Love Redone Page 2

  “Where am I off to this time?” Nick queried out loud to the empty space around him.

  Oh yeah, right. This was the trip to Hong Kong to tour a string of hotels that Barrett was contemplating buying. Three weeks in yet another bustling, noisy, crowded city. Three weeks of monochrome days, cocktail-party evenings, and unceasing socializing at night. His Chinese hosts were eager to please him, which he knew meant an endless agenda and very little time to be off the radar.

  He needed some down time after this trip. Needed to get away from the never-ending business obligations that were swallowing his life whole. Since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken any personal time for himself, much less even so much as had the thought, Nick knew he couldn’t just stand up and say he needed a break without the financial times speculating on his actions and affecting Barrett business.

  God, the stranglehold of his birthright had tightened around him so much lately, it was no wonder he was out of sorts. Digital information and technology moving around the planet in real time at the speed of light had changed the way business was done and introduced the unwanted attention and constant intrusion of the media and some rude-as-shit bloggers who liked nothing better than to sit around and ruminate on what was going on in his mind.

  No, to get away for some desperately needed space, he had to do something benign that wouldn’t attract a lot of attention, wouldn’t make it seem like he was heading for an early midlife crisis. Remembering that his sister Jules was throwing what would no doubt be an over-the-top, Southern California-style birthday party for his favorite and only nephew, Dom, in a few weeks instantly gave him pause.

  Yes, that’s what he’d do. After the Hong Kong trip he’d indulge in some family time—head off to the left coast, hang with Jules, who conveniently was married to his oldest and best friend, Ned Stewart, spend some quality time with Dom. Just what the doctor ordered. Simple solution.

  His mother, he knew, would miss Dom’s party because she was off cruising the Mediterranean with her sister and a few of their lady friends, but if he timed things right, she will have returned home by the time he left California making it possible to head home to Connecticut for an overdue visit before he’d be forced to get back to the never ending business of being Nicholas Temple Barrett, business tycoon.

  Well, he certainly felt better now that was settled, Nick thought to himself, quite satisfied that he’d found a way to dampen some of his edginess with a plan to step back for a bit. Maybe Hong Kong wouldn’t be all that bad if at the end of it all there was the promise of sunny skies, maybe a little surfing, definitely some sun worshipping, and a whole lot of family time with the only people he ever let inside his frozen emotional world.

  Leaning forward, Nick pressed a small button on the control panel of the armrest and called up to his driver. “Let’s stop at that bodega in the Village before we go to the hangar, Mr. Allen.” Chuckling softly, he added, “You know I can’t be stuck across the world without my butterscotch.” He was amused to hear his longtime driver, a sensible but funny middle-aged man he generally called by his formal name, laugh, too.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Barrett. I knew you’d want to make that stop, so just hang on and we’ll be there before you know it. Oh, and by the way, Claire sent a text asking me to let you know that she sent over the contracts from legal by courier. They should be waiting for you in the aviation center.”

  At the mention of his trusty right hand Nick had to admit that as far as personal assistants went, Claire Dennison was the best of the best. She was efficient, discreet, resourceful, and above all, loyal to a fault. He trusted her completely and was tremendously grateful for the stroke of good luck that had brought her to his attention. Ordinarily she would be going along on a trip such as this one, but she and her partner had recently adopted a baby and he’d insisted she have this time with her little family without the burden of travelling.

  His reverie broken by the car pulling up to the curb outside the funky bodega in the Village where they always seemed to stop, Nick watched as Mr. Allen exited the car and headed to the store. This last-minute purchase had become a habit, for he never traveled without a handy bag of those little golden candies that, when he allowed the thought to eke into his mind, was yet another reminder of she who was best left in the shadows of his memory. Unfortunately for him, in his present mood, he was powerless to halt the flood of memories from a far simpler time to come roaring into his thoughts.

  She’d had a terrible sweet tooth, and being in the middle of nowhere as they were back then, there was no chance to stop at a market and grab a candy bar. Hell, it was so relentlessly hot at times that something as sensitive to temperature as chocolate would have been reduced to a gooey soup if not refrigerated. Since refrigerators were a luxury used for critical needs, that wasn’t happening.

  Everyone at the compound, at least all the Western workers and volunteers, had found their individual ways of dealing with such cravings. At the time, for Nick, the solution was an old childhood favorite—black licorice. His sister would send him boxes of the stuff.

  For her, the one who hid in his heart, the sweet of choice had been butterscotch-flavored hard candies, which he now craved in an OCD fashion, most especially each time he traveled.

  He hadn’t had black licorice in forever, but he always had a few butterscotch candies tucked away within easy reach. Just like his memories—within easy reach, and lately, knocking quite loudly at the walls of his consciousness.

  Maybe after he’d had some time away to refresh and regroup, these remembrances would ease up and he wouldn’t find himself after all these years waking up in the middle of the night with a need so deep and powerful that he’d lose any hopes of sleep. He’d become a restless nocturnal being, shuffling around his massive home dragging an array of technology with him wherever he went, relying on the easy distraction of global, 24-hour-a-day business to keep him sane.

