Mr. Right Now

by Kristina Knight

  What she felt strongly resembled her parents’ relationship, and that scared her more than the threat of Mason’s story. Love in her parents’ house meant rousing arguments about neighborhood politics and short bouts of making-up love. Exactly the kind of relationship she had avoided her entire adult life.

  Exactly the kind of relationship that had sneaked up on her sometime between the deck and the sauna, the passageway and the dining hall.

  She needed to get off this boat.

  “No doubt about it.” Bennie’s voice was muddled coming through the cellular connection, sounding more like, “No bodowdit.”

  Left hand squeezed against his left ear, Mason again cursed himself for not signing up with the data service. Just because he had never needed it didn’t mean he never would. So, instead of sitting in his room with a clear connection, he was standing at the railing of the ship, body twisted at an awkward angle so the call would go through. Even off the shore of Jamaica there were dead spots. “Just yes or no, Ben. Is the tipster Nate or not?”

  “Yes!” This time the words came through clearly. Hot damn. “I tested the tape of the tip against an old soundbite, figuring somebody would ask. They didn’t, but you did. It’s his voice. Definitely.”

  Mason wanted to jump in the air and wail like a banshee, but settled for pounding his fist a couple of times against the deck railing. The connection crackled in his ear and he twisted around until it cleared. “Bennie, you’re a prince among researchers. You sure you don’t want any credit when I run with the story?”

  Bennie chuckled. “Nope. Keep my name out of it or we’ll both be job hunting.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know, if you’re sure your editor won’t go for it, pitch the story here. The paper’s looking for a new investigator and this would at least dim the political scandal that’s been dogging you. Plus, once they find out Nate used us, they’ll want to burn him right back.”

  It was a good idea. When Haynes got an idea in his head, it was like he had blinders on to any other option. He’d ignore Mason’s pitch for the Nate story, jump all over him for not writing the bit about Casey and likely fire him. Funny, that thought should leave a gaping hole in his belly. But all Mason felt was relief.

  Haynes had turned a great daily paper into an almost-tabloid rag. If Mason hadn’t needed a job desperately after the scandal, he wouldn’t have taken this one.

  “Uh, Mason, you still there?” The line crackled as Bennie talked, so Mason could barely hear his voice. They were losing the connection. Damn cell phones anyway.

  “Yeah, I’m here but the connection’s crap. Just keep a lid on this for a bit, Bennie. I’ll let you know by morning what the plan is.”

  “Got it. Tomor—”

  The phone went dead in his hand, cutting off Bennie’s words, but it didn’t matter. He’d keep things quiet. At least until morning, which bought Mason a little more time. After that, Bennie would have to go to his bosses or risk them finding out he was Mason’s source.

  Mason checked his watch. Just before six. Haynes would be in the office for at least another hour, maybe even two. He’d write up the piece. An hour should clear up the connection at least enough to pitch the story. And get fired.

  Whistling, he set off for the dining hall. He would grab a quick sandwich and take it back to his room. Mason always wrote better on a full stomach.

  * * * *

  Whoever said confession was good for the soul was a liar. A big fat hairy liar.

  Casey dressed carefully. It was time to start her honesty campaign, and she would start by telling everyone on board that there was no romance with Tyler. They would hate her. Probably. But she had to do it.

  What about Mason?

  She tapped one chipped nail against the mahogany dressing table. What about him? That romance was just as much a farce as the imaginary one with Tyler.

  He’d been using her. Call her conceited, but she didn’t see how the other passengers needed to know about him. She would confess, leave the ship in the morning and with any luck be back hiding in her New York apartment before Mason’s story hit the papers.

  She could finally get off the damned ship. No ports. No newspapers. No books to write.

  No Mason messing with her head.

  She glanced at the open laptop computer sitting on the bed with its cursor blinking madly at her. At least she had started the darn thing.

  Unable to write about having it all when her life was falling apart, Casey was writing about Mason and a shipboard romance. She sighed. Writing about her version of Mason was no easier than dealing with him in person. It was tearing her guts out. Which could only mean the story was good. It was nothing her editor wanted, and that was okay. Maybe if she got all of this out she could get back to the contracted book.

  The clock on the desk chimed. Quarter to seven.

  “Okay, stop procrastinating and get going,” she told the woman in the mirror. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t want to stop writing, but knew she had to. She needed to know how the rest of the world would react to this stupid situation.

  Casey checked her make-up one last time, picked up her bag and slipped the key card inside.

  The walk to the meeting room was too short and too long all at once. She watched the room for several moments. Everyone inside seemed to be having a good time. Chatting, munching on crusty bread. No head table set up under a sign congratulating her this time. No bleeding escort dragging her into the room. Just Casey.

  She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Eddie and Mags saw her right away and motioned her to their table.

  “We saved you a seat,” Eddie whispered in her ear as he pushed in her chair. “Once word got out you were throwing a little party, everyone and their dog wanted to come. Except of course, no dogs are allowed on the cruise.”

  None of the four-legged variety anyhow.

  Casey chuckled and smiled at her dinner partners. She recognized two of the women from the writers’ group, but the other people at the table were strangers.

