by Lori Foster
Nick sighed and headed downstairs. He knew he had time to grab an apple, maybe even make a sandwich, before she ran down. Exactly seven minutes later he set a plate of fruit and roast beef on rye on his desk, dropped into the chair and picked up the phone.
“What am I going to do?” she wailed, right on schedule.
This was, Nick knew, his cue to offer a few pitiful sounds of sympathy. Except he was sick of it. Sick of the roller coaster, sick of playing the same song.
“Quit playing games and go talk to him. Stick it out for once and give him a chance.” Oh, shit. Was he drunk? He knew better than to offer an opinion.
Nick glanced at his soda. Nope, he was straight-up sober and obviously stupid. It wasn’t his job to get involved in his mother’s emotional drama. He was supposed to listen, make sounds and stay out of it.
“Look,” he said, unable to back out now that he’d opened his big mouth, “you loved the guy enough to want to marry him and he can’t have changed that much in the last couple days. It was obvious when we went to lunch that he worships the ground you walk on. If he wants you to join him and his daughter for brunch once a month, I hardly think it’s worth ditching him.”
“But—”
“Quit going through relationships like they’re paper plates, Lori. If you want this one to work, unpack your suitcase, suck it up and do what he wants once in a while. He does it for you, it’s only fair.”
Silence.
Nick took a bite of his sandwich, the tangy mustard clearing the bitterness from his mouth.
“How’d you know I’d packed?” she finally mumbled.
“You always do. Ever since I was a kid and your second husband yelled at you for crashing his car into the garage door. You packed your suitcase and off we went.” Her suitcase. Not his, he’d had to leave behind all his toys, his clothes and his first best friend.
“I didn’t call to get lectured,” she told him after she’d sniffled a few times. From her huffy tone, she was getting over the shock. “I was coming to San Francisco next week and wanted to get together. Can you fit me in?”
Great. More emotional crap. Nick almost said that if she needed money he could just wire it and save them both the time. But that would be obnoxious.
“How about lunch?” he asked instead.
Five minutes and all the pouting he could take later, Nick hung up and sighed. Head in his hands, he wondered if half past noon was too early to drink. His mother always made him feel this way. Drained, miserable and worst of all, vulnerable.
Nick frowned, flipped open his laptop and read the death scene again. Vulnerable was a good word for it. He opened himself to emotions and what’d he get? Shot in the gut.
With a sneer, he hit the delete key. If he lost the bet with Delaney, this was the kind of crap he’d have to write. No thank you. It was enough to bring emotion into his sex scenes. It would have to be.
He fingered tickets to the Erotic Exotic Ball on the corner of his desk. He’d been thinking he’d skip it. After all, it was definitely not Delaney’s kind of thing. But he had too much on the line. He had to win.
With a determined breath, he opened his e-mail program and sent Delaney a note, telling her to keep that night clear. He had a surprise for her.
*
“ARE YOU SURE I look okay?” Delaney asked, tugging at her skirt again. “Do you think it’s too showy for the faculty soiree?”
Mindy sighed, but she stepped back and gave Delaney a thorough once-over. From the smooth fall of her hair, held back by a black quilted leather headband, to the brilliant royal blue silk shirt buttoned to her throat, to the black linen skirt that hit one exact inch above her shaking knees. When Mindy’s eyes reached Delaney’s feet, shod in black leather, high-heeled Mary Janes she sighed.
“You look great, and those shoes are hot.”
Delaney glanced down and grinned. She’d discovered, much to her surprise, that she loved shoes. The fancy clothes, makeup and hair stuff were all okay. She was used to them now and had come to appreciate their effect. But shoes, those she’d actually started shopping for. On her own, for no other reason than they made her smile.
Then she frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, does this look say ‘serious professor’? Or does it say ‘idiot all dressed up’?”
Mindy rolled her eyes and grabbed Delaney’s arm.
