Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "I'm pretty sure she can hear you,” Mark answered calmly. “I'll see you later.” He sauntered casually out of the office.

  Gray wanted to kill him. Like he didn't have enough problems on his hands with his mother deciding to get into the hunt, Mark had to start pushing him toward Aubrey too?

  "Study in Gray,” she repeated, bringing his attention back to her. “You are collecting art. You're just doing it on the sly."

  "That was a gift,” he said. “A joke."

  "It's not a particularly funny one."

  "No. I suppose I'm being generous in calling it a joke."

  "I just wanted to give you your cap.” She walked over to him, proffering the Red Sox cap. “I didn't ask Mark to bring me up here."

  "No, I know you didn't. Mark is difficult and interfering.” He took the cap and smiled at it fondly. “I am glad to see this, though.” He shifted his eyes back to her. “Thanks."

  "No problem. I'm glad I was finally able to get it back to you."

  "Why did you keep it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know you didn't think you'd ever see me again. So why did you keep the cap?"

  She shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I could tell that it meant something to you. I mean, why be callous and just throw it away?"

  "It does mean a lot to me. I honestly couldn't believe I'd forgotten it. Shows you how out of character I was behaving during that whole interlude."

  "Right,” she said, a trace of dryness to her voice.

  "You've heard it all before,” he remarked with a smile.

  "Several times."

  There was a moment of silence.

  "Well,” he said awkwardly, “thank you for the cap."

  "You're welcome. I guess I'll...” See him around? She was hoping not to. “...go,” she finished lamely, backing toward the door. She turned to leave, and then whirled back. “One more thing."

  "What?"

  "Did you happen to send me flowers today?"

  "The roses?” he said.

  "Roses. Yes. It was you."

  "Well, yeah.” He looked confused. “Who else did you think would send you flowers?"

  "Not you,” she said. “You're not supposed to be sending me flowers. We're not supposed to be talking. Remember the ground rule—"

  "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't agree to that ground rule? Didn't you like the flowers?"

  "No."

  "I should have gone with chocolates,” he concluded with a grin.

  "No! You weren't supposed to get me anything."

  "It was a thank-you."

  "You thanked me amply last night."

  "No, I didn't."

  "You said ‘thank you.’ That was enough."

  "For God's sake, Aubrey. I just thought the roses would be a nice gesture—"

  "Stop with the nice gestures, would you? There is no need for these nice gestures. They're completely unnecessary."

  "But that's what makes them nice."

  "No, they're not nice. Don't you understand? Dammit, your mother is telling me how easygoing our children are going to be!"

  "Our children?” he repeated blankly.

  "Yes. As in our children.” She waved her hand between the two of them.

  "We are not having children."

  "I know that. You know that. She doesn't know that."

  "My mother has tried to marry me off to every eligible woman she's come in contact with since—"

  "You don't help matters when you send me roses."

  "The roses,” he said, stepping around his desk, “were not a seduction trick. You must think me the most foolish man alive. If I'd wanted to seduce you, I would have pulled out the stops last night when you wanted me to kiss you."

  She was momentarily speechless. Then she sputtered out, “I didn't say I wanted you to kiss me!"

  "I repeat, you must think me the most foolish man alive. You said it clear as day. Just not using your voice."

  "You're so damn arrogant. I don't know how you get women to tolerate you long enough to sleep with you!"

  "You didn't seem to have a problem."

  "I was drunk, Gray. Remember? You keep reminding both of us what a huge part alcohol played in the whole affair."

  "Let me take you out.” He didn't know where the words came from. He was standing within inches of her, looking down at her, and she looked so absolutely glorious, furious and uncertain all at once, and the words just tumbled out of him, and some voice inside of him screamed in panic, What the hell are you doing?

  Aubrey made a sound. Probably the beginning of a word that got cut off by what he had said. She blinked up at him and choked out, “What?"

  He'd said it. He couldn't go back on it now. “Have you been to any of the museums yet?"

  "I ... No, I haven't had..."

