Читать книгу Expecting the Boss's Baby / Twins Under His Tree - Karen Rose Smith, Christine Rimmer - Страница 10

The next week, on Thursday, Faye showed up again.

That time, Zoe acted fast. She jumped up and blocked the way to Dax’s door. “Let me just check.”

A slow sigh and then the sexy, husky voice. “If you insist.”

“Have a seat. This won’t take a minute.”

Faye made an impatient sound low in her throat, but then she did go over and drop into one of the chairs by the enormous potted snake plant in the corner. Zoe turned and tapped on Dax’s shut door.

“What?”

She opened it and stuck her head through. “Faye is here.”

“Faye,” he repeated blankly. Then he blinked. “Oh. Where?”

Zoe tipped her head toward the chair by the snake plant. “I’ll show her in.”

“No.” He rose and came around the desk. “I’ll come out there.” Zoe moved aside and he emerged from his office. He aimed a practiced smile at the brunette. “Faye, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Faye stood up. “You ought to check your voice mail now and then.”

He went to her. She reached to embrace him. He smoothly slid from her grasp, simultaneously taking one of her hands and tucking it around his forearm. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

The Bambi eyes shone with tears. “Oh, Dax …”

He led her to the elevator. They got in and the doors slid shut. Zoe heard the faint whoosh and lurch as the car started down.

Was he dumping Faye? It sure looked like it.

Zoe didn’t know what she felt about that. A little sorry for Faye, maybe, which surprised her. A little annoyed with Dax.

How old was he anyway, thirty-five or thirty-six? Old enough to stop jumping from one woman’s bed to the next. If he didn’t watch it, he’d end up ancient and wrinkled, wearing a satin bathrobe, with a blonde young enough to be his granddaughter on his arm.

That image made her wince. And then she couldn’t help but laugh. Dax was Dax. A woman was only begging for trouble if she started expecting him to change his ways.

Dax really hated it when a woman cried.

When a woman cried, it made him feel crappy and powerless. Tears were the one thing a man had no idea how to fight. You couldn’t win an argument with tears. You couldn’t punch a tear’s lights out.

You just had to sit there and try to think of the right thing to say, try not to make promises you had no intention of keeping.

He took Faye to a bar not far from the office. A nice, dark, quiet place where few of his associates ever went. He guided her toward a booth in the back.

Business was pretty slow. The bartender came over and took their drink order. Faye wanted a Cosmopolitan; Dax just had club soda. He had work to do back at the office and he couldn’t afford to be fuzzy-headed when he returned.

The drinks arrived. The bartender went off to mind his own business.

Faye sipped her pretty pink drink and sobbed. She told him she loved him.

He felt like a jerk.

He probably was a jerk, but that wasn’t the issue right now. The issue was Faye and how it was over with her and how he had to get her to see that, to look on the bright side, to remember what a good time they’d had and realize she was ready to move on.

Faye kept on sobbing. He didn’t have any tissues handy, so he passed her a cocktail napkin.

She delicately dabbed her wet eyes with it. “You’re such a jerk.”

He wasn’t offended. It was only what he’d just been thinking himself. He spoke gently, “Come on, Faye. Don’t. It’s going to be all right.”

She sniffled and delicately dabbed at her eyes some more, trying to mop up the tears without smearing her makeup. “I knew. From the beginning. It’s not as if I wasn’t warned. Love never lasts with you.”

Love. He hadn’t mentioned love. Not once. He kept love strictly out of his vocabulary when he dated a woman. It was ingrained in him, a nonnegotiable rule. And he never broke a nonnegotiable rule.

He said, “I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together.”

She sniffed, sobbed, swallowed. “Enjoyed. Past tense. Oh, Dax …”

“You’re young and so beautiful …”

“Is that supposed to make everything all right? Well, it doesn’t, okay? It just doesn’t.”

He tried to think of the next thing to say. He was usually reasonably glib when it got to this point. But he didn’t feel glib today. He only felt … sorry. Really, really sorry. “I’m sorry, Faye. Truly.”

She dabbed at her mascara some more. “Sorry doesn’t do me any good.”

“I know.”

“They say that you end up friends with most of your ex-girlfriends.”

“I like to think that’s true.”

“Well, I don’t want to be friends, Dax. I really don’t.” She picked up her Cosmo and downed it in one long swallow. Then she set the stemmed glass down hard. “I guess that’s it. Goodbye, Dax.” She slid out of the booth and headed for the door.

After Faye was gone, Dax stayed in the booth alone for a while, sipping his club soda, thinking about how he hated ending it with a woman. Endings were depressing. He liked beginnings a lot better.

Too bad beginnings never lasted. Too bad the nature of a beginning was to move along toward another ending. And the only way to stop the endings was to stop enjoying the beginnings.

