by Kim Boykin
“He just wants to be done so he can go on vacation, and I just want to get this over with so I can go back to working in my pajamas.” I was pulling at the short hemline when he rounded the corner. He looked as shocked as I was that women who wear broomstick skirts religiously really do have legs.
“Stop that, honey. You’ve got legs for days. Show them off,” Jes said, swatting at my hand. “Ooh, he likes.”
“All right, Jes, She looks good,” Jake said, trying not to look at me. Where I come from, they call that gawking, mister. “Thanks. I think we’re done here.”
“What about shoes? You can’t put her back in those black flats.” She sounded like he’d given me a pasteboard box and was turning me out to sleep on the sidewalk. He rolled his eyes and she took that as the go-ahead sign. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”
“Sorry, Jake, I know this is taking too much of your time. I’ll just change—”
“No—” he said, still staring. “Not yet, you want to make sure the dress looks okay with the shoes.”
I sat down on a bench across from him in my nearly naked dress, praying Jes would hurry up. Soon a tower of boxes was walking toward me. She peeked around them at the dress again and ordered me to stand up. “Forget the rest of these. I’m thinking the B. Brian Atwood peep-toe sandals.”
She slipped the butter-soft high ankle cuffs onto my feet. After wearing flats for years because Jim was only an inch taller than me, the four-and-a-half-inch heels were perilously high. I looked at Jake to see what he thought. “How much?” he asked, his eyes glued to my legs.
“These are not on sale,” Jes said sheepishly, “but they look amazing. You should invest in them, Tara.” She sounded like Marsha with a hot stock tip. “Really you should.”
“How much?” I asked.
“After my discount,” she whispered, “$350.”
“I can’t—”
Jake handed her his credit card, not the company Amex card. “Forget the discount. Ring them up, we’ll take them now.”
I shook my head, sure this wasn’t part of his job description either. “No, Jake.”
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” Jes whispered. “You can pay him later.”
Chapter Seven
‡
They rode back to the hotel with the shoebox between them. He wanted to say something to this woman, but every time he opened his mouth he sounded like a jerk. “Jes will drop off the dress at the hotel on her way home from work.” But that wasn’t it. “You were great today, Tara.” That wasn’t it either.
“Thanks, Jake,” she said slowly, like she didn’t know if it was okay to tell him what she was thinking. Her look said she was going for broke anyway. “I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t pissed me off this morning. It sounds weird thanking you for that, but—.” She smiled at him.
She was beautiful. And trouble. Starting something with Tara Jordan was a bad idea, he’d come too far in his career to screw up now. For starters, there’d be no more shopping trips for dresses to show off those incredible legs. No more whipping out his credit card to buy her heels like the ones he was sure would be in his dreams tonight. Nope, from here on out he was going to be all business.
“Thank you, Jake.”
“Do you want to get some dinner, Tara? Maybe start over?” Yeah, that sounded real professional.
“I’d love to.”
She drawled those three little and his chest felt tight. It wasn’t like his job depended on this tour, but damn if he didn’t feel relieved that she wanted to have dinner with him. All business my ass. He needed to get his shit together, and fast.
The maître d’ gave them the worst possible table between the kitchen and a disgruntled couple who complained that none of the four courses they had ordered compared to Ruth’s Chris Steak House back home in Cincinnati.
Jake picked up the wine list. “Should we order a bottle of wine?”
Tara shook her head and actually blushed, but she didn’t hold back when it was time to order. A salad, Maryland crab cakes with potatoes, and a reminder that she would definitely want to see the dessert list later on. “Look I really am sorry about this morning. I was way out of line.” Her finger traced a line across her neck where the blue necklace had been earlier. “And the necklace was a bad choice too?”
“It’s just a piece of jewelry,” she said, but something in the way she said it made him doubt her.
“So tell me something about you, something that’s not in your bio.”
She shook her head. “No fair. You have my bio and I don’t know anything about you.”
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
I could have used a glass of wine or two to take the edge off of feeling like this was a date, a date with a gorgeous, younger man. Did that make me a cougar? Or did I inherit the title, thanks to Jim? Either way, Jake Randall was a charmer and was way more than easy on the eyes.
“How’d you end up in New York?”
“I moved here after I graduated from Wisconsin; I was sick of the cold.”
“But then you moved here? Where it’s cold.”
“Yes, but the winters aren’t as long as back home. Besides, it’s New York.”
“So I’m guessing you’re what? Late twenty-something?”
“Thirty,” he said.
“A baby,” I said as much to myself as to him.
“Really?” he challenged. There was nothing about Jake Randall that wasn’t all man candy and he knew it. “So if I’m a baby, that makes you how old?”
“None of your damn business.” I had not blushed this much in a long time.
“Should I guess?”
“Please don’t.” Why didn’t I say yes to that wine? It would be easier to hide behind the flirting, which I was obviously terrible at. And what in the hell was I doing flirting with Jake anyway? Even if Jim was gone, I was still married.
“Let me see your hands.”
