“…So what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”

Without answering, Andre grazed his teeth along her neck, fastened them onto the neckline of her T-shirt and tugged at the fabric until he had eased it off one shoulder. He made a small circle with his tongue on her bronze skin. The taste of her flesh quickened his pulse and ramped his craving up another notch, as he slid his hands low and then cupped them beneath her hips. “You’re the only action item on my agenda, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’m down with being acted on,” she teased right back. “How long do you think this meeting is going to last?”

ANITA BUNKLEY

is the author of eleven successful mainstream novels and three novellas. A member of the Texas Institute of Letters and an NAACP Image Award nominee, she lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband, Crawford.

An avid reader all of her life, she began her writing career while researching the lives of interesting African-American women whose stories had not been told. A strong romantic theme has always been at the center of her novels and now she is enjoying writing true romance for her many fans.

Suite Temptation
Anita Bunkley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Crawford, with love.

Dear Reader,

Come along on a journey with my heroine, Riana Cole, as she tangles with handsome Andre Preaux in a corporate tug-of-war. A woman on a mission, she goes after the big bonus from a major client while pursuing a man she vowed never to deal with again.

Romance in the workplace drives these two into a dangerous game; a game that is hard to resist as they travel a rocky road to lofty corporate heights, determined not to surrender to the ultimate temptation.

I enjoy hearing from readers, so please e-mail me at arbun@sbcglobal.net or send a note to P.O. Box 821248, Houston, TX 77282-1248.

Read with love!

Anita Bunkley

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Prologue

June 2002, Houston, Texas

Aperfect score, Riana thought, her eyes traveling over the papers that Professor Lowell had handed to her. While other students gathered their books and bags and hurried out of the lecture hall, she flipped through the multipage document, both relieved and more than a little proud of herself for having aced the Commercial Banking in Real Estate examination that she’d been preparing for over the past twelve weeks.

Participating in the Small Business Administration course at the University of Houston had been a challenging experience, and, at first, Riana had worried that at thirty-five, it might be difficult for her to recapture the discipline and mind-set of a college student in order to make the grade. But that had not been the case at all: after the first day of class, she had slipped right back into the trusty study habits that had served her well through undergraduate and graduate school, and had found the intellectual environment a stimulating change from her work as a loan officer at a San Antonio financial firm.

The number of students taking the course had been much larger than she had anticipated, and she had been pleased to find that the majority of them were mature professionals like herself who were enhancing their careers or completing requirements for their undergraduate degrees. During the twelve-week session, Riana lived with her cousin, Felicia Woods and enjoyed the girl time they were able to spend together. However, she had also made several new friends in Houston, including Andre Preaux, the fine brother who was sitting next to her, assessing the results of his own examination.

“How’d you do?” Riana asked Andre, poking him with her elbow. Tall, trim and as delicious-looking as a piece of Godiva chocolate, he had an air of masculine vitality that made him very attractive. On the first day of class, Riana had accepted Andre’s invitation to join his study group, and it hadn’t taken long for them to break away from the nine-member group and move their study dates to a coffee shop, then to the student lounge, and eventually to Andre’s apartment, which was a short drive from the campus. In spite of her attempts to resist Andre’s lingering glances, gentle touches and his focused attention on her, his charm had worked its magic, and within a week, their late-night study dates had slipped into overnight stays at his studio apartment, where Riana began spending much more time than at her cousin Felicia’s house, where she was officially living during her time in Houston.

Riana’s attraction to Andre had been immediate and intense, though a bit disconcerting. She had not been looking for a romantic entanglement, and certainly not with a thirty-three-year-old who was pursuing his undergraduate degree. However, at six foot two with a slim, toned physique, a voice that melted her heart and a smile that made her stomach do flips, Andre had stirred up a passion in Riana that she had not been able to contain. He was exciting, energetic, sexy and gentle—a combination that had been impossible to resist.

“What’d you get?” she asked again, praying that he had at least passed the exam: they had pulled so many all-nighters while preparing for it, even though they had taken a few breaks from the books to do other things.

Andre didn’t answer. Slumped down in his seat, his long legs extended, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, he stared dully at the test papers crumpled in his fist. His full bottom lip was tucked under his front teeth, and the stunned expression on his handsome features was alarming. If it was any reflection of the grade he had received, Riana knew he must be crushed.

Andre was a construction worker, sporadically employed, who took classes between jobs and had only one semester left before finishing his bachelor’s degree, with plans to become a civil engineer. On the surface, he appeared to be an easygoing guy who took things in stride, but beneath that calm facade Riana knew there was an intensely driven man, preoccupied with succeeding.

Without looking over at Riana, Andre handed her his test paper, a blank expression darkening his caramel-brown face. “See for yourself,” he mumbled in a dispirited tone.

Riana eased the document out of Andre’s hand, unfolded it, and then let out a gasp. “Andre!” She pummeled him with a fist. “Ninety-four! And I was worried you’d failed!”

Grinning in a boyishly mischievous way, Andre leaned over and touched his lips briefly to Riana’s, breaking out of his fake sullen mood. “Me, fail? I don’t think so. If you knew me better, you’d know that when I focus on something, or someone, I don’t give up until I get what I want.”

Riana slapped him playfully on the arm and shoved his test paper back at him. “Oh? And what exactly does that mean?” she teased right back, relieved that their study sessions had paid off, in spite of so many interruptions.

“I got you, didn’t I?” Andre replied, his brown eyes bright with a sheen of satisfaction.

Riana shook her head and forced a half smile, knowing what she had to say, and knowing that her words might hurt. “Yes, I guess you did…for a while. You know, hanging out with you has been great fun, Andre, but I’m returning to San Antonio tomorrow. I’ve accomplished what I came to Houston for, so I have to get back to work.”

“I know, I know,” Andre mumbled rather grumpily. He ran a hand over his close-cut hair and then shifted back in his seat, eyes focused on the ceiling, obviously frustrated with the situation. “Couldn’t you stick around for a few more days?”

“Impossible.”

“Oh, so I guess Sweetwater Finance can’t function a day longer without you, can it?” His words had a hard edge, conveying his irritation.

Riana chewed her lip. Why did Andre have to make their parting harder than it had to be? She wasn’t going to lie: she was eager to return to work and assume her new position as vice president of commercial loans at the company where she’d worked for seven years. Her career was finally taking off and she had a busy life back home waiting for her. After laboring in every department of the financial firm she was about to enter the select ranks of upper management, where she would earn the kind of money she deserved. Nothing was going to sidetrack that. While many women her age were longing for a serious romantic relationship, a husband, a house in the suburbs and a few perfect children, that was not what preoccupied Riana. Not now, at least.

“Whether or not Sweetwater Finance can get along without me is not the point,” she told Andre, shaking her head.

“Well, what is?” he tossed back, looking at her in a way that let Riana know he expected an answer he could live with after she was gone.

“We both knew my stay in Houston was only a temporary thing. We agreed to a no-strings-attached relationship, remember?” Impulsively, Riana reached out and massaged Andre’s neck, wishing their situation was easier to fix. “I’m not happy about leaving you, either, but this is the way it has to be.”

Andre covered Riana’s hand with his, gripping tightly, as if holding on to her now would help him hold on to her forever. “We could do a long-distance thing, you know? San Antonio is only a couple of hours away. Every other weekend. I could take vacation time. We could…”

“No, Andre. That’s not what I want,” Riana cut him off. She didn’t want to scramble around and try to patch together a relationship that, she kept telling herself, had run its course. She didn’t want to sit around and wait for his phone calls, think about him all the time, live for his next visit, exist on the edge of potential disappointment. The stress of such an arrangement would be too unnerving, and a clean break was the only way she could ever handle leaving. He had to accept her decision. “It’s time we went our separate ways,” she calmly told Andre.

“Why you gotta sound so final? We can still stay in touch.” He jerked away now, turning angry.

“Because tonight has to be our last night together,” Riana answered, wanting to bring closure to this crazy, wonderful, out-of-the-blue affair and end it wrapped in his arms. Andre was not like any man with whom she had ever been involved. He had turned her emotions inside out and turned a fleeting attraction into a dangerously seductive whirlwind romance, pulling her into a steamy liaison that had evolved with heart-stopping speed. As impulsive as the affair had been, Riana had no regrets, and the only way she could get on that plane the next day and say goodbye was to convince herself that their paths had simply crossed unexpectedly. That leaving now was the best thing to do. That at least she would have sweet memories to hold on to, to remind her of this blissful time.

Andre slid closer and traced an index finger along Riana’s cheek, somber dark eyes fastened on hers. “I really don’t want you to go.”

“I have to.”

“I’ll call you every day,” he insisted, not hiding his anguish over the imminence of their parting.

“Don’t. Trust me, Andre. It’s best if we don’t try to make more of our time together than it was. When I get home, I’m going to be swamped at work, consumed with learning my new job, and too busy to handle a long-distance relationship. Let’s leave it as it is, okay?”

“Riana. It might take time and patience, but we could work it out. We can visit back and forth, talk on the phone, try to keep this together. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

A wave of uneasiness rose inside Riana. Love? Oh, I wish you wouldn’t say that, she worried, unable to deny that she had feelings for Andre. But love him? No, she didn’t dare consider that: he had made it clear that he planned to stay in Houston once he finished school. She was building her career at Sweetwater Finance and had no plans to leave San Antonio anytime soon. Why struggle to fit Andre into her life? Why force a relationship to stay alive when it might be best to let it go? Their lives had intersected at the wrong time and there was nothing to do but accept it.

