by Jane Graves
He smiled with contentment. "Yeah. I am."
Liz nodded toward the screen, where the Marlins were retiring to the dugout after holding the Mets, tying the game in the top of the ninth.
"Think they can pull it out in the bottom of the ninth?" Liz asked.
"Depends on how loud you cheer for them."
That was when he found out Liz could whistle through her fingers.
A minute later she rose from her seat. "I have to go to the little girls' room," she said, then nodded toward the TV. "Don't let them start again without me."
As Liz headed toward the restroom, the elderly man next to them leaned over to talk to Mark.
"That girl reminds me of my wife when she was her age," he said.
"Your wife?"
"Yeah. Mildred knew more about the Mets than I did. We had season tickets for thirty years. Some of the best times we ever had were at ballgames." He leaned closer to Mark. "Let me tell you something. Having stuff in common like you and your girl do--that's what it's all about. And a pistol like that one," he said with a grin, "is gonna keep you entertained for the rest of your life. You're a lucky man. Hang onto her."
Liz? His girl?
It amazed him that a total stranger had watched them together and assumed they were a couple. He started to tell the man that Liz wasn't his girl at all, but somehow the words got lost between his brain and his mouth. Finally he just smiled and nodded.
His girl.
For some reason, Mark couldn't get those words out of his mind. He thought about how easy Liz was to be around, and what a good time he had when he was with her. And just for a moment he found himself wishing that the ideal corporate wife was a curvy bartender with a headful of auburn hair and an outrageous wardrobe, who loved to watch baseball and could whistle through her fingers.
* * *
In the ladies’ room, Liz leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, trying to get a grip on herself. When had it happened? When had she stopped looking at Mark as just a friend? Or as a person she'd promised to help? Or even as a nice guy who was fun to hang out with? When had she started looking at him like a woman looks at a man she's attracted to--physically, mentally, and every other way there was?
For the past hour, she'd used every excuse in the world to touch him because it felt so wonderful. She'd watched furtively for signs that he objected to that, but she hadn't seen any. In fact, the longer they were together, the better he seemed to like it. And as the evening had worn on, she'd inched closer to him, as if trying to make it easier for them to talk with all the noise around them. Had he noticed, though, that the restaurant really wasn't all that loud?
The last thing you need is an uptight accountant.
That argument might have held water, only she'd discovered that Mark really wasn't all that uptight. At least, he hadn't been once they left Sunrise Square. He seemed right at home there, having a beer and cheering for the Rangers right along with her.
She went back to their table and slid into her chair just as the Mets pitcher threw the first ball to start the bottom of the ninth. She settled in to watch game, but she was so fixated on Mark that she barely noticed when the Rangers put a man on base. A few minutes later a batter knocked a ball deep into right field, allowing the man on base to score. The moment he crossed home to win the game, everyone in the restaurant came to their feet cheering. Liz leaped up along with everyone else, and in a reflex action, she threw her arms around Mark's neck and gave him a hug. He circled his arms around her waist, lifted her from the floor and swung her around in a circle in celebration. Then, when he set her down again, something changed.
Their gazes locked, their arms still wrapped around each other. He should have let her go by now. Why hadn't he?
Driven by some force she couldn't control, Liz's gaze fell to Mark's lips. It lingered there a moment, then rose to meet his eyes again. In the span of a single heartbeat, she imagined him slipping his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her close, meeting her lips with his--
"So what do you think?" Mark said, as he released her and moved away. "Will the Marlins go all the way to the playoffs?"
Liz blinked herself back to reality. Had she imagined those few seconds between them that had held so much potential? It had been silly, of course, to think he would kiss her while they were standing in the middle of a crowd of sports fans. But just for a moment, she could have sworn...
"The playoffs? They'll go all the way to the World Series."
"Such optimism," he said. "I like that in a woman."
What else do you like in a woman? Do I even come close?
