Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Read online

  “I’m so glad to see you, Ms. Li.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Rudy.”

  “Manuel told me you were back.”

  “Yes. I got in late last night.”

  “And Mr. Devlin too.”

  She walked into the wheels of the suitcase Manuel dragged behind him. She’d just spent two hours actively trying not to think about Carter.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Li?”

  Now there’s a question. “Have you seen Mr. Devlin?” She tried to keep her tone casual.

  “Oh, yes. He picked up his mail and went out for a few hours, but he came back about twenty minutes ago.”

  So he was home. Of course that didn’t mean she would see him. No way was she going to knock on his door first.

  Rudy insisted on taking her luggage up to her apartment, but there was no sign of Carter. She hauled the big suitcase into her bedroom and dove into the task of sorting and washing three weeks’ worth of laundry. The best thing about a monochromatic wardrobe was not having to worry about colors bleeding. She’d been able to do some hand washing in the hotel sink, but everything else was relegated to mounds of black on the floor in the hall outside the closet that held her washer and dryer.

  When her fingers touched the red dress, she stopped. The tags, minus the price, still dangled from the underarm seam. She flashed back to the moment she first saw herself in the mirror at the store. The form-fitting silk had transformed her from serious, businesslike Madelyn into a femme fatale, a literal scarlet woman.

  She closed her eyes and relived the look on Carter’s face when she opened her door and he saw the dress for the first time. And when he bought the replacement...she couldn’t believe a man would do that for a woman he didn’t care about, a woman he didn’t plan to see again.

  So where was he?

  By eleven o’clock, her laundry was clean and folded and her eyelids drooped. She had to face the fact that he wasn’t coming tonight. As she washed her face and changed into pajamas, she told herself it was for the best. It was sensible to take time to sort out their feelings for each other, time away from the breakneck madness of the past few weeks. She’d heard that intense situations fostered artificially intense relationships, and she had no desire to be consumed by a flame that burned itself out as quickly as it started.

  Twenty-four hours later, she abandoned sensible and latched onto mad. She tried exercise, but even the focused discipline of Hsing I failed to corral her fury.

  What was I, just some fling, Mr. Sexy Secret Agent?

  She kicked the wall separating their apartments and swore when her toes connected with solid concrete. She almost succumbed to the temptation to scream, but realized he probably wouldn’t hear her. She was torn between the desire to storm over and give him a piece of her mind and the humiliation of being discarded like yesterday’s newspaper.

  How had she ever allowed herself to fall in love with such an arrogant, callous—?

  Finally in love, and with a man who can’t be bothered. Who lives next door. Now that’s a fine mess.

  The next morning, after a short and sleepless night, her spirits were dragging in the dust. She could go to the office, but it was Saturday so the place would be empty...and silent...and lonely. Not the best choice unless she intended to spend the day wallowing in self-pity.

  She perched on a stool at her breakfast bar, munched a piece of toast, and idly browsed the Tribune. She could go to a museum; Chicago had fabulous museums. Or maybe a movie. But going solo to a Saturday matinee sounded like a guaranteed ticket to the blues.

  Then a full page ad caught her eye. It showed an impossibly tall, impossibly thin brunette in four-inch stilettos, a tiny leather mini skirt, and off-the-shoulder sweater. That was it, exactly what she needed. Problem solved. She would go shopping.

  Normandy Press had promised her a princely sum to protect their prime asset, so she might as well spend some of it to torment him. She would enjoy nothing more than sashaying past Carter in a devastatingly sexy outfit, only to ignore him as completely as he’d ignored her.

  Six hours later she dragged herself and four huge shopping bags into her living room. Despite its obvious sex appeal, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to pay real money for the outrageous outfit in the newspaper ad. However, she was now the proud owner of several colorful cashmere sweaters, two short wool skirts, a pair of high heeled black boots, and a lovely lavender tweed jacket. Shopping was exhausting, but with each new purchase she’d felt like a butterfly pushing a bit farther from the cocoon. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been a month ago, and she no longer wanted to look like her.

  Sunday was a brilliant autumn day, and she went for a run along the lake, past downtown, Navy Pier, and McCormick Place to the elaborate concrete skateboard park the city maintained to keep teenagers off the streets. She watched the boys in their baggy pants and tight knit caps zoom and flip and sail through the air. Each mishap was met by the same question, “Dude, are you okay?” followed by, “I’m good”. When the sun faded and the air chilled, she jogged back home.

  She walked into the lobby sweaty and breathless, half expecting to see Carter waiting by the elevators. That would be just her luck. But there was no sign of him.

  Dinner that night was take-out for one from the Thai restaurant down the street. She flipped on the television for company while she ate, but the only choices were football or reality programs, so she gave up in disgust. She tried to read but ended up tossing the new novel aside after realizing she’d read the same page twenty times. It was a good thing there wasn’t a quiz, because she couldn’t recall a single word.

  She roamed the apartment without goal or purpose, itchy and restless. She’d always been solitary, happy with her own company. But now a gaping hole loomed in her life, and she didn’t know how to fill it.