With a sigh, Riana laced her fingers through Andre’s and gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I’m not happy about this either, but we’ve gotta do what we’ve gotta do. However, I have to say, I will miss the hell outta your blueberry pancakes and whipped butter cream,” she managed with a light laugh, desperate to ease the tension that still held them firmly in their classroom seats.

Andre nodded, a twinge of a smile tugging at his lips. “Ready to go?” he finally asked, words low and husky. “I sure don’t want to spend one more minute of my last night with you sitting in this room.”

“Yeah,” she told him, pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

The best feature of Andre’s cramped studio apartment was the oversized Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, which he had filled with strawberry-scented water. He climbed in first, settled down among the frothy bubbles, and then extended a hand to help Riana in. Muted candlelight bathed the room with a golden glow, highlighting Riana’s perfect figure while teasing it with flickering shadows. Andre’s gaze swept from her long, bronze legs, to the curve of her hips, to her heart-shaped face framed in light-brown hair, worn parted on the side, swinging against her cheek.

Andre kept his eyes on Riana as she slipped down in front of him and settled on her knees, the fluffy bubbles reaching only to her waist. Dipping one hand into the water, he scooped up a handful of the sweet-smelling foam and lathered it over her shoulders, her neck, her firm round breasts, pausing to rotate his thumbs over her dark, pointed nipples. Riana moaned and edged closer, bringing her own sexy scent to him.

Andre inhaled sharply, and then ducked his head and feathered his tongue over her shoulder, licking away the strawberry-scented bubbles clinging to her skin, while his hands made their way around to her back to bring her flush against his chest.

The feel of her body pressed to his, so wet and slick and smelling so good made Andre grow hard in an instant. He covered her lips with his in a bold, demanding kiss while he worked one hand down her spine, onto her thighs, and into the tangle of curly hair between her legs. Her gasp of pleasure broke off their kiss, forcing Andre to lean back and gaze at her for a short, sweet moment, entranced by her golden-brown eyes. She smiled at him. He crushed his mouth to her neck and held his breath in his lungs, clinging to her for one last time, fearing what the next day would bring.

When Riana shifted and parted her legs, Andre rose on his knees and cradled her hips with both hands, his fingers locked as he pulled her to him. Inch by inch she moved closer, slick with soap, radiating her own sugary heat.

With a gentle lift, he easily slipped inside her, moaning aloud, and not caring that tears had sprung unexpectedly into his eyes. A swirl of emotions inundated him, cascading through his body: sadness, regret, longing and fear.

She’s leaving tomorrow and I have to let her go, he told himself. Maybe I can’t hold on to her forever, but I can make love to her tonight in a way that she will never forget, sending her off with the knowledge that I’ve given her all I have.

Determined to savor this final night in her arms, he knew he’d have to use a great deal of restraint to make sure that he satisfied Riana completely before he lost all control. With their bodies joined, Andre felt the burn of his need for Riana trace through his veins. She rocked with him, gripping his shoulders, arching her back, her legs around his waist, holding nothing back. It excited him to feel the raw sensuousness of her passion, to know that she was in total surrender as their soul-searing rhythm churned the sparkling bubbles. For as long as he could hold her, he tasted and teased and explored her bronze body, moving deeper and deeper into their own erotic world until they climaxed together and collapsed.

Later, lying in bed with Riana’s damp hair pressed into his chest, Andre cradled her tenderly. He felt strangely agitated, yet content. A shiver of sorrow descended as he mentally surrendered to Riana’s decision. He loved her. He craved her. But he’d have to learn to live without her.

She was right. There was no way they could make plans for a future. What did he have to offer a successful, smart woman like Riana? He was still a struggling student while she had her master’s degree, a secure career and would soon be a VP with a major financial institution. He was a construction worker with rough hands, a paycheck that barely covered his living expenses, and a wardrobe that consisted of jeans, work boots and a few dress shirts, while she wore chic designer clothes and thought nothing of dropping a few hundred dollars for dinner in a fine restaurant.

Her life was on a fast track to success, while his was tentative, unstable and shrouded in past mistakes. It hurt so much to admit that she was right, they didn’t belong together, and it would be selfish of him to pressure her about it. She deserved more than he could offer, and until he accomplished what he planned to do, he didn’t deserve her love.

Chapter 1

San Antonio, Texas, four years later

After the producer’s assistant attached a small black microphone to the lapel of Riana’s burgundy suit, he gave her a thumbs-up and disappeared into the dark shadows surrounding the brightly lit set. Riana stared at the television camera that was positioned directly in front of the sofa where she was sitting and took a deep breath, eager to get the interview started. She crossed her hands and placed them in her lap, making sure that her silver watch, her Tiffany charm bracelet and the diamond-and-ruby ring on her right hand were angled toward the camera.

Her mind clicked through the short list of talking points that she wanted to address, hoping that Sheri Sherman, the host of Community Business Focus, would not hog the interview, as she was known to do. Sheri was a gregarious, energetic television personality who conducted extensive research on the major players in the local business community and loved to pass along her knowledge in a chatty, informal style. It was well known that her guests had to seize control of the interview from the beginning. However, an appearance on Sheri’s half-hour show could be more valuable than a sixty-second prime-time commercial, and every businessperson in San Antonio coveted an invitation to sit down and talk with her.

“Let’s do it,” Sheri called out to the floor director as she swept onto the set and sat down in the fake Louis xv armchair next to the sofa. She was dressed in a bold red pantsuit with black satin lapels. The ruby and silver beads around her neck were oversized, dramatic and genuine; as were the rings she was wearing on each finger. With a flip of her long thin braids, she turned to Riana and blessed her with a wide grin. “You ready, girlfriend?”

“Absolutely,” Riana replied, licking her lips and praying that she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth. Too late now, she told herself as the director counted down from five and then leveled a pointed finger in Sheri’s direction.

“Hello, everyone,” Sheri began. “Welcome to Community Business Focus, where you get to meet the up-and-coming business leaders of our city. My guest today is Riana Cole, CEO of Executive Suites, Inc., an executive search firm based here in San Antonio.” Sheri shifted slightly and turned her attention to Riana, flashing another TV-perfect smile. “I’m so happy to have you here with me today, Riana.”

“My pleasure,” Riana replied in her most professional tone.

“How about a little background. You’re a native of San Antonio, aren’t you?”

“Correct. Born and raised right here, though I did leave to attend the University of Texas at Austin, and after getting my undergraduate and my master’s degree in Economics there, I came back home. I love this city and wouldn’t think of living anywhere else.”

“I know what you mean. You still have family here?”

“Only a sister. My parents retired and moved to San Marcos in the Hill Country a few years ago, but they come back to the city quite often. It’s hard to leave San Antonio completely.”

“So true, so true. But San Marcos is just up the road. I know it means a lot to have family nearby.” She widened her grin and slid her tongue over her shiny white teeth, as if making sure she didn’t have lipstick on them. “Now, I understand that your company, Executive Suites, Inc., was responsible for getting Jerry Holmes, our new Director of Visitors and Tourism, to come to San Antonio last year. Our city has always been considered a great draw for tourists, but he is doing a fabulous job of marketing San Antonio to the world. So many international events are coming our way now. We’re lucky to have him here.”

“That’s right,” Riana agreed. “My company was tapped by the city to provide turnkey recruitment services for that search. It took some doing, but we were able to convince Mr. Holmes to leave Denver and come to our fair city. We also work with major corporations who are seeking highly qualified personnel.”

Sheri nodded. “So, you’re a headhunter?” Laughter followed. “Isn’t that another word for what you do?”

“That’s exactly what we do,” Riana stated with a smile, launching into her first talking point. “When a hard-to-fill position opens up within an organization, a public entity or a corporation, and the job calls for a specially trained person, human resource managers turn to me. I have a worldwide database of candidates and the ability to find the right person for the job in record time. Executive Suites, Inc., can save CEOs and human resource managers a great deal of time and expense.”

“How did you get started?” Sheri asked.

“Four years ago, I was stunned when my boss at the financial firm where I had been working for quite some time suddenly informed me that the VP position he had promised was not going to come through. In fact, they let me go.”

“Uh-oh,” Sheri interjected sympathetically. “I know that hits home with a lot of my viewers. I’ve even found myself holding the dreaded pink slip more than once. You know the media industry is a tough business….”

“I’m sure it is,” Riana stated, cutting off her host, eager to get her story told. “So, after I left the finance industry, I drew unemployment and looked for work. But every time I reached the interview stage for a position I really wanted, I was told that I was overqualified. I looked for six months. It was a discouraging, exhausting process, and it finally wore me down. I just gave up.”

“I know what you’re saying,” Sheri added with a short laugh. “Looking for work is work! Stressful, too.”

“Exactly,” Riana agreed. “So, I decided to start my own executive recruitment firm to match professionals, who are too often considered overqualified for the jobs they want, with the right employer. After doing my research, I applied for and was granted an SBA loan and then I purchased a franchise from Executive Suites, Inc.—a national recruitment firm with offices in ten major cities. I hired an assistant and prayed I would be successful. Three months later the business took off when I snagged two corporate accounts. It’s been booming ever since.”

