Your New Best Friend

by Jayne Denker

  That's the last line of my article, in fact. I thought it was pretty good.

  I shrug. "It had to be said."

  "Why didn't you tell me you were doing this?"

  "You weren't exactly available."

  He scrubs his scalp with his fingertips and sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. I needed time to think."

  My stomach clenches. "About…" My voice sticks in my throat. "About what?"

  "Lots of things." He sounds agitated but weary at the same time, and I'm terrified he means he needed time to rethink our relationship. His eyes meet mine but only for a split second. I'm the one who looks away. "I wanted to spend some time at the Cape by myself, without Taylor doing her hard sell in my face."

  "I hope you're talking about real estate."

  That gets a laugh out of him.

  "She pinched your ass at least once. Admit it."

  "She did not," he insists. "I wanted to get a better feel for the property before I signed on the dotted line. It's great, by the way."

  "I'm sure it is."

  "And most important…you. Us. How we left everything. I want to apologize. I was too hard on you."

  That was not what I was expecting. "No, you weren't. I said some terrible, unforgivable things."

  "You were pushed into it. I saw it. I was watching that show right along with everyone else in the restaurant."

  "That's TV, baby. Conflict plus drama equals ratings."

  "Jack was supposed to be looking out for you."

  There's a hard edge to his voice when he mentions his friend. Obviously he's holding Jack responsible. But he's wrong. Jack threw me in there, but after that it was all me. I'm the one who has to shoulder the blame.

  "I didn't need to be babied."

  "You didn't need to be ambushed either."

  "So you don't hate me?"

  "Hate you?" Conn's eyes widen. "Never."

  I want to wrap my arms around his broad chest and bury my face in his shirt, feel him hold me tight. But although he's got a smile on his face, it's uncertain. It makes me stay put, a foot away.

  "So," he says, and it sounds awkward as hell. "The Founder's Day Ball."

  "Yep."

  "How's the planning going?"

  "Really well."

  "Got a date?"

  Now it's my turn to fidget awkwardly. "I…do, actually."

  "Oh."

  The genuine smile that had been on his face only a moment ago falls away. He's shocked. I'm uncomfortable. It makes me babble.

  "Jack called the other day. He apologized for what happened at Triple N, in fact. It was surprising. I think he really means it. We got to talking about other things, I told him I was helping with the Founder's Day Ball, and he asked if he could escort me. We're going as friends," I rush to add. That's the most important thing, as far as I'm concerned. "You were gone, and I wasn't sure when you were coming back, or even if you…if we were…"

  "I understand." Conn's words are kind, but his expression is grim. "When did he call?"

  "Two days ago. Why?"

  "No reason," he mutters, shaking his head. Then he takes a breath. "He'll be the perfect escort. You'll look great together. Have fun."

  "Conn—"

  But he turns away and opens his office door, essentially ushering me out. "I've got to get back to work. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  "Absolutely beautiful."

  Jack has come up next to me as I stand in the doorway of the country club ballroom, surveying my handiwork. The room is festively but tastefully decorated (if I do say so myself, as I was responsible for most of the decorating) and warmly lit. The sun has nearly set over the golf course on this chilly late-October evening, and there's a pleasant feeling of camaraderie among the Abbott's Bay residents. It's the perfect setting for the Founder's Day Ball.

  I let myself gloat. Just a little. "It is, isn't it?"

  "I was talking about you."

  "Stop." I elbow him in his expensive Armani tuxedo then take a breath, square my shoulders, and smooth down my dress. It's a stunner—midnight blue (my best color) sleeveless chiffon with a flirty keyhole cutout, not much of a back, and a bit of rhinestone trim around the neck, armholes, and waist. I'm flattered he noticed, but I'm looking around for Conn. I'd rather hear something like that from him.

  I don't even know for sure if he's coming to the ball—just hoping.

  His parents are already here. Is that a good sign? Wait. What am I saying? He's a good son and loves his mom and dad, but it certainly doesn't mean he's going to go to parties with them.