  Tilly and Wally were seated a few tables away, along with the streaky-haired woman from the writers’ group and several others Casey didn’t know.

  Tyler entered the room from the opposite door and smiled. He made his way to her table and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “I heard my favorite author was hosting a dinner. We’re fighting, but I thought you might need me to make an appearance.”

  Casey smiled through clenched teeth, took a deep breath and tried to relax. He was trying to be nice. Remember that. Pasting her best fake smile on her face, Casey said, “Not necessary. I’m going to set the record straight about you, the cruise and every stupid thing I’ve done since getting onboard.”

  “Everything, huh? Even the reporter? Do you think that’s wise?” Tyler straightened, pulling Casey to stand beside him. “The last two days you’ve been running scared of these people finding out who I am, who he is and what you’re doing with both of us. Now you’re just going to tell them?”

  “Yes,” Casey whispered. “I think it’s about time I stopped running scared of what people think of me. This whole thing was a big mistake and I made it worse. I’ll set the record straight, get off the ship and go back to my life. You can move back into the room tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tyler grasped Casey’s elbows. “You’re going to hang me out to dry and then leave? I don’t think so.”

  Casey rolled her eyes and pulled out of his hold. Trust Tyler to get dramatic over her moment. “I’m not hanging you anywhere. I’m simply going to tell them we aren’t together, that this whole thing was a misunderstanding. They won’t know you’re an escort, though I should tell you, some of the ladies would probably like some of your insight into the male...uh...sexual experience.”

  Someone tapped on Casey’s shoulder and she turned to see Eddie, wringing his hands behind her. “This party is dying fast. People are getting antsy. Do you mind if the band starts playing? That dance floor is just begging for some mov
es.”

  “Start the band. This is a party, right?” Casey turned back to Tyler. “You can stay and have fun or go off and sulk. Your choice.”

  Tyler watched the room, his eyes narrowing and his lips thinning. He ignored Eddie, seeming worried and more than a little annoyed. “I won’t let you ruin everything about this cruise.”

  “You don’t really have a choice.” Before Tyler could reply, Casey walked toward the band. Might as well get this over with.

  “Ah, could I have your attention, please?” Casey spoke into the microphone, but when no one paid attention she tapped it a couple of times. No one was listening. Was the microphone even on? Casey looked to the lead singer for help. He pressed a button and motioned Casey to take over.

  “Hi, everybody. I hope you all have a good time tonight. Tonight is my last night on the ship, and this is my way of saying thank you.” She pressed her arms behind her back, clenching her fingers together tightly. “And I’m sorry.”

  Every head in the room swiveled her direction. Conversation stopped.

  Casey took a deep breath and told them about Tyler and the misunderstanding. Part of her wanted to tell them about Mason, too, but that wound was too fresh. They’d hear his side of the story; some would believe it. Some wouldn’t. “I really am sorry I lied to all of you. It was stupid, but once the lie got started, I couldn’t seem to stop it. So, there you go. I’m not engaged to Tyler Cash. We’re not even dating. I’m a recently dumped love doctor, and I don’t know if Mr. Perfect is out there for me. But I’m so glad most of you have found yours.”

  The passengers were quiet for a few minutes, then a voice from the back of the room hollered, “Write about us in your next book and all is forgiven.”

  Casey chuckled on the bandstand. Eddie. Mags had found herself a wonderful man. “Sorry, Eddie. Not this next book. But maybe someday.” Someday. Like when she could remember the real Mason, not her recently fictionalized version, without feeling a stab of pain in her heart. “Well, what are you all waiting for? This is a party, right? Let’s get the music going!”

  She motioned the singer to the microphone and stepped down. The drummer counted off the beat and swing music filled the room.

  Casey slumped into her chair back at the table and breathed a sigh of relief. Mason was right, at least about the people aboard ship. They didn’t care about scandals. They cared about her. What an idiot she had been.

  “You didn’t tell them the whole story.” Mags sat beside Casey, patting her hand. “You left out the part about that other man.”

  She knew? How many others did? Casey couldn’t ask, but for the first time wasn’t panicked that someone knew the tiny details of her heart. Mags could be trusted. Probably a lot more people could be trusted than Casey realized. Like maybe her entire fan base. Still, she didn’t want to talk about Mason. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “It was nothing. Not really.”

  Mags patted her hand. “I wouldn’t say that. Those sparks at lunch were shooting so high I thought the roof might blow off. And he was important enough to leave out of the story.”

  Important enough to leave out. Mason was that. “He was just a shipboard fling. My rebound relationship after Nate. He was no heartbreaker.”

  “Rebound relationships rarely work out, you know. But sometimes…” She looked across the room to Eddie, dancing with the streaky-haired woman. “Sometimes they are the real thing.”

  Eddie glanced their way and blew Mags a kiss.

  Maybe sometimes, but not this time. One thing was true: Mason was a rebound relationship.

  But only in Casey’s fantasies.

  Mason stood quietly just inside the meeting room door and smiled to himself when Eddie called out into the quiet room to ask when the next book would be out. He had been asking questions like that the whole cruise and she hadn’t listened. For that matter, so had a number of other passengers and fans. Maybe this time Casey would actually pay attention to the question.

