Making Over Maris

by Sabrina York

  Sara swallowed the lump in her throat. Or maybe it was bile. She had no business being annoyed whenever Kat complained about the wedding preparations. She should be happy for her. Delirious. But for some reason lately, whenever she saw her friend coming she wanted to run and hide.

  “Tristan and Shannon managed it with no hassle.” This she said in a playful tone. But it cost her.

  Fortunately Kat took the red herring. “I am not eloping,” she said. “Besides, they had to hurry.”

  Sara turned her phone over so she couldn’t see the screen. “They had nine months.”

  “I’m not eloping.” Kat faked a shudder. “For one thing, my mother would kill me.”

  “So would Elaine.”

  Kat barked a laugh. “Oh God. I didn’t think about that. If both her sons eloped?”

  “There would be a bloodletting.” Sara sighed. “I guess you have to resign yourself to fittings.”

  “And flowers and cake tasting and wedding planners…”

  “And mothers-in-law.” Sara nodded. It was conversation. Small talk. But it was a distraction. And welcome. The pressure had been building inside her for the past day or so, the frustration and hopelessness and anger at men. All men. A friendly chat about Kat’s troubles was precisely what she needed. “How is she taking all of this, by the way?”

  “Elaine? She’s over the moon.”

  “Yeah. She would be. It’s always been her dream to have her sons leg-shackled.” Elaine Trillo, the matriarch of the family, had never made that a secret.

  Kat nodded and smoothed out her skirt. “And she’s always hankered after grandkids.” The way Kat said those words caught Sara’s attention. A shard of pain sliced through her.

  “Grandkids? As in kids?” Shannon was out-to-here pregnant but there had never been any scuttlebutt that Adam and Kat were planning a family. “Is there…something you want to tell me?”

  Kat pinkened and then shot a glance over her shoulder. She got up and closed the door. “Nothing is certain yet.” She nibbled her way through a tentative smile. “But I’m late.”

  “Oh my God.” Ouch. Yeah. Definitely jealousy. Scalding, roiling, pounding, agonizing envy. “How late?”

  “A month. I haven’t told Adam.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Sara struggled to remember what a friend was supposed to say in a situation like this but her brain wasn’t working. All she could see was green. “Um. Congratulations.”

  Kat chuckled. “It’s not for certain but I wanted, needed, to tell someone, and Sara, you’re my best friend in the world. I wanted you to be the very first to know.”

  Why tears pricked her lashes, Sara had no clue. Surely it wasn’t the warring guilt and resentment and misery swirling in her breast. To cover all that—she would be horrified if Kat noticed any of those emotions on her face—she stood and gave her friend a hug.

  It was supposed to be a short hug but for some reason she couldn’t let go.

  And for some reason she began to cry.

  And for some reason the tears became sobs. Great, wrenching, gasping sobs.

  Which was mortifying.

  But Sara couldn’t stop it. All the pain and sadness that had been building up over the past weeks and months came to the fore. The dam broke. Literally broke.

  It was annoying because Sara wasn’t a weepy person. She never gave in to melancholy. She simply swallowed it and soldiered on.

  Apparently she had swallowed too much.

  It erupted and drizzled out on Kat’s shoulder.

  And Kat—sweet, loving, tenderhearted person she was—held her as she wept and patted her hair and murmured sweet, loving, tenderhearted nonsense until the embarrassing weep-fest petered into mere sniveling.

  “Are you okay?” Kat asked when Sara had gained some modicum of control.

  “Yes.” Sniff. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Kat pulled back and put her hands on Sara’s cheeks, tipping her head up so she could study her. “Are you sure, Sara? Because—”

  The door opened.

  They both turned to see who would interrupt such a private moment.

  Naturally it was Jack. Kenny, Jack’s intern—the loyal pup always following at his heels—was with him.

  “Hey, you guys.”

  “Jack.” Sara frowned. “We’re in a meeting.”

