All Wrapped Up

He played her message a fourth time. He wasn’t imagining the breathy, seductive tone of her voice, even though her words were cold. That was typical of Liv. On the surface she was an ice princess, but he’d experienced the passion that simmered under the surface. She’d been hot, all he could want in bed and more.

She was totally genuine and natural. That was part of what had made their short relationship sizzle. But she didn’t have a clue how sexy she was. He’d had to work to unlock her passion, but it had been worth it. She’d rocked his world. He knew pretty much what he wanted in a woman, and he couldn’t help wondering what Liv was like now.

Back when they were together, Liv had been sure he’d change his mind about a permanent relationship. Her cure for his commitment phobia had been an excessive dose of devotion on her part. He wasn’t proud of it, but she’d scared him off.

He lived for the present. It wasn’t like him to second-guess decisions or brood over past mistakes. If Liv was uncomfortable having him come to her parents’ party, it was fine with him. His attitude toward relationships had remained the same since they’d parted company. He worked long hours and covered a lot of night and weekend events. He didn’t have time for anything but casual relationships, not if he wanted to excel in his field. And he did want that.

He had to get to work. After wasting a whole weekend trying to nail down an interview with Matilda Merris, even standing outside her house in the cold and looking pathetic in the hope she’d give in, he did have one more lead to follow. The old woman was a minor talent in the art world. She was on the client list of a Chicago public relations firm, William Lawrence Associates. Maybe, if he got really lucky, someone there would use their clout to get him inside Matilda’s Michigan home.

He dressed in gray flannel slacks, gray turtleneck, a navy blazer and tasseled loafers to impress the people at the PR firm. The gang in the newsroom would razz him about his dated preppy look, but he was at the end of his rope with this story. A whole lot of background work would go to waste if he couldn’t persuade the fallen hero’s daughter to talk to him.

Later, when he had time, he might give Liv a lesson in phone etiquette. He wondered if she still wore that flowery perfume that had turned him on, but it looked as if he’d never get close enough to know.

Mostly he wondered if she still hated him.

2

“I LOVE THIS LIFE,” Liv muttered to herself as she hung her midcalf black coat on the hall tree in the corner of her cubicle.

Mostly it was true. She didn’t mind riding the Metra System from Roselle, the stop closest to her home in Haley Park, to Union Station. She usually enjoyed the three-block walk from the terminal to the tall gray building where William Lawrence Associates occupied a suite on the ninth floor. She didn’t even mind the small, crowded cubicle that served as her office, although neon lights were no substitute for a window.

Once she got immersed in the business of the day, she rarely noticed the blandness of her surroundings. Her office was one of four created when a storage room had been divided into cubicles.

Today was Monday, always a busy day, but it wasn’t starting at all well. For one thing, her college intern was there ahead of her working at one of the two computers in the room. Liv didn’t exactly dislike Brandi Jo Willis, but sharing the small space with her was like having sand stuck in her swimsuit.

This morning the too-perky twenty-one-year-old blonde was dressed for success in a black jersey suit with a skirt that barely managed to cover her panties. The jacket was short, buttoned to hug her waist, and had a plunging neckline. She was obviously wearing nothing under it.

“Good morning, Miss Kearns,” Brandi Jo said, refusing to call Liv by her first name, a mockery of respect that annoyed Liv. “Mr. Bosworth asked me to finish some work for him. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, that’s fine,” Liv lied. “How long will it take? I planned on having you do some research for me.”

In fact, she really needed help today. She felt mentally and emotionally drained after canceling her parents’ party. Even the people she’d notified by e-mail had called her for details about the divorce.

Liv pulled her white wrap sweater more tightly around her, still shivering from the walk through bone-chilling blasts of wind. The second week in December was beginning, and arctic winds were bombarding the Windy City. Unlike Brandi Jo, she’d dressed for the weather in black trousers and a turtleneck under her sweater, but she still couldn’t seem to warm up.

“Boz, I mean Mr. Bosworth, said to take as long as I need to do this,” Brandi Jo said.

“Of course he did,” Liv said under her breath.

