The Way They Were by Mary Campisi Page B

cell phone. “What did she want?”
    “She’s looking for you, sir. Something about a charity ball at the Ritz.”
    “Call her and tell her I can’t make it. Then send her flowers or something. You decide.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And don’t tell her you spoke with me.” Janice was beautiful and witty, with the longest legs he’d ever seen, but damn she required effort. There wasn’t a congenial cell in her genetic makeup. Not like Kate.
    “Will there be anything else, Mr. Flannigan?”
    Here goes. “Actually, yes. I’m going to need you to do a little babysitting while you’re here.”
    “Sir?”
    He heard her sipping air. “Relax, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Actually, it was, but Maxine could figure that out once she was here. “I need you to keep an eye on Abbie.”
    “But, sir, I know nothing about children.”
    “Which is ten times more than I know. I’ve got real business to tend to here and I can’t have her running loose and driving me crazy. No wonder Cresten looks so old. How many daughters does he have?”
    “Five, sir.”
    “Give the man a raise. He’s earned it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Dress casual. You don’t need those tweed suits and plaid jackets. Jeans are fine.”
    “Jeans, sir?”
    “Yes, Maxine. Blue, black, gray. Jeans.”
    “Yes, sir.” Pause. “Mr. Flannigan?”
    Just once, he’d like her to call him Rourke. “Yes?”
    “I really am not familiar with children, though I will endeavor to do my very best.”
    “You’ll do fine.”
    By noon Rourke had a two page list for Maxine and a ten-point strategy to bridge the fourteen year gap with Kate. He’d once been called a brilliant strategist by Forbes , and Money said he had the brains to lead the next industrial revolution. But this was Kate and suddenly, uncertainty plagued him. Kate, the woman, wasn’t as easily swayed by him as Kate, the girl, had been.
    When the front door tinkled someone’s arrival, Rourke reached for his wallet. “How much do you need now, Abigail?”
    “It’s Abbie, isn’t it?”
    He jerked his head up. “Kate. Hello.” She wore jeans that molded her hips and a semi-fitted pink T-shirt. Years had passed, but he still remembered every inch of skin underneath those clothes.
    “I met your niece this morning.” She moved toward him, a half smile skittering across her lips.
    He’d tasted those lips. Full. Inviting. Rourke cleared his throat and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. “She’s interesting, isn’t she?” For once he was grateful he could talk about his niece, the instant libido blaster. “Not that I understand a damn thing she says or does.”
    “She’s a typical teenager.” Kate stood across the desk, less than two feet away, the scent of her perfume teasing his senses. At eighteen, it had been hyacinth. He’d never heard of the flower before but she’d shown him one in the neighbor’s garden. The next night, he’d picked every one and brought them to her. “Hyacinth?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “Your perfume. Hyacinth?”
    She blushed. “Yes.”
    They stared at one another a second too long and he knew she’d never forgotten him. It was in the blue of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the wetness of her parted lips. Did she realize they weren’t finished, that maybe they’d never be finished, no matter how much they fought it?
    “Rourke?” It was a soft plea of uncertainty.
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t do this. Please.” Her eyes glittered with tears and a hint of fear.
    “I can’t help it,” he said softly. “Neither can you.”
    She stepped back and clutched her middle. “We can’t do this.”
    “It’s too late, Kate.” He kept his voice gentle. “It’s always been too late. We’re going to have to finish this thing between us, you realize that don’t you?”
    “Maybe if you just leave…”
    He shook his head and stood. “It won’t work. You know that.”
    “Clay—”
    “You were never his.” He moved