With an inward sigh and the shake of her head, Fallon discarded that wishful thinking.
Never gonna happen.
Despite there having been a glint of interest in Devon’s gorgeous ice-blue eyes when he’d gotten a good look at her, she’d really seen no other indication that she evoked carnal cravings in that man. And Morgan was obviously wrapped up in some internal debate.
So best to not build any hopes on her end, just because they were all in town at the same time and she’d devoted endless hours to getting into shape and altering herself from “little sister” to “potential lover.”
Dream. On.
Her more polished appearance took a backseat to whatever taxed Morgan’s mind.
Tamping down frustration and hurt feelings, she told him, “You know, you always used to confide in me. So if you need to spill . . . spill.”
“You were a very good listener,” he said.
“Still am.”
His jaw tightened. “Things are different, Fallon.”
“How so?” she challenged. “We’ve always been friends. We always will be, right?”
“Yes, we always will be. But I’m different. Devon is different. You’re . . . amazingly different.”
There was that conflict in his eyes again—she didn’t miss it. It was wholly confirmed by the touch of consternation edging his penetrating irises.
Was she really that unappealing to him? And that made it impossible for him to confide in her?
Emotion swelled in her throat. She fought the sudden and unexpected prickle of tears.
But she couldn’t keep the pain from her voice as she told him, “Maybe the shell’s different, Morgan, but the heart and soul are still the same.”
She stepped around him, the prickling turning into a burning sensation that nearly consumed her and had fat drops forming on the rims of her eyes.
She started to stalk away, her chest constricting in the most excruciating way.
But he grabbed her gently by the arm, forcing her to pull up short.
From behind her, Morgan leaned in and murmured, “I know you’d still be a good listener. I know you’d have great advice to give. But you can’t fix this, Fallon. Sometimes change isn’t acceptable—even when it seems it might be for the best.”
He released her and strode toward the glass doors that led to the executive offices.
Fallon stared after him, over her shoulder. A tear tumbled down her cheek at how easily he’d dismissed her.
He was completely immune, impervious . . . Indifferent . . . To her.
Granted, the devotion and agony she’d put into emerging a butterfly from her cocoon had not solely been predicated on Morgan’s and Devon’s reactions to her. But still. A positive affirmation from Morgan would be damn nice.
What she’d accomplished had a lot to do with gaining her own confidence beyond being everyone’s favorite sidekick to possibly being a leading lady. She’d needed to bolster her self-esteem and she’d done it.
Fallon had always relied on her resourcefulness, her compassion, and her loyalty to her friends to serve as the foundation of her personality and overall existence. But something had been missing from the very beginning. And in the land of the rich and beautiful, it hadn’t been difficult to figure out what that something was from the get-go. Being a plain Jane who would have blended into the woodwork were it not for the sense of humor and kind spirit she’d been blessed with, Fallon had learned from an early age that she wouldn’t make heads turn or pulses race.
Until recently. When she actually had begun to make heads turn and pulses race in Miami.
But here in Bayfront?
Same ole. Same ole.
She’d always been everyone’s best friend. Not anyone’s girlfriend.
Willing herself to shake off the impending heartache, she swiped at her errant tears and hitched her chin a notch. Then headed downstairs.
Fallon was in the middle of a mental pep talk—reminding herself to just breathe—as she made her way along the corridor to the lobby when she caught sight of Devon at the reception desk, chatting up the perky brunette who smiled beguilingly at him. He didn’t even notice Fallon.
Christ. I gave up Nana’s award-winning turtle cheesecake for this?
Fallon suddenly yearned for a huge slab of it as she marched to the double-doored entryway.
“Hey!” Devon called out.
She kept walking. And blinked away more tears threatening her eyes. Her jagged feelings had her continuing out the door, rather than responding to Devon. This spontaneous reunion was quickly going from bad to worse.
Unfortunately, Devon easily caught up to her with his wide strides and fell into step.
“Little hard of hearing?” he quipped. “We haven’t done that catching up yet.”
