Her Leading Hero Read online

  Even at an executive meeting for his family’s company, his mind kept wandering back to that night as it had been doing for the past week.

  His father droned on, making the perfect background noise for his Veronica Lake fantasies. It was annoying, really, how often he found himself thinking about her. Though it was better than the alternative, which was stewing over his breakup with Vanessa.

  Maybe that was why he couldn’t let go of that night. That brief tease of a flirtation with a Veronica Lake look-alike had been just the distraction he’d needed. But she hadn’t been in black and white—she’d been vivid, electric. And not at all in keeping with the description he’d gotten from Ben when he’d asked about her the next day. Quiet, shy, timid. That was how his best friend had described her, but those descriptors seemed so…boring. As if anything about that woman was plain.

  One other tidbit his friend had mentioned when he’d casually brought Tamara up in conversation—apparently his mystery woman did not date. Ever. At least that’s what Ben had heard from Caitlyn, who apparently was good friends with her.

  That was fine by him, since he wasn’t in the market anyway. That much he’d decided after the final blowout with Vanessa. Clearly he was doing it wrong. Vanessa had been the longest relationship to date and even that had been more off than on, and no one would have called it healthy.

  Until he could figure out why his love life was such a disaster—regrettably, a very public disaster—he was out of the relationship game.

  It seemed everyone in the universe had heard about his latest breakup with Vanessa—everyone except Tamara. She hadn’t even blinked when he’d tried to joke about his most recent disaster, which had been widely published in the tabloids. The press loved to follow his love life. Add a popular TV star like Vanessa, and they were perfect tabloid fodder. But it seemed Tamara didn’t read tabloids. Either that or she was an incredibly good liar.

  If his gut was anything to go by, his Tamara was honest to a fault. She was guileless, open. Her smile when he’d approached her had been a breath of fresh air, radiant and pure. And that kiss…

  “Are we boring you, Gregory?”

  His father’s nasally voice interrupted the latest mental rundown of this fascinating woman’s appealing traits. He hadn’t even gotten to her physical attributes yet, and he’d made something of an obsession out of cataloguing those.

  All eyes turned to him—his father’s lawyer and a few of his other lackeys along with senior members of the company. Gregory paused deliberately. Nothing annoyed his father more than when his attempts to publicly put him in his place failed spectacularly.

  “Not at all.” He let his tone fall flat with insincerity. “Hearing you recite the quarterly earnings is always stimulating, Father.”

  That earned a few snickers from his friends in the group, but the majority of those present, namely his father, scowled back at him. “You should pay attention; this information might prove useful one day. But then again, perhaps not.”

  Gregory met his father’s gaze and refused to flinch. His father’s threat was subtle in front of this group, but Gregory didn’t miss his meaning. It stung as intended. Gregory had done well for himself with the trust his grandfather had set aside for him, doubling the amount in less than a decade and building a brand of his own. Despite that, his father still controlled the family business—and though tradition dictated that he should be taking over soon, or at least officially be named next in line, his father refused to admit that Gregory could handle the responsibility.

  A few rebellious years in his late teens and early twenties and his father had forever labeled him weak, fickle. Every failed relationship since merely added to his father’s certainty that he had inherited his mother’s lack of steadfastness, her tendency to run in the face of commitment. He’d given up trying to prove his father wrong—every time he tried, it backfired.

  Not to mention the gossip pages seemed to have their own take on his love life. A fickle playboy apparently sold more papers than a homebody who happened to be unlucky in love. Gregory couldn’t care less how the tabloids portrayed him, but his own father should have been able to see the truth.

  Of course, that would have meant that his father open his eyes and see his son as the living, breathing man he was today and not merely as the offspring of the woman who’d broken his heart and left him. Left them. But his father never seemed to realize that Gregory had been a victim of her actions just as much as he was. She’d left her son as well as her husband, but somehow he was always being judged for her actions. His father assumed that by inheriting her dark looks, he was also innately unable to be loyal. In his father’s eyes, he lacked the dedication necessary to own a pet fish, let alone run a company.

  But then again, perhaps not. His father’s words rang in his ears, a barely veiled reminder that he was not the leader of this company now, nor would he ever be unless he earned his father’s approval. A task that some might call herculean. He just called it impossible.

  Impossible but necessary. The company was his family’s legacy, goddammit. It should be his, even if he was the flunky his father professed him to be. Which he wasn’t. But even if he was…

  “How is your project coming, son?” His father was the only person he knew who could make the word “son” sound like an insult.

  His project… His project? He glared at his father. Surely he didn’t mean that demeaning request at the last meeting. His father’s thin lips were pinched together in a smirk. Yes, that was exactly what he’d meant.

  The request had come after another long, not so thinly veiled battle in the boardroom over the company’s direction—Gregory stressed the need to diversify while his father argued that they stay on the tried-and-true course. He discounted every argument Gregory presented, tossing them aside with thinly disguised disgust, claiming his son relied too heavily on his emotions and instincts rather than facts and figures. Never mind the fact that his gut and his instincts had made Gregory a financial success in his own right. When it came to his son, his father had never been able to see reason, only his ex-wife’s face.

