Читать книгу One Winter's Night - Susan Meier - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMONDAY MORNING ELOISE awoke to the real world. She dressed in work trousers and a thick sweater, then bundled herself in her quilted parka, a scarf and mittens. She rode the subway to Manhattan and an ordinary, crowded elevator to the twenty-ninth-floor law offices of Pearson, Pearson, Leventry and Downing.
She slipped off her mittens and scarf and hung her coat on the coat tree in the corner of the tiny space she shared with ten filing cabinets and the desk of Tina Horner.
Tina entered rubbing her hands together. “It should snow. Then even though it would still be cold, we’d at least have festive snow to make it feel Christmas-y.”
“I was just talking about that with someone last night.”
“So I’m not the only one who thinks we’re being cheated by cold weather without snow.”
Eloise sat at her desk, then hit the button to boot up her computer. “Nope, Binnie Margolis is right with you.”
“Binnie Margolis?” Tina whistled. “Somebody’s moved up in the world.”
Eloise laughed. “Not hardly. I’m doing a favor for a friend, going to a few Christmas parties with him so he doesn’t get hounded because he doesn’t have a date.”
Tina shrugged out of her coat. “So it’s like going out with your cousin?”
Eloise winced. She absolutely did not have cousin-like feelings for Ricky Langley. But she wouldn’t tell Tina that.
“Not exactly. But in exchange for me going out with him, he agreed to introduce me around in the hope that I’d make a connection and maybe find a real job.”
Tina took her seat at the desk across from Eloise. “That sounds promising.”
“It is. Or it would be—”
“Except?”
She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should come clean with Tina. She decided she needed to talk to someone. “Except I’m thinking I should end our deal.”
“End a deal that might help you find a job? Are you nuts?”
“More like concerned. I thought he wanted a date because of a bad breakup, but the way the wives of his friends were talking last night I get the feeling something big happened to this guy.”
“Big like what?”
“Something tragic. They said, ‘after his tragedy’ a couple of times.”
Tina winced. “Sounds like maybe his last girlfriend died.”
Oh. Wouldn’t that make sense? “Could be.”
“Too bad we’re not allowed to use the internet here or we could look him up.”
“I can always go to the library after work.”
“Maybe you should.”
Knowing she could investigate him later, she relaxed and got down to the business of typing legal briefs. Because she worked late that night, she couldn’t go to the library. Disappointment and curiosity collided, making her too nervous to sleep.
As she lay in bed pondering Ricky, their deal and her life, it dawned on her that since she’d met him, she’d been immersed in helping him. All weekend long, she’d remade dresses, gone to parties and worked to make a good impression on his friends so he could be happy. And it had felt good. Really good. She’d been busy. Happy. Until his friends’ wives talked about “his tragedy” she’d been enjoying this charade.
And thinking of someone else had made her stop dwelling on her own problems. She hadn’t done that since her husband had died.
Maybe she shouldn’t jeopardize their good rapport by looking him up.
Maybe helping a man with a tragedy in his past was exactly what she needed to get over her own grief.
Especially because he was a friend of a friend. Ricky Langley wouldn’t be in Tucker Engle’s circle of confidantes if there was something wrong with him.
He was a guy with a tragic past. A guy she could help. And in return she could forget about her own troubles.
* * *
Ricky trudged up Eloise’s four flights of steps on Friday night, so sad he’d nearly canceled their evening together again. On Monday night, he’d gone to the hospital to read to the kids, as Regina had suggested, and it had been devastating. He hated seeing kids suffer. He couldn’t believe Regina had suggested he read to children so weak they broke his heart, reminded him of Blake, reminded him of how stupid he’d been. His son was dead because he’d never asked Blake’s mother to let him raise him. She was a party girl turned mother and he’d seen the difficulties she’d had fitting Blake into her life. She probably would have been happy to give him custody of Blake, as long as she got visitation, but he’d never asked.