“Enough, already. Let’s go. You want that position, you have to get in there and convince the board that you can command attention the way they want.”
Delaney took a deep breath, then with her chin high, entered the hall. It was like stepping into a different world. One, she suddenly realized, she hadn’t missed. The wooden panels were cherry, the floor marble, the atmosphere rarified and dignified. It had once been a haven. Now it was like that old brown suit of hers. Ill-fitting, uncomfortable and not very appealing. It had to be nerves, of course. This was her life, and as soon as she got back to it, it’d fit again.
Hopefully. The number of shocked looks coming at her weren’t reassuring.
“Do I look that different?” she asked Mindy out of the corner of her mouth.
“You’re great. Definitely not invisible. Just stay focused.”
Focus. Right. She was here to make an impression, to prove her worth to her colleagues and the board.
With that in mind, she pasted a confident smile on her face and worked the room. Something she’d done hundreds of times before, but never like this. People wanted to talk to her. They came up to ask her questions, to compliment her new look. She was, she realized after an hour of trying to make her way to the punch bowl, the hit of the soiree.
“Your proposal is intriguing,” Professor Mohs said after she’d cornered Delaney. They’d spent the first five minutes of their discussion on Delaney’s shoes, the next five on her ideas for the English department. The other woman was a brilliant sociologist and looked like someone’s favorite aunt. Black curls created a soft halo around her angelic face as she smiled beatifically.
“This is exactly what the department needs, if you ask me. With this and your qualifications, I’d say you have an excellent chance when the committee meets.”
It was all Delaney could do not to giggle and bend down to throw her arms around the woman’s neck. As one of the hiring committee, her opinion was vital.
Five minutes later, the women separated. Delaney found Mindy by the buffet table and shared a happy smile.
“I’m hoarse,” Delaney admitted. “I feel like I’ve talked more in this last hour than I do in a whole day of lectures.”
“Different kind of performance,” Mindy declared, popping a stuffed mushroom into her mouth. “You’re more comfortable in the classroom. Right now, you’re on display.”
“Like I’d expected, everyone is asking what I’ve done to myself. I just said I had a little makeover, without going into any details.” Delaney filled her plate with appetizers, then gratefully took a cup of punch from the student who was serving. She and Mindy made their way to an empty table and sank into chairs.
“I’m not sure how to answer the ‘what have I been doing with myself’ question, though. Apparently they all think teaching online classes barely qualifies as working.”
“You were just saying the same thing,” Mindy pointed out.
“That’s because it is barely teaching. I mean, there is so much less interaction this way. I feel useless. A computer program could assign reading and grade essays.” She shifted in her seat, tugging the hem of her skirt to cover an extra inch of bare leg. “Thanks to you and this makeover, though, there’s little possibility of it being permanent.”
“We need to go celebrate,” Mindy decided through a mouthful of brie. “And hey, now that you’ve wowed the board, there’s the man you really need to impress.”
Delaney didn’t need to turn to see who it was. She knew from the hushed tones that had settled over the room. Whenever her father walked in, people got quiet. Uncomfortable, almost. Or maybe she was the only on
e discomfited, which was pretty damned pitiful, all things considered.
But not anymore. Or, at least that was what she told herself. And like the makeover, if she faked it on the outside, maybe she’d start feeling it on the inside.
So she took a deep breath, lifted her chin and turned to scan the room. Her father stood, holding court at the opposite end of the hall.
“Go,” Mindy encouraged, as if reading her mind.
“Right.” Delaney took another deep breath and stood, crossing the room. Like water, the crowd parted to clear a path toward the dean.
When Delaney reached him, still in conversation with the head of the history department, he didn’t seem to notice she was there. Professor Hail did, though. She shot Delaney a look of gratitude and tried to break off her conversation with the dean. But, oblivious as usual, he kept on talking. And talking. Delaney realized for the first time that her father’s lack of awareness wasn’t restricted to her. He didn’t pay any attention to anyone’s needs.
