by Dawn Atkins
He turned to face Deborah, who stared at him, arms folded, her eyes red, lips tight and thin with fury. “How long has this been going on?” she demanded.
“Just a few weeks.”
“And you’re in love with her!”
It sounded ridiculous, but it was true. He was in love. Desperately. Wildly. Head over heels. “Look, Kylie is—”
“Stop saying her name like that. Like a wish or a sigh. It’s irritating.”
“I’m sorry, Deborah. I know it’s ridiculous. And I’m as surprised as you are really.”
“Oh, please.” Deborah’s hard eyes swam in soft tears. A few weeks ago, he would have been willing to give this a try, despite his misgivings. But not now. Not after he’d been with Kylie and felt what he’d begun to feel. His settled life with an appropriate wife wasn’t working out the way he’d planned.
“I’m sure Jane will have a number of other Potentials for you and—”
“Don’t you dare pity me, Cole Sullivan.” Her face seemed stung with red, as if from a slap. “I paid Janie Falls one thousand dollars so this kind of thing would not happen again. I didn’t want to compete with other women. That’s why I chose Personal Touch. Jane Falls stole my money.”
“She sent Kylie to meet me so I wouldn’t quit the service before I met you. Her intentions were completely honorable. She was trying to help you.”
“Please. If that woman had a clue what she was doing, she would never have put you two in the same room. You look at each other like…dessert or a dream or a jackpot. It’s sickening. Jane Falls is a fraud.”
“Be angry at me, not Jane.”
“Oh, I am angry at you, but how does that help? Compatibility scores mean zip when you’re in love with someone else. This has been a complete waste of time and…” Her lip trembled. “Just a waste.” She spun on her heels and marched out the door.
“I’m—” He started to apologize, but knew she’d think he pitied her. He’d call her later, take her to lunch, urge her to stay with Personal Touch, help her however he could.
Radar gave a low growl as she passed him. Poor Deborah.
Except then the dog growled at him, too. For hurting Kylie, no doubt. He had to talk to her, too. Tell her how he felt, see if she felt the same and figure out what they could do about it.
KYLIE BLINKED back tears and pushed send on her cell, making the call to S-Mickey-B. She was breaking her own rule again—talking on the phone while driving—but this was an emergency. She had to tell her new boss she would start next week. Make it official so she could forget about Cole. She was headed to her office, where she would bury her angst in work.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t had the sense to end it at the doorway the way she’d planned. Now Cole and Deborah would start their relationship with a big, terrible fight. That was so wrong. That poor woman had been so shocked and hurt—her frayed little eyebrows twitching like cat whiskers. Kylie felt like some evil home wrecker. Which was practically what she was.
“Garrett McGrath, please… Yes, I’ll hold.”
In a way it was good, though. The shock showed her how far she’d strayed from who she really was. She was acting like Janie, who got so lost and sad after each breakup—and every move when they were kids. She would lose her appetite, pore over the photo album she kept of each place, dropping tears of desolation on the plastic cover sheets. Each drop stung like acid when Kylie watched. She hated, hated, hated seeing her little sister suffer. Her stomach would be tight with nausea.
Kylie had wished that Janie would handle it like she did—by holding back a little. That way moving became an adventure. New people. New places. New fun. She always did her damnedest to help Janie see it that way, but when they trekked through the new neighborhood Kylie often had the sense that Janie was just pretending to cheer up.
And now she understood Janie’s reaction. Kylie had never felt this much misery. She even had tears dripping onto her navy-blue lap.
She loved Cole. She wanted Cole. She missed Cole.
Which was ridiculous. Hell, the man had evidently been having long-distance heart-to-hearts with Deborah. Hopefully they could straighten it out. Deborah was what he needed, bad eyebrows or not, and Kylie couldn’t stand it if she’d ruined the match Janie had made for him.
The whole thing was bad timing. Bad timing to be having a farewell boff when his perfect match dropped in. Bad timing to fall in love with a man who was already taken…or at least promised.
