Читать книгу What Have I Done For Me Lately? - Isabel Sharpe, Isabel Sharpe - Страница 10

To: Jenny Hartmann

From: Natalie Eggers

Re: My husband

Jenny, you rock. I finished your book and had to write! Your description of that guy you were seeing was so much like my husband it made me want to scream. He never wants me to go out at night. He never wants me spending any time with my friends. He hates when I buy myself new clothes. I think if he had his way I’d dress in his old T-shirts and sweats.

But your book gave me courage. I’m starting to stand up for myself more now. It’s feeling really good.

Thanks, Jenny! I love you!

Natalie

“THANK YOU.” Jenny smiled at Café des Artistes’ gorgeous young blond bartender, who had just delivered a bright orange passion fruit martini across the narrow shiny wood bar. “What is your name?”

“George.” He glanced at her, poured three types of booze into a shaker in quick succession, then glanced again.

“Well, may I say, George, purely for the joy of spreading good feeling, no strings attached, that you are one serious treat for the eyes.”

He looked taken aback, and the hawk-nosed bartender rinsing a glass next to him sniggered before moving down the bar to serve another customer.

“Uh…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She lifted the drink to him and took a sip, then closed her eyes to let the sweet-sour fruity taste register. “And that is one hell of a martini. You’re an artist, too.”

“Yeah?” He put the lid on the shaker and shook, a smile trying to break through. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome again. I’m Jenny, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

She winked and he managed to look friendly that time, straining the drink into a waiting glass. His co-worker, who’d moved back into hearing range, raised his nearly joined eyebrows and mouthed “go for it” not very subtly.

“No, no, no.” Jenny waggled her finger at him. “I said no strings and I meant it.”

He snorted and mumbled something undoubtedly snarky.

Jenny frowned. “What’s your name, bartender-who-is-not-George?”

“Chaz.”

“Pay attention, Chaz.” She gave him her most insincere smile. “When a guy tells a woman she’s beautiful, it means, ‘I want to sleep with you.’ Right?”

He shrugged sullenly. “Maybe.”

“Get this. When a woman tells a guy he’s attractive, she means, strangely enough—” she spread her hands “—that he’s attractive.”

Chaz shot her a dirty look and Jenny patted the bar sympathetically, unable to reach his arm. “Complicated, I know. You keep working at it, it’ll come to you.”

George chuckled outright. His co-worker rolled his eyes and moved to serve his next drink.

Jenny grinned and toasted George with her brilliant orange martini. Nothing in the world was more freeing and wonderful than not worrying what anyone thought, saying what you wanted to say, letting other people’s uptight judgment roll off you. Especially when you’d grown up so enslaved by those very things. George didn’t mind having an attractive woman tell him he was hot—why would he? His friend could go trash-diving in the East River.

Nothing could bother her tonight anyway. She was a woman on a mission—all dressed up with somewhere to go. Ryan Masterson’s oldest sister, Anne, happy to hear from Jenny, had been a rich and willing source of information on her younger brother, including that Ryan would be using her ballet tickets tonight, though he would only tell his sister he was taking “a friend,” which for a normal guy meant a woman he hadn’t been able to get into the sack yet. In Ryan’s case, however, it would mean a woman he wasn’t interested in getting into the sack, because there was no way any age-of-consent female could resist him.

In Jenny’s completely unbiased opinion.

Of course he could mean a male friend, but men taking men to the ballet involved a change in Ryan Masterson that would be so utterly tragic for womankind the globe over that Jenny wouldn’t even consider it.

Anne had managed to worm out of him that he and this “friend” were hitting Café des Artistes for a drink and maybe a bite after. So here sat Jenny, resplendent—if she did say so herself—in her sexiest black slit-up-to-there skirt and equally sexy “is-she-naked?” black lace top, lined with flesh-colored fabric that happened to be a nearly exact match of her skin tone.

Quite a coincidence she happened to be in the same bar tonight, wasn’t it? But who could resist the opportunity to peek? Of course she could have called him, or shown up at his apartment, but a supposedly chance encounter was so much more fun and risky and exciting, and it gave her the opportunity to spy on him in his natural habitat and see what vibe she got before she spoke to him, since she was positive he wouldn’t recognize her at first glance.