  They didn’t care about the break-up with Nate. The people in this room loved Casey because she entertained them and touched their hearts. They wouldn’t hold the fake romance with Tyler over her head, either.

  Casey stepped off the podium, stopping every few feet to talk to one person or another.

  “You look like a man on death row who’s been denied his last meal.”

  Mason turned at the words, finding Tyler Cash standing only a few feet from him. He turned away without saying anything. The last thing he needed was more head-shrinking from the escort, or Casey seeing them together and going off the deep end.

  “In my experience, running doesn’t work.” Tyler’s words stopped Mason cold. He wasn’t running away, he was letting Casey have her space. Tyler continued. “But if she’s really the one you want, a dramatic examination of everything that went wrong might. Throw yourself at her feet. Apologize.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Mason turned to stare at Tyler. “Really? You think Casey would go for that?”

  “Don’t know many women who wouldn’t. Hell, my reason for being on this boat just died a quick death. Nothing to write about, nothing to share.”

  “The BlackBerry was yours. The one about getting the girl and the story.”

  Tyler nodded. “But no one is going to believe the story of an escort who couldn’t get the girl into bed. So, women like knowing they were right as much as they like knowing we're wrong.”

  He was such a pompous ass. He didn’t know Casey at all.

  “So telling her she was right and I was wrong will just fix everything, huh?”

  Tyler shrugged. “I’d say so.”

  “And how would you know? You shared a room with her and never got past first base. I’d say I know her just a little better than you do.” Mason wanted to yank the words back into his mouth. Why was he standing here arguing with an under-sexed escort about how to get Casey back? He already had a plan for that.

  “You only slept with her. I lived with the woman for almost twelve hours. Plus, I’m a student of human nature.” Tyler mimicked Mason’s stance, crossing his arms over his chest, tapping his right index finger against his left bicep.

  “Student of human nature, huh?” More like an imitator of human nature, Mason thought. Casey was still several tables away, gradually weaving her way toward the door. He had time to put this idiot in his place. “So if an apology is all Casey wants, why did she just bare everything about you to complete strangers? Seems to me a woman who believes people will turn on her at the hint of a scandal would need a little more reassurance than a simple apology.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Highly unlikely. In my experience, the best way to assure a woman you know you were wrong is the apology.”

  “But I wasn’t wrong.” And he was getting tired of this pseudo-advice given by a male escort. In Mason’s estimation, that was only a half-step above prostitution.

  Casey turned from the last of the people packing the dance floor, and headed for the door. Mason’s heartbeat picked up when she looked directly at him. She made an about-face, turning to the opposite side of the room, turned back and started in his direction with a purposeful stride.

  Tyler was so off-base. The woman was hurt, not mad. A simple apology, throwing himself at her mercy wouldn’t get her back in his bed.

  “Well, wrong is really a set of variables in any situation and it can be changed depending on your viewpoint. For example, despots believe they have—”

  Mason held up his hand to stop Tyler’s train of thought. “I really don’t care.”

  “But it’s really very interesting. I’m basing my PhD on the differences between men and women regarding relationships—”

  “I. Don’t. Care. Excuse me.” Mason turned from Tyler and hurried from the room, already punching numbers on the cell. He needed to be on the phone with Haynes by the time she caught up, or the plan wouldn’t work.

  The signal was good, but who knew how long that would last. He might be twisting into a pretzel in a few
minutes. Looking behind him, he saw Casey leave the meeting room. Mason continued toward the bow of the ship. Just in case he had to perform his circus act to get the phone to work, he wanted to be in the right place.

  A couple of clicks sounded through the phone and then Randall Haynes picked up.

  “Hello?” He barked into the phone.

  “Glad I caught you at your desk—”

  “It’s about time you called in, Drury. We go to press in three hours. I need that article on the writer for paste-up.”

  This time Mason’s heartbeat ratcheted up for a different reason. He was either about to sink his career or make the best move he had ever made. Right now, he had no idea how it would go down.

  “There’s a problem with the story, boss. See, the real story down here isn’t the writer, it’s the director—”

  Haynes cut him off again. “You’re getting soft on us, Drury. What’d she do, bat those pretty blue eyes at you and beg you to be on her side?”

  Not really. There had been batting of eyes, but that was mostly foreplay. And even when she told him the whole story, she didn’t ask him to be on her side. Hell, she made it clear even she wasn’t on her side. For a successful person, Cassandra Cash needed a strong dose of self-esteem. Mason planned to be the one giving it to her.

  He heard soft footsteps approach behind him. Time to make it good.

  “Doesn’t matter what happened down here. The fact is, this story isn’t a story no matter how you try to slice it. The real story is with the ex. He’s telling lies and rumors all over New York and LA so he can sell his show.”

  “You have gone soft on me. What happened to that kill-’em-all mentality you used to have? We don’t care about the ex. He can be gay, bi-sexual or a cross-dressing lesbian. Sexual orientation isn’t the paper-seller it used to be. Everyone’s gone PC on us.” Haynes took a deep breath, releasing it into the phone.