Ray Bosworth, Boz to his friends, was the vice president in charge of media and her immediate superior.

“He wants me to work here when my internship is over,” Brandi Jo said without looking up from the computer screen.

No surprise there, Liv thought. Boz was infamous for chasing interns. Opinion was divided on whether he ever caught any.

“That reminds me. I have to do your evaluation for school. When is it due?” Liv asked.

“Anytime before January tenth.” The intern sounded a little less sure of herself. She still had to graduate.

Liv planned to give her a good report card, so to speak, because it would be petty and spiteful not to acknowledge that the girl did work hard. But Liv didn’t have any illusions about her temporary helper. The intern was auditioning for a job with William Lawrence Associates, and that job could very well be Liv’s.

Was it a sign of her shrinking status that others didn’t bother to knock on the closed door of her office? With Brandi Jo entrenched in her space, the yellowish room with dark olive carpeting felt even less like a private work area.

Boz, as Liv called him in her mind but never aloud, barged in and sat down in Liv’s chair before she had a chance to get started on anything.

“Good morning, Ray,” she said, put in the position of standing at attention in front of him.

“I knew you’d want to hear about Friday’s executive meeting,” he said self-importantly.

Most days Liv liked Boz well enough, even though he could be pompous. The round, graying VP was a professional glad-hander, and, to his credit, he was usually as pleasant to employees as to clients.

“I haven’t had a chance to call up the minutes,” Liv admitted.

“There’s going to be a slight shift in your duties, Liv. Nothing major right away, but we’ll be easing you into new responsibilities,” Bosworth said, suddenly intent on examining his fingernails.

“What kind of shift?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brandi had stopped working to listen.

“Billy wants more emphasis on client relations. You’ll be expected to generate new leads and work up some accounts of your own. Gradually we’ll take you out of crisis management in favor of having your own client base.”

“But crisis management is my specialty,” she protested.

“And you’re good at it.” Boz tried to smile benevolently, but he was looking at Brandi, not Liv. “This is your opportunity to grow with the firm, be on the cutting edge of expansion.”

She got it. She had to generate new business.

“The firm will supply you with leads, but you’ll do your old job until you have developed a new client base.” He stood and smoothed his dark charcoal jacket, as though it could conceal his barrel belly. “Remember, Liv, Billy wants you to loosen up. Dress more youthfully. Maybe Brandi Jo could give you a few pointers.”

Or maybe, Liv thought angrily, I should cruise the South Side and see what the girls on the street are wearing.

“You know, Billy takes a personal interest in every employee,” Boz said sanctimoniously. “He’s our team leader. He wants success for his employees as much as for himself, and we need a whole new slate of hip clients.”

“I love helping clients who have real problems,” Liv said. “I love the challenge of putting out fires.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to start a few,” her boss said dryly, dropping his good-guy act. “Brandi Jo, can I see you in my office?”

Liv watched the intern totter out on three-inch heels. How could Boz dump on her in front of an intern? Maybe he’d done it to encourage Brandi Jo. Maybe Liv’s job would be available sooner than she thought.

Liv tried to convince herself that change was sometimes good, but she didn’t like Boz’s explanation. It sounded like a sink-or-swim situation, not an opportunity for advancement.

She had no choice but to try to meet her boss’s expectations, but she would not consult Brandi Jo Willis for tips on how to dress. What did her bosses want, tight low-rise pants and a pierced navel?

Unfortunately, Billy wanted her to look sexy in hopes of enticing new clients for the agency. She wasn’t high enough up the ladder to get a chance at major accounts, so her life would degenerate into a series of tedious lunches and meetings with restaurant owners, club managers and other small-time hotshots.

Meanwhile, what did she have to do to appease the new president of the firm? Darned if she’d copy Brandi’s style, but there were some things she could do.

First, the black turtleneck had to go. Her office was warm enough to wear her sweater without it. The white cashmere plunged to a deep V but tied securely at her waist. She’d spend her day trying to keep it together so her bra wouldn’t show, but at least it would demonstrate she was trying to loosen up.