  "Good. I would love to take you to a museum. You can teach me about art."

  Aubrey stared up at him. Then she narrowed her blue eyes suspiciously. “Is this a joke?"

  "What?"

  "A joke. A not-funny joke like Study in Gray."

  He smiled a bit. “It's not a joke. I'm serious. Why won't you let me take you out? I'm a fun date. I'm more fun than Doug, whatever he may think."

  "We have a ground rule,” she reminded him desperately.

  "No, you have a ground rule."

  "But—"

  "Oh, Aubrey, to hell with the stupid ground rule. I've never been to a museum before and I want to go. With you."

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “You traveled in Europe, Gray. Are you telling me you didn't even go to the Louvre?"

  "Point taken. Okay, I've never been to a museum in Vegas before."

  "What game are you playing here?"

  "Why are you so sure I'm not being serious?"

  "Because we don't like each other."

  "That just isn't true. You don't like me. I think I could fix that. You could at least let me try. Where's the harm in that?"

  "There's a lot of harm in that."

  "Like what?"

  She liked him too much. That was the harm. Maybe she thought she didn't like him, maybe it was even a little true—but there was a larger part of her that liked him quite a lot.

  And then there was the part of her—the very large part of her—that thought that maybe he was quite splendid. “Gray, please don't—"

  "That's the problem with you. You always tell me no right when I'm about to press my advantage, and I always stop because I'm too much of a gentleman."

  "I can't have some sort of sexual fling with you, Gray,” she said finally.

  He looked down at her for a moment. “Maybe we should close the door."

  Oh, God. Had they had this whole conversation with every Bienvenue employee eavesdropping outside? “Not necessary. I'm leaving."

  "Aubrey—"

  "I don't live in your world, Gray. I know I gave a good impression of it in Boston, but I cannot do this. I just cannot do this."

  He had gone about this the wrong way. “Aubrey, I don't want—"

  "I'm going now,” she said, walking toward the door.

  He was going to have to assault her to stop her. Damn it. He followed after her. “Aubrey—"

  "Mr. Delamonte,” Marjorie inserted.

  "Not now, Marjorie. Aubrey, wait—"

  "Ms. Dunbar is on the phone."

  That stopped Aubrey. Damn it to hell, thought Gray as she stiffened and turned to him. “Oh,” drawled Aubrey. “Ms. Dunbar."

  "Listen, we're not done here,” Gray told her.

  "Talk to Ms. Dunbar. Maybe you can fly her in and have a nice romantic dinner with her. Oh! I have a great idea. Maybe you can take her to a museum. And then send her roses. Unsigned. That should charm her."

  "Mr. Delamonte...” prompted Marjorie.

  Gray glared at his secretary for her interference. When he looked back, Aubrey was walking toward the elevator, taunting him with that flouncing copper-colored hair. “We're not done here!�
� he called after her in frustration.

  "Oh, we're more than done,” she shot back and called for the elevator.

  "Dammit.” Gray slammed his office door on the way back in. He snatched up his phone and snapped into it. “What?"

  "Oh,” came Hannah's voice uncertainly on the other end. “Gray, it's Hannah. I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

  "Yeah,” Gray told her. He wasn't in the mood to mince words.

  "Oh. Well, I'm sorry, then. I just wanted to call to thank you. I had a wonderful time."

  "Good,” Gray answered shortly. He really didn't feel like doing this. Why had he ever flown Hannah in in the first place? He wanted Aubrey. He should have gone after her instead of trying to dance around the matter in the thoroughly inefficient way that he had.

  Now he had to deal with this on top of the difficult woman leading him on her merry chase.

  "I'm glad,” he said, while experiencing all sorts of dread over how he was going to extricate himself gracefully from this situation.

  "I thought perhaps you'd let me return the favor,” Hannah went on.

  Gray couldn't translate the words. “Return the favor?"

  "Fly you out to LA. Buy you a nice dinner. What do you say?"

