Читать книгу All Wrapped Up - Jennifer Drew - Страница 8

LATER SHE’D CRY or scream.

Olivia Kearns pressed her throbbing forehead against the ice-cold, living-room window of her suburban Chicago town house. She wanted to freak out, but now wasn’t the time to lose it, not when she had so much to do.

Outside, snow flurries were starting to accumulate. Liv hoped her parents, driving away in separate cars, wouldn’t have trouble with the slippery roads. She shook her head in disbelief, still unable to accept that her parents really intended to divorce after nearly thirty years of seemingly harmonious marriage. They’d come to her home to tell her the bad news, calling ahead to be sure she’d be there on a Saturday afternoon. Dad had nodded agreement while her mother assured her the decision was for the best.

Would she and her sister, Amy, have a place they could consider the family home, a place where they could all gather for Christmas? One set of grandparents had retired to Florida and the other set to Arizona, so everyone had always come to her parents’ house for family celebrations.

Liv was the family problem-solver, the one who could resolve any crisis—but not this one. How could her parents split up? They were the heart of the family. How could they still be a family if her parents weren’t together? Liv knew she was being a drama queen, but she didn’t care.

She padded in stocking feet across the moss-green carpeting, hardly seeing her comfy couch and chair covered with flowery slipcovers or the Queen Anne–style cherry tables. The room was tidy and organized, just the way she liked her life.

What she needed to do was make a list. Making a to-do list would help her focus and feel more in control. She went upstairs to her office in the spare bedroom and grabbed a fresh yellow legal pad.

First, she thought, writing a bold numeral one, she had to cancel her parents’ New Year’s Eve thirtieth-anniversary party.

Theoretically, she and Amy, her older sister by one year, were planning the party, but she’d never expected much help from her sister. Amy was willing enough, but organization wasn’t her strong suit especially now when her wedding was coming up in a few months. She had more on her plate than she could manage. It was up to Liv to cancel the party.

She groaned. Nearly fifty invitations had gone out. She’d have to explain fifty times why the party was off.

Then there was Amy’s wedding. Only her sister would choose February for a big wedding. Liv had tried to suggest tactfully that sub-zero, snowstormy late winter wasn’t the best time. Now it was an awful time because of her parents. Who would keep the wedding arrangements on track? She wrote a large number two on her list.

“I can get through this,” she said with a sigh.

She was almost glad there were no men in her life at the moment. She didn’t have to break a date to the anniversary party, because her last relationship had ended several months ago. Breaking up with Jerry after a lukewarm relationship had been more comedy than drama, although she wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on right now.

The timing for a family crisis was terrible. This wasn’t a good time to worry about anything but work. She’d done plenty of that lately because the situation there was in constant flux under a new CEO.

William Lawrence Associates was a venerable old public relations firm. She’d worked there since graduating from college five years ago and loved her job specializing in crisis management. It was exciting to work in the heart of Chicago, even though it meant a daily train commute from her town house in Haley Park. She loved being part of a dynamic team and couldn’t imagine a job better suited to her talents. Her co-workers were like a second family. Her best friend, Dana Gerard, who had the office next to hers, was like a second sister. The vivacious little brunette could always make Liv smile, even after a grueling day. She felt lucky to have such a positive person in her life.

Liv was a little uneasy about the recent change in leadership. William Lawrence Jr. had just retired, leaving a third-generation Lawrence in control. Billy Lawrence, who refused to be known as William III, wanted to attract hip new clients in the sports and entertainment fields. At twenty-seven Liv was one of their top people, but she’d been advised to update her image and change her attitude. Even though her new boss was close to forty himself, Liv didn’t doubt he’d replace her with someone younger if she didn’t meet his expectations.

“Loosen up a little,” Billy Lawrence had told her.

She wrote “loosen up” on her list and underlined it.

