Читать книгу Men Like This - Roxanne Smith - Страница 10

Jack’s final night in Hollywood looked and smelled about as sour as it felt.

Sabini’s wasn’t the sort of place he’d normally spend a great deal of time. Quite the opposite, in fact. Though the bar was rather nice, the crowd drawn by the dance club down the hall rubbed him the wrong way. The women dressed trashy, and the men dressed like women half the time, with their jeans wrapped tight around their skinny, and some not so skinny, legs like they’d been applied with glue and a roll-on brush.

Worse yet, Jack doubted Sabini’s was the sort of place Quinn hung out.

Quinn Buzzly.

Disappointment didn’t quite cover the circumstances. On the other side of the world, in some Hungarian forest, a director sat angrily punching words into his phone, which would then travel thousands upon thousands of miles to arrive in the text in-box of Jack’s mobile. He should’ve been on location by now. Two weeks had passed, and Jack had finally run out of excuses to remain in L.A.

He sighed and surveyed the bar before motioning for Busty the Barkeep. He’d formed a slight attachment to the young bartender. It had nothing to do with her bust, beauty, or remarkable bar-side manner. Rather, her presence behind the bar kept the memory of the night he’d met Quinn fresh in Jack’s mind.

Busty smiled in her friendly way. “Whiskey ginger ale, hold the whiskey?”

He knocked back the last sip of his previous drink. “Do you remember me?” The question sounded sudden and strange to his own ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, not from the last two weeks I’ve been practically living on your barstools. But the night I was here with the blond. I guess what I’m really asking is if you recall her.”

The bartender relaxed and leaned onto the bar as if to in settle for a long conversation. The bar was slow enough, certainly, being a weeknight. “Trust me, dude. You do not forget a girl who comes in here dressed for the prom.”

Jack nodded. “Would you recognize her in jeans? Say, if she’d been here the week before, would you know it?”

He knew his cause was lost when Busty tilted her head to one side and gave him a pitying smile. “Sorry. There’s no lack of tall, pretty, blond women in Hollywood, but if you live here, I’m the damn mayor. Knowing faces is my livelihood. I’d never seen her before that night.”

Jack swallowed a sigh of despair. He ought to have figured by now. Or even asked sooner, but then he’d have lost out on two weeks of hoping Quinn might show up.

Disappointment didn’t own the stage, though, because dismay in Quinn’s harsh verdict warred for space, as well. She’d decided the sort of man Jack was without giving him so much as a chance to prove otherwise. That bothered him greatly, but he hardly held it against her. After what her ex-husband had put her through, what woman didn’t run for the hills after a hookup with a stranger?

“Hookup” didn’t do their encounter justice, but Quinn wasn’t here to argue the point. Jack had been dead set on seeing her again. Had she felt the same, she’d have come to Sabini’s.

Sure, he could go knock on her hotel-room door, but he had a notion he’d be an unwelcome sight. No, Quinn had to be the one to make the decision. She had to come to him. He’d done his part, putting off his director who, had he not been a good friend besides, likely would’ve fired him by now, and putting himself where he could be found were Quinn so inclined to find him.

Jack declined another drink from Busty. He stood and reached for his jacket hung on the back of the stool.

With the smoothness of a longtime habit, she swiped his crumpled paper-napkin coaster from the bar with one hand, and ran a wet cloth over it with the other all before he’d even got his arms inside the sleeves. She smiled up at him. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“No, unfortunately not.” Jack picked through his wallet for a bill large enough to properly demonstrate his appreciation for the kind company. “It’s back to work for me, I’m afraid. One less face for you to memorize, eh?”

“It’s a nice face. I’ll miss it.”

A lovely sentiment. Jack handed her the bill, then waved as he started for the exit. Unfortunately, it came from the wrong woman.

* * * *

The ball sat in Richard’s court. He let out a low whistle, sat back into his fat, cushy black chair and thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip. Doubt dripped from the words he finally spoke. “A divorcee to write a romance?”

“No one appreciates love like those who have lost it.”

Quinn’s poetic answer didn’t seem to have amused him. He smiled without humor. “Never argue with a writer. Your extensive arsenal of words can make even the worst idea sound brilliant. It’s a shame you dislike politics.”

It sounded like a compliment but felt like a barb.

His manner became increasingly condescending. It wasn’t a stretch for her to figure out he considered her plumb stupid. “You do realize what a bad idea this is? You, the mother of gore, are going to slap every single one of your fans in the face by putting out some lovey-dovey fairy tale? Oh, not to mention how not thrilled your publisher’s going to be about this. You’re a brand, dear, whether you like it or not. That’s not a box you step out of on a whim or because you’re having a midlife crisis. My professional opinion? Take a vacation. Go to London, scratch out a little love story if it’ll make you happy, then come home and do what Clementine Hazel does best—write stories that have adults checking under the bed for monsters right alongside their children.”

