Lindsay gave her a squeeze, obviously recognizing that Kaitlin was getting emotional. “You ready for lunch?”

“Sure thing.” There was no point in dwelling on the past. She was staying in New York City, and that was a great thing. The rocker would make a difference, she was sure of it. Maybe she’d get a cat, a calico or a black-and-white gerbil. A pet would make things that much more homey.

With one last look around, she followed Lindsay inside. They locked the rooftop door and took the aging elevator back to the third floor and Kaitlin’s small office.

“There you are.” Zach’s greeting from inside the office sounded vaguely like an accusation.

“What are you doing here?” Kaitlin’s guard immediately went up. She suspiciously scanned the room, the deck, the bookshelf, her computer, checking to see if anything had been disturbed. She’d put a password on her laptop, and she was keeping the preliminary renovation drawings under lock and key.

She’d made Zach promise to give her carte blanche on the project. But she still feared, given half a chance, he would try to micromanage it. She wasn’t planning on giving him half a chance.

“I have something to show you,” he announced from where he stood behind her tilted drafting table.

She saw that he’d rolled out a set of blue line drawings. She moved forward to get a better view. “Those aren’t mine.”

“They’re something Hugo Rosche put together,” he responded.

Kaitlin slipped between the desk and drafting table, while Lindsay waited in the doorway of the cramped office. Kaitlin stopped shoulder-to-shoulder with Zach, and he moved closer up against the wall.

“What’s different than how it is now?” she asked, moving through the pages, noting that a few walls had been relocated. The lobby had been slightly expanded, and new windows were sketched in on the first floor.

“We’d also repaint, recarpet and get a decorator,” said Zach.

She glanced up at him, searching his expression. “Is this a joke?”

He frowned at her.

“Because, I mean, if it’s a joke, ha-ha.” She dropped the pages back into place.

He looked affronted. “It’s not a joke.”

She gestured to the sheets of paper. “You’re not seriously suggesting I use these.”

“We don’t need to make massive changes in order to improve the building,” he insisted.

“I’m not a decorator, Zach. I’m an architect.”

“Being an architect doesn’t mean you need to tear down walls for the sake of tearing down walls.”

She turned and propped her butt against the side of the desk, folding her arms over her chest and facing him head on. “Did you seriously think I’d fall for this?” Because if he had, he was delusional.

He lifted his chin. “I thought you’d at least consider it.”

“I just considered it. I don’t like it.”

“Thank you so much for keeping such an open mind.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me a fait accompli.”

“I paid good money for these plans.” He snagged the bottom of the sheets and began to roll them up. His voice rose, the offense clear in his tone. “And I paid good money for your original plans. And now I’m paying a third time for the same work.”

Lindsay shifted forward, stepping fully into the room. “Would you prefer to fire Kaitlin and meet us in court?”

Zach’s steel gaze shot her way.

He glared at her briefly, then returned his attention to Kaitlin. “I thought you could use them as a starting point.”

Kaitlin shrugged. “Okay,” she said easily.

His hands stilled. He drew back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then he paused and asked, “You will?”

She shrugged again. “Since they’re virtually identical to the existing building, I’ve already used them as a starting point.”

Lindsay coughed a surprised laugh.

Zach came back to life, snapping an elastic band around the paper roll, while Kaitlin hopped out of his way.


“It’s my backup plan,” Zach said to Dylan. It was Sunday afternoon, and the two men maneuvered their way through the crowded rotunda at Citi Field toward a Mets game. If there was one thing he’d learned from both his father and from Dylan’s dad, it was that your contingencies had to have contingencies. Plans failed all the time. An intelligent man was prepared for failure.

Dylan counted on his fingers. “Plan A was to buy her off. Plan B was getting her to agree to the Hugo Rosche drawings. Low percentage on that one working, by the way.” He skirted a trash can. “And now Plan C is to find her a new job?”

Zach didn’t disagree on the Rosche drawings. It had been a long shot that she’d agree to use them. But finding her a new job could easily work. It was a well thought out strategy.

“She said it herself,” he explained. “Her long-term goal is to get a good job. She wants her career back on track. And I don’t blame her. Thing is, it doesn’t have to be my building. It could be any building.”

“She wants to stay in New York City,” Dylan confirmed.

“New York City is a very big place. There are plenty of buildings to renovate.”

“So, you invited her to the game, because…?”

That was another element of Zach’s plan. “Because she was wearing a Mets T-shirt that day at her apartment. It turns out, she’s a fan.”

“And odds are she’s never watched a game from a Sterling Suite,” Dylan elaborated.

“I’m betting she hasn’t,” said Zach as he came to a stop near the escalator, glancing around for Kaitlin and Lindsay. “It works exceedingly well on Fortune 500 execs. Besides, my project is temporary. If I can find her a solid offer with a good firm, then she’s got something permanent.”

“And in order to accept the offer, she’ll have to quit your project.”

“Exactly.” Zach couldn’t help but smile at his own genius.

Dylan, on the other hand, had a skeptical expression on his face. “Good luck with that.”

“Here she is,” Zach announced in a loud voice, sending Dylan a quick warning glance.

The plan was perfectly sound. But it would take some finesse. He wouldn’t try to sell her on the idea of a new job right away. Today, he only wanted to smooth the path, get a little closer to her. He’d let her know he was interested in a good outcome for both of them. No reason they had to be at odds.

Next week, he’d make a few calls, talk to a few associates, field offers for her.

Kaitlin broke her way through the escalator lineup and angled toward them.

