Mr. Right Now

by Kristina Knight

  “What if I am? All anyone cares about are the rumors Nate’s been spreading—”

  “You know that isn’t true,” Mason interrupted. “Name one person on this cruise who has talked to you about Nate and not about your books. You help people.”

  Casey ignored the interruption. “This cruise was supposed to make me seem carefree. Recovered from a break-up. Instead, you’re going to paint the picture of a reckless woman who boffs a perfect stranger in broad daylight and comes back for more a few hours later.”

  Mason shook his head and chuckled. “Actually it was dusk, and no one was around to see it.”

  Great. Now he was laughing at her.

  “Oh, excuse me. Public boffing at dusk is so much more socially acceptable.” Was he actually trying to defend his actions? “Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me you were the reporter? You let me think you were a plumber. How many other business cards to you have in your wallet? How did you know the plumber bit would work on me?”

  “There was no cover. You found my dad’s card. He’s the plumber, along with my brothers. I never told you I was a plumber.”

  “But you let me believe you were. Did you hope a few more sessions in your bed would loosen my tongue so you could get right to the heart of Cassandra Cash?”

  Mason stepped forward, clenched his hands into fists and then stepped back. “How would I know how being in bed would make you react? We’ve been horizontal exactly once and then you kicked me out of the room so fast I barely had my fly zipped. And stop blaming me for this mess. Your agent set you up with the escort. I was sent to write an article on the business of publishing, and when the assignment changed, I declined to write it. We’re both dupes in this deal.”

  “So no one back in New York is expecting the dirt on Cassandra Cash when we port in Jamaica?”

  Mason ran his hands roughly through his hair, pulling it tight against his scalp for a second, then releasing it. “Technically my boss is still expecting the article. Service cut out before I could quit, and I’m glad it did. I think there’s a better story here.”

  A sharp pain ricocheted through her heart. So he was writing the story. “Great. What lies are you going to make up about me to blow your boss out of the water?” She took a step back, shaking her head. It didn’t matter. All press was good press, that was the motto. So what if she didn’t believe it? Mason didn’t have to know that. “No, you know what? Do your worst. I don’t want to know. Just write your story, Mason. And I’ll sue you for libel.”

  He stiffened. “How would you prove my story was a lie?”

  “How would you prove it wasn’t? Your reputation for being, let’s say, lenient with the facts is already out there.”

  Mason clenched his jaw and the vein at his temple went into overdrive. “Don’t you want to know what story I’m going to pitch to my editor when we reach Jamaica?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Aren’t you a little bit scared your faithful readers will turn on you when everything comes out?”

  They just want to know about the book, Casey repeated to herself. He’s said it a million times. Now just start believing it. “Like you said, not one person on this cruise has asked about Nate. Or commented on the rumors. They only want to know about my books.”

  She only hoped the same held true for the people back on the mainland, too. She turned back to him when she reached the door to the weight room. “As far as this farce of a cruise, it will be my word against yours, and at least I haven’t been accused of lying.”

  She had to get off this crazy boat. Away from Mason. Tyler. Everyone. Casey needed to get back home, where she had some semblance of control over her life. Instead, she was stuck here in the middle of the ocean. She was dying to trust that Mason wouldn’t write the story. And knew without a doubt he would.

  Then there was the fact that she was now a thief. Looking at the BlackBerry in her hand, Casey frowned. When she tried to turn the thing in to lost and found, no one was around. She couldn’t just leave it on the counter. The thing was valuable. Besides, she wasn’t entirely convinced the message had nothing to do with her.

  “I need to see January,” she said, eyeing the woman guarding January’s office.

  The woman shook her perfectly tinted blond head and frowned. “I’m sorry. She’s in a meeting. You’ll have to come back later.” The woman shook her head and flicked her wrist, dismissing Casey.

  “I’m sorry, too, because I’m not leaving. I’ll wait in her office.” Casey pushed open the swinging counter door and hurried into the office marked Cruise Director—Private.

