by Deborah Camp
“Well, not quite like—.” Zaney began.
“Let’s share a cab,” Seth said, interrupting her – if he even heard her at all. He stepped to the curb and whistled down a taxi before glancing back at Matt and Zaney. “Uh. What about you two? Did you want to . . ?”
Matt waved him off. “You go on. Zaney and I will—.”
“Right! Okay! Thanks! See you!” Seth piled into the backseat with Lonnie and the cab sped away, sloshing water that barely missed wetting Zaney’s shoes.
She scuttled backward with a laugh. “They couldn’t wait to get rid of us.”
“Did you notice that, too?” Matt said with dry sarcasm. “I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into Seth tonight. He’s never been this. . .. I don’t know.”
“He’s got the hots for Lonnie in a big way and the feeling is mutual. She thinks he is a living doll. I have never seen that girl blush until tonight and I’ve seen her with men she’s sleeping with or is about to sleep with! What we witnessed here tonight, Matthew Birdsong, is kismet.”
He angled back to give her a good, long, cynical stare. “You don’t believe that.”
“I didn’t until tonight. Seeing is believing.” She started off and he fell into step beside her. “Those two are probably having a tongue duel right now.”
Matt clasped his hands behind him as they walked and was quiet for almost a block. “It’s been about a year since Seth had a steady woman in his life.”
“He’s never married?”
“No. He was engaged for a year to Rachel Metz, but it fizzled out. He’s a friendly guy, but I’ve never seen him like that before. He was literally hanging on every word she spoke and he could barely take his eyes off her.”
“Kismet.” That earned her another dark look from him. “Oh, quit being such an old fuddy-duddy! You were in love once. You married the woman, remember? You were gone-baby-gone for her or you wouldn’t have popped the question.”
Thunder rumbled again, making them both glance up with trepidation. Zaney dodged a puddle on the sidewalk, bumping into Matt. He shot out a hand, clutching her elbow to steady her. As they continued walking, he kept his hand on her arm and Zaney was acutely aware of it. Why did she obsess over his every touch? It was so irritating!
“I didn’t ask her.”
She stared at him, thinking she’d heard him wrong. “Didn’t ask Carin to marry you? Then, how?”
“She pretty much told me.” He chuckled, but he didn’t sound amused. “Looking back, that’s how it was with Carin. She said, ‘We should set a wedding date, don’t you think? And we need to nail down a venue. My parents can help with that, if that’s okay with you.’ And I agreed. Then I was at a jewelry store and she selected rings for us.”
“Wait, wait.” Zaney stopped, making him turn back to her. “You. Matthew Birdsong. You just went along? Mr. Take Charge and Don’t Play Games was a meek, little lamb in this scenario?” She flung up her arms in a helpless gesture. “How can that be? You did love her, right? I mean, she didn’t just tell you that you loved her and you agreed.”
He folded his arms and looked up at the roiling, fat clouds. “God, it seems like so long ago. How did I feel? Well, yes. Yes, I was in love. I didn’t want to be with any other woman. I wanted to make a life with her. We enjoyed being around each other and the sex was good.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t kismet, though. I never acted like Seth did tonight.” He fashioned a shudder. “It wasn’t like that. Carin and I simply fit. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.”
Zaney frowned at him. “Like your favorite pair of house slippers.”
“Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like the ugly, stained sweatpants you should throw away, but they feel too good, so you keep them.”
“That’s right.” He nodded, smiling. “Comfortable. No drama. We just knew this was it.”
“Like a death sentence. Why fight it?” She shrugged and set the pace again, but it took him a few seconds to catch up.
“No. No! Not like that.” He grabbed her by the arm and spun her to face him. His expression rivalled the angry clouds above them. “I loved her. She loved me. At first, it was exactly what we wanted, what we both needed. We were connected. It was us and the rest of the world.”
“And then?”
“Then . . . things changed.”
“The cheating started.”
“No. Not until later.”
“I wasn’t talking about Carin.”
