With a sigh, he walked toward the entrance. It was better this way. Having a permanent relationship with Betsy Kincaid would only turn him gray before he was thirty-five. She was crazy, contradictory, emotionally screwed-up…worst of all, in love with another man. So what if he still couldn’t stop dreaming about her? A few thousand hours of psychiatric care should cure him of that little problem easily enough.
“Wow, you guys put on a pretty good show,” the receptionist said when he reached her desk, happily abandoning all pretense of being consumed by her work.
Matt ground his teeth together, but politely refrained from snarling out the snide remark he longed to make.
“Who puts on a good show?” a female voice asked from behind him.
He turned to find a pretty brunette standing there, giving him a questioning look. But before he could answer, or even think of the properly vague response to make—short, of course, of telling her to mind her own business—the receptionist nodded at him, grinning as though she’d just uncovered the juiciest secret in the world.
“Him and Betsy,” she said.
The brunette smiled at him. “Hi. You’re Betsy’s friend?”
Matt hesitated. Was he? Well, maybe once, but obviously not anymore, even though these women didn’t have to hear all the gory details. “More or less.”
“From the looks of it, more more than less.” The receptionist was still grinning as she pulled her headset off. Tossing it on the desk, she pushed her chair back and got up. “Lunch calls,” she announced to the brunette. “You taking over for me today, April?”
“Totally.” April looked over Matt’s shoulder and gave a little wave to someone behind him. “Hi, Tyler.”
Matt turned his head to stare across the reception area at the man in the dark slacks and rolled-up shirtsleeves who strode past, aiming a brief wave and an even briefer smile in their direction. Tyler. He narrowed his eyes, studying the man. That was Tyler? He looked like a blank wall but with less personality. And that was the guy Betsy was saving her sizzle for?
“So that’s Tyler,” he murmured.
“Totally,” April said. “Nice man.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “But all that blond hair and those light eyes. It’s just sort of dull, you know? I mentioned it to Betsy, too. She promised she wouldn’t tell him.”
Matt struggled not to laugh out loud when he considered what Betsy must have thought about that less-than-flattering assessment of her dream man. He flashed a grin at April, who was obviously a sensible woman with good taste, even if Betsy wasn’t. “Couldn’t agree with you more. And I promise I won’t tell him, either.” He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and checked the time. “Have to get back to work. Nice meeting you.”
Then he left the offices of Worldwide Computing Magazine. His gut instinct had been right. The decision to confront Betsy at her job was definitely one of the worst, most humiliating ideas he’d ever had.
****
Betsy rounded the corner, keeping her back to the reception desk so no one could see how much it hurt to walk away from him.
But it was the right thing to do. They were completely incompatible. Maybe not in superficial things, but on the most basic level. Even the fact that she felt good when she was with him meant nothing, because he understood too much about her to ever be able to forget how flawed she was. He knew how little she thought of herself. Worse, he knew how little her former lovers thought of her.
Of course, she more or less knew the same about him. He doubted himself at times, and his former lovers had treated him badly, too.
Her heart suddenly went out to him, and she stopped walking and leaned her head back against the wall while she rethought her decision. After all, he had chanced rejection to face her publicly—and in front of her co-workers, no less. Surely that had to mean something. So maybe she should at least go back there and apologize, even consider asking him to come for dinner.
She peered around the corner, smiling when she saw he was at the reception desk. Then she stopped smiling and frowned instead when she realized he wasn’t alone. April was also there, standing very close as she looked up at him, a big smile wreathing her face. Betsy couldn’t see his face, but she had no doubt he was smiling right back at her. What man wouldn’t?
And they looked perfect together—both tall, both gorgeous, both sexy as hell. All right, forget the heartfelt apology. Her initial instinct had been right. She and Matt were all wrong for each other.
“So that’s the guy who’s been putting a wiggle in your walk.” Flo came toward her, winking.
Betsy jerked her attention away from the perfect couple at the reception desk and stared at Flo. “What makes you say that?”
