Читать книгу Unwanted Girl - MK Schiller - Страница 9

Dressed in a charcoal suit, Nick entered the fancy fusion restaurant, wondering why he hadn’t tried to cancel again. Not that Carrie would accept anymore of his bullshit excuses. He adjusted the noose-like knot of his navy necktie as the maître d' showed him to the table. Carrie sat in the corner booth sporting a bright pink dress and even brighter red hair that rebelled against the sedate opulence of the monochromatic colors surrounding her. Unlike him, she enjoyed dressing up. She crossed her legs, pointing the toe of her red-soled, polished heel toward Nick.

“Do you always have to pick a pretentious restaurant?” he asked before kissing her cheek. He took the seat across from her.

“When it’s a tax write-off, I do.” She leaned in as if revealing a secret. “The duck here is to die for.”

“I won’t be dying today,” Nick replied.

“You look great, Nick. You’ve been working out…a lot,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze his bicep. “You have a license for these guns?”

“I’m taking advantage of the gym in my building.”

“What’s your regimen?”

“I doubled up on my running time. I do reps of one-armed push-ups, sit ups, and chin-ups.” He continued on, detailing his nightly ritual, until he noticed her eyes shifting around the room. “Shit, you don’t want to hear about this, right?”

“It’s interesting, but honestly you lost me somewhere between progressive overload and muscle confusion. Who knew there were so many terms?”

“I do,” he snapped. “I’m trying to explain them to you.” Nick sucked in a deep breath, wishing he could erase his harsh statement. Carrie was there for him when he needed someone most, and here he was acting like a complete dickhead.

“I’m sorry.” He ordered a tumbler of Johnnie Walker Blue from the waiter.

“Nick.” She leaned into the table, her voice stern but compassionate at the same time. “It’s me, remember? Your best friend?”

“How are you, friend?”

“I’m well.” The waiter set down her Chardonnay and Nick’s Scotch. Carrie interrupted in the middle of his specials spiel, requesting another moment. “Are you allowed to drink?” she asked, as soon as the waiter departed.

Nick winked, trying to put her at ease, because the line of questioning certainly wasn’t doing much for either of them. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m pretty sure I’ve surpassed the legal drinking age in this town.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I wasn’t an alcoholic, Carrie.”

Nick searched for the waiter, but he was nowhere in sight. “What did you want to talk about? As I recall, this is a business meeting.”

“We can get to that,” she replied, waving a hand at the hot bread on the table like a game show hostess, displaying a parting prize.

“Are you trying to con me with carbohydrates?”

“You have to try this bread. You can dip it in this extra fine, extra virgin olive oil or use this French herb butter.”

“I prefer my olive oil with a little experience. It should, at the very least, mature to second base.”

Carrie laughed much louder than the joke required. “I swear you’ll make me bust a button on this dress.”

“I’d be a very talented man if I could undress a woman without touching her.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “Flirting has always been your…” She paused, searching for the right word.

“Strong suit?” Nick offered.

“Coping mechanism,” she retorted.

“Ouch. Well then, I suppose we should get down to business.”

“Why the rush? I haven’t seen you in a long time, Dorsey. Let’s catch up.”

“I want to make sure you get your well-earned tax deduction.”

She bit her bottom lip, her telltale sign of anxiety. “The publisher wants you to do a book tour.”

“No,” Nick said with enough bark that the waiter stopped just shy of approaching them and veered off in a different direction.

“Nick—”

“I’ve never done one, and I’m sure as hell not about to now.”

“Not that your sales aren’t high, but this could catapult them.” She gestured toward his face. “Even though I don’t approve of the Duck Dynasty beard, the fact is you’re gorgeous.”

“Duck Dynasty?” he asked, tilting his chin and running his fingers through the thick growth, mocking offense at her joke. “Are you fucking with me?”

“ZZ Top?”

“Try again,” he said, fighting a smirk.

“All right, Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall, but that’s my final offer.”

“Sold!” Nick said, clapping his hand on the table. “You’re always negotiating, aren’t you?”

“I am an agent.” She slathered butter on her bread.

He rubbed his chin. “You don’t like the beard I’ve had for over a year now?”

“I miss your face. You have such a nice one. I bet you could sell bibles in Babylonia.”

“I have a feeling you’re buttering up more than bread.”

“I still have eyes, despite not being interested.”

“Your disinterest is a fact that I have mourned for a great many years. Along with all the other men in the five boroughs.”

Carrie shook a well-manicured finger at him. “You want me to tell them no?”

“Emphatically. Also, while you’re at it, inform them there won’t be any more books. My character and I have irreconcilable differences. He’s giving me the silent treatment.”

“You’re still blocked?”

“Like an iceberg. The kind that halted the Titanic.”

“It happens.”

“It’s been a long time, Carrie.” It felt good to admit things to her, to say his troubles aloud and relieve himself of the secrets, much in the same way he admitted to being an addict now. The last two books he’d given her were trunk books, squirreled away from an earlier time when writing was as natural as breathing. Now his trunk lay open, bare of any contents.

“You’ve had a lot going on in that time. You’re not under contract, and I’ll let them know there are no plans for a new book.”

“Thank you, Carrie.” Her quick agreement meant a great deal. After all, it wasn’t only his paycheck they were discussing. “How’s Maya?”

“She’s good. She misses her Uncle Nick, although Tara’s pretty pissed at you right now.”

“Why is Tara mad? She should be happy. She got the girl after all.”

Carrie shot him a reproachful glance, but her mouth quirked, fighting her grin. “She’s still upset about your Christmas present. Who sends a puppy to another person’s kid?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “I have a reputation to protect. I’m cool Uncle Nick. Besides, Maya asked for a puppy.”

“Maybe next time ask her mom…either mom.”

“Are you suggesting I should hold off on the pet snake?”

He expected her to laugh, but her expression was serious. “If you want to do something for her, get your butt to Brooklyn sometime. She misses her Uncle Nick.”

“I’m not the most sociable guy right now.” He dropped his voice, leaning into the table. “Besides, do you really want a meth addict around your daughter?”

“Are you ready?” the waiter asked, interrupting them once more.

“A few more minutes, please,” she said.

He gave them a reproachful glance before heading back toward the kitchen.

“Jesus, Carrie, what does a man have to do to get a meal around you?”

She straightened in her seat, a gesture that fell between intimidation and consideration. “I have a few more things to say. You are in recovery, and she loves you. I won’t lie. We were all shocked when it came out, but you were part of our lives when you were using even though we didn’t know. I don’t throw people I love away even when they make stupid mistakes.”

“It’s more than a mistake.” He slugged back his drink, searching for the courage to confront his internal conflicts. “I was in denial for a long time…longer than you know. But I swear I never used around your family, Carrie.”

“I believe you, but that’s my point. Why are you ignoring us now when you need your friends the most?”

“Because I’m not in denial anymore.” He couldn’t explain the shame he felt for the person he was…is.

“You’re living like a recluse.” She waved her hands dramatically. “I don’t even know how that’s possible in this city, but you’re managing it.”

“I don’t own enough luggage to pack for the all-expenses paid guilt trip you’re taking me on. Now, can we table this and enjoy a steak or whatever fancy fusion name they call it in this place?”

“Watch it, or I’ll downgrade that beard to Grizzly Adam status.”