Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(28)

Her days at Story Imports had become almost unbearable, with her father’s stony, disapproving silence and Shane’s sheepish, apologetic glances. Finally she’d had enough and followed Shane into the elevator one evening after work.

He looked up at her, then took a step toward the door, like he was going to leave and wait for the next elevator, but Margaret wasn’t having that. She reached for the “Door Close” button and pressed it decisively.

“Shane,” she started, “we can’t keep avoiding each other.”

“I know. I just . . . God, Margaret. I feel like such an ass. I should never have put you in that position.”

“No argument there,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What were you thinking? You couldn’t have possibly thought I’d say yes.”

Shane shrugged, shaking his head. “Your father had all but ensured your complicity.”

She exhaled a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut for a moment before looking up at Shane and nodding. In her heart, she’d known it was her father’s idea, but part of her had hoped that Shane could somehow take some of the blame. “He had no right to do that.”

“I’m sorry, Margaret,” said Shane. “Truly I am. I must look like an ambitious *.”

“There’s nothing wrong with ambition,” she replied. “But I want more than a marriage built for the convenience of Story Imports.”

“Of course you do. You’re a terrific girl.”

But boring, she thought, remembering the way he’d looked at Priscilla. He’d never looked at her that way, and even though she wasn’t interested in Shane, it chafed. There was more to her than a tight bun and glasses and the dutiful-daughter routine.

She lifted her chin. “I own a vineyard, you know.”

He looked surprised. “No, I didn’t know. Where?”

“About an hour from here. I go there every weekend.”

“Aha! So that explains the Hispanic man working in your apartment on weekends.”

She grinned, nodding her head as she preceded him out of the elevator into the light-filled atrium lobby. “Yes.”

“Is that what you want to do? Run a vineyard?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling the relief she always felt when articulating her dreams. “Eventually.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because my father expects one of us to work here. Alice tried, but left, as you’ll recall . . . Betsy works at my uncle’s branch of Story Imports in Boston. I have hopes for Jane, but she’s still in grad school, and Pris, well, is Pris.”

She watched, when she said Pris’s name, how Shane’s lips softly parted, how he flinched and subtly clenched one hand into a fist by his side.

“She isn’t exactly suited to an office, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shane dropped her eyes. “I really wouldn’t know.”

“Wouldn’t you?” pressed Margaret. “She worked here last year.”

“Right,” said Shane curtly. He took a deep breath and offered her a forced but polite smile before glancing at his watch. “Margaret, I’m so sorry, but I need to go. I have an appointment tonight that I can’t—”

“Of course,” she said, putting out her hand. “No hard feelings?”

“None at all,” he said, clasping her hand and pumping it gently. “Friends?”

“I hope so,” she said. “Just don’t ask me to marry you again.”

“Scout’s honor.” Shane chuckled with genuine warmth and dropped her hand to raise three fingers. “Oh, by the way, we still have those tickets for the Institute of Contemporary Art fund-raiser next weekend. You still up for going together?”

“I’d love it,” she said, feeling certain that Cameron would be there, since his sister, Jessica, was chairing the bachelor auction part of the evening. Even if he continued to avoid her, at least she could admire him in his tux from across the room.

Shane kissed her lightly on the cheek, and Margaret waved goodbye as he made his way through the revolving doors.

She felt a little better after talking to Shane—things between them had been tied up as neatly as possible—so to celebrate she stopped off at her favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout. Yes, she still had a huge unresolved conflict with her father, but she wasn’t quite ready to give up on him yet. Maybe his words to Shane two weeks ago were said out of anger and frustration. She was his child, after all. He couldn’t have meant what he said. He loved her on some level, didn’t he? Of course he did. And she certainly loved him. As much as she wanted to dedicate all her time to The Five Sisters, she didn’t want to resign from her position at Story Imports in an angry huff, as Alice had. She wanted peace with her only living parent.

Now that the situation with Shane was resolved, and she’d decided to wait out her father’s ill humor, Margaret had the space to turn her thoughts to Cameron—the very place her thoughts had no business at all.

Memories of their kiss had haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping, for fourteen long days, but no matter how hard she tried to forget it had happened—as she’d stupidly and unrealistically suggested—she couldn’t. His strong arms holding her, the evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach, the velvet steel of his tongue sliding against hers. She’d relived that kiss a thousand times, and it was still her favorite daydream.