Midnight At Tiffany's Read online

  At some point during the night she’d stopped being Lara and become Matilda in everything but name, but the closeness and trust had remained.

  “I want to see you again.” His voice was deep and decisive and she felt a rush of excitement mingled with nerves.

  She should tell him.

  She should tell him her real name, explain. They’d laugh together. “I’d like that, too.”

  She felt like dancing, but dancing invariably involved breakages, so she contented herself with a smile. “Back in a moment.”

  She slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom. All she needed to do was work out the best way to tell him.

  “Incredible legs,” he murmured, and she smiled and realized for the first time in her life she wasn’t trying to make herself seem smaller. Instead of making her feel like a freak, he made her feel fantastic.

  She turned to tell him as much and saw that he’d fallen asleep, dark strands of hair flopping over his face. It made him seem younger and less severe.

  Gazing at him, lost in her own dreamworld, she turned back to the bathroom and her elbow knocked his wallet onto the floor. The contents scattered.

  She rolled her eyes. Still, as accidents went it could have been worse. It could have been something glass and precious, or something liquid and red.

  She stooped to clear up her latest mess, thinking that the one thing she knew she wasn’t going to find in his wallet were condoms, because they’d used them all, and then she froze.

  Dazed, she reached for the credit card. Chase Adams.

  Chase Adams?

  She checked the next card and the next. All had the same name.

  Which meant only one thing.

  He was a thief.

  The man she’d spent the most amazing, unforgettable night of her life with was a thief. He’d stolen Chase Adams’s wallet. Hands shaking, she tried to stuff the contents back inside and then saw the photo.

  Her gaze lifted from the photo to the man on the bed. It was the same person.

  He hadn’t stolen Chase Adams’s wallet; he was Chase Adams.

  Crap, crap, crappity crap. She’d had wild sex with Chase Adams. She’d spilled her hopes, her dreams and an entire bucket of ice on a man who was entirely out of her league.

  A man who had lied about who he was.

  Alarm and horror turned to anger.

  Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Why had he lied about who he was?

  Her mind tracked back over the night they’d shared. All those things he’d said. All those things he’d told her about himself. All lies.

  But she’d told lies, too, hadn’t she?

  The knowledge that she was being hypocritical doused the flames of her anger. She was equally guilty.

  It was the ultimate irony that she’d begun the evening pretending to be someone else, only to discover that he’d also been pretending to be someone else.

  She put the wallet back carefully and picked up her clothes.

  This wasn’t a plot twist, it was karma, and Lara would have said that karma was a total bitch, but she was done with being Lara. She was back to being herself. For a little while she’d loved being herself and the reason she’d loved it was because he’d liked her that way.

  All she had to do was carry on doing that without him, and ignore the fact that her heart felt as if it had been wrenched from her body.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “SO YOU’RE NOT going to the Summer Gala this evening?”

  “That’s right.” Chase didn’t look up from his computer. “I’m going to the beach house, where I’m going to swim, sail and generally do all the things I used to enjoy doing before I forgot I enjoyed them.”

  Rick stared at him, as if Chase had just announced he intended to spend the weekend injecting drugs. “I’ve been your personal assistant for five years and I didn’t know you enjoyed sailing.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  Rick looked uncomfortable. “Your father expects you to be at the Gala. He wants to talk to you about the Turner-Hill deal. There are people he wants you to meet.”

  Another evening of fake smiles and mindless schmoozing, as Lara would have called it.

  Except that now he knew her name wasn’t Lara. It was Matilda. Her name had been written on the manuscript she’d left in his apartment. Her name, her email, but no address.

  “Everyone will be there.”

  Not everyone. Not the one person in the world he badly wanted to see again.

  He’d emailed her three times and had no response. Clearly whatever she’d felt for Alex, she couldn’t feel for Chase Adams.

  “I won’t be there. I’ll be in the Hamptons, breathing in sea air. Enjoying life after putting in a long working week. I won’t be back until Tuesday. Long working week equals long weekend.”

  “What’s happened to you?” Rick looked bemused. “You’ve changed over the past few weeks.”

  “Maybe I have.” Or maybe he’d just rediscovered the man he really was.

  Chase stood up and stared down over the crisscross streets far beneath him. She was down there somewhere, living her life.

  Did she think about him? Did she think about that night?

  Why hadn’t she answered his emails?

  Rick was obviously struggling to understand the changes in his boss. “Tuesday? Will you be calling in on Monday?”

  “No.” Chase turned. “Did my brother call about that package I sent him?”

  “Not since the last time you asked me.”

  “Right.” Realizing that Rick was still hovering, he looked at him expectantly. “Was there something else?”

  “You asked me to check the guest list for the party a few weeks ago.”

  Tension rippled across his shoulders. “And?”

  “No one by the name of Lara was invited.”

  “No.” Knowing what he knew now, that didn’t surprise him. “Did you check for Matilda?”

  “Yes, boss. No Matilda, either.”