Now wasn’t that an empowering discovery? Riding on it, she gave Professor Hail an answering smile and politely cleared her throat.
Nothing.
A few months ago, the look of sympathy the other woman shot her would have fed her insignificance complex. But not anymore. She just rolled her eyes, and with an apologetic shrug to the other professor, tapped her father’s arm.
“Wha—” Dean Conner turned, a frown creasing his red beetle brows. “Beg your pardon?”
“Father, do you have a minute?”
“Excuse me,” Professor Hail said, and quickly hurried off.
“Delaney?” His frown deepened as he took in her appearance. From the disapproving look in his eyes, he wasn’t impressed. Delaney wasn’t surprised. “What on earth did you do to yourself? Is this why I haven’t seen you lately?”
She was surprised he’d even noticed her absence.
“You haven’t seen me because you reassigned all my coursework to online classes, remember?” she asked.
“Right.” His frown eased and he settled his gaze on her left shoulder. For the next five minutes, he proceeded to discuss her online class results, grades and possible future courses.
That was it? No other comment on her makeover? Nothing?
She glanced down to make sure she was really wearing her fashionably fitted outfit instead of the baggy tweed of the past. Yup, there were her killer heels.
“Wait,” she interrupted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re talking as if it’s a given that my course load will be online next semester.”
He gave her his patented “don’t bother me with details” look.
“You said this was a temporary experiment,” she insisted.
From the looks people shot her and the frown on her father’s face, she’d insisted more loudly than she’d intended. After the horrible results of her one meltdown with her father, Delaney had always been careful to be the perfect daughter. To mold her personality to his expectations. Temper embarrassed him, loss of control was to be avoided at all costs. Shame at drawing notice to their dissension washed over her. Then, to her shock, anger sluiced it away. He couldn’t send her to boarding school this time.
“You said you needed someone to bring excitement to the department,” she insisted, feeling like a butterfly breaking out of its chrysalis. A very angry, very fed-up butterfly. “I’m that someone. My proposal is cutting-edge. It’s dynamic, it’s forward-thinking and would revitalize our English department.”
“Now, Delaney—”
“No.” She set her jaw, and for the first time in her life actually stood up to her father. “No, you can’t ‘now, Delaney’ me this time. I told you before, I’m tired of being treated like I’m insignificant. Tired of being brushed off with a pat on the head and pseudo-praise.”
Years of training kept her voice moderate, her words pleasant. After all, her father simply tuned out anything he deemed emotional. The irony of that being the basis for her bets with Nick occurred to her, but she shoved it aside to analyze later.
“I spoke with Professor Mohs earlier. She thinks my proposal sounds intriguing. Like it’s a perfect fit for the direction the board has envisioned. She thinks I can do this job.”
“I never stated I didn’t think you could do the job, Delaney. But achieving that promotion will take more than one board member’s opinion.”
And he clearly didn’t think she could get them. She’d known that he wasn’t going to offer his recommendation. But she hadn’t accepted it until now.
She couldn’t maintain the even keel her father demanded, so she simply nodded and walked away. Not because she didn’t want to embarrass him. Because she didn’t want to embarrass herself. Barely able to see through the tears blurring her vision, Delaney made her way across the room.
Were the last four months all for nothing? Even with the makeover, she still didn’t matter. Delaney’s gaze fell on Professor Belkin, who’d just arrived. And with him was Delaney’s competition, the brunette. She met Belkin’s eyes and saw the message there. His choice was made and Delaney didn’t stand a chance.
Her fingernails cut into the soft flesh of her palms as she tried to reel in the bitter anger surging through her.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. Years of keeping her temper under control went out the window as she imagined the pleasure of kicking the smug-ass department head in the knee with her pointy-toed shoe. Or maybe she’d aim a little higher and deflate his ego.
Ready to rumble, Delaney started across the room. Before she got more than three steps, though, someone tapped her arm.