As Mark smiled down at her, Liz felt the possibilities blossoming between them. He was coming to Simon's on Monday night, and the thought of seeing him again warmed her from the inside out. Maybe they weren't so different after all, and something could happen between them.
One way or the other, she intended to find out.
6
At seven forty-five on Monday morning, Mark rode up the elevator to the offices of Nichols, Marbury & White. Unfortunately, that gave him seven floors' worth of time to stare at himself in the mirrored wall of the elevator, and to feel uncertain all over again about the guy looking back.
He'd messed with his hair for a good twenty minutes that morning, but no matter what he did, it still stuck up funny. The suit looked pretty good, though, and he was finally getting used to looking at his face without glasses. But how would people react to such a radical change? Would they think he looked sharp and professional, as Liz seemed to think, or would they think he look like some pitifully unsophisticated guy trying for sharp and professional and missing by a mile?
When the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, he took a deep breath and strode across the lobby past the receptionist, who was engrossed in a phone conversation and didn't look up. He went down the hall and turned into his outer office. He strode past Tina's desk, where she sat tapping away at her computer.
"Morning, boss," she said, giving him the same quick glance and smile of greeting she always did before returning to her work. He returned the greeting and kept on walking.
"Stop!"
Mark's heart leaped to his throat. He ground to a halt, then turned around to find Tina gaping at him. She walked over to him, circled him slowly, then came back around, swallowing hard.
"Wow," she said. "What did you do to yourself?"
Tina's startled reaction made Mark wish he had a great big rock to crawl under, until he saw a huge smile of delight spread across her face.
"You...look...fabulous! How did you...what did you...?"
"I just did a little shopping, that's all."
"That's all? New suit, new haircut...oh, God, your glasses are gone! So who picked out all this stuff for you? No offense, Mark. But guys are usually clueless, and up to now, you--" She paused. "I didn't mean that as an insult. It's just that--"
"I know, Tina. It's different. But you're telling me it's good different?"
"Are you kidding? If I could get my boyfriend to dress like this, I'd think I'd died and gone to heaven."
Mark felt a flush of relief. The apprehension he felt when he came into the office vanished. If everyone reacted the way Tina had, his new look could be just the boost his career needed.
"Hey, McAlister. I need to talk to you about--"
Mark spun around to see Jared Sloan standing in the doorway. The man's eyes widened, and then his mouth dropped open but nothing came out. Neither Mark nor Tina said a word. In silent, mutual understanding, they let Sloan clear his throat and cough a little in that phony way people always did when they had no clue what to say next.
"...uh, the Dixon Pharmaceuticals account. We need to talk. When, you know, you have a minute."
The whole time he stuttered and stammered, his gaze was glued to Mark. Mark felt a rush of satisfaction. It was the first time he'd ever seen Sloan stumble around, searching for words. Mark didn't dare hope it was because he finally looked the part of
successful professional man on the verge of a partnership. But what else could it be? Could it be that for the first time Sloan sensed a little competition?
"Dixon Pharmaceuticals? Tina, check my schedule, will you? Let Mr. Sloan know when I'm free today?"
"Certainly," Tina said, raising her nose a notch and returning to her desk. She poked at her computer, scanning the screen in that distracted, slightly annoyed manner that said We'll see if we can work you in. Mark wanted to kiss her for it.
"Hmm," she said. "I suppose we could squeeze you in around one-thirty."
"Okay," Sloan said. "Come down to my office, and--"
"No," Mark said, determined not to be one-upped by that power play Sloan loved to use. It was time he was the one who sat in his executive chair behind a big desk while they were discussing business, instead of squeezing into one of Sloan's guest chairs and looking like a subordinate. "We'll meet in my office." He turned to walk away in a gesture of dismissal, then turned back. "And Sloan? I have a full schedule today. Don't be late."
Sloan nodded and left the office, and it didn't escape Mark's notice that his usual arrogant swagger was strangely absent.