  When the Garveys come up to greet us, I kiss Bruce on the cheek and compliment Constance on how well she's getting around without her cane. She thanks me politely, but she's distracted, surveying the crowd. Then her face lights up, and she reaches out a hand to Sasha.

  Good lord.

  "I'm so glad you could come, dear."

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Constance."

  Sasha? At the Founder's Day Ball? For a fleeting moment I think Conn brought her as his date, and stabs of jealousy and fear nearly double me over.

  Then Sasha adds, "Thank you for inviting me."

  Good old Constance, about as subtle as a sledgehammer upside the head. So she believes if she puts Sasha in front of Conn frequently enough, he'll fall for her again? Well, that means Conn will be here, anyway.

  I have to admit Sasha's looking lovely—elegant as usual, in a chic dove-gray strapless wide-leg jumpsuit trimmed with satin, again accented with minimal jewelry, her hair in its usual super-tight bun. I can't argue with her fashion choices, but she could change it up once in a while. In my opinion. Which, in keeping with my new life philosophy, I will keep to myself.

  "Well, this should be fun."

  Conn has come up on my other side. I don't even have to look to know it's him. His height, his build, the heat of his body against my arm—it's all so familiar. And wonderful. I glance over anyway and wish I hadn't. Jack might look rich and dapper and perfect, but Conn in a fitted tux is a sight to behold, triggering about half a dozen lust-filled fantasies of mine in the space of a moment.

  Before I dare to act on any of them, Rose Perdue sticks her face between our shoulders then forces her body into the gap she's created. "Melanie! Why haven't we got this one on our list yet?" she demands, grasping Conn's arm.

  "List? What list?" Conn looks a bit alarmed. As he should be.

  Rose is only too happy to fill him in. "You're being drafted for our bachelor auction! All proceeds go to charity!"

  Yep, Rose went for the bachelor auction I pitched to her. Nothing else would do. From the first moment guests began arriving tonight, she's been cornering the most desirable gentlemen, from young hotties to silver foxes, convincing them to join in.

  Conn colors and laughs nervously, shaking his head as she tugs on his arm, trying to drag him over to the signup sheet.

  "Do it, Garvey! It's for charity!" Jack crows.

  "Well Jack, if Conn signs up, I think you should too," I say cheerfully.

  The frozen smile Jack turns my way is worth everything in the world. "You bet. Anything for you, Melanie." To prove it, he crosses to Conn and gives him a shove, putting the bachelor train in motion behind an elated Rose.

  Hannah and Marty arrive, saving me from having to make small talk with the Garveys and Sasha. Marty's cleaned up nicely in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and narrow understated tie. I'm impressed. Hannah is breathtaking in a flattering column dress I found for her. She balked at the bold pattern of peach and lemon yellow swirls at first, but I talked her into it, and she looks amazing.

  My father turns up last after glad-handing in the foyer, and we all drift over to our reserved table. Conn and Jack meet us there, neither of them looking thrilled that they probably just signed up to spend several hours with some rich old biddy, making cocktails (likely shirtless), then being chased around a solarium by said biddy. But hey, it's for charity.

  The di
nner is lovely of course—our town goes all-out for Founder's Day—even though I've got Jack on my right instead of Conn. Actually, the seating arrangement comes in handy, because Conn is across from me, and I can stare at him all I want under the guise of paying attention to conversations going on all around the table. More often than I expect, he catches my eye, and we give each other significant looks. I prefer to think we're sending messages along the lines of I'm sorry…No, I'm sorry…Why aren't we here together? I hope it's not wishful thinking on my part.

  As the dinner starts winding down, my father gets up to make his speech. It's warm and friendly and personal. He mentions many of the people in the room by name, cracks jokes, and infuses the gathering with pride in our town. Even if he weren't running unopposed, he'd win his assembly seat, not only because he's charismatic and politically savvy, but because he really loves and believes in Abbott's Bay. Thanks to the wonderful messages I've received from my neighbors recently, so do I.

  When everyone is free to disperse and visit the bar or investigate the dessert buffet, Jack wanders off for a little while then announces his return by touching a cold glass of chardonnay to my shoulder.