Flo grinned. “I heard you two going at each other, remember? Condoms and bikini waxes. Some hot stuff.”
Betsy suppressed a sigh. So much for having a private conversation when Flo was around.
“I also saw the look on your face. And on his. You guys don’t hide it very well.”
Well, of course that was ridiculous. She might wear her heart on her sleeve, but Matt didn’t. He wasn’t ready for commitment, either. Not the kind of commitment she would want. He’d told her so more than once. And by the time he was ready for it, he wouldn’t choose someone like her—a woman who wasn’t even skilled enough to be naturally sexy.
Tyler crossed the reception area, walking briskly, like a man on a mission.
He was the one she really wanted, the one she had been in training to sizzle for—right? “Sorry,” she told Flo. “But you’re misinterpreting things.” She nodded toward the reception desk. “See, he’s over there looking very cozy with April.”
Flo glanced at them over her shoulder. “April’s got this Marco guy she’s all wrapped up in. Can’t stop talking about him half the time. She just said ‘hi’ to your friend. He said ‘hi’ back. That’s all. Like ships passing in the night.”
“That’s more or less our situation too,” Betsy insisted. “Ships passing in the night. We just had a business relationship, and now it’s over.”
Flo shrugged, obviously not convinced. “Pity to let someone that cute get away. Oh well, your loss, I guess. Gotta get my coat, then off to lunch. See you later.” She walked on.
Betsy stared after her and frowned. Her loss? How was sparing her heart another romantic battering her loss? Flo just didn’t understand the situation and never would. Shrugging off the woman’s comment, Betsy peeked around the corner again to see what they were up to now.
Nothing.
April was sitting at the reception desk, and Matt was gone. Good. Gone was the way she wanted him.
Gone from her office, her home, her life…and her heart.
Chapter Nineteen
“You look like crap.”
Matt scowled at Rob. He’d just come into the apartment, hadn’t even had a chance to put down his briefcase or take off his coat, and that was the greeting he got? You look like crap!
Narrowing his eyes at the cousin-from-hell, he bared his teeth in a pissed-off snarl. “Thank you for your sterling welcome and your invaluable opinion. But just for the record, I feel wonderful.”
Rob snuggled into the sofa cushions and propped his feet on the coffee table, shrugging as though being snarled at by Matt didn’t concern him in the least. Which it probably didn’t. “Couldn’t tell it from your expression.” He smiled as he took a beer can from the end table.
Matt tossed his briefcase onto the floor, then pulled off his coat and dumped it over Rob’s head. “For your information, we lawyers have a magnificent talent for hiding our true feelings.”
Rob clawed the coat off his head and emerged from its folds still smiling. “If that’s true, then mega-congratulations. Give the man an Oscar. Best impersonation of terminal misery I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, well, what’s making you so gleeful?”
Rob shoved the coat into a heap beside him and popped the tab on his beer can. “Love, of course. Best thin
g in the world for putting a spring in your step and a blush on your cheek.” He raised his voice and called into the next room. “Isn’t that right, Arlen?”
The bedroom door opened, and a face peeked out, looking just as happy as Rob did. “Isn’t what right, Robbie?”
“Isn’t love the greatest thing?”
Arlen nodded, his tousled blond hair bobbing enthusiastically up and down. “Better than booze and chocolate combined.”
Rob waved his beer can in Matt’s direction. “Tell that to Matt.”
Arlen grinned at Matt. “Hi, Matt. Robbie’s right. It would really be good for you. Hope you don’t mind me saying it but, frankly, you look like crap.”
Matt groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered.
Arlen shrugged apologetically and retreated back into the bedroom, still looking too pleased to be really chastened.
Matt shook his head. “Wonderful. I’m living in a relationship-advice column.” He picked up his briefcase and turned to go before any more nuggets of wisdom were lobbed his way. But not soon enough. Rob grabbed his arm to bring him back.
“She loves you, Matt. She said so.”