  Nick knew keeping busy was the only way to knock back regrets and self-loathing about his part in the shattering of two lives. Running like the devil away from a longing so deep it left an ever-present ache inside him. After all, some things were best left alone. Things that couldn’t change. Realities that were made of stone. In other words, his adult life.

  * * *

  Her favorite time of day, dawn chasing the overnight sky away, was creeping up the horizon as Shannon plunked a mug of steeping tea down onto the hand-hewn, rustic outdoor table in the middle of her bougainvillea-covered terrace.

  She liked the quiet solitude that greeted each new day when she left the comfort of her bed and started her daily routines.

  This was her time—thirty minutes of early-morning yoga and undisturbed contemplation followed by several steaming cups of her favorite black-tea blend as she simply enjoyed the views, scents, and sounds of a newly awakened day.

  Sometimes, especially after a restless night like the one she’d just emerged from, she really needed this peaceful interlude before her busy daily life exploded. It seemed now that she was enjoying a bit of success and notoriety, she had even less time to spend appreciating being in the moment, so every opportunity she found to devote some time to centering became a high priority on her agenda.

  Rounding up on twenty-nine years old, Shannon Reynolds found herself running a highly successful event-planning company in laid-back Southern California. Her accomplishment four years earlier as a young and innovative party planner who had stopped Hollywood in its own dramatic steps with an over-the-top, no-holds-barred movie premiere for the latest family blockbuster had shot her onto the celebrity event scene like a cannonball.

  Her passion for the cleverly written series of books that featured half-human teen-age elves and fairies battling an ancient curse being passed through the ages of humankind, had given her a unique vision for the premiere. Even the most hardened and jaded from the entertainment industry had been blown away and this single achievement had made her a “must have” for every and any A-List af
fair, be it business or pleasure, from that day forward.

  To put it simply, her business, Belle Events, was the best of the best due entirely to her magical vision and the almost empathic way she understood and interpreted the wishes and desires of her handpicked clients. She could make a fabulous event happen with only a set of markers and a ball of twine if she had to.

  Not every occasion she created came with the eye-boggling type of budgets something like a Hollywood Studio or a major political party could muster, and she was proud that the clients she chose were based on what she could give rather than what the business would make.

  Her calendar was full for the next month with one party or top-drawer event after another. She liked being booked solid and enjoyed the ever-changing projects she’d taken on, but something had been shifting recently. Something deep inside her, hidden away in a corner of her being that never saw the light of day, was suddenly restless and throbbing to life. Something that she knew better than to take out and examine, for some things are best left sleeping.

  Still, no amount of denial or clever redirection of her emotions seemed to be working lately. Restless, sleepless nights had been agitating her sense of calm, making her feel uncharacteristically moody and tense for months.

  Looking around her lovely hideaway terrace, Shannon breathed a troubling sigh, for she didn’t like where this reverie was headed. Being busy and successful was her duck and cover for a personal life that was empty and isolated. No manner of achievement was going to alter her preference for a solitary existence.

  Oh, she’d had tons of friends when she was younger. Had spent her youth and early university days excitedly exploring new places with new people and generally embracing everything life had to offer.

  At least that was until fate had slapped her up hard and she’d been forced to learn a cruel lesson about men and their unerring penchant for seduction and deceit as long as it got them what they ultimately wanted—a warm body in their bed to play with and then discard like a toy that is six weeks beyond its warranty date when something or someone new or better came along.

  Yes, that was a bitter lesson that Shannon had learned the hard way and one that kept her heart and emotions securely locked and deeply hidden away so as to never be vulnerable like that to another human being ever again.

  There were quite a few business acquaintances who she could be socially friendly with, and she was generally seen as a smart, savvy businesswoman who could charm a roomful of clients with the best of them, but when it came to what went on with her beyond closed doors, she was something of an enigma to those who knew her at all.

  Living in Southern California had been her choice after her university days ended due in large part to the fact that, though she had a family that undoubtedly loved her, she had been a late-in-life child and her parents, both in their early seventies, had more in common with and understanding of her forty-eight-year-old brother than they did with her.

  Her folks were great and she loved them both to pieces, but as 1960s-era east-coast academics with impressive titles and the letters “Dr.” before their names, they were locked in a world of academia that suited them both. Hell, her practically perfect big brother, Ted, also sported one of those doctor titles, and that alone made her unglamorous arts degree something of an anomaly in their family.

  It was simply easier and less stressful for her to live on the other side of the country and run her little business, which relied heavily on fantasy and effect, than to try and fit in to their evidence-based lives.

  A small bird perched gently, seemingly weightless, on a scraggly branch of bougainvillea blooms just beyond where Shannon was sitting, and she turned her eyes to absorb the beauty of the moment. The colorful-winged animal twittered briefly before lifting off and flying away, reminding Shannon of another bird, a small, blue-tinged image that was inked on her left buttock.