Unless a man decided to settle down, to find someone he could share a lifetime of middles with, so their story had no end. But a lifetime of middles wasn’t on his horizon. He was never getting married again.

For no particular reason, he thought of Zoe. Of her too-good-to-be-true fiancé who had yet to show his face around the office. Of what a great assistant she was. Of how he would never have to end it with her—well, except when she moved up the next rung of the editorial ladder, which was bound to happen, and probably sooner than later.

That would be a pain in the ass, trying to find another assistant.

But he would manage it somehow. There was going to be no holding Zoe back, he knew that.

At least when he lost her there wouldn’t be any crying, no groping for the right words and coming up with only hollow clichés. She would be happy when he lost her. He would be resigned, would do his best to keep her at the magazine. If he couldn’t have her guarding his office door forever, at least Great Escapes could get the benefit of her talent and drive.

And that was as good as it got.

In the end, a guy had to be grateful for small favors.

“So I have this idea …” Zoe said the following Tuesday, as they were winding down the morning huddle.

He’d been expecting this. Of course, she had an idea. She’d been working for him for just four weeks and already organized his slush pile. She knew the plan for the next seven issues backward and forward, had a great instinct for what would work for the magazine and what wouldn’t. When she flagged a piece for him, he knew it was something he had to make time to take a look at.

She was on her feet by then, clutching her laptop, the absurdly large diamond on her engagement ring twinkling at him. “It’s … for a Spotlight.” She actually sounded hesitant, which rather charmed him. Zoe rarely sounded nervous about anything. Even when she wasn’t sure what she was doing, she took care to project confidence. “I was thinking we could discuss it—I mean, when you’ve got a spare moment or two.”

“I’m listening. Tell me about it now.”

“Well, all right.” She dropped back into her chair again, set the laptop on her knees. “I’m thinking ‘Spotlight on a Shoestring’—because of the economy, you know? That people are looking for value in everything they do, including when they travel. I’m thinking Mexico—and no, do not give me that look. Not Cancún or Puerto Vallarta. I’m thinking of something a little more out of the way.”

“Like?”

“Southern Mexico, the state of Chiapas near the Guatemalan border. San Cristóbal de las Casas, to be specific.”

“You’re kidding.”

She sat straighter and got that pugnacious look. He really liked that look. “I am one-hundred-percent serious. It’s a great value. Four-star hotels at a hundred bucks a night. Wonderful food at really low prices and a fabulous central market where you can get amazing deals on local arts and crafts. Biking, birdwatching. Rainforest all around, filled with thousands of exotic plants and animals. Spectacular Mayan ruins …”

He put up a finger. “Two words.”

“What?”

“Armed insurgents.”

She wrinkled her adorable nose at him. “I had a feeling you would say that.”

He knew a lot about Mexico. But then, he knew a lot about many places. “They’re called the Zapatistas, Zoe. And they’re nothing to fool with.”

“Most of the trouble was back in the nineties. Things are better now.”

“But is better good enough?”

“It is, yes. I’m sure it’s safe. Yes, the Zapatistas are in a war against the Mexican state, against globalization. But it’s mostly a nonviolent conflict. My research tells me that travelers are safer in and around San Cristóbal than in just about any major American city. As long as they behave respectfully and don’t take pictures without asking first.” She produced a memory stick. “Here’s what I have. I’ve tried to cover everything—what to pack, what to see, where to stay, how to get there.”

“A spreadsheet for projected costs?”

“That, too.”

He held out his hand. “I’ll give it a look.”

Her sleek brows drew together. He knew she was considering working on him a little more before she turned him loose with what she’d worked up. But apparently she decided against that, decided to let the work she’d done speak for itself. He very much approved of that.

She rose and passed him the stick. “Can’t ask for more.”

That evening, he read her proposal. And the next morning, when they went over his calendar, he told her what he thought.

“I like it. We’re going to do it.”

She gasped and those blue eyes lit up, bright as stars. “You mean it?”

He nodded.

“Yes!” In her excitement, she almost dropped her laptop. It slid off her knees. She lurched to rescue it and whacked her hand hard against the side of his desk. The enormous diamond made a loud cracking sound. Something plopped to the floor.

They stared at each other.

She let out a wild little laugh. “Oops.” She had her laptop stabilized on her knees and she was clutching her left hand with her right. She pressed her lips together as a scarlet flush rushed up her creamy cheeks. “Uh, sorry.”

Was she hurt? “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Fine. Perfect.” She pulled the ring off her finger—but carefully, keeping it out of his sight. “I think I, um, bent the setting on my ring a little.”

“Sounded to me like you broke the damn thing.”

The flush on her pretty face intensified. Her cheeks were now cherry-red. “No, no. Of course not.” Trying not to be obvious about it, she scanned the floor around her chair.

He pushed back his own chair and looked under his desk.