Anger with himself had made his pulse race, and that night, he couldn’t stay in the children’s ward activity room. He’d bowed out before the kids even knew he’d come there to read, so there was no harm done to them. But as he’d struggled to get through his week without thinking of Blake, without berating himself for not asking for custody, for not taking his son away from a woman who clearly wanted an out, he’d simply forgotten about Eloise Vaughn.
He almost laughed. Another man would think it impossible that he could forget a woman so beautiful she could be a princess. But that was his life.
When she opened her door to him, and he looked down at her dress, he blinked. The pale blue fabric complemented her pink skin tone and yellow hair, but it also glittered as if someone had woven tinsel into the material. She looked like a princess trapped in a snow globe.
His heart lifted a bit. “Wow.”
She smiled. “You know, even if nothing else comes of fake dating you, I’m getting a real sense of satisfaction out of your compliments on my sewing.”
He took her cape. When she turned for him to help her into it, he noticed this dress had a full back and sighed with relief. The gloom that hung over him like a dome loosened a bit. “You deserve to be complimented. I’d never guess you were taking old clothes and making them new.”
They headed down the hall to the stairs. “It’s not like I’m redoing things from the last century. Five years ago, my clothes were in style.”
“Then you went to university and your money had to go for tuition.”
She stopped at the top step and faced him. “Something like that.”
“Hey, unless you’re born into money, you’re going to suffer through university.”
A strange expression crossed her face. He wouldn’t be this far in his business dealings if he couldn’t read the look of someone who had something to say. The pinch of pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t something good.
But instead of a confession, she said, “Or starve.”
He smiled, but curiosity ruffled through him. She’d told him about her job problem, but it had never crossed his mind to think she might have had personal troubles in her past. Something that had broken her heart.
Still, he pushed it from his mind. He had problems of his own. And wondering about her wasn’t part of their deal. Getting to know her wasn’t even part of their deal. In fact, with as pretty as she was and as tempting, he might be wise not to ask questions.
In the limo, they talked generically about her job and his busy schedule as they drove to a hotel in the theater district. Lit for Christmas, Times Square took his breath away. So many lights. So much creativity in the Santa and sleigh that rode the tickertape around the jumbo video screens, and the Santa’s workshop filled with elves in the toy store windows.
He shoved back the memory of bringing Blake here for a private tour of the toy store and focused on getting himself and Eloise out of the limo.
Again, the night was cold and, as they stepped out, Eloise shivered. His arm rose in a natural reaction to pull her close, but just before he would have touched her, he stopped himself.
Too many things happened naturally with this woman, and although that probably added to the success of their charade, it wasn’t good for either of them personally. When they weren’t actually at a party, he would keep his distance.
A small stairway took them to the hotel lobby, where they were directed to an elevator to the ballroom. Lively music blared at them as the doors opened.
Eloise turned to him. “Are we late?”
“No. We’re right on time. Preston’s a music promoter. Expect the unexpected. Including the fact that he might have started the party early just because he wanted to.”
“Cool.”
A laugh escaped, and he relaxed a little. Technically, he had to have fun and talk to her for the charade to work. “Cool? Maybe yes. Maybe no. But I’m betting on no.”
She happily exited the elevator and nearly walked into Preston Jenkins’s arms. High as a kite, their host took their coats and handed them off to a huge, beefy man who looked like a bodyguard.
He hugged Eloise effusively. “You are as gorgeous as the gossip mills are reporting.”
Her eyes grew round and shiny with what looked to be fear, and Ricky remembered how she hadn’t liked getting her picture taken the week before. Now she appeared deathly afraid of gossip.
“Which is why,” Preston slurred, “I’m thrilled that we are about ten feet away from mistletoe.”
Her eyes grew even larger, and this time Ricky understood. No woman wanted to be slobbered over by a stranger, regardless of how much mistletoe hung over doorways. Protectiveness rose up in him. She was his date. She wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t brought her. He needed to get her out of this.
His brain scrambled for a way to save her, and eventually he simply opened his mouth and said, “Do you really think I’d let a schmoozer like you kiss my date?”