  The first thing that came to mind to say wasn't ... pleasant. Gray censored it in his head and replied carefully, “I'm flattered, but ... Now is probably not the best time."

  He closed his eyes in disappointment as he heard the words coming out of his mouth. This was no time to turn into a coward. Except that he was never good at breaking up with women, especially not women he'd led on. It was really quite shameful, when he got right down to it. He should take it like a man.

  Instead he kept babbling. “Things here are just crazy right now and—"

  "No, no. Of course, of course. You're a busy man. I'll tell you what. I'll even let you choose the date."

  Terrific, he thought. “Terrific,” he said to her, trying not to sound like it was anything but.

  "Great. Call me when things calm down a bit."

  "Oh, definitely.” As soon as he figured out what he was going to say to bow out of this quasi-relationship. He picked up the Red Sox cap and adjusted the bill a bit. “Definitely,” he said again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Logically, it shouldn't matter that Grady Little left Pedro Martinez in an inning too long, or that Tim Wakefield's knuckleball failed to knuckle at a key moment in the 11th, or that the men wearing pinstripes touched a rubber pentagon one more time than the men not wearing pinstripes did. And yet, somehow, for millions of people, the difference between joy and misery lay in which team touched that pentagon more often.

  —Scott Stossel, Boston Globe August 22, 2004

  February 18, 2004

  Kaye called at ten as Aubrey was preparing to meet Moira in her suite.

  "I'm on my way to work,” Kaye told her. “Dropped the baby off, so time to talk to you."

  "You have a busy life,” said Aubrey.

  "Not too busy for you, though. How's Vegas? How's Moira?"

  "Moira's great. She really is. Busier than any jobless person I know, though."

  "The rich are like that,” Kaye replied casually. “I'm thinking of coming out and going over some chapters with her in person."

  This perked Aubrey up. “Really?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "That would be fabulous!"

  "I thought you'd be happy."

  "You can stay in my suite with me. Oh, Kaye, it would be so nice to have—” A knock sounded on the door and Aubrey looked up in surprise, frowning. “Uh-oh."

  "Uh-oh what?"

  "Someone's at the door. That never means anything good. Hang on a second.” Putting the cell phone down, Aubrey walked over to the door, peered through. What she saw was an enormous bouquet of roses. Bigger than the last one. At least six dozen.

  Oh, damn him to hell. She pulled open the door and demanded of the poor bellboy struggling under the flowers, “What is this?"

  "Delivery,” he answered her.

  There was a card peeking out of it. Very unlike Gray. Maybe they weren't from Gray. She pulled it out and opened the little envelope. The handwriting was atrocious, barely legible, but she untangled it.

  These are to thank you for the cap. And in case there's more confusion, they're from me.

  That was even more arrogant than not signing it at all. Saying “from me” and expecting her to know instantly who “me” was supposed to be.

  So what if she did know? It was still totally unacceptable.

  "Wait a second,” she told the bellboy and ran back into the suite and came up with a five dollar bill, which she then ran back and pressed into the bellboy's hand. “Take them back. Thanks."

  "Um...” The bellboy looked uncertain. “Do you know who sent these roses?"

  "Yes, I do,” she assured him.

  "They're from Mr. Delamonte."

  "I know. And Mr. Delamonte has already been told not to send me flowers. So take them back to him."

  "But, miss—"

  "Thank you,” she said cheerfully and swung the door closed. Then she picked up her cell phone. “I'm back."

  "Who was at the door?"

  "A bellboy with flowers."

  "A bellboy with flowers?” Kaye repeated.

  "Ready for the news bulletin of the year?"

  "Sure,” Kaye replied slowly.

  "Do you remember my Boston one night stand?"

  "Have you had any others?"

  "No, just the one. And I don't plan on having any more. Turns out they're complicated things, one night stands. Anyway he's here."

  "Who's here?'

  "The guy. Him. The one night stand in Boston."

  "Really?"

  "He works here."

  "And he's sending you roses?” Kaye sounded delighted about this.

  "Kaye, this is not a good thing."

  "It's not?"

