You Had Me at Good-bye

by Tracey Bateman

  “I’m headed to Nick’s with three dozen cinnamon rolls,” Laini says. She looks straight at Brandon. “I could use some muscle. Want to help?”

  His eyes light up. “Sure. Let me go fix my hair first.” He gobbles down the last morsels of food on his plate and washes them down with orange juice. “Be right back.”

  Laini grabs his dishes and heads to the dishwasher. “What a great kid.”

  I shrug. “I agree. I was led to believe he was quite the handful. He’s definitely his own strong personality, but he’s not a thug by any means.”

  “Do you want to go to Nick’s, too? I thought I’d have some coffee before class.”

  “Yeah. I told Nick that Brandon might want an after-school job.” I drain my coffee cup and walk to the sink with my breakfast dishes. “I need to introduce the two of them.”

  “Have you said anything to Brandon?”

  “Not yet. I need to before we go, though, so he can decide if he wants to—”

  “Decide if I want to what?”

  Brandon has returned with all four spikes sticking straight up as, I suppose, they were meant to do. Every piercing is in place, and his nails are effectively painted black. He looks put together. Literally. Sort of like Frankenstein.

  “The guy who owns the coffee shop is looking for some part-time help. I thought you might be interested.”

  “You think I need a job?”

  “I just thought you might want one.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He seems a little put out. “Hey, Brandon. You don’t have to. It’s no big deal. No one will be mad at you if you decide you don’t want to get an after-school job.” I send him a wink. “It’s not like Dad can’t afford to support you. And a small country in Africa.”

  That brings a smirk to his mouth, and I know we’ve connected. “I’ve been wanting to get one, but it’s hard to find a respectable job with this kind of look.”

  “I see your point.”

  Laini finishes loading the dishes and adds soap. “Nick’s not like that, Brandon.” She pushes the button and the water begins to swirl. “He won’t judge you by your outward appearance.”

  I’m not sure where she gets her confidence, but she seems very sure.

  “I have to practice my music, so I can’t work long hours.”

  “He’s only open until six o’clock through the week, eight on Saturday, and he’s closed on Sunday.”

  Brandon gives a nod. “Okay, then. Maybe it’ll work out.”

  I think I see a spark of interest. A real spark.

  Laini goes straight to the kitchen to drop off the rolls when we get to Nick’s. The line is ridiculous. I feel like I’m waiting for a roller-coaster ride at Disney World. Brandon and I happen to be in line behind the same stringy-haired girl from a couple of weeks ago. “Hey, there,” I say, tapping her shoulder to get her attention. “Remember me?”

  Her face goes red, but she nods.

  “I’m Dancy Ames.”

  “Emily Lewis.” In her hand is a copy of Wake Me with a Kiss, Cate Able’s latest book.

  I grin. “Hey, don’t you love her?”

  A spark flashes in her eyes. “My favorite contemporary author.”

  “Me too! Don’t you wish she’d write one every year, at least?”

  “Definitely! Or do interviews, or something. There’s not one picture of her on the Internet. And I heard she never, ever makes personal appearances. Not even book signings.”

  “Well, it just so happens I know a few things about her.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You do? How?”

  “I used to be an editor at her publishing house.”

  Her face takes on a look of awe. “Really?”

  I smile and nod. “Scout’s honor.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She only has dealings with Mr. Kramer, the guy in charge of the whole company.”

  “I wonder why.”

  I shrug. “I really don’t know.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “She’s English. And single. And she makes a ton of money. But that’s about all anyone knows, except for Mr. Kramer, the publisher.”

  “I felt sure she was English. I love British authors.”

  It’s finally Emily’s turn at the counter. Joe is standing there patiently. Much better disposition than Nick’s, that’s for sure.

  “Is that Nick?” Brandon asks.

  I shake my head. “That’s his nephew, Joe.”

  Just then, Laini and Nick come out of the kitchen. “’Ey, Joe. This is Laini—the girl who bakes the rolls for me. Laini, my nephew, Joe Pantalone.”