“Wonderful! And so inspiring. And I must say you look successful, my sister. That suit is too sharp!”

“Thanks. Appearances do count, you know? If you dress the part and act like you’ve arrived, you’re halfway there,” Riana added with a confident tilt of her head.

“So true. Good advice. You took what could have been a defeat and made it work for you! Exactly what our viewers need to hear. So, I understand your company is now one of the top-grossing recruitment firms in the state.”

“Yes, it’s an exciting time for me.”

“How many recruiters do you have on staff?” Sheri wanted to know.

“Ten, and I have plans to expand into other markets very soon.”

“Can you tell us where?”

“I hope Houston first, then Waco, Amarillo, perhaps.”

While the camera continued to roll, Sheri leaned toward Riana, tapping her gold pen on the notepad on her lap. “What about your personal life, Riana? Anything you’d like to share with my viewers? Are you married, divorced, single? A working mom? My audience is always interested in hearing about the personal lives of busy career women like yourself.”

Riana gave her host a timid smile and lifted both hands, palms up. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to say on that subject. I’m single, not in a serious relationship and not really looking for one. Running my company takes all of my time and energy. I don’t see myself pursuing any romantic interests anytime soon.”

“Well, good luck. I’m sure you’ll be successful.” Sheri turned from Riana to address the camera. “Now, folks, I have to take a quick commercial break. Make that money, you know? But when we come back, Riana is going to give you tips on how to draft an effective résumé and tell you what you need to know before you go out on that next job interview.”

An hour later Riana was behind the wheel of her champagne-colored Lexus and headed back to her office, a seven-room suite on the twenty-third floor of the Crockett Building in the heart of downtown San Antonio. From her windows high above the city, she could see the famous Alamo, the bustling River Walk and the outline of Mission Concepcion, one of the oldest Spanish missions still around. Traffic was extremely heavy, as it always was during the summer months, when tourists crowded the downtown area in search of a glimpse of Texas history and a fun time in the fiesta-happy city.

When Riana pulled into her private parking spot in the garage adjoining her building, she remained in her car, taking a moment to reflect on her interview. She was relieved that her appearance on Sheri’s show was over and felt satisfied with the way it had gone. Riana got plenty of airtime in order to get her story out. Things were definitely on a roll!

Looking forward to the rest of her day, Riana got out of her car, took the elevator up to the twenty-third floor and pushed through the double glass doors of Executive Suites, Inc.

“Saw you on TV this morning,” said Tanisha, Riana’s efficient office manager, a dedicated sister who had been with Riana since the office first opened. A petite, fair-skinned young woman with a gentle voice and a steel trap for a mind, she took her job seriously, earning total respect from the staff. With Tanisha in charge, Riana never had to worry about any of her employees slacking off or taking advantage of the fact that Riana was often out and about, networking to bring in more leads. “Good job,” Tanisha continued. “The phones have been ringing like crazy.”

“Really?” Riana commented, accepting the stack of pink message slips that Donna, the receptionist, handed to her. Riana glanced through them, amazed at how quickly she was getting results from her appearance on Sheri’s show. Now, she better understood why those in business in San Antonio worked so hard to keep Sheri happy.

“The school district, two banks, your sister, Britt, and someone from the Allen Group called,” Donna prompted, referring to the pink slips in Riana’s hand. “Very important to call George Allen back today. His assistant said that he wants information about your services, and that he has a rush job. The man wants to talk to you ASAP.”

“Right,” Riana agreed, recognizing the name. George Allen was president of the Allen Group, well-known as a major builder of exclusive gated communities, skyscrapers, industrial complexes and huge shopping malls. His name and photo turned up regularly in newspapers and magazines whenever he broke ground on one of his trendsetting projects or donated a chunk of cash to a charitable organization. He was one of the ten wealthiest men in Texas, and his activities were tracked by national publications.

Riana stuffed the messages into the side pocket of her attaché case and headed down the hallway toward her office. Pausing at her door, she turned around and called back to Donna, “I’m gonna give Britt a quick callback first, and then please get George Allen on the phone right away.”

“And I want to hear what he has to say,” Tanisha interjected, crossing her fingers at Riana before disappearing back inside her office.

Seated at her desk, Riana punched the speed dial to her sister’s house, knowing it was best to call Britt back first, before her kids returned home from swimming lessons, the library, a Scout meeting or wherever they’d been shipped off to for the morning. Britt was a stay-at-home mom with five children under the age of twelve who lived in the suburbs with her husband, John, a mild-mannered veterinarian. Even though school was out for the summer, Britt didn’t let her children sleep late and watch television all day. She made sure they followed as rigorous a routine of activities during the summer months as they did when school was in session.

“Hi, Britt,” Riana greeted, distressed to hear her youngest niece, Wendy, wailing in the background. “What’s up?”

“Do you really want to know?” Britt said on the edge of a sigh.

No, not really, Riana thought as she listened to Britt’s rundown of her hectic morning. Typical suburban-mom stuff. Nothing Riana could relate to, but she held her tongue and let Britt vent for a few minutes, her monologue interrupted by attempts to shush Wendy. It was difficult not to hurry Britt off the phone, but Riana knew her sister needed the release of talking about her troubles with someone. Today, it was Riana.

“Anyway, the real reason I called…” Britt finally got to the point.

“Yeah, right,” Riana prompted, eager to get off the phone and call George Allen back. “I only have a few minutes. An important call to make.” Tapping her pen impatiently on her blotter, she waited.

“I know. You’re always so busy. Anyway, I saw your interview with Sheri Sherman this morning,” Britt started, voice dropping a few octaves.

“Oh? Good. What’d you think?” Riana asked, pleased that Britt, who took little interest in Riana’s business, had been watching.

“I’m worried about you,” Britt tossed out, her tone a bit accusatory. “Don’t you realize how dangerous it was for you to say what you did?”

“What are you talking about?” Riana asked, sitting up straighter, puzzled. Dangerous? What was bothering Britt, who overreacted to everything?

“I’m talking about your comment. About not having time for a personal life,” Britt clarified. “You just told the world that you’re not interested in men. It sounded so strange, almost as if you were, you know…gay or something. Why did you have to do that?”

“Oh, my God! Britt. How can you say that? You know that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s how it came off.”

“I simply said that I don’t have any interest in pursuing a serious romantic relationship,” Riana defended herself. “It’s the truth. So what?”

“Well, you’ll never get married if you keep broadcasting the fact that you’re too involved in your work to give a man the time of day. I don’t understand you, I really don’t.”

Stiffening her spine, Riana kept all emotion from her voice as she told her sister, “I’m not concerned about what people think. If I never get married, that’s fine with me, Britt. I’m perfectly content with my life as it is and I have no desire to complicate it by bringing a man into the picture.”

Britt’s remarks stung Riana. After hanging up the phone, she sat quietly, unable to believe what Britt had said. Me, gay? Not hardly, Riana thought, shaking her head, her mind suddenly turning to memories of the time she had spent with Andre Preaux. Even though it had been four years since she had felt Andre’s lips on hers and held his body close, it seemed as if she had made love to him only yesterday. Why wouldn’t those memories fade?

Chapter 2

Andre paused to catch his breath when he came to the end of his circuit on the jogging trail that wound its way through Hermann Park. Holding on to the back of a park bench, he began a series of stretching exercises while studying the rain clouds that were beginning to darken the jagged Houston skyline. The hot, humid day was coming to an end, and he was glad he had made it to the park in time to get in a good run before the evening rain took over.

Running cleared Andre’s head and gave him time to review what he had accomplished at the office. It had been a satisfying day at A. Preaux and Associates, his newly established urban planning and architectural firm located on the top floor of Prairie Towers, a six-story art-deco structure he had rescued from the wrecking ball.

He had prepared a bid proposal for a warehouse renovation project, completed the preliminary sketches for a city-sponsored health center, and prepared his presentation for a gathering of area business owners to discuss his vision for a strip shopping center. Of the projects he was currently working on, the city contract excited him the most. The government design would add another valuable reference to Andre’s short list of satisfied clients and add to his renovation fund for Prairie Towers.

Years ago, when the business center of Houston had suddenly shifted westward, companies had vacated office buildings like Prairie Towers for steel-and-glass towers that shimmered in the sunlight. Andre had watched the property deteriorate during punishingly hot summers and through tropical storms that had ravaged it inside and out, while praying that no one would snatch it up before he accumulated sufficient money to buy it. Last year he had managed to purchase the deserted building for a fraction of its value, using every cent of his savings and going into debt, with little left over for the major renovations it would require. Though Prairie Towers was in a fairly dilapidated state, its address still drew respect, and that was what mattered to anyone purchasing real estate in Houston.

Andre had great plans for the 1950s structure, deciding to do most of the work himself, but for now, the building remained vacant except for the top floor, which Andre had divided in half with one side used for his loft-style living quarters and the other half converted into his office space—with two desks, a computer, his drafting table and a bookcase—sufficient furnishings for himself and Lester Tremaine, his part-time assistant, and the only associate at A. Preaux and Associates.

Now, Andre scanned the buildup of cars lining Fannin Drive, ready to head home and add the last coat of sealer to the hardwood floors he had just refinished in his living area. Once he’d completed that work, his loft apartment would be fully renovated and he could turn his focus on the unfinished walls of his office.