She had to put it all in perspective. She wanted to roll into a ball and cry for hours. But she had steps to take, work to do, a future to step into. The S-Mickey-B hold music was Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years.” She gritted her teeth. She would come through this fine. This was all for the better. She’d been playing with fire. And escaped with just the whiff of singed hair. Make that eyebrows.
“Hey, girl, Gina here. Garrett’s golfing somewhere. Can I help?”
She smiled at the sound of the friendly voice. Keeping her tone level, Kylie explained her plan to move over the weekend. She could handle the final Phoenix details from L.A.
“God, don’t hurry,” Gina said, surprising her. “We need to suck every bit of creativity out of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know, before group-think sets in.”
“Group-think?”
“Yeah. You start out with your own unique vision and fresh voice, but gradually the team grinds you down until you see and sound just like us.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish. Two years ago I was hot and new. Garrett hired me and now I’m hopelessly derivative.” Her tone was lightly ironic, but Kylie could feel there was honest worry in her words.
“That’s not true. You’re very good.”
“Maybe I’m being neurotic. Or maybe I was always derivative. Oh, and I should warn you that Garrett thinks the Home Town Suites stuff is, quote, ‘a mite confrontational.’”
“But that was the whole point.”
“Exactly. We have got to get Garrett to golf more. He’s a buzz kill in account meetings.”
“But Garrett is brilliant.”
“He’s the talent scout—sees it, reels it in. Just stick to your guns, Kylie. Push us out of our rut. No one wants to take chances or buck the partners. You’ll be good for us.”
While Gina’s words sank in, Kylie stared at a couple making out in the front seat of the car ahead of her, part of her wishing she could just escape into love like that. With Cole.
Group-think? Great. Something else to worry about. She’d thought the edges of the Home Town stuff were already rounded too much and now she’d have to convince Garrett not to squeeze it to pap? She’d barely accepted the fact she had ideas and now she had to do battle to use them?
Maybe she should delay her departure. Gina sure wanted her to. What about not going at all? She could help Janie with the final turnaround of Personal Touch, spend more time with her, ease the inevitable misery with the reporter she’d fallen for.
Oh, who was Kylie kidding? She wanted to see Cole, despite how impossible it was. He could be falling in love with Deborah this very minute. Kylie wasn’t herself.
Forget that. Now. She told Gina she’d think about her move date a little longer, and said goodbye just as she pulled into the parking lot of her office building. If only she could talk to Cole about this—the move, what it might be like at S-Mickey-B. Did she really want to give up her own unique vision, as Gina had called it? But she couldn’t talk to him. They’d broken up. Oh, this was agony.
And then, there he was, waiting in her lobby, sitting beside Candee’s desk, flipping through a magazine.
“Cole, what are you…?”
“I had to see you,” Cole said, rising. He let the magazine drop to the table. It slid to the floor.
“Well,” Candee said, looking from one to the other. “I’ve got class, I guess…in a while anyway.” She turned to Cole and said, “Good luck,” as if
she thought he’d need it.
Then they were alone. In her office. Which Cole had never visited. Kylie’s heart heaved in her chest and her face grew hot. She wanted to run into his arms. I love you…. Do you love me? Help me figure out what to do. Instead, she said, “Everything straightened out with Deborah?”
“There was nothing to straighten out.”
“But you talked to her before? While we were…?”
“She called from London and we talked a couple of times. She seemed to feel more strongly about it than I did.”
“This is all my fault,” Kylie said, feeling despair and desperate hope. “Janie warned me I was distracting you. You have to give it a chance. You were counting on this. She’s perfect for you.” She fought like crazy to hide her real feelings, not even certain what they were. Her thudding heart and shaky breaths were her only clues.
“No, she’s not.” He stepped closer.
She stepped back. “Yes, she is. I saw her video.”
“You saw her video?”
She nodded, feeling miserable and foolish.