Anne seemed pretty sure he wasn’t dating anyone seriously or exclusively, so it wasn’t as if Jenny was out of line. She was an old friend! And if he seemed hot and heavy with his date tonight, she’d say “Ryan is that you?” and “Gee, how long has it been?” and “Great to see you!” and go home none the worse for wear.

Okay, perhaps a micro-bit disappointed. Be serious. This was Ryan Masterson.

And if his friend did turn out to be a friend—or a colleague—then maybe the door would be wide open. She was the kind of women who walked through wide-open doors now, instead of cowering at the threshold wondering if she should knock on the jamb.

She couldn’t wait to see how Ryan reacted to this new truer version of herself and she couldn’t wait to satisfy her curiosity as to how much he’d really changed. Possibly no one but Ryan had ever glimpsed this long-suppressed other side of her before the book and her metamorphosis. But in all their admittedly brief time together, she hadn’t sensed even the faintest hint of inner blandness in him.

She turned for the hundredth time to check the door, when a dark-suited tall man—guess who?—walked in.

Oh, my. Oh, my my my. Someone tell her heart to slow down or she’d lose at least a month off her life. He was still—He was soo—

“Need another drink?”

“No, George.” She didn’t take her eyes off Ryan, though she tried not to stare too openly in case he saw her before she was ready. “A drink is not what I need right at this moment.”

“Him?” He made a sound of amused disgust. “Women are so fickle.”

“Oh, yes.” She threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder. “We are, aren’t we. But he is…I mean he’s…well just look.”

“If you say so.”

Jenny fixed George with a stare. “You’re not gay, are you George.”

“Nope.”

“I thought not.” She turned back to drink in the sight of Ryan, who was pulling out a chair for his unfortunately stunning blond companion. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I guess not.”

Ryan smiled and leaned forward, listening to his date, apparently fascinated. But…politely fascinated. His features were alert, but his eyes were neutral. He wasn’t turning on…The Sex Look. Jenny had been on the receiving end of that look many times. It was unmistakable. And lethal. The places he’d gotten her to say “yes” with just that look…well it was a miracle they’d never been arrested.

“George, send Mr. Perfection a drink from me, would you?”

“While he’s with someone else?”

She smiled at the distaste in his voice. “Believe it or not he’s an old friend. Grew up down the street from me.”

“No kidding.”

“Edible, isn’t he.” She rested her chin on her hand and stared her fill. “The One That Got Away.”

“I have one of those.” George’s voice sounded nearly as wistful as hers. “I’d buy her a drink even if she showed up with Russell Crowe.”

“Ha!” Jenny turned to him. “She’d go for you way before that temperamental slab of beef.”

He grinned and Jenny returned to her high-level spying. Ryan was laughing at something Ms. Blond Perfection had just said. Hmm…

“George.”

“Yeah.”

“Make him…a seven and seven, please. Tell the waiter to say, ‘Seven and seven and seventh heaven.’” Jenny wrinkled her nose. “And whatever she orders I better pay for that, too.”

“I’m on it.”

She heard the drink being poured and caught peripheral flashes of George’s practiced white-sleeved arms working their magic.

Two minutes later, the waiter stopped at Ryan’s table and put the drink in front of him. Ryan frowned and looked questioningly at the server.

Jenny shook back her hair, about six inches longer than when he’d known her, arranged herself in a casually sexy pose and winked at George, who was smirking—not that she entirely blamed him.

“Wish me luck.”

“Okay.” He smirked harder. “Good luck.”

“Maybe you could seduce his date away from him?”

He rolled his eyes and moved away to fill another order.

The waiter finished his spiel. Ryan looked startled, then slowly turned toward the bar.

Here it came…

Kaboom. Houston, we have contact.

And with contact came extreme thrills chasing each other up and down Jenny’s seductively black-clad torso.

But wait, there was more. He was pushing back his chair, excusing himself and coming over to…well, a girl could always hope.

Oh, yes, indeed. Even with his savagery dumbed down to what would be tedious respectability on another man, even wearing a suit any businessman—who could afford it—would wear, his magnetism persisted, electrified him, singled him out as someone to watch, someone to follow, someone to be reckoned with…someone to beg into bed.