  “Really?” Kenny peered at them through chunky lenses that magnified his eyes and made him resemble a nearsighted owl. “’Cause it looked like you were about to kiss.”

  Jack elbowed Kenny out of the doorframe. “Hey, Sara.”

  Sara sighed. As annoyed as she was at the intrusion, she kind of needed it, this chance to collect herself. “Yes, Jack?”

  “I was wondering if you’ve had time to, you know, think about…that thing we talked about you thinking about.”

  “This isn’t a good time, Jack.”

  He stared at her. Blinked. Glanced at Kat and then back at Sara again. “It isn’t?”

  “No!” Sara and Kat bellowed in tandem.

  “Oh. Okay. Um. I’ll check back later.”

  “You do that.” Sara tried very hard not to snap.

  “Um. Okay.” Still, he stood there in the doorway. As though he were part of the conversation or something.

  “Go, Jack.” God bless Kat. She had a charming way of getting right to the point.

  “Go?”

  “Go. And close the door.”

  He did but Sara heard Kenny say as the two made their way back down the hall, “Dude. Do you think they’re going to kiss?”

  Kat blew out a breath and sat again in the companion chair. Sara dropped into her task chair as well.

  It was unnerving, the way Kat studied her. Sara picked up a paper clip and toyed with it. Mangled it, maybe.

  “So,” Kat said after a long pause. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

  “The Jack thing?” Sara tossed the paper clip onto her blotter and picked up a fresh one.

  Kat smiled. “That too. But I was talking about the crying jag. You’re not a crier, hon. What’s going on?”

  Sara glared at her phone. “It’s nothing. Only—you know how one day you think you found it? You think finally, after all the dates and the clubs and the searching, you finally met him? That guy? The one who will be your all and everything?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the next day…pfft. Nothing. You realize you were wrong. That thing, that ephemeral, indefinable thing isn’t yours at all? And it probably never will be?”

  “Ah. Todd still hasn’t called?”

  Sara shook her head. “But it’s more than that. Even if he did, even if he showed an inkling of interest, I know in my heart…he’s not the one.” She shrugged. “It’s tough, letting go of that dream. That hope—”

  “Todd’s a jerk. I never liked him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Such a friend.

  The tears welled up again. It was a pity she couldn’t tell Kat the whole story. She couldn’t tell anyone the whole story. About what she’d tried the last time she and Todd had been together. His dreadful reaction to it…

  It was humiliating to put yourself out there, let your true inclinations show—and have the guy of your dreams recoil.

  The bald fact of the matter was, Todd wasn’t going to call. He was never going to call. It was finished. She’d finished it.

  Damn. She should have kept her fantasies to herself.

  But who wanted to live their entire life wrapped in a lie?

  Sara sat back in her chair and sighed.

  What the hell was wrong with her? Why did her relationships never work out? Everyone around her seemed to have figured it out. Even Kat, who was painfully shy with men. And Shannon. And Jenny. Hell, Jenny was able to juggle multiple long-term romantic relationships…

  As though Kat sensed Sara’s spiraling melancholy, she changed the topic. “So tell me about that thing with Jack.”

  A manic chuckle bubbled up. “Oh. That. Get this, h
e asked me to My Fair Lady him.”

  Kat tipped her head to the side. “To what?”

  “You know. Teach him to walk and talk like a regular lady…killer.”

  “Seriously?” Kat chuckled.

  “Yep. He even offered to pay me.”

  Kat sobered. “He what? Did you say he offered to pay you?”

  “Yep.” Sara rediscovered her fascination with the mangled paper clip.

  “Jack Maris? The tightest fist this side of the Rockies?”

  “Yep. A trip to Paris.” And a gigolo.

  “Holy crap. Sara, that’s huge.”

  “I know, right?” She dropped the paper clip and fiddled with a pencil instead. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. I mean Paris is huge. But…that he asked, that he wanted it enough to pay for it. It’s not very ‘Jack’, is it?”