  It had come to a head when Gregory had outright challenged his father, asking him to give him responsibility, let him use his instincts and give him a chance to prove himself. His father’s response was to assign Gregory responsibility for the company’s pro bono division—another way of saying he was the head of the “charity league,” a role typically filled by one of the stuffy old matrons on the Upper East Side who had nothing better to do than plan teas and organize fundraisers.

  He’d honestly thought his father had been joking. Not to be funny but to make a point, show who had all the power and put him in his place.

  Now, as he glared at his father across the boardroom, the eyes of every senior executive riveted to them, he realized it—his father hadn’t been joking.

  Shit.

  The sanctimonious bastard’s expression was filled with mockery and amusement. He most likely guessed, correctly, that Gregory had walked out of that meeting and shrugged off the insulting gesture. There was no way he would give his father the satisfaction of knowing that he was right—or worse, that he’d won.

  He’d asked to be put in charge of something, to prove that his instincts were good. Why the hell not in charity? He could only imagine the horror on his father’s face if he took the ridiculous assignment and made a success of it. Turned his father’s trick against him.

  Unbidden and unwelcome, the face of his mystery woman came into his mind. Her passion when she spoke about classic film, the sincerity in her eyes when she spoke of its meaning to her.

  Hell, he’d already helped that old theater by pushing it through the landmark committee. Why not take it one step further? Why not save the thing in the process?

  And if the gesture won him the girl…

  No, this wasn’t about her. Hadn’t he just declared hims
elf out of the dating game? What he needed post-breakup was a serious timeout. Time to figure out what he was doing wrong and what he really wanted.

  Again he saw Tamara in his mind’s eye, but he shook his head, dispelling the tempting sight.

  Okay, yes, clearly he wanted her—at least his body was clear on that. But he hated that his father had been proven right, yet again, with his latest romantic failure. His father had moved on from his mother and had been happily married to his stepmother, Elena, for decades.

  He wanted that. So what was his problem?

  Shifting in his seat, he steered clear of that train of thought. Now was not the time for personal reflection or self-therapy. His father was watching him, displeasure written all over his smug face.

  This wasn’t about Tamara. Hell, it wasn’t even about the theater, not really.

  This wasn’t personal. It was business.

  His gaze collided with his father’s as his plan of action fell into place. Who was he kidding? This wasn’t just about business—the old man was right; he did tend to let emotions get in the way. But this time the emotion had nothing to do with romance or passion.

  He smiled at his father. It had everything to do with hate.

  * * * *

  Tamara’s friends were staring at her, waiting for her to speak. Too bad. They’d be waiting all day. As if tormenting her at home all week hadn’t been torture enough, now Marc had started grilling her on what had gone on between her and Gregory, and his interrogation took place in front of all of their friends at the latest Operation Petticoat meet-up.

  Operation Petticoat was the name Caitlyn had given the group, thanks to her obsession with Cary Grant. They met bright and early every other Saturday morning to do some cleaning and minor repairs that helped keep the theater running since the current owner couldn’t be bothered to care.

  So now she faced Meg, Jake, Caitlyn, Alice, and Marc like a prisoner facing a firing squad, though this particular squad was scattered around the theater doing chores.

  “She totally went off alone with him,” Marc was explaining to the group at large. “And she won’t spill on what happened with the hottie.”

  Tamara rolled her eyes and forced out the lie she’d been telling all week. “Nothing happened. You are obsessed with something that didn’t even occur.” She playfully patted Marc on the head as she walked past the chair where he was sitting. “I think they call that delusional, Marc.”

  Marc narrowed his eyes at her. “I know what I saw.” Then again to the rest of the group, “I know what I saw! She was flirting. Our little Tam-Tam was a little vixen.” Turning back to Tamara, he jabbed a finger in her direction. “Don’t try to deny it.”

  With a wry grimace, she stated the partial truth. “I wouldn’t dream of confirming or denying anything that happened that night. In case you hadn’t noticed, I was three sheets to the wind.”

  “That’s true,” Caitlyn called from the ladder where she was perched trying to take down the last of the decorations from last weekend’s event. “Tam was in rare form.”

  Tamara gave Marc a look that said “See?” He couldn’t deny it—they’d recuperated together the next day with plenty of fried food and a Netflix binge of some horrifically terrible ’80s movies.

  “I still say there’s more to it,” Marc mumbled. “I saw the way he was looking at you. That guy was ready to pounce like he was starving and you were his favorite meal.”

  Meg, ever the caretaker, came over to intervene. “Leave the poor girl alone, Marc. If she said nothing happened, nothing happened.”

  She flashed Tamara a smile. Tamara tried to return it without collapsing from the crushing guilt at lying to her friends.

  She was the worst.

  But after all these years of keeping secrets, what was one more? To tell them about Gregory would open too many doors. It would mean having to tell even more lies, like that she’d never met him before.