The words were painfully familiar, thanks to her ex-boyfriend, Jerry Lockmor. When he’d dumped her, he’d told her that she was too uptight in bed. Of course, his idea of passion had been thirty-two seconds of foreplay and a neon-colored condom. She’d been hurt when he broke off their relationship, but in retrospect it was a relief to have him out of her life.

“I know what great sex is, Jerry, you idiot,” she muttered. “You were never in the ballpark.”

She’d always believed in long-lasting relationships because her parents’ marriage had flourished. They were forcing her to reconsider her beliefs.

She felt confused and hollow inside, but weeping and wailing wasn’t her style. She had things to do.

The phone on the desk right beside her rang. There was no one she was in the mood to talk to at the moment so she let the machine answer it.

“Olivia, pick up the phone. I know you’re there. I just talked to Mom.”

Her sister was at the top of the list of people she wanted to avoid right now. If anyone could shatter her veneer of self-control, it was Amy.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I’m going to keep calling until you talk to me. A family needs to pull together at a time like this.” Her sister sounded weepy. “We’re sisters. We should help each other.”

Could things get any worse? How could Liv make Amy feel better when she was miserable herself? Reluctantly she picked up the phone.

“I was in the bathroom,” she lied.

“You were right by the phone trying to avoid me. I know it hurts, Liv, having Mom and Dad break up,” Amy said. “I cried for days when I learned—”

“You cried for days? When did they tell you?” Liv felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“They didn’t exactly tell me. Well, they did, but only because I knew something was wrong.”

“How?” Liv couldn’t believe she’d missed something so obvious that her sister had clued in to.

“Mom wasn’t into planning my wedding the way she had been. She was distracted,” Amy said.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I haven’t known that long. Mom thought she should tell you herself. Please, don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter who knew what when. I hate that it’s happened, but I’m sure everything will work out. Are you okay?”

That was just great! Amy, who thought a broken fingernail was a major tragedy, was consoling her.

“I’ll be fine when I get used to the idea of parents who don’t love each other anymore. Don’t worry about me,” Liv said.

“I know, I know, you’re the one who always has things under control. But remember, they’re still young enough to build new lives.”

“I didn’t know they hated their old one,” Liv said.

Amy rarely played big sister. In fact, Liv sometimes forgot her sibling was one year older. Talking about her parents’ bombshell was making it seem all the more real.

“They don’t hate each other, they just changed and grew apart,” Amy said. “You’ve probably figured that out for yourself. We have to cancel their anniversary party.”

“People don’t usually give parties to celebrate a divorce,” Liv said, not intentionally sarcastic but it came out that way.

Liv felt numb all over. She didn’t want to deal with this. It shouldn’t be happening to her family.

“Liv, I feel guilty, but I won’t be able to help you call the guests to cancel. It’s really hectic at the flower shop. We can hardly keep up with all the orders for Christmas parties. And Sean says he never sees enough of me, so we’re going to his parents’ in Wisconsin next weekend.”

Amy talked rapidly. Now that she’d given her consolation talk, she clearly didn’t want to deal with Liv’s take on it.

Liv would hate explaining to fifty people why her parents wouldn’t be having an anniversary party, but it wasn’t as if she had much choice.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said grumpily.

“You’re the best! No one ever had a better little sister.”

Yeah, yeah. Liv wasn’t in the mood for her sister’s facile compliments.

“There is one tiny little thing you should know. Do you have pencil and paper handy? Of course you do. You’re always so well organized. Write down this number, 555–2996. Got it?”

“Yes, 555–2996. Whose number is it?”

“You didn’t have a date for Mom and Dad’s party, and I just happened to pick up the sports page of the Chicago Post…”

“You never read the sports section.” Liv braced herself to hear one more thing she wasn’t going to like.

“I was using it to repot a plant. Anyway, there was a story by Nick Matheson, the guy you brought home for Christmas once. He was so cute, and I felt so bad because his parents had just gotten a divorce. I actually envied you—but, of course, Sean suits me perfectly now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Even control freaks had a breaking point.