She’d dawdled too long to waste more time going to the inconveniently located women’s restroom at the end of the outer corridor. It would only take a few seconds to peel off the turtleneck and slip back into her sweater. She stood and quickly started stripping, not really wanting to get caught in the act by her snotty little intern.

The air was cool on her bare shoulders and back, and she shivered in her lacy peach bra.

When a sharp knock on the door startled her, she called emphatically, “Wait just a minute.”

The dark oak door banged inward on loose hinges, and she faced her visitor in an underwire bra that gave her enough uplift to launch a rocket.

“Now, that’s what I call effective public relations,” the newcomer said, pushing the door shut without taking his eyes off her cleavage.

“Nick!”

“Do you do a striptease for all your potential clients?” He had a devilish smile, and he beamed it at her full force.

She was too stunned to continue dressing. Five years had weathered the last vestiges of boyishness from Nick Matheson’s face, but his deep-set eyes were as blue and penetrating as ever.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry. The receptionist said to walk right in.” He turned his back to her.

“Are you a potential client?”

Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, but she managed to get into the sweater and yank the ties into a tight knot.

“Not exactly.”

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “How have you been?” Other than gorgeous, sexy and cocky.

“Fine.”

“You can turn around now. How did you know I work here?”

She tried not to squirm as he turned and gazed at her.

“You still look spectacular, Liv.”

“Thanks.”

He still had the annoying habit of dodging questions, but her own reaction concerned her more. How could he possibly look even better at twenty-nine than he had as a twenty-four-year-old graduate student? He was dressed in a conservative jacket and slacks, a big step up from the jeans and sweatshirts he used to live in, but his long, lanky body looked even harder and more muscular. His hair was shorter but still combed back from his forehead. He was clean-shaven, and his skin had a honey glow with high color in his cheeks from the cold outside.

“If you came for an apology, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, your message.” His little grin vanished. “My dentist leaves a friendlier one.”

“I’m sorry about that. I was upset.”

“Because your sister invited me? If you didn’t want me to be there, it’s okay.”

She was touched that Nick cared enough to look her up, but rattled because her heart was pounding. She had to fight a crazy urge to jump into his arms and kiss him silly.

She’d imagined seeing him by accident someday, maybe on the street or at a party. She’d thought up all kinds of clever, witty comments to show him that she was over him, so why couldn’t she remember a single one now?

“It’s not that. The party is canceled. My parents won’t be celebrating their thirtieth anniversary because they’re getting a divorce.”

“Liv, I’m really sorry. I know what a blow it is when parents split.”

“Yeah, and I never saw it coming.”

“If it’s any consolation, mine are much happier apart. They’ve both remarried and like their new lives.”

“Well, I’m sorry my message was so abrupt. I’d just found out, and I had so many people to call and—” She started twisting the ties of her sweater then forced herself to stop. She’d been calm and collected talking to her parents’ friends and canceling the party. It was what everyone expected of her, and more importantly what she demanded of herself. She took a deep breath, then another, locking her arms across her chest. Nick meant nothing to her anymore, so why was she feeling so emotional?

“No problem,” he interrupted. “You didn’t even know your sister had invited me, did you?”

“Well, actually no.”

Now that the initial shock of seeing him was wearing off, she remembered the months of heartbreak after he’d left her. She wasn’t a girl to put her hand on a hot burner twice.

“Well, thank you for coming by.”

“Actually, seeing you is only a bonus. I didn’t know you worked here. I’m chasing a lead on a story.”

Nick always had an ulterior motive—the warm glow she was feeling at seeing him again was replaced by icy suspicion.

“Here?” she asked.

“Your firm represents someone I badly need to interview.”

“We don’t divulge client information.”

“Yes, I’ve already been told that, but the receptionist hinted you might be able to help me.”

Mary, the receptionist, was fifty-seven and seven times a grandmother. Was there no female who was immune to Nick’s charms? At least Liv knew she was.

“She was mistaken,” Liv said.

“If I could explain—”

“I’m sorry, Nick, but William Lawrence Associates keeps all client information confidential.”

