Say You Still Love Me(83)

And I return the favor.





Chapter 17



NOW


“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I promise, struggling to gather my dress with one hand while pressing my phone to my ear with the other. I climb out of the town car as gracefully as possible, offering a nod in thanks at the driver as he holds the door open for me.

“You’re already fifteen minutes late. Hurry up,” my father grumbles. “I hate these events.”

“Not as much as I do.” I end the call before he can deliver a lecture about how I am at the start of my career and had better get used to it, because showing up for these high-society charity galas is critical for Calloway’s image and for connections and blah, blah, blah.

Normally my tolerance for my father’s sermons is high, but since learning that he single-handedly torched my relationship with Kyle, my Kieran Calloway tolerance meter is set at zero.

I’ve managed to avoid a confrontation with him so far, answering his emails with direct responses to his questions and tying myself up in meetings all day. Some might call that cowardly, but with a man like my father, I need a strategy, one that doesn’t result in hellfire raining down on Kyle.

I swipe my card to gain access to our office building, intent on rushing up to my office to grab the silver Manolos I left in the corner.

A man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap leans casually against the security desk with his back to me, talking to the guard on duty.

My steps falter as familiar eyes peer over the counter at me.

“Kyle? What are you doing here?”

“Picked up an extra shift from the weekend guy.” He stands from behind the desk, his gaze drifting over the silver lace evening gown I chose last minute for tonight’s event. “What are you doing here?”

I throw a hand toward the bank of elevators. “Forgot my shoes upstairs. I’m just going to run up.”

He nods dully. “Okay.”

It takes several more seconds before I can break free of my delighted shock and turn my attention to the other guy dressed in jeans. I feel my eyebrows arch in surprise. “You must be Jeremy.” He’s a more slender version of Kyle, but with green eyes and no ink in sight. Still, the resemblance is uncanny.

The guy grins, showing off deep dimples. “And you must be the reason I’m living in Lennox.”

Kyle spears his little brother with a flat glare, but Jeremy’s not paying any attention, his gaze shifting downward, over my figure-hugging dress, stalling on the plunging neckline, and then on the high side split. He gives his head a shake, as if catching himself, and then takes a few steps and sticks a hand out, his expression more somber. “I’ve heard a lot about you over the years. It’s nice to finally meet you, Piper.”

Over the years?

My heart flutters as I close the distance slowly to accept his warm, callused fingers. “Likewise. I mean, I heard a lot about you over that summer.”

“I can imagine.” Jeremy’s lips curl into a secretive smirk and it reminds me so much of the younger, playful version of Kyle from camp, I’m left gaping at him.

He turns to Kyle. “What time are you off tonight?”

“Eleven.” Kyle gives his brother a tense look. A warning. For what, though?

“?’Kay, I’ll text to let you know where we’re at so we can meet up.”

“Sounds good.”

Jeremy takes a step backward. And grins. “Unless you want to swing by and meet Kyle when he gets off, Piper? ’Cause I know he wants you to.”

“I . . . uh . . .” I stammer a moment, caught off guard. My gaze flips between Jeremy and Kyle, who looks ready to leap over the counter and strangle his brother. “I have a charity gala thing.”

“No worries. Come by our place sometime. We’re at Seventeen Cherry Lane. Number Seven-one-seven. Easy to remember. Seventeen cherries. Seven-one-seven.”

“You’re kidding me.” My memory begins churning. “Kyle was in Cabin Seventeen at Wawa.” And the cherries . . .

“Must be a sign.” Jeremy laughs at the daggers Kyle shoots from his eyes. “Have fun at your charity gala thing, Piper.”

“I will. Thank you,” I murmur, my gaze following him out. He doesn’t have Kyle’s sleek walk; his gait is more bouncy. Still . . . “I can’t get over how much you two look alike.”

“We take after our mom. So does Max. Ricky is more like my dad,” Kyle says calmly, as if his brother’s gentle ribbing hasn’t fazed him.

I glimpse the waiting black sedan outside, reminding me that I have somewhere to be. “I guess I should grab those shoes.”

His gaze drifts over me, much like his little brother’s did. “You look . . . good,” Kyle finally offers in a stilted voice, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

And for a moment there, I remember what it felt like to be sixteen, to have my heart flutter from Kyle’s undivided attention. His adoration.

“Thank you.” A satisfied smile touches my lips as I swipe through the security gate. Suddenly the hours of primping with hair and makeup appointments don’t feel like a waste of my time, if it means leaving Kyle nearly speechless.

“Really good!” he hollers just as the elevator doors are closing on me, as if finally finding his tongue and his courage.