  January could have all the privacy she wanted. Just as soon as she let Casey use the ship-to-shore phone.

  She paced the tiny bit of open space in January’s office.

  Going to find Mason before she’d tracked down January was stupid. She’d played her hand. He would be in twice the hurry to file his story now. Her only chance was to beat him to the punch, and in the midst of her anger at him she’d forgotten about one-upping and went for the win. There was no way her two-of-a-kind would beat his full house. His story would go to press.

  It was in his blood. Reporters lived to scoop one another. By his own admission when his paper got scooped, the story changed. No more innocent story about the book business. Just whatever rumors they could find about Cassandra Cash. Miss Romance.

  Hah!

  Like she had told Jane a thousand times before, Cassandra Cash was great at giving advice to the lovelorn. Casey Cash couldn’t follow it.

  No art imitating life here. Not hardly. The closest Casey’s life got to her books was with Nate, and look how that turned out. He used her and left. Story of her life.

  Slumping into the small gray and chrome chair beside January’s desk, listening to the air slowly leak out of the vinyl casing as she sat, Casey buried her face in her hands. Mason was no different, no matter how much she wanted him to be.

  The door opened and quietly clicked closed. Casey slanted a look to the side, watching as January slipped behind her desk, sat and clasped her hands together on the desktop. Crisp ship uniform of lime green shorts and white short-sleeved top accentuating her tan, hair back in the French twist, January looked more in control this afternoon that she had that first morning. She cleared her throat, probably waiting for Casey to state her business. Casey’s mind went blank.

  “What can I do for you this afternoon, Ms. Cash?” January’s voice was perfectly modulated. Professional. Cold. The woman probably thought Casey was here to demand yet another room change.

  “I, uh, need to ask a favor. I need to use the ship-to-shore line.”

  January made a tsking noise deep in her throat. “I’m sorry, that link is for emergencies only. You should have signed up for the data plan”

  “This is an emergency, and I did sign up for the plan. My phone isn’t working.” Casey said, stiffening her back and pulling pride around her like a cloak. A bigger emergency than January knew. Her career, no, her life, could depend on it. “It’s imperative that I reach Jane Brunner. I can give you the number—”

  “Personal phone calls are not considered emergencies aboard ship. We have to keep the line free for serious medical problems or issues with the ship itself.” January rose from behind the desk, raising her arm toward the door. She was dismissed. January said, “I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” in a voice that clearly said she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

  Casey’s cloak of calmness shattered. She was not going to be dismissed by a high seas cruise director, or her lackeys. She was Cassandra Cash, damn it. She deserved a little bit of respect. Careful to keep her voice modulated, she said, “But I need to reach my agent. There are things going on here that she doesn’t know about and if I don’t reach her my entire life is going to explode.” Casey felt like a five-year-old begging for another cookie. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, pressed a few buttons and watched the message she’d composed earlier fill the screen. “Look, if
you won’t let me use the phone, at least help me figure out why I can’t send a simple email from your data plan.”

  “Send it yourself.” January didn’t look up from the papers on her desk.

  “I’d love to, but there’s no service,” Casey said, shaking the phone in January’s face. “We’re in the middle of the ocean, in case you forgot.”

  That got her attention. January spared a glance for Casey, then directed her attention to the small cellular unit.

  “Sure there is. We crossed into Jamaica’s service area about an hour ago. You only need to turn on international roaming.”

  How the heck did she turn on international roaming? The clerk in the mall kiosk said she had email, text, games, mobile browsers, apps and a long list of ring tones. She paged through the unit but nothing jumped up screaming, Use me to turn on international roaming!

  “How do I do that?” She handed the cell phone over, feeling like an idiot. What kind of person didn’t know everything her phone could do?