  Joe glances at Laini. “Nice to meet you.” He turns back, and I see a spark. I turn my gaze to Laini, whose face is beet red. Methinks there’s been a moment here.

  “Hey, Nick,” I say. “This is my little brother, Brandon, I told you about.”

  Nick gives him a once-over without changing his expression. “That hair of yours a rebellion?”

  “No, sir,” Brandon says. “Just a look.”

  “You got manners. I like that.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Okay, now he might be putting it on a little thick, the charmer.

  “What’ll you two have?” Joe asks.

  I order green tea, and Brandon gets a mocha latte plus one of Laini’s cinnamon rolls.

  “Let me help my nephew knock out this rush and I’ll be over to talk to you, Brandon.”

  Brandon nods, and we head over to the dining room to find a seat in the crowded coffee shop. Emily waves at us. “You’re welcome to sit here,” she says shyly. “It was the only table available. I hate to take up a four-top all by myself.”

  “My friend with the red hair should be right over. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. I don’t mind.”

  Laini returns in no time, carrying a cup with whipped cream piled on. Her eyes are shining and her face and neck are splotchy red. Some people blush prettily. Laini isn’t one of them. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  “Who? Nick?” I tease.

  Brandon snorts.

  “Yeah, right. Nick.” Laini rolls her eyes. “Joe said he’ll definitely want to keep up with the rolls and would be happy to sample anything else I have in mind that would be appropriate for the type of menu they have, including the bread bowls.”

  “That’s great, Laini.”

  Within ten minutes, Nick joins us. He focuses his attention on Brandon. “You want to come back to my office for a little talk?”

  If it were me, and I didn’t know Nick, I’d be scared. But Brandon doesn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. “Yes, sir.”

  The two of them get up, and Brandon even has the presence of mind to take his latte with him.

  “Don’t look now,” Laini says. “Benedict Arnold at two o’clock.”

  I frown and turn to the counter. “Who?”

  “Two o’clock,” she says. “Not ten.”

  Emily giggles. I turn a little red and twist the other way so I can look at the door where I suppose “two o’clock” is supposed to be. Jack is standing there. He catches my eye, nods, and heads across the room.

  “Shoot, he’s coming over.”

  “Who is it?” Emily hisses.

  “My boss who fired me.” I frown. “Don’t be taken in by the accent.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Emily gives a little gasp. “G-good morning.” She actually found her voice. I don’t believe it.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jack says. He holds out his hand. She takes it, and I swear she’s about to faint. “Jack Quinn.”

  Emily’s eyes are wide and she gulps. I’ve heard of speechless. But I’ve never actually seen it.

  I heave a sigh. Won’t be taken in, huh? “Jack, Emily. Emily, Jack.”

  Jack flashes that smile, and she’s completely worthless. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says. “I’ll go order my breakfast.”
r />   “We have an extra place, if you’d like to sit with us,” Emily says.

  “That’s Brandon’s seat,” I remind her. Not very subtle. But then, neither was he when he said I was fired.

  Jack’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Why, thank you, Emily. That’s very kind of you. I’m sure we can find another chair to borrow, if you don’t mind my company.”

  “Not at all!”

  “Smashing.” He winks at me, and I’m tempted to grind the three-inch heel of my Manolo Blahnik into the upper of his leather shoe. Let him see how smashing that is. “I’ll just be a minute, then.”

  Emily watches in awe as he walks away.

  “Why didn’t he ask if I mind his company?” I grump.

  Her eyes grow wide. “Do you?”

  “He fired her, Emily.” Laini states the obvious.

  Emily gasps and covers her mouth. “Oh my gosh. You said that. I’m so sorry. I told you I love British authors. I’m even more of a sucker for an English accent.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Should I go tell him he can’t sit here after all?” Her eyes plead with me to say no.

  “No.” My mother’s voice in my head would haunt me for the rest of my life. “I can endure his presence for a few minutes, I guess.”