Preston slapped his arm. “Oh, such a kidder. I wasn’t going to kiss her. I’m getting pictures of everybody kissing their dates under the mistletoe.” He pointed to the huge bodyguard type, who displayed a camera.
His heart did something that felt like a samba. “You want me to kiss Eloise?”
Nudging Eloise and Ricky under the mistletoe, Preston grinned drunkenly. “Yeah. You kiss Eloise.”
Happiness tumbled through him before he could stop it, before he could think of Blake, before he could think of the myriad reasons this was wrong. It was as if time froze and there was only him and Eloise and mistletoe. No crowd. No past. No future. Just a kiss.
Eloise blinked up at him. Her pretty blue eyes round and curious. The curls of her soft blond hair framing her face. Her pink lips parted.
His pulse scrambled. He hadn’t kissed a woman in almost two years. And just touching the skin of Eloise’s back had set his hormones dancing. What would happen when their lips met?
Fireworks probably.
His pulse kicked up again. He hadn’t felt fireworks in forever.
Longing, swift and sharp, rose up in him.
He silenced it. They were only fake dating. Kissing took them to dangerous ground.
Except he hadn’t kissed a woman in almost two years. Hadn’t felt alive in almost two years—
He glanced back at Preston, who waved dramatically. “Go on! Camera’s waiting!”
He caught Eloise’s gaze again. Need prickled his skin. Desire swelled. And he had to admit he wanted this. He wanted to feel alive again, if only for a few seconds. It was foolish. But it was also only a kiss. One kiss when he’d been so long deprived hardly seemed earth-shattering, and he could go back to being miserable after that. Plus, if he didn’t kiss her, he would ruin their charade.
He bent his head and barely touched his mouth to hers. Soft, smooth lips met his. She tasted like peppermint and felt like heaven, and his head spun. Had he said this wouldn’t be earth-shattering? He’d been wrong.
His mouth pressed against hers, and simple need bubbled like a witch’s brew in his gut. He knew he was flirting with disaster. But he couldn’t stop himself. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to simply lose himself in her. The softness, the sweetness he’d never found in another woman.
One kiss. Then he would walk away.
* * *
When Ricky’s mouth shifted and he began to take, all the blood drained from Eloise’s body, then returned in a grand whoosh of warm tingles. He’d touched his mouth to hers softly at first, in a kiss that felt almost experimental. Then his hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, and he pulled her just a little bit closer, pressed his lips a little bit harder and she melted.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Too many sensations bombarded her. The crisp scent of his aftershave. The power in the hands holding her shoulders. The softness of his mouth that pressed one second, then hesitated the next. He seemed to want this and fear it, and though she knew it was wrong, she opened her mouth and egged him on.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. Need crashed against need. The kiss deepened so fast, her knees might have buckled, but she wasn’t paying any attention. She longed for the feeling of his tongue gliding along her tongue, his chest pressed against hers, his hands holding her shoulders.
He released her, and for two seconds they stared into each other’s eyes. Then the music blaring from the ballroom registered, along with the sound of Preston laughing.
Standing by his bodyguard and studying the photo in the digital camera he said, “It’s a great pic. You look fantastic. Young lovers. I adore you. Now move along.”
Ricky gave a fake laugh and said something inane to Preston before he guided her into the ballroom. Her dress swooshed against her legs silkily and the scents of pine and vanilla permeating the room seemed strong and vibrant, as if kissing her fake date had brought all of her senses to life.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out as a squeak. “Part of the deal.”
But it wasn’t fine. They’d taken that kiss too far, and it had been a mistake. She liked this guy. He was a good person with something sad enough in his past that his friends’ wives called it a tragedy. They should keep their distance. Instead, they’d kissed and it had been amazing. Which was wrong. W...R...O...N...G. Because he didn’t like her and she was going to get hurt.
They spent an uncomfortable half hour trying to make conversation as Ricky’s friends, the people who would join them at their table, arrived. Her nerves continued as they ate dinner, danced and left the ballroom early, Ricky explaining to Preston that he had to rise before dawn for conference calls Sunday morning.
