His business is her pleasure

Beauty’s about more than just appearance—it’s a state of mind. And at the helm of Espresso Cosmetics’ spa division, Tia Gray gives clients makeovers of a lifetime. After an inspiring transformation, a runaway grandmother takes off for Vegas on the back of a motorcycle. But persuading the woman’s powerful, sexy grandson that this trip is a rite of passage isn’t going to be easy.…

Esteemed lawyer Ethan Wright is convinced that he knows best. But a spur-of-the-moment road trip with Tia to find his grandmother, and all the wild mishaps they encounter along the way, show him just how irresistible passion—and Tia—can be. Is he willing to give in to the hidden desires of his heart?

“Tell me,” he said, struggling for the smooth, polished words that never eluded him in the courtroom. Failing to find them, he simply asked, “Is it just me?”

“No,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “I want to taste you, too.”

Ethan’s eyes never left hers as he placed his drink on the table and then took hers from her hand and set it next to his.

He leaned in and she met him halfway. Their lips brushed in a tentative kiss. The contact lasted less than a second, but answered the other question that had plagued him since she’d met him at the door.

Yes, her peach-slicked mouth tasted as good it looked, he thought. Better.

Tia moaned softly and her lips parted. Fueled by the breathless assent, Ethan threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her closer. He brought his mouth down on hers, and his tongue plundered the depths of its honeyed sweetness. She tasted like peaches. An exotic fragrance clung to her skin, reminiscent of jasmine and hot summer nights.

Ethan didn’t want to analyze it. All he knew was he couldn’t get enough of her taste, her scent. Of her.

Tia’s hands gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged.

PHYLLIS BOURNE

is a native of Chicago’s South Side and began her writing career as a newspaper crime reporter. After years of cops and criminals, she left reporting to write about life’s sweeter side. Nowadays her stories are filled with heart-stopping heroes and happy endings. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found at a makeup counter, feeding her lipstick addiction. You can find her on the web at www.phyllisbourne.com and www.facebook.com/phyllisbournebooks.

Every Road to You

Phyllis Bourne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t love a road trip?

You start out with high spirits, tasty snacks and a hankering for the open highway. An hour into the journey (or when the snacks run out), you’re trapped in a tight space, antsy, irritated and bored.

As a romance novelist, I found the idea of two strangers stuck together on a road trip irresistible and ripe with possibilities for comedy, fun and love.

I hope Every Road to You makes you laugh as much reading it as I did while writing it.

All my best,

Phyllis

I’d like to thank attorney Stephen E. Grauberger

for answering my legal questions.

Any mistakes are mine alone.

For Farrah Rochon and Patience Barton Moore, when it

comes to brainstorming and friendship, you ladies rock!

And, as always, for Byron, you are my everything.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

If Ethan Wright weren’t so furious, he’d laugh.

The muscle-bound receptionist spreading tattooed arms across the closed door should be on a football field sacking quarterbacks, he thought, not shielding the posh offices of a day spa.

“I’ve already told you. Ms. Gray isn’t available,” the wall of a man reiterated. “If you’d just let me make you an appointment, she’ll see you early next week.”

Standing well over six feet, Ethan rarely looked up at anyone. But as he craned his neck to meet the guy’s glare, he didn’t miss shoulders spanning the width of the doorway or fists the size of sledgehammers.

Regardless, Ethan intended to see Tia Gray.

Now.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to your boss.”

If Ethan had come here for any other reason, the giant glowering down at him might have deterred him, but this couldn’t wait. He flexed his fingers and mentally prepared for what was sure to be the unpleasant task of removing the man from his path.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. The receptionist blinked first and ran a beefy hand over his shaved head. Ethan heard him sigh, and he silently exhaled right along with him, relieved the brief standoff had ended without any bloodshed, namely his blood.

“Ms. Gray was on an important call. I’ll see if she’s done.” Turning his impressive girth to the door, the man hesitantly cracked it open and poked his head inside.

Give me a break, Ethan thought. This wasn’t the Oval Office. The executive on the other side of the door ran a chain of day spas, not the free world. He couldn’t imagine her having to discuss anything more vital than the latest innovations in face goop.

Ethan reached past the burly barricade, shoved the door wide open and strode through it. Finding the chair behind the frosted-glass desk empty, he scanned the room for the busybody responsible for upsetting the balance of his well-ordered life. Not to mention threatening to ruin his first vacation in years.

He spotted a woman standing near a corner window, partially hidden by waist-high potted plants. She was talking on the phone.

Ethan immediately stalked toward her. The sooner they had it out, the quicker she could get busy fixing the shit storm she’d stirred up.

“Cole, this static is awful. I can barely hear you,” she shouted into the phone.

Tia Gray stepped away from the potted shrubbery, the movement allowing Ethan an unencumbered view. His gaze swept over her, caught and held.

Ethan’s sure steps faltered. The obstacle at the door was nothing compared to the one confronting him now—his weakness—a great pair of legs. And the woman before him possessed the sexiest he’d ever seen.

Ethan stood transfixed. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his suddenly dry throat as his gaze involuntarily slid up the endless length of the legs before him, taking in trim ankles and shapely calves along the way. He didn’t stop until her dress hem brought the delectable glimpse of toned thighs to a regrettable end.

Apparently, having noticed him standing there, she covered the phone receiver with her palm. “What is it, Max?” she hissed at the receptionist. “You know this call is crucial.”

Her tone snapped Ethan out of his gam-induced trance. He retracted his eyeballs into their sockets and pushed from his mind illicit thoughts of those legs dangling over his back. He was here for a reason and it wasn’t to ogle this interfering troublemaker.

Moving closer to the woman in just two steps, Ethan plucked the phone from her hand.

“There’s nothing more important than the conversation we’re about to have, Ms. Gray,” Ethan said, disconnecting the call.

Her peach-glossed mouth dropped open in surprise. “D-do you realize how long it took me to track down the person on the other end of that call?” she sputtered.

“You should have thought about that before you stuck your nose in my business.”

“Your business?” Her words were more of a question than a statement. “I don’t even know you.”