  January rolled her eyes and mumbled something that sounded like, “Probably can’t call for pizza without help.” Casey decided to let the remark slide since January was now punching a weird combination of buttons. After a few minutes and several long beeps, she handed the phone back to Casey.

  “You have service. Make your call.”

  Casey pulled up the email and sent it off, then dialed Jane’s number. “Could I use your office for this? Please?”

  “You have a stateroom with no uninvited guests. Why do you need my office, too?”

  She had a point. Now that Tyler was occupied elsewhere her stateroom would be the best place for a chat like this. The call connected and Jane’s voice came over the line.

  “Brunner Literary Agency.” Scratchy, but connected. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.

  “Check your email. I’m calling you right back, don’t you dare leave the office.” Casey started to punch the end button and reconsidered. “And don’t even think about letting voicemail pick up.” She clicked off, thanked January for her help and hurried from the office.

  Eddie stopped Casey as she started down the stairs leading to her stateroom.

  Crap! Almost a clean getaway.

  “Miss Cash, I’m glad I saw you. Mags and me would like it a lot if you’d join us for dinner tonight. Six o’clock sound okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m in a bit of a rush. I’ve got a lot to take care of tonight and I don’t know if I’ll have enough time for dinner.”

  His face fell. “Aw, everybody’s gotta eat, even you young folks. Though you are looking pretty spry today. Sea air must agree with you.”

  If he only knew. The heightened color was likely from having sex with Mason, telling him off and now running away to her room. Only she wasn’t running any more. She was getting off this boat, but only because she didn’t want to give Mason any more ammunition against her. Still, she could decide how she’d go out. A germ of an idea began to take shape in her head.

  She needed to know how the story would play back on the mainland. She might as well try it out on the passengers first.

  “On second thought, dinner tonight sounds great.” She grasped the rail and stepped up so she was on eye level with Eddie. She was rewarded with a wide smile. “Tell Mags I’ll be there, but I don’t want to leave anyone out. Invite the writing group and anyone else who wants to join us. We’ll take over the dining hall. Okay?”

  Eddie closed his fist and pumped his arm. “A party. There’s nothing Mags loves more than a party. I’ll tell her.” He turned away, mumbling something about food, drinks and party favors. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what kind of party favors Eddie would find in the ship’s stores.

  Clamoring down the stairs, she reached her room and closed the door behind her. She set the lock, laughing as she did so. What was she expecting? Mason barging in with a high-powered flash camera, getting pictures of her on the phone? Whatever. Casey punched in the number to Jane’s office again.

  She answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

  Obviously her warnings to answer the phone quickly were taken to heart. “I need you to get me the hell off this boat. I know you’re not a travel agent, but you got me into this mess. I need you to get me out.”

  “Short of calling in the Coast Guard—and they don’t operate in international waters—I don’t see how we can get you off the ship. What’s wrong?”

  “Didn’t you check the email?”

  “Of course I did, there was some garbled message about the escort and you. Would you two rather spend the next few days on solid ground or something? I could probably get you into one of the resorts in Jamaica, but I can’t guarantee the room would be anything special.”

  Casey pinched the bridge of her nose. Garbled message. So much for international roaming. But then, if she had funky service, it was likely Mason did, too. There was still a chance she could beat him to the punch. Throw some doubt on his version of events. There had to be some way to spin losing her mind completely and sleeping with a near-perfect stranger in practically public places while pretending to be engaged to another perfect stranger who was hired to be her boyfriend for a week.

  Right? She shook her heard. No amount of spinning would change the implications of that story.

  What was worse, even knowing he was using her hadn’t dampened her attraction. The entire time they’d been fighting in the weight room, she had been only halfway paying attention. Part of her brain was stuck in lust mode, staring at his oh-so-fine chest muscles, slick with sweat.

  Idiot. You’ve completely lost it.

  She spilled the whole story in one long breath. How she thought Mason was the escort and slept with him. Then found out he wasn’t, slept with him again and spilled her guts about Tyler. Nate.