But in the limo on the way home, watching him sitting beside her, staring out the window, looking like a man lost, Eloise chastised herself. All night long, she’d held herself aloof, flummoxed by that kiss. This was a seriously unhappy guy and all he wanted was one nice Christmas, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about herself. Her reactions to him. Her stupid hormones.
But that kiss had been one of the best of her life. If not the best. It was hard to stay objective after that.
She shook her head. What was she doing? She’d finally found a way to put some meaning in her life. She couldn’t let one kiss distract her. Her back stiffened as she straightened on the limo seat. As God was her witness, she intended to give him what he really wanted. Christmas. A joyful, happy Christmas. No easing back into “the season,” as he’d said the night they made their deal. No fake date. She would be someone who really cared about him and who gave him joy.
* * *
Ricky walked her to her apartment door and for a crazy second he thought about kissing her good-night. He couldn’t get the mistletoe kiss out of his head. Or the expression of surprise on Eloise’s face. He wanted to kiss her just to see it again.
What was he doing? He was too depressed, too wounded to bring a woman into his life.
At her door, she smiled politely. “The party was fun.”
He sniffed in derision. “Preston’s a freak.”
“Or a guy who likes to have a good time.” She straightened his bow tie, smoothed her hands down his top coat collar. “Maybe we should work a little harder to have some fun?”
He studied her face, her pretty blue eyes, warm pink mouth and sweet smile. She was serious. She wanted him to have fun.
Syrupy warmth flooded his blood. A strange feeling tightened his chest, and although it took him a few seconds, he realized it was affection.
He wasn’t just attracted to her. He was beginning to like her.
But he knew that was wrong.
He stepped back. “Or maybe we should just put in an appearance at these things and leave early all the time?”
He turned and started down the stairs without waiting for Eloise to answer. No matter what happened at the rest of the parties, he wouldn’t kiss her again.
* * *
The next morning, he called to tell Eloise she only needed to wear jeans and a sweater to that night’s party, his fraternity reunion. The lilt of her voice tiptoed though him, reminding him of the kiss the day before, and he hung up as quickly as he could and lost himself in work.
That was the best way to deal with feelings—remorse over Blake, unwanted curiosity about Eloise. Work was the way to forget and give himself some peace.
When his phone rang a few hours later, he answered absently. “Yes?”
Tucker Engle laughed. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”
Tossing his pen to his desk, Ricky leaned back. “No.” He laughed. “Sorry. How’s Kentucky?”
“We’re knee-deep in sledding and hot cocoa.”
Ricky smirked. It was hard to imagine workaholic Tucker spending five or six weeks in the country. “Bored?”
“No. Actually, I’m enjoying it so much that I don’t want to leave, but I’ve had an emergency crop up and I need your help.”
Ricky sat up. After everything Tucker had done for him, he’d love a chance to do a favor in return. “What can I do?”
“I need to put in an appearance at a meeting for one of the companies I’m heavily invested in. I just need a presence. Somebody who can give my opinion.”
“I’ll be happy to go. Tell me the address and the date.”
“It’s today. I know it’s Saturday, so if you can’t go, it’s okay.”
“No. I’m happy to do it.”
Tucker covered the details with Ricky, who made a few notes, but only a few, because there wasn’t much for Ricky to do except make one brief statement.
Still, Tucker’s reply showed he was grateful. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. If it runs long, I’ll just call Eloise and tell her we’ll be late for my frat reunion.”
Even as he said it, Ricky realized his mistake.
Tucker pounced. “So, you and Eloise hit it off on that ride home after the party?”
He winced. “You could say that.”
“Good. You’ve been down too long, and Eloise could use a little pick-me-up, too. She’s had some rough patches.”
Ricky’s eyes narrowed. Pretty, sweet Eloise had had some rough patches? Just from the tone of Tucker’s voice, he could tell this was about more than her inability to get a job. He remembered the expression that flitted over her face when they’d talked about college. Obviously Tucker knew something Ricky didn’t.
He opened his mouth to ask but couldn’t. It didn’t seem right or fair to ask questions about a woman who was only attending a few parties with him.
