little suit she wore. His own taste ran to her legs. They were first class, just like the rest of her. And in spite of the heat, she’d looked picture perfect, not one strand of that pale-gold hair out of place, not one wrinkle in her clothes. Nothing loose, nothing unbuttoned. At any other time, he’d have been tempted to muss her up a bit. Just thinking about it made his lips curve.
Propping a hip against the side of his desk, Nick let his gaze return to the door. She’d been young too, not more than twenty-four or five. And there’d been that flash of fear he’d seen in her eyes when he’d leapt off the couch. In spite of it, she hadn’t run and she hadn’t screamed.
Courage. He’d always been a sucker for it. Nick glanced at the phone. She couldn’t have left the building yet. There was a chance he could still catch—
No. He stopped himself before he could start for the door. No way. Little Miss Picture Perfect was the last thing he needed right now. He was out of the PI business for good. After ten years, the cage door had finally swung open.
His job with a law firm in L.A. would finally allow him to achieve his dream of practicing law. Though he’d received his degree over a year ago, he had yet to put it to any use in Manhattan. There was always one last investigation to finish, one last favor to do before he could close his office. In California, no one need ever know he’d been a P.I. for ten years. No one would seek him out and beg him to take just one last case. Rising, he walked over to his computer and pulled the plug out of the wall, then out of the machine. As he coiled it and dropped it in an open box, he concentrated on the new life that was waiting for him out in California. His mother’s boutique was making a steady profit, and between that and what he’d be able to send her each month, his two sisters would make it through college. He was a free man!
The phone rang. Nick sent it a frown. He had a pretty good idea who it was. The smart thing to do was let it ring, let his answering machine pick it up. But he reached for it all the same. “Romano here.”
“You didn’t let me introduce myself. I’m Tyler Sheridan.”
Nick heard the warning bell ringing in the back of his mind. “So?”
“My grandmother was Isabelle Sheridan of Sheridan Trust in Boston. You did some work for her. She said I could trust you. I have a letter of introduction in my purse.”
Nick scowled first at the phone, then at the door. Why in hell had he left it open? Turning, he glared at the couch. If he hadn’t fallen asleep—
“Mr. Romano, are you still there?”
“Yeah.” A few hours later and he wouldn’t have been. He’d have missed Miss Tyler Sheridan completely. Why was it that today of all days, the past had to reach out and grab him?
“Could you please let me in? My business is private.”
Hanging up the phone, Nick walked to the door. The fact that she was Isabelle Sheridan’s granddaughter changed nothing, he told himself. The promise he’d made had concerned the old lady. Any obligation had ended when she’d died. Opening the door, he said, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother’s death.”
“Thank you.”
She moved past him quickly, but not before he’d seen the pain flash into her eyes. Isabelle had died six months ago, but this woman was still grieving. With a silent sigh, Nick closed the door. He knew how hard it was to lose family.
“How much should I make the check out for?”
“Forget about the check.” Even as he said the words, he discovered that it was much easier to refuse the spoiled rich girl than the woman who’d lost her grandmother. He’d read about Isabelle Sheridan’s sudden death in the papers. And he’d also glanced through several profiles written about the young woman who was standing before him, the woman Isabelle had personally groomed to take her place at the head of a multibillion-dollar investment firm. Only, the old lady hadn’t planned on dying so soon, because Tyler Sheridan looked much too young for the job. “Look, I’m not in the PI business anymore. I have a new job in L.A that starts next week. The best I can do for you is escort you to my cousin Sam’s office and personally introduce you. He’s the best—”
“I want you. My grandmother said in an emergency to use you—no one else. I can’t afford to share any of this with a stranger.”
“Why don’t you use the security firm in Boston that your grandmother used?” Nick asked.
“Because my business is…personal, and my—This problem is here in Manhattan.”
Her voice had tightened slightly, and her knuckles had turned white where they were gripping her purse. Those were the only signs that beneath that cool, unflappable exterior, she was wound tight. Contrasts had always intrigued him. Once again Nick fought against his weakening resolve. “Let me see if I can guess. You want me to tail your boyfriend and see if he’s cheating on you?”
Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks. “I’m not going to discuss the case until you agree to take it.” Then suddenly her eyes widened. “That can’t be the only kind of work you do. I’m sure that’s not the kind of work you did for my grandmother—”
He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes and the curiosity.
“Was it?”
“I never talk about