Tina peered around the corner until Sloan was out of earshot, then spun back around. "Ha! Did you see the look on his face? That was so cool!"
Mark couldn't help smiling himself. And all he could think was, Liz was right. I don't look outrageous. I look successful.
Work on the outside, and the inside will follow.
"Here's what we'll do," Tina went on. "When he comes back here at one-thirty for your meeting, you stay in your office with the door closed, and I'll make him wait out here. Maybe ten minutes or so. Just to irritate him."
"That won't be necessary."
"Why not? He does it to you every time you go to his office, doesn't he?"
"I know. That's why we're not going to do it."
Tina looked supremely disappointed. "How about I give him a cup of regular coffee and tell him it's decaf? You know how he spazzes out if there's caffeine in his coffee."
"Sorry, Tina. No sabotage."
"Can I make nasty faces behind his back?"
"You do that already."
"True." Tina sighed. "Damn. I hate professional workplaces. No room for genuine creativity."
After Sloan left Mark's office, his day only got better. He got compliments all over the place, from his coworkers to the owner of the deli on the fourth floor to the UPS delivery woman. Then after lunch, the managing partner, Edwin Nichols, came down to his office, which he rarely did, for a reason that seemed flimsy. He even stayed around to shoot the breeze, which was even more unprecedented, since he believed that every moment of every business day should be consumed with doing business. As usual, he wore his toupee--a mass of hair-like material a blind man could spot at a hundred paces. Considering he had more money than Midas, his choice of hair augmentation was a mystery that nobody at Nichols, Marbury & White had ever been able to solve.
"A personal visit from the man himself," Tina mused after Edwin left. "That's a good sign."
"Now don't go reading anything into it."
"Oh, I wouldn't think of it," she said, but he could already see her wheels turning as she plotted her next entry into the company grapevine. Then she assumed a thoughtful expression.
"I wonder if Edwin knows a weasel fell asleep on top of his head."
"Now, Tina. You're not supposed to malign Edwin's hair."
"You're right. I'm being heartless. I mean, maybe that really is his hair, and he has some obscure genetic disease. 'Hairus hideousus.' Suppose we ought to get a telethon together to help eradicate that?"
Mark knew he should make a better effort to curb Tina's running commentary on office life, but since entertainment around here was so hard to come by his heart really wasn't in it.
Later in the day, Tina stuck her head into his office and asked him if he'd received the invitation to the company dinner dance. Then he remembered. He had only a little over two weeks until that function and he still hadn't found a date.
"You are coming aren't you?" Tina asked.
"Uh...yeah. I'll be there."
"With a date this time?"
Mark gave her an admonishing look. "Did I ever tell you how nosy you are?"
"I'll take that as a compliment. So will you be bringing a date or not?"
Trying to sidestep Tina's questions was like trying to sidestep the Grand Canyon. "Yes, Tina. I'll be bringing a date."
"Anyone I know?"
"No. It's no one you know."
And it was no one Mark knew, either. Yet.
"Well, it's about time." Tina grabbed the contents of his outbox and headed for the door. She tossed a grin back over her shoulder. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."
So am I.
* * *
Liz checked her watch. Ten till six. She wished she knew what time Mark got off work. Five o'clock? Five-thirty? How long would it take him to get there? And the later it got, the more she wondered: Is he coming at all?
Liz put four margaritas on a tray and slid it over to one of the waitresses. She wiped up some spilled lime juice, and for the hundredth time, her gaze wandered to the door. When she finally saw Mark walk in, her heart leaped, then settled into a crazy rhythm. She thought she remembered how handsome he looked on Saturday, but as he walked into the club she had a hard time catching her breath. Again.