His mood lifted at the sight of her, and he recognized the danger in that hormonal reaction. It didn’t mean he had a hope in hell of changing it. But it did mean he needed to be careful, keep his emotions in check and hold himself at a distance.

She was wearing a snug white T-shirt, faded formfitting blue jeans, scuffed white sneakers and a blue-and-orange Mets cap with a jaunty ponytail sticking out the back. He’d never had a girl-next-door thing, preferring glitz and glamour in his dates. But it didn’t seem to matter what Kaitlin wore. She’d be his fantasy girl in a bathrobe.

Damn. He had to shut that image down right now.

Her friend Lindsay was a half pace behind her. She had topped a pair of black jeans with a white sleeveless blouse.

They came to a halt.

“Dylan,” Zach said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Kaitlin, “meet Kaitlin Saville and Lindsay Rubin.”

“The lovely bride,” Dylan teased Kaitlin, and Zach tensed at the edgy joke.

“The pirate,” Lindsay countered with a low laugh, smoothly inserting herself between Dylan and Kaitlin, then shaking his hand.

“Zach’s the pirate,” Dylan informed her, a practiced smile masking his annoyance at what he considered an insulting label.

“I’ve been studying Zach’s family history,” Lindsay countered. “And I also came across yours.”

“Why don’t we head this way.” Zach gestured toward the elevator. He didn’t want an argument to mar the day. Plus, the game was about to start.

Kaitlin followed his lead, and she fell into step beside him.

“A pirate?” she asked him in what sounded like a teasing voice.

That was encouraging.

“So I’m told,” he admitted.

“Well, that explains a lot.”

Before Zach could ask her to elaborate, Lindsay’s voice interrupted from behind. “It seems Caldwell Gilby cut a swath through the Spanish Main, plundering gold, ammunition and rum.”

Zach could well imagine Dylan’s affronted expression. The sparks were about to fly. But he had to admit, he kind of liked Lindsay’s audacity.

“You can’t trust everything you read on the internet,” Dylan returned dryly.

Kaitlin leaned a little closer to Zach, voice lowering. “Is this going to end badly?”

“Depends,” he answered, listening for the next volley.

“I read it in the Oxford Historic Encyclopedia at the NYU Library,” came Lindsay’s tart retort.

“It could end badly,” Zach acknowledged.

While he’d long since accepted the fact that his family’s wealth had its roots in some pretty unsavory characters, Dylan had always chosen to pretend his ancestor fought against the pirate Lyndall Harper, and on the side of justice.

The two men had zigzagged across the Atlantic for years, lobbing cannonballs at each other. They’d fought, that much was true. But neither was on the right side of the law.

The suite level elevator doors had opened, so they walked inside.

“Caldwell had letters of authority from King George,” said Dylan, turning to face the glowing red numbers.

“Forged and backdated in 1804,” Lindsay retorted without missing a bead.

“Have you ever seen the originals?” Dylan asked. “Because I’ve seen the originals.”

Kaitlin merely grinned at Zach from beneath her ball cap. “My money’s on Lindsay.”

He took in her fresh face, ruby lips, dark lashes and that enticing little dimple. He caught the scent of coconut, and for a split second he imagined her in a bright bikini, flowers in her hair, on a tropical beach.

“Is it a bet?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry?” He shook himself back to reality.

“Ten bucks says Lindsay wins.” She held out her hand to seal the deal.

Zach took her small, soft hand in his, shaking slowly, drawing out the touch, his attraction to her buzzing through ever nerve cell in his body. “You’re on.”

The elevator came smoothly to a stop, and they made their way along the wide, carpeted hallway to the luxury suite. For many years, the Harpers and the Gilbys had shared a corporate suite for Mets games. Dylan’s father used them the most often, but they had proven a valuable corporate tool for all of them in wooing challenging clients.

“Wow.” The exclamation whooshed out of Kaitlin as she crossed through the arched entrance and into the big, balconied room. It comfortably held twenty. A waiter was setting out snacks on the countertop bar, next to an ice-filled pail of imported beer and a couple of bottles of fine wine.

“Will you look at this.” Like an excited kid, she beelined across to the open glass doors and out onto the breezy, tiered balcony, where two short rows of private seats awaited them.

Happy to leave Dylan and Lindsay to their escalating debate, Zach followed Kaitlin out.

“So this is how the other half lives,” she said, bracing her hands on the painted metal rail, and gazing out over home plate. Rows of fan-filled seats cascaded below them, and a hum of excitement wafted through the air.

“It works well for entertaining clients.” Zach heard a trace of apology in his voice, and he realized he wanted her to know it wasn’t all about self-indulgence.

“At Shea Stadium, we used to sit over there.” She pointed to the blue seats high behind third.

“Was that when you were a kid?”

She shook her head. “It was when we were in college.” And a wistful tone came into her voice. “My first live game was sophomore year.”

“So, you were a late bloomer?” He shifted to watch her profile, wondering what had prompted the sadness.

“As a kid, I watched as many as I could on TV.” She abruptly turned to face the suite, and her tone went back to normal. “You got any beer in there?”

“No live games as a kid?” he persisted, seeing an opening to get to know her on a more personal level.

“Not a lot of money when I was a kid.” She sounded defiant. He could tell he was being dared to probe further.

He opened his mouth to ask, but a cheer came up from the crowd as the players jogged onto the field.

Kaitlin clapped her hands. And by the time the din had abated, Zach decided to leave it alone. He patted one of the balcony chairs in the front row. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you a beer.” Two stairs up, he twisted back. “You want chips or something?”

“Hot dog?” she asked.

He couldn’t help but grin at the simple request. “One hot dog, coming up.”