Gargantua sided up to his boss. “Sorry, Tia. I was only checking to see if you were still on the phone.” He cast a scowl in Ethan’s direction. “I didn’t expect him to barge in here.”

She patted the man’s massive forearm. “Relax, Max. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll try to get your brother back on the line.” The receptionist inclined his head toward Ethan. “After I see him out.” A series of pops sounded as the big man rolled his head around his thick neck and stepped toward Ethan.

“You’d better call off your secretary,” Ethan warned.

The man shuddered, visibly affronted. “I’m not a secretary,” he snapped. “I’m Ms. Gray’s executive assistant.”

Yeah, right, Ethan thought. And nowadays truck drivers called themselves freight-relocation specialists, and the guy he’d hired to paint his house last year used the title color-distribution technician. “I’m not going anywhere until I speak to your boss,” he said.

Tia stood between them and held up her hands in a halting gesture. “I think we all need to stand down,” she said. “Let’s take a few deep breaths and then reconnect?”

“Recon... What?” Ethan asked.

“Calm down so we can straighten out what I’m sure is simply a misunderstanding,” she translated.

Ethan looked on in astonishment as Beauty, along with the Beast, inhaled a gulp of air and blew it out with a whoosh. They did it again. And again.

He glanced at his watch. “You two about done?”

“Please, join us,” she said. “Deep breath in through your nose and out of your mouth.”

Ethan blew out a breath, all right. A long, frustrated one. In his grandmother’s nonstop chatter about Tia Gray lately, she’d omitted the fact the woman was a certified fruit loop.

“Now, don’t you feel better?” she asked.

Before he could answer, she turned to her gigantic minion. “Max, I’d like you to go down to the relaxation room and bring our guest and myself some of our tranquil tea.”

“But he’s no guest, not the way he shoved his way—”

“Regardless—” she cut off the protest “—he’s here now. So please bring the tea.”

The man nodded once, glaring at Ethan as he left the room.

“Ms. Gray,” Ethan began.

“Tia,” she interrupted. “And you are?”

“Ethan Wright,” he said.

“Have a seat. Max will be back with our tea momentarily.” She walked behind the glass desk and sat in the white leather executive chair. “Your name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

“No, but you know my grandmother, Carol Harris.” Ethan continued to stand. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s the reason I’m here.”

“Carol? Is she okay?” Concern creased her perfectly symmetrical features, and Ethan reluctantly noted her legs weren’t her only pretty feature.

“She’s fine, at least physically,” he said, the outrageous encounter with his grandmother earlier this morning stoking his annoyance. “But thanks to you, she’s gone off the deep end.”

Ethan heard a clinking noise and looked around to see that the receptionist, no, rather her executive assistant, had returned bearing a dainty tea service that looked almost comical in his oversize mitts.

“Great. Our tea is here.” Tia smiled as her assistant poured steaming green liquid into two small cups, and then dismissed him with a thank-you.

“Did you hear what I said?” Ethan asked, flummoxed at her placid expression.

“Of course. You’re standing right in front of me.” Her soothing tone was a cross between one a parent adopted to cajole a stubborn toddler and one used to talk a jumper down from the ledge of a tall building. “It’s good to finally meet you, Ethan. Oh, you don’t mind if I use your first name, do you? Carol’s talked about you so much over the years it seems silly to call you Mr. Wright.”

“Fine,” he said. “Now—”

She cut him off. “Come on, have a seat and try your tea. Then we’ll talk.”

Ethan plopped down in the club chair in front of her desk. The damn tea appeared to be the last hoop he had to jump through before he could have a conversation with the woman, so he picked up the miniature cup and swallowed the contents in one gulp.

Hopefully, the minty concoction didn’t contain a mind-altering substance that would make him as batty as everyone else in this place—and the stranger now masquerading as his grandmother.

“Now, can we finally talk about what you did to my grandmother?”

“Go right ahead.” The woman eyed him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of tea.

“When I gave my grandmother a gift certificate to your spa for her birthday, I’d expected she’d come away with a manicure and a new hairdo,” he said. “But I barely recognize her.”

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It’s a nightmare,” Ethan said.

Tia frowned. “I don’t understand. I’m usually restricted to the office, but because Carol’s a friend, I either supervised her services or handled them myself.”

“Then, Dr. Frankenstein, you have created a monster.”

“Monster?” The words came out in a gasp. “That’s impossible. She looked amazing when she left here. Fifteen, maybe even twenty years younger.”

His grandmother looked different, all right, Ethan fumed. Two weeks had passed since she’d redeemed her gift certificate, and he still had to do a double take when he looked at her. However, the change in her appearance, though disconcerting, wasn’t the problem. It was the seemingly total transplant of her personality from a sweet, pie-baking granny to a septuagenarian hooligan.

“Yeah.” Ethan snorted. “She looked sixty and was acting like a delinquent teenager.”

He watched in dismay as a look of pure glee came over the woman on the other side of the desk’s face. Apparently, she still hadn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation.

“My grandmother has gone from spearheading church bake sales and garden-club meetings to staying out to all hours partying and doing who-knows-what.” As Ethan explained, he could almost see his straitlaced grandfather turning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken. “Last week, she went to a honky-tonk down on Broadway and didn’t get home until the next morning.”

He paused when he heard what sounded like a snicker from the other side of the desk.

Ethan cleared his throat. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Ms. Gray,” he said. “Your so-called makeover is responsible for this new behavior of hers, and I want to know what you intend to do about it.”

She placed her teacup on the desk.

“Absolutely nothing.” Her soft voice held a steely edge that didn’t bode well. “Even if I wanted to, and I don’t, your grandmother is a grown woman.”

“One you seem to have heavily influenced. Every sentence out of her mouth these days starts or ends with ‘Tia says’ or ‘Tia thinks.’” Ethan mimicked his grandmother’s voice.

“Regardless, Carol has her own mind. I wouldn’t dream of trying to tell her what to do.”

“Not even when I had to pick her up from jail last night.”

“Jail?” The woman straightened in her chair.

Finally, he’d gotten her attention.

“Yes, jail,” Ethan confirmed. He’d still been struggling to reconcile his God-fearing grandmother with the stubborn hell-raiser he’d fetched from the downtown detention center. “Now, will you talk some sense into her?”