He wasn’t supposed to care.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t need to know.
But even an hour after Ricky hung up the phone, as he dressed to go to Tucker’s meeting, he couldn’t get that odd look in Eloise’s eyes out of his head. Curiosity overwhelmed him, so he typed her name into his computer’s search engine.
* * *
Late Saturday afternoon, Eloise began getting dressed. That evening’s party was Ricky’s informal fraternity reunion, held in a pub in midtown. When he’d called that morning, he’d told her to just wear jeans and a sweater.
Still, knowing how men were about pride in front of fraternity brothers, and back to her mission of making sure he had a good time, Eloise dressed with care. She slid into an emerald green cashmere sweater that she’d been saving for a special occasion, fixed her hair in a long ponytail and applied just the right amount of makeup to look cheerful and festive.
She would get this guy out of his misery if it killed her.
He arrived, helped her into her parka and led her down the stairs.
“This might be like hell week.”
She laughed. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned putting in an appearance and leaving early encouraged her. “You think I can’t handle a roomful of men and their dates?”
He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Some won’t have dates.”
“Oh.”
He started walking again, and she stood rooted to her spot. He had to be in his midthirties. The people he went to school with would be about the same age, but they wouldn’t have dates?
What did that mean?
When he reached the limo, Norman opened the door. Realizing she was standing in the lobby like a ninny, she scrambled to catch up. As soon as they were settled, Norman took off.
“So you’re married.”
Surprise kicked the air out of her lungs and made her forget all about the fact that some of his fraternity buddies wouldn’t have dates. “What?”
He faced her, his eyes cool and direct. “You’re married. I found your marriage license through a quick internet search and didn’t find a divorce decree. Ergo, you’re married.”
Her heart galloped. Her nerve endings jumped. Every ounce of blood fell to her feet as every possible answer she could give him winged through her brain. But none of them would work. Shock and anger collided to create a horrible sourness in the pit of her stomach.
“For a guy who has his fair share of secrets, you’re certainly not shy about uncovering mine.”
“Believe it or not, I searched your name because I felt bad for you. I could tell from how you avoided the topic of college that something had happened and I wanted to know what.”
His voice was soft, honest, but tinged with a bit of hurt. And why not? He thought he was going out with a married woman.
She sucked in a breath and said the words that didn’t just pinch her heart; they filled her with shame. “My husband died.”
The expression of concern that came over his face was totally unexpected. “Your husband died?”
She nodded.
He sighed in obvious disgust with himself. “I’m sorry. I was just so flabbergasted to find the marriage license and no divorce degree that I didn’t look any further.” He shook his head. “You’re so young. I never in a million years thought to look for a death certificate.” He shook his head again. “I am so sorry.”
“If it made you so angry to find the marriage license and no divorce decree, why didn’t you just call and cancel?” But before he could answer, she figured it out on her own, and she gasped. “You hoped I had an explanation.”
“I need you. I need this charade. Plus, you’ve been nothing but a nice person around me.” He shrugged. “It was only fair that I give you a chance to explain.”
Hope filled the black hole of shame that lived where her heart should have been. Laura Beth and Olivia accepted her, understood her. But she’d never had the courage to test another person’s feelings about her. She wasn’t supposed to care if Ricky Langley liked her. But it was suddenly, incomprehensibly important that he hear the story and understand.
“I fell for a guy with tattoos and a motorcycle and ran off with him. Although we loved each other, getting married was a huge mistake. It took only two months before I realized we were in trouble. He sat at home or in his buddy’s garage, talking bikes and drinking beer all day.”
His eyes sought hers, but he said nothing.
Shame and fear shivered through her, but she trudged on.
“I spent every day supporting him by waitressing.” She glanced down at her hands, then back up at him. “This story makes me sound like I quit loving him when he refused to support me, but the truth was I never stopped loving him. I just knew we’d made a mistake getting married. I was about to leave him—”
“When he was killed on his bike and you were free.”