“Let me tell you what I’m after, then I’ll accept your decision, whatever it is,” he said.

He was relentless. Soon she was going to be wrapping her sweater ties around his gorgeous neck. “You aren’t going to talk me into betraying a client,” she said.

“I don’t even know if you still represent this one. Let me take you to lunch,” he urged. “We can talk about it.”

“Thank you, no. I don’t have time to go out for lunch.”

“Then let me take you to dinner, unless you have to hurry home to someone,” he said.

“No, I live alone, but dinner isn’t a good idea.”

“We’ll go someplace close and quick.” Another thing hadn’t changed. He didn’t like to take no for an answer.

Liv noticed Brandi Jo standing in the doorway watching with wide eyes. Did she think Liv was so old she was on the shelf?

“All right,” Liv said impulsively. “Meet me down in the lobby at five-thirty.”

“I didn’t know you had company,” Brandi Jo said, moving over to her computer table and openly checking out Nick.

Brandi Jo’s buttocks had a life of their own under the clingy skirt, and Nick couldn’t help but notice her backfield-in-motion bid for his attention.

“This is Nick Matheson, sportswriter for the Post,” Liv said dryly. “He’s just leaving.”

“I’m Brandi Jo Willis, Miss Kearns’s intern.” She directed a high-wattage smile Nick’s way.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, to his credit not rising to Brandi Jo’s bait. “I’ll see you at five-thirty, Liv.”

He backed toward the door and left without giving Brandi Jo the appraising look she usually received from men.

Liv realized that she’d let all her stored-up annoyance with the intern trap her into meeting Nick for dinner. For a moment she’d enjoyed showing the little sexpot that she could attract men too, but it was a short-lived triumph. It was a really bad idea to see Nick again for any reason. She was totally over him and wanted to stay that way.

3

STANDING IN the lobby of the Syracuse Building where she worked, Liv stared at a tiny butterfly in the design on one of the elevator doors, a detail she hadn’t noticed in the five years she’d worked there. Of course, she’d never stood in the lobby for nearly twenty minutes. Dana and several other people stopped to ask if Liv needed anything as she waited and waited for Nick to arrive. Time meant nothing to Nick, one more reason why she was fortunate their relationship had ended.

Even the two uniformed security guards sitting in the cubicle where they monitored cameras were beginning to look at her too frequently for comfort. She knew the routine, of course. At six sharp the door would be locked. Then no one, not even fast-talking Nick Matheson, could get in without buzzing and showing a special identity card.

She’d had it with waiting. She turned up her coat collar and braced herself to fight Chicago wind and commuter crowds. If the snow kept falling in big fluffy clumps, the lot where she’d left her car would be snowed shut before she got there for the last lap of her trip home. She hoped her temperamental little compact, seven years old and counting, would start.

Nick stepped out of the snowy darkness just as she opened the door. She met him on the pavement where wet slushy snow was already as high as the ankles of her boots.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I got held up.”

He was wearing a red squall jacket, the hood hanging down and filling with snow. Nick never covered his head in less than a raging blizzard, Liv remembered. She had to resist an urge to brush silvery flakes from his hair.

“I only wanted to tell you I can’t have dinner,” she said. “The way it’s snowing, I’ll be lucky to get home before the streets drift shut.”

“You drive into the city? Where do you live?” he asked, stomping snow from his boots.

“Haley Park. I take the train, but I have to drive home from the station.”

“Have dinner with me, and I’ll drive you home. You can take a cab to your car in the morning.”

“No thanks to both. I’m going to take the Metra.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ve got four-wheel drive, and I pretty much go in your direction anyway. I live in Ira Heights.”

Nick took her arm as the door behind them opened. A couple came out, and she got a glimpse of the man, tall and broad-shouldered with a big square face, a felt derby and a tan wool overcoat. She opened her mouth to acknowledge the president of William Lawrence Associates, but Billy wasn’t looking in her direction. He was too busy gazing fondly down on Brandi Jo’s sleek blond head.

She should’ve known.

