James, Julie - Love Irresistibly

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“Oh, right. The Hot OB was the love of your life.”

Well . . . okay. Maybe not. But she’d enjoyed being with those guys in her downtime. All thirty minutes a week she had of it.

With a sigh, Brooke leaned her head back against the chair. “I think I need to go on a relationship sabbatical.”

“It worked for me,” Ford said.

That got a slight smile out of her. Ford, the king of casual dating, had been on a relationship “sabbatical” for years. Hopefully, hers wouldn’t last quite that long. But after three breakups, it was time to face facts: in light of the demands of her job, relationships simply weren’t a good fit for her right now.

And, come to think of it, she was tired of feeling like she needed to apologize for that.

She worked hard; she didn’t deny that. Frankly, she’d worked hard her whole life—and she was proud of where that had gotten her. She and Ford had grown up in Glenwood, an affluent Chicago suburb that, with its elegant tree-lined streets and big, fancy houses with wide, beautifully landscaped lawns, looked like something out of a John Hughes movie.

Except, that is, for the part of town where she and Ford had lived, which was slightly more modest.

Actually, a lot more modest.

Nicknamed “the Quads” because each building contained four townhomes per unit, Brooke’s childhood subdivision was considered a “hidden gem” because of the fact that it offered very affordable housing within Glenwood’s school districts, which consistently ranked among the top in the state. Brooke’s father, a butcher, and her mother, a day care instructor, had made the decision to leave the city of Chicago after the public school Brooke had been attending slipped to the bottom quartile in Illinois school rankings.

Brooke had always done well in school, had always wanted to do well in school—and, frankly, at the Chicago public school she’d previously attended, it hadn’t taken a lot of effort for her to be at the top. But that all changed when she moved to Glenwood.

In Glenwood, the kids had private tutors. And nannies and stay-at-home moms who could help them with projects after school. Her classmates in Glenwood took piano lessons and dance lessons and every other kind of lesson imaginable from the top instructors in the area, and they learned foreign languages like German and Japanese in summer-break immersion programs.

When Brooke got to high school, things turned even crazier. She heard stories about parents who hired the most popular teachers in school to work with their children over summer vacation, and by her sophomore year all the parents and students had begun focusing on college, and the fact that the Harvards and Yales of the world would likely only take one or two students from Glenwood—the guidance counselors had repeatedly reminded them of that—no matter how accomplished they all were.

Brooke realized early on that, in many aspects, she couldn’t compete with her far-wealthier classmates. Her parents couldn’t afford a private tutor or a bazillion lessons in things that would look good on her college applications; in fact, at times they struggled to make their mortgage payments on their townhome. And, unlike many of the other students, her parents didn’t have any “connections” with the top universities, or alumnae in the family who could help grease a few wheels. Which meant that if Brooke wanted to be a contender for those top university spots, she needed to do it the old-fashioned way.

By working her butt off.

As a result, she studied a lot in school. Her parents had given her the opportunity to attend one of the best high schools in the state, and she’d be darned if she didn’t do her best to capitalize on that.

Fortunately, all her hard work had paid off, and to this day she could still remember the look of pride on her parents’ faces when she’d received her acceptance packet from the University of Chicago. But what stuck with Brooke even more was the pride that she, personally, felt in knowing that she’d done it all by herself.

She was a competitive person, and that pride, that feeling of achievement, similarly pushed her to do well in undergrad and law school. By the time she’d graduated from University of Chicago Law School and began her legal career, that was simply a part of who she was. She gave one hundred and ten percent to whatever it was she was doing, and basically had one speed when it came to her career: full speed. And since she genuinely enjoyed working at Sterling Restaurants, she’d never minded that.

Her three ex-boyfriends, on the other hand, obviously had been less enthralled with the situation.

“You know, I’m not sure I’m feeling the proper level of sympathy here,” she told Ford. “I think we need a little more rallying around the dumpee. If you were a woman and I’d told you that the third guy in eighteen months had broken up with me, right now we’d be drinking lemon drop martinis and giving each other female empowerment pep talks about how we don’t need a man in our lives to feel complete. And then we’d watch The Notebook and drool over Ryan Gosling.”