  "I still can't believe it," he says, handing it to me and slipping back into his seat with his own cocktail. "You're really done with Triple N? Say it isn't so." His voice is so neutral and congenial I can't tell if he's mocking me or not. I can tell he's been enjoying multiple drinks—his face is slightly flushed and his eyes glitter.

  "Television wasn't for me, I'm afraid."

  "You shouldn't let one little setback get to you."

  "You mean my incurable case of foot-in-mouth? Not to mention Trudy Helmet-Head throwing me under the bus on camera without any warning? You know," I venture congenially, "I get the feeling if you weren't the one who wanted me on the show, I might not have lasted even as long as I did."

  Jack doesn't deny it. "It always helps to have someone in your corner. Especially if that person owns the network."

  "I don't want to succeed like that, Jack. It's icky."

  "Ah, grow up, Miss Melanie. It's the way the world works. Do you think everyone who's at the top of their game got there through talent and willpower alone? Please."

  "Mm. True." I rest my chin on the heel of my hand and study him. "Old family money and influence go a long way…don't they, Rossiter heir?"

  The corners of his lips tighten as his smile becomes forced. "I was trying to help you, M."

  "I don't want that kind of help."

  "Then it looks like you'll be stuck in this backwater burg with your two-bit dog-walking business for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?"

  I look over at Conn, who's deep in conversation with his parents, and warmly study his handsome profile. "It's exactly what I want." And I mean it.

  Jack starts to retort, but he's interrupted by Crystal and Floyd Phelps, who stop by the table to compliment me on my Bugle article. I give Jack a smug little smile. Crystal and Floyd prove my point better than this slow-burn fake-polite argument we're having. Jewel Loftus also comes by to chat. She's left Reginald the ferret at home tonight, but he's doing well, she informs me.

  While I talk with my former clients, Jack ignores them and instead fidgets in his chair, glancing around the room as he drains his drink. When the music starts, he pulls me away from my friends.

  "Come on. Let's show off that gorgeous dress of yours."

  Without much choice in the matter, I let him lead me onto the dance floor and steer me around for a while. Despite his occasional compliments, he doesn't really seem all that captivated by me. He doesn't look at me or engage me in conversation. Instead, he scans the room the entire time. I know what—or, rather, whom—he's looking for.

  Tired of this, I decide to end this decade-long charade. "Jack…" I begin in my strongest, brook-no-nonsense voice.

  When he looks me in the eye, I think I've finally got his attention, but instead he breaks out his perfect smile and cries, "Dip!"

  I only get part of one word out—"Wha—?"—before I'm flipped over backward for a second or two. Even worse, when he pulls me back upright, he's looking at me a little too attentively, if you know what I mean. It's too sudden a change, and I'm immediately suspicious, especially when he draws me even closer.

  His lips right against my ear, Jack murmurs, "I said it before, and I'll say it again—absolutely smokin'," then plants a kiss in the hollow under my earlobe.

  Ew.

  I pull away. I don't want Jack kissing me. He doesn't seem to care. The song ends, he's stepping back, and I'm already forgotten. Without a word I veer away from him, fully intending to spend the rest of the evening with Hannah and Marty, when my dad scoops me up for a fox-trot.

  "Lovely speech, Charles," I say once we're back on the parquet. "Not too long, not too political, not too self-absorbed. I'll bet you've got this one in the bag."

  "Very funny," he mutters, but he's smiling down at me. "You look very pretty tonight."

  "Thanks, Dad."

  "Everything all right?"

  This song's not long enough for me to relate the sorry state of my love life, so I just say, "Everything's great."

  "Your article is the talk of the town. Are you going to take up journalism part time?"

  "I think I'll leave that to Aurelia. And Laura. How's she doing lately?"

  "She'll be fine."

  I don't doubt it. Everyone in the office attended her grandmother's funeral, and Laura held up magnificently. She's stronger than I ever thought she was.

  "We're having lunch next week," I tell my dad.

  "Good." He pauses then says, "I'm proud of you, by the way. Not only for helping Laura, but for rising above everything lately."