“You’re who I want.” He reached for her, but she froze. Everything inside her went still and scared.
“Deborah pointed out that I say your name like a sigh or a wish.”
“She did?”
“Kylie…” he said, as if trying out the tone. “How does that sound to you?”
Like heaven. “Like my name. What do you want me to say?” She swallowed, crazy hope filling her chest. Deborah was out of the picture. Cole wanted her. And she was terrified.
“I can’t stand the thought of not being with you. I feel better when I’m around you. Not so much like a hamster on a wheel. You make me laugh. You make me want to slow down and, I don’t know, plant a garden.”
Her heart felt as though it might explode. Cole loved her. Or at least he thought he did. She loved him, too, if she was capable of that in her current confused state.
Part of her wanted to sink into this feeling forever and the rest of her froze with terror. Cole mattered too much to her. It just wasn’t right.
“Say something, Kylie. Don’t leave me hanging…”
“I don’t mean to. It’s just a shock. And, well, maybe we’re making too big a deal of all this. Like a vacation we don’t want to end. Too much peanut butter brickle gets old.”
“Peanut butter brickle?” He shook his head, puzzled.
“Never mind. The point is that we’re having what Janie calls a ‘life-transition fling.’ You want a wife and I’m leaving town so we’re clinging to what feels good and safe.” The words hurt her throat coming out.
“Do you really believe that?”
She wasn’t sure, but she watched the possibility flicker in his dark eyes. “It makes sense,” she said. “Don’t you think? I’m not what you want. Maybe you don’t want Deborah, but you want someone like her. Someone not pushing so hard on her career.”
“When you love someone you compromise.”
“Not on your dreams. You know that. I can’t give up on mine, either. We care about each other, we had a wonderful time together, but now we have to move on.”
Keep moving. Keep your distance. New adventures around the corner. New friends. Otherwise you could get hurt. Bad.
“How do you feel about me?” he demanded. He was stubborn, of course, the way she was.
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you love me?”
“I don’t know. I care about you. But it’s too soon and it’s not—” she swallowed a lump the size of a grapefruit “—enough.”
“Not enough. You don’t love me. I see.”
She fought like hell to not react.
He bought it and his whole demeanor went flat and still.
The lines of connection between them dropped like cut string and she felt abruptly alone and wobbly. Tears stung, but she blinked them back.
“I’m sorry, Cole. Maybe it’s not too late to give Deborah a chance.”
He shook his head. It was too late. “Goodbye, Kylie,” he said, and this time her name on his lips sounded just plain sad.
SETH WAITED for his printer to spit out the Personal Touch story. He’d written the most saccharine tripe of his entire career, but he was almost happy about it. He’d described Janie’s dedication and her romantic practicality, included her bubbly absentee receptionist, even mentioned the fat, bald guy who’d sued over the lack of bimbos in his date book.
His suspicions had been groundless, thank God. He’d been so thrown by Janie. First, wanting too much to believe in her, he’d ignored the weird issues. Then, when he thought Janie had lied to him, he’d overreacted. He’d pitched the story to Phil Verde, the producer at TV 7 before he had enough facts together. But he’d nixed it in time. When he couldn’t get Verde in person, he’d explained the situation to an assistant.
He stapled the print-warm pages, then folded the story into his bomber jacket pocket to take to Janie. He owed her some peace of mind after grinding her through the mill of his skepticism…and his own career doubts.
The truth was that he hadn’t been himself since Miami. Being around Jane was the first time he’d felt good in two years. She showed him how wrapped up in himself he’d been, how lonely and downright bitter.
When she read the story, she would forgive him and they could take it from there. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she read the part about her being a starry-eyed romantic with a steel spine of practicality. She’d love that. That said it all.
He was still grinning when he pulled into the Personal Touch parking lot and spotted the Eye Out For You SUV with its garish eyeball logo. What the hell was going on?
He parked beside the van and hopped off his bike.