  Dammit, why had she thought of that? Unless she had some burning need to look at herself naked in the mirror or had eyes in the back of her head, there was no reason to connect with that visual reminder of a time long past.

  Getting up to refresh her mug, Shannon considered a recent incident when the tiny tattoo had made its presence known.

  Even though she didn’t seek personal friendships, she had in fact made one in the form of Jules Stewart. They’d met by chance when both had been involved in a relief fundraiser after a massive disaster. Jules was a society doyenne with a flair for organization and coordinating large-scale charity campaigns, while Shannon, in this instance, was the party-planner extraordinaire to the crème de la crème of Los Angeles and Hollywood elite.

  She’d been chosen to run the fundraiser, which would have a worldwide televised audience and the potential to pick up millions of dollars in donations, alongside Julianna Stewart, who came on board to represent the charity and the global initiative it had begun in disaster relief.

  She and Jules had hit it off right away. They were both calm, coolly collected, and intensely focused on whatever they were working on. Jules had reinvented the role of charity benefactor and had single-handedly engaged hundreds if not thousands of individuals and businesses in active giving outreaches that had helped so many.

  She felt oddly comfortable in Jules’s presence and liked the woman’s ability to find the best and kindest attributes in just about everyone. She was fun to be around, and her straightforward and unabashed love for her husband and their little family made Shannon like her even more. Jules Stewart was for real.

  They’d been doing an event together a few weeks ago when the sudden callout of a costumed character important to the theme threw everything into frenzy.

  With no other option available to them, it was Shannon who at the last had wiggled into the skin-tight costume and spent the rest of the time playing the role of sexy siren.

  Afterwards, she had needed the assistance of Jules to squirm out of the get-up. She recalled that, as the red-sequined second skin peeled away to reveal Shannon’s lower half in a skimpy thong that completely bared her butt cheeks, her friend had been treated to a bird’s-eye view of her telltale tattoo.

  Jules had actually commented on the unexpected sight of the blue tattoo on her bottom, and blushing furiously, Shannon had explained the significance of the tiny bird and the symbol.

  From an old African tale, the bird represented the freedom that comes when the heart finds its one true mate. Shannon choked the explanation out while Jules sat back and simply stared at her. It was an odd reaction that was over quickly as the two continued on bustling through the charity event.

  Funny how the presence of a tiny bird on her patio could send her off on a trek down memory lane.

  Ah well, Shannon mused. Such is life. Straightening up from her comfy chair, her second cup of tea drained, Shannon rose and headed inside to shower and dress for the day.

  It was hard not to love her beautifully restored Craftsman-style house with the pergola-shaded terrace just off the quaint kitchen where Shannon was headed. Stepping up to the farm sink under a wide-silled window that was overflowing with herbs in multi-colored and -sized pots, she quickly rinsed her mug, a kitschy souvenir from Disneyworld showing Belle from Beauty and the Beast, which she hadn’t been able to resist with the adorable connection to her business. Wiping off the counter with a hurried swipe, Shannon made sure the kettle was switched off and the back door latched before she turned to make her way to the bathroom addition she’d had built, her one true indulgence, to get ready for the day ahead. A relaxing interlude in the massive soaking tub surrounded by hand-painted tiles with French doors that opened to the private terrace would have to wait until later when she wasn’t so rushed. For now it would be a quick shower and then a mad dash to get ready for what she knew was another busy day.

  Maybe when the next few weeks wrapped up and she’d done her last party for this season, a party that just happened to be a very special birthday blowout for Jules’s six-year-old son, she would take some downtime and
head back east for her parents’ fiftieth anniversary get-together.

  She needed to do something, she thought wryly, because all this restless, distracting energy and lack of sleep was making her out-of-sorts enough that she knew she had to change it.

  It seemed like time to step back and maybe make some changes to her otherwise safe but frighteningly bland life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Oh, please work, you little wonder, please, please work,” Shannon muttered to no one but herself as she hurried along a hay-bale-stacked walkway decorated every inch a cowboy dream as she tapped away at her phone.

  With six desperados missing in action just as they were supposed to come riding into the party zone yee-hawing all the way, she was anxious to get a text through to her assistant, Rory, who was god-knows-where on the property. Shannon had lost sight of her ages ago as they’d each gone off to supervise and coordinate the party in progress. Good old trusty and dependable Rory would know what to do or at least maybe have an idea where the actors were that she’d hired to play the outlaws for Domenic Stewart’s authentic cowboy bash.

  Shannon needed this event to be picture-perfect. Not because she wanted a glowing recommendation from the hosts, but rather because the hosts in question were Jules and Ned Stewart. Shannon was emotionally invested in seeing Jules’s vision for her precious six-year-old son’s birthday party come to life.

  Shannon didn’t make real friends easily. She had loads of business relationships and even some pseudo-friendships, like the one she enjoyed with Rory, but at the heart of it was always a reticence to share anything beneath the surface. Something deeper and more meaningful was shut away from her and would always be ever since she’d learned a bitter lesson about deception.