“No.” I snatched them off of the table and into my lap. I gardened and played tennis and wrote books. I had old hands, really really old hands. And if he did get my age or if he guessed on the high side, I’d die right there in front of him or would spend the next twenty-nine days in total embarrassment.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m older than you, A lot older.”
“So? I bet you dessert I can guess your age.”
“And remind me just how old I really am? I thought you were done with being an ass, Jake Randall.”
He held out his hand, and I made the mistake of looking into those whiskey eyes. “Give me your hand, Tara.” It wasn’t an order, but I couldn’t have disobeyed even if I wanted to. I turned my palm up so he couldn’t see the freckles, and the lines, and the little scar across the back of two of my knuckles. He studied it for a moment and then closed my palm. “I know you’re forty because I read your Wiki page. Otherwise I would have guessed thirty.”
This was too much. I pulled my hand back and tried to laugh it off. “You suck at this game, Jake Randall, and you still owe me dessert.”
He let her deflect his compliment because she’d blushed from head to toe, at least from what he could see. But it wasn’t just a line. She was gorgeous, with long dark hair that hung down her back, stopping just above her slender waist. A heart shaped face that lit up constantly with things she seemed to want to say but didn’t. Why was that? Had she always been that way, or had someone conditioned her to be like that? Then he remembered how she’d barked at him earlier for going through her clothes and almost laughed at the idea that anybody could train Tara Jordan.
And why in the hell was he even thinking about her? She was married and had even written a book about how great it was to be married. But when Jake was with her, she hadn’t mentioned her husband once. And when Kathie Lee Gifford made some crack about her husband, Frank, leaving the toilet seat up and asked Tara if she had the same problem, she seemed relieved when the producer cut to a commercial break before she could answer.
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If Tara’s husband wasn’t able be there for her big moments today, why didn’t he at least call her afterwards? When Jake was with her, she took a couple of calls but didn’t talk more than a few minutes. And she didn’t react to any of the calls the way he thought she would if she’d been talking to the man who inspired her to write the book.
And what was up with all the flirting? Maybe Tara just did it because she was good at it or because she’d devoted two chapters to how important it was in a relationship. Not that he had any complaints, hell, no. There was no doubt he was flirting with her, but why in the hell was she flirting with him?
“So, Jake Randall, what do you like to read?”
“A little bit of everything.”
She was obviously enjoying her crab cakes, shoulders scrunched around her ears with every bite. “That’s what people say who don’t read or they read romance and they’re too embarrassed to admit it.”
“Nothing wrong with romance.”
“And you would know this because?”
“For starters, I read your first one last night. Not bad.”
“I don’t believe you.” She was grinning, wagging her fork at him, and looked adorably baffled that anybody would read her love stories, much less a guy. “Give me your critique.”
“A critique or a synopsis?”
“Shut up, Jake, and just tell me what you think.”
“Honestly?”
She swallowed hard, eyes huge, like she was staring down the barrel of a gun. He really shouldn’t have been teasing her, but it was kind of cute to see how much she cared about what he thought. It was almost like nobody had ever read a word she’d written but him.
“I liked the heroine, Alyssa. The hero was trying too hard to be alpha for my taste, but I’m sure women will eat Sweet Southern Love up along with the other twenty-five books in the series.”
Her fork dropped onto the table. Mouth gaped open but nothing came out.
Not missing a beat, he handed her fork back to her. “I forgot to ask Erin, Tara, so I’ll ask you. Do you need any tickets for friends tomorrow? Your husband?”
She blushed hard and shook her head. “No, it’s just me. Jim’s—out of the country.”
Okay, with the exception of two national TV appearances tomorrow, why was the idea of having her to himself so appealing? He thought about the tour he’d just come off of and the champ’s huge entourage and knew why. Tagalongs were a pain in the ass, not as much as the divas themselves, but still.
“Good to know. I emailed you the updated itinerary. I talked to the Janzen rep today and moved some things around so you’ll have some time to catch your breath before the first show in Chicago. You’ve done great so far, but I’m a little worried about the book signings along with those theater gigs wearing you out.”
She let out a deep breath. “I’m worried too. I’m good one-on-one with fans, but I told Erin I thought the shows were a bad idea.”
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through her schedule for the thirteenth time that day. There was no need, he knew the itinerary by heart, it was just a habit or what Erin called a security blanket. He didn’t think he was OCD like Erin claimed, but as much as it killed him to deviate from the fucking itinerary, maybe he was. But as long as he was in charge, that was okay.
“You were supposed to have Friday through Sunday off, but I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine in Atlanta who can give you some quick skills and help you feel more comfortable in the pressure cooker.” Yes, he’d already booked the flights. This trip was on. “The catch is, we have to leave as soon as you’re done with The View.”
“Oh, God, that would be great, Jake. I feel like I’m being thrown into this theater thing with no idea of what to do or what to expect.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said. “You’re in good hands.”
Lou had all but bet him outright the arena shows would be a disaster, but Jake was more worried about getting through tomorrow trying to act professional with Tara in that short black dress and high heels. Or Tara only in high heels. Christ. He definitely needed to get his shit together.
