Rory (Hope City #7) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,14

cards for me right now.”

She watched a blush move over his face. Stiffening her spine, she sat up straight, refusing to look away. “A lady always makes eye contact when she has a point to make.”

“Well, I thank you, Rory, for showing me your true colors rather than letting me become more involved with someone I thought was worth it.” She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, hating the fact that she wanted to cry. Sliding unassisted from her stool, she darted through the crowd, using her diminutive size to slip past people. She made it to the door, barely aware of her name being called.

Once outside, she walk-ran to her SUV on her stiletto heels, glad to arrive without breaking her ankle. She quickly drove down the road, forcing her eyes to stare straight ahead, refusing to look into the rearview mirror. Blinking back tears, she gripped the steering wheel tighter. Swallowing deeply, she tried to steady her breathing. Driving in complete silence, she forced her mind to go blank, a trick she’d taught herself many years before when her heart ached.

Once inside the front door of her house, she slumped her back against the wood, now letting the waves of emotions crash over her. Embarrassment. Mortification. Anger. Frustration.

Her attention was diverted as her cat walked into the room, and she stooped to run her fingers through his thick fur. She walked on wooden legs into her kitchen, then poured food into his dish. She stood for a moment, her house silent except for the sound of her cat crunching his food. With no appetite, she flipped off the light and headed upstairs. Stripping as she walked into her bedroom, she stopped at her dresser and unfastened the clasp on her diamond bracelet, her fingers shaking as she gently placed it into her small jewelry box. “A lady should always treat their jewelry carefully, showing respect to the one who gave it to them.”

A ragged breath slipped between her lips as she moved into the bathroom and stepped into the shower while the water warmed. Steam billowed over the shower curtain, but she ignored the little pinprick stings as the water pelted her skin. Dragging her nails through her scalp, she washed her hair.

Exhausted from the tumultuous emotions, she stepped out onto the plush bath rug to dry off. Wrapped in a towel, she glanced into the bathroom mirror as she pulled a wide-toothed comb through her hair. Her hand stopped its motion, comb still in the air, and she stared. No makeup. Pale complexion. Large blue eyes.

Her gaze stayed pinned on her reflection, and her chest began to move rapidly as her breath heaved. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispered toward the mirror. Her chin quivered, and she swallowed deeply again, trying to keep the tears at bay. “A lady never allows herself to wallow in self-pity.”

Anger flared and she dashed the moisture from her eyes. “Stop it,” she ordered her reflection. “He was never anything special. Rory is just a guy. Just like any other guy.”

Turning quickly, she moved into the bedroom where she dropped the towel and pulled on flannel pajamas before climbing into bed. Lying awake, she continued to tell herself that Rory McBride was no one special. Finally, hours later, she fell asleep to more words from her grandmother: “A lady might lie to others but should never lie to herself.”

6

Four Months Later

“Okay, team, it’s go-time.” Sandy glanced at two of her employees, Todd, another interior designer, and Barbara, an assistant and interior decorator.

The three stood on the sidewalk and lifted their gazes upward. Partridge Tower was one of the new jewels being completed in Hope City. Located downtown near the harbor, the owners had managed to buy two city blocks, one with a small warehouse and another with old row houses, and have them demolished. How they managed to get past City Hall’s historical preservation ordinances she had no idea. But that was not her concern. As soon as the building began, she’d angled to get the account for interior design.

A sixteen-story high-rise, the Partridge Tower had offices on the first eight floors and condos on the next eight. She knew the one and two-bedroom condos were already being sold at prices that were close to a million each. The upper luxury penthouses would easily be sold for almost two million. While interesting, those were not part of her portfolio. Her specialty was office design, and snagging the contract for the