Tia sighed. “I’ll touch base with Carol.”

Ethan was relieved to see no traces of her earlier amusement.

“I expect you to fix this, Ms. Gray.” He left off an unspoken, but heavily implied, or else.

* * *

Tia swallowed a sip of tea, along with a sharper retort to his demand. “I already told you I’d speak with her. That’s all I can do.”

Ethan stood, and again, she tried not to notice how easy he was on the eyes. If she had a type, the man in front of her would be it. Then again, what woman didn’t like tall, dark and delicious?

Until he started to talk, Tia thought. If you could even call barking orders talking.

“Then I suggest you be extremely persuasive,” Ethan said in a tone instantly neutralizing the effect of his potent good looks. “I look forward to seeing my grandmother return to her old self.”

Tia watched his broad back as he strode out of her office. Everything in his commanding manner was confident she’d do as he’d directed.

She sighed, and she would.

Strip away the overbearing arrogance and he was simply a man worried about his grandmother, Tia reminded herself. Now she was worried, too.

Carol in jail. The mental image didn’t fit the kindhearted nurse who years ago had cared for Tia’s late mother during her losing battle with cancer.

Tia looked up at Max, who’d returned to the office.

“What’s his deal?” he asked.

“Family problems.”

“What makes them your problems?”

“He’s Carol Harris’s grandson,” Tia said.

Max’s eyes widened as he made the connection. “Ah, the Tina Turner transformation,” he said, referring to the makeover that was so stunning it had earned its own name throughout Espresso Sanctuary, the flagship of the ten spas Espresso Cosmetics had scattered throughout the Southeast.

Tia and her top-notch staff had cut, colored, made up, manicured and massaged years off the senior citizen’s outdated appearance. The upshot: Carol Harris was now one smoking-hot woman of a certain age. But it appeared the dramatic change might have done her friend more harm than good.

“So I gather he’s not happy with his granny’s new look,” Max observed.

“Apparently, there have been some side effects, and Carol’s gone wild.”

Max sat in the chair in front of her desk. “If she’s happy, your job is done.”

“Normally, I’d agree, but he wants me to talk to her, and I told him I would.”

Max grunted.

“I take it you don’t approve.”

“Considering the way he stormed through here, you should have let me use one of my old wrestling moves on him before tossing him out the door,” he said.

Tia regarded her assistant, a former pro wrestler and longtime friend, with a frown.

“All three of us couldn’t be hotheads.” She leveled him with a look to emphasize her point.

Max nodded. “Point taken,” he said. “Want me to ask Carol to meet you here at the spa’s café for lunch or book you a table somewhere else?”

“Neither,” Tia said.

Ethan Wright’s problems would have to take a backseat for now. She had her own family to deal with this morning and a problem she needed to readdress today.

“In fact, clear my afternoon schedule. I’m headed downtown to the Espresso building to talk to my father.”

“Does that mean your conversation with Cole went well, despite the interruption?” Max sounded hopeful.

Tia shook her head. Her stepbrother had sequestered himself on his boat somewhere off the coast of Italy. She doubted he’d heard more than a word or two she’d said over the crackling line of the static-ridden call, let alone her desperate request.

And even if they had been able to talk, Tia thought, she wasn’t the family member who needed to reach out to her brother and convince him to return to Nashville and their family business.

“It doesn’t appear Cole is an option for Espresso right now,” Tia told Max. “All I can do is try to reason with my dad.” Again, she silently added.

“You’ll want to take a look at this first.” Max left her office briefly and returned with a familiar document from Espresso’s accounting department.

“Another authorization form?” Tia asked.

Max nodded. “Malcolm Doyle faxed it over while you were with Mr. Wright.”

Tia looked over the form giving her permission, as president of the company’s spa division, to redirect more profits from Espresso’s ten sanctuary day spas into the floundering cosmetics side of the company.

Damn, Tia thought as she snatched a pen from her desk and signed her name. At this rate, she’d never be able to expand from the Southeast to spots she’d been eyeing in New York, Los Angeles and Chicago.

“So how long do think you can continue propping up the cosmetics division?” Max asked.

Tia pushed out a weary sigh. “This is the last time.”

Her father’s steadfast refusal to allow major changes at Espresso Cosmetics so it could stay relevant in a changing marketplace was contributing to the brand’s slow death.

“Whatever you say.” Max reached for the signed form, but Tia held on to it.

“I mean it, Max. In fact, I’m delivering this one to my father personally, so he’ll know I’m serious.”

Tia knew very well that Max had heard it all before. Still, he never judged her. Instead, he gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” Tia said as she rolled her eyes. “I’ll need it.”

An hour later, Tia rode the glass elevator to the top floor of the eleven-story building her late mother had constructed in 1984 to house what back then was a rapidly expanding makeup empire. While other cosmetics companies had located their headquarters in the fashion capital of New York City, her mother had insisted Espresso remain in Nashville. The decision provided jobs for their hometown as well as allowed them to draw on the brilliant young talent graduating with degrees from Fisk and Tennessee State universities.

Unfortunately, now nearly half the offices in Espresso Cosmetics corporate headquarters stood empty, victims of the recession, increasing competition and the company’s failure to keep up with the times.

The elevator pinged and the doors parted at the top floor.

“He’s got to listen to me this time,” Tia muttered as she stepped off the car.

Still, there was no finessing the cold, hard facts laid out to her by Malcolm Doyle, Espresso’s head bean counter. Sales from Espresso Cosmetics’s spring collection—Parisian Getaway—had been dismal. Not only had it failed to bring new customers to their department-store counters, they were rapidly losing their loyal ones to other brands.

Bottom line, women of color had more options, and they were no longer choosing what they considered their grandmothers’ makeup.

“Morning, Loretta,” Tia greeted the woman who’d been her mother’s secretary ever since she could remember and now worked for her father.

Like Loretta Walker, hardly anything had changed in the presidential suite since the death of Tia’s mother and company founder, Selina Sinclair Gray, seven years prior. Worn carpeting had been replaced with identical carpets, and walls had been repainted the ivory shade her mother had loved.

But the decor wasn’t the problem.