Tara was in the middle of her dessert when he motioned for waiter who was back in a flash with the check. Jake didn’t even look at it, just handed the guy the company credit card. “I’ve got to head out. Another early day tomorrow.” She looked disappointed at first, then shrugged, savoring another bite of her gooey chocolate and raspberry dessert, licking the spoon slowly. Basically killing him.
“I can’t believe you read my novel. You can stop now; they’re just romances, not even great romances.”
“I’m starting on the second one tonight.”
“Thanks for dinner, Jake, and the shoes. I’ll pay you back. Soon.”
“Forget about it,” he said, as he signed the check. It was worth it. Yep, he needed to get there and fast.
“Jake.” That drawl did things to him. Just keep on walking. Don’t turn around. Fat chance of that happening. Damn, she was beautiful. “Thanks for reading my books.”
Chapter Eight
‡
After a long hot bath, I plopped down on my bed and let out a delicious sigh until it occurred to me I’d been so busy today, I hadn’t once checked my phone to see if Jim had called. I scrolled down the numbers in my Recent Calls log and recognized all the numbers, especially Jake’s.
Was this how my husband felt wherever he was? Excited, enjoying the attention someone else? I pulled the bathrobe tighter around me. While it still hurt that Jim had left me, I was grateful I had something to do besides mope around the house back in Charlotte. I patted the top of the little brown coffin on the nightstand. “You would have been so proud of me, Lilly. Mommy was on the freaking Today Show.”
Scrolling through my email, I was surprised I had a hundred and forty-two congratulatory messages and one trying to get me to sign up for a Bloomingdale’s credit card. I was replying to Marsha’s message when my cell phone rang.
“You must be psychic, I was just emailing you.”
“Tara, you were fabulous today. I mean I couldn’t believe that was you, flipping your hair, yucking it up with Kathie Lee and Hoda. I’ve never been more proud of anybody in my life, but honey, I’ve got to tell you, your personality may have lit up the screen, but there is no place for that blah-colored Gap t-shirt on national TV.”
“Hey, Sharon Stone wore a Gap T to the Oscars a few years ago.”
“It was forever ago, ten or fifteen years, and if memory serves me correctly, she paired it with a Vera Wang skirt.”
Ten or fifteen years is forever? I’m forever older than Jake Randall? And married to a man who’s forever older than me. What the hell was I thinking?
“You’d be proud of me, Marsha. I didn’t check my phone to see if Jim called today, not even once.”
“Good for you. You looked amazing and sounded really good.”
“I am good. My publicist, Jake, is getting me ready for those stupid theater shows they have me doing. We’re going to Atlanta tomorrow to meet a friend of his to help with that.”
“Those stupid shows are going to pay your mortgages for the next six months. So, what happened to Erin?”
“She had—an accident. Had to have surgery and won’t be able to travel, so they gave me Jake.”
“Is he cute?”
Gorgeous, but I’m married. Married. Married. Married. “I guess he is.” Definitely.
“God, the least they could do is give you something pretty to look at.”
“Jake’s scheduled two days with this Lou guy Atlanta, but I’m hoping I can do well enough so I can get away to the beach for the weekend.”
“Ooh, Mike and I are going down Friday and Melissa’s coming over for drinks. Bring Jake along; it can be your first date.”
“God, you sound like we’re sixteen. This is just business, Marsha.”
Jim had been gone almost three months and without a word. Every day I expected someone to walk up to me, like they do o
n those cop shows, shove divorce papers in my hand and say, “you’ve been served.” Of course there is no handbook for the deserted, nothing that says how long to wait before you start looking again. Flirting. But a weekend at the beach? Was I really ready for that?
The whole next day was surreal. All of the women on The View were super nice and helped me feel at ease before we went on the air. I was told ahead of time what they would talk about. At one point it hit me that I really was sandwiched between Barbara Walters and Woopi Goldberg, drinking coffee, and chatting about the new romance series and the theater dates. Barbara mentioned Thirty Days To The Perfect Marriage, and the title alone got some laughs, but she focused on the release of the romance series and my journey as a writer.
I was fine until she said, “So Tara, I have to ask you. What does your husband Jim think about all your success?”
My face felt like it was on fire, and I prayed to God they’d put enough makeup on me so that America couldn’t see my shame. I couldn’t even open my mouth to speak. Thankfully, Barbara Walters had interviewed enough people to know terror was streaking through my body like a triple shot of espresso. She gave me a slight nod, looked at the camera and said, “More after the break.” And even though I never really liked Joy Behar the times I had watched the show, after we came back from the break, she’s the one who saved me.
When we went live again, Joy made a joke about two married people that set the audience off. While they were still in the throes of laughter, she followed up with, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but sometimes being married is like going to a restaurant and seeing what the table next to me ordered and thinking, damn, I wish I’d ordered that.” Then the music came up, and that was the end of the show.
“You did a great job,” Jake said. I knew from the look on his face he’d see my glitch. I wasn’t going to get into this with him. The fact that my husband had left me was none of his business, but I sensed he wasn’t going to let it go.