“Obviously a lot was left unresolved between us ten years ago,” she replied stiffly.
“Doesn’t excuse my predisposition for behaving badly.”
Not giving him so much as an inch, Allie leaned back in her chair, keeping her arms crossed over her chest. “No, it doesn’t.”
He cleared his throat. “I should have never implied—”
Holding up a hand, she cut him off. Despite the satisfaction she was getting from watching him swallow the lump of pride in his throat, and as much as he deserved to choke on it, deep down Allie knew that Hudson Chase didn’t really believe she was a whore. Certainly no more than she thought he was the type of man to call her one. “I think we’ve both said and done quite a few things we regret.”
“I can be a rude son of a bitch.” Sincerity burned in his bright blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, Hudson.” There were so many ways she could have finished that sentence. I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to tell my parents about us. I’m sorry we never had the chance to say good-bye. I’m sorry I never told you how much you meant to me. For a moment she just stared at him, willing him to know all she’d never dare say out loud, all that time had made irrelevant. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved on the boat. No one deserves to be treated that way.”
He cocked a lopsided grin. “Not even bitter assholes?”
Allie saw a glimpse of the boy she once knew and couldn’t help but return his smile. “No, not even bitter assholes.”
The waiter approached and reached for Allie’s plate. “Are you finished, ma’am?” She nodded and he cleared the remains of her interrupted lunch. “Can I bring you anything else?” The question was addressed to both of them, but she was surprised when Hudson placed an order.
“Coffee. Black,” he said. “Would you like anything, Alessandra?”
“I’d love a cappuccino. Decaf please, with skim milk, extra foam. Oh, and hold the nutmeg, but I will take cinnamon if you have it.” As the waiter turned to leave she noticed the look on Hudson’s face. “What?”
Grinning, he shook his head “You, Alessandra.” His gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened, flattening his tie with a sweep of his hand. “Living in the same zip code, we’re going to run into each other. Case in point. It would suit us both to maintain a level of civility.”
“We’re not off to the best start, are we?”
He chuckled. “No. But keep it to yourself, this soft side. It’s taken me a long time to cultivate the tough-guy act.”
“Is that a sense of humor, Mr. Chase?”
“A man in my position isn’t afforded much of one, but it’s in there somewhere.”
The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on her. “Must be the only thing you can’t afford. Chase Industries has quite an impressive portfolio.”
“How proficient you are with Google, Miss Sinclair.” He raised a brow. “Checking up on me?”
Allie flushed, busted for letting her fingers do the walking to satisfy her curiosity. Truth be told, she hadn’t been able to garner very much information about Hudson’s personal life. About the company? Sure, tons. Chase Industries was quickly becoming one of the most talked about conglomerates in the nation. But when it came to the man himself, there was very little information available. “Just researching the depth of your pockets,” she offered as a flimsy excuse. “Always thinking about the next donation.”
“You would yield faster results by going directly to the source.” His eyes were alight with humor. “They’re rather deep.”
She somehow doubted they were still discussing pockets and was grateful when the waiter appeared with their coffee. Taking advantage of the brief interruption, she quickly changed the subject. “So what made you move your company to Chicago?”
“I see your predilection for asking a multitude of questions hasn’t changed.”
Allie gazed at him impassively, waiting for an answer. When he spoke, he was all business. “There are a few companies I’m interested in. Made sense geographically to relocate to a central location.”
She rotated the china cup on its saucer, studying the smattering of cinnamon and trying to maintain an air of indifference. “So where are you living these days?”
“The Palmolive building.” He lifted his coffee cup and smirked over the rim. “Or Playboy building, as I believe it is commonly referred to among locals.”
His adolescent reference aside, Hudson was obviously a shrewd investor when it came to real estate. The Palmolive building was not only considered to be one of the world’s finest examples of Art Deco architecture, but it encompassed the three most important considerations when selecting property: location, location, location. The 1920s landmark sat at the north end of the Magnificent Mile, nestled between the Drake Hotel and the John Hancock building, and was one of the few residences where no street address was needed. Simply stating the name of the building would suffice. Allie was impressed.
“What about your little brother?” she asked, lifting her cup. “Is he in Chicago, too?”
Hudson frowned. “Ah . . . yeah, Nick followed me here.” He shifted back in his chair and crossed his leg at the ankle. “You’ve had your turn, Miss Sinclair. It’s only fair I get mine. So tell me, what happened to that boy you ditched me for?”
“God, I haven’t thought about him in years. And for the record,” she corrected, “I did not ditch you for him. My dad was working some deal with his father and I was stuck entertaining him.”
He gave her a smug grin. “That wasn’t so hard to explain, now was it?”
“I can’t believe you actually thought I was with him.” A giggle escaped her lips as she recalled Hudson’s rather accurate description.
“What’s so amusing, Alessandra?”
“He really was a pansy-ass.”
“And now you’re engaged to a . . . what was it he called himself?”
“A French marquis.”
“I see.” His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “The title that segregates him from the rest. How did you meet?”
“My father had business with Julian’s family. He introduced us this summer.”
“How opportune,” he said, his tone void of all levity. “When’s the big day?”
“December sixth.”
Hudson’s brow shot up. “You aren’t wasting any time.”
She felt a sudden unease and her words came out in a rush. “The Drake opened up at the last minute. But yes, throwing a wedding together in less than two months—at least the kind my mother wants—is going to be a challenge. Of course it doesn’t help that Julian will be in France most of the month.”
“Excuse me.” Hudson scowled as he pulled his buzzing phone out of his breast pocket. “What?” he snapped. The crease in his brow relaxed as he listened. “How many? Excellent, keep me posted.” Hudson pushed back his French cuff, glancing at his watch, then back to Allie. “Cancel my two o’ clock.” There was a brief pause. “No, that will be all.” He ended the call with the jab of a button before slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Where were we?”
Nowhere I want to revisit.
Allie’s reaction confused her. After all, they were just making small talk. Two old friends catching up on the usual subjects: family, friends . . . engagements. And yet she found herself not wanting to discuss Julian or her wedding any further with him. “You were explaining your plans to acquire most of Chicago,” she said, trying her best to shift his focus.
“Nice try, Alessandra. Tell me about your foundation. If I’m to consider writing any more checks, I need to be well informed.”
Her job? Yes, that she could discuss.
Allie told Hudson all about her work at Better Start. She told him about the success of the charter school and how his generous donation meant the second location could break ground in the spring. He listened intently, asking questions and complimenting her on all she had accomplished.