by Mari Madison
But it was. It was her. It couldn’t be anyone but her.
Sheer panic warred with sudden, complete arousal as I watched her approach, my knees threatening to buckle out from under me. What the hell was she doing here?
I assessed her quickly. Her once flowing blond curls were now restrained in a severe knot at the back of her head and the scrap of a dress she’d worn to the club had been replaced by a smart, baby blue suit jacket. The skirt she wore, however, was still too short, in my opinion, to be legal and soon I found my eyes involuntarily running up and down the length of her bare legs, just as my hands had done only two nights before. Oh God. I felt my jeans tighten as I remembered all too well the satin smoothness of those thighs. Against my hands. Against my mouth. The mewing sound she’d made as I moved across her core. The sweetness she left on my tongue.
Down, boy.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts and focus on what was unfolding in front of me. She was getting closer. She was definitely heading my way. And for some reason she didn’t look half as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
Then I remembered: the wallet.
I had realized I’d left my jacket with my wallet behind just as I’d gotten back to my sister’s house and attempted to pay the cabbie. But I’d decided it’d be easier just to cancel my credit cards and apply for a new California license than go back and grovel for its return. I’d figured since my license had my old Boston address on it she wouldn’t be able to track me down. I’d conveniently forgotten about the letter of employment.
I swallowed hard. She was close now. And I was a deer in the headlights, not sure what to do. Half of me wanted to run. To turn around and dive back into the SUV and speed away. But of course that was stupid. Not to mention fucking cowardly.
Come on, Mac. Grow a pair. Take the jacket, make up some lame apology, and you’ll never have to see her again.
“Hey, Mac!” she called in greeting, giving me a small smile as she stepped into my bubble. A calm, friendly smile. Almost too calm, too friendly. Was she planning on confronting me for taking off like I had? Or would she pretend it hadn’t happened, just to avoid the awkwardness? After all, this wasn’t all me, I reminded myself. She’d wanted to keep it casual, too. To get back at her ex or whatever. She probably didn’t want to see me as much as I didn’t want to see her.
Except . . . I did want to see her, I suddenly realized. In fact, against everything sensible inside of me, I was pretty damn happy to set eyes on her again. Which was completely stupid, but evidently par for the course when it came to this girl. There was just something about her. Something . . . nice.
She doesn’t want you, Mac, I scolded myself. And you certainly don’t have room in your life for her.
“Um, hey,” I said, forcing my voice to stay casual. As if it was all no big deal. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I watched as, sure enough, she reached into her bag and pulled out my jacket. “You left this at my house,” she said. Her voice was still calm and friendly, but from this closer proximity I could see her hands were shaking a little. Not so calm as she wanted me to think, I realized. For some reason the thought made me feel a little better.
I reached out to accept the jacket, our fingers accidentally connecting as they made the exchange. A zap of electricity shot through me and I involuntarily jerked my hand away then glanced over at her, wondering if she had felt it, too. From the startled look on her face, I decided she had and I had to hide a smile. Hey, at least it wasn’t just me.
“Thanks,” I said with forced bravado. “But seriously, you didn’t have to come all the way down here.”
She gave me an odd look I couldn’t quite decipher. Then she followed it with a small embarrassed smile. “Oh. Well, I was . . . in the neighborhood. No big deal.”
I tucked the jacket under my arm. “Well, I appreciate it,” I said lamely.
She didn’t reply, just looked at me and the silence stretched out between us, long and suffocating. Shuffling from foot to foot, I wondered if I should say something else. Like apologize or something, for leaving like I had. But no. That had been what she’d wanted. I’d done her a favor. And now it was best to get the hell out of there before she managed to unnerve me further. This was my first day on the job. I didn’t need to be filling out HR paperwork with a raging hard-on and a gut full of regret.
“I’ve got to get inside,” I told her. “But thanks for the jacket. And, uh, maybe I’ll see you around.”
Her expression stayed neutral, but I caught a flicker of something unhappy in her eyes and it sent a pang of guilt rocketing through me all over again. But no. I wasn’t the asshole here, I reminded myself. We were both adults and we’d both gotten what we’d wanted. Now it was time to cut the cord and walk away.
I extended my hand, meeting her eyes with my own, as if daring her to take it. She looked taken aback for a second, then went for it, closing her hand over mine. I gave her a firm shake, trying not to think about what she looked like with no clothes on as we clung together a second too long—skin to skin.
She yanked her hand away. “So yeah. Anyway. Uh, see you later,” she stammered, her cheeks now flaming red. Before I could respond, she turned, her heels clicking on the pavement as she crossed the parking lot with rapid steps, putting distance between us. I watched her go, feeling the inexplicable desire for her to turn around and give me one last look. Like you always see people do in the movies. But, of course, she didn’t. And why should she? This wasn’t the beginning of a beautiful friendship. This was good-bye forever.
Which should have made me happy. Relieved. So why was there suddenly a pang of loneliness stabbing me in the gut instead? Why was it taking all my willpower not to call her back and ask her if we could have another chance?