  Damn. Since she’d spilled her guts, Mason could use her as his unidentified source when he printed his own story about her, the break-up and Nate. Would he use his knowledge of her sex life in the story? He couldn’t use their sleeping together in a bad sense. He’d enjoyed it just as much as Casey. Not that it mattered.

  She could scream from the rafters that Nate wasn’t gay, that Mason loved having sex with her, that this whole situation was a publicity stunt, and it wouldn’t matter. After the ratings book, Nate could jump on the story, telling the world Casey was spreading lies. Sour grapes. Garnering a few more tabloid stories. Even the tabloid television shows would pick up the story. She could see the headline now.

  Dumped Miss Romance Hires Out For Sex. Story at eleven.

  “You slept with the reporter?”

  “Three times.” And damned if she wasn't hoping for another go-round, even with his real identity outed. What an idiot she was.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Jane’s acid voice came across the phone line. “I set you up with a drop dead gorgeous imitation of your perfect man. A man, I might add, who doesn’t exist except in your imagination, and instead of jumping his bones for days on end you yell at him, kick him out of the room and go jump on the reporter?”

  “I didn’t know he was a reporter at the time.”

  “I don’t care. Do you have any idea how hard I had to look to find a man with long-but-not-too-long brown hair, green eyes and a scar by his lip?”

  Casey’s heart skipped a beat. “Tyler doesn’t have a scar.”

  “So maybe it was a crease in the photograph. He was the picture-perfect version of Mr. Right.”

  “Tyler is the escort, though?”

  “Yes. I already told you I booked you two into the same room because I knew otherwise you’d hole up in there and ignore the r-and-r you need. Wait a minute,” Jane said breathlessly. “You don’t want Tyler to be the escort, do you?”

  No, she didn’t want Tyler to be the escort. She wanted Mason to be Mr. Right. He fit the physical profile. He was smart on top of that. Made her think.

  “Oh. My. God. You think the reporter is Mr. Right, not just Mr. Right Now,
don’t you? Casey, Cupid didn’t shoot you in the butt on the love boat, did he?”

  Casey tried a “humpf,” but it came out as more than a sigh. “Just get me off this boat, Jane.” Cupid did a hell of a job this time.

  “He is why you want to leave, isn’t he?”

  “I just want to put as much distance as I can between us. Keep him from concocting an even more embarrassing story. Can you do it? Book me on a flight out of Jamaica tomorrow afternoon. We’re supposed to port around nine in the morning, so I could probably be at the airport within the hour.”

  “Case. Are you sure you want to leave? What if he feels the way you do?”

  Casey shook her head. Mason didn’t feel the way she did. He couldn’t, or he wouldn’t write the story. “Trust me, he doesn’t. He wanted me for a story, and I gave it to him. Game over. Miss Romance loses at love again.” Her try at humor fell flat.

  “Come on, kiddo, don’t do this. Don’t start second-guessing your instincts again. I’ll get you on a flight out, no matter what, then call you in the morning with the details. It’ll all be okay.” Jane paused for a few seconds. “Okay?” she repeated.

  “Sure.” The fight had gone out of her. Casey just wanted to get off the ship. Hide from the world and lick her wounds. Save some energy for the reporters she would need to dodge once she was back in New York and the new stories broke.

  “Well, don’t worry about his story. I’ve got contacts at newspapers all over the city. We’ll give Mason Drury a taste of his own medicine. His rep isn’t that great as it is.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Get some sleep. You obviously didn’t take the rest and relaxation cruise we’d hoped for. This is all probably retroactive to Nate, anyhow.” Jane clicked off the line and Casey tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

  Retroactive feelings to Nate. Sure. Only she knew this had nothing to do with Nate. What she was feeling toward Mason didn’t hold a candle to the luke-warm feelings she once had for Nate. She wanted to talk to him, argue with him, as much as she wanted to have sex with him.