Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact)
Page 1
Regrets Only
M.J. Pullen
August 2012
Atlanta, GA
Regrets Only
Copyright © 2012 by M.J. Pullen
Cover Art © 2012 by Marla Kaplan Design (www.marlakaplandesign.com)
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either works of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Trademarks and copyrights mentioned in this work are the property of their respective owners and, unless otherwise noted, are used without permission.
Contact the Author
Web: www.mjpullen.com
Twitter: @MJPullen
Email: mjpullenbooks@gmail.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/MJPullenbooks
This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, and to my wonderful husband and sons.
I don’t regret a single day with you.
Regrets Only
And then, after a quarter of an hour's conversation, let the lady release the gentleman from further attendance, by bowing to him, and turning to some other acquaintance who may not be far off. She can leave him much more easily than he can leave her, and it will be better to do so in proper time, than to detain him too long. It is generally in his power to return to her before the close of the evening, and if he is pleased with her society, he will probably make an opportunity of doing so.
—Eliza Leslie
The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners
or, Miss Leslie's Behaviour Book
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1
Atlanta, Georgia—March 2008
Suzanne Hamilton toyed with a cherry stem while she waited for her date to arrive at the restaurant. She’d ordered a cosmopolitan on a whim after getting a message that Rick would be late, and wolfed it down far faster than she intended. Never more than one drink with dinner, her mother’s tinkling Southern drawl reminded her. And for heaven’s sake, Suzie, order a salad. Men don’t want to marry a girl who eats like a wild boar.
She caught herself clicking her shoes together under the bar and hurriedly changed positions. The new Beverly Feldman pumps had been special ordered from New York and had to stay scuff-free until at least after the Dylan Burke benefit at the High Museum. It wasn’t the three-hundred dollar price tag that concerned her so much as having to admit to her assistant Chad that he had been right, that she should save them for the gala.
The bartender approached her. “Can I get you another, Barbie?”
She shook her head, ignoring his attempt at humor. Tall and thin (and tonight with her long platinum blonde hair in a ponytail), she knew she should be flattered by the comparison to the doll, but she wasn’t. He returned to drying glasses and talking about football with a large man in a suit at the other end of the bar. Restless, she pulled out her phone and dialed Marci.
“Hey,” her best friend greeted her after two rings. “What are you doing calling on a Friday night? Don’t you have a date?”
“First of all, 6:30 is not Friday night. It’s happy hour. And, I do have a date; he’s just running late.”
Marci did not answer immediately, and Suzanne could hear Marci’s husband Jake whispering in the background. “Right…okay,” Marci said finally, sounding distracted.
“Hello?” Suzanne said.
“Sorry, honey. Jake says ‘hi.’”
“Hi, Jake. Look, Marce, you’ve got to keep talking to me until he gets here. Sitting alone at the bar is just so pathetic.” Two seats away, a man writing in a spiral notebook shot her a withering look. “Sorry,” Suzanne mouthed to him.
“So who are you waiting for? Is it the basketball player? What was his name?”
“Damian. And, no, I stopped seeing him weeks ago.”
“Oh, no! I liked him!” Marci protested. Then, to Jake, “She broke up with Damian.”
In the background, Suzanne heard Jake’s familiar voice, sounding disappointed. “Aw, man. Ask her if I still get my tickets.”
“No!” Marci squealed, in that flirty way girls do when they are pretending to rebuff the attention of an attractive man. Suzanne heard a soft smacking sound that she could only guess was Marci hitting Jake in the chest or shoulder, followed by rustling and giggling. “Ow, Jake, quit it. I am trying to talk to Suzanne. STOOOOP.”
Ugh.
Suzanne held the phone away from her ear and stared up at the track lighting over the bar. Fucking newlyweds. You would think after three years of marriage they’d be past this intolerable stage by now. Finally she said in her least sincere sweet voice, “Alrighty, then, I can hear that you guys are busy, so I’ll just let you go.”
“No, Suze, I’m sorry. I can talk.” Marci sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’ll banish Jake to the office. What happened with Damian? He seemed so great.”
“Nothing happened. He’s too young for me, for starters.”
“Oh, come on, he adores you. And he was only, what, five years younger?”
Thirty-three minus twenty-two… “Nine. Wait, no! Eleven.”
“Oh, really? And playing professionally already? Well, I still think you should’ve held onto him.”
“Thanks for your input.” Suzanne was colder with her best friend than she intended. She was thrilled, of course, that Marci and Jake were finally together after all these years. But it was beginning to feel more and more important to them that she, too, should be happily paired off. “Trust me, it wasn’t going to work out with Damian.”
“So who is it tonight, Alex Rodriguez?”
“Oh, I’m working my way through the entire Yankees roster tonight. That’s why I have to start so early.”