  Monday morning she sat at her desk bright and early, working on a marketing plan. Shortly before ten an overnight courier delivered an envelope from Normandy Press. She opened it and stared at the largest check her fledgling business had ever received.

  Well, that’s that. Job complete. Mission accomplished.

  So why did she feel incomplete and empty?

  Buck up, you jellyfish. Show some backbone. You only knew the man three weeks. Life was hunky dory before you met him, and it will be hunky dory now that he’s gone.

  But it wasn’t hunky dory, and her internal drill instructor was really starting to tick her off.

  At five o’clock she turned out the lights, locked the door, and headed home. She wished she had somewhere else to go. Her apartment had always been an oasis of calm and comfort, but now it felt like a prison. Maybe she should be the one to move.

  She had no appetite for the leftover Thai in the fridge, so she changed into yoga gear and lit a vanilla-scented candle. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply several times, filling her senses with the calming fragrance.

  Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

  The insistent chime of the doorbell jolted her nerves and destroyed the mood. She marched to the front door and flung it open with a scowl.

  There stood Carter, grinning like an idiot, with a long tube of rolled papers in one hand and a small sledge hammer in the other.

  “What the—?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her nose then barged past into the living room.

  “What do you think you’re doing? And what’s that for?” She pointed to the hammer.

  “Let me show you.” He started down the hall toward her exercise room.

  She scurried after him. “You can’t just waltz in here like that after disappearing for five days.”

  He didn’t respond but stopped in front of the wall that separated their apartments. He tapped it twice with the sledge hammer. “I thought we could start by knocking down this wall.”

  “What are you talking about? Put that thing down. I like this wall.”

  “But it’s the best place.”

  “The best place for w
hat?”

  “For joining our apartments. Here, let me show you.”

  He set the hammer down with a solid thunk, slid the big rubber band off the roll of papers, and spread them out on the floor. She knelt to get a better look. The pages were detailed architectural and construction plans.

  He squatted beside her. “If we take out this wall,” he pointed to a thick blue line, “we can continue this hall. We’ll keep my living room because it’s got the killer lake view, and we can combine these two existing bedrooms and baths,” he pointed to two rooms in his existing apartment, “into one enormous master suite. This way, our apartment will wrap all the way around the corner of the building and have plenty of space. What do you think?”

  Her head was reeling, trying to make sense of his outlandish proposal. An hour ago she’d almost succeeded in writing him out of her life, and now here he was, wanting to knock down walls. She couldn’t think.

  She clambered to her feet. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  He rolled the plans and straightened. “If you don’t like it, I guess we can move. But this building has such a great location. And I’d miss Manuel and Rudy.”

  She planted her fists on her hips. “Where have you been for the past five days?”

  “Working on this.” He waved the plans. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “And you certainly succeeded.”

  “I’m sorry about the delay. I tried to do it faster, but first I had to find the original plans for this building in the archives at the City Planning Office. Then I had to persuade one of my buddies who’s an architect to work all weekend on the drawings.”

  She held up her hand to stop the flow of words. “Why did you do this?”

  His brows knit in a puzzled expression. “We need more space. My place doesn’t have room for your Hsing I, and your place doesn’t have room for me to write.”

  She crossed her arms. “And why would that be a problem?” She refused to make assumptions. She wanted to be dead certain she understood.

  He studied her face then dropped the plans and reached for her. She resisted, keeping her arms crossed as he drew her into an embrace.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He nuzzled her neck.

  “I’m always serious.”

  “Yes, you are.” He kissed her forehead. “Sometimes too serious.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose.

  “I’m not going to change.”

  “Nobody asked you to.”

  His lips descended to capture hers in a kiss so hot her bare toes curled. Her arms snaked up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer, and she melted into his big, warm body before pulling back.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “You never answered my question.”

  “I though we’d moved past that.” He bent his head to kiss her again, but she dodged his lips.

  “Why do you want to live together?” She was determined to make him say the words out loud if it killed her—or him.

  He lifted his head a fraction and sighed. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn? I want to live with you because I love you.”

  Her heart slammed into her ribs. “You love me? Are you sure?”

  “You saved my life. You saved my family. You’re strong and brave and beautiful. Yes, I’m sure. What about you?”

  She searched his eyes and found the truth. “I love you too.”

  “That’s settled then. So we’re getting married?”

  She frowned and pushed back against his embrace. “Hold on, cowboy. Don’t think you’re getting off that easily. After everything you’ve put me through, I think I deserve a better proposal than that.”

  His arms tightened around her waist, and his expression sobered. “You’re right. You do. Madelyn Li, I love you with all my heart and never want to spend another day apart from you. Will you make me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife?”

  His eyes told her he meant every word.

  Her smile blossomed. “That’s more like it.”

  “So is that a yes?”

  She nodded.

  “And are you going to let me knock down the wall?”

  She tugged against his neck until his lips were a breath away. “Have at it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He wrapped his arms around her and poured a lifetime of promises into one kiss.

