“I’m sorry.” She reached across the seat and covered his fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. When he looked at her, she offered a reassuring smile. “Rain check for tomorrow?”
He pulled his hand free and reached into his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “Fine. Rain check.” The lighter flamed to life and Julian took a long drag, cursing under his breath as he exhaled. “C’est des conneries.”
Cracking the window, Allie stared out across the dark lake as the lights of the Ferris wheel glowed in the distance.
Chapter Three
Allie could hardly believe what she was hearing. She listened intently, pressing the phone to her ear as she tried to commit every word to memory. A flash of red hair caught her eye as Harper charged through the door. She was in the midst of an exaggerated U-turn when Allie waved her into the office.
“You’re very kind, but it really was a team effort,” Allie said into the phone.
Harper’s pleated miniskirt fanned out across her lap as she collapsed into one of the small upholstered chairs facing Allie’s desk. The pattern of bright polka dots was accented perfectly by the multicolored bangles stacked high on her wrist. Although she could never pull it off herself, Allie loved Harper’s quirky style, a cross between Phoebe on Friends and Jess from New Girl, with a dash of Joan from Mad Men thrown into the mix.
“I will. And thank you again for thinking of me.”
Harper raised a single brow. “What was that all about?” she asked the moment Allie hung up the phone.
Allie rounded her desk and shut her office door. “That was Oliver Harris.”
Harper looked confused.
“From the Harris Group.”
The lightbulb turned on. “The PR firm?”
Allie nodded. “Apparently Mr. Harris was at the museum Saturday night. He was just calling this morning to tell me how much he enjoyed the event.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk, trying to play it cool. “And to offer me a job.”
Harper’s eyes grew wide. “No way!”
Allie broke into a huge grin. “He asked me to join his nonprofit division and oversee all event planning.”
“Shit, that’s big time. They’re the ones who did that huge fund-raiser in Lincoln Park last summer.”
“At the zoo?”
“Yup. And I heard it was amazing. They even had Neon Trees.”
“What are neon trees?”
“They’re not a what, Alessandra, they’re a who. A band, actually.”
Having no clue, Allie shrugged.
The look Harper gave her only reinforced Allie’s belief that her friend considered her a total nerd when it came to her choice in music. “Oh, c’mon, you have to know who they are.” As if to prove her point, Harper sang a few lines. “Hey, baby won’t you look my way; I can be your new addiction.”
Allie laughed at Harper’s pitchy vocals and bobbing head. “Okay, okay . . . yes, I’ve heard the song.”
Harper stopped her impromptu concert. “So when do you start?”
Allie sank into her chair. “I don’t.”
“Come again?”
“I thanked Mr. Harris for thinking of me and told him how flattered I was, but that I couldn’t possibly leave my position at Better Start.” With the first charter school only up and running for a little over a month, and the groundbreaking for the second scheduled to take place in the spring, there was no way she could even consider it.
“Look, no one would miss you around here more than me, but I don’t see how you can pass this up. Sounds like your dream come true.”
Under normal circumstances that might have been the case, but Alessandra Sinclair’s life was anything but normal. As the daughter of Victoria Ingram, she’d been born into a family whose name was mentioned in the same breath as Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and Hearst. With that life of privilege came certain responsibilities, and at the top of that list was family. Nearly every part of Allie’s life was connected to Ingram Media somehow. Always had been. Her grandfather’s empire had touched most of the city in one way or another and from a very young age she’d been taught what was expected of his heirs. Being involved in the family business was simply a given.
After college Allie had spent the better part of two years getting to know Ingram’s various subsidiaries. But it was the time she spent at her family’s charitable foundation that made her feel the most fulfilled, and she’d been working at their newest venture ever since. And not in the way her mother did, squeezing ribbon cuttings and board meetings in between morning tennis and afternoon tea. No, for the past three years Allie had worked long hours at Better Start and she was proud of what they had accomplished.
“I’m happy where I am,” she told Harper. And while that was true, recognition from someone as respected as Oliver Harris meant a lot, especially when a small part of her still wondered if she only held her position because of her name. The opportunity to prove herself on her own merits was certainly tempting, but for Allie the phrase “family first” was non-negotiable.
“If you say so.” Harper’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“So what had you so fired up on a Monday morning?” Allie asked, ready to move on to another subject. “You seemed like a woman on a mission when you came through the door just now.”
“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot!” Harper pulled a newspaper out from under the stack of proposals she was carrying and laid it on Allie’s desk. “Page six.”
Allie turned the pages until she came across an image that made her heart skip a beat. It was a photograph taken at the Field Museum.
Of her. In Hudson’s arms.
Event chair Alessandra Sinclair with Chicago’s newest eligible bachelor, business tycoon Hudson Chase.
Her mouth went dry as her eyes roamed from his satisfied grin to the hand curved possessively around her waist. This was more than just another publicity shot from just another charity event. This was the first photo ever taken of the two of them. She’d been heartbroken when their summer romance had ended so abruptly, and not having so much as a single photograph made the loss that much harder to bear. But now there they were in black and white. She stared at the photo, drinking in every detail until the sound of her ringing phone broke its spell.
“Well, aren’t you the popular one this morning,” Harper said.
Allie frowned at her as she snapped the phone off its cradle. “Alessandra Sinclair.”
“Miss Sinclair, attractive photo in the paper this morning. Very photogenic.”
Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice. “Mr. Chase.”
Harper’s eyebrows shot up. She leaned forward, the bangles clinking down her arm as she propped her elbows on the edge of Allie’s desk and rested her chin on her hands.
“I’m glad you called. I never did get the chance to thank you Saturday night.”
“For the money or the dance?”
Allie could almost see his smug smile through the phone. She paused, then chose to ignore his question. “Your donation was very generous.”
“Which brings me to the purpose of this phone call, along with my lack of trust in the noble United States Postal Service,” Hudson said. “I’m sure you’re eager to obtain my . . . generosity.” His voice had changed with the last line. It was darker, almost seductive.
Harper leaned closer. “What is he saying?” she whispered. Honest to God, she was acting like they were teenagers at a sleepover. Allie half expected her to activate the speakerphone, or worse, run around the desk and press her ear to the receiver.