“You don’t get it!” Gail shouted from the front door at two guys headed his way—one in a blazer, the other with a camera on his shoulder. “And furthermore, if I can give some poor slob a better way to spend his Friday afternoons than chokin’ the chicken, I’m a saint, not a pervert.”
Seth loped closer. “What’s going on?” Seth asked them.
“Just doing our job,” the guy in the blazer said.
“You’re working on a tip about a dating scam?” he asked, backing up to keep even with the guy. He was aware of Gail watching him from the doorway.
The reporter stopped to look him over.
“Because it’s a mistake. This place is legitimate.”
“Tell that to the pissed-off woman I interviewed yesterday. Former client.” He started moving again.
The camera guy had opened the back of the truck and was detaching and twining cords.
“Listen, this is my story. I called it in to Phil,” he said, catching the guy on the passenger side of the vehicle.
“And Phil assigned it to me. Sorry.”
“No. You don’t get it. There’s no story. I told Phil’s assistant it didn’t pan out.”
“We taped a woman last night who got cheated out of her money, and just now in there the owner went white as a sheet when I told her about it.” He shrugged. “I’d say that’s a story. It runs tonight at ten. Check it out.”
The guy pulled the door shut with a firm click. The camera guy had taken the driver’s seat and they pulled away, leaving Seth furious and frustrated. They’d ambushed Janie, no doubt, and who wouldn’t freak at that? Pretty scummy technique, now that he thought about it.
Seth galloped toward the office to get to Janie, but Gail blocked his way, arms crossed. “Come to see the devastation you wrought, Mr. Inside Phoenix?”
“What happened?”
“Exactly what you intended. They treated us like pimps and perverts and liars. Janie’s in tears. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I told the producer there was no story. This is a mistake. Let me talk to her.”
She blocked him. “You’re the last person she wants to see right now. Really.” There was a flicker of sympathy in her face.
He had to make this right. The thought of Ja
nie crying her eyes out because of him made him sick. He fished his piece out of his pocket. “I’ll fix it for her. Give her this.”
“Promise me you’re not a Wounded Loner.” She took the story with reluctance. “Or a Stubborn Single.”
“Not if I can have Janie in my life.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” She surprised him by yanking him into her generous bosom. “Now ride like the wind and kill that story, Mr. Hot Shot Journalist. The light of your life is counting on you.”
He couldn’t believe that he knew exactly what she meant and it didn’t even make him cringe.
15
“JESUS, SULLIVAN, you look like something even the cat wouldn’t drag in. Let’s get a brew across the street,” Trevor McKay said the day after Cole had broken up with two women. Quite a feat for a guy who hadn’t had a date for two years before that.
It was 9:00 p.m., they still had tons to do, and he was bleary-eyed and dull-witted from lack of sleep and depression. He missed Kylie. So did Radar, who’d kept him awake whining at the door, Kylie’s stockings at his feet. The dog had it almost as bad as he did.
“Sounds great,” he said, though he knew it was a mercy beer. McKay, his chief rival, felt sorry for him. More bad news.
They walked to the hotel across the street and entered the bistro to order a pair of Coronas with lime.
“So, Tuttleman asked me on the golf weekend with the execs from Valley Rentals,” Trevor said, shoving the green wedge into the neck of the bottle. “You’re the golden boy he usually takes. What gives?”
He shrugged. “I’m not so golden these days. I’ve been distracted.”
“The hot thing from the other day?”
He nodded miserably.
“If you’re going to run with the big horn dogs, Sullivan, you gotta pace yourself.”
“How do you do it, anyway?”
“I have my rules.”
“Like what?”
“Never two weekends with the same woman. Never date her friends. Watch the alcohol. When I start dozing at my desk on a Monday, take a week breather.”
“Don’t you want to settle down? The partners look for stability.” He found himself wanting to help the guy. This was new and it felt good. It was a relief not to be angling for an advantage. Since Kylie, he’d been thinking more about what really made for happiness.