She stopped directly in front of him. “My sister Cordelia has plenty of access to investors, all of whom will be interested to hear how I took a famous but hideous tasting Cutie’s cupcake and turned it into the mouthwatering delight you now hold in your hand.” She snatched the partially eaten cake away from him. “Or should I say, held in your hand.”

She expected him to be embarrassed or, short of that, at least contrite. But no, not Gabriel Kane. He just looked at her, assessing, and she had to remind herself she wasn’t intimidated by him.

“Good-bye,” she said pointedly.

Gabriel raised a brow, then surprised her when he licked the frosting from his fingers. “Insulting. Rapid-fire. You’re cute when you get feisty.”

“Ack!” It was all she could do not to launch the cupcake at his head.

“Before you get carried away,” he went on, smooth as butter, “I have something for you.”

She eyed him. He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it over. “For my place. This way you can come and go when you need to, from the job that actually pays you money.”

She reconsidered launching the cupcake.

“I’ll leave money on the kitchen table to buy food. Later, I’ll show you how I order online, if you want to do that instead.”

Then he reached out, surprising her yet again, and wiped a smudge of frosting from the corner of her mouth. His gaze locked with hers as he sucked the sugar from his finger. “How is it that again and again, you make me forget the type of man I am?”

Portia felt heat rising in her cheeks. This was ridiculous. She didn’t like aggravating men. In all the years she had known Robert, he had never once aggravated her, at least not before he divorced her. And then he had devastated her, which wasn’t the same.

Truth to tell, for the first time since Robert had come home with his big announcement, Portia felt that maybe he had done her a favor.

When she dragged her gaze from Gabriel’s lips, their eyes met. For a second she thought he would kiss her again. But then his mouth went hard, his eyes shuttering, and she was certain irritation ran along his body like an electric current.

“There will be no more of that,” his expression told her.

Relief mixed with disappointment.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she shot back wordlessly.

He nodded and disappeared through the doorway.

Fourteen

THREE DAYS LATER, Portia forgot to set her alarm and ended up dashing up the stairs at ten minutes after seven, having barely thrown on cargo pants and a white cotton tee, and hastily brushed her teeth.

Gabriel leaned against the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was still wet from the shower, a little long and raked back. He looked better than her cupcakes. Damn, damn, damn.

She had hoped to get breakfast done early; she had a lunch meeting a block away on Columbus Avenue with a potential investor. Cordelia had made the arrangements, and her sisters were supposed to meet her there. But Olivia had already e-mailed that she couldn’t make it; she had been asked to sub for an advanced yoga class.

“Since Olivia’s bailing, you have to be there, Cordelia,” Portia wrote back. “When you made it a lunch meeting, you promised to pay.”

“Stop worrying, P! It’s lunch; it won’t cost much. And I’ll be there.”

“Late?” Gabriel asked, breaking into her thoughts. “Only three days in?”

“It’s seven o’clock,” Portia stated. “Okay, seven-ish.”

“I didn’t realize that in a professional workplace seven sharp was more of a loose term.”

“God, you’re funny.”

He gave her a strange look.

“What? No one’s called you funny before?”

“No,” Gabriel said, the word quiet.

She looked at him, but before she could probe, he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the counter. “The girls should be down any minute. I have a meeting at eight. Though maybe the Civic Board really meant eight-ish. And at two I’m meeting the contractor here. Or maybe it’s two-ish.”

She shot him a look. “That probably is what they meant.”

His shout of laughter surprised them both.

She smiled at him then. “I won’t be late tomorrow, promise.”

A remnant of his smile seemed to fight with his standard glower. “Good girl.”

The words caught her off guard. Good girl. She had always been just that. Fun, maybe, but not much more than that. Always good.

She realized she was tired of being the good girl. What would happen if she wasn’t, if she gave in and lost herself in Gabriel Kane?

The girls entered, though it was a second before she realized Gabriel had already left. So much for losing herself in him.

“Good morning!” Portia said.

“What are you? A cheerleader?” Miranda grumbled.

“Hey, I made you cupcakes. Seems like you’d be in a better mood.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks.”