“Nick’s back in Chicago working for the Post. I sent him an invitation to Mom and Dad’s party. That’s his number. You’ll have to uninvite him.”

“Why me?” Liv protested. “You invited him. You should be the one to tell him the party’s canceled.”

Being dumped by Jerry had stung her ego for about ten seconds, but Nick had really wounded her. She didn’t want to dredge up the old heartache by talking to him.

“I don’t know him that well. I’m sorry, Liv. I shouldn’t have meddled with the guest list.”

“You call him!”

“No, really. You should be the one to do it. Oh, I have a call waiting. It’s Sean. Love you!”

The phone went dead. Liv realized she was holding her breath.

Nick Matheson.

She’d never completely stopped thinking about him, but she was surprised by the pang of regret she’d felt hearing his name.

Her sister, who floated through life blissfully unaware of subtle nuances in human behavior, had appointed herself matchmaker. Now, typically, she’d dumped the problem on Liv. If she didn’t love her sister, she could cheerfully strangle her.

Liv put item number three, call Nick Matheson, on her list. But she wasn’t sure she could make herself do it. He might misunderstand and think she was trying to get together with him again. How humiliating would that be?

Once she’d really wanted the kind of relationship her parents had, but she’d made the bad mistake of falling in love with Nick who had no intention of making a long-term commitment. She couldn’t believe Amy had stuck her with the job of telling him the party was off. It had been five years since he’d left her, and she dreaded having to speak to him.

They’d met when she was a senior at Northwestern. He’d been a graduate student in journalism, and they’d met in a seminar she’d gotten special permission to take. The first time he walked into the room, she’d wanted him. He was tall, lean and good-looking, with sandy-blond hair and deep blue eyes that made her tingle whenever he looked at her. But he was a lot more than a handsome face. His sharp wit and warmth had overwhelmed her.

Now Nick was ancient history, but they had one new thing in common.

Ironically, it was his parents’ divorce that had brought them together. He’d needed sympathy and understanding, and she’d been more than willing to give it.

She’d needed to believe that he’d loved her, at least a little, even though he’d repeatedly warned her from the beginning he wasn’t into commitment. At first she’d blamed his attitude on the shock of his parents’ breakup.

She’d been so naive, thinking she could change his mind over time. Well, she’d been dead wrong, and had paid a big price in heartache for dreaming she could make Nick into something he wasn’t. Pushing hard for commitment, she’d ended up with him moving on and out of her life.

The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was mooning over him.

At least having a lot to do would help her cope with her parents’ divorce. Doing things efficiently was second nature, probably a genetic gift from her father who ran his insurance business like a military operation. Amy took after Mom, who could charm people into buying real estate but struggled with the details of finalizing a sale.

Liv went to her kitchen with its pale yellow cupboards and uncluttered green marbleized counter-tops. While she boiled water for tea, she vowed not to feel sorry for herself. The divorce wasn’t about her. The important thing was whether her parents would be happier apart, but she was having trouble believing they would be. They’d always seemed so right together, so close they could complete each other’s sentences.

She carried the mug of tea back to her office to begin making calls. She couldn’t spare a minute at work for personal business. Her job was difficult enough without trying to impress a new boss with how hip, with-it and on top of things she was, his latest additions to her job description. She found the party list and punched in the first number on her phone.

A few minutes later she’d talked to one person and left three messages on answering machines. She was calling Nick next. It was ridiculous to stew over talking to a man she hadn’t seen in five years. The sooner she did it, the quicker she could forget him again.

Liv still vividly remembered her anger and hurt when she’d caught him at a party with a frizzy-haired blonde on his lap. He’d ditched the girl and taken Liv home to the little apartment she shared with two friends, but it had been the beginning of the end. They never slept together again, never spent long hours in companionable silence in the library, never took long walks or drove in his car to watch Lake Michigan lapping at the shoreline of Chicago.

He’d left a void in her life and in her heart. Maybe that was why no man since had measured up to her expectations.