  “Dancy,” Laini says. “I hate to leave you, but I have a ten o’clock class. This is my first final and I can’t be late.” She gulps down her latte just as Joe, followed by Jack, appears. Oh, Laini, I think. She has whipped cream on her nose as she smiles up at Joe.

  He winks at her, reaches forward, and thumbs it away. “A little whipped cream,” he says. Emily sighs. I have to admit it is a bit romantic. But Laini is horrified.

  She shoots to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Pantalone. I have to go.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Joe says.

  “Well, fancy that,” Jack says, taking the seat Laini vacated, which happens to be the one directly in front of me. “Now there are just the right number of chairs, even when Brandon returns.”

  “Yes, fancy that,” Emily says with just the smallest hint of a British accent.

  Jack utterly charms Emily, and I think the girl has forgotten I exist. By the time Brandon returns, she’s pretty much told her life story. A daughter of hippie parents, she helps them in their health food store and goes to college.

  “Hi, Jack,” Brandon says as he sits down next to me. “You made it.”

  I frown and turn to Brandon.

  Apparently Jack notices the look and recognizes it for what it is. “You didn’t know I was joining you?”

  I shake my head. Jack scowls at Brandon.

  “Sorry, dude,” Brandon says with a sheepish grin. “I got to smelling those cinnamon rolls and forgot to tell her.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Jack called your cell phone while you were in the can getting ready. I told him to meet us here.”

  Does he have to call it “the can”? I feel my face go hot. Still, I recover enough to turn my attention to Jack. “Do you need something?”

  “I called to ask if you’d be interested in a freelance project.”

  “You fire me and then ask me to freelance?” Is he serious? “I haven’t done one edit in the months you’ve been at the company that you haven’t butted in on. What makes you think I’d be a good freelance editor?”

  He scrutinizes me. “Perhaps you’re right.” He stands. “I apologize for interrupting your breakfast.”

  Without another word, he whips around and heads to the door. Bewildered at the abrupt departure, I have to resist the urge to turn around and watch him leave. Emily doesn’t resist. She gives a sigh when the bell dings, and I know he’s left. “He turned around before he left,” she says. “I think he wanted you to be looking.”

  I sip my tea. “Well, he was disappointed then, wasn’t he?” I turn my attention to Brandon. “Did Nick hire you?”

  A grin tips his lips, and I know the answer. “I start at five tonight.”

  “Brandon! You can’t start tonight. What about Sheri’s dinner?”

  “I already committed to Nick.”

  “All right. Nick closes at six, so you could—”

  He shakes his head. “After we close I have to clean. Mop floors and stuff. Nick said don’t expect to get off until after eight thirty.”

  Sheri’s going to kill me. Emily shifts and takes a drink of her green tea. And I get an idea. “Emily, how would you like to go to dinner at the country club tonight?”

  Her eyes go wide. “I couldn’t!”

  “It’s being thrown in Jack’s honor,” I say, tossing out the bait that I know she won’t be able to resist.

  I’d like to say I hate the country club and all it stands for, but I really don’t. I grew up well-off, so it’s always been a part of my life. Heaven forbid Mother isn’t a member, you know? It boasts several swimming pools, a full gym, two elegant restaurants . . . everything my mother could possibly want in a club.

  I can see Emily trying hard not to look impressed. She’s wearing a hippie dress that her mother probably sewed herself—in 1969.

  I guess we’re the last ones to arrive, because the table is filled except for two places. Floyd stands, intercepting my trek to the other side of the table. His face glows with pride as he looks at me as though he owns me. Okay, I haven’t seen him in two weeks, and of the twenty-five calls he’s made to my number in that time, I’ve answered two and returned one. Why does he think he has a right to step out and take my hands? “You look beautiful,” he whispers before landing a cold kiss on my cheek.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say. “You—uh—look great, too, Floyd.” And I mean it. He does. The boy knows how to dress. But that’s not the point. If knowing how to dress was my only criterion for a husband, he’d fit the bill fine and dandy. But a personality is a must. Not to mention that any man I fall for must have a spine and something resembling the intelligence to recognize when a woman isn’t interested.

