Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(42)

Clearly they messed with her head, and Naomi did not do well with feeling out of control. She needed to get back to where she’d been just a few months ago.

Three months ago, she’d felt like the most in-control woman on the planet. Her work life has been perfectly structured. She’d had a lover whose company she enjoyed, and with whom she could see herself potentially getting serious. And she’d had a solid plan for moving on from her nasty past once and for all.

Fast-forward to the present, and her lover was dead and an asshole, and the ghosts from her past were complicated. And she didn’t even have an office to escape to for another few weeks.

It was as though the universe was telling her she could run as fast as she wanted but sooner or later she’d have to sort out her jumble of emotions. And much as it pained her to admit, even to herself, her emotions were involved as far as the Cunninghams were concerned.

To undo that, she needed some distance. To regain perspective.

And don’t even get her started on Oliver’s harebrained assertion that she was avoiding the TV series because she was scared. Screw that. She’d woken up this morning so determined to prove him wrong she’d emailed Dylan to say she was in.

The contract was on its way to her lawyer, and Naomi felt . . . well, she’d deny it to her dying breath if Oliver ever asked, but she was nervous. Excited. Confident that it was the right decision, and yet she was vulnerable as all heck. Somehow she had to figure out how to maneuver the story to reveal the inspirational truth about starting a billion-dollar company from a tiny studio apartment while also protecting the people she cared about.

Naomi’s personal life could be an open book, but she’d go to her grave protecting her mother’s memory. Claire’s and Audrey’s privacy as well.

Naomi was nearly back to her apartment, but her footsteps slowed when she spotted a man several feet ahead of her shuffling down Park Avenue wearing only a white T-shirt and blue boxers. At least he was wearing shoes this time.

His familiar gray hair ruffled against the cold autumn breeze, and Naomi winced. The cool air had been perfect for her morning run, but she was wearing gloves, running leggings, two top layers, and a headband to keep her ears warm.

Walter was in no way dressed for the thirty-something temps. Naomi glanced hopefully at the front door of their apartment building, wishing that Oliver or Janice would come bursting out to retrieve him.

Nothing.

Naomi blew out a breath. All right then.

“Hey, Walter!” she called out. So much for steering clear of the Cunningham men.

He didn’t turn around, so she broke into a slow trot to catch up to him, which wasn’t hard, considering his slow gait.

“Hey there,” she said, tapping his arm.

Walter gave her a startled glance. “Hello.”

“It’s Naomi,” she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, since he didn’t seem to recognize her. “I live in your building. We’re friends.”

He smiled. “I like pretty friends.”

I bet you do, you old geezer.

The thought was without any real animosity, and . . . damn it. Was she starting to feel a bit of affection toward the man?

“Where are you going?” she asked casually as he started walking once more.

“Going?” The wind picked up again, and Walter shivered, then looked around, seeming heartbreakingly confused. Wherever he’d planned to go when he’d started out, he’d clearly forgotten.

She maneuvered so she was in front of him, blocking his path. “I’m in the mood for some breakfast. You want to eat with me?”

“What are you eating?” he asked skeptically.

“Pancakes?”

He made a look of disgust.

“Or eggs?” she said, grasping at straws. She was pretty sure she was out of eggs, but hopefully Oliver had some. If not, she’d order them from one of New York’s dozen food-delivery services. Anything to get the man safely back inside.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Naomi said in relief, hooking her arm in his.

He let her lead him back toward their building. She kept her pace slow to match his so he wouldn’t think he was being maneuvered and balk at her.

Walter glanced at her attire. “You’ve been exercising. My wife likes Jazzercise.”

“Oh yeah?” Naomi asked. “What about you, any exercise?”

“Pretty good at squash. You play?”

“Definitely not. I barely even know what squash is,” she said, pressing the button in the elevator for Walter’s floor instead of her own. She’d kill for a hot shower, both to warm up and get rid of the dried sweat, but she needed to get Walter back to his apartment before Oliver and Janice freaked out.

Heck, Oliver probably was already freaking out.

Walter had switched topics from squash and was rambling something about the Dow dropping two hundred points, and she had no idea whether he was talking about today, yesterday, or twenty years ago, so she just made mm-hmm noises as she led him to his apartment.

“Do you have a key?” she asked him.

“Key?”

“Never mind.” She lifted her hand and knocked.

The door jerked open midknock, her hand suspended in the air as she came face-to-face with Oliver.

A nearly naked Oliver.