  The butterfly flexed her wings and soared.

  If you enjoyed Unwritten Rules, I hope you will consider leaving a review here. An honest review is the greatest compliment any author can receive. And be sure to turn the page for a sneak peek at the next Phoenix, Ltd. adventure—Boiling Point!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Zoë Hargrove jerked the wheel of her red and white Mini Cooper and slammed the heel of her palm into the horn as the rusty brown dump truck clipped her front bumper. She bit off an epithet, downshifted, and glared at the truck’s long side view mirror, hoping to meet the driver’s gaze. He never glanced over.

  Where are the cops when you need them?

  She swore again and rammed the horn as the truck lumbered ahead up Lake Shore Drive toward downtown Chicago. Grabbing her phone, she pressed it to the windshield and snapped a quick shot of the license plate. With luck, the picture would be clear enough to read the numbers. When she reached Lake Forest, she could email the photo to Risa back at the Phoenix, Ltd. office. As office manager and all-around go-to person, Risa was a whiz at tracking things down.

  If the trucking company refused to pay for the damage to her bumper, Zoë could always file a police report. Her boss, Madelyn Li, had enough connections in the CPD to turn on some serious heat. Heck, she might even call in the FBI.

  Zoë relaxed her death grip on the steering wheel and drew a slow, deep breath in an effort to slow her pounding heart.

  Nothing like a double shot of adrenaline first thing in the morning to set the tone for the day.

  She peered ahead through the damp gray haze of early November drizzle at the usual stack-up as the lanes of traffic neared McCormick Place then flashed the wipers. The clock on the dashboard read seven thirty-two. Even with the rain, she should be able to make it to Lake Forest in an hour, easy. She didn’t want to be late the first day of a new assignment.

  A loud, whining buzz interrupted her thoughts, and she checked her rear view mirror. Nothing. The high-pitched whine grew louder. When she glanced at the driver’s side mirror, she did a quick double take. A motorcyclist in black leathers and a black helmet loomed on her left rear tail. He bent low over a black Japanese crotch rocket like a malevolent wasp.

  Where did he come from?

  The rider leaned right then disappeared from view. Zoë twisted and located him in her blind spot, keeping a steady pace with her car.

  What a moron.

  As she turned back, she caught sight of another black-suited cyclist on an identical bike holding steady just off her right rear quarter panel and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. She was in no mood to play hide-and-seek in rush hour traffic with a couple of kamikaze wannabes.

  Up ahead, a rolling wave of brake lights flared. The rust-pitted Toyota in front of her took advantage of a widening space to shoot into the next lane. Zoë had just started to apply more pressure to the gas pedal when a dirty brown tailgate appeared inches in front of her.

  It was the same damned dump truck! Had to be. He’d almost changed lanes into her again. What was wrong with the guy?

  She downshifted then hit the horn, for all the good it would do. The truck driver was obviously deaf as well as blind.

  The whine behind her intensified like a screaming hive of bees on meth. A quick mirror check showed the cyclists bearing down again from both sides, their ugly black machines mere inches from her rear side panels. What were they trying to do? She glanced forward again. The back end of the dump truck filled her windshield. Her pulsed pounded in her ears. If the driver slowed a fraction, she would plow into him.

  Just in time, her evasive driving training
kicked in and muscled the burgeoning panic aside. Blocked on three sides, she had only one avenue of escape. She glanced in the rear view mirror to gauge her opening then slowed her speed and gave the wheel a quick jerk to the left. The Mini slid sideways into a narrow gap in the neighboring lane, barely missing the back wheel of one of the bikes. Zoë blew out a quick breath and thanked her lucky stars for her car’s compact proportions. Horns blared, but the silver Chevy behind her dropped back to give her a few feet of breathing room. The cyclists’ black helmets turned toward her in unison before they shot forward on either side of the dump truck and disappeared between the lanes of traffic.

  Her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel. She tried to swallow, but her dry throat balked. When she reached for the bottle of water in her cup holder, a drop of cold perspiration trickled down the inside of her arm.

  Great. Just great. Not only had a couple of show-off idiots nearly killed her, but now she had to worry about pit stains when she met her new client. Real professional.

  Her nerves were already on edge because she’d had so little time to prepare. The client had called yesterday and wanted an agent immediately. She loosened her death-grip on the steering wheel and took a series of deep breaths. She couldn’t blow it. This assignment was too important, especially because her boss was in the Bahamas on her honeymoon, and Zoë had taken the initiative to accept the job on her own. She’d only been an operative of the Phoenix, Ltd. Personal Protection Agency for six months, but she wanted to prove she was ready to take on more responsibility. This job could be her ticket.

  The client, Lyman Prescott, had been fuzzy about the details of the job when she’d spoken with him on the phone. She’d gotten the basics. He wanted to hire a bodyguard for his wife, someone who could also work undercover as a personal chef. The rest of the conversation had been a bit confusing—something about a person named Watanabe and a grandpa. She would sort everything out when she reached Strathmoor, the Prescott family estate on the western shore of Lake Michigan.