Tia exchanged a few moments of small talk with Loretta revolving around the weather and the woman’s granddaughter, who would start medical school at Meharry Medical College when the fall term began next month.

“He’s not in there, sweetheart,” Loretta said as Tia headed toward her father’s office. “He’s waiting for you in your mom’s old office.”

Tia raised a curious brow, but Loretta merely shrugged in response.

Victor Gray was standing in the middle of what was once her mother’s inner sanctum staring at his wife’s portrait when Tia entered the office. The unseeing portrait smiled down at them. Although it was a wonderful likeness, Tia thought it failed to capture the exquisiteness of the icon who had dedicated her life to beauty for every shade of woman from sand to sable.

Her father released a heavy sigh, and Tia touched his arm.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk in your office?”

He shook a graying head. “Here’s fine. In fact, I can’t think of a better place to begin making plans to celebrate the thirty-fifth anniversary of Espresso Cosmetics,” he said. “Next year will be on us before you know it.”

They’d be lucky if the business was still in operation next year. Tia opened her mouth to tell him so, but hesitated at the ever-present sadness on his lined face, making him look older than his sixty years. As a rebellious teenager, she had relished ripping into her parents, but now she reached for softer words.

Her father continued, “I’ll get input from your sister, of course,” he said. “And see if your brother can be bothered to celebrate his mother’s legacy. However, I wanted to talk to you first and get the ball rolling.”

“Dad, Malcolm Doyle came to see me last week,” Tia said in an attempt to head him off with some facts before he started talk of celebrations. Expensive celebrations.

Immediately, a frown joined the grooves on her father’s wrinkled face at the mention of the company’s head accountant. He turned away from his late wife’s portrait and ran his hand along the smooth wood of the desk she used to sit behind.

Tia pushed on. “Espresso can’t continue like this. The cosmetics division is bleeding red ink. Malcolm says—”

“I’ve already heard what Doyle had to say,” her father barked. “I’m the CEO of this company. He had no right to worry you.”

But she was worried.

The sanctuary day spas, which Tia herself had founded as an offshoot of the makeup brand, were now practically supporting it.

“Back to the anniversary celebration,” her father continued.

“Don’t you see?” Tia interrupted. “If we don’t make some hard decisions, Espresso Cosmetics won’t exist next year.”

He brushed off her concern with the wave of his hand, as if the motion would sweep away their financial problems. “All we need is one hit to get us back on track. The summer campaign will be in stores this week,” he said. “Calypso Moods is going to bring customers back to our counters.”

No. It wouldn’t, Tia thought.

Truth was, there was nothing exciting about the Calypso Moods collection. It was simply a rehash of her mother’s favorite hot-pink and orange lipsticks and blushes with new island-inspired names.

Espresso’s product-research-and-development team had stopped bringing new ideas to her father’s desk knowing they’d be soundly rejected. So they gave him what he wanted, Selina Sinclair Gray–approved products with different names.

“Even if every item of the collection sells out, it won’t be enough to put the cosmetics division in the black,” Tia said. “The cosmetics division is in survival mode here, Dad, and we have to make some hard decisions, all of us.”

Her father leaned against her mother’s desk and crossed his arms. “Don’t go there, Tia,” he warned.

“If we keep siphoning money from the spas to prop up the cosmetics brand, eventually it will drag them down, too.” Tia swallowed hard. She removed the signed authorization form from her tote bag and placed it on her mother’s old desk. “This is the last time, Dad.”

“Who are you to tell me how the money this company makes is spent?” Victor Gray’s voice trembled with rage. “Your mother put me in place to succeed her as CEO. It’s what she wanted.”

“I have plenty of say in how the spas’ profits are disbursed.” Tia pressed on, first reminding him of what he already well knew. “The spas didn’t exist when Mom was alive. I launched them with money from my trust fund, so there can be no monetary transfers without both our signatures,” she reiterated. “And I won’t authorize another dime until we all sit down in one room, you, me, Lola and, yes, even Cole, and figure out Espresso’s future.”

Tia stood strong in the face of her father’s glare. He hadn’t flinched at her words, but he’d heard them all before. So she wasn’t surprised when he dismissed them as a bluff.

“Like I told you the last time you brought this up, I will make any decisions regarding the future of Espresso Cosmetics, and I expect you to continue to help in any way you can, including financially,” he said. “As far as your brother goes, he’s welcome to come back to the company and this family anytime, as long as he understands I’m the CEO.”

“Dad, be reasonable. We can’t go on this way,” Tia pleaded. “Nobody knows this company or the industry better than Cole. He practically grew up in this building. If we’re going to turn this thing around, we will need his help.”

“But your mother thought he was too young to run Espresso. That’s why she—”

“Mom’s dead,” Tia blurted out, cutting him off. “She’s been gone for seven years now, and if we want to save her legacy, we have to stop thinking about what she would have done and do what’s best.”

Her father jerked as if she’d slapped him.

And while Tia regretted the way she’d delivered them, the words needed to be said.

“Get out!” Victor shouted.

His roar shook the floor beneath her feet, but Tia stood rooted to the spot.

“Get out,” he repeated, this time louder. “I want you out of my wife’s office, out of this building and out of my sight.”

Pushing down her hurt, Tia remained. “Cole may have let you drive him away, but I’m not going anywhere. You, me, Lola, Cole—we all need to have a say in how this business is run.”

“If you won’t go, then I will.” Her father walked past her out of her mother’s office. The next sound Tia heard was the door to his own office slamming shut.

Chapter 2

Ethan stared down at his cleared desktop, marveling at the rarely seen wooden surface usually hidden by stacks of paperwork.

Nearly all the items on his vacation-prep list had been completed. Clients briefed, contracts read and no scheduled court appearances for the next two weeks. Even his grandma problem had been tentatively resolved with his visit to Espresso Sanctuary’s offices that morning.

Visions of Tia Gray came to mind, those shapely legs dominating most of them, and Ethan quickly shoved the illicit images aside. He should be focused on wrapping up his afternoon schedule, not imagining a particular pair of legs wrapped around his waist.

Especially when those legs were attached to a woman who had caused nothing but trouble.

He looked down at his open diary and saw that one last appointment remained.