His gaze hardened and his eyes changed to a midnight blue to match the sky. Lightning slashed above them and the air sizzled with it. “What are you saying?”
“Your business. It took you away from her. She was lonely.”
“So was I. But I didn’t cheat on her. She understood that the business would take my time. Almost all of my time.”
“She did you a terrible wrong, Matthew. But you weren’t listening to her when she was telling you that she had one foot out the door.”
“Don’t Doctor Phil me, Zaney. You weren’t there. You didn’t know me or her then. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about now.”
Rain pattered around them, wetting her hair, running into her eyes. Matthew stepped around her and waved, signaling a cab. The vehicle stopped at the curb and Matt opened the back door. Zaney slid in and started to slide further on the seat when she realized he wasn’t joining her. She leaned over to see him still outside the car, concern squeezing her heart.
“Matt?”
“You go on. I’ll see you later.”
“Matt, please.”
He shut the door and tapped the roof of the cab. The driver pulled away. Zaney turned to look out the back window at him. Matthew stood at the curb for a few more seconds before pivoting and trotting in the opposite direction.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
She gave the address and swiped at the moisture on her face. Some of it wasn’t from the rain. She’d said too much. She’d hurt him. Angered him. She wished she could give herself a good, sharp kick in the butt. Should have kept her mouth shut. It had been a lovely day and evening and she’d ruined it. Now she wouldn’t see him for weeks because of her job.
Way to go, Miller. Your timing is perfect, as usual.
Chapter 10
First Comes Hell, Then Comes Heaven
Another Fashion Week season finished. Zaney stared numbly at the calendar on her desk, feeling as if she’d been run over by a train named Foster Mendoza Designs. The month of September was a blur. She’d landed back on American soil a week ago and had spent the majority of her time in the office. The whole Mendoza team juggled requests for interviews, customers demanding private showings and fittings, and tying up the October Bloomingdale launch. She hadn’t even found time to bring Frito Pie home from her mother’s! No wonder her brain was fried and all she wanted to do was curl up somewhere and hibernate.
“What’s new, pussycat?”
She lifted her gaze to her office door and motioned for Gary to come in. “Just sitting here wishing I could lie down on the floor and sleep for a week. That tile looks so comfortable.”
“Go home, get in bed, and carry on,” he said in his dead-on Tim Gunn imitation. “Make it work!” He slouched into one of the chairs in that black-leather-smoldering way of his. “Something or someone still messing with you?”
“I’m exhausted! Aren’t you?” She was depleted, but he was on the right track. A certain someone was irritating her like an itch she couldn’t reach. She realized that Gary was watching her with an all-knowing smirk. She’d confided in him about the dustup she’d had with Matthew and he’d told her to text or call Matt while they were in Milan and then in Paris. “Hey, I haven’t had a chance to worry about my personal stuff.”
“You haven’t talked to him yet?”
“No.”
He clucked like a chicken, then held up his hands in mock surrender when she lifted the desk lamp as if she were going to fling it at him. “Se
ttle down, pussycat! The boy has put you on a Tilt-a-Whirl and you need to stop the damn thing before you hurl chunks.”
She groaned and set the lamp back down. “Yeah. That is sort of how it feels.”
“Be the grownup and call him. You’re acting like you napalmed your friendship with him and you didn’t. You just put your nosey nose into a part of his life that he’s not ready to share. He’s probably over it by now.”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t he reach out to me?”
“He did. You texted him and he texted you back.”
“But he didn’t call me.”
“And you’re going to hold that against him for another few days? The rest of the month? Call him. Knock on his damned door! Tell him that he’s right and you’re wrong about what went down in his marriage and divorce.”
“I will,” she promised. “After I emerge from my hibernation and get some of my strength back.” She released a long, tormented sigh. “Aren’t you beat down? Aren’t your fingers bleeding from sewing?”
He held them up to examine them. “I only have a few pin pricks. All part of the job. And I’m young, good-looking, and sexy, so, no, I’m not drag assing.”
