Later that night she made a very pragmatic, very ruthless decision. She needed to stop lying to herself and confront her own reality. If she wasn’t very careful, she was going to slip all of the way into love with Ethan Stone. And that would be a bad, bad thing for a woman in her position. A woman who still held out hope of finding a man to love and have a family with.
Ethan was not that man. All her instincts told her that. He’d told her that, both covertly and overtly.
So. She needed to move on.
Which was why she took a deep breath after dinner and sat at the computer and composed a profile for herself to upload to three of the most popular online dating sites. She chose a picture of herself in a tank top and hiking shorts, looking fit and tanned and happy, and she described herself as smart and funny and looking for a committed relationship. She wrote off the top of her head, and once it was done she posted it straight away, no second-guessing herself.
Like she’d said, moving on.
She did some work she’d brought home, then she watched a couple of episodes of Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show that she’d saved. Just before bedtime, she gave in to curiosity and checked her profiles.
It was early days yet, and she probably didn’t have any responses. But if she did, it would be really good to be able to go to bed and think about something other than Ethan.
Ethan smiling. Ethan teasing. Ethan laughing with his nephews. Ethan whispering her name as he made love to her. Ethan standing in her office doorway this morning, his eyes full of questions.
One response would be fine. Just one to get the ball rolling.
To give her options.
She blinked when she saw the double digit next to her profile at the first site. Eleven. She’d had eleven hits in a couple of hours. Wow.
She checked the others. Four at the other site, six at the last one.
How about that. Clearly there were more single men in Melbourne than she thought.
She started working her way through the responses. The first guy looked to be in his fifties, although he gave his age as early forties. Stress could age people, she knew, and he claimed to own his own small business, but she was aware that many people doctored their ages and photos. Plus he had the overdeveloped neck and arms of a man who spent far too much time in the gym. She read his personal statement. He said he was looking for someone young and fun who wasn’t afraid to “get adventurous.”
Next.
Contender number two was wearing a three-piece suit and posing in front of his Ferrari. She ignored all the unkind penis-compensation jokes that popped into her mind and read his profile. HotKarMan was looking for someone who enjoyed the finer things in life. He’d been married three times and had five children. And he was only thirty-five.
Next.
By the time she got to contender number nine, she was slumped in her chair. It was undeniably depressing to realize that the vast majority of men believed that women were more focused on a man’s bank balance and the size of his penis than they were on who he was and what he wanted in life and what he believed in—at least that was the only conclusion she could draw from the profiles she’d received. She’d never seen so many veiled references to equipment and machinery in her life.
There has to be one decent guy in amongst all these men. Please.
She clicked on profile number ten and read the introductory paragraph. SoloDoc was, not surprisingly, a doctor. He’d been married once, was in his late thirties and was looking for a woman to share his life. She sat a little straighter and leaned toward the screen.
He liked hiking, bike riding and reading biographies. Musically, he favored U2 and Coldplay. He liked to travel. And he’d ticked the box that said he had no problem with prospective matches having children.
She looked at his photograph. He had a slim build and a long face with slightly receding hair. His eyes were kind and intelligent. He was attractive, in a studious way.
She didn’t give herself time to waver. She hit the respond button and typed in a quick greeting. Then she sent it and turned off her computer.
There. She’d done the smart thing. The practical, pragmatic, self-preserving thing.
And maybe one day soon she would be able to look back on the past few intense weeks with Ethan and think fondly of him as a good friend instead of feeling a heavy ache in her chest.
Because she was feeling low she ran herself a bath, even though she knew that the Green lobby would probably string her up if they could see her wasting so much water. She lowered herself into frangipani-scented bubbles and let out a deep sigh.
She felt as though she’d been to the moon and back. So many ups and down. So much hope and disappointment.
She slid deeper into the bath until she was completely submerged. She held her breath for as long as she could, listening to the thud of her heart.
If she could have just one wish…
But it would take more than one wish to right her world.
She pushed her feet against the end of the bath and broke the surface.
Wishes never came true, anyway.
“ETHAN. WAIT UP.”
Ethan had just exited the building but he stopped and pivoted on his heel, waiting for Alex to catch up. It had been a full week since they’d crossed the line. She was wearing her navy pinstripe suit and her red pumps. Her hair blew across her face and she tucked a strand behind her ear as she stopped in front of him. She looked good. She looked great. As always.
“Have you got a second?” she asked.
He’d been ducking out to pick up a book he’d ordered but he had fifteen minutes before his next client arrived.
“Sure. What’s up?”
Pedestrians streamed around them on busy Collins Street. Alex started to speak but was jostled as two banker-types pushed their way past.
“Watch yourselves,” Ethan called after them, grabbing Alex’s elbow and steering her out of the main flow to where there was less competition per square foot of pavement.
She smiled faintly. “There you go with the manhandling thing again.”