“Traffic’s gonna be hell,” Andre muttered to himself as he mopped his face with a small white towel and finished his stretching routine. The darkening rain clouds served as a warning that the weather was surely going to make his rush-hour drive time even more sluggish.

Just as he was about to head to the opposite side of the park where he had left his newly washed Pathfinder, the first drops of rain hit the ground, and within seconds, a full-blown downpour erupted. Twelve dollars wasted, he thought.

Seeking cover, Andre jogged over to a nearby pavilion where a lone man was watching the rain.

As he approached, Andre recalled that the man had been under the pavilion when he had first arrived at the park, and had stayed there while Andre raced past him repeatedly during his six-mile run. The stranger didn’t look like a homeless person, and didn’t appear dangerous or threatening, so Andre relaxed, thinking that he might be an office worker who had come out to the park to simply get some fresh air.

Ducking under the shelter, Andre nodded to the stranger. “I knew it was coming,” he casually remarked to the man, who was dressed in neat khaki slacks and a white open-collar shirt. His fair complexion was ruddy, as if he’d been out in the sun too long without a hat, and his dark-blond hair, cut short and spiky, resembled a military buzz. Reflective black circles of glass shielded eyes that Andre sensed were sweeping over him.

“Typical July in Houston,” the man replied, coming over to stand beside Andre.

“Right,” Andre replied, easing back a bit while rethinking his earlier conclusion. His mind whirled back to a recent news report about a well-dressed mugger who had been spotted hanging out in city parks, waiting for unsuspecting victims to beat and rob. It seemed that no one could be trusted nowadays, but Andre hated to automatically assume that every stranger he met was potentially dangerous.

“Are you Andre Preaux?” the man suddenly asked in a strong, official manner, as if he had been waiting for Andre all along.

The question shocked Andre, who stepped away several feet and leveled a curious eye on the red-faced man, whom he now could see was lanky and slightly stooped. His shielded eyes told Andre nothing, staring back at him as if they were simply two black dots pasted on a face for show. “Why? Who are you?” Andre wanted to know, certain he had never seen this person before.

The man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a slim black wallet, which he flipped open with one heavily freckled hand. “Charles Frazer, FBI. Are you Andre Preaux?”

Too startled, and too cautious, to speak, Andre moved his head up and down.

“Good,” the man said, turning away from Andre to walk over to one of the metal picnic tables in the center of the pavilion. Once he was seated, he motioned Andre over. “Sit down, please. I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” Andre asked, slowly making his way toward the table as he tried to grasp the inference of the FBI agent’s presence in the park. The man knew him. Had called him by name. What could he possibly want?

“It’s about your brother, Jamal Preaux,” Frazer clarified, removing his glasses to reveal pale-blue expressionless eyes.

“Oh.” The word erupted from Andre’s mouth, flying out like a tiny dart. He digested the agent’s comment, fearful about what was coming next. After having pushed Jamal out of his mind and out of his life for so long, Andre had begun to believe that no one knew about his estranged sibling, but apparently, the FBI did, and the realization was disturbing. “My half brother, you mean,” Andre corrected, cautiously taking a seat across from Charles Frazer.

“Okay, fine. Your half brother,” Frazer conceded with a slight smirk. Barely moving his lips, he went on. “When was the last time you saw him?”

That was a question that Andre didn’t want to answer, and one that he had hoped no one would ever ask. He could feel his pulse begin to race as he considered whether to cooperate with this man before he knew what was really going on. After all, he was not obligated to answer any official’s questions without a lawyer present, and how did he know that this man was really an agent with the FBI? “Why do you want to know?” Andre ventured, stalling, groping for any reason to avoid this conversation.

“Have you seen or heard from Jamal Preaux recently?” Frazer pressed, toying with his sunglasses, his blue stare cutting into Andre’s brown eyes.

Slowly, Andre forced himself to calm down, deciding to answer as truthfully as possible because to do otherwise would only make him appear as if he had something to hide, which he didn’t. “No. I haven’t seen Jamal recently.”

“What about his wife, Kay Lamonde Preaux? Heard from her?”

Again, Andre replied, “No,” his voice unexpectedly dropping to a whisper.

“You were in Jamaica last September, weren’t you?” Frazer pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his limp white shirt, thumbed to a page and studied it, as if verifying his facts. “September 2005? Did you see your brother then?”

Knowing it would be stupid to deny that he had traveled to Jamaica because it was so easy to check travel and passport records, Andre had no choice but to confirm the agent’s statement. “Yes,” he confessed. “I went to Jamaica in September. I saw my brother then.”

“What was the purpose of your visit?”

“Vacation.”

“Where did you see Jamal?”

“He came to see me at my hotel in Kingston.”

“Are you two close?” Frazer asked.

Andre hunched his shoulders, beginning to feel cornered. “No, not really.” Biting his lip, he paused, and then added, “We’ve had our differences over the years. I’d like him to come back to the States, bring his family and settle down here.”

“You ever talk about that with him?” Frazer asked.

“Yeah, sure. But I guess he loves the island life too much to give it up.”

“What does your brother do for a living?” Frazer plodded along, his tone growing more efficient with each word, his manner more insistent.

“I don’t really know,” Andre answered in a constricted voice, praying that he sounded convincing. “Odd jobs. He told me he repairs houses, does fix-up stuff. His wife, Kay, is an artist. Sells her paintings in a local market.”

“I see,” Frazer said as he made a few notations on a page in his notebook before flipping it closed and taking out one of his business cards, which he slid across the picnic table to Andre. “You still live at Prairie Towers?”

With a jerk of his head, Andre confirmed the man’s question, a coil of apprehension forming in his gut. This man knew where he lived. Knew he had a half brother living in the Caribbean. He’d intercepted Andre in the park. How long had the FBI been watching him? “Yeah, that’s where I live and where I work. My office is in the same building.”

“You own the building, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Andre snapped, not liking the way this interrogation was going.

“Where’d you get the money to buy a piece of property like that?”

“Where anybody gets money to buy something they want. I earned it. I saved it. Borrowed some from the bank.” Now, Andre was really getting pissed. What right did this man have to ask such questions, which he certainly didn’t have to answer? “What difference does it make how I financed my property?”

“Just wanted to know. For the record,” Frazer calmly clarified.

“Well, is there anything else you want to know?” Andre tossed out, raising his chin in a defiant jut, ready to be finished with this vague interrogation.

“Not right now, but stick around. I may want to talk to you again.”

“Why?” Andre demanded, now suspicious. “Let’s dispense with this cat-and-mouse bull. What’s this about? Do I need to get a lawyer?”

Agent Frazer’s features turned even more solemn and his eyes lowered into hooded blue slits, the first sign of emotion that Andre had seen. “Do you think you need one?”

“No, not at all,” Andre boldly countered, determined not to waver.

“Then, you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Andre replied as he picked up the card and studied it. “But can’t you tell me what’s going on? Is Jamal in trouble?”

“Well, let’s just say that he’s a person of interest in a complicated situation. He seems to have disappeared. Along with his family. We’d like to find him and his wife, ask them a few questions, that’s all.”

The self-assured expression on Frazer’s face told Andre that he wasn’t going to get more than that. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him,” Andre promised.

“Thanks,” Frazer replied before adding, “Looks like the rain has slacked off. I’d better make a run for it.” He slid his sunglasses back over his eyes and pushed up from the table, preparing to leave.

Andre didn’t move.

Frazer stepped out from beneath the shelter and looked up at the clearing sky, one hand in his pants pocket, his back still to Andre, and then he twisted his upper torso and turned around. “Don’t leave town without letting me know,” he called out over his shoulder, before hurrying across the wet grass to the parking lot where he got into a black compact car.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Andre said to himself, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. I should have known this day was coming, he thought, gripped with the same awful sense of dread that he’d felt the last time he saw Jamal.

Chapter 3

After holding for a full five minutes, Riana finally got George Allen on the line, and it was hard for her to contain her excitement when he finally told her what he wanted.

Swiveling around in her chair, she positioned her back to her office door and faced the sun-splashed windows that overlooked downtown San Antonio. A ripple of anticipation came over her as she took in the details of the most important assignment she had ever been offered. Adding George Allen’s company, the Allen Group, to her client list would be a major coup, and she didn’t care if he asked her to locate a multilingual nuclear scientist who could also sing the blues and write country songs, she was going to accept this assignment. No way could she underestimate the importance of snagging this account.

“So,” she finally said when Allen finished, “you’re constructing a minimum-security prison outside of San Antonio to be named Tierra Trace—specifically for adult women and female juveniles, right? Is this a federal project?”

“Exactly, my company was awarded the contract to design and build Tierra Trace, which will be closely monitored and controlled by government regulations. It’s an unusual approach, in that the complex will house inmates who have been selected to enter advanced professional training and college-level classes in order to reenter society and be productive. Minimum security, white-collar crime. It’s not going to be a place for people to simply sleep, eat and watch TV to pass the time.”

“Interesting,” Riana commented.

“The location and design of the various units within the complex will be crucial to the success of this project.”

“What’s the size of the complex?” Riana asked.

“It’ll be modest in size, divided into three distinct areas with separate buildings for adult women and juvenile girls. It will also have a small unit for pregnant women or those with newborns who need to keep their babies with them for a while. Lots of green space and utility areas all around. Each of these distinct groups has vastly different requirements and I am convinced that housing inmates with similar personal situations and similar needs will impact the success of this plan. This is the first of its kind in the country, and if it’s successful, others will follow.”