She glared, then, seeing who it was, smothered her fury with an effort. “Professor Ekco,” she greeted the alumni chair and last member of the hiring committee.
“Professor Conner,” he responded. “I wanted to congratulate you on your innovative proposal.”
Ooooh. Delaney gave him a hesitant smile, his words doing more to soften her anger than all her deep-breathing exercises.
They spent the next few minutes discussing her ideas, Delaney becoming more animated and excited as she explained the various options for bringing more current fiction to the college.
Finally, the alumni head nodded. “You’re right, Professor Conner, it’s a fabulous proposal. One that will stand up nicely to the others we’ve received. Of course, Professor Belkin has backed a different applicant. I’m sure you can see that carries a great deal of weight.”
Delaney ground her teeth to keep from growling in frustration.
“But…” He cocked a brow and leaned closer. She stiffened. The old guy wasn’t going to hit on her, was he? She’d heard stories of that happening, but never at Rosewood. And never, ever, to her. “Well, I have to share a secret.”
She steeled herself.
“I’m a huge fan of Wake Up California,” the old guy said in a hushed tone.
“What? How?” Didn’t he have morning classes? And how was he getting a local San Francisco station all the way up here?
“My daughter recorded it for me,” he said.
Her eyes bulged. Oh, shit. Who the hell did that? She’d never considered the possibility. So much for the best laid plans. She didn’t even bother to sigh. She just waited.
“After discovering your alter ego as a reviewer, I’ve gone back and read your work. Impressive. And although I don’t always agree with your point of view, you present it quite well.”
Delaney felt like asking if that meant the difference between an A and a B.
But she kept her mouth shut as he continued, “Now this bet with Nick Angel has been fascinating. Not only the basis of your argument, but the fact that you’d take such a risky stand. That,” he said with a slow nod, “is what we need in the English department. Someone willing to take some risks, to stand behind a curriculum they believe in.”
Her mouth dropped but no words came out. Excitement surged and she couldn’t keep the delighted smile off her face. Interpreting her
reaction, he quickly shook his head.
“No, no,” he corrected. “I’m not backing your application, Professor. At least, not yet.”
Excitement deflated like a leaky balloon.
“Not yet?”
He gave her an avuncular smile, patted her arm and said, “You win that bet against Nick Angel and I’ll give you my recommendation. Especially if you can entice Mr. Angel to speak at the college. That would definitely impress the alumni.” He nodded decisively. “Yes, I’m confident his appearance, along with your proposal and your academic reputation, will secure you the position.”
Delaney gave him a weak smile of thanks.
How ironic. She, who’d been virtually invisible a few months ago, could snag her coveted promotion by winning one simple, high-profile bet.
Of course to win, all she had to do was nail the reviews, keep Nick from distracting her with his powers of lust and try not to get her heart broken.
She might as well try to convince her father to attend a daddy-daughter dance with her for Valentine’s Day.
*
AT HOME THAT NIGHT, Delaney sat at her desk and pulled up the Wake Up California Web site.
She stared at the second poll helplessly. Still losing. Dammit, she couldn’t lose. Before, beating Nick had been a matter of pride. Something between the two of them, even if the highly publicized poll was integral to the bet.
But now her future was riding on it. She’d taken the TV job to work on her presentation skills, to push the envelope of her makeover. She’d intended to use the proficiency she built there to aid her in selling herself to the committee. Not for her position on “Critic’s Corner,” and especially not her bet with Nick, to become the deciding factor in the future of her career.
Winning the bet was now vital.
With that in mind, she took the third book to be reviewed from the stack on her desk, and still in her skirt and heels, settled into her office chair, the nubby rich red silk giving her a sense of power. Notepad and pen by her side, she settled in to read the book, deliberately closing off all thoughts of Nick.
Instead of a Pepsi, she had a glass of ice water on the table next to her. Instead of soft rock in the background, she played classical as a reminder of what was at stake.