She’d expected to be attracted to him. What she hadn’t expected was the subsequent rush of nerves, the bizarre flash of panic, similar to how she’d felt around him growing up, before their summer as lovers, whenever he’d shown up at her house with the rest of his family, scowling, mutinous, barely civil, teasing her as often as he ignored her…the way a shy, romantic teenage girl felt around her look-don’t-touch dream boy.

She’d been as much of a wreck then as she was heading toward being now. A highly conditioned response: The Masterson Effect.

He was close, standing beside her so she had to tip her head up. “Well. Jenny Hartmann.”

Oh and the voice was even deeper with age, as deep as…a really deep thing. His eyes were so blue, she hadn’t forgotten, as blue as…something very blue, and oh God, her brain was gone.

“Well. Ryan Masterson.” Somehow, through force of habit maybe, her voice emerged when she needed it to. She tried also to appear in control of her mind and body, if not her hormones. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He narrowed his eyes and she had a feeling he already suspected the meeting wasn’t entirely by chance. “Mom told me a while back that you were in New York.”

“As are you.”

“Yes.” He seemed at a loss for what to say next, which made her own nerves easier to bear. Her brain cleared, and calm returned—relative calm, considering Ryan Masterson was standing next to her for the first time in thirteen years.

“Want me to keep up the small talk or can I ask what I really want to ask?” She shot him a provocative look. “Well one of the things I want to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s with the fancy suit? It doesn’t look like you.”

“Adult uniform. What’s with the…” He looked her up and down leisurely—the lace top that didn’t appear to cover much, the slit-to-there skirt that made no bones about not covering much. “It doesn’t look like you, either.”

“It’s me now.” She gave him a come-on-baby stare from under her lashes. “What do you think?”

His eyes returned to hers and she was suddenly back to that summer in college, to the night of the storm, when those intense blue eyes had stared at her exactly like this, as if he’d never seen her before and wanted to devour her whole, when he’d leaned in and kissed her as if there was simply nothing else he could do.

Unfortunately, history was not lucky enough to repeat itself so many years later. He glanced over his shoulder at his date and beckoned, then pointed to the empty seat next to Jenny. Blond Woman shook her head, coolly declining, and he gave a reassuring wave and turned back. “You’re looking well.”

Well? As in not sick? That was the best he could do? “I’m healthy as a horse, thank you so much for noticing.”

He blinked, and then his old mischievous grin snuck onto his mouth, the one that used to make her want to giggle before she even knew what was amusing him. Only it looked sort of wrong and unfamiliar over a starched shirt collar and perfectly shaven chin. “I heard about your book from Mom. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Have you read it?”

“No.” His expression said liberals would have to vote Republican first. “Are you writing another?”

Guilt. She kept her expression carefree. “Supposed to be.”

“Then what are you up to?”

“Either staying out of trouble or trying to get in.”

“You?” He shook his head in amusement. Or maybe amazement. “In trouble?”

She shrugged. “If the mood hits.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Hmm.” She tipped her head, un- and re-crossed her legs, watching him watch her. “Maybe I’ll get to show you sometime.”

“Are you coming on to me five minutes into a chance meeting?”

She tsk-tsked. “What is this world coming to?”

Those killer eyes narrowed again. “Anne told you I was going to be here.”

“Ooh, you’re good.” She sipped her drink, put it carefully back down and flashed him another me-woman-you-man glance. “But then from what I remember, you always were.”

He looked at her in quizzical amusement. “Is this the new you? Or a few extra martinis?”

“Ha! No. I behave when I’m drunk. I’m bad when I’m sober. George.” She lifted her arm and he came right over as if he’d been spying on them all along. “How many have I had? This gentleman would like to know.”

“Still on your first.” He gave a thumbs-up and went back to his duties.

“See?” She sent Ryan a sweet smile. “Why don’t you introduce me to your gorgeous date? I think she’s getting lonely. We could have a threesome.”

His eyes popped. “It’s Jenny Hartmann, right? Shy, sweet girl who lived down the street from me?”

“I meant a threesome for drinks. I haven’t changed that much.” She touched his sleeve and was rewarded with the feeling that for the instant her finger was in contact with his arm, he stopped breathing. “You still haven’t told me if you like me this way.”