“It’s a most unique approach,” Riana said.

“Yes, it is,” Allen stated with pride. “It must be functional, have clean lines and incorporate all the high-tech security equipment and state-of-the-art sanitation requirements available, along with instructional and recreational areas.”

“How can Executive Suites help?”

“I want you to recruit a leader for my design team. I need a space-planning architect to help pull my vision together,” Allen said, and then added, “I’ve been thinking about using someone new to the industry, an unknown who can bring a fresh perspective.”

“You want me to recruit a novice architect who’s just launching a career? Why not go after the best, most experienced person for the job?” Riana wanted to know.

“When I saw you on Community Business Focus this morning, I was very impressed with your story. I thought, ‘Why not hire an up-and-coming search firm to use on this project? And while I’m at it, why not go after a hungry architect who really needs the work?’ This is not one of my bigger projects by any means, but it’s a very important one, and whoever comes on board will get a heck of a lot of exposure. I want you to find me an unknown with talent. I’m sure you can locate a professional who understands what I need and who can deliver.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence. What’s your time frame?” Riana asked, swiveling back around to grab her pen and take notes.

“I’ll be out of the office next week, but when I return, I’d like to meet with you and go over a short list of candidates. Think you can get some names together by then?”

“No problem,” Riana replied, her mind already whizzing ahead to the recruitment resources she planned to use.

“The design team won’t actually meet for at least ninety days at the outside, but I want to get the candidate—man or woman—on board right away. Sound like an assignment your firm can handle?”

Riana took a deep breath, crossed her fingers and told George Allen, “Yes. Executive Suites will find the perfect match between your company and your project. You will not be disappointed.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to have Pat, my human resources manager, call you with the job description. She’ll give you all the details and work with you to finalize the contract, now that you’ve accepted the job. She’ll draft your contract, go over it with you, and when it’s all set, I’ll talk with you again.”

Immediately after hanging up, Riana turned to her computer and got to work. With the next day being the Fourth of July, the office would be closed, so she wanted to get a head start on this assignment. She pulled up the database of clients currently enrolled with Executive Suites and quickly highlighted the names of three architects whose credentials were impressive. However, she knew she could not stop there. On a task like this one, she would have to utilize all of her recruitment sources and screen a wide range of potentials. She could tell that Allen was a demanding man who expected the best from people he worked with, and she was going to deliver exactly what he wanted.

After creating a folder to hold the information she found on the first three candidates, she turned to her database that contained the names of the presidents of professional agencies and organizations within the building and architecture industries who had helped her with her recruitment needs in the past. After carefully preparing an e-mail blast that detailed her requirements, Riana sent the announcement to everyone on the contact list, hoping that someone would give her a lead.

So far, she had never failed a client, and it was this sense of confidence—her assurance that the ideal candidate was out there somewhere—that drove her to push so hard and to set her personal needs aside in order to make her company grow.

So what if her sister, Britt, referred to Riana as a workaholic clotheshorse who would probably wind up a lonely spinster? Riana had no intention of slowing down, or of focusing on her social life instead of her company. Britt was just jealous, and she certainly had no trouble accepting the clothes that Riana offered her when she cleaned out her closet at the end of each season.

Riana’s mother, Karleen, who had worked part-time during the summer months at the neighborhood ice-cream shop when her daughters were young, also accused Riana of taking her work much too seriously. Karleen wanted more grandchildren to spoil, a second son-in-law to pamper and another big wedding to plan. In her opinion, Riana was using her work to avoid commitment, afraid that a man would want to come in and take over her business under the guise of relieving her of the stress that comes with owning a demanding franchise.

Even Riana’s father, Sam, now retired from his government job as a city health inspector, concurred. He worried that Riana might be sacrificing too much for the sake of making money. Getting rich was not that important, he often told her. A fancy car, expensive clothes and nice jewelry meant nothing if you didn’t have someone with whom to share and enjoy such perks. Money wouldn’t bring his daughter happiness, he would say, urging her to take a hard look at her priorities.

Riana disagreed with all of them. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, and she thrived on the financial freedom that she had earned. She was content to immerse herself in the world of negotiations, contracts and deal-making to the exclusion of an endless and often frantic round of galas and benefits and shallow happy hours and boring stand-up cocktail parties just to search for Mr. Right. She gave generously to the charities that mattered by writing checks at the end of the year, and had long ago given up worrying about finding a mate. If it happened, fine, but she sure wasn’t going to lie awake at night worrying about when, or if, someone to love—who could fit into her world—would come along.

Now, clicking through her e-mails, Riana saw that two of her professional colleagues had already replied to her request for leads for potential candidates to fill George Allen’s search. The first message, from the president of the American Association of Urban Planners contained the résumés of two of their members who were seeking projects: Sandra Morehouse of Oklahoma City and Robert Fountain from Dallas. Riana closely scrutinized their credentials, made a few notes about Sandra, who had five years of experience and a short list of clients, and then Robert, whose work was starkly simple and not very attractive.

Impressed, but not quite satisfied, Riana moved on to the second message, from the membership chair of the National Association of Builders and Architects. The contact, with whom Riana had worked on two other assignments, was offering up only one name, and when Riana read the e-mail, she froze. Andre Preaux, of A. Preaux and Associates in Houston, winner of the prestigious 2003 Space City Improvement Award for his design of a low-rise complex for marginalized senior citizens in Houston. Heart thumping in her chest, she began to read aloud from the screen.

“‘Andre Preaux, a newcomer to the industrial architectural and design scene, brings twelve years of experience in the construction business and a recent degree in architecture from the University of Houston to his innovative designs. In his award-winning project, Arbor Oaks, he grasped the big-picture demands of the problem of limited housing for elderly seniors on fixed incomes and was able to effectively tie the project to the goals and the needs of an underserved group of citizens. He cut through tangled red tape and finished the complex in record time while honoring city ordinances and following housing guidelines to achieve a final project that surpassed the original plans. His use of innovative design concepts for the handicapped and those with limited mobility, his incorporation of environmentally friendly materials, and his involvement of the local residents allowed him to prove that there can be equitable access to affordable housing for all members of the Houston community.’”

It can’t be the same man, Riana kept telling herself, frowning at the photo of a professionally attired caramel-colored man in a business suit and tie. His hair was longer, his smile seemed brighter, and he looked more mature than the thirty-seven years she knew him to be. He also looked confident and polished, as if he possessed secrets to his rapid rise that he did not plan to reveal. She had never seen Andre wearing anything other than scruffy jeans or slacks and a shirt, never a suit. This man was dressed with ultimate care, sending a message of impressive style. Even the address of his firm was impressive: Prairie Towers, in the high-rent, Main Street, museum-district area. Apparently, he was doing quite well, and he was just as disturbingly handsome as she remembered. Even more so, Riana had to admit, wondering for the thousandth time if they could have made it as a couple.

Frantically, she scrolled through his résumé, eager to read everything she could about his background, his work, his education and his future plans. She was stunned. How could this be the same man who had worn faded jeans and work boots to class, who had swept her into a whirlwind romance before she’d realized what was happening? Was this the same man whose heart she knew she had shattered four years ago when she had left him behind to pursue her career?

Slumping back in her chair, Riana stared at the monitor, not seeing anything, unable to stop the flood of memories she’d been holding back for years easing into her mind. As she sat there, sensations she had struggled to forget swept through her. The feel of his fingers on her skin as he held her chin and kissed her good-night. The clean soapy smell of his skin after they’d bathed together in his bubbly Jacuzzi tub. The scent of their soul-touching bodies after a long night of making love. The taste of his lips, plump, full and warm over hers.

An ache of longing flashed through Riana, tearing into her heart and holding her still. Sitting there, she felt a lump of regret begin to swell, reigniting the misery she’d suffered through during those miserable days after her return home. It hadn’t taken long for Riana to admit that she had miscalculated everything back then: her job security at Sweetwater, the depth of Andre’s feelings for her and her ability to get over him.

Andre had called her once, had e-mailed her twice, but she’d never responded, unable to go back on her decision to put her career first and sidestep the temptation of entering into a long-distance relationship. She had simply eased her way out of his life as smoothly as he had entered hers, fully aware that she had left him feeling confused and disappointed about her actions. However, she’d had little choice at the time, and after weeks of crying herself to sleep at night or lying awake second-guessing her decision to walk away from Andre, she had finally managed to let go of him and put her energy into building her company.

Now, Riana moved her index finger over the delete button on her keyboard, prepared to erase Andre Preaux from her computer screen as well as her life. But she couldn’t press the key. As much as she wanted to push his résumé aside, it was impossible. Dammit! Andre had all of the credentials that George Allen was looking for and there was no way she could exclude him from her short list. In fact he might be the ideal candidate.

Riana clipped one more yellow rose from the chest-high bush in the center of her rose garden, placed it in a basket and decided that the six full blooms she had picked were more than enough for a nice bouquet. She headed into the potting shed at the far end of her compact, well-landscaped yard and put her tools away.

When she had left her office at six o’clock that evening, she hadn’t planned on working in her garden, but when she walked through the door she was too keyed up over having seen Andre’s photo on the Internet to simply flop in her easy chair and watch the evening news on TV as usual. She had to stay busy, keep her mind off him. So she’d put on her jeans, a T-shirt and her leather gardening gloves and headed into her rose garden to shift her thoughts from the ghostly past.