  So what did that mean? Chase strolled the length of his office, his mind working. Had she crashed the party? Was that why she wasn’t answering the email? She was embarrassed because she wasn’t supposed to be there that night?

  He ran through his options. He was living in a city of several million people, most of whom he’d be happy never to see again. The one person he wanted to see, he couldn’t find. His desire to be anonymous had backfired in spectacular fashion.

  What was he supposed to do? Hire a private investigator? Roam the streets of Manhattan like a crazed lunatic?

  He kept telling himself that it was just one night and that he should let it go, but how could he? It was just one night, but he wanted something from her that he’d never wanted from a woman before.

  MATILDA WALKED INTO the foyer of the old brownstone that formed the headquarters of Phoenix Publishing. Her knees were shaking, and her palms were damp.

  The email had landed in her inbox two days earlier, which meant only one thing. Chase must have passed the manuscript she’d left in his apartment to his brother.

  She wondered if he’d done it personally. Had they actually had a conversation after all these years? She really hoped so. She couldn’t think of anything worse than losing touch with a family member, and she didn’t want to think of Chase lonely and missing his brother.

  The short, polite email had come from an editorial assistant, with a request that she call to set up a meeting.

  It was the last thing she’d expected. Why would they want to meet her?

  Presumably it meant they liked the book, but why not just say so over the phone or by email?

  “Miss Meadows? Mr. Adams will see you now.”

  But not the right Mr. Adams, she thought sadly. Funny how a few weeks ago the only reason she’d wanted to meet Chase Adams was to try to get to his brother, and now she was about to meet his brother, all she wanted was Chase.

  She walked into the room, saw a shimmer of dark hair, and for a moment her heart skipp
ed a beat.

  Then the man looked up.

  Not Chase, but Brett Adams looked sufficiently like his brother to make her insides turn over.

  She missed him so much.

  How was it possible to miss someone you’d known for only a night?

  There was a hollow ache in her chest and, whether she had her eyes open or closed, all she saw was his smile, the way he listened so attentively. The way his hands and mouth had touched her—

  It was something she might have written in a book, but her books weren’t real life.

  She hoped he was all right. She hoped he was happy and not working too hard.

  She hoped some unscrupulous woman wasn’t sleeping with him for his money and influence.

  “Miss Meadows? Have a seat.” Brett waved a hand, sending papers and files scattering. He made a grab for them and sent her a smile of boyish charm. “Sorry. Despite appearances, I know the identity and whereabouts of every piece of paper on this desk. I read your book.”

  Trying not to think about Chase, Matilda sat on the edge of the chair. “I didn’t expect you to read it personally.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t, but as it came direct from my brother I jumped straight on it. It had been sitting on my desk for a few days because I’ve been out of the office. London Book Fair.” He said it in a tone that suggested she probably knew all about it and Matilda tried to look sophisticated, as if the London Book Fair was somewhere she often frequented whenever she was in England.

  Having never traveled farther than New Jersey, it sounded dizzyingly unreal to her.

  He reached for a file on his desk. “I enjoyed it. Needs a few minor editorial changes, a little more emotional depth in a few places, but nothing structural. In a moment I’ll introduce you to Mandy, who will be your editor. Do you have an agent?”

  “An—” Matilda stared at him. Agent? “Are you saying you’ll publish it?”

  “Definitely. I didn’t mention that?” He looked vague and distracted. “As you correctly identified in your cover note, it’s perfect for our romance line, Bliss. I predict readers will fall in love with Lara. She’s an interesting, layered character. I loved the mix of strength and humor. Quite a woman.”

  “Yes. She is.” Matilda sat there, reflecting on the irony of feeling jealous of a character you’d created yourself. Maybe if she were more like Lara she would have had the courage to answer Chase’s email asking her for her address. She would have pointed out that what they’d shared wasn’t real, and she’d rather keep it as an amazing memory than have it end badly when he realized the truth about her.

  “We’ll sort out the details in due course, but in the meantime, congratulations. You’ll be an exciting addition to our list.” He hesitated. “How well do you know my brother?”

  Matilda thought about the night they’d shared, about the confidences and the intimacy. “I know him quite well,” she said quietly. “Why?”

  “Because he sent a note with the manuscript and asked me to hand it to you if I saw you. I thought that was a little strange. Have the two of you fallen out? Have you changed your address or something?”

  “No. It’s … complicated. You said you have a note?” Her heart thudded against her chest. There was no harm in reading a note, was there? “Do you have it?”

  He handed it over, a curious smile on his face. “He addressed it to Lara, your heroine. I presume that is some sort of private joke.”

  “Yes.” Her mouth dry, she scanned the bold handwriting on the envelope. “Private joke.”

  “If you know him well, then you probably know that my brother and I lost touch a few years ago. Just one of those family things. Thanks to you and this manuscript, we’re back in touch.”

  “I’m glad.” And she was. She really was. Chase needed people in his life he could trust. People who cared about him for who he was, not for what he was.