Afterward, he’d follow up with his grandmother and make sure Ms. Gray had indeed done as he’d instructed. Then tomorrow morning he’d set off for Hawaii and his first vacation in years.

Again, his mind drifted to Tia.

Ethan exhaled. Maybe it was a mistake for him to go solo on the trip planned a year ago when he was still part of a couple. That had to be the only reason for his reoccurring thoughts of the woman he’d met today.

He needed to get laid. Soon.

A knock sounded at Ethan’s open office door and the glazed-over expression in the secretary’s eyes indicated his next appointment had arrived.

“I don’t believe it.” His young but normally unflappable secretary gushed, her voice an awestruck whisper. “Wangs is actually sitting in my office.”

She clasped her hands together. “Wangs!” she squealed, as if Ethan hadn’t heard her the first time.

Ethan’s enthusiasm over the hip-hop superstar’s visit didn’t match that of his secretary’s. In fact, it had taken a pleading call from the young man, whose legal name was Jeffrey Ritchie, to persuade Ethan to even see him at all.

“Send Mr. Ritchie in,” Ethan said, refusing to use the ridiculous moniker. The kid’s mother had saddled him with it in childhood after his favorite food, chicken wings, and the twenty-three-year-old now used it professionally.

Ethan glanced at his watch, planning to give his former client a few moments of his time before sending him on his way. He’d tried to bestow Jeffrey with the benefit of his expertise a few years ago, and the kid had told him where he could stick it.

Seconds later, Jeffrey crossed the threshold looking totally different than the young man who’d sat in his office three years earlier.

The discount-store wardrobe had been replaced with clothes bearing the labels of the hottest urban designers, and he’d exchanged his beat-up sneakers for a pair of pristine ones named for a basketball legend. Ethan guessed Jeffrey had paid more for the platinum medallion spelling out WANGS in diamonds that adorned his neck than most people would pay for their cars.

Yet, the biggest difference wasn’t in Jeffrey’s appearance but his demeanor. The cocky swagger was notably absent, and he now possessed the weariness of a much older man, a man weighed down by burdens.

Financial burdens, Ethan surmised. Five minutes into their conversation, the younger man confirmed it.

“You pleaded with me not to sign that contract,” Jeffrey said, shaking his head.

“No attorney would have advised you to put your signature on it,” Ethan said. “The document was no more than an indentured-servant agreement.”

Jeffrey snorted. It was a hollow, jaded sound unexpected in someone his age. “At the time, you called it a slave contract,” he said. “But I didn’t want to hear what you were saying. All I wanted was to be a superstar.”

Stardom was one of the two things the multiplatinum artist had gotten out of the deal, Ethan thought. The other was a hard lesson in record-company math. From what Ethan remembered, the deal had been structured in a way that would keep Wangs perpetually in debt to Bat Tower Records.

“All the limos, the parties, the liquor, I thought they were celebrity perks. Hell, I didn’t know I was paying for them. Right down to the last drops of thousand-dollar bottles of champagne.”

Ethan leaned back in his office chair and listened, not bothering with the pointless I told you so perched on the tip of his tongue.

Three years ago, the young man now sitting in front of him filled with regrets had tied his hands. Jeffrey had refused to let him attempt to negotiate more favorable terms out of fear the record company would balk and take the deal off the table.

Ethan had doubted it, and even if Bat Tower Records had reneged, Jeffrey would have been better off.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to convince his client back then. Jeffrey had stormed out of his office full of attitude, blustering he wasn’t taking or paying for Ethan’s bullshit advice.

Ethan figured the next time he’d see Jeffrey would be as another broke artist featured on VH-1’s Behind the Music.

“When I got that first big check from the record company, I thought it was the first of many,” Jeffrey said.

Ethan sighed. “I told you it would be an advance against future royalties.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but like I told you, I wasn’t listening. I burned through it on crap like this.” He flicked a hand toward the diamond-encrusted platinum chain. “Now the jeweler who sold it to me for thousands of dollars will only give me a couple hundred bucks for it.”

Jeffrey dropped his head into his hands, his bony elbows propped on his knees.

Ethan cleared his throat. He knew where this conversation was headed, and he wanted no part of it. He was done with Jeffrey Ritchie.

“So what’s the bottom line?” Ethan resisted the urge to glance at his watch. “Why are you here?”

Jeffrey lifted his head and stared at Ethan with eyes that appeared on the brink of tearing.

“Because I’m surrounded by people who all want something from me, and I don’t know which ones I can trust,” Jeffrey said. “But I do trust you. I should have taken your advice, man. You don’t know how sorry I am for acting the way I did.”

The young man pulled what looked like a copy of his contract from the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “I need your help.”

“Whoa.” Ethan held up his hands in a halting gesture. “Even if I wanted to take you on as my client again, I doubt there’s anything I can do,” he said. “As I tried to explain to you before you went against my advice and signed it, that contract was full of gotcha clauses.”

Jeffrey exhaled a defeated breath. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I told you I’d hear you out, and I did.” Ethan stood to indicate their meeting was over.

The kid opened his mouth to protest, but Ethan silenced him with a shake of the head. “Good luck finding another attorney, Jeffrey.”

Finally, the superstar known as Wangs hefted his gangly frame from the chair and moved toward the door. The young man had brought his current problems upon himself, but it simply wasn’t right for him to make millions for a company and have next to nothing to show for it.

Ethan sighed. So much for his vow not to let Jeffrey’s sob story get to him. “Leave the contract,” he said. “I’ll be on vacation the next two weeks, but I’ll take another look at it when I return.”

Jeffrey looked up at him, a grin overtaking the sadness marking his features.

“That’s cool. I’m in the middle of my U.S. tour, and I’ll be on the road for the rest of the summer.” He grabbed Ethan’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “And thank you, Mr. Wright.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Ethan said. “Like I told you before, I’m not sure if I can help.”

Jeffrey gave him a signed copy of his latest CD, which Ethan accepted, although he doubted he’d be listening to Wang-It anytime soon. Or ever.

“I appreciate anything you can do,” he said. “And if you need anything from me, tickets to my show, backstage passes, you just say the word.”