It wasn't just the clothes. It was the way he walked, his chin up, gazing around the room as if he owned it for a switch, rather than trying to remain anonymous. She remembered the first night she'd met him, how he'd blended right into the wall. Well, he wasn't doing a heck of a lot of blending now. As he walked through the club, heads literally turned, and practically every woman in the place gave him an appreciative up and down look. Mark seemed oblivious to all of it. He came to the bar and slid onto a stool. He gave Liz a big smile and a cheerful hello, and she practically melted right into the floor. How had this happened? How had she gone from helping him catch a woman to wishing she were the woman he wanted to catch?
"So how was your day?" she asked, though the smile he wore made it no mystery at all.
"It couldn't have been better. I couldn't believe the number of people who gave me compliments. You were right."
She grinned. "Told you so. Can I get you something to drink? Scotch?"
"Sounds good."
Liz moved down the bar to pour him a drink, hoping the crowd was light tonight so she and Mark would have time to talk. But she was not going to get all weird about this. She was not going to give in to some adolescent schoolgirl thing and hyperventilate every time she saw him, even though she hadn't stopped thinking about him for five minutes since they parted on Saturday night. She wasn't going to stare at him when he wasn't looking, even though it was sure to make her feel all lightheaded and giddy. And she was not going to think about them maybe going on an actual date, even though she'd had such a wonderful time with him at Gino's. After all, he probably still thought he wanted a woman like Gwen, and it might be an uphill battle to convince him otherwise.
Calm, cool and collected. That's what she was.
She fixed a scotch and water, then turned back around, and all her calm, cool collection went right out the window.
In the time it had taken her to make the drink, a young woman had slid onto the stool beside Mark. She wore a red suit with a neckline that dipped far too low to be conservative, along with so much silver jewelry she probably rattled when she walked. She swept her chemically-enhanced blonde hair away from her shoulder with a preening flick of her hand and gave him a dazzling smile.
"Hi, there."
Mark smiled back at her. Liz sat the scotch and water down in front of him. He smiled and thanked her. Then the blonde touched his sleeve and he turned back to her, and that thing that had fluttered around in Liz's stomach for the past two days curled into a tight little ball and lay there like a rock.
She walked back down the bar and
took a few drink orders, trying to pretend nothing was going on behind her back, but still she had the urge to yank Mark aside and spell out a few facts. Did he know that little hussy's glowing blonde hair was mouse-brown in disguise? Did he know anyone that thin was clearly anorexic? Did he know she probably still remembered all her high school cheerleading routines? Did he know these things?
She glanced down the bar at Mark, and by the unassuming smile he wore, she knew he didn't. He wasn't used to looking as handsome as he did right now, and therefore he was totally ill-equipped to deal with a sexually-overblown little hussy with the wardrobe of Business Barbie and the come-hither stare of a two-bit tramp.
"Hey, Liz!"
Liz spun around to see Sherri standing at the bar.
"Guess what! I just talked to Kevin. We have a date!"
"Really? He asked you out?"
"Well, not exactly. I'm hosting Bible study on Saturday night, and he's coming."
Liz slumped with dismay. "Sherri! You have to stop this!"
"Stop what?"
"You know what. Faking your way into situations so you can meet men!"
"I'm not faking," Sherri said. "I'd actually been thinking about going back to church."
"Oh, come on! The only things you do religiously are eat Snickers bars and watch Teen Mom."
"Teen Mom is a cautionary tale," Sherri said. "Kevin would approve."
"Right. Next thing you know you'll be setting our apartment on fire so you can meet a cute firefighter."
Sherri perked up at that, her eyes shifting back and forth, and a tiny smile crossed her lips.
"No!" Liz said. "Don't you even think it!"
"No promises. But I will put it at the end of the list."
"I don't know. Maybe it goes on the list before pretending to be Church Lady."
"Five bucks says I can get Kevin into bed."
Liz's eyebrows flew up. "You're betting the limit?"
"I have faith, if you'll pardon the pun."
"And I never turn down easy money. But the whole thing is still awful."
"Hey! I'm tired of ending up with losers. Particularly losers who cheat. DatingTips.com said church is an excellent place to meet a nice guy."