He let her elbow go. “Sorry.”
A few weeks ago he’d have fired something in response, but the ease had gone out of their relationship since that night on Alex’s couch. It had changed things, as he’d known it would.
Shouldn’t have slept with her, moron.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I need to cancel our game next week,” she said.
Maybe he should have been expecting it, but he wasn’t. In over a year, he and Alex had only missed one Tuesday night, and that was because they’d both been attending a firm function.
“Sure. You want to reschedule for later in the week or skip it altogether?” he asked casually.
What he really wanted to ask was what she was doing, and who she was doing it with. But he didn’t have the right to ask her those kind of things. Now more than ever.
“We could reschedule for Wednesday night, if that suits? Otherwise it’ll have to be a skip—we’ve got the Heart Foundation fundraiser on Monday night, and the rest of the week is looking pretty solid for me, too.”
“Wednesday it is, then.” He’d have to reschedule the drink he’d organized with an old friend, but she didn’t need to know that. “You out there painting the town red, slowpoke?”
He tried to make it sound as though he didn’t give a damn what she did with her spare time.
“Not really. Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up. You looked like you were going somewhere.”
“Yeah.”
She smiled her goodbye and he watched her walk away. He’d always admired the way she held herself, as though she was ready to take on all comers.
“Alex.”
She turned, eyebrows raised.
“You got a hot date or something?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to. But he needed to know.
She hesitated a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Although I’m not sure how hot it is.”
She
pulled a comic face, then gave him a little finger wave and turned away.
He hadn’t expected her to say yes. He’d thought she’d tell him it was a client dinner or some other work obligation.
But she’d met someone.
And she was going on a date.
He turned blindly into the crowd and started walking, trying to ignore the Lord-of-the-Flies screaming in the back of his head.
He didn’t want Alex dating other men. The knowledge was an acid-burn in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want her seeing anyone. He wanted… He didn’t know what he wanted.
Liar.
He stepped out onto the road and a tram bell rang, jerking him to awareness. He returned to the sidewalk and waited for the light to change.
He had no claim on her. No claim on her at all. He had no right to any of the feelings churning in his gut right now.
So you’re just going to let her walk away?
Yeah, I am.
He walked until he found himself in open space—the gardens beside Parliament House on Spring Street. He kicked at the grass and looked at the sky and paced.
Go to her. Tell her how you feel. Tell her…
What? That he found her compelling and beautiful and brave and that he wanted to sleep with her and spend time with her—but that he wanted to do it all with no strings, no commitment, no promises that either of them would one day feel compelled to break?
Oh, yeah. She’d really go for that.
It occurred to him that Derek would be delighted to see him pacing in the park like this, muttering to himself like a madman over a woman. Over Alex.
He sat on the steps to Parliament House and rested his head in his hands. He was going to lose Alex. If he sat back and said or did nothing, he was going to lose her. There was no doubt in his mind that it was going to happen, sooner or later. She was amazing, and the first guy who took the time to recognize that would snap her up.
Unless…
He knew what she wanted—a commitment. A relationship. Marriage. Children. The whole box and dice. If he offered that to her, if he took the plunge…
Something tight and hard squeezed his gut. What if he was wrong about her? What if he got it wrong again?
He shot to his feet and looked up and down the street. He couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t do it.
His phone buzzed and he saw it was his assistant. He opened the message. She was texting to let him know his two o’clock meeting had arrived.
He headed back to the office.
So you’re just going to let her walk away?
Yeah, I am.
DANIEL LOWE—SoloDoc—had a good sense of humor. Alex knew this because he’d sent her a couple of very clever cartoons over the past week, both of which had appealed to her sense of the ridiculous. He’d also called her twice—the first to ask her if she felt ready to meet after their exchange of emails and phone conversations, the second to confirm his booking at one of Melbourne’s most lauded restaurants.
He seemed like a nice man. His voice over the phone was a pleasing baritone, and he asked lots of questions and seemed genuinely interested in her and her work. He was a gastroenterologist, which meant he generally didn’t have crazy on-call hours. He owned his home, had been divorced for four years and was completely frank about looking for another relationship.
“I know it’d probably get me kicked out of the boys club if it got out, but I like being part of a couple,” he’d said during their second phone call.
Returning to her desk after talking to Ethan in the street, Alex circled next Tuesday in her diary. Today was Thursday, so she had two nights and the weekend to find something new to wear on her date. More than enough time.
She frowned, tracing the circle she’d made over and over until the pen created a furrow in the paper and threatened to break through to the next page.
Ethan hadn’t so much as blinked when she’d told him she was canceling their racquetball game. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from him. Annoyance, at the very least, at the inconvenience? Some reaction to the fact that she was throwing him over, abandoning their regular plans so she could go out with another man?
This, my friend, is exactly why you need to go out with Daniel Lowe on Tuesday night.