  Clutching the note, she stood up and picked up her bag.

  Brett Adams looked at her expectantly. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  “Later.” It was too precious to read in public. She needed to be somewhere private in case she made a fool of herself. She knew that even the envelope was something she was going to keep forever. A reminder. A memory of a single amazing night when reality and fantasy had merged.

  The next hour passed in a whirl of excitement as she met her editor, discussed ideas for the next book and agreed to a deadline. By the time she finally stepped out of the door into the sunshine, her head was spinning.

  She was going to be published.

  She was a published author.

  And it was all thanks to Chase.

  It was a bittersweet moment to think that he was the one who had made her dream come true. He’d done that for her.

  Finally, hands shaking, she opened the note.

  There were just three words, written in the same bold, black scrawl as the envelope.

  Midnight at Tiffany’s.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WOULD SHE COME?

  Probably not, but that didn’t stop him pacing outside Tiffany’s every night like a desperate, discarded lover.

  He glanced at the store and gave a humorless laugh. They probably thought he was casing the joint. He half expected to be arrested.

  Brett had assured him that he’d handed the note to her personally, but that didn’t mean she’d come.

  Midnight at Tiffany’s.

  He could have written her a note saying “call me at the office,” but he knew that would have intimidated her.

  She’d found the courage to speak to him when she’d desperately wanted to contact his brother, but did she have the courage to speak to him when the interaction was more personal?

  He hoped so.

  This was a place she knew and loved. He hoped she’d come.

  And then he felt a soft touch on his arm and heard a familiar voice.

  “Chase?”

  WHAT WAS SHE doing here?

  She’d watched him for at least five minutes before plucking up the courage to approach him.

  What was she even going to say? Where did they start?

  And now he was looking at her, his gaze fixed on her with disturbing intensity, the look in those smoky blue eyes so intimate that she felt the flush start at her toes and work its way up her body. How could a look be so personal? Her response shocked her, reminding her of everything they’d shared that night.

  “Matilda.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not Lara.”

  She felt her color deepen. Of course he knew her real name now. There was no more hiding. “Chase. Not Alex.”

  “Alex is my middle name. So why Lara? Why name yourself after the heroine in your story?”

  Of course he would have skimmed her book before sending it to his brother.

  How to explain? “Because if I hadn’t pretended to be her I never would have had the courage to do all those things with you.”

  A dark brow arched. “So it wasn’t Matilda in my bed, it was Lara?”

  “Maybe.” She was conscious of people flowing past them. Even this late, New York was crowded. The city that never slept. “To begin with.”

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Going to bed with two women has always seemed to me to be fraught with complications, but I’m starting to rethink that.” He drew in a breath and reached for her hand, drawing her close. “Relax. You look as if you’re about to turn and run. And in case you’re considering it, you should know that I’m not losing you again.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Chase—”

  “Why did it take you so long to come? My brother gave you that note a week ago.”

  “The note said ‘Midnight at Tiffany’s.’ You didn’t say which night.”

  His hand gripped hers tightly. “I’ve waited here every night.”

  “Every night?” She gaped at him and he gave a faint smile.

  “Yes. You have no idea how close I’ve come to being arrested.”

  “But why?
”

  “Because I’ve waited all my life to meet someone like you and I’m not losing you now.” His voice was raw. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I woke up and found you gone?”

  He thought he knew the truth about her, but he didn’t. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I woke up and found out you were Chase Adams?”

  His eyes narrowed. “How did you find out?”

  “I knocked your wallet onto the floor.”

  “And was that the reason you ran?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why of course?”

  “Because—” She gave a helpless shrug. “I wouldn’t have thought an explanation was necessary.”

  “Because you thought I was a—what was the description you used?—ruthless, heartless, moneymaking machine?”

  She wanted to slide through the grille on the road and disappear. “Please forget I said that.”

  “Why? It was a fair description.”

  “Obviously when I said that, I didn’t know you were Chase.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t know. We had a most illuminating conversation. You were frank and honest, and if you’d known who I was, you wouldn’t have been.”

  Remembering the things she’d said about him made her want to die of embarrassment. “Right now I’d like to fall down a manhole, but these things never happen when I want them to, only when I don’t.”

  “You pointed out that, despite the apparent benefits of my life, I was missing the most important elements.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You asked me what I did in my spare time, and I realized I didn’t have any spare time. Work eats into all of it. I spend time with people I don’t particularly like, doing a job that wasn’t my first choice.” He took a deep breath. “Your mom wouldn’t have been proud of me. I had a dream, too, but I let other people kill it.”

  “What was your dream?”

  “I was always interested in construction, but I wanted to go down a different route. Eco-houses and sustainable technology. My father calls it progressive nonsense. I was all set to do that when he had his heart attack. I stepped in for a short time and that was when I discovered the business was in trouble. My father employs a lot of people. They were relying on him for jobs. I promised him I’d take over long enough to sort it out. And somehow a decade passed.”