2. Windsor

CHAPTER 2

I'm barely in the door of my condo when my cell phone starts ringing inside my purse. There's probably no hope of finding the device before the voicemail turns on in the unwieldy bag, so I dump it upside down on the floor, scattering the contents in every direction. I grab it as it skims along the hardwood and watch as my lipstick slides under the sofa.

"Hello?" I begin shoving everything back inside, then realize who it is.

"Miss James? This is Tanner Graham. Is now a good time to talk?"

I'm momentarily frozen before I respond. "Yes, of course, Mr. Graham."

His warm, masculine chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. "Call me Tanner, please. I was hoping that we could take you to dinner tonight. My brother doesn't always make the best first impressions, and I'd like to change that."

"Dinner?" I squeak as I reach under the sofa for my wayward lipstick.

"Yes. You can say no if you'd like. It would have no bearing on hiring you. Frankly, as far as I'm concerned, the job is yours."

"But your brother doesn't agree?" The question pops out with a hint of frustration. I was not expecting to be attracted to one of these men, never mind both of them. I was left feeling unbalanced after the interview.

"Uh." There's a pause, which tells me he might be about to lie. "Not exactly. He's a tough nut to crack."

"I see." I don't, not really.

"I'd bring your contract with me. We could discuss any objections you might have. Go over expectations, discuss pay and vacations." He sounds almost hopeful.

Checking my watch, it's nearly dinnertime, and the rain hasn't let up. The idea of getting ready again fills me with dread. "Any chance we could do this tomorrow evening instead?"

"Tomorrow would be fine. I'll have a car pick you up at six."

"You don't have to do that. The subway works just as well."

"A car will be there at six," he insists, so I relent.

"Thank you, Mr. Graham. I'll see you then."

"Tanner. See you tomorrow, Windsor." He hangs up before I can say anything else.

"Well, now what?" I mutter towards the one lone plant in my apartment. Mom got it before she went into hospice, and despite knowing I'll eventually kill it, I can't help but feel like she's with me while I have it.

"Dinner."

My stomach growls.

Spinning back around, my heart pounds furiously in my chest. Fear lurches up my throat and clenches it closed, stifling the scream I'm sure would have surfaced.

"Joe, you scared me to death. What are you doing here?" My neighbor glances around the room before settling back on me.

"I heard a crash." His voice is monotone as he steps inside uninvited.

"Sorry, just dumped my purse to get my phone out." I'm a little out of my comfort zone here. He's always been odd, a little more friendly than I'd like, but he's never entered my space before.

"I know. Dinner tomorrow night." He says that as if it's not weird that he was eavesdropping on me when I know I pushed the door shut behind me.

Retreating from the man, I put a table between us before asking him, "Was there something I could help you with?"

His head tilts to the side like a curious dog as his eyes slide up and down my body, creeping me out further. "No," he finally replies. "Just wanted to make sure nothing was the matter."

"I'm fine, thank you." I hold my breath until he backs out, closing the door with a quiet snick. Rushing forward, I flip the deadbolt and look out the peephole, watching as he stares at the door. Can he see me? A shudder works down my spine at the thought.

It feels like hours before he finally goes back to his own place. Freaked out, I grab one of the dining chairs from the table and shove it under the doorknob.

Backing away slowly, I wish—not for the first time—that I at least had a roommate. Which gets me thinking about my half-sisters again. Are they as lonely as I am? Do they have the kind of relationship with our father that I do? Would they welcome me into their lives like I want to welcome them into mine?

I need all my questions answered, but I know that won't happen until I meet them. I fear disrupting their lives and bringing unwanted drama into their worlds, and I don't want to do that, but I think I might have to. I want to know them. I want that connection I've been missing since my mother's passing.

I just don't want them to hate me.

"Stop it, Windy, just stop it." Going in circles will get me nowhere. Instead, I push everything out of my mind, make sure my place is locked up tight, and head for a warm shower. I still feel chilled from the rain that soaked me before my interview with the Graham twins.

Fanning my face as I turn the water on, I still can't believe the magnetic pull I felt towards them. I'm no virgin; I've dated a few times, had two serious boyfriends, but it's been so long—if ever—that I've felt so drawn to a man, let alone two.

Undressing, I jump under the warm spray, thankful that this crappy building has good water pressure, at least. Over the years, we've lived in some places with little to none, making for the worst showers. But this one is nice, and I can have long showers to wash away a dreary day or overwhelming emotions. Today, it's a little bit of both, it would seem.