Over the next couple of weeks, Colin went about his business. He closed escrow on the
Palm Springs property, and he began plans to develop the land as a retail space. He
disbursed the dividends from the family corporation to all of the relevant parties, which
meant Drew McCray—who'd long since returned to Salt Spring Island—was now a
wealthy man.
He talked to Drew a few times about getting him the support he needed now that he
had enough money for it to start being an issue. The man needed a financial planner, a tax
attorney. He needed advice on how not to fall prey to the many various people and
organizations that might consider him to be an easy mark. But Colin hadn't gotten very
far with that; Drew insisted he didn't need anybody's help. He was going to find out he
was wrong, and he was probably going to have to learn it the hard way.
Colin wondered if this was how it felt to have a teenager who wouldn't listen to a
goddamned thing his parents said. The thought of Drew and parents made Colin wonder
whether Isabelle might be able to get through to him. It was an interesting idea.
According to Julia, the two had been estranged for a while, but your mother was always
your mother.
He made a mental note to get in touch with Isabelle and see what she thought.
In the meantime, he had a date coming up that he really didn't want to go through
with. He'd bought tickets to a literacy foundation black-tie fundraiser months ago, and
he'd asked Shelby Ross, a San Diego socialite and a fellow Harvard alum, to go with
him. This was back when he was still interested in Shelby, before Julia had eviscerated
him by joining him in his bed and then summarily dumping him.
Given all that had happened, he had about as much interest in Shelby these days as
he had in advanced knitting techniques. Which was to say, less than none. But he'd asked
her, and now he could hardly back out without looking like an ass. Worse than that, an
ass who didn't care about literacy.
So, he got his tux cleaned and got a fresh haircut, and on a Friday evening in April,
he drove to Shelby's home in La Jolla, picked her up in his Mercedes, and took her to the
benefit.
As they walked into the ballroom at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar, Shelby on Colin's
arm, he looked at her and thought that this was the kind of woman he should be seeing.
She was beautiful, with her silky, golden hair falling like a flawless curtain down her
back; her deep blue eyes; her impeccable sense of fashion; and, of course, her body,
which looked like she spent two hours a day pounding away on the stair climber at the
gym. She was accomplished in her career as an aide to a state senator. And she was
smart. If he were looking for someone to be a partner to him as he advanced his name as
an attorney and a businessman, then he likely couldn't do much better.
But somehow, every time he thought about one of Shelby's attributes, his mind kept
going back to Julia, as though she were some kind of irresistible force field drawing his
attention. He couldn't admire the sway of Shelby's hips without remembering what it had
felt like to touch Julia's. Couldn't enjoy the sight of Shelby's hair without thinking of
Julia's thick auburn waves.
He knew it was wrong to compare women; it was unproductive, and, hell, it was
probably disrespectful. But he couldn't look at Shelby without thinking that Julia was
somehow more intriguing, more appealing—more everything. Did Shelby ever laugh in a
way that wasn't calculated to show off her smile? Did she ever spend a day in a T-shirt
and gym shorts? Did she ever leave home without makeup? Did she ever really eat? The
look of her size two figure suggested the answer to that last question was negative, unless
you counted kale salad without dressing—which Colin decidedly did not.
The thing about Julia was that every aspect of her offered comfort, from her careless
beauty to her easy laughter. If Shelby was a night out on the town, Julia was home. Going
out was nice on occasion, but you certainly didn't want to spend your life that way.
"Colin? Is there something wrong?"
Shelby's question brought him out of his reverie. She was holding onto the crook of
his arm, looking at him attentively. God, she was lovely. Fine features, and perfect,
smooth skin.
He knew he was being a heel. Shelby deserved his full attention, and she didn't
deserve to be unfavorably compared to a woman she'd never met—a woman who had
declared her intention to be finished with Colin.
Julia didn't want him, but Shelby did. Why couldn't he just stop pining over a
relationship he didn't have, and start focusing on one that was within his grasp? What
was wrong with him?
"I'm sorry." He gave her a rueful grin. "I'm just a little distracted."
"Of course you are." She squeezed his arm. "You're still grieving over your uncle."
She shook her head and pursed her lips prettily. "It must be miserable coming to events
like this when you've got so much else on your mind."
She wasn't wrong that he was grieving; not a day went by when he didn't think
about Redmond. But his uncle wasn't the main loss he was feeling right now. He and
Julia had spent such a short time together. How could be this broken up about losing her?
How could he be this pitiful?
"Listen, Shelby—"
"Photo, Mr. Delaney?" A guy Colin recognized as the literacy foundation's official
event photographer stood poised with his camera. Colin dutifully put his arm around
Shelby, and they both smiled for the photo.
He'd been planning to say, what? That he was sorry for fantasizing about another
woman while he was out with Shelby? That he regretted acting like a lovesick teenager?
That he just wanted to go home?
He was just considering the possibility of pleading some kind of sudden illness when
the emcee for the evening took the microphone and encouraged everyone to find their
seats. The round banquet tables were covered in white tablecloths and done up in flowers
and candlelight.
Colin decided that he might as well stick it out for the sake of literacy. But he looked
forward to taking Shelby home and going back to his place where he could pout in
private.
Only about four hours to go. There was always the possibility of earthquake or
tsunami. He took his seat and rooted for the quake.
"If you could stop moping around and focus on what you're doing, that would be
great," Mike said wryly as he and Julia were looking over her plans for the Bozeman
hotel job.
"What are you talking about? I'm working. I'm focused."
Mike scoffed. "I guess you could call this working, but you're sure as hell not
focused. You've got the damned reflecting pond in the parking lot."
"What are you … I do not." Oh, shit. She did.
These weren't any kind of final plans, thank God—they were just sketches, ideas
that she was running past Mike before drawing them up more formally to show them to
the client. And she really did have the goddamned reflecting pond in the parking lot.
"I'll fix it." She tried to act like putting the reflecting pond in the parking lot was
something she did every day.
"You'll fix this, sure," Mike said. "But what about next time, when you tell me to
build a gazebo in the middle of the tennis courts?"
He was making fun of her. Why was he making fun of her for one simple mistake?
"Just call him," Mike said. "For Chrissake."
"Call who?" Julia looked at him with exasperation. "The client isn't expecting to
hear from me until next week, so—"
"Not him," Mike grumbled. "You know exactly who I'm talking about, so don't give
me the whole wide-eyed, clueless bit."
"If you're talking about Colin—"
"Of course I'm talking about Mr. Billionaire Prince Charming. Who else? Jesus."
They were at Julia's house, sitting at her kitchen table with the sketches and a
topographical map of the property for reference. She gathered her papers and stood up.
"That's over. That was over weeks ago."
Mike did that sucking thing with his front teeth again. "Yeah, well. Based on how
ditsy you are these days, I'm thinking it's not as over as you'd like people to think."
Part of her was angry about the insult. Part of her was indignant and defensive. And
another part of her was surprised that she was that transparent. What good was it having
secret feelings of torment when they weren't even secret?
"I'll tell you what. Why don't I fix these and we'll look at them again in a couple of
days?" She kept her voice bright to indicate the sheer magnitude of her indifference
toward Colin Delaney.
"That's your way of saying shut the hell up. I get it," Mike said. He made no move
to get up from the table.
"I didn't say that. I appreciate your concern. But …"
"But shut the hell up," he finished for her.
"Well, yes.