A shard of pain sliced through her. For a guy who clearly hoped she’d redeem herself, he certainly was quick to find the dark cloud. “When he was diagnosed with cancer. I spent three months taking him to doctor’s appointments, helping him through chemo, cleaning up messes, offering words of hope. That’s when we started talking. It killed him that he couldn’t find work, so he masked his pain by pretending not to care that I had to support him. I reacted by getting angrier and angrier with a guy who was already hurting, filled with shame.” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Then he died, and I’ve spent the past years angry with myself.” She opened her eyes. “Feeling guilty. Feeling desperately wrong. I hadn’t left him, but I was about to and he would have died alone.”
He studied her silently, then finally said, “I’m sorry.”
This time she looked away. “It certainly wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But I shouldn’t have probed into your private life.”
The limo stopped. Norman opened the door and they stepped out.
Memories followed her up the sidewalk and beneath the portico, tormenting her with the knowledge that she’d been immature and foolish. Not in marrying Wayne, but in almost leaving. True, she’d stayed and nursed him until he’d died. But if he’d visited the doctor one week later, she would have been gone. The man she’d loved would have died alone.
When they walked into the pub, the noise of the crowd swelled over her, along with the scents of corned beef and cabbage. Ricky directed her to the room in the back, where round tables were partially filled with men his age. The pool table entertained six or eight tall, lean guys and two dartboards had the attention of another four or five.
Only about seven women, dates of the guys laughing and talking, were there. More than twenty guys but only seven women. And three of them she recognized—Jennifer, Muriel and Binnie. In spite of the trauma over telling her story, Eloise almost smiled. Ricky must have been in the geek fraternity.
“Hey, it’s Ricky.”
Everybody faced them. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall before he turned and took her coat. She swallowed. Nice shoulders and a solid chest filled his warm amber sweater to perfection. His jeans all but caressed his perfect butt.
Before she could chastise herself for noticing, his mouth fell open slightly as his gaze rippled down her emerald green sweater to her tight jeans and tall black boots.
With her story out and his fear that she was a liar alleviated, she smiled in question. He’d brought her to the party to continue the charade for his own benefit, but he knew her now. And the confidence she could muster as a fake date suddenly seemed all wrong. Now, she was herself. Eloise Cummings Vaughn—not just struggling working girl, but also widow. She needed a word, something from him, that let her know things between them were okay.
He leaned in. “You look fantastic. But you always look fantastic. Thank you for doing this for me.”
His warm breath tickled her ear. He smelled great. And his words told her what she needed to hear. They were back in good standing. She might be a real person to him now, but she was still a fake date.
A tall, thin guy wearing a sweater with a Santa face plastered across the front strolled over. Handing Ricky a pool cue, he said, “You beat me four games straight last year. This year I intend to win.”
Ricky took the stick but glanced at Eloise.
This wasn’t her party. It was his. Plus, telling him about her past hadn’t changed her mission. If anything, it had strengthened it. She’d stayed too long in her self-pity. She’d lingered too long with her guilt. If the best way to get out was to help someone else, she would help him.
She smiled. “Hey, go. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”
She turned to walk over to the women, who had all gathered in a cluster but, on second thought, faced him. “Can I get you a beer?”
He smiled. Really smiled.
Their gazes caught and held, as one door of their relationship closed and another squeaked open. She was no longer a poor girl who needed his help. She was a woman who’d confided her past. He wasn’t just a rich guy who wanted a date. He’d listened. He hadn’t judged. He’d sympathized.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Pitchers are all on a table in the back,” the guy who’d challenged Ricky to the pool game said. “Help yourself pizza and wings, too. We don’t stand on ceremony. It’s self-serve.”
She smiled at Ricky again. “I’ll be right back.”
She got him a beer and put two pieces of pizza on a paper plate for him. She took them to a table near the pool game, pointed them out for Ricky and walked over to the gaggle of women.
“All right. Spill. Who are you, and how the hell did you get Ricky to go out, especially at Christmas?”
Holding the glass of beer she’d poured for herself, she smiled at the dates of his fraternity brothers. “As I told Binnie, Muriel and Jennifer on Sunday, we met at the Christmas party of a mutual friend.”
