And yet he’d walked out of there like she’d kicked his goddamn puppy. Idiot.
“Gosh, you’d think being their head writer, she would act with a little more integrity,” Barbara huffed.
“Head writer?” Reed frowned. How could a company that didn’t appear to make money afford a head writer?
In his experience, people running small businesses had to wear many hats. And if the owner of Bad Bachelors was focused on preserving anonymity enough to set up a company in Delaware just to protect her identity, who was to say that this “head writer” wasn’t the owner as well?
“What did she say her name was?”
“Leanne something. You’re not going to track her down, are you? Oh dear, what a mess this is.” She sighed. “You know, Mark told me not to call you.”
“I’m shocked,” he said sarcastically.
Barbara’s fiancé didn’t quite understand their relationship. Reed wouldn’t call her a close friend these days, but they kept in touch. She sent his father a Christmas card every year and called Reed occasionally to check in. The woman had a heart bigger than Texas and Mark worried Reed would one day attempt to steal her away. But the thing was, even back when they were engaged, his relationship with her had always been more platonic than sexual. They didn’t have chemistry…unlike what he had with Darcy.
That’s enough of that. You have bigger fish to fry.
“I’ll forward the email from when she first contacted me,” Barbara said, ignoring his dig.
“What did she look like?”
“She was about my height, brown hair. Fair skin. I think she had brown eyes…maybe?” She sighed. “I know that’s not super helpful.”
“Do you know anything else about this woman?” His spidey senses tingled the way they did whenever he was about to hook a client.
“Not much. She seemed nice.” Pause. “We met at that little Italian coffee place on the corner of Fifth and Forty-Second, right across from the library. They knew her. One of the guys made a comment about how they’d missed her when she didn’t show for her ‘usual’ on Tuesday afternoon.”
“Refresh my memory. What’s the name of that place?” He reached for a scrap of paper and scribbled the details down, making a note of the information about Tuesday afternoons. It wasn’t much, but compared to an anonymous LLC, it might as well have been a gold mine.
“Just don’t make a scene, okay? I don’t want any of this causing more trouble than it already has.”
“I promise, Barbie. I’ll be as stealthy as a ninja.” He tapped his pen on the edge of his desk. “Good luck with the wedding planning. Don’t get too stressed out about this, okay?”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Anything for you.”
He ended the call and turned his cell phone over in his hands, trying to figure out which action to take next. While he was used to being busy, it wasn’t often he had this many balls in the air.
The second he’d gotten into the office that morning, he’d called Donna to find out what the hell had gone on with his father. A few quick calls had revealed that his father had paid the replacement not to show up again after the first day and to keep her mouth shut about it. Needless to say, he was livid and Donna was absolutely mortified. They’d turned it over to the agency, who’d assured him it would not happen again.
Reed rubbed a hand along his lower jaw. Then there was the issue of Dave Bretton and his massive ego. Apparently, Reed hadn’t fawned over him enough earlier in the week and now the stubborn ass was refusing a second meeting. Bretton’s agent had told Reed that he needed to act like a fan in order to win him over, which was ridiculous. You’d think the guy would care more about Reed’s ability to boost his reputation rather him being able to list all the characters in his books.
But luckily for Reed, he knew someone who was a genuine fan.
* * *
Darcy stood in the kitchen of her apartment and looked despondently at the pot of bolognese sauce bubbling away in a large pot. No matter how many times she tried to re-create her grandmother’s recipe, something always went wrong. The meat didn’t break down properly or the tomato made it too acidic or the carrot made it too sweet. This time it wouldn’t seem to thicken up the way she wanted it to.
Tonight, she was hosting the family dinner for this month. It was a week early, since the fundraiser was scheduled for late the following week, and Darcy would be up to her ears in final preparations. Genio had declined to come to Darcy’s place, which was fine by her. But she hadn’t missed that, for a guy who had no hobbies, he was always mysteriously busy whenever Darcy invited them over.
She’d even thought about suggesting they go out, rather than her cooking. But her mother always complained about the food. As far as Darcy was concerned, it was better to take a hit and be criticized than to suffer through the embarrassment of her mother trying to tell a professional chef how to do their job.
She stirred her wooden spoon through the sauce and fished out a mouthful for a taste test. Hmm, it needed more salt. Resting the spoon on the side of the pot, she was about to reach for the salt grinder when her phone buzzed.
Reed.
The name caught her off guard, and she fumbled with her cell, almost dropping it into the pot. “Shit.” She brought the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”
“Have I called at a bad time?”
Her body immediately turned to mush at the sound of his whiskey-smooth voice. Girl, this is a problem. You need to control those damn hormones.
“No, it’s fine. I’m just making dinner.”
“Where’s my invite?” he teased.
“Uh, my mother is going to be here. Trust me, the lack of invite is a blessing.” She put the lid on the saucepot and moved into the living room. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and noticed the streak of red across her cheek. “What’s up?”
“I’m calling about work.”
“Oh.” She cringed at the disappointment in her tone. “Sure. What do you need?”