Ford flashed her a grin as he stretched an arm across the back of his chair. “Sorry, babe. But when they handed out best friends, you drew the straw with a penis attached. That means no Ryan Gosling.”

“Just my luck,” she grumbled.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they both looked out at the incredible nighttime view of the Chicago skyline.

“Do you ever take a moment to look at that,” Ford pointed at the view, “and wonder how we got here?”

She smiled at that. “Not bad for two kids from the Quads.”

“Any regrets?” Ford asked her.

She could tell that he was being serious, so she gave some thought to his question. “Not a one.”

“Then screw all these guys,” Ford said. “If they don’t fit into your big picture, they’re not worth your time, anyway.”

Brooke looked over at her friend. Sometimes, penis and everything, he knew exactly the right thing to say. “Thank you.”

He winked. “Anytime, babe.”

Charlie opened the sliding door and poked his head out. “Is it safe yet for Tuck and me to come outside? We don’t want to interrupt if you two are still making out or whatever.”

Brooke and Ford shook their heads at each other. Make that five hundred and one times. They answered in unison.

“Still never gonna happen.”

PROMPTLY AT SEVEN A.M. on Sunday morning, Cade, Vaughn, and Huxley rode the elevators that would take them to the entrance of Sogna. A hostess desk, made of dark mahogany wood, stood empty before a set of wide etched glass doors—doors that were open.

“I guess that’s our invitation,” Cade said. He led the way inside Sogna and looked around curiously. He’d heard great things about the restaurant, but had never dined here himself. Sogna’s signature, eight-course $210 prix fixe menu made it a “special occasion” kind of place for a man on a government salary, and none of his recent relationships had quite made it to the “special occasion” level.

The lights inside the restaurant were off, but the natural light coming in from the windows revealed a modern décor, with dark mahogany tables and booths offset by chairs covered in ivory fabric. A staircase made of glass and steel snaked its way to the second floor of the split-level dining room, which Cade knew, from the online research he’d done the night before, could accommodate nearly two hundred seats between the two levels. Striking floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at Michigan Avenue, the Drake Hotel, and Lake Michigan—the same view, on a much larger scale, as the one from Brooke’s office.

Suddenly, the lights came on, instantly brightening the space and making it feel less empty. A moment later, Brooke Parker of the Gorgeous Green Eyes, Sarcastic Quips, and Yep, More Hot Shoes stepped out from a hallway behind the bar. Her golden blond hair was pulled up in a knot again, and she was dressed in a red skirt, crisp black shirt, and kick-ass red heels. She carried a Starbucks cup in one hand, looking every bit as sophisticated and professional as she had the last time Cade had seen her.

He wondered if she slept in her high heels and tailored clothes, too. “Good morning, Ms. Parker,” he said in greeting.

“Mr. Morgan,” she said with a nod. “Sorry if I kept you waiting. It took me a few minutes to figure out where the light switches are,” she said with an easy smile.

Polite as ever, Cade noted. Despite the slight . . . friction between them, they were both professionals who knew how this worked. Business was business, and this morning they had a job to do. “No problem. We just got here ourselves.”

Brooke gestured to the restaurant with her coffee cup. “So where do we start?”

“I think the first step should be to pick the table we want Sanderson and Torino to sit at.” Cade looked at Vaughn and Huxley for confirmation. “Yes?”

With a nod of agreement, the two agents began walking around the restaurant to survey the scene. Huxley explained to Brooke the kind of table they were looking for in terms of maximizing the audio quality of the bugs: one that allowed for semiprivacy, so that Senator Sanderson and Torino felt comfortable speaking openly, and one that also was located away from any particularly noisy places like the bar or kitchen.

“Upstairs will be quieter, since it’s farther away from both of those spots,” she said. “And the tables along the window are considered the best seats in the house. I could always tell the hostess that I heard the senator was dining with us this evening and wanted to be sure we put him at a table with a nice view,” she offered.