“Tucker Engle,” a short, dark-haired woman supplied. “Jeremy and I were there and we saw you. That means you haven’t known each other long.” She stuck out her hand to shake Eloise’s. “I’m Misty, by the way. I date the tall guy over there.” She pointed at a true geek with glasses and a sweater vest. “Jeremy.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The remaining women introduced themselves, but as the conversation moved on, thoughts of Sunday’s dinner party came back to her. Especially Muriel and Jennifer talking about his tragedy.
She glanced back at Ricky. When she’d told him about Wayne, she’d handed him the perfect opportunity to tell her his trauma and he hadn’t taken it.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that their relationship was only an arrangement, but tonight that argument didn’t float. Not because she liked him or because the new feelings that had sprung up made the situation feel real. It was because she suddenly realized she might be fulfilling her end of their bargain, but he wasn’t doing anything about his. He hadn’t gotten her one interview. Not one.
She was doing everything he wanted, even confiding her secrets, but he wasn’t doing anything for her.
* * *
It wasn’t long before everyone had congregated together at a table. Soon, they pulled a second table over and then a third. As Ricky played game after game of pool, he watched Eloise kick back and chat, sip beer and eat a piece of pizza.
He was glad. He didn’t know how his search had missed the death certificate of her husband, except that he hadn’t been looking for a death certificate but a divorce decree. When he hadn’t found one, he’d gotten angry and stopped searching.
He’d tried to rationalize her situation with the fact that every time he’d gone to her apartment, he’d only seen signs of two women living there. No man. No husband. And his internet search had confirmed that she worked as a temp in New York City, but she’d married in Kentucky. He’d assumed she’d left the bad marriage behind and was waiting until she could afford a divorce. Which wasn’t a crime, but it was something she should have told him.
So her story in the limo had stopped him short. Especially the part about the guilt. Lord knows he understood guilt over someone dying. Most people understood the grief. He understood the guilt.
He started another game, but noticed that his fraternity brothers were ambling toward the tables with the women. They pulled chairs behind the chairs of their dates, but those without dates—and there were plenty—seemed to be congregating around Eloise.
As he played pool with Jonathan Hopewell, the laughter from the now crowded tables rolled over to him. He glanced up and saw Kyle Banister, who was seated on a chair behind Eloise, lean in to say something to her. She smiled prettily and twisted to face him. Ricky missed his next shot.
Whatever she’d said made Kyle laugh. He reached across her, grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled both their glasses.
“Your shot.”
He spun to face Jonathan. “Sorry.”
“I know it must be boring to never lose and have to play every challenger, but at least pretend it’s hard to beat me.”
He laughed and lined up his shot, but just as he slid the stick forward Eloise’s laughter floated to him. He missed.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “No. I’m distracted.”
Jonathan followed the line of his gaze and laughed. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Of course not.” They were in an arrangement. The fact that Kyle had outgrown his geekiness, fit into his sweater and had hair that could have been on an infomercial for workout videos meant nothing.
Jonathan put his next three balls into the pockets with ease. “I’m getting confidence from your jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous.”
Eloise’s giggle reached him again. He nearly cursed. Not because he was jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. Refused to be. He was worried about their charade.
He put his stick on the table. “You win, Jon. You play the next challenger.”
“But everybody wants to beat you. Geez, you’re no fun when you have a girlfriend.”
Ricky heard Jon’s words, but they barely penetrated. He was focused on his date, who was currently being chatted up by one of his friends.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said as he ambled up to the table.
She looked up at him with bright, happy eyes and his stomach plummeted. He’d never been able to put that look in her eyes. But Kyle had.
“Hey!” She scooted her chair over and made room for a chair for him, which someone immediately provided. “Kyle was just telling me that his company is looking to hire a human resources director.”
Ricky glanced at Kyle, who reddened guiltily. “Really? I thought you were just in start-up stages.”
“We are,” Kyle said defensively.
Which meant he didn’t need an HR person for at least a year. He didn’t have to say it. Kyle got the message.