A few hours later, Ethan steered his Audi TT down his grandmother’s street. He spotted her in her front yard, and the results of Tia Gray’s handiwork still threw him. His grandmother had eschewed her familiar pastel dresses for jeans, T-shirt and red Converse sneakers.

He parked his car at the curb in front of the wood-framed cottage. A closer look revealed the words Recycled Teenager emblazoned across the front of his grandmother’s T-shirt.

At least she appeared to be acting like her old self, Ethan thought. He was relieved to see her watering the vibrant blooms of the well-tended garden and gabbing with her friend and next-door neighbor Alice Fenton. He hoped it was a sign that Tia Gray had done as he’d asked and his grandmother was slowly returning to normal.

“Hello, Warden. Thought you’d be packing for Hawaii.” A smirk accompanied his grandmother’s greeting. “I didn’t realize you’d be making evening rounds.”

Ethan ignored his grandmother’s sarcasm. Instead, he leaned over to plant a kiss on Miss Alice’s upturned cheek. “Don’t you look pretty today,” he said.

His grandmother’s friend smiled broadly and smoothed the yellow housedress, similar to the ones his grandmother preferred until Tia Gray’s disastrous makeover, with a wrinkled hand. “This old thing. I’ve had it forever.”

“You have a similar dress, don’t you?” Ethan asked his grandmother.

“Not anymore,” she replied. “I donated it, and every dress in my closet that looked like it, to the church clothing drive. Why? Considering instituting a dress code here at Shawshank?”

Ethan sighed. “I’m merely checking on you.”

“Humph,” she grunted. “More like checking up on me.”

“After the other night, can you blame me?”

“Well, you can relax. After I finish tending my flowers, Alice and I are going to make popcorn and watch a DVD.”

Alice frowned. “But what about the motorcycle...” she began.

His grandmother turned to Ethan. “We’re watching Easy Rider,” she said by way of explanation.

Ethan shoved his hands into his pants pockets. There was no way to bring up the topic of Tia casually. He might as well just come out with it.

“Have you talked to your friend Tia, from the spa, lately?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. She’s invited me out for breakfast tomorrow.”

Ethan felt some of his unease ebb. It appeared Tia had taken the matter as seriously as he’d hoped and was indeed on the case. Maybe he’d be able to relax and enjoy his vacation after all.

His grandmother raised a suspicious brow. “Why?”

Ethan shrugged and diverted his eyes.

“I hope you didn’t track her down and bully her into it,” his grandmother said sternly.

“We just had a chat.”

“Oh, Ethan, you’re becoming more like your grandfather every day.” She rolled her eyes. “Bless his heart. He’s no doubt in heaven right now exasperating the good Lord with his bossy ways.”

“I’m not bossy. It’s just all these sudden changes since your spa visit. I’m worried about you.”

His grandmother groaned. “I swear, I wish you’d get back together with Britney or Tiffany or whichever one of your dull, fill-in-the-blanks girlfriends you were supposed to take on this vacation with you.”

“Heather?” Ethan asked, slightly taken aback. “But you said she was all wrong for me.”

“The women you go out with usually are. They’re like those obedient, bland robots on that old movie we watched last night.” She turned to Alice. “What was the name of it again?”

“The Stepford Wives?” Alice asked, unsure of her memory.

“That’s it,” his grandmother confirmed. “‘Yes, Ethan.’ ‘Great, Ethan.’ ‘Whatever Ethan thinks is best.’ ‘I’d better ask Ethan,’” she mimicked before she and Alice burst into a fit of laughter.

There was nothing wrong with dating an agreeable woman, Ethan thought, but he didn’t bother pointing that out to his grandmother.

However, with Heather, sweet and easygoing had morphed into pushy and demanding once she discovered their relationship wasn’t moving any closer to marriage, motherhood and a suburban mini mansion.

Finally, the cackling subsided, and his grandmother turned her attention back to him.

“At least those bubbleheads kept you occupied. You didn’t have so much time to stick your nose in my business.” She brandished her index finger in the vicinity of his chest. “Go talk to the last one. Maybe y’all can kiss and make up before your flight in the morning. You’ll have a life of your own again, and then you can stop riding my ass, and—”

“Grandma!” he cut her off. This had to be more of Tia’s handiwork, he thought, because his grandmother had rarely sworn before her mess of a makeover.

Alice covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Ethan captured the hand of his grandmother’s wagging finger with his own and kissed it. “You know full well why I worry.”

She patted his cheek. “As you can see, I’m fine now.”

Ethan watched her check her wristwatch on what she thought was the sly. What was she up to now?

“I’ll be out with Tia in the morning, so I won’t see you before you leave,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. “Give me a hug now, and enjoy your vacation. Think about giving what’s-her-name a call.”

As Ethan hugged his grandma, he made a mental note to change his morning flight to one leaving tomorrow evening.

His grandmother was up to something—and until he was assured she was back on track, he wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

Tia smiled when she saw Carol walk through the restaurant entrance the following morning.

Although her friend’s grandson had been the impetus behind asking her to breakfast, Tia looked forward to chatting with the woman who’d helped her get through the most difficult period of her life.

After yesterday’s blowup with her dad over Espresso’s financial woes, she was especially glad to meet with her.

The two women greeted each other with a hug, and Tia was gratified to once again see the expertise of the spa’s staff in action.

Carol had done an excellent job of re-creating her new look on her own. She’d applied her makeup with near-expert finesse and even customized the pixie haircut they’d given her with a few gelled spikes. She wore a denim skirt, a black T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a sixties band and a pair of wedge sandals.

Tia glanced down at her own linen-blend shift dress. It had seemed chic and summery when she’d donned it this morning, but now it felt positively frumpy.

She echoed Carol’s order of the restaurant’s breakfast specialty, sweet-potato pancakes, to the busy waitress and studied her friend across the red checkerboard tablecloth.

There was something different about Carol, she observed as the waitress returned with their drinks, and it had nothing to do with her makeover.

“This is a nice treat,” Tia said. “Usually, breakfast for me is a bowl of instant oatmeal eaten over the kitchen sink before rushing off to work.”

“Hmm,” Carol said.

“So how’s it going?” Tia blew on her hot tea and took a tiny sip. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since your big makeover.”