A more moving statement than she’d anticipated. “Maybe I’ll use another pen name. Clementine can stay true to her art.” She couldn’t make herself any clearer. She wasn’t JELL-O to be squished into a mold, but an artist. She’d decide her medium.

“That’s the smartest thing to come out of your mouth since you arrived.” Richard tugged at his tie again and opened the thin silver laptop on his desk. “I’ll print out a fresh copy of our contract, and we can go over the fine print.”

Thankfully, she hadn’t taken her dad’s bet. She’d need the money if no one wanted to publish her novel. The sheer possibility made her queasy.

It was easy to understand Richard’s reticence, but it galled her how quickly he let her go without a fight. “Getting to the meat of the matter, huh? I can’t believe you’re so certain I’ll fail.”

“Hey, you’re the one letting me go, remember? That said, you’re absolutely right about me.” He glanced up from the computer monitor. “You’re committing career suicide. I’m jumping ship while the jumping is good.”

She kindly pointed out the obvious. “It’s not really jumping ship if you’ve been asked to leave. It’s more like walking the plank.”

“While you go down with a sinking vessel, Captain. Cutesy metaphors aside, you’re going to disappoint your fans. Besides, who says you’ve got the chops for romance? Your characters are too busy stabbing each other in inappropriate places to fall in love.”

She released a dramatic sigh of disgust. “It was one time! Everything since has been your run-of-the-mill, knife-you-in-the-neck stabbings. Let it go.”

“Sorry. The really disturbing ones stay with you.”

She harrumphed and held a hand out for the freshly printed stack of papers in the printer tray behind his desk. “Give me those. Maybe a little legal work will help blot out the memory.”

“I should be so lucky.”

* * * *

“Breathe, Quinn, breathe.”

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Telling Richard about her plans to move to London to write a romance novel had been a trial in courage. Spilling the beans to her son had been far less fun, an emotional battering ram of guilt and apprehension as Seth had told her under no uncertain terms he intended to stay in California, even if it meant living with his dad for another year.

Preparing to tell Blake the news and Seth’s subsequent decision required mustering every ounce of confidence she possessed. And some she didn’t.

“He’s a glorified number cruncher. No one special. Not anymore.” If she said it a million times, it wouldn’t make it true. Blake would always be special to her. She’d worshipped him up until the day she’d received the damning phone call from an office busybody with a grudge against Blake informing her of his affair.

The cab driver, who steadfastly ignored Quinn mumbling to herself in the backseat, deposited her at the curb in front of her former home. She climbed out and gazed at the gorgeous pale blue colonial.

She loved this house. She’d spent ten years decorating it with great care and pride. She didn’t blame Blake for wanting to keep it. He hadn’t had to try too hard. Divorce had left her in shambles. What was one more loss?

Blake answered the royal-blue front door and greeted Quinn with a curt nod before stepping back to allow her entry.

Seth waited inside to give her an enormous, encouraging hug. “Hey, Mom.” She took comfort in his mumbled breath against her shoulder. He pulled away. “Can we get lunch after you talk to Dad?”

She ruffled his hair. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“Okay. I’ll be upstairs till you’re ready.” He headed for the staircase.

She admired the way his thick, dark hair bounced as he raced up the steps two at a time. The rogue gene from Aunt Emily had beat out the blond he should’ve inherited from both Quinn and Blake. Seth’s eyes, however, were undeniably his father’s—hazel and beautiful. Like mint and honey.

Blake led her through the house to his office as if she didn’t know the way. She tried to ignore the changes. Kira had wasted no time putting her tasteless stamp on things. Ugly braided rugs covered the flawless hardwood floors, and she hardly recognized the oak dining table stained a hideous shade of red.

Her heels clicked on the floor of Blake’s office—no rugs in here—and she sent a silent whisper of thanks for the added height. Once again, Angie had convinced her into the soaring stilettos, this time with some nonsense about keeping her back straight. Totally worth it to find herself almost a full inch taller than her ex-husband.

The shoes reminded her of Jack. He’d towered several inches over her last time she’d worn them. Suddenly Blake didn’t seem so imposing.

Quinn smiled. Comparing the two men might be her ticket to surviving this encounter. She had only to recall the disdain on Jack’s face when she’d talked about her ex.