  Come to think of it—it wasn’t. Jack never asked anyone for help. Even when he desperately needed it. He would much rather push through all alone. And he didn’t like paying for anything. He’d once driven fifteen miles for a free cup of coffee.

  “Did he say why he wanted you to do this?”

  Sara shrugged, suddenly feeling small. “He said he was tired of being alone.” Fuck. So was she. “I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I?”

  “No. You’re not. You’re a wonderful friend.”

  “I should probably help him.” If nothing else it would distract her from the wretchedness of her own pathetic love life. Or lack thereof.

  “I think it would be wonderful if you helped him. I like Jack—” At Sara’s cynical glance, Kat amended her statement. “Okay. We’ve had our moments. He’s self-absorbed and inappropriate and has absolutely no emotional intelligence, but in his heart, he’s a good person. A great person. What he did for that homeless-teens’ shelter was—” She broke off with a frown.

  The abrupt silence, along with Kat’s guilt-laden expression, snagged Sara’s attention. “What homeless-teens’ shelter?”

  Kat nibbled on a fingernail. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “But you did.”

  “It’s confidential. Jack had me do his taxes last year. I shouldn’t have said anything. Suffice to say, he was very generous.”

  “To homeless teens?”

  Kat nodded. “You know. Couch surfers.”

  Sara shook her head.

  “Kids who, for one reason or another, have no home. A lot of them had to leave because of abuse. Some were kicked out. It’s tragic. This shelter gives them a place to live while they finish school. Helps train them. Gets them jobs.” Kat leaned forward and whispered, “Where do you think all those interns come from?”

  “Jack does seem to have a lot of interns.” An army of them. And all of them as socially stunted as Jack. But now, somehow, they had taken on a very different hue in Sara’s eyes.

  Kat nodded. “But you didn’t hear it from me.” She pressed her lips together.

  “Hear what?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sara hooked three paper clips into a chain but only to keep her fingers busy while she processed this new insight. She’d known Jack forever. Thought she’d known him. “I had no idea.”

  “No one does.” Kat stood and headed for the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob. “Jack’s more complex than he seems, Sara. I sense he pretends to be shallow because he can’t bear being rejected for who he really is.”

  Oh. God. The parallels to her own life were far too painful. Sara buried her face in her arms. “I should help him.” It was a muffled rumble but Kat heard.

  “Think of it as building good karma.”

  “Good karma.” Yeah. She could use some of that.

  * * * * *

  “So… Have you thought about it?” Jack could have kicked himself. He hadn’t intended to burst into her office and blurt it out like that. He’d meant to be suave and slick.

  He should have known better.

  He’d never been suave and slick.

  No. He’d hovered in the vicinity of Sara’s office—after sending Kenny on a meaningless errand—and barged through the door and pounced upon her as soon as Kat left.

  “Sit, Jack.”

  He plopped into the chair and, because he didn’t know what to do with his hands, laced his fingers.

  Sara studied him, dissecting him in that way she had, with her head tipped to the side, wrinkling her button nose. She was so cute when she wrinkled her nose. He forced himself not to wriggle. His cock didn’t listen. Something about her eyes, her lips, her scent, always stirred him.

  He shouldn’t have this kind of reaction to her. In the office. Everywhere. But he couldn’t help it. He just did. Always.

  When she looked at him like that, when she spoke to him in that clear, commanding voice, it was even worse.

  Or better, depending on one’s perspective.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay. I’ve thought about it.”

  His pulse jerked. “And…?”

  She dropped her attention to her blotter and meticulously rearranged several deformed paper clips. His heart pounded a painful tattoo as he waited for her response. “And…” She met his eyes—God, she was gorgeous. “If I do this, we need to have an understanding.”

  Relief, or something like it, trickled through him. An understanding was awfully close to an agreement. A promise. “Okay.”

  Sara sucked in a breath. “First of all, we need to agree this is an impossible task.”

  “Not impossible,” he grumbled. Surely not impossible.