Carol tore open a packet of sugar substitute and slowly stirred it into her coffee. “You can stop with the small talk. I already know my grandson put you up to this.”

“He came to my office yesterday,” Tia said, not bothering to deny it.

“More like pushed his way in.”

Tia lifted a brow. “How’d you know?”

“I raised him,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s a fine man, but he also inherited his late grandfather’s bossy streak, and it’s currently driving me bonkers.”

So that was where he got it. Tia remembered the way Ethan strode into her office looking like Prince Charming but acting like Attila the Hun.

Still, a part of her understood his point.

“He’s worried,” Tia said. “And although it’s none of my business, I was concerned myself when he mentioned having to pick you up from jail.”

“Oh, that.” Carol waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It wasn’t a big deal. Ethan blew it all out of proportion. You’d think I was a bank robber.”

“Then you weren’t arrested?”

The waitress returned with two plates piled high with pancakes and bacon and a decanter of maple syrup. “Anything else, ladies?” she asked.

“We’re good,” Tia said with a smile, eager to hear what had actually gone down.

Carol soaked her pancakes with syrup before cutting into them with her fork and taking a huge bite. Tia waited as she chewed and swallowed, but after her friend went in for a third bite, she couldn’t wait any longer.

“So what really happened?” Tia squirmed in her chair, her initial concern having morphed into downright nosiness.

Carol put down her fork. She glanced from side to side in a conspiratorial fashion before leaning in. “Well, I went to a party.”

“Oh.” Tia shoulders slumped and she took her first bite of her own pancakes.

Carol reached across the table and touched her free hand. “Not one of those stale-cake-and-fruit-punch events at the senior citizens’ center, where everyone treats us like two-year-olds, or the boring law-firm affairs I endured when my husband was alive, but a genuine party, where everyone was actually having a good time,” she said. “I ate. I drank. I danced. It was wonderful. I hadn’t had that much fun in years. Decades, even.”

Tia’s slumped shoulders perked up, along with her interest.

Carol’s brown eyes sparkled with merriment. “I even won eight hundred bucks in a poker game.”

“Really? I didn’t know you played.”

“Unbeknownst to my mother, my dad taught me when I was a little girl, and by college I was paying for my nursing textbooks with my winnings,” she said.

Tia’s own eyes widened at hearing about this other side to the staid nurse she’d met years ago.

Carol sighed. “I hadn’t played in decades. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”

“So why did you stop?”

The other woman shrugged. “Life, I guess. Marriage, motherhood, a full-time job, my daughter’s death and then raising my grandson,” she said. “I was always busy juggling so many balls. By the time Ethan was out of law school and I’d retired, my husband was dead and I’d lost sight of the things I truly liked doing.”

Carol smiled and patted her hand. “I owe you a thank-you,” she said. “Somehow you and your team looked past my dowdy exterior and brought out the person I’d shut away for years. The true me.”

Pride swelled in Tia’s heart. Max had been right. Her job was done.

Ethan Wright had it all wrong. She wasn’t the one who needed to talk to his grandmother. He did. If Carol told him what she’d just told her, even her stubborn grandson would undoubtedly see her happiness and be thrilled for her.

Still, Tia was curious about one thing.

“So how does a trip to the slammer fit into this story?

Carol pulled her hand back and reached for her coffee cup. “Well, in all the fun, the party may have gotten a little loud. My friend Edna’s neighbors called the cops, who asked us to hold it down,” she said. “And we tried. We really did.”

“The police had to come back,” Tia surmised.

Carol nodded. “But it was a different officer the second time, and he wasn’t so nice. In fact, he was rude and condescending.”

She put her a fist on her hip and wagged the index finger of her other hand. “‘Isn’t it past you Q-tips’ bedtime?’” Carol mimicked the officer. “‘Time to break it up and head back to the old-folks’ home.’”

“Uh-oh,” Tia said.

“Uh-oh is right,” Carol huffed. “I consider myself an easygoing woman, but I wasn’t having it. Especially off a kid I assisted the doctor in bringing into the world. I don’t care if he was all grown up and wearing a blue uniform.”

Tia sipped her cooling tea as she listened. At this point, Carol’s story was more interesting than her breakfast.

“I told him to watch his tone, and he said to me, ‘Settle down. I’m warning you,’” Carol mimicked again. “He’s warning me, after I fished broken crayons out of his snotty little nose when he was two,” she said. “Long story short, we argued. He got hot around the collar and hauled me downtown on some bogus charge of breaching the peace.”

Again, Tia wondered if Ethan had sat down and really talked to his grandmother, and gotten her side of the story. Carol may have been in the wrong for back-talking the law, but it was completely understandable.

“Still, I can’t believe he arrested you.”

Carol shook her head. “He didn’t. Not really. I was detained a couple of hours, and then he called Ethan, my thirty-one-year-old grandson, to come get me,” she said. “As if I were senile or a brat whose parent had been summoned to the principal’s office. I swear, I nearly lit into him all over again.”

Only pausing to take a breath, Carol continued, “Instead of Ethan reading him the riot act, he basically thanked the officer for seeing to his senile old granny.” She fixed her gaze on Tia. “Then he runs straight to you, and for what? Last time I checked, I was seventy-four, not four.”

Tia cleared her throat. “He blames me. He believes I’m the evil puppet master behind the changes you’ve made lately.”

Carol nodded at the waitress, who then topped up her coffee, and Carol turned back to Tia. “That’s a load of bull. You made me look amazing and feel good about my appearance again. However, I was the one who decided to start living the life I want to lead, and there’s not a thing my grandson can do about it.”

Tia watched the older woman open a sleek cross-body bag and pull out a folded sheet of paper. She opened it and slid it across the table.

“What’s this?” Tia asked, skimming what appeared to be some kind of list.

“My bucket list,” Carol answered proudly.

“Oh, my God, you actually did it,” Tia said. “I’m impressed.”

“When you first suggested it, I wasn’t so sure. The idea made me feel like I had one foot in the grave,” she said. “But the more I thought about it, I realized I’d been living like I’d had both my feet planted in one for years. It’s time for me to stop putting off things I really want to try. No matter how frivolous or downright silly.”