  “Dancy.” Sheri stands. Her eyes widen with horror as she takes in Emily’s presence. “Who’s this?”

  “I tried to call,” I say. “Brandon had to work.”

  Her lips form a wax smile. “I see.”

  Emily’s face is red, and I realize she is picking up on Sheri’s coolness. “I-I’m sorry,” she says. “I should go.”

  “Go? I’d be so hurt.” We turn at the sound of Jack Quinn’s voice. He looks down at her, takes her hand, and presses it to his lips. “This little soirée is being thrown in my honor, you know. It’s my birthday.”

  Sheri quickly recovers her manners. “Well, of course she must stay. I’m Sheri, Dancy’s cousin. And you are . . . ?”

  Emily’s gaze never leaves Jack’s face as she answers. “Emily. Nice to meet you, Sheri.”

  “Let’s sit, shall we?” Sheri says. “Hors d’oeuvres are about to be served. Here, Emily, have my seat next to Floyd.” She turns to me. “Dancy, have you seen that divine new painting in the foyer? I’ve been dying to show you.”

  “Excuse me,” Jack says.

  I’m grateful for his kindness to my new friend, and I reach out and take his hand. “Happy birthday, Jack,” I say, hoping my gratitude shows in my eyes, and perhaps makes up for my coldness earlier when he was trying to send some work my way.

  He stares down at me and slowly lifts my hand, and I think he’s going to kiss it like he did Emily’s. Instead, he hugs it to his chest. I catch my breath as he leans forward and presses warm, soft lips to my cheek. “Thank you for coming,” he whispers.

  “Shall we go see that painting now?” Sheri asks, her tone so taut I think her vocal cords might snap any second.

  She ushers me out of the room and whips me around with the strength—and manners—of Mike Tyson. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, bringing that nightmare of a girl to my party?”

  “I told you, Brandon had to work. He just started his job today and couldn’t take off. And the whole point of you asking me to the dinner in t
he first place was so the numbers were even.”

  “Couldn’t you have found another man so the ratio fit?”

  “No I couldn’t, as a matter of fact. I don’t have any male friends.”

  She stops and stares. “I guess I should have known that. All right. I forgive you, for now. But if she does anything to embarrass me in front of my guests, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  With that she stomps back into the room, her stilettos clacking on the marble floor.

  I stand still for a second. Why didn’t she seem surprised when I said I had no male friends? I think I feel insulted.

  14

  John Quest stood in front of her, his blue eyes piercing her until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “What do you want, John?”

  “I need you back,” he said softly.

  Valerie’s pounding heart nearly burst from her chest. “It’s too late. I’ve found another job.”

  If only he would ask, she’d leave the competitor and run back to M&J Advertising in a split second. He reached forward and took her hand.

  “I’m not talking about the job.” Pulling her close, he leaned forward, and she knew he was about to kiss her. “I need you.”

  —An excerpt from Fifth Avenue Princess

  by Dancy Ames

  Sheri’s taken a spot next to Jack. And the other seat is on his opposite side. It turns out I’ll be sitting between Jack and Brynn. Sheri will monopolize Jack, and Kale will be absorbed with Brynn. Sheri has to have known that. I suppose solitude is my payback for upsetting the balance of Sheri’s party.

  As I walk around the table to my seat, Jack stands and smiles, holding my chair out, as one would expect a British gentleman to do.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. I take my seat and pull my napkin from the silver ring, shifting a little as I slip the cloth into my lap.

  “Old Floyd was right, you know,” Jack says once he’s sitting again. “You do look beautiful.”

  I take a sip, then realize Jack’s waiting for a response. “Thanks. You look good, too.”

  I feel like such an idiot to even say something like that to a guy like Jack. I mean, of course he looks good. He always does. I’m sure he doesn’t need to hear it.