“It doesn’t fit the girl I knew.”

Jenny raised her brows. “About as well as Armani fits the guy I knew.”

“Touché.”

“So what have you been up to, since we…knew each other?” She put a hand to the back of her neck, lifted her hair and let it cascade down. “Besides getting boring and making a lot more money than you used to doing yard work for the Baileys.”

“Boring?” He gave her the look she remembered too well, the half-angry, half-aroused look he used to give her when he’d be stripping her naked within seconds.

Oh, my my my goodness. “Did I say that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “After college, business school, Wall Street, now I’m partner in a venture capital firm.”

“Of course not boring.” She clucked her tongue. “S-s-s-izzling excitement.”

“Jenny…”

She smiled up at him. “Just having fun.”

“Apparently.”

“You don’t really mind, do you?”

He held her gaze and she pretended to be interested in his answer, when all she was interested in was asking George to turn out the lights and clear the bar area so they could become immediately and passionately reacquainted.

“No. I don’t mind.”

“Good. Now tell me.” She lifted her chin in the direction of Now Probably Impatient Blond Woman. “Are you serious about her?”

“What, Anne didn’t fill you in?”

She moved her eyes back to his, not that they needed any persuasion to go. “Let’s hear your version.”

“Okay.” His jaw tightened; she wondered if he was aware of it. “I’m planning on being serious about her, yes.”

“But you’re not yet?”

No answer. He just looked at her, and so help her, she felt positively dizzy with excitement. She moved her leg to touch the side of his thigh and this time she was pretty sure neither of them was breathing.

For a second he didn’t move and she thought he was going to stay and let her be that close to him, and that she’d be hearing from him as soon as he could get away from the blonde. Then he broke eye contact and took an abrupt step back. “I need to get back.”

“Of course.” Damn.

“Great to see you, Jenny. Stay well.”

Well? What was with this “well” stuff? “I never get sick. I told you. And it was great to see you, too, Ryan.”

She kept the smile on her face while she waved to his date, who had clearly spent the last five minutes imagining Jenny being trampled by elephants.

George leaned his forearms on the bar. “So what happened? You struck out?”

“Who, me?” She made a scornful noise and took a big swallow of her drink. “Never.”

“Then why is he over there and you’re here by yourself?”

“Maybe because he’s not enough of a pig to ditch her mid-date?”

George mumbled something, shamefaced. Honestly. Men.

And yet…

She frowned and fingered the napkin under her drink. “Something strange about him and her. I’m not sure I know exactly what.”

“But you’re going to find out?”

She drained her drink and set down the glass, turned again to look at Ryan, talking politely to his date, looking as detached and calm as he’d looked engaged and intense talking to her.

“Oh, yes, George. I’m going to find out.”

HOW SHE WAS CONTINUING to smile and talk normally to Ryan, she had no idea. Christine took another sip of her second Baileys, more than she usually drank but she was gripping herself so tightly emotionally that the alcohol wasn’t affecting her at all.

Up until an hour ago, her date with Ryan had been perfect. They’d met before the ballet near Lincoln Center for a soup-sandwich-salad kind of meal to tide them over through the performance. They’d chatted easily, and there had been moments when she’d felt their camaraderie was becoming more natural and relaxed. Or at least she hadn’t felt quite so on edge over every word.

Ryan had talked again of the town he’d grown up in, and mentioned a plan to drive up and look at houses. Then he’d paused, and she’d had an eerie premonition—or maybe just another fantasy—that he was about to ask her to come with him, when the waiter interrupted with food, and the moment was lost in a change of subject. She really, really hoped the topic would come up again, but so far she hadn’t managed to work it back into the conversation.

The ballet had been wonderful, even if most of its true brilliance was probably lost on her. She still couldn’t get over how the dancers could make every gesture, even a simple wave of a hand, so very beautiful and graceful, how they could jump so high, and land so elegantly.

Sitting rapt in the audience, she’d managed to touch her shoulder to Ryan’s now and then without making it seem on purpose, and he hadn’t moved away. She had felt so happy, so secure, so sure they were heading forward together on their destined path….