Matt pulled his arm free. “Not anymore she doesn’t, if she ever did. Women change their minds, remember? They’re noted for it.”
“Bull.”
“The hell with your bull. They’re moody and unstable. Always ready to star in some big emotional scene. Every man knows that. It’s in their hormones. Real drama queens, some of them.”
Rob shook his head, obviously determined to stick up for his friend. “Maybe Sam and some of your other girlfriends were like that. But not Betsy. She doesn’t act that way.”
“They all act that way. Or else they do dumb things, make stupid mistakes, and then blame you for it.”
Rob sighed with disgust. “God, for a supposedly smart guy, you are so full of it.” He stabbed a finger toward the coffee table where his cell phone lay. “Call her, Matt. Better yet, go and talk to her. Hell, crash her office party. That’d really send her a message.”
Call her. See her. As if he hadn’t dialed her number more than once, walked past her home every chance he got, and then each time decided no, let the lady make her own choices, her own mistakes.
Then there was that disastrous face-off he’d had with her in her office. That encounter had really knocked him on his ass and left his self-confidence lying in bloody pieces all over the floor. But Rob didn’t have to know that, so he concentrated on the one thing he could be honest about. “On the night of her office party, I’ll be in my new pad, happily greeting the movers as they finally finish their cross-country trek to deliver my furniture. So, sorry, no party-crashing for me.”
Rob looked at him with mild contempt, apparently not impressed by Matt’s cross-country furniture, or his excuse. “Coward.”
Matt made an impolite noise in response. “If you’re so keen on giving romantic advice, write a book.” Then, snatching the beer can from Rob’s hand, he headed for the kitchen so he didn’t have to hear any more of Rob’s unsolicited opinions.
Sitting down at the table, he chugged the beer, then got himself a fresh can and chugged that too, getting angrier and angrier the more he thought about the situation. Rob was probably right. He should go over to that damn hotel, barge into her damn party, and tell her she was a damn fool.
He sighed and crushed the empty can in his fist, flinging it into the trash bin as his anger deflated into something worse than anger—pure, head-banging frustration—because he knew he couldn’t do it. Sizzling at that party was what she wanted, what she’d been waiting for, planning for, and he couldn’t deprive her of it.
If she changed her mind and decided Tyler was the creep Matt knew he was, it would have to be her choice.
“Right.” He nodded, silently congratulating himself on being so damn noble.
There was only one major downside to it. He snagged another beer from the fridge and carried it into his bedroom. Sometimes it felt like sheer, unadulterated hell to be the self-sacrificing type.
****
Betsy tossed her comb on the dresser and studied her reflection in the mirror. She’d decided to wear her hair down, not in the upsweep Rob had first demonstrated. For tonight, she didn’t want sleek and elegant. She wanted, as Rob had so aptly termed it, sexy, flirty, maybe even semi-slutty, though with a definite overlay of ladylike elegance. And that’s exactly the way she looked.
Twirling around in front of the mirror, she studied the rest of the package she’d put together and nodded. Everything fit perfectly. The hairstyle matched her dress—the red one Matt had chosen for her—and her shoes—the stiletto-heeled, rhinestone-encrusted pumps she’d chosen for herself. Combined with her new, more assertive, kick-ass attitude, a whole other Betsy Kincaid was going to arrive at that office party, armed and ready to do sexual battle.
The best thing about the new Betsy was that she was doing this on her own. She didn’t need help from anyone, least of all from Matt Pollard. She didn’t need his stupid sex lessons either, and she certainly didn’t miss them. Or him. Even after ten days, three hours…she glanced at the clock…fifteen minutes and twelve-and-a-half seconds, she barely thought of him anymore.
Slipping into her coat and grabbing her purse, Betsy left the apartment just in time to catch Mrs. Lattimer at her open front door, intent as ever on doing God’s work of keeping the halls free from rampaging lovers while still getting her jollies by secretly listening in on their private make-out sessions.