She picked up a pen and threw it at him. It hit the arm of his leather jacket and bounced to the floor. “Jerk.”
“Jerk off.” He winked at her. “Would do you a world of good, babylicious. You have a battery-operated friend, don’t you?”
“Gary, I’m not talking to you about vibrators. I draw the line there.”
“Speaking of penis—.”
“Which we were not!”
“Foster has a boyfriend. A serious boyfriend.”
She felt her eyebrows hit her bangs. “Really? Who?”
“Kahleem Izrad. His family owns a shipping company. He’s not bad looking – not exactly handsome, more like distinguished looking – and he’s in his late fifties.” Gary’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Foster got himself a ‘daddy.’” He shrugged. “I always heard that he liked to be placed over a lap and spanked.”
Zaney pressed her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know this.”
“I thought you’d be happy for him.”
“I am. I just don’t need to know the particulars or what you think are the particulars.”
“Since when?” he scoffed, then pushed up from the chair with catlike grace and slinked to the door. “Grab some dude and screw his brains out. That’ll put you right with the world again.”
She spun her chair around to stare at her corkboard full of notes, fabric swatches, and photos torn from magazines. Someone tapped on the door and she twirled back around, thinking it was Gary with another parting shot.
“I don’t need any more of your—. Oh, Foster! Sorry. Come on in.”
“Something wrong, cupcake?” He stepped closer, clearly concerned.
“No. I’m wrung out. That’s all.”
He smiled. “But it’s been a wonderful month, hasn’t it?” He clasped his hands under his double-chins and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
She didn’t want to break his bubble, so she nodded and smiled.
“The best season we’ve had, right? Bloomingdale’s is effervescent over the line.” He pirouetted and dropped into the leather chair like he was a marionette that had his strings suddenly clipped. His neon orange slacks and pale coral silk shirt printed with long-lashed eyes glared at her. “And I’ve met someone, Zaney. Someone wonderful!”
“Oh? A man?”
“Of course.” He looked aghast for a few seconds as if she’d suggested that he might have fallen in love with an anteater. “He is a tall, big, deep-voiced, deliciously rich man. And he makes me melt every time he says my name. Foster.” He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper to illustrate for her. “Foster, my pretty chocolate-covered strawberry.” He giggled. “That’s what he calls me.”
Zaney chided herself for not being overjoyed for him. If it wasn’t for her exhaustion and the little snick of jealousy in her heart, she knew that she could rally more enthusiasm. She should have contacted Matthew already. Then she wouldn’t be wondering what he was doing and if he ever thought of her. Had he missed her?
“. . .and he wants to take me on his family’s yacht to Greece. I’ve never been there. Have you?”
“Uh. No.” She forced herself to concentrate on Foster, although the multitude of eyes staring at her from his chest made it difficult. That shirt was from three seasons ago and had always been on her crapola list. Unfortunately, it had been a big seller. “You should go with him.”
“How?” He flung out his arms in a dramatic show of helplessness. “With Bloomingdale’s and our customers wanting practically everything we showed on the runway? I can’t! I told him that maybe we could sail away after the first of the year. He doesn’t want to wait that long. He says that he craves me. Wants to get me all alone somewhere.” He giggled again. “I think he’s the one, Zaney. I want you to meet him. I want everyone to meet him, so I’m hosting a party at my place. Saturday night.”
“This Saturday? Like day after tomorrow Saturday? Foster, I don’t think I can—.”
“I ran into your neighbor yesterday and told him about it. He said he’d come and bring you as his date.”
“ – because I’m going to Buffalo to get Frito from Mom – say what? Are you talking about Matthew Birdsong?”
“Yes. Talk about yummy. He is very handsome. That blond hair and those deep-set, turquoise eyes. Lucky you.” He clasped his hands under his chins again. “Lucky us!”
“Matt said he’d bring me as his date?”
“That’s right.” He bugged out his eyes in a show of exasperation. “Keep up, Zaney!”
“Where did you see Matthew?”