She punched in Nick’s number. What if he thought the invitation had been her idea? Would he think she was chasing him? Did he think she’d hop into bed with him for old time’s sake, as if he was so irresistible she still got hot and bothered just thinking about him? The possibilities made her cringe. How could Amy have put her in this position?

His phone rang three times. She took a deep breath and hoped her nerve wouldn’t fail her. He most likely hadn’t given her a thought in years before Amy called him. Liv didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing for five years, but she’d bet he hadn’t been lonely for female companionship. He attracted women like no man she’d ever dated, maybe because he genuinely liked to spend time with them. He had a gift for listening and making people feel better about themselves.

“This is Nick Matheson. I’m not available now but leave your name and number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

His answering machine. What a relief, even though hearing his recorded message made her quiver. He had a deep, mellow voice that matched his drop-dead good looks. She could see him in her mind, tall at six-two with blond hair and bedroom-blue eyes lively with intelligence and passion.

The machine beeped, and she had to leave a message. Now that she’d heard his voice, she’d never work up enough nerve to call back.

“This is Olivia Kearns. Don’t bother coming to my parents’ party.”

She’d meant to explain that Amy had sent the invitation and the party had been canceled.

“Don’t bother coming,” she repeated, not at all pleased with herself. She’d gotten rattled and left a terribly abrupt message.

Should she call back and leave another, more tactful message? What if he answered himself on the second try? What if he…? He loved afternoon sex—he’d been pretty fond of it anytime, but stealing a little time out of a busy day had once been great for both of them. It would be terrible to interrupt something like that. He might be living with someone, and she might cause trouble for him by calling twice.

Face it, she was afraid of how she’d react if she had to talk to him. She didn’t want to awaken feelings she’d long ago buried. No, a second call was a very bad idea.

She slashed his name off her list with a black felt pen.

NICK HAD GOTTEN HOME from his wasted weekend too late Sunday night to bother checking his messages. He couldn’t believe he’d hung around the little lakeside town of Saint Joseph, Michigan, for two days without getting an interview with the daughter of a depression-era baseball player.

It didn’t deter him that a couple of other Post reporters had tried and failed in the past few weeks. In fact, he loved the challenge of succeeding where his more seasoned colleagues had struck out. He was the new kid in the sports department, and he wanted to cement his reputation by interviewing the reclusive Matilda Merris, daughter of the baseball player who’d rocked Chicago with a bribery scandal in the 1930s. There were lots of questions only she could answer. Had the infamous Marty Merris been intimidated by gangsters? Were some leading politicians of the day involved? What had been her father’s motivation in accepting money to throw a crucial game?

He didn’t usually write history, but Merris was a special case. Marty was one of the greatest athletes that sport had ever seen, single-handedly exciting interest in a new league that failed not long after his disgrace. Sports-crazy Chicago was opening a new sports museum soon, and the directors were determined to keep Merris out of it. Mack Gallagher, Nick’s editor at the Post, had a collection of Merris memorabilia he wanted to donate to the new museum, but so far the powers that be had refused it. They wanted to write Chicago’s third great team out of the history books.

Nick had already figured out that the Post had more reporters than they needed to keep up with local sports. If the big bosses ever came to the same conclusion, he wanted to be too invaluable to be let go. Getting the Merris story could be his ticket to fame—and job security, no small prize in a field as competitive as his.

If he could uncover the true story of Chicago’s biggest sports scandal, there was a more immediate payoff. Mack had promised him better assignments if he could justify what Merris had done.

Nick had a file two inches thick, much of it gathered by the two reporters who’d given up on the piece. Without the insights only Matilda Merris could provide, the story was only speculation. The fact that two of his co-workers had failed only challenged him.

He started listening to his messages, first one from his mother in Florida. She wanted him to spend Christmas with her. He wanted to see her but no way could he leave Chicago now. Nor was he keen to hang out with her second husband, Terry, who called him “son” and treated him like a ten-year-old. Maybe he’d drive to Springfield for the holiday. He hadn’t seen Dad and his second wife in quite a while. Or maybe not. Things were getting interesting in the Windy City.