“Are you Jake MacDonald?”
I whirled around at the sound of the gruff voice behind me. A bearded Latino man wearing jeans and a plaid button-down was approaching, a coffee in each hand.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a hard swallow as I turned my attention back to the job. “You can call me Mac.”
He smiled with crooked teeth. “I’m Javier,” he informed me. “Morning show photog. I’m supposed to show you around.” He pushed a coffee into my hands. “And, of course, give you your first welcome cup of News 9 joe. Tastes like shit, but it’s loaded with caffeine—something you’ll need around here.”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you.” I took the coffee, then held out my free hand. Javier grabbed it with a firm grip. After we shook, I took a long slug. He was right. Not that tasty but damn strong—just the way I liked it. I started to relax. She was gone. And now I could turn my focus to what was really important. My new job. My new, clean, uncomplicated life.
“Well,” Javier said. “I’d hoped by coming out here I’d be the first to greet you. But it looks like Beth has beat me to it.”
I choked as my coffee went down the wrong pipe.
“Jesus.” Javier laughed. “I know it ain’t Starbucks, but it’s not that bad, is it?”
“Beth?” I managed to choke out, my entire world sliding out from under me with one single name.
So much for focusing on my new job.
“Oh, sorry, I meant Elizabeth White.” The photographer waved a hand in the direction of the parking lot where Beth was getting into her car. “I just assumed she’d introduced herself.”
“She . . . works here? Here at News 9?” I found myself blurting out, all Captain Obvious. My mind flashed back to Beth’s weird smile. The way she’d said she’d been in the neighborhood. The way I’d completely not put two and two together.
“Sure. She’s a reporter. She and I do mornings together.”
Frustration shot through me like a bullet and I raked a hand through my hair as my mind tried to comprehend his words. Beth worked here. The girl I’d slept with and taken off on worked here. Here at my new job.
And . . . so much for that whole new, clean, uncomplicated life thing.
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I screwed up my face. All this time I’d been deluding myself, thinking my new job—clear across the country—would serve as an escape hatch from all the drama I’d dealt with back in Boston. And yet, now, somehow, I’d brought it all upon myself all over again—in just one night. That had to be a record, even for me. Would she tell everyone what happened? Did I already have a reputation with my new colleagues before ever stepping through the front door?
I realized Javier was laughing. “Yeah, that was my reaction when I first met her, too,” he teased, mistaking my look. “Hell, man, if I wasn’t twice her age and happily married . . .” He shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. “Anyway, enough about her. You ready to go inside? Get the lay of the land?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to reset. Then I opened them again. “Sure,” I said, through clenched teeth. What else could I say? I needed this job. For Ashley’s sake if nothing else. And I wasn’t about to let some one-night fuckup ruin my little girl’s second chance. “Lead the way.”
twelve
BETH
I slipped into my car, my face aflame and my stomach twisting into knots. I knew it’d be hard to see Mac again, but I had no idea just how hard it would actually be. To take in his long, lean frame, his broad shoulders, his piercing blue eyes. To force myself to stay cool, calm, collected and not throw myself at him all over again. But that would be beyond stupid. After all, he’d made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t interested. And I needed to retain what scraps of dignity I had left if I was going to be able to find a way to be coworkers from here on out.
I frowned, thinking back on the encounter. I guess I’d thought at the very least he’d offer up some kind of lame apology. Or maybe an excuse or something. Didn’t I deserve that at the very least? Even a “Thank you for letting me crash at your place” would have been something.
But no. All I got was a “See you around” and a lame-ass handshake.
I closed my eyes, my mind falling back to the handshake in question. From the very same hand that had explored every inch of my naked body just two nights before, the very same fingers that had made me scream—now they might as well have belonged to a stranger.
They did belong to a stranger, I scolded myself. As Stephanie kept reminding me, that had been the whole idea.
But now they also belonged to my new coworker.
With a heavy sigh, I reached down to insert my key into the ignition. I’d been at work since four A.M. and was very ready to go home and crawl into bed for my regularly scheduled midmorning nap. But before I could pull out of my parking lot space, my phone vibrated on my lap. A blocked number, which meant it was probably work.
I put the phone to my ear. “Elizabeth White speaking.”
“Elizabeth!” my news director, Richard, barked into the phone. “Are you still in the building? I wanted to catch you before you left for the day.”
I bit my lower lip, looking around the parking lot. I could tell him I’d already pulled out—he’d never know. But no. Then I’d just wonder all day what he’d wanted from me.
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Great. Come swing by my office. I want to talk to you for a minute.”
“Why? What’s up?” I asked, before I could check myself. When the big boss tells you to come to his office, you didn’t ask why. You just went.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he added, then hung up without explaining.
I stuffed the phone in my purse, my hands shaking a little as my nerves tensed. What did he want from me? Had I done something wrong? My mind raced over the stories I’d covered the past week, trying to think of anything that might have warranted a meeting with the news director, but I couldn’t think of a single thing. In fact, if anything, I’d been feeling pretty good about my performance of late. Even when covering inane feature stories like the Lemon Grove craft fair, I’d managed to keep a positive attitude and I hadn’t missed any of my live hits. Hell, I’d even gotten a few viewer fan emails over the last week.