Marci’s laugh was real, and Suzanne smiled too. “Actually, his name is Rick, and I met him at that big conference I planned last month. He’s in medical sales. We’ve only been out a couple of times, but he’s very cute.”
“Awesome,” Marci said. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
“Yeah, I think he has potential,” Suzanne said in a noncommittal tone. “He’s so different from anyone I’ve dated recently. I mean, he does have a little of that ‘aging frat boy’ quality about him, but it’s not terrible. He’s just a little laid back. But smart and funny.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Marci muttered, obviously not listening.
“So for our third date, we’re going to get hammered and get matching tattoos,” Suzanne said. “I’m thinking about a full sleeve with a Wizard of Oz theme. Munchkins everywhere. Do you think I can still wear a strapless gown to the gala?”
“Sure, sounds fun.”
“MARCI!!”
“Oh, God, Suze, I’m sorry. Jake just…”
“It’s okay,” Suzanne lied. “Rick is here so I need to run.”
“Okay, sweetie, I’ll talk to you—”
/> She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bar. The guy with the notebook rolled his eyes. Before she could respond, the phone rang almost immediately. “No, Marci, I am not mad at you,” she answered.
“That’s a relief.” Chad sounded less than amused. “I have the Friday wrap-up before I go. I’m off tomorrow, right?”
“Yep. Big plans tonight?”
“No. Just some party David is dragging me to. But of course, thanks to you I don’t enjoy parties anymore. I’m always noticing that the drinks are watered down or the cocktail napkins don’t match the theme. God, I have to get another job.”
“Love you, too, Chad.” Suzanne said. After four years together, they both knew the only thing Chad liked more than working for her was complaining about working for her.
He let out a deep sigh. “So, anyway. Betsy Fuller-Brown called about meeting next week. She wants to go over the schematics for the Firefly Gala on Monday afternoon. Your calendar was clear, so I told her you were available. Meeting at Rathbun’s at four.”
“Perfect, thanks.” Suzanne loved that Betsy, the hummingbird-sized development director at the High Museum, always wanted to have their lunch meetings at a steakhouse.
“Couple of potential new projects. UPS is having some formal thing at the aquarium; they apparently really liked what you did for them last year.”
“We,” she corrected.
“Hey, you’re the face of this operation. I’m just the hired help. Anyway, the other one is an Internet company I’ve never heard of, doing an IPO party. Have we ever done that before?”
“Eh,” Suzanne said. “I have. Those things are so hit or miss. Sometimes they get a little theme-crazy. We’ll look up their executive team. If there’s anyone exciting, we’ll send them a high bid and make it worth our while.”
“Cool. Your mom called,” Chad went on, “to ask whether you were going to ride with her to the League Annual Meeting or drive separately. I thought you weren’t going?”
“I’m not. It’s the day before the gala. I told her that.”
“She called me ‘Christopher’ again,” he whined.
“Sorry,” Suzanne said, waving at Rick as he entered the restaurant. He wore dark-colored khakis and a slightly-sweaty yellow golf shirt. She wrinkled her nose. To Chad she said, “Look at it this way: at least she’s moved on from calling you ‘that nice gay boy who works for Suzanne.’ That’s progress.”
Rick approached, reaching for her, and Suzanne held up a finger. “Um, sure,” Chad said, unamused. “Last thing. That girl Penny called again about internship opportunities. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Suzanne said. “What do you think? Do we want an intern?”
“By ‘intern’ you mean some clueless person who would follow me around all day asking stupid questions and getting in the way?”
Suzanne laughed. “Probably. Though she might be good for some of the grunt work.”
“Not worth it,” Chad said. “This office is small enough already.”
“Fair enough,” said Suzanne. “Okay, I gotta run. Call her back Monday and give her our sincerest regrets. Don’t worry about Mom; I’ll handle that one myself.”
“Yeah, you seriously don’t pay me enough for that one.”
“I don’t pay me enough for that, either,” she said, and hung up. She kissed Rick on the cheek and followed him to a table.
During dinner, Rick talked about work while Suzanne toyed with her Cobb salad. From what she could tell, he really seemed to love his job. A particular type of personality was required to be successful in sales—bombastic, friendly, guileless—and Rick fit the part. All this, along with a seemingly genuine interest in every single word she said, had drawn her to him when they met a couple of weeks before. He was such a gentleman that he had even pretended, briefly, to be surprised when she suggested they go back to his hotel room just a few hours after they met.
He chatted easily now, telling stories about fishing trips and golf games with clients between bites of an enormous burger. Such kind, lively eyes, she thought. And he’s mature. Not some self-absorbed kid. Rick was age-appropriate. He was focused. Down to earth. He was…
A little loud, though, isn’t he? Out of the corner of her eye, Suzanne imagined she saw people at a nearby table looking over at them. You’re imagining things. Focus. What a cute face. Remember those first kisses?