“I’d like you to attend a meeting with me. It appears I didn’t adequately stroke Mr. Bretton’s ego the first time around, and now he’s refusing to meet with me again.”
Darcy could practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “Wait. Let me get this straight—you want me to come to a meeting with Dave Bretton. The Dave Bretton.”
“I would really appreciate it, Darcy. I know you like his books and it’ll benefit the fundraiser if we can lock him in. I’ve been trying to get him on the hook for a week now, and given our tight timeline, I ideally would have had him booked already. Lucky for us, I don’t think he’d in high demand after the BEA debacle.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” She jumped up and down on the spot. “Of course I’ll come to that meeting. I already finished the book you gave me and it was so good. The series took this entire new twist and I can’t even—”
“Excellent.” The sound of his laughter warmed her insides. “It’s tomorrow night. Short notice, I know.”
“It’s no problem.”
Darcy sucked on her lower lip. She wanted to ask if everything was okay between them after his swift exit yesterday morning, but she wasn’t sure how to do that without revealing that she was still thinking about it.
“Uh, so did you find out what was up with your dad?” The pause on the other end of the line stretched on, each millisecond stabbing her in the chest.
“Everything’s fine,” he said in a way that told her that not a single thing was fine. But obviously she wasn’t someone he would confide in. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the meeting.”
“Sure. See you then.” She ended the call and dropped her cell into the pocket of her apron.
At that moment, the front door swung open, and Remi swanned in with Cynthia and Marietta in tow. “Look who I found,” Remi sa
id.
“What’s that smell?” Darcy’s mother turned her nose up. “Is that…burning?”
“Shit.” Darcy raced into the kitchen to check on her sauce. She waded the wooden spoon through it carefully and found it sticking to the bottom. Freaking perfect.
“You had the heat up too high.” Her mother was behind her, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “Low and slow, how many times have I told you? Low and slow.”
The beginnings of a nasty headache throbbed behind Darcy’s eyes. “Yes, Ma. I get it. I’m a shit cook. You have told me many times before.”
“No need to be so sensitive,” her mother huffed. “Well, I suppose we should just order pizza or something. It’ll probably be greasy, but we can’t possibly have burned sauce.”
Darcy closed her eyes and drew in a long, slow breath, begging the heavens to give her strength not to snap and send her mother packing. Her mind strayed to Reed and his father, and how she’d promised not to take her mother for granted…no matter how infuriating she was.
“What would you do?” She turned and handed her mother the wooden spoon. “Do you think we can salvage it?”
Puffing her chest out like a bird in mating season, her mother shuffled forward and inspected the sauce. “Well, you haven’t mixed the burned bits through the rest of the sauce, which is good.”
It wasn’t quite a compliment, but Darcy would take whatever she could get. “Can we transfer the top part to another pot?”
Her mother dipped the spoon into the sauce and tasted the top portion. “It doesn’t taste too burned. Let’s put it in another pot and then add some more wine.”
Darcy fetched another pot from the cabinet under the stove and they set to work on saving the sauce. Twenty minutes later, they sat around the coffee table—since their dining table couldn’t fit them all—while they ate. Remi had decided to stay because she had no classes that night, and Darcy was grateful for reinforcements.
“So, Remi, have you been auditioning for any shows lately?” Cynthia swirled her fork into the spaghetti and collected a small mouthful. How the girl managed to eat spaghetti without ever flicking sauce all over herself was mind boggling. She had some kind of neatness voodoo that Darcy didn’t share.
“I’ve been building up my profile at the barre studio,” Remi replied, using a fork and spoon to twirl her pasta. Marietta pressed her lips together in judgment, but she didn’t say anything. “I’m getting more hours there now, which is great. Makes paying rent a hell of a lot easier.”
“But don’t you miss the stage?” Cynthia sighed, a dreamy look on her face. “Wouldn’t it be magnificent to stand there while people throw roses at your feet?”
Remi laughed, but her eyes were trained on her food. “Well, that doesn’t happen at small shows and I’m out of practice. You never know. I might go back to it one day. At least I’m not having to work in a café and do the classes on the side to make ends meet.”
“Good for you.” Cynthia nodded. “Hard work always pays off. And how’s everything going with you, Darcy? You’re working on that fundraiser for the library, right?”
“Yeah. I’m having a meeting soon with our PR consultant and…” She paused dramatically. “Dave Bretton.”
The three women looked at her blankly and Darcy rolled her eyes.
“Dave Bretton, the guy who writes only the most epic planet-hopping bounty hunter of all time. He’s like the George R.R. Martin of science fiction.” Still nothing. “You girls need to pick up a book once in a while.”
“Hey.” Remi swatted her. “I read a Sophie Kinsella book recently. I simply prefer my stories to be a little more grounded in reality.”
“In any case, I’m meeting one of my favorite authors of all time. I’m pretty pumped.”
She tried not to think about Reed. Because it was clear from his phone call that his mind was on business, not on her. Not to mention she’d tried to call twice after his awkward exit, but both times he hadn’t picked up the phone.