Near his left shoe, half of her engagement diamond sparkled at him. He bent and picked it up.

When he straightened, she was staring at him. The look on her face was absolutely priceless. He leaned across the desk and held the broken stone out to her.

She took it from him. “Uh, thanks.”

“It appears that Johnny will be buying you another ring. Tell him not to be such a cheap bastard this time.”

She looked as if she wished she could sink right through the floor. But Zoe was not one to be cowed by a little thing like abject humiliation. She pulled herself together and jumped to Johnny’s defense. “I’ll have you know that Johnny is not cheap—and this …” She looked down at the two halves of her supposed engagement diamond. “It’s nothing.”

He arched a brow but kept his mouth shut. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Hadn’t had this much fun in a very long time.

She backpedaled madly, that quick brain of hers firing on all cylinders. “A … duplicate, a fake. I had it made.”

“Made?”

“Yes. Made—you know, because I was nervous. Muggings are … simply rampant these days.”

Simply rampant, huh? “No kidding?”

She fisted the broken ring in her palm and sat up straighter, flicking a thick swatch of that gorgeous red hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, well. Ahem … where were we?”

He debated whether to torture her some more or move on. In the end, he took pity on her. “The San Cristóbal Spotlight.”

She swallowed, nodded, eager to talk more about her proposal—and to put the embarrassing incident with the ring behind her. “I’m so pleased, Dax. I can’t tell you how much this means.”

“I’ve been thinking about what month we should use it.” With relish, he delivered the bombshell. “I’m thinking January.”

Her mouth dropped open again. He really did enjoy catching her off-guard. “B-but January is already locked in.”

Yes, it was. Spotlights, along with the rest of the magazine, were planned and scheduled nine months to a year in advance.

“I run this magazine. And if I say we go to Chiapas and not Greece for January, then that’s where we go.”

“But you’re leaving for Greece in a week and a half. I have the travel arrangements all set up.”

“Then you will change them. A little spontaneity is good now and then.”

“But … what if I can’t get that fabulous hotel?”

“You’ll find another fabulous hotel. I have faith in your ingenuity and resourcefulness.” He sat back in his chair and waited for her to confess what was really bothering her.

“But I …” She had her free hand folded over the one with the broken ring in it and both of them resting on her shut laptop. She stared down—at her hands, at the laptop? He couldn’t tell which. Her slim shoulders were slumped. She almost might have been praying.

“Zoe.” He spoke softly. “You what?”

The red head lifted, the shoulders went back and the blue eyes gleamed. “I was hoping, well, that it would be a little later. At least not for a few months. Not until, um, after the rainy season ends.”

“I don’t see a little rain as that much of a problem.”

“Daily, Dax. It comes down in buckets.”

“I know my weather patterns. It rains hard, but mostly just in the afternoon.”

So much for the rainy season. She let that go and cast about for another excuse to postpone the trip. “But I, well, if you could only wait until I’ve been working for you longer, until …” Words deserted her.

He didn’t let her off the hook. “What? Tell me.”

“Oh, please.” Her heated gaze accused him. “You know. I know you know.”

“You still have to say it. That’s how it works. You have to speak up and say what you want. Come on. Look at it this way, if you don’t get what you ask for, at least you’ll know you put yourself out there, that you did everything you could to make it happen.”

She sat up even straighter. “Fine. All right. I want you to wait to do the Spotlight on San Cristóbal until you’re ready to take me along as your assistant, instead of one of the associates. That’s what I want, okay? I want to go.”

He rested his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. Yeah, he was playing this, stringing it along to enjoy her honest excitement, her clear desire to be directly involved in the feature she had just proposed. Most of the time, she was careful around him, she guarded that light in her eyes from him. She tried to keep things all business.

And he respected that, he really did. Still, it was gratifying for him, to listen to her speak with heat, with passion. To see her eagerness, her enthusiasm, her willingness to push for what she wanted, to try to get him to give her a chance, to let her take the next step.

She glared at him. “Just tell me. Just give me an answer. Will you wait for a few months to do my Spotlight?”

“No.”

Her sweet, soft mouth trembled as she pressed her lips together to keep herself from calling him a thoroughly inappropriate name. He liked that about her, too. She had passion, but she also kept herself in hand. She took care not to step over the line.

“Well.” A slow, deep breath. A toss of that flame-colored hair. “Fine, then. You were right, I needed to ask. At least I’ll never kick myself because I didn’t even try.”

“I don’t think you’ll kick yourself at all.”

She blinked. And then she gasped. She got what he was hinting at. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. It’s early, I know. But you learn fast. I think you’re ready. You’ll get to prove yourself.”

“I’m going with you?” Breathless, heartbreakingly hopeful.

“Yes, Zoe. I’m doing your Chiapas trip instead of the one to Mykonos. I’m leaving Monday, August second. And you are going with me.”