  “Okay. Improbable then. My chances of success are…dismal.”

  Dismal? Jack’s belly dropped. He fiddled with the wiry hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t like the way this was going. It was depressing that she thought so poorly of him. “Am I that hideous?”

  Her eyes widened. A flush rose on her cheeks. “Oh my God, Jack. No. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “It sounded that way.”

  “Jack…” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Okay. How about this? We have a long way to go. Can we agree on that?”

  “Sure.” He knew he was pouting. But he had a damn good excuse. She’d pretty much come out and said making him attractive to women—to her in particular—was a hopeless cause.

  “My worry is this. I can teach you all the right things to say and coach you on how to act around women, prescribe a diet and exercise plan and even give you a makeover. But if you don’t listen to me—if you don’t follow the plan—I fail.”

  “I’ll listen. I’ll follow the plan.” Hell. He’d follow her anywhere she wanted to lead. If she only knew…

  Something fierce stirred in her eyes. “It’s not going to be easy, Jack. I’m gonna work you.” Why he shivered at the tone in her voice, he had no clue. Or maybe he did. “I want you to agree to honor our contract—even if you drop the ball.”

  “Of course.” He always kept his promises.

  “You swear?”

  He put a hand over his heart. “I swear.”

  She sat back. The fire in her eyes flickered and sputtered out. “Okay. So next week I’m going back East to spend some time with my mother—”

  “How long will you be gone?” Damn. He hated it when she was gone.

  Pain flashed across her features; her voice dropped. “She’s…not doing well.”

  His heart squeezed and he wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t find any words. Sara’s mother had been in and out of the hospital for a year. They were very close. Each time her mother had a relapse, Sara suffered.

  Jack had never had a mother so he couldn’t relate but he imagined having one and losing her would be even harder than never having one at all.

  “In the meantime, I’ll put together a plan for you.”

  “A…plan?” His mind spun. How on earth was this going to work if she wasn’t even here?

  “Yes. And you have to follow it.”

  “I will.”


  She put her hands flat on the desk and skewered him with a glower. “Religiously, Jack.”

  “Okay.” He tried to not wriggle in his seat. He loved it when she got all…adamant. “So you’ll do it?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I’ll do it.”

  Relief cascaded through him. Relief and hope. It was a tiny sprig of hope, but hope was hope. “So when do we begin?”

  She gazed at him. Some strange emotion he couldn’t interpret flashed over her features. “Now.”

  Oh. God. Excitement and satisfaction and panic surged through him. “Now?”

  “Yes. I need to do an assessment. You know. To figure out exactly where we are.”

  He swallowed. “An assessment?”

  “Of your game.”

  “Okay.” He liked games. He scooted to the edge of his seat.

  “Let’s pretend I’m a woman—”

  “You are a woman.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Be serious, Jack.”

  “I am being serious.” He was.

  “Let’s pretend I’m a woman you see at a bar. And you’re interested.”

  Oh. He was.

  “What’s the first thing you do?”

  Okay. He could wrap his brain around this. He shifted to the side and pulled out his wallet. Found his trusty cheat sheet and unfolded it and spread it flat on the desk.

  “What the hell is that?” She gaped at the rumpled, well-worn paper.

  “It’s my flowchart.” Duh.

  Sara blinked. “You have a flowchart for picking up women.” Not a question.

  “Naturally.” Didn’t everyone?

  “Let me see that.” Before he could stop her she snatched the paper away. Scanned it. “Oh God.”

  He knew what she was seeing. He’d studied this flowchart a hundred times. Still, when she read it aloud, he winced.

  “Picking Up Chicks.” She grimaced. “Seriously, Jack? That’s what you named it?”

  “Yes.” What else would he name it?

  “‘Step One. Assess the situation’. Okay. That works. ‘Does she seem cranky?’ Cranky? Seriously, Jack? Cranky?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a critical variable.” It was. It was exceedingly difficult to pick up a cranky woman. “Statistically speaking—”