  "Did you ever have any doubts? I am your daughter, after all. Besides, you were the one who told me go out and do that whole 'living life' thing, which happened to be a pretty timely message." When he squints at me dubiously, I protest, "Hey, I listen to you!"

  "Mm. I think you can do more."

  "More what?"

  "That whole 'living life' thing," he quotes me as the music stops. He leads me off the floor, straight to Conn, leaving me there with a wink and a kiss on the cheek…and a significant look in Conn's direction.

  "You should listen to your father," Conn says with a smile.

  "This is a conspiracy, isn't it?"

  "I know nothing. How's your date going?"

  I roll my eyes. "It's not a date."

  "Mm, you're right. Or it's a bad one. I mean, if you were my date, I wouldn't leave you alone like this. Someone else could come up and sweep you off your feet."

  "Really? What have you heard? Who's interested?"

  I'm pretending to look around the room for a likely candidate when Conn puts his warm hand on my bare back, and it makes me jump.

  "Care to dance?"

  "Thought you'd never ask."

  But as he turns me toward an open spot on the floor, the music ends abruptly. Rose climbs the steps to the stage and taps the microphone, drawing three thumps out of it. Looks like she's starting up the bachelor auction a little early. She probably can't wait any longer. After an enthusiastic introduction relating the rules and that this year's charity recipient will be the Abbott's Bay food pantry, she cycles through the volunteers pretty quickly, employing her vast experience separating the wealthy from their money to rack up lots of donations.

  When Jack's name comes up, I look around, realizing I haven't seen him since our dance. He doesn't come to the stage. Rose calls his name repeatedly, but there's no sign of him. I scan the crowd for Sasha and don't see her either. Fancy that.

  I have to help Rose out—she's starting to sound a little frantic. Thinking Jack might be outside on the terrace having a cigarette, which he's been known to indulge in once in a while, I head for the bank of French doors overlooking the golf course. I shove aside the heavy brocade draperies, and my arm smacks into something solid. I absently wonder what idiot tucked away a piece of fur
niture or display pedestal where someone could walk right into it. Then I realize the pedestal just swore.

  I pull away the fabric to find Jack. And Sasha.

  I groan. "Oh, not again."

  Sasha gasps, flustered. Jack grins and brushes down his hair. "Miss Melanie. This is awkward."

  "We were just—" Sasha begins, but her words die out as she focuses her startled gaze past me.

  "Oh, hey, man," Conn says, coming up next to me. "You're going to miss your auction slot. Don't chicken out on me, now."

  "Uh…"

  As Jack stumbles over his words, I feel Conn's whole body stiffen beside me. "Something going on?"

  "Don't ask," I snarl before Sasha or Jack can start making excuses. Never one to know when to quit, Jack opens his mouth to speak, and I can't stop myself from lashing out. "Don't even bother. Nobody wants to hear it." I start to turn away, disgusted, but can't resist asking, "One thing though: has this been going on since the last decade, or do you two get together every couple of years just to keep things interesting?"

  Again, Sasha's eyes flick to Conn. "Really, Melanie! What are you imply—"

  "You're going to need a stepladder to climb down off that high horse, Sasha." That stops her. I look from her to Jack and sigh, exasperated. "Why can't you keep all…this…" I gesture at them helplessly, "to yourselves for once?"

  Jack actually laughs. "Okay, okay, confession time." He puts his hands in his pockets, takes a breath, trots out his best game-show-host smile, and says, "It's true that Sasha and I…we were…look, we've been spending a lot of time together lately, and…hey, I don't think I need to explain." He pauses, waiting for someone to let him off the hook.

  But Conn says in a raspy voice, "Oh, I think you do."

  "Well, you know…sometimes we get…carried away. Can't seem to help it." He takes Sasha's hand and looks at her lovingly. Sasha's expression, however, is one of pure panic at Jack's sudden confession. He doesn't notice or doesn't care. "You get it, right?" Jack grins at Conn, implying some sort of "bro" understanding about Sasha, which is unbelievably repugnant.