Riana pulled off her gloves, hung them on a hook in the shed and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of one hand. The early-July evening was sultry, humid and still pushing ninety degrees even though it was nearing dusk: a typical day in the Alamo city. However, Riana had no complaints. She was used to the steamy summer days that never seemed to cool and knew that grumbling about the heat did no good; it would end in its own time, and that could be as late as mid-October, or even Thanksgiving Day some years.

As she made her way back toward the house, she surveyed her colorful flower garden with pride: it was one of the reasons she had purchased this house on Puerto Valdez Avenue. The Craftsman-style bungalow had cost twice as much as she had planned to pay when she decided to become a homeowner, but it was worth the investment. Her house was close to downtown, on a quiet tree-lined street, and just the right size for a single person.

For Riana, living on Puerto Valdez Avenue was like residing on a tropical island of calm and peace. She thrived on the privacy of the mid-town neighborhood, where every street ended in a wide cul-de-sac, and the only vehicles cruising past belonged to a resident or someone who had business being in the area. The chirps of birds and the rustle of tropical foliage drifted over smooth green lawns that fronted the tidy homes, which were set back from the street and divided by hedges of blooming oleanders along the driveways.

Inside, Riana went into her recently updated kitchen and looked into the fridge: orange juice, bottled water, a diet drink, a pint of cottage cheese and a carton of eggs. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There were two things Riana did not do: cook or clean house. A housecleaning service descended on her home once a week to keep it spotless, and she drank juice for breakfast, had lunch delivered to her office from a nearby health-food store and usually picked up a salad or pasta for dinner from Central Market on her way home. Today, she had been so preoccupied with memories of her time with Andre she had forgotten all about food.

After taking out the can of diet drink, she shut the refrigerator door and poured it into a glass, sipping it while she arranged the yellow roses in a white glass vase, impressed with the size of the blossoms.

Finished with her arrangement, she placed it on the coffee table in her muted beige-and-cream living room, and, grabbing her diet drink, went into her home office for a quick e-mail check. However, instead of logging into her mailbox, she punched in Andre’s Web site address and held her breath as she gazed at his photo and read his résumé over and over, unable to tear her eyes away from his face or get her mind off the only man she had ever loved.

What am I doing? she silently fretted, sensing his presence wrap around her, her heartbeat steadily increasing. Why am I acting as if I care? As if he means a thing to me? However, she knew the answer. She loved Andre, and the realization was not one she could ever escape.

Since moving back to San Antonio, she had acquired an interesting circle of friends and had dated often enough to suit her needs. However, too often, when she did meet a man who interested her, the relationship quickly fizzled when he realized that his role in her life would be solidly paired with her devotion to Executive Suites, Inc.

Riana was well aware that her strong work ethic turned some men off, but in Riana’s opinion, everything was as it should be. She was living the good life—in a home that she owned, driving the car that she loved, dressing in stylish, well-made clothes and investing in her future. This was all she’d ever wanted to do and she had no plans of changing anything in order to please an insecure man or her overprotective family.

I was right to leave Andre, she told herself. If I hadn’t, I never would have accomplished the goals I set for myself, and I never would have created the company I love so much.

Becoming a successful businesswoman had been Riana’s dream since she was young, going back to the days when she had taken the city bus across town to the private school that she and Britt had attended. Cruising through the crowded business section, she had gazed out the windows, fascinated by the women in tailored business suits, carrying expensive looking attaché cases who hurried across intersections and along the streets, going in and out of the multiwindowed buildings. She had always wondered what they did behind those heavy doors of brass and tinted glass, in those rooms looming high above the city.

During her senior year of high school, Riana accepted a part-time job at a national life-insurance agency whose offices filled seven floors of a building in the heart of the business center. Thrilled to finally be a part of the fascinating world she had longed to explore, she quickly imitated the dress, the stride and the in-office mannerisms of the women with whom she associated. Her salary was low, her job was tedious, but she went to work every afternoon with a smile on her face and an intense desire to do her best. That approach, coupled with a positive attitude, soon caught the attention of Madeline Betts, the vice president of the insurance company.

Madeline took Riana under her wing and coached her on the ins and outs of the insurance business. Told her how to get what she wanted from the corporate managers—all males—who dominated the company and presented great challenges for women with drive and purpose.

Learn to be tough, but fair, Madeline had told Riana. Be persistent, but not overly aggressive when negotiating. Never take anything or anyone for granted. Don’t compromise, if doing so would leave you with regrets. And most important of all—never burn bridges, or let anyone burn them for you. We’re all too interconnected to take such a chance.

Riana had thrived under Madeline’s tutelage, and when she applied for admission to graduate school at the University of Texas, Madeline Betts wrote the glowing recommendation that Riana believed had won her a full scholarship to the master’s program in the College of Economics. With her advanced degree, she had been quickly snapped up by Sweetwater Finance where the most important thing she learned was how not to run a company. Getting fired had definitely been a blessing in disguise.

Now, as she studied Andre’s Web site photo, she wondered if finding him again would turn out to be a blessing or a curse.

Chapter 4

It was difficult for Riana to gauge George Allen’s reaction to the candidates she had presented for his consideration and she was beginning to get nervous. Ten days had passed since he’d first contacted her and it was time for him to let her know whom she ought to pursue. With a great deal of care, he read over each résumé, made a few notes in the margins and then set it aside before going on to the next.

At last, he removed his glasses and placed them on the conference table, prepared to reveal his decision.

“They all look good, Riana,” he finally said, drumming two fingers on the hard, polished wood. “Tomas Segovia has great credentials, but everything he’s done looks the same. Nothing innovative there,” Allen replied, thumbing his chin as he leaned back in his big leather chair. “Sandra Morehouse’s last job was extremely well executed, but it wasn’t well received by the county officials.” Allen tucked his bottom lip beneath his teeth as he considered another résumé. “Now, this young man takes a fresh, bold approach to his designs. Exactly what I’ve been thinking about for Tierra Trace.” He focused on Riana when he said, “I think what Andre Preaux did with the Arbor Oaks design was most impressive. He just might be able to deliver what I want.”

Allen’s comment threw Riana momentarily off guard, though she knew it shouldn’t have upset her at all. He was right: Andre’s striking design, which had addressed important environmental, residential and economic factors had made it a winner, making Arbor Oaks stand out from the plethora of average projects that the other architects and planners had completed. However, all of Andre’s talent didn’t erase the fact that it was going to be very difficult for her to approach him, and she didn’t dare reveal her concerns to George Allen.

“His firm is very small. In fact, he may be a one-man shop. And other than the senior citizens’ facility, he hasn’t done much to prove his talent,” Riana quickly tossed back, a worry frown creeping over her brow.

George Allen nodded his understanding, but countered her concern with a statement that made Riana’s stomach tighten. “I still think he’s the one. What draws me most to Preaux is that he took risks with unusual materials and he got the job done in record time.”

I once took a risk on him, too, and got involved in record time! But I let him down hard and I doubt he’s forgotten, Riana silently recalled, wishing she could remain impartial.

“Reminds me of myself when I started out,” Allen continued. “All I needed was the right break. Someone to connect with my vision. I see no reason why I shouldn’t at least give him first shot.” He arched a brow at Riana, who smiled demurely and inclined her head. “Set up an interview. I want to know more about Andre Preaux. If he doesn’t work out, we’ll move on to someone else.”

“That’s a good approach,” she agreed. “Let’s hope Preaux is interested in meeting with me. From the look of his Web site, I gather he’s a pretty busy man. I haven’t spoken to any of the candidates yet, but I’ll contact him first, have a friendly chat and explore his future plans. Then I’ll know how to move ahead.”

Allen turned his perceptive gaze on Riana, shaking her out of her miserable dilemma. “If he works out, this project may go down on the books as my riskiest one ever. My first time using Executive Suites as my search firm, and now I’m actually thinking of hiring a novice architect to help design my complex. Some people might think I’m crazy, but this is what keeps me excited and engaged in doing business: the discovery and promotion of new talent. Riana, here’s what I want you to do. Schedule a personal interview with Andre Preaux as soon as possible, don’t just talk to him on the phone. Go to see him. I’d like you to spend time at his office, see where he works. Check out his surroundings. If possible, feel out colleagues about his work ethics, his management style, his temperament. And for this project, I’ll have to have a criminal background check on him, too. You know what I’ll need.”

“Yes, I do,” Riana replied, girding herself for this difficult recruitment task. If she had to go to Houston and face Andre, she’d go, and she’d recruit him for the job and earn a nice fee from George Allen, too. And while she was at it she might as well make the trip do double duty and take care of some business while there. “I’d been planning on going to Houston anyway,” she told Allen, sounding as casual as she could manage. “I want to check out the Executive Suites franchise there. It’s not doing well, the owner wants to sell, and I’m considering buying it.”

“Good idea. I heard you talking about your expansion plans when you were on Community Business Focus. Houston’s a good market for recruitment. As I’ve always said, the only way to be successful in business is to grow, grow, grow. Staying small never leads to anything but remaining exactly where you are.”

“I agree,” Riana replied, her mind already spinning with ideas about how to approach Andre. She’d have to plan her tactics carefully, remain totally about business with no treks down memory lane, no conversation about regrets, no emotion. She would plunge into the task fully prepared to get the job done in record time and then, she hoped, she’d never see or speak to Andre Preaux again.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve interviewed Preaux and give you an update,” she told Allen, ready to get started.