After dinner was done, Darcy and Remi cleared everyone’s dishes away. They had to wash them by hand, since there was no dishwasher in their apartment. The two of them had lived together for a few years now, so they had a routine down pat. Remi washed and Darcy dried.
“I take it the topic of your man candy is off-limits,” Remi said as she turned the faucet on to fill the sink.
“Would you tell your mother about your sex life?” Darcy snorted. “Actually, your mom’s cool. You probably would.”
“I still have issues with her, don’t worry about that.” Bubbles floated up from the sink as she swished the dish soap around. “Being in a different hemisphere helps, but she still manages to bitch me out from across the globe.”
“That’s comforting. Sometimes I feel like every other girl out there is BFFs with their mothers and I’m still struggling to make her like me.” She leaned against the counter and twisted the dish towel in her hands. “Some days I wish I could be more like Cynthia.”
“And she wishes she could be more like you, trust me.”
“No way.”
Remi nodded sagely. “She looks up to you, Darcy. Why do you think she got that tattoo?”
“Because her boyfriend convinced her.”
“Nope. She wants to be like you.” She smiled. “Her face was all sparkly when I saw her downstairs. She loves spending time with you.”
“And how did my mother look?”
Remi handed over a clean plate without making eye contact. “One family member at a time.”
“That’s what I thought.” Darcy sighed. “She thinks I’m a loser.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t. She’s…of a different mind-set. She wants you to settle down and get married.”
“So do you and Annie by the sound of things.”
They still hadn’t talked about what’d happened Monday morning. After Darcy had all but ordered them out of the house, she’d been dodging Annie’s calls and skulking around in her room when Remi was home. But that could only last so long; even introverts needed some human contact.
It hadn’t helped that Annie had forwarded a link of the Bad Bachelors latest article on Reed. He’d been engaged before. Funny how he never mentioned that when she was pouring her heart out on Sunday night.
“We were surprised, that’s all. I know Annie flipped out a bit, but she only wants you to be happy.” Remi pulled off her yellow rubber gloves and gave Darcy a hug. “Every time she sees someone getting involved with a guy like that, she thinks about what happened with her ex. Her reaction was more about her own fears than it was about you. You know that.”
“We’ve all got a habit of picking the wrong guys, don’t we?” Darcy rested her head against Remi’s shoulder. “You’d think if we were all meant to procreate and keep the human race going they wouldn’t have made the whole dating thing so hard.”
“I hear you.” Remi gestured toward their stove. “Now hand me that pot. We’re going to have to soak that thing for days to get the crust off the bottom.”
Chapter 21
Subject: Our “interview”
Dear Leanne,
I was appalled to read your article and “interview” with me last Wednesday. Your unethical approach to journalism has put me in a very difficult spot personally.
Despite all the things you’ve written about Reed (and implied that I said), I know him to be a kind and generous man. He has a big heart, and while he may not want to settle down, I know he’s never been anything but honest with the women he dates. I don’t know whether you’ve been rejected by him personally or you’re out to get any man who doesn’t fit your idea of what a good person should be, but I find you and your entire business to be repulsive.
You claim that you want to empower
women to make better decisions, and yet you’re not above lying to get the results you want. That’s a level of hypocrisy I cannot abide.
I withdraw permission to further use any material from our interview and request that you remove the article quoting me immediately. I have kept my lawyer abreast of this development. If you use my name on anything again, you’ll be hearing from the Waverly & Whittaker legal team.
Sincerely,
Barbara Waverly
Oh, Barbara. Reed cringed at the email that had popped up on his phone while he was waiting for Darcy to show for their meeting. He knew his ex meant well, but he could only hope this didn’t enrage whoever this Leanne person was and incite more vitriol against him.
Unfortunately, Reed didn’t yet have the information required to hit Bad Bachelors where it hurt. He’d passed Barbara’s information on to the PI who was going to stake out the place and do further digging. But so far, nothing had turned up.
First things first: make sure you have a job to go to tomorrow.
Donald Bath had been breathing down his neck with increasing frequency, which wouldn’t have bothered Reed normally. He could handle the grumpy old codger. But when Edward Weston had come down on him about the loss of Chrissy Stardust and the subsequent lack of new clients, he knew time was running out. Which was exactly why this meeting with Dave Bretton needed to go according to plan.
If it didn’t…he could very well be looking for another source of income. And given he was thinking about upping his father’s care, that wasn’t a good thing.
Darcy waved as she trotted down the street toward the entrance to his office building, where he’d asked her to meet him. “So, do I look ‘appropriately dressed’ for a lunch meeting?” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t want you feeling uncomfortable wearing ripped jeans in a five-star restaurant.” His gaze swept over the demure black blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt. “And yes, you look appropriate.”
Appropriate didn’t really do it justice. She looked hotter than sin. The blouse was sheer and gauzy, leaving a black camisole peeking through the thin fabric. As usual, Darcy wore flats, but they were simple, black, ballet-style shoes rather than her usual Docs or combat boots.
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