His office hadn’t changed with the exception of the picture frames on his desk and bookshelves. They held photos of Kira now. Quinn blocked out the initial sensation of needling pain as she imagined decade-old photographs of herself tossed out like garbage and focused on how there wasn’t a single picture of Seth in sight. Transferring grief to anger wasn’t healthy, but it felt better than a breaking heart.

Blake sat without inviting her to do the same. She sat anyway.

“Have you found a place yet?”

Despite his coolness toward her, Quinn missed him. How could she not miss the man she’d spent almost half her life loving? She missed everything from how his pillow smelled to the sprinkling of blond facial hair left in the sink after his morning shave. It seemed like the small things hurt the most.

Today he wore a pale gray button-up with the sleeves rolled up twice. It was unbuttoned at the top and showed off his collarbones and a hint of fine, blond chest hair. Still the golden boy he’d been in high school when she’d first fallen head over heels for him. He’d looked at her like the moon lived in her eyes in those days. What happened?

The moon bolted, honey, and took up residence in Kira’s eyes. Kira had ambition to match Blake’s. She was a woman in his field of work who understood the demands of the job and sympathized, a woman demanding and driven like him.

They’d get married and have bossy, imposing children.

Sometimes Quinn wished she would’ve tried harder to be that woman. Maybe Blake would’ve respected her had she been Very Important in an Office like him. Instead, she’d happily taken up the reins of housewife and become what he liked to sneeringly call complacent. She’d confused it for content.

She fought the urge to cry. “Soon.”

He nodded his approval. “Good. It’s been stressful. Things will get better once Seth moves back in with you.”

Her nostalgia faded abruptly, replaced with disappointment and a familiar mild surprise. “Seth’s a great kid. How stressful can having him around be?”

“He’s a teenager. Thirteen. He’s loud and distracting. When Kira and I bring work home from the office, it’s impossible to get anything done around here. And forget entertaining clients.”

Quinn smirked. The asinine smile always rubbed Blake the wrong way. “Maybe try spending some time with him instead of letting him sit up there alone in his room.”

Blake sighed in his put upon way. It was, she believed, designed to let her in on how tedious he found her. “It’s nothing personal. He is a good kid. I love him.”

She sensed more to the story. Her ability to read him irritated him more than usual since the divorce had been finalized, but the old adage proved true. You can take the girl out of the marriage, but you can’t take the marriage out of the girl. She crossed her arms. “And?”

He started to reply, hesitated and began again. “Kira and I would like to start a family of our own. He’s my son, but Kira wants—”

It was like being zapped with lightning if lightning zapped people with outrage instead of electricity. “Let me guess. Kira wants purity. Am I right?” She didn’t need to wait for an answer. “Of course I’m right. She doesn’t like having Seth around because he’s mine. Blake, he’s yours, too. Why aren’t you offended? If she really loves you, shouldn’t she want to learn to love your son?”

Blake leaned back in his wheeled chair and spoke like a man trying to explain the cosmos to a monkey. “She can’t help but feel a certain way about my child with you. It’s not her fault. Our marriage is something Kira feels she has to live up to no matter how many times I’ve assured her you and I no longer care for each other. Our history intimidates her.”

Why wasn’t he capable of a single pinch of sensitivity? She nodded absently. “If that’s how you feel, you’re not going to like what I came here to tell you.”

Blake eyed her warily. “You didn’t come here to tell me you were going to find a house soon?”

Quinn shrank beneath his hard glare. “No.” She sucked in air through her teeth and dove in. “I’m leaving the country. London. I’m going to London.” Not the smooth announcement she’d practiced in her head, but she still managed to stun him into silence.

She enjoyed the fascinating array of emotions passing over his handsome features. First came shock, evidenced by his slack jaw and deadpan eyes. Then his blond brow creased in confusion. She hoped it gave him wrinkles. Finally, his mouth snapped shut, and he zeroed in on her with narrowed eyes.

Mint and honey? Maybe not. Right now they were more like molten amber. “I don’t think so.”

Even coming from Blake it was an unexpected response. How much control did he presume to have over her?

“Excuse me? I’m not requesting permission. I’m going, and Seth isn’t. I’ve already given him the option, and he chose to stay. I can’t say I blame him. At his age, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend a year away from my friends, either, going to some strange school in a foreign country.”

Blake’s expression of extreme ire might’ve been carved from granite. She pressed on. “It’s only for a year. He’ll be in school. He’ll have his friends and my family, plus vacations and the summer with me in London. It’ll be over before you realize it. Hell, he might even have a new baby brother to occupy him, huh? He’s a built-in babysitter.”

