New York, Actually

by Sarah Morgan

  “I want to have the conversation now.”

  “You’re here to take advantage when I’m weak and vulnerable?”

  “I’m here because I owe you an apology.” He slid his phone into his pocket, thinking that he’d never found a situation so uncomfortable. “I acted like a jerk, and when I act like a jerk I make a point of apologizing fast.”

  “Jerk. That’s not a very lawyerly word. The defendant is a jerk, Your Honor.”

  “Plaintiff.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind. I’m not here as a lawyer.”

  She delved into her purse for her key, removing lipstick and tissues. “You were angry.”

  “I’m not angry now.” His anger had lasted as long as it had taken him to type her name into the internet. What he’d found had shocked and sickened him. And it had explained a lot about her. About the reasons she held herself at a distance and her reluctance to embark on relationships. The difficulty she had trusting people. “Where were you? Who did you drink champagne with?”

  “Mark. He was taking care of Valentine for me.” She glanced up from her purse and focused her gaze on him. “Why are you here? Did you already tell me that?”

  “No. Do you want me to help you find your keys?”

  “I can find my own keys, thank you. See?” She pulled them out of her purse and jangled them in front of him. “Keys. How long have you been here?”

  “An hour? I tried to follow you but I kept getting waylaid by people wanting free advice on divorce.”

  “Be grateful you’re not a doctor. People might have removed their clothes and shown you their rashes.” She fumbled with the keys and dropped them.

  “Mark is your neighbor? The cook?”

  “He’s an artist. He illustrates children’s books. Cooking is a hobby.”

  “Does Mark know your true identity? Does he think you’re Molly?”

  “I am Molly. But if you’re asking if he knows I work under the pen name of Aggie, the answer is yes. He knows. He’s a friend.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “You’re just some guy I met in the park.” She bent to retrieve her keys at the same time he did.

  Her mouth was so close to his he could feel the warmth of her breath, but he knew if he kissed her now she’d probably blacken his eye. And he wouldn’t have blamed her.

  “I’m more than that, Molly.”

  He kept thinking about the things she’d told him. He imagined her, eight years old, watching as her mother left her, taking the dog she loved. He thought about everything she’d achieved, and how vulnerable she was under the tough, smart exterior. He thought about her naked and uninhibited in his bed and how scared she must have been when she realized that he knew her secret.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there for a moment as if she was making a decision. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “I am not kissing you.” She stood up, her keys in her hand. “Not going to happen.”

  He refrained from pointing out that it had already happened. Several times. “Any particular reason why?”

  “Because this relationship has already gone far enough. I hurt you tonight. I saw your face. I have a record of hurting men. You should have seen what I did to Rupert.” She poked the key at the door, missing the lock.

  He felt a rush of different emotions. Exasperation, sympathy and tenderness because she obviously thought she was a danger to men. “From what I can see, he was the one who hurt you. He tried to destroy you. Your professional reputation. Your personal life. All of it.”

  She stilled. “That’s what happens when you make someone really mad.”

  “No. That’s what happens when someone is an asshole. An adult can be angry without throwing a fit.”

  “I did warn you it was ugly. And it wasn’t his fault. It was the media. The public.”

  Did she really believe that? He looked at her face and decided this wasn’t the time to put her right. “Give me your keys.” He held out his hand but she shook her head.

  “I can open my own front door, thank you. It’s best if you leave. And if you’re really a decent person you will forget about what you learned tonight and you’ll forget about me.”

  “You’re not an easy woman to forget, Molly.”

  “Rupert would agree with you. He told a journalist that he would never get over me, but that he hoped that one day he would learn to live alongside the pain of losing me.”

  “Rupert needs to man up. Do my sisters know you’re Aggie?”

  “No. Gabe and Mark are the only two people who know apart from my publisher. And now you know. So I’m doomed.” The way she said it tugged at something inside him.

  “Why are you doomed?”

  “Because I don’t know you, and it’s not a nice feeling being exposed to someone you don’t know.”

  “You spent an entire night naked in my bed.” And he couldn’t get a single moment of that night out of his mind.

  “That’s an entirely different type of exposure. Physical exposure is nowhere near as scary as emotional exposure.” She swayed slightly. “You can see my naked body any day but I’d rather keep my naked feelings covered up, thank you very much. They don’t look as good as they’re supposed to.” She jabbed at the door again. “My key doesn’t fit. It’s the wrong key. Or maybe it’s the wrong door…” She swayed again and he gently removed the key from her fingers and opened the door.

  Valentine squeezed past them and bounded into the apartment, sniffing the floor and wagging his tail.

  “Thank you.” Molly followed him in, dropped her purse and shoes and collapsed facedown on the sofa. “You should leave now.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “If you’re hoping for more juicy gossip, I’m not talking.” Her voice was muffled and Daniel shook his head and made straight for the kitchen.

  “You need strong coffee.”