  No, it was best to close the door on that night and never think about it again.

  As if she hadn’t been replaying their interaction on a loop for the past week…

  But this obsession had to come to an end sometime, and today was the day. She’d had a week to relive that magical night—one week to let her inner tween revel. Now it was time to face reality again. A reality that included an emergency meeting with her boss, the owner, this afternoon. Her stomach had been churning all morning, ever since she’d received his text. Whatever news he had, she highly doubted it could be good.

  She and the owner had been at odds from the day she’d started. He’d made it clear he had little interest in old movies or the theater’s history. But he trusted her and loved that she took matters into her own hands to ensure the theater did well—even if it meant working for free on her off-time and helping to promote and host events that might save its future.

  She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like maybe today was the day that he pulled the rug out from under her feet and informed her that the theater had been sold.

  She was so caught up in worrying about what the owner had to tell her that she’d finally managed to temporarily put Gregory Blanchard out of her mind.

  Until Caitlyn brought him up again, that was.

  “It would make sense that Gregory was flirting,” she said. “I mean, Tamara looked hot as hell in that Veronica Lake outfit, and you guys saw the headlines, right? He and Vanessa Davies are finally done for good.”

  Tamara did not want to listen. She didn’t want to think about it. And she sure as hell didn’t want to admit that she’d read every gossip article she could find that had to do with Gregory and his love life.

  She’d even sneaked a copy of Us Weekly in with her groceries and smuggled it past Marc so he wouldn’t see it when she got home. Her crush was officially mortifying.

  “She’s right,” Jake called to her from across the lobby. “You were insanely hot. You should dress up as old movie stars more often.”

  Clad in her typical oversized flannel shirt and jeans, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

  “She doesn’t need sexy dresses to be hot,” Meg admonished. “Besides, who said she even wants to attract more male attention? We all know her stance on dating.”

  Tamara gave her friend another grateful smile. She had a sneaking suspicion that Meg believed she was a closeted lesbian, but she’d never outright asked. But she was right enough about her stance on dating.

  She didn’t do it. Ever. That was a promise she’d made to herself when she’d left Billy. She couldn’t put herself in that position again. No amount of happiness was worth that kind of pain.

  Gregory’s face loomed in her mind—the look in his eyes as he’d leaned toward her. The warmth of his breath on her cheek just before his lips met hers.

  She inhaled quickly as heat scorched through her. It had been ages since she’d had such a vivid reminder of what she’d been missing. But she would forget about that night and that tease of a kiss.

  And even if she couldn’t forget completely, she would put it out of her mind.

  There was no room in her life for a man. And Gregory? He was out of the question. It was one thing to flirt with him when she was in costume and using a pseudonym. But she’d been lucky that he hadn’t recognized her, and she wouldn’t push her luck.

  It was decided. She wouldn’t think of him anymore. Starting now.

  Caitlyn called out to her. “When you and Gregory were flirting, I sure hope you thanked him.”

  Oh for the love of God, how was she supposed to forget about him when her friends wouldn’t stop saying his name?

  “Thank him,” she repeated. “For what?”

  Caitlyn stopped her work. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s the one who helped Ben get The Ellen pushed through as a landmark.”

  Tamara froze in the middle of wipi
ng down the concession counter. “What?”

  Caitlyn and Ben had told them the good news Monday, when the landmarks committee had made it official. All she’d known was that Ben had made it happen, but she hadn’t thought to ask how. Or who else was involved.

  “Gregory Blanchard,” she said slowly, as if maybe there were some other Gregory in the mix.

  Caitlyn grinned. “Of course, Gregory Blanchard. He used that fancy name of his as a favor for Ben.”

  Tamara released the breath she’d been holding. Of course, Gregory. Who else had the family legacy to influence the landmarks committee? She should have guessed. It was something her family and the Blanchards had always been good at, using their influence to curry favor. Her family and his wielded money like a weapon, using it to open doors and smooth over any hardship to come their way.

  She was the first to admit that she and her brother had been spoiled as children, her parents using their money and their power to give her and her brother the best of everything. Once upon a time she’d been naive enough to believe that meant something. She’d mistaken their generosity for understanding, mistaken financial backing for true support. It wasn’t until shit hit the fan that she’d seen how little comfort money could provide when it was trust and love that she’d needed.

  Annoyance had her scrubbing the counter a little too hard. She supposed she owed Gregory her thanks—but that wasn’t going to happen. Because he was back in his world and she was in hers, and she had no intention of letting those worlds collide again.

  Chapter 4

  “You sold it?” It was the third time Tamara had repeated the phrase. After going home to shower, she’d come back to The Ellen to meet the owner. His news had stunned her into incoherence. Like a parrot, she latched on to that phrase, ignoring the current owner, Oliver Paley, as he went on a tangent.

  Short and squat, the man Marc referred to as the Oompa Loompa went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I should take legal action against you. How dare you go to the landmarks committee without telling me?”