“Now, now, Little Miss Sunshine,” Portia teased, setting her own concerns aside.

Ariel grimaced. “You’re kidding, right?”

Miranda went over to a cabinet and pulled out a box of sugar cereal. “Maybe she thinks she’ll get paid more if we give her a good report.”

“Aren’t you the cynic?” Portia said, swiping the box away.

“Hey! That’s my breakfast.”

“Not as long as I’m in charge of feeding you.” Portia rummaged in the refrigerator. “Who’s up for eggs, bacon, and toast?”

Miranda and Ariel exchanged a glance. “Ah, no one.”

Portia made them eggs, bacon, and toast anyway, which Ariel ate and Miranda picked at, but picked at enough that Portia gave her a thumbs-up.

“Surely she’ll take it down a notch after she’s been here a while,” Miranda said to Ariel as the girls headed out the door.

“I heard that,” Portia called after them.

“You were supposed to.”

* * *

Once Portia finished up in the kitchen, she returned downstairs to get ready for the lunch meeting. After a quick bath, she dressed with care. Ariel wasn’t wrong about Portia needing a different look. Vintage clothes weren’t going to win her any prizes for business professionalism. So she did what she could with the clothes she had. Texas politician’s–wife clothes. Navy blue St. John Knits. Not a staple on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, but sure to instill more confidence than Annie Hall one-offs.

Ready to go, Portia fired up her computer to check her e-mail. The headline of Google News caught her attention.

Gabriel Kane Brings Global Inc. Down

Gabriel Kane? Her Gabriel Kane? Or, rather, her neighbor Gabriel Kane? Portia quickly amended.

The article was definitely about her neighbor, who, it turned out, wasn’t your Average Joe. His primary concern wasn’t going into one of those dime-a-dozen glass-and-steel office towers by day and bossing around a stream of people redoing his apartment by … well, the rest of the time. If the article was to be believed, his raison d’être appeared to be very publicly destroying some company named Global Inc. The reporter further went on to say that once Gabriel’s investment in the company went sour, he vindictively went after Global Inc., driving their stock price into the ground.

Portia headed out, her mind spinning. Yikes. While Gabriel looked ruthless, she couldn’t help but remember the way he had made her drink water after spilling out of the hamburger suit, or how he had seemed fierce about the danger on the fire escape. Not to mention the way he was trying to do right by his girls. She had to believe he was fair. That he wasn’t a man to bring people down ruthlessly. The article had to be an exaggeration. But on top of that, she realized that her neighbor was an investor.

With the thought tumbling around, she walked into La Maison five minutes early and was seated outside. Five minutes passed and Cordelia still hadn’t shown up. Portia checked her phone; nothing. After ten minutes, Portia dialed her older sister, but the call went straight to voice mail.

“You better be just about here, Cordelia,” she muttered into the phone.

Russell Bertram showed up by himself after a few minutes. “Portia?” he said, coming up to her and extending his hand.

According to Cordelia, he was the most promising of the investors on their list. He was handsome, with fair skin and coppery brown hair longer than a Texas banker would have allowed. He wore a brown sports jacket with blue pinstripes over a white button-down shirt and jeans. He didn’t seem anything like an investment guy. He definitely seemed too young to have enough money to invest in a café. But before more than a few words had left his mouth, Portia realized he was utterly charming.

“Sorry I’m late. I volunteer at my old school. They have a young-entrepreneur’s group.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Once a month I spill out words of wisdom. If only they knew what a lousy student I was back then.”

Portia laughed. “Maybe you should tell them. It would be inspirational.”

“So tell me, how’s Cordelia? And James? I don’t know either of them well, but James helped me a lot when I put together my own fund.”

“They’re both doing great. James has a lot of amazing stuff going on.” She prayed it was true.

“That’s good. I was worried when I heard he got caught in the Atlantica General blowup. But if anyone could land on his feet, it’s James.”

Portia liked Russell more with each minute that passed. He ordered a surprisingly big meal, and when he suggested wine, she thought about how tired she was of being a good girl. She laughed and agreed.