She threw her pen down. Her sensible self was right. She had to put Ethan out of her mind—really put him out of her mind, not just tell herself she was then secretly hope that he’d turn green and burst out of his clothes when he realized she was going out with someone else. Ethan had made his feelings about committed relationships—and her—painfully clear.
You don’t have time for this, Alex.
She didn’t. She was thirty-eight. In a few months she would be thirty-nine. She didn’t have time to fall for the wrong man.
She went shopping that night, determined to find something that would knock Daniel Lowe’s surgical slippers off. All part of the moving-on strategy—keep walking, never look back.
She returned home empty-handed. Ditto the following evening. Even though she had work that had flowed over into the weekend, as usual, she played hooky and went shopping again on Saturday afternoon.
She’d discarded half a dozen cocktail dresses and several mix-and-match options when she spotted an evening dress in a small designer boutique in one of the many bluestone cobbled laneways hidden in Melbourne’s city center. It was nearly five o’clock and the shops were preparing to close for the day and she didn’t have her perfect first-date outfit and should really keep moving….
She crossed to the dress and fingered the soft, sensuous silk knit and turned the price tag over to check if it was within her budget. She’d planned on wearing something tried and true from her wardrobe for the Heart Foundation fundraiser, but this dress was black and slinky, with a cowl neck and a low back decorated with tiny jet beads. The skirt was full-length and when she gave in and tried it on it swished around her feet when she walked back and forth in front of the mirror. She paired it mentally with her jet-bead necklace and earrings and black stiletto heels and reached for her credit card.
Most of the shutters were down on the shops by the time the saleswoman had wrapped her dress in tissue paper and slipped it into a glossy bag. Alex told herself she’d find time tomorrow to buy something for her date.
Sunday was a write-off, however. She woke to find rain slashing her windows and an urgent deal memo in her in-box for one of her clients. By the time she’d ironed out the creases it was past three. She did some mental math. By the time she’d showered and gotten herself to the shops it would be past four and she’d be racing from rack to rack in a panic.
She’d simply have to wear something from her wardrobe. Her black silk pants would look great with her red crossover top, or there was always her little black dress, a wardrobe staple that had saved her bacon on many an occasion.
She left work early the following day to have her hair cut and colored. She showered when she got home, careful to keep her hair out of the spray, then pulled on her new dress. It looked every bit as good as it had in the store and she twirled in front of the mirror. Wait until Ethan saw her in this.
She stilled and stared at her reflection.
Ethan. That was what this dress and the hairdresser and her careful underwear selection were all about? Ethan?
The answer was in her eyes. She turned her back on herself.
“You’re a fool, Alex Knight.”
So much for moving on.
The smart thing to do would be to drag the dress off and spend the night in front of the TV before she dug an even deeper hole for herself. But canceling was out of the question. Half the other partners would be at the fundraiser, along with a number of her clients. She had to go.
She rolled on black stay-up stockings with resigned determination, sprayed herself with her favorite Dolce and Gabbana scent and slipped some cash, her lipstick and powder and her house keys into her evening bag.
Only then did she check the mirror again. She lo
oked good. But it didn’t matter. The best dress in the world wasn’t going to make Ethan the kind of man who believed in the same things she did. In a movie, maybe. Real life didn’t work like that.
Her taxi dropped her outside the National Gallery on St. Kilda Road right on seven o’clock. She slid from the cab and took a moment to straighten her skirt before making her way into the building. A security guard checked her name off a list, then a waiter offered her a glass of champagne as she made her way along a red carpet toward the hall where the function was being held.
She took a mouthful of her champagne, savoring the dry, yeasty tang—then glanced up and locked eyes with Ethan.
Her hand tightened on the glass. He looked…incredible. He always showed to advantage in a suit, but in black tie he was devastating. Maybe it was the contrast of the white shirt against his olive-toned skin. Or perhaps it was the way the monochrome tones made his blue eyes seem even more vivid than usual.
She was aware of his gaze traveling from her face down her body to her feet then up again.
“Alex. You look amazing,” he said.
She could see the admiration in his eyes. He wasn’t faking it. The dress had done the trick. On some level, he wanted her.
Never had a victory felt so hollow.
She forced a smile and reached up to dust some nonexistent lint off his lapel.
“You look like a mess, as usual,” she said.
It was the sort of thing she’d normally do. The sort of thing she’d normally say.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nice.”
“How many marriage proposals have you had so far? Or proposals, full stop?” she asked.
She took a big swallow from her champagne. Her chest was aching. She let her gaze slide over his shoulder, as though she didn’t care that he was standing so close. As though she wasn’t aware of every single little thing about him.
“You’re hilarious,” he said.
“You realize that it’s my duty to the rest of the women present to spill something on you at the first opportunity, don’t you? Just to protect them from themselves.”
The Best Laid Plans Page 15