“I trust your company to do its job,” Allen agreed with a nod. “And I look forward to your take on how you think Preaux will fit in with my plans.”

Riana swallowed, her mouth nearly too dry to speak, her stomach sinking fast. “I know you want the best for the Tierra Trace project, and that’s what you’ll have.”

“Tell you what, if Preaux turns out to be the right person for the job, and you can get him in place within a very short time frame, the Allen Group will pay Executive Suites a fifty-percent increase in our contracted fee.”

Stunned, Riana blinked. “Fifty percent? How generous,” she commented, knowing what Allen meant. If she did not come through within his time frame, he would have no problem taking his business elsewhere. This was a test. He had backed her into a corner and she could not let him down. The Allen Group account was hers. All she had to do was remain detached during the recruitment process and not allow herself to get personally involved with her former lover.

Felicia turned to her computer, punched up her e-mail and began reading through the latest security updates, trying to figure out which ones directly applied to her area of the airport when her phone rang. She answered without taking her eyes off the screen.

“President’s Lounge. Felicia Woods speaking.”

“Hey, Felicia, it’s Riana.”

Now, she shifted her attention away from the pages of dense text that were beginning to blur anyway and swiveled back in her chair. “Riana. Well, I needed this break. Good to hear from you, cuz. How’s it going?”

“Very well. Can’t complain at all. Things are definitely moving in the right direction.”

“That means business must be booming,” Felicia responded, nodding as she listened to Riana’s quick update on the activity in her office. “You sure sound chipper,” Felicia commented, a touch of envy in her voice. “Wish I could say I felt the way you sound.”

“Pretty hectic?” Riana commented.

“Girl, this place is a madhouse. The members aren’t so bad. I do get a crazy one now and then, but mostly it’s just this place. Long hours, no respect, touchy folks who always have something to say. But what am I gonna do? Can’t quit. I have too many years invested in this job to up and walk away.” A pause. “Anyway, what’s up in San Antonio?”

“I just signed with a very important client and I have an assignment that’s going to bring me to Houston.”

“Fabulous. It’ll be great to have you around. And you’ll finally get to meet Malcom, too.”

“You two are still dating? I can’t believe it.”

“Yep, and we’re getting along fine.”

“This must be a record for you, Felicia. Guess you got him hooked, girl. How long has it been now?”

“Eight months. The reason I think this one has lasted so long, and why we get along so well, is because he’s never around,” Felicia laughed. “Dating a pilot is fantastic. He’s away long enough for me to really miss him, so every time we get together, it’s like the first time. Strange, but it works for us.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Riana replied. “However, I’m gonna be so caught up in work I doubt I’ll be hanging out with you guys very much.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure we get you out to have some fun. Been thinking about throwing a party as soon as I finish fixing up my place. It’s a mess right now, so you might not want to bunk with me this time around.”

“Oh, no problem. Don’t worry. I made reservations at the Extended Stay America near downtown. Something like a mini apartment. Executive Suites has a long-term contract with them. I might have to be around for a while.”

“Sounds good. Tell me all,” Felicia said, listening while Riana filled her in on her assignment.

“Andre Preaux? Your Andre?” Felicia exclaimed, jaw dropping in surprise. Scratching her forehead, she thought back to the time when Riana had been totally smitten with Andre, but too stubborn to admit it. “You’ve got to be kidding! Who woulda thought?”

“Exactly. But I have to get him to accept the position. Big bonus for my firm if I do.”

“Girl, he might not even talk to you, let alone let you recruit him! You dumped the guy, broke his heart and never looked back. Things could get ugly.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Riana replied. “This is a huge opportunity for him. The Allen Group carries weight.”

“Maybe so, but Andre Preaux is probably carrying one hell of a grudge.”

Chapter 5

Lester Tremaine answered the phone at the beginning of the second ring as he always did, convinced that answering too quickly made him seem too anxious, and if he waited until after the third ring he risked missing the call. His method worked, and many of Andre’s clients complimented him on his prompt response to their telephone calls, as well as his polite greeting. A graduate student in engineering at Rice University, Lester assisted Andre in his research by sorting through the requirements of potential projects, organizing files, handling the mail and generally staying on top of the city and county regulations that affected licensing and building permits.

“A. Preaux and Associates,” Lester stated with the crisp assurance of a man in charge. “How may I help you?”

“Hello. This is Miss Cole, calling from Executive Suites, Incorporated, in San Antonio. Is Mr. Preaux available?”

Remaining silent, Lester ran the name of the caller and the company through his mind, certain he had never heard of either, and he didn’t recognize the voice. He had a gift for being able to recall every voice he had heard, whether in person, over the phone, on the radio or TV. This was someone new. “And this is in reference to…?” Lester prompted, doing his job. Andre trusted him to screen all calls and weed out sales people, telemarketers and those seeking information that was readily available on the A. Preaux and Associates Web site. No way was he going to bother Andre with things that he could take care of himself.

“I’d like to discuss a possible project in the San Antonio area with him.”

“Well, yes, of course. However, I’m sorry, he’s not in right now, but I’ll be happy to give him your message. Where can he reach you?” Lester inquired as he wrote down the information he knew Andre would need.

After clicking off, Lester studied the message with interest. Executive Suites? he mused, twirling his pen. A big hotel project, perhaps? An office building? He hoped so. Andre needed something right away because the contract with the city health-center complex had been awarded just yesterday to a large, well-known firm, leaving Andre very disappointed. All they had going now was a remodel of a small boutique that had suffered a minor fire and the strip shopping center for Richard Vail, an independent builder in town. After those projects, Andre’s calendar was open.

Lester was a talented twenty-six-year-old who was openly gay, meticulously thorough and dedicated to his work at A. Preaux and Associates. His slight build, creamy buff-colored skin and tightly curled copper-brown hair made him appear much younger than he was, and he still got carded whenever he ordered a drink.

During the two years that Lester had worked for Andre, he had come to think of his boss more as a colleague and good friend than simply his employer. They took on each project together, working as a team to bring it in on time and in a way that ensured a positive reception. Lester had been up front with Andre when he was first interviewed, telling him that he was gay and in a stable relationship with a partner. Andre had not flinched or looked at him as if he were an oddity or made any comment other than, “I’d be happy to have you work for me, if the hours fit your class schedule.” And after that, he and Andre never again mentioned the difference in their sexual orientations.

In fact, there were times when Lester felt as if Andre envied him for having found someone to love, and he often wished that Andre would go out on more dates. However, Lester stayed out of Andre’s personal life and went about his business, which revolved around his work, his classes and his live-in partner, Todd.

When Lester’s cell phone rang, it jolted him out of his hopeful musing and brought him back to the reality of the moment. He pulled his tiny phone from his shirt pocket, squinted at the caller ID, grinned, and then flipped open the cover immediately, eager to talk to Todd.

“You’re downstairs already? Are you calling from your car?” he asked in a rush of words, wondering how Todd, who managed a cellular phone kiosk in the Galleria, had maneuvered through noon-hour traffic so quickly. “Okay, I’m on my way out now,” Lester chirped, juggling the phone with one hand as he shut down his computer and grabbed his keys to the building with the other. Before leaving for his standing Wednesday lunch date with Todd, Lester made sure he placed the phone message from Executive Suites on Andre’s desk.

Andre placed the white bag containing his Southwest chicken wrap sandwich and diet soda in the center of his desk, preparing for a quick lunch before heading off to a meeting with a county commissioner who was unveiling plans for a new recreational facility in his district. He was anxious for the opportunity to bid on another well-funded government contract that would keep his name out front.

Just as he was about to take a sip of his drink, he noticed the message slip that Lester had propped against his telephone and picked it up. The note was neatly printed in Lester’s block-style script. Miss Kohl of Executive Suites, Inc? Who was that? Andre wondered, studying the area code. West Texas. New Braunfels? Kerrville? San Antonio, perhaps? He’d never heard of the company and didn’t recall ever having done business with a Miss Kohl. Hopefully, the call was worth returning.

“‘Interested in talking to you about a project,’” Andre read aloud as he set the piece of paper on top of a stack of folders and dove into his sandwich, thankful for the peace and quiet.

As much as Andre liked having Lester around and depended on his reliable assistance, today it felt good to have the office to himself. Lester was a valuable asset to the company, and Andre hoped to bring him on board full-time after he received his degree.

During the time Lester had been employed, Andre had gotten to know and like the young man. Surprising them both, they had become good friends, even though their lifestyles were worlds apart. They enjoyed discussing current books and movies and, of course, the latest trends in building.

Lester was a good listener, an extremely creative person who was bubbling with ideas, and he was easy to have around. In a two-man office, that was important, and Andre knew he could trust Lester to say or do what was in the best interest of the firm without worrying about him making huge mistakes.

However, at times like this, when Andre wasn’t swamped with work and things were slow, he had to focus on maintaining a positive attitude. His bank account was holding well for now, but his phones were much too silent, and, except for the space he’d carved out for himself on the top floor of his building, Prairie Towers remained in the same state it had been in when he bought it.