Rick was describing a party he’d attended on a boat for some work function in Miami. Something about a thirty-five-foot yacht and scoring a key nursing home account over a game of poker. Is that barbecue sauce on his chin? Should I let him know?
Suzanne fidgeted with her napkin and tried to ignore the sauce. She knew very well her reputation as a serial dater. Her friends had teased her about it for years, and she’d never taken it seriously. But lately the teasing felt more like criticism. Like there was something wrong with her.
There’s nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly capable of making a relationship work long-term. She forked a cherry tomato and put it in her mouth. Did he just say ‘irregardless’?
As the yacht story wound to its apparently hilarious conclusion, she faked a brief laugh, and Rick honed in. “So, how about you? I remember that you grew up here. I’ve never asked—do you have family in town?”
“Yes, my parents live in Peachtree City.”
“Isn’t that where they have all the golf carts everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“That’s pretty cool. Are you close to your parents?”
“Define ‘close.’”
“Well, uh, I guess, do you see them a lot?”
“Not really.”
Clearly this was a closed door, so the salesman changed tactics. “Well, at least they’re nearby. My parents moved down to Florida a few years ago and I only see them a couple of times a year. It’s a good thing Dad and I have an annual fishing trip in the Keys. We go out on this great little boat…” And he was off again. Suzanne watched his face as he talked. A little doughy, perhaps, but with kind eyes. She imagined that being on the road all the time meant he didn’t eat as well as he should. His dark brown hair was still full and thick, in need of a trim—it curled up just a bit over his ears. Overall, she decided, he was attractive but approachable.
“That sounds really nice,” she said at an appropriate pause in his monologue about the fishing trip. He does seem to have a thing about boats, doesn’t he?
Soon Rick was boasting happily about a swordfish he and his dad had caught several years before. Suzanne wondered whether she could ever successfully decorate a room that included a six-foot mounted fish. It would have to be a nautical theme…
Stop it, she chided herself. You are not marrying this guy or his fish. We are having a grownup conversation and being open to the possibility of something more. This is what people in their thirties do on dates.
She smiled broadly at him, remembering to show her teeth the way she’d been instructed before beauty pageants as a child. She could almost taste the Vaseline her mother made her rub on her top teeth to ensure they didn’t get smudged with lipstick. Smile. Be open.
Rick returned the smile with warmth. He also seemed to notice he’d been talking about himself for too long. “So tell me how you got started in the party planning business.”
Suzanne recounted briefly how she had been an art history major at the University of Georgia, desperately wanted to work as a museum curator, and how she’d taken the job on the event staff at the High Museum right after college. “Originally, I hoped the foot in the door at the museum would land me a job in procurement or something, but it never happened.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rick said sympathetically.
Suzanne shrugged. It turned out she had a knack for event planning. Something about the combination of creativity and crisis response. After a couple of years at the High, she had been hired away by a large event planning agency. She stayed there for a few years before creating her o
wn boutique agency. Now she had one of the most successful, prestigious agencies in the city. People were often shocked to discover she and Chad were the only permanent staff. “We actually won an award last year,” she told Rick.
“Sounds like you are quite the little rock star in the event planning world,” he said. “Or do you just plan events for rock stars?”
Normally very discreet about her clients, Suzanne couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag a little. “Actually, I am doing a benefit in a couple of weeks for Dylan Burke. Of course, he’s more a country star…”
“Seriously? I was kidding about the whole rock star thing.”
A Southern lady is always modest, her mother’s voice chided her. “Well, it’s not that big of a deal,” Suzanne hedged. “It’s at my old stomping grounds at the High, which is probably why I got the job.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Rick countered enthusiastically. “That’s awesome. He’s totally famous.”
She waved away the words with a manicured hand, but Rick was undeterred. “Seriously, you should be really proud of yourself. That’s a huge deal. Obviously you’ve earned quite a reputation for someone like Dylan Burke to choose you.”
His eyes held hers sincerely. Okay, Rick, ease up. We’ve already slept together. You can dial it down a tad.
“Really, his manager chose me. I haven’t actually met him yet. We’ll see how it turns out,” she said, and pretended to be engrossed in the highlights of spring training on the TV over the bar. “How do you think the Braves will do this year?”
#
A few hours later, Suzanne awoke suddenly, unable to breathe. She gasped for air in the darkness, desperately trying to move, to figure out where she was. There was no light anywhere. Her chest tightened painfully, heart pounding, lips dry. As she struggled to move, she heard Rick groan softly nearby and roll over, releasing her from his grasp. She was in his hotel room, she remembered, and relaxed a little. When his breathing was soft and steady she moved again to slide out from between the crisp sheets.
I can’t do it.