Liv scooted around Nick and started to walk away before Brandi Jo saw her, not that the intern wasn’t fully focused on her conquest. Liv feared her job was toast. The intern had one more semester before graduation, then Billy might slot her into Liv’s position.

The restructuring was a ruse as far as she was concerned. They were setting her up to fail. If she couldn’t attract the kind of new clients Billy wanted, he’d use it as an excuse to replace her with Brandi Jo. The whole staff would shake their heads and say, “Poor Liv couldn’t hack it.”

“Where are you going?” Nick asked. He was half running and half sliding to keep up with her on the slushy sidewalk.

“You wanted dinner. Let’s have dinner,” she said, too upset about Brandi Jo to worry about catching a train.

“I had in mind a little Italian place,” he said. “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

She wanted to explode. Had he conveniently forgotten how they’d loved romantic Italian dinners? It was the worst possible restaurant choice after what he’d done to her five years ago. She stopped and took a deep breath.

Her parents were splitting up. Her job was in jeopardy. Now Nick had barged back into her life and wanted her to do something that could violate client confidentiality. She might as well pig out on pasta and get fat.

“Fine,” she said sharply. “Where is it?”

She’d retreated far enough so there was no danger of catching up with Billy and Brandi Jo. Dinner with Nick was just what she needed to cap off a perfectly awful day.

NICK OFFERED LIV his arm, but she stubbornly refused it even though the sidewalk was as slippery as a toboggan run. The way she was stomping along, she was cruising for a fall. She was so hostile he had second thoughts about dinner.

“Hey, slow down,” he said. “No rush to get to the restaurant. The Milano won’t be crowded on a night like this.”

Maybe he was crazy to take her to a cozy little place. The last thing he wanted was to start something with her. She took life much too seriously for him. Breaking up with her once had been hard enough. He still had residual guilt and absolutely did not want to go through that again. Maybe if she hadn’t been standing there in her office in a lacy bra…

Sometimes a good memory was a pain. He could recall every important play in a game and write a story about it with minimal notes, but he could also remember the rosy-brown pebbling around Liv’s nipples and the way they used to harden under his tongue. The downy auburn hair on her mound was the softest thing he’d ever touched, and he hoped she hadn’t started shaving it as his last girlfriend had. Bristles were a turnoff, not that he would ever have sex with Liv again.

“How far is this place?” Liv asked, still sounding angry.

“Another block.”

They were waiting for a stoplight along with a few other people with heads bowed against the blinding snow.

Nick needed to concentrate on the favor he wanted from Liv. She wouldn’t be easy to convince, but instead of planning a good argument, he was remembering her dewy-eyed look after sex. He even remembered the cute little mole on her butt and the bright red polish she’d worn on her toes when they’d celebrated Christmas Eve in the middle of the night under her parents’ Christmas tree. The next day she’d blushed every time he hinted at it, but he’d never unwrapped a package as exciting as Liv.

She barged past the steps leading down to the Milano. He caught her arm to stop her.

“Here’s the restaurant,” he said.

“Ah, basement cuisine. Charming.”

“You didn’t used to be sarcastic.” He took her elbow because snow had drifted onto the concrete steps, and he didn’t want her to slip.

“I used to be—” She broke off whatever she’d intended to say.

He opened the door and let her go ahead of him. Hopefully they could get through the meal without a trip down memory lane. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d broken off their relationship, but it wouldn’t do his cause any good to rehash it.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded. Less than half of the round tables with green-and-white-checkered tablecloths were occupied. Nick spotted an empty one against the far wall.

“Okay if we sit over there, Tony?” he asked the lean, hawk-nosed waiter with a white apron tied tightly around his waist.

“Sure thing, Nick.”

He guided Liv over to the table, leery of putting his hand on her arm again. Tonight he had to concentrate on getting her help. When he took her coat, he noticed Liv was wearing a black turtleneck like armor under her sweater.

“He knows you by name?” she asked. “Have you been working in Chicago long enough to be chummy with waiters?”

“I’ve been at the Post since September. Once people find out I’m a sportswriter, they like talking to me. Everyone in Chicago thinks and lives sports.”