  "No. I don't want a relationship with him. Why do you assume that I must?"

  "I don't know. You raved about him. How good the sex was. Et cetera."

  "There's no et cetera. All I raved about was how good the sex was. And believe me, I'm not disputing that Gray's good in bed, just that he wouldn't be—"

  "Wait a second,” Kaye interrupted. “Did you say his name is Gray?"

  Oops.

  "Are you talking about Gray Delamonte?"

  Damn it. “Well—"

  "You had a one night stand with Gray Delamonte?"

  "Yes,” Aubrey admitted, exhaling. “Yes, I did."

  There was a moment of silence. “Gray Delamonte,” Kaye repeated. “I can't believe that. Do you know who he is?"

  "I know very well who he is, yes."

  "He's a famous playboy, Aubrey. He's supposed to be illegally brilliant in bed."

  "Well..."

  "Is he?"

  "I told you he was."

  "But I thought you were exaggerating. That was before I knew who you were talking about. I can't believe you slept with Gray Delamonte. He has to be one of the sexiest men on the planet."

  "I told you he was.” Aubrey was growing a little annoyed. If Kaye thought Gray Delamonte was that damn great, then she could come sleep with him!

  "Yeah, but ... When you told me you'd had a high-quality one night stand, I had no idea you were really serious about that. So Gray's sending you flowers?"

  "Yes. Just because I told him not to,” she reported sulkily. “Just to annoy me."

  "He's sending you flowers to annoy you?” Kaye clarified. “What the hell, Aubrey. You've got one of the nation's most eligible bachelors panting after you—"

  "He isn't panting."

  "Have yourself a fling."

  "I can't have a fling with him, Kaye. Have you met him?"

  "No. Moira hasn't introduced me yet. I don't think he approves of the book. Moira raves about him, though. In the book and in person."

  "He seems like a good son. And a good brother. And he's not the sort of guy yo
u have a fling with, Kaye. He's just not. He's ... The more you know him, the more you want him. And the more you want him, the worse it is when he leaves."

  "Ah,” said Kaye. “He's that sort."

  "Yes, he's that sort. And I've already had my heart broken once in my life. That's plenty for me."

  "The thing with Paul was a mistake. You shouldn't let it keep you from living your life."

  "I'm not. I'm letting it keep me from making the same mistake. When are you coming to Vegas?"

  "I haven't finalized plans yet. But you could obviously use a friend."

  "Desperately."

  "I'll figure it out,” Kaye promised. “I'll let you know.” A pause, then, “Aubrey?

  "Yes?"

  "The cap you had me send out to you. That was Gray's cap, wasn't it?"

  Aubrey closed her eyes and moaned. Her friend Kaye was just too perceptive.

  "Wow,” came Kaye's voice over the telephone, “you must have it bad."

  Aubrey gave a little snort. “Girlfriend, you've got no idea..."

  * * * *

  "Look at that,” said Mark, leaning casually against the doorjamb of his office. “Caught in the act."

  Gray did not take his eyes away from the screen in front of him. “This girl is driving me crazy,” Gray said, watching Aubrey's image wave at his brother Doug through the elevator doors.

  "So you come up here and watch the surveillance videos of her and Doug on a date."

  "I can't stand it, Mark. What does she see in him, anyway? I mean, yeah, he's my little brother and I love him and all that, but if I was a woman I sure as hell wouldn't want to go out with him."

  "Me neither,” Mark replied tongue-in-cheek.

  Gray scowled at him. “You don't understand."

  "Sure I do. You want to go out with her but she prefers little brother."

  "You're not helping matters here, you know.” Gray turned off the monitor.

  "What'd the two of you talk about yesterday?"

  "The weather,” snapped Gray.

  "Well, aren't we in a mood."

  "She's stringing me along."

  "How's it feel?” Mark asked blandly, sitting in the chair Gray vacated to pace around the office.

  "Don't be smug. I'm figuring this out."

  "Figuring what out?"

  "How to break down her defenses. I've got a plan."