Andre shifted in his chair and surveyed the stripped walls of his office, the rough cement floor, and the open ceilings where pipes and wires showed through. His living suite was in good shape, but his office was begging for a redo. Andre knew he could turn Prairie Towers back into a showplace of an office building that would entice forward-thinking companies and small businesses to clamor for space. It was going to cost a chunk of cash and take a healthy line of credit to pull everything together, but he would do it, he had no doubt. He had hoped the city contract would come through, but since it hadn’t, he could stay busy enough with other projects and keep financial pressures from building.

Andre lifted a stack of folders containing pending projects off his file cabinet, planning to go through them one more time. He found a great deal of satisfaction in his work, and nothing was more exciting than juggling two or three projects at the same time while researching prospective bids on others. Working under pressure kept him energized and positive, but when things slowed down his mind tended to fill with a jumble of worries about failure and loss, bringing him face-to-face with his past. Why couldn’t he shake that faded old shadow of the man he used to be?

Andre’s father, Rex Preaux, had been a Louisiana roughneck oil-field worker who migrated from one end of the Gulf Coast to the other, taking dirty offshore jobs wherever he could get them. He divorced Andre’s mother, Lorene, and disappeared when Andre was four years old, leaving behind a son with a huge hole in his heart. That was the first time that Andre experienced a true sense of loss, and the pain never fully left him, not even when he eventually reunited with his father.

As he grew up, Andre blamed his mother for running his father off, refusing to believe her story, which he finally managed to persuade her to tell him—that Rex Preaux had left her for another woman. Andre’s disappointment fueled a deep rage against his mother until Rex finally returned to Baton Rouge three years later with his new wife, proving that Lorene had been right, because Rex also brought along his second son—a skinny three-year-old named Jamal.

Rex and his new family settled down in a house only four blocks from his first family, and Andre was happy to have his dad back. However, his happiness quickly vanished when he overhead Rex telling Lorene that he would never again set foot in her home or have anything to do with his first-born child. This declaration crushed Andre, and he again blamed his mother for failing to bring his father back into his life.

As they grew up, Jamal and Andre attended the same school, played basketball in the same neighborhood streets, and actually became very close. Too close, according to Lorene, who watched Andre imitate Jamal, whom she called a wild, impulsive child who was leading her son astray.

Like water draining into a sewer, Andre was quickly sucked into Jamal’s fast life, thrilled to be earning chunks of cash while hustling drugs with his baby brother. Jamal rose to the position of leader of their gang, and life was good, Andre thought, until the local police arrested him for selling drugs to an undercover cop: marijuana and cocaine.

Andre had been seventeen years old at the time of his arrest, young enough to be tried as a juvenile. The only good thing about the crushing blow was that his record would not become a permanent blight on his past. However, by the time the judge sentenced him to two years in Jena Juvenile Justice Center, the facility was full, he had turned eighteen, so it was off to federal prison to live among the hard-core adults who literally scared Andre straight.

During his incarceration, Andre experienced a deep sense of failure at having disappointed his mother, as well as himself. Choking back his sorrow, Andre turned his back on his rebellious brother and his emotionally distant father, and reached out for his mother’s forgiveness.

Lorene responded, arriving at the prison once a week with words of encouragement to fuel the flicker of hope that Andre struggled to keep burning. He didn’t want to turn into a mean, surly brute of a man, like those he faced in the prison walkways every day, and he never wanted to be locked in a cage again.

Lorene’s weekly visits were the only pleasant periods during Andre’s incarceration, but even they didn’t last long—six months into his sentence, she died unexpectedly of pneumonia, leaving Andre devastated with grief and furious that he couldn’t attend her funeral to say goodbye.

After serving his time, he left Baton Rouge, moved to Houston, and started working jobs on construction sites, leaving his family back in Louisiana and his stint in prison to fade from his memory. He was twenty-two years old when he decided to take the steps to make something of himself, and the first thing he did was get his GED. Next, he enrolled in college and earned a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering, finally becoming an architect in his midthirties, in charge of his life at last.

Andre knew what he wanted now: a major project that was well funded and highly visible, one that would ensure the future of A. Preaux and Associates. He couldn’t think of failing. He’d come too far to lose everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish.

After finishing lunch, Andre glanced through the mail that Lester had opened and neatly arranged it in a folder in order of importance. He set most of it aside, but did zero in on a pale-blue envelope, which he opened right away, glad to see a check for sixteen thousand dollars from the boutique owner whose shop he had recently redesigned. Next, he picked up the message from Miss Kohl and punched in the number, curious to see what she wanted.

“Andre Preaux returning a call to Miss Kohl,” he told the woman who answered. A soft Spanish ballad filled the line while he waited, making him smile. Something about the tune was gently pleasant and made a statement about the company. Innovative branding, he thought, knowing he would remember this company because of the song.

“Hello.” A woman’s voice interrupted the music. “This is Riana Cole.”

“Riana?” Andre repeated, gripping the phone as he leaned over his desk. A black hole opened in his stomach. “Riana Cole? C-O-L-E? Is that how you spell it?”

“Yes, Andre. It’s me. Your former classmate in Commercial Banking in Real Estate.”

And former lover, too, he thought, swept back four years by the sound of her voice. The stream of longing that hit him, caught him by surprise. He had thought he was over her, and would never feel this way again, but here it was—that sensual mix of joy and desire that had captured his heart back then. “I’m…I’m surprised,” he began, unsure of what else to say. “I never would have dreamed I was calling you.” He eased lower in his chair and sucked in a long breath, anxious to regain his composure, wondering just what she wanted.

Surely, she must think I hate her for walking away, for not giving our relationship a fighting chance, he thought. But it was her decision to end it, and all I did was honor her wishes, as difficult as it was.

“You work for Executive Suites?” he commented, finding his voice. “I thought you were a VP at Sweetwater Finance,” he pushed ahead, not wanting to get caught up in thinking about their past.

“I don’t work for Executive Suites, I own it. The VP position at Sweetwater didn’t work out, so I created my own company and hired myself,” Riana replied in a surprisingly light tone, going on to tell him about her executive search firm.

The sound of her voice stirred up old emotions, making it difficult for Andre to concentrate on what Riana was saying. As he listened, her face emerged slowly into his mind. The way her fine brown hair swayed across her cheek. Those soulful eyes that had made him go weak whenever he’d looked into them. Her slender hands on his back, trailing fingers down his spine. The easy way she had fit with him. A lump of regret clogged his throat, holding back the words that he knew would mean nothing to her, even if he managed to say them.

“Good for you,” Andre told her when she finished filling him in on the past four years. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned marriage or children or even a serious personal relationship didn’t surprise Andre. Riana had accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do: become a successful businesswoman. Clearly, she had not let anything or anyone compromise her dream.

“…so I’m recruiting a leader for Allen’s design team on a minimum-security prison for women and juveniles,” Riana was saying.

Suddenly, Riana’s words jerked Andre back to the conversation. “What’s that again?” he asked, head tilted to the side. “You said you want to interview me for a possible job with the Allen Group?” Now, he pushed aside the emotional effects of his telephone reunion with Riana, eager to talk business.

“Yes, George Allen has contracted with my executive search firm to screen and recommend an architect/planner to lead the design team on a moderate-sized prison compound,” Riana told Andre.

“Really? Why me?” he wanted to know, aware that Allen could get anyone he wanted. What architect or space planner wouldn’t jump at the chance to work with the well-respected builder?

“Apparently, Allen wants a fresh approach and he liked what you did with the senior citizen project for which you won the Space City Improvement Award.”

“Really?” Andre commented, still unable to believe he was talking to Riana.

“Yes. You’ve done very well for yourself, Andre. You have your own firm, and I see you’re located near the museum district.”

“Right. Prairie Towers. I own the building,” he replied with pride.

“Very nice. You’re certainly moving in the right direction. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Andre managed, “but I’m only just beginning. I’ve got great plans for my company.”

“I’m sure you do. And George Allen wants to be a part of your plan. He’s considering several candidates, but you’re at the top of his list. And that’s why I’m calling, Andre. This is strictly business. Allen would like me to interview you and report back to him. That’s it. So, as far as I’m concerned this is only another job. One that I’d like to complete with as few complications as possible,” Riana finished in a tone so cool it made Andre flinch.

I guess the sweet, passionate woman I fell in love with has vanished, Andre surmised, deciding to play the game her way. The position she had outlined was exactly the kind of project he had been praying would come his way, but could he trust Riana to be fair and impartial when it came to recommending him? Or would she simply go through the motions to satisfy her client, and not truly promote him as a serious candidate?

Would she build up his hopes, only to draw back and leave him hanging, as she had done once before?

Proceed with caution, Andre told himself as he listened to Riana lay out her plan.

“It all sounds very interesting,” he admitted to Riana. “However, I need a lot more information before I could even consider such a project,” he stated, not wanting her to think that he was sitting around waiting for something to fall his way. “Besides, I’m swamped with proposals right now. There’re quite a few projects that I’m considering.”

“I understand. Just say yes to an interview, okay? Allen wants me to have a face-to-face with you, and if you agree to meet with me, I’ll be happy to drive into Houston tomorrow.”

It pleased Andre to hear an edge of desperation in Riana’s voice. He smiled to himself. She might be trying to play it cool, but she needed him and he had the upper hand.

As much as he would like to snag a job with the Allen Group, he wasn’t going to make Riana’s task an easy one. She hadn’t made things easy for him when she simply vanished out of his life, so why should he worry about her feelings now?

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