So what could Richard want from me?
I waited until Mac and Javier entered the building before getting out of the car. Didn’t need to run into him twice in one day. As I headed across the parking lot, I wondered what he would think when he discovered that I worked here. I knew I probably should have broken the news myself when I’d returned the jacket—that had been my plan originally, anyway.
But seeing him again had disconcerted me so much, the words had stuck in my throat and I had walked away without playing my hand. And who could blame me, really? No matter what Stephanie said, I knew this was going to be so damn awkward. And a lot harder than I cared to admit. How was I going to work in the same building with him day in and day out? A walking, talking reminder of my big mistake.
I shook my head, trying to swap my focus. There would be time for me to stew over my love life—or lack of it—later. Right now I needed to stay professional and find Richard. Find out what I did wrong and grovel appropriately to appease him. So as I pushed through the newsroom door, I fought also to push Mac from my mind.
The inside of News 9 looked like something out of Tomorrowland at Disney World. A sci-fi nightmare dressed in neon lights and littered with TVs strategically placed on every available surface. I guess the idea was to create something that appeared bustling and busy, but in truth, it usually looked more like an epileptic seizure waiting to happen.
As I crossed the newsroom, passing producers and writers preparing for the noon broadcast, I spotted Joy Justice back at her desk. Our station’s main anchor had been “on vacation” for the last three months and must have just returned. And while she had announced her destination as Cabo San Lucas for a little “fun in the sun,” rumor had it was really for a little nip and a tuck. Sure enough, even from here I could tell something was different about her face. I shuddered a little, trying to imagine going under the knife. I think I’d rather deal with wrinkles—even if they did mean possible death to my on-camera career.
Shaking the thought from my head, I made my way to Richard’s office and knocked tentatively on the door. The news director glanced up from the call he was on, and motioned for me to come in. I sat down in the chair opposite his oversized, over-cluttered desk and tried not to squirm. Looking down at my hands, I realized they were shaking and shoved them under my legs before he noticed
“I don’t give a shit what that PR hack told you,” Richard was yelling into the phone, raking a hand through his thick brown hair. His dark brown eyes suggested that the fifty-something-year-old news director might have been quite handsome back in the day. But years of job-related stress had left him with a haggard, worn look. “You get in there and you get that interview and you get it in time for the five o’clock newscast or your ass is out the door!”
He slammed down the receiver. Then looked up at me. “Sorry about that.”
“Uh, yeah, no problem,” I squeaked, now more nervous than ever.
“Damn Stephanie,” Richard growled, shuffling through some papers on his desk. “San Diego is the twenty-eighth largest television market in the country. And I have interns who could do a better job.”
I gnawed on my lower lip, wondering if I should speak up for my poor roommate. I was probably already in trouble for something and arguing her good points would likely only serve to aggravate him further. But still . . .
“Stephanie’s a good reporter,” I tried. “She’s just . . .”
I trailed off. Just what? Hungover? Still drunk? Despite her promises of never drinking again, my roommate hadn’t gotten home from the bars until after three A.M. last night, just as I was heading out the door to work.
“That’s sweet.” Richard waved me off, pulling a piece of paper from the stack and filing it away in a manila envelope. “But do you know how many live shots she missed last week?” He gave me a smug look. “Three.”
Wait, what? I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Missing live shots—your time slot to report during the local new
scast—was pretty much a mortal sin around here. And Stephanie had missed three? That didn’t sound like my roommate. I mean, sure, she could be a flake, but she was usually very serious about her career. I needed to talk to her when I got home—make sure everything was okay.
I realized Richard was looking at me intently. I squirmed under his gaze. “Uh, yeah?” I stammered. “Sorry. You wanted to see me?”
He nodded. “How long have you been with us, Elizabeth?”
“Uh, just over two years.”
“And you’ve been on the morning show the entire time?”
I bit back a frown. He knew that. He had to have known that. What was he getting at here? “Yes, sir.”
He leaned forward, meeting my eyes with his own steely ones. “Do you like the morning shift, Elizabeth?”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing with what he expected me to say. Why yes, Richard, I love the morning shift. Especially the part where I get to wake up at three A.M. every day to go to work. And my social life has simply been off the hook since I started going to bed at seven thirty each night, just to get enough sleep. And as for doing live shots in the pitch dark that even the earliest commuters sleep through? Dream come true, boss. Dream. Come. True.
“It’s been a great experience,” I declared with as much bravado as I could muster. “The morning show crew is wonderful and I consider myself very blessed to be part of the team.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “In other words it totally sucks and you want off, ASAP, correct?”
“Uh.” I stared at him. “I mean . . .”
“It’s okay,” he said with a smirk. “I know the morning shift isn’t exactly Glamour City. I worked overnights for ten years back when I first started producing and I’m pretty sure I was a zombie the entire decade.” He shook his head, as if remembering. Then he looked up. “How would you like a change?”