“At his office, of course. I invited Seth, too. I like him. He’s such a cheerful soul. They did our fabulous Bloomingdale ad campaign, remember? Earth to Zaney!”
“Oh, right.” She fell back into her chair, feeling oddly defeated. Foster had put Matt in a horrible position, inviting him to a party and telling him to bring her. How could Matthew refuse? Foster was a big client of his. She’d have to fix this.
“Take a few days off, Zaney. I’ll see you at my party and then I don’t want to see you for at least ten days. You hear me? Use some of your vacation and rest. You’ll need it. Our spring line is shaping up to be stupendous! I have some great silhouettes in that one, as you well know. I’m already lining up shows and models for it. We’re going to be busy!” He pushed up to his black velvet and gold leather clad feet and bestowed one of his brilliant Foster Mendoza smiles on her. “Love you bunches, Zaney.”
“Love you back, Foster.” You and your big mouth.
With a delighted giggle, he pranced out of her office.
That evening she put aside what was left of her stubborn pride and knocked on Matthew’s door, but he wasn’t home, so she texted him.
Foster told me about roping you into taking me to his party Sat. night. Please don’t feel obligated.
After sending it, she threw the phone down on the couch cushion beside her and stared at the television, pretending to watch a show about guys fishing for crabs. Her phone dinged and she grabbed it up like it was a lifeline in the stormy Bering Sea.
I’m in Chicago at a conference. Be back Fri. night. Meet you in the foyer Sat. at 7:30 and we’ll head to Foster’s shindig.
Huh. He’s not even here. She glanced at her door, wondering how long he’d been away. Not too long because Foster had seen him a few days ago. Frito Pie jumped up on the couch and settled against her thigh. Her mother had surprised her by coming into the city and dropping Frito off that afternoon, saving her a trip. By rote, she stroked Frito’s ears and realized she was smiling because Matthew was still going to take her to Foster’s party. She really had to get her feelings sorted out about him. It was one thing to be glad to bury the hatchet with a friend, but her feelings went way beyond that.
“I’m into him, Frito,” she whispered. “I missed him.
It was torture. Much worse than I’d imagined.” She dug a little deeper inside her heart. “Ah, heck! I want to kiss him all over and see him naked, Frito. There! I’ve said it.” She glanced at the dog beside her. “I admit it and don’t give me that surprised look. You and I both know that I’ve had the hots for Mr. Birdsong for a while now. And I have a confession. I’ve . . . uh . . . um, pleasured myself, let’s say, while thinking of him. I can tell you this because I know you won’t speak of it to another living soul. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed either. Matthew is a hunk. And he’s smart. And witty. And just about everything I want in a man. I mean, for God’s sake, Frito! He reads! How in all creation am I supposed to keep my hands and my mouth to myself?”
The fishermen on the TV shouted and guffawed. One of them had a huge blood blister under his thumbnail while another one wielded a big sewing needle he’d heated over a blow torch. Nope, nope, nope. She grabbed the remote and switched off the set. Her phone binged again and she almost jumped out of her skin. Another text from Matt.
Question: Is this party formal or casual?
Her thumbs flew over the keyboard. Semi-casual. Fashion folks, doncha know. They will be wearing their best, hippest casual wear. Slacks, shirt or sweater, casual jacket.
Thanks. Don’t want to embarrass you by being unfashionable.
She smiled and keyed in a reply. No chance of that, Mr. Birdsong. She waited a minute and was a tiny bit disappointed when he didn’t text again. Tossing the phone onto the coffee table, she gathered Frito into her arms and snuggled with him. It had been ages since she’d looked forward to a Saturday night date! She felt sixteen again.
He hadn’t spent so long figuring out what to wear since he was sixteen and taking Linda Stabler to a U2 concert. He finally settled on a pair of navy slacks and a V-necked blue cashmere sweater over a pin-striped shirt. His shoes were a pair of his favorites – dark blue, wing tipped oxfords. Standing in the foyer at seven twenty-five, he tried not to fidget, although his nerve endings zinged and his anxiety level spiked.