Blake started to say something but stopped. His brow creased again. With his thumb and forefinger, he stroked his chin in a thinking man’s gesture. “A year, you said? That’s a pretty specific time frame, isn’t it, Q? It’s about the length of time needed to, oh, I don’t know…write a book?”

He’d used his old nickname for her. She didn’t point it out—a strategic move on her part. “You were paying attention the last ten years. Yes, I’m going there to write.”

Not a muscle twitched. “Are you being funny?”

The tantrum she’d been expecting closed in. It would be one of the first she didn’t bow to. She rose from her seat and clasped her hands together. Hopefully standing made her appear more authoritative. “I’d never put so much effort into a joke.”

Blake bowed his head and closed his eyes as if warding off a headache. He probably was. He joined her in standing and placed his hands on his hips. The toe of one exquisitely polished loafer tapped an angry staccato on the oak-paneled floor. “Explain to me why you’re going to London to do what you’ve always done right here in California.”

Not a question. A demand for information.

Quinn’s mouth tightened. She could tell him about the romance novel she wanted to write, or how this was all her dad’s big idea, but she wasn’t going to make excuses or offer explanations. He’d simply have to deal with her decision to go to London the same way she’d dealt with his decision to get a divorce.

The mere memory brought a rush of flame to her face. After learning about Blake’s affair, she’d wrongly assumed the power lie in her hands. Didn’t cheating men generally beg their wives not to give them the boot? She’d confronted him and promised forgiveness if he’d stop seeing the other woman.

He’d thrown the offer in her face. He didn’t want a second chance. They were done; he was leaving—rather, she was—and it was over. Thank God, he’d told her, because keeping his affair secret for five years had been exhausting.

Quinn pinpointed it as the exact moment her heart shattered. “I’m going because I want to and I can. End of story.”

He met her eyes. “So you don’t need to. You want to. We don’t always get what we want.”

His hypocrisy stunned her. “Are you going to lecture me on the virtues of selflessness? I don’t believe you’re the man for the job, honey.” Anger had her slipping into old habits. It only peeved her off further. “You certainly don’t make it a habit to ignore your own wants. You corrupted our marriage and destroyed our life together to get what you wanted. Now you’re prepared to throw away your relationship with Seth to get more of the same.”

This was the man she loved? This hypocritical, selfish jerk?

Her tirade failed to make an impact.

“Don’t throw the divorce in my face, Quinn. You might not realize it, but you weren’t happy either. We were living our lives around each other. I made a move to be happy. You should’ve done the same.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Bitter anger gave her the strength to keep fighting. “I’m doing it now.”

Her tears used to make Blake weak in the knees. He’d never been able to resist coming to her side. Since he met Kira, though, the man had iron in his legs. He stayed rooted to the spot and watched her show of emotion dispassionately.

He chided her. “You’re being ridiculous. London isn’t the answer.”

Quinn snatched a tissue from the dispenser on his desk since he hadn’t offered one and dabbed her eyes. After several deep breaths, she faced him again. “In two months I’m going to London for a year. Seth doesn’t want to go, and we’re not forcing him.” She hadn’t planned on giving a time limit. Too late now. “My suggestion is you take this time with your son and get to know him. It might be your last chance.”

“You’re overreacting again. I just believe he should live with you. Weekends and holidays are fine. It’s the typical arrangement, isn’t it?”

“Of course. You wouldn’t want your precious reputation to suffer if anyone ever found out you don’t want your own child.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”

She’d won the war but didn’t have the strength for another battle. She wiped her eyes again. “Whatever you say. I wouldn’t take him, anyway. You’re his dad. He needs you.” A glimmer of something that might’ve been love, pity, or regret crossed his face.

She didn’t stick around to find out which.

* * * *

Quinn hadn’t been very generous to herself.

Two months hardly covered the time she needed to prepare for living abroad. She managed, though, determined to stick to the deadline she’d given Blake. May he never underestimate her again.

First, she’d needed an agent. With only a flimsy outline of her novel in hand and her established career in another genre to lean on, she went about the process of finding the right representative for her new endeavor.

It didn’t take long for Carla Darby to pounce on her proposal. During their initial phone conference she’d surprised and encouraged Quinn with her eagerness and immediate assumption of success.

She’d literally laughed at Quinn’s expressed doubt. “Romance is pie! Anytime you get stuck, throw in a knifing or two to get yourself back on familiar ground. Those weren’t pretty times. People were savage. No one will blink twice at a little violence. Or a lot.”

Quinn signed with Carla that day.

The day before her flight departed for Heathrow, an announcement from Blake arrived in her e-mail inbox. Kira was pregnant.

Quinn couldn’t be happier to be leaving the country.