“Don’t bother coming to the party.”

He’d been absentmindedly checking other messages, but this one caught his full attention. He replayed it. Yeah, he’d heard right. It was Liv Kearns telling him not to “bother” coming to a party.

After five years she couldn’t even say, “Hi, Nick,” before she canceled the invitation to her parents’ anniversary party?

He played the message a third time. Couldn’t she at least say please don’t come? If she didn’t want him there, why had he gotten an invitation? He hadn’t decided whether to go, but, truth to tell, he hadn’t been back in the area long enough to have much of a social life. He’d been tempted to go until he remembered the last time they’d been together. He’d tried to explain why he wasn’t ready for commitment. She knew how much he was keyed up to begin his career, and she knew, too, that his father’s failure in marriage made Nick question his own chance of success.

If there was anything in his life he regretted, it was his breakup with Liv. He’d been more in love with her than any woman before or after. He’d been a jerk—with good reason. Even before his parents’ divorce, he hadn’t been a fan of commitment. Still wasn’t, considering that he’d left his job in Kansas City when sexy Darla, a career-driven lawyer, had started dropping wedding hints.

He loved sports and loved writing about them. It was a lifestyle that didn’t leave room for domestic entanglements or exclusive dating. Liv had tempted him once. All the more reason why he should’ve turned down the party invitation when he first got it. Maybe part of him wanted to see her again, but he was relieved that she’d made the decision for him.

Liv might have made him change his mind if he’d allowed their relationship to continue. He still got turned on by hearing her voice, but he’d been too ambitious—and face it, too immature—to consider a serious commitment five years ago. He’d never deceived her about that, but he shouldn’t have started something he couldn’t finish. In the beginning he hadn’t expected to care for her as much as he had. The longer he’d been with her, the more she expected their relationship to be permanent. He’d done her a favor by ending it, but he knew she hadn’t seen it that way.

He played her message a fourth time. He wasn’t imagining the breathy, seductive tone of her voice, even though her words were cold. That was typical of Liv. On the surface she was an ice princess, but he’d experienced the passion that simmered under the surface. She’d been hot, all he could want in bed and more.

She was totally genuine and natural. That was part of what had made their short relationship sizzle. But she didn’t have a clue how sexy she was. He’d had to work to unlock her passion, but it had been worth it. She’d rocked his world. He knew pretty much what he wanted in a woman, and he couldn’t help wondering what Liv was like now.

Back when they were together, Liv had been sure he’d change his mind about a permanent relationship. Her cure for his commitment phobia had been an excessive dose of devotion on her part. He wasn’t proud of it, but she’d scared him off.

He lived for the present. It wasn’t like him to second-guess decisions or brood over past mistakes. If Liv was uncomfortable having him come to her parents’ party, it was fine with him. His attitude toward relationships had remained the same since they’d parted company. He worked long hours and covered a lot of night and weekend events. He didn’t have time for anything but casual relationships, not if he wanted to excel in his field. And he did want that.

He had to get to work. After wasting a whole weekend trying to nail down an interview with Matilda Merris, even standing outside her house in the cold and looking pathetic in the hope she’d give in, he did have one more lead to follow. The old woman was a minor talent in the art world. She was on the client list of a Chicago public relations firm, William Lawrence Associates. Maybe, if he got really lucky, someone there would use their clout to get him inside Matilda’s Michigan home.

He dressed in gray flannel slacks, gray turtleneck, a navy blazer and tasseled loafers to impress the people at the PR firm. The gang in the newsroom would razz him about his dated preppy look, but he was at the end of his rope with this story. A whole lot of background work would go to waste if he couldn’t persuade the fallen hero’s daughter to talk to him.

Later, when he had time, he might give Liv a lesson in phone etiquette. He wondered if she still wore that flowery perfume that had turned him on, but it looked as if he’d never get close enough to know.

Mostly he wondered if she still hated him.