Fixing the lady with a steely look, Betsy walked toward her in the fuck-me-now stilettos, more than happy to share her newest personal accessory—a firm, no-nonsense attitude—with the lady.
Operation Sizzle would soon be over, and whether or not Matt was there to witness its end, she was about to take Part One of her final exams before declaring it an official success. Of course she hadn’t planned to spring her housing ace-in-the-hole until the upcoming tenants’ meeting next week. But what the hell! Forget the meeting. Now was as good a time as any to show her fellow tenants what she was made of.
She quickened her steps as she neared Apartment 6-B. “Mrs. Lattimer, we have to talk.”
In answer, Lorena Lattimer’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Uh, can’t. Waiting for a delivery.” Her wary expression clearly signaled she knew something about Betsy had changed and she had no desire to deal with it.
Smart woman. Something had changed, and Betsy vowed it would never change back to what it once was. But good-neighbor Lattimore was wrong in one important way: whether she wanted to or not, she was definitely going to have to deal with that change.
She gave the woman a slow, icy, don’t-mess-with-me smile. “We can wait together, and while we wait, we can talk.”
Mrs. Lattimore shook her head with a nervous, spastic movement. “No, sorry, can’t.”
She began to retreat into her apartment, but Betsy braced a hand against the open door to keep from having it slammed in her face. “Yes, we can.” She took a firm step into Lorena Lattimore’s foyer to show that no was not an option. “We’re going to have a friendly little talk about the nice family in apartment Twelve-C and about a tenant’s right to privacy in her own bed. And we’re going to have it now.”
****
Ten minutes later, she stood before a hastily assembled meeting of the tenants-association leadership, trying not to hyperventilate as she did her damnedest to wield her new Betsy-Kincaid-semi-superwoman power like the force she knew it should be.
They had all gathered in Mrs. Lattimer’s living room—Mrs. Keegan and Mr. Huffnagle sharing the sofa, Mrs. Lattimer settled in an armchair, and Betsy herself, the center of attention, standing tall in her sexy stilettos, coat open and vampy dress prominently on display so they’d know Betsy Kincaid wasn’t anybody’s frumpy fool. She was finally a presence to contend with.
Glancing around at the trio, she reminded herself that the most they could do was get her evicted along with th
e Donnelly family. Not a great outcome, but probably not the worst punishment a person could suffer for showing the world she was no longer a pushover…or at least not as much of one as she used to be.
“I apologize for bringing you here on such short notice,” she told them as Lorena Lattimer looked at her with tight-lipped resentment, Mae Keegan looked at her with fluttery interest, and Evan Huffnagle momentarily abandoned his usual austerity so that he could look at her high-class, low-cut dress with subtly wide-eyed excitement. “But I believe what I have to say is important enough to warrant your time. This is about the association’s decision to have the Donnelly family evicted. The problem with your plan is that the Donnellys are a family in need of help, not eviction. Iris Donnelly’s husband died less than a year ago, leaving her the sole support of four rambunctious but really sweet children. She’s an overstressed single mom with too little time and too many obligations. So I, for one, have offered to help her with her kids a couple of evenings a week. I’ll play games with them and make sure they learn that walls aren’t the proper canvas for their artistic efforts.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” Mae Keegan dimpled a fluttery smile at Betsy.
“Yes, very noble, Ms. Kincaid,” Evan Huffnagle agreed as he sat up straighter and craned his head, but very discreetly, so he could get a better look at her cleavage. “And on a personal level, you should be commended, but I really don’t see why the rest of us should—”
“Because we are a loving, caring group…a community,” Betsy interrupted, pushing her open coat back a little more to give his excited eyes a clearer view.
Sneaky maybe, but if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that smokin’ babes always used the opponent’s weaknesses to their advantage. Especially in a good cause.
“And when one of us has a slight problem, we’re all eager to pitch in and assist.” She gestured expansively around her. “Along, of course, with keeping this beautiful building—our home—as comfortable and welcoming as possible, and giving Diego, our hard-working super, a helping hand.”
Operation Sizzle Page 21