“Not funny. Go have a conversation about this with Morgan.” She abruptly halted and pinned Devon with a hard look. “What the hell has crawled up his ass, anyway? Brushing me off like I’m not the one person on the planet who knows him better than anyone else—aside from you?”
“Trust me,” he told her, “what Morgan’s grinding over has nothing to do with you, Fallon. So don’t take it personally.”
“He looks at me like he doesn’t even know me!” she blurted. Then gasped. She hadn’t meant to say that. True though it was.
Devon let out a low grunt. “Yeah, well, you might be you on the inside, but on the outside . . . I gotta say, darlin’, you can now officially bring a man to his knees. In a heartbeat.”
“Devon.” She glared at him. “It’s still me.”
“Double-edged sword. Hmm, sweetheart?”
Fallon chewed on this as she started walking again. Devon remained at her side.
As they passed by the parking lot, he asked, “Where’s your car?”
“I don’t drive to work. I’m just down the street and I like taking the pathway along the shore.”
“Then I’ll escort you home,” he said with a casual grin that made her toes curl.
Regardless, she told him, “Really, not necessary, Dev. Bayfront’s not exactly known for its violent criminal element.”
He chuckled. “Good point. Though we’ve had our fair share of white-collar crime. Anthony Matthews embezzled nearly sixty million dollars over the course of a decade from the San Fran-based industrial risk insurance company where he served as chief financial officer. And let’s not forget Judith Holland’s colossal tax evasion suit that landed her in prison for eight years.”
“Yes, the shady business deals. And the adulterous affairs. The grapevine sizzles in this town.”
“Pretty juicy stuff, huh?” He rubbed his hands together and wagged a brow.
Fallon laughed, despite her sensitive feelings. “Dirty sexy rumors rule, I won’t lie. Did you know Genevieve Owens started sleeping with the captain of her yacht when she won it in her divorce settlement? Word spread like wildfire through the club.”
Devon made a tsking sound. “Fallon . . . so unlike you to gossip.”
“It’s impossible not to hear the hot topics of conversation. Your members might whisper their steamy tidbits over martinis, but they don’t clam up when I deliver fresh drinks. I think they like everyone believing they’re ‘in the know.’”
“Well, what do you expect in Billionaires’ Cove?”
“Indeed.” It was a nickname for Bayfront that had been adopted as soon as the hillside had become dotted with elegant mansions and grand estates.
As she and Devon passed under antique streetlamps with a new coat of gleaming bronze paint and glowing golden globes, she slid a sideways glance toward Devon and asked, “Why have you stayed away so long? I thought you liked it here.”
“I thought you liked it here,” he shot back.
“I love it here. I just needed a little breather, you know? My twenty-second birthday was a massive downer. You and Morgan were in Seattle for the remodel of that club. The friends I’d graduated high school with were all scattered; still in college, traveling Europe or working for their parents’ companies. I needed new scenery, a new lifestyle. Everyone else was becoming so worldly and the only places I’d ever been outside of town borders were San Francisco, River Cross, and Bliss Mountain—long before Seth Lofton overhauled the ski resort. I’m dying to see the expanded main lodge.”
“I flew in for the grand opening over Christmas. Very impressive.”
“Hmph. My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. I went to school with Seth, too, you know?”
“Maybe he hadn’t heard you’d come back. Like me.” Smoothly changing the subject, Devon asked, “So what happened when you were in Miami?”
Fallon shrugged. “I pretty much felt like a toad, so I started working out on the beach. Zumba. Feel the burn . . .”
“Fallon.” He gave her a sardonic look. “You were never a toad.”
She sighed. “Yeah, Dev. I was. And I needed to change things up. I spent too much time living vicariously through others. Fantasizing and romanticizing about a life I wanted but that was completely out of my reach. So I devoted some time to the exterior Fallon. But Dev”—she stopped, whirled to face him, and insisted—“the interior’s still the same. I swear.”
Tears sprang to her eyes again.
“Hey,” Devon quietly said as he swept away a trickle along her cheek with his thumb. The gesture warmed her heart. “What’s with the waterworks, sweetheart?”