Tia could feel her chest practically expanding with pride as she smiled across the table at Carol. This was the real reason she’d started the spa division of the company. She’d wanted to use beauty and outward changes to give women the courage to take bigger, bolder steps toward their dreams.

Tia took a closer look at the typed list. It contained nearly a hundred bullet points, including skydiving, riding a Harley and playing poker in a national tournament.

“‘Pub crawling the honky-tonks on Broadway,’” Tia read, noting the red line scratching it off the list.

“Done.” Carol winked.

“‘Ride one of the biggest, baddest roller coasters of the summer,’” Tia continued to read.

Carol nodded. “When my daughter was young, we’d take her to amusement parks, and I wanted to go on the roller coasters with her, but I was just too chicken,” she said. “I’d end up sitting on a bench like a stick-in-the-mud watching everybody else have fun. I did the same thing when I took Ethan as a boy.”

Tia had no memories of amusement parks or roller coasters as a kid. There were no family vacations. Any childhood trips, like everything in her parents’ lives, revolved around Espresso company business.

She pushed the errant memory from her head, not wanting to go down that road. Still, she couldn’t help appreciate the irony. The business she once resented, she was now rallying to save.

“Are you sure you don’t want to start off with something smaller and not so bad?” Tia asked, focusing instead on her friend.

Carol shook her head. “Nope. No wussy coasters,” she said. “I read about one called Outlaw Run in Missouri on the web. Along with being one of the few wooden coasters in the country, it has a sixteen-story drop and double-barrel roll.”

Tia laughed and held up her hands. “Stop. You’re making my stomach drop and roll just talking about it.”

“I plan to ride that baby at least twice before the end of the summer,” Carol said.

“Ambitious list.” Tia was about to return the paper to her friend when a handwritten item caught her eye.

The one who got away.

She pointed it out to Carol. “What’s this?”

“Nothing.” The older woman shook her head and her brown skin flushed red.

“Are you blushing?” Tia asked, intrigued.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Carol hurriedly snatched the list from her hand. “I was just doodling.”

Tia stared across the table at her. She’d immediately noticed there was something different about her friend. Something that had nothing to do with her makeover or attitude shift. The handwritten item had been the clue, but Carol’s reaction confirmed it.

“Who is he?” Tia asked.

She held up a hand to forestall the denial forming on Carol’s lips. “I already know there’s a him. You were practically beaming when you walked in here, and now you’re blushing.”

Carol’s sigh held a dreamy edge. “His name is Glenn Davies and he once was the love of my life,” she admitted. “I think he still is.”

Tia leaned forward in her chair. Now she was really interested. “You didn’t mention him when you came in for your makeover, and you were at the spa all day. How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“A week.” Carol chewed at her bottom lip. “He’s only just moved back to town. We ran into each other last week and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

“You two are moving pretty fast, aren’t you?” Tia asked.

“We’ve wasted too much time already. Still, somehow when we’re together the decades melt away.”

Carol’s face glowed like a woman in love’s. Tia couldn’t help wonder what had broken them up in the first place.

“What happened between you two that you didn’t end up together? Well, until now.”

The older woman shrugged. “It’s a typical story, almost a cliché. Good girl falls for bad boy. I was young and my folks disapproved of our relationship. After high school, he got a job out of state and asked me to come with him. I wanted to but couldn’t bear disappointing my parents. I didn’t see him again until last week, fifty-seven years later.”

This time it was Tia who reached across the table for her old friend’s hand. “I’m happy for you.”

She meant it. Feelings that five decades apart had failed to extinguish deserved the chance to thrive.

“Thank you, dear,” Carol said. “Now, enough about me. The topic has dominated our entire conversation this morning, and it’s beginning to bore me.” She pinned Tia with her gaze. “You don’t seem yourself. Something bothering you, other than my ogre of a grandson paying you a visit?”

Tia shook her head. “Just work stuff,” she said.

The temptation to confide in Carol was strong. She hadn’t had anyone else to talk to but Max.

Her brother, Cole, was off doing his own thing, and her sister, Lola, the current face of Espresso Cosmetics, was more adept at causing problems than helping to figure out solutions.

Still, Tia didn’t want to mar Carol’s happiness by dumping her problems on her.

“Come on,” the older woman coaxed. “I’ve known you since you were seventeen. I know when you’re worried.”

Tia exhaled. “Yesterday, I tried to talk to my father about Espresso’s financial situation again. To say it didn’t go well would be an understatement.”

Concern creased Carol’s still-youthful face. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.”

The pink uniform–clad waitress came to check their table, and Tia gave her the okay to clear her plate of now-cold pancakes. Replaying the scene with her father in her head had stolen her appetite anyway. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so angry, and when she was younger she’d given her parents plenty to get angry over.

Tia grimaced. “The revenue from the spa division is the only thing keeping us afloat.”

“What about Cole?” Carol asked. “He practically ran the place single-handedly during your mother’s illness. Surely he can...”

Tia shook her head slowly. She was about to convey the brief conversation with her older brother, when the phone inside her purse rang.

She peeked inside her bag and saw it was Max. It was unusual for him to call this early, so it had to be important.

“You mind if I take this?”

“Go ahead,” Carol said.

Moments later, Tia ended the call.

“Everything okay?” Carol asked.

Tia rolled her eyes. This was the last thing Espresso needed. “It’s Lola. Apparently, there’s some trouble concerning the photo shoot for next year’s spring campaign in Albuquerque. Lola’s refusing to go,” she said. “You don’t mind if we cut this short?”

Although, technically it wasn’t her job to intervene in this issue, as a Gray, Tia considered it her responsibility to help. She signaled the waitress and quickly paid the check. Her sister was well aware of the company’s precarious finances. They no longer had the time or money to waste on her antics.

Carol glanced at her watch. “Of course not, dear. I’m supposed to meet Glenn in a few minutes anyway. There’s a special early showing of the new comic book superhero action movie opening today. Glenn’s a huge fan of the one that flies around in a red cape.”

Tia barely heard a word. Her mind had already fast-forwarded past superheroes to her next move—shaking some sense into her spoiled, entitled baby sister.

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