that he and Doris, his ex-wife, had been best friends since the second grade. Inseparable. Ball games, marathon running, cooking classes—the two had even gone to the same college. Then one day, she sat poor Jack down, told him the news, packed up her car, and left. Jack had been devastated. Honestly, Taylor couldn’t blame him. He’d been the perfect husband and faithful to a T despite the long line of women who’d thrown themselves at him over the years. As far as Taylor knew, Jack never so much as batted one curious eyelash their way. And she’d seen the adoring way he always stared at Doris when he thought no one was looking.
Now he felt too afraid of getting hurt to even be casual friends with a woman.
Taylor would definitely have to help Jack get back into the groove. But first, she needed to get her own life on track. Which is why an hour and a half later, she found herself in the heart of San Francisco’s Financial District, standing in the lobby of Wade Enterprises. The sterile but elegant decor—gleaming black marble floors that reflected the recessed lighting from above, dark geometric furniture, and floor-to-ceiling black and white prints of bridges, buildings, and other San Francisco landmarks—made the lobby feel more like a chic hotel than an office building.
Taylor glanced down at her body feeling incredibly underdressed. She’d worn black flats, her favorite jeans, and a little cream-colored blouse. She’d pulled her long brown hair into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck and hadn’t bothered with any makeup. She didn’t know if Bennett was in town or not, but she planned to stop by and leave a note—yes, an apology for her irrational and rude behavior on the plane plus a request for a formal meeting at his earliest convenience.
Bennett’s phone was also inside the envelope. If she ended up working with him (with, not for) then the relationship needed to be one-hundred-percent professional. If she didn’t end up working with him, well, after she left her apology note, there was no reason to hang on to the device.
“Your name?” asked the handsome Hispanic security guard in the gray uniform, seated behind a long, black granite counter just in front of the elevator bank.
“Taylor Reed, but I’m just here to drop—”
“One moment.” The man handed her a small, laminated executive visitor’s badge. “Take the elevator on the right, scan the badge over the security pad, and then proceed to the fortieth floor.”
“I think you misunderstood. I just need to drop this off.” Taylor held out a manila envelope.
“Robin requested I send you right up,” he replied.
That’s odd. Unless…
A little rush surged through her body. Bennett checked his app and knows I’m already here. Dammit, she really liked him spying on her. It was like their dirty little secret. God, I must be crazy.
“Are you sure?” Taylor asked. “Because I didn’t tell anyone I was…” The man rattled the badge in front of her. “Thank you.” Taylor snagged it and proceeded to the elevator.
Now she kicked herself for not having worn her grown-up clothes or some lip gloss, but she really had intended to be in and out and then go for a little walk around the city. Later, she would catch lunch with Sarah, who worked at the courthouse as a judge. That fact was still hard for Taylor to believe; Sarah used to be the biggest delinquent of them all in high school.
Taylor scanned the badge over the pad inside the elevator, pressed the button for the fortieth floor, and then rode to the top. She exited into a private lobby where she immediately noticed how the large, well-lit space was warm and inviting, despite the masculine decor—dark wood floors, gray walls, and modernist furniture with red accent pillows in the sitting area. The place felt more like a cool bar or the office of a fashion designer than a corporate office.
She walked past three Arab men in suits and headdresses—OMG, is that the oil sheik guy I just saw on the cover of Forbes?—and proceeded to the far end of the room where Robin sat at her desk, talking into her headset. She waved at Taylor and continued speaking. “No, I’m sorry, but Mr. Wade isn’t available. May I take a message, Mr. Grayson?”
Mr. Grayson? Could it be the Mr. Grayson, owner of Grayson Aircraft? If so, Taylor seriously wanted to have a chat with the guy because Bennett’s plane had been