“Think I’ll go play pool with Jon.”
Ricky found himself saying, “You do that,” and then wondering why he had. He was not the type to get jealous. Ever. Eloise wasn’t really his date. She was a cover. A symbol to let people know he was getting past his grief. So why was he behaving like a Neanderthal?
Eloise patted the chair beside her. “Have a seat.”
Confusion buffeted him. The noise of the bar closed in on him, and the last thing he wanted was to be squeezed into a cluster of people.
“I want to go home.”
He heard the words coming out of his mouth and almost couldn’t believe he’d said them. He sounded like a petulant child.
But Eloise didn’t argue. She smiled and rose.
He strode over to get their coats. He handed hers to her without looking at her.
As she slid into it, his fraternity brothers came over and said their goodbyes. When all his goodbyes were made, he waved good-naturedly at the women, who still sat at the table.
They waved back, but he knew what they were thinking. That he still couldn’t handle being out. That he was defensive, a prima donna who wasn’t even trying to get over his grief.
He and Eloise stepped out into the cool air and he stopped. “I forgot to call Norman.”
She huddled into her coat. “Is he close enough to get here in a few minutes?”
“That’s his job.” He pulled out his cell phone, sent a text to Norman and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “You’re supposed to like me. You shouldn’t have been flirting with Kyle.”
“The guy was talking about a job. Everybody at the table heard every word we were saying. Everybody could see we weren’t flirting. He was offering me a job.”
“A nonexistent job.”
She huddled more deeply into her coat. “Well, I know that now that you embarrassed him.”
He ran his hand over his face. Damn. He had embarrassed him. He’d made an ass of himself and embarrassed a friend.
He was definitely losing it. “You should still know better than to think a half-drunk guy at a party is legit.”
“So in other words, I shouldn’t believe the guys you’ll be introducing me to at your other parties...oh, wait...the other people you’ve introduced me to haven’t actually talked about jobs. They’re only concerned with getting your attention.”
Norman pulled up and she strode to the limo. She didn’t wait for Norman to come around to the side, just opened the door herself.
Ricky raced up behind her. “It’s the fact that they want my attention that may get you noticed.”
She sniffed a laugh as she slid inside. Norman stood off to the right, waiting for Ricky to enter. Once he had, he closed the door.
“No one will ever notice me as long as you’re around.” She sighed, disgusted with herself for getting angry with him. But she was angry. She knew this relationship was fake, but after their discussion about Wayne, she felt he knew her. The real her. Plus, she’d promised herself she would help him enjoy the holiday.
Still, he was the one who had ruined this evening, not her. She shifted to the right. “Just forget it.”
“No. If you have something to say, I want to hear it.”
She sucked in a breath. As Christmas angels went, she was a failure. He was mad. She was mad. So maybe it was just time to end this thing.
“All right, you want the truth. You’ve already gotten a lot out of this deal. We’ve gone through almost half your parties, and I don’t have anything to show for it. So I saw an opportunity with Kyle and I pounced.”
He stared sullenly out the window. “You should have known what he told you was ridiculous.”
“And I’m an idiot for falling for it. Great. Fine. Thanks. I get it.”
She crossed her arms on her chest. They stayed silent until they reached her apartment building. When Norman opened the door, she slid out. He started to get out behind her, but she pushed him back inside.
“Norman heard our fight.” She glanced at Ricky’s driver. “Didn’t you?”
The man in the dark suit and driver’s hat winced.
“Which means he’ll perfectly understand when I say I don’t want your pigheaded behind walking me to my apartment.”
Norman winced again.
She slammed the door on Ricky and ran into the building. Not slowing down at the steps, she took them two at a time, raced into her apartment and back to her bedroom.
The stress of the night had destroyed her. When she put her head on her pillow, tears slid off her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks.
It hadn’t been easy remembering her marriage, Wayne getting sick, his death. She’d bared her soul to Ricky, not expecting understanding, but in trust. And the way he thanked her was to tell her she was foolish.
Yeah. Duh. She already knew that.