  “I don’t want coffee. I want more champagne. It was delicious. It made all my problems seem lighter. Fizzier. Floatier. Is that a word? If it isn’t, it should be.” She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Valentine trotted up to her and nudged her hip.

  When she didn’t move, the dog sent Daniel a worried look.

  “Yeah, I’m dealing with it. I’ve got this, buddy.” Daniel made coffee and took it across to her. Valentine sprawled like a sentinel next to the sofa and Daniel moved Molly’s legs and sat down. “Drink this.”

  “I never drink coffee after two o’clock. It keeps me awake.”

  “I want you awake. I want you to talk to me.”

  “Too tired.” Her eyes remained closed. “I’ve told you. No more gory details. It’s like feeding the piranhas. Whatever you throw at them it’s never quite enough. They’re not happy until they’ve stripped off all your flesh.”

  From what he’d read, it was a good analogy.

  “I’m not a piranha. I’m a friend. I want facts.”

  Her eyes opened. “I thought you’d already looked me up?”

  “We both know that what gets reported isn’t necessarily the facts.”

  “It’s all true. I’m Molly the Man-eater. The Black Widow without the hairy legs. Most men would rather swim with a great white shark than date me. But you were warned. I warned you, and you ignored the warning so now I’m probably going to bite you in half or sting you with my scorpion tail—or something.” She rolled onto her back, one arm flopping over the edge of the sofa.

  Valentine was on his feet instantly, licking her hand, trying to persuade her to sit up.

  Daniel thought to himself that if humans were as devoted as dogs, life would be a lot smoother and calmer. “I ignored the warning because I didn’t care about any of that.” He reached out and stroked Valentine’s head, reassuring him. “You can sit down, boy. She’s going to be okay.”

  Valentine didn’t budge. He nudged at Molly’s chest, encouraging her to sit up, but she didn’t.

  “It’s okay, D
aniel,” she said, and flung her forearm over her eyes, “you can take your heart, and your humor, and your superior bedroom skills and put them somewhere safe.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Sit up and drink this coffee.”

  “I can’t sit up. The world is moving. If I sit up, I’ll fall off the edge.” She gave a moan and Valentine whined, too, looking at Daniel as if to say it was time someone did something.

  “Sit up. You’re scaring your dog.” Daniel pushed aside a stack of books and put the coffee on the table. Then he stood up and scooped Molly into his arms. She flopped like a rag doll.

  Valentine stood up, his tail wagging with approval. Molly didn’t share the sentiment.

  “What are you doing? Where are we going? Can you stop moving? I’m getting motion sickness.”

  “I’m going to sober you up.”

  “I don’t want to be sobered up. I like myself just the way I am. Fizzy. I was anxious about what you might do, and now I’m not so anxious. I’m anesthetized.”

  Hating the fact that he’d made her anxious, he walked to the bathroom and lowered her carefully to the floor.

  “Stand there and don’t move.”

  “I can’t promise. My legs aren’t doing what I want them to. Why are we in my bathroom? Is this another excuse to get me naked?”

  “I don’t need an excuse for that.” He slid the crisscross straps off her shoulders and let the dress slither to the floor.

  Holding her upright with one hand, trying to ignore her body, he leaned into her shower and turned it to cold.

  “You are not putting me in a cold shower. If you put me in there Valentine will bite you. There is no way you’re going to—agh!” She gasped as he deposited her under the freezing stream of water. “You’re a torturer. Valentine, help, help! Seize!”

  The dog came charging into the bathroom, his feet slithering on the tiles in his haste to reach her. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then hurled himself into the shower to be with Molly. Knocked off balance, she slipped and landed on Daniel, who swore fluently.

  Struggling with a wet woman and a wet dog, he shifted position to give himself more traction. Molly started to giggle helplessly and he tightened his grip on her arms to stop her falling, soaking himself in the process.

  “Valentine,” he said through his teeth, “can you get out of the shower? You’re not helping.”

  The dog wagged his tail, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.

  Daniel swiped his hand over his face to clear his vision.

  “I’ve never had a shower with a man and a dog before.” Molly grabbed the front of his shirt to support herself. “It’s a whole new experience.”

  “I’ve lost count of the number of suits I’ve ruined since I met you. Right now I wish he didn’t love water so much.”

  “Valentine hates water, but he really loves me. That’s why he’s in here. Isn’t he the most adorable perfect dog?”

  “I’m not sure what I think of him. All I know is that he is costing me a hell of a lot in dry-cleaning bills.” He held her there, and then grabbed a towel from the rack. His shirt stuck to his skin and he was pleased he’d at least thought to remove his shoes.

  He draped the towel around her, managed to reach around her to turn the shower off and ran his hand over his face to clear his vision.

  “Coffee. Then you’re going to talk to me.”

  Her head flopped onto his chest. “There’s nothing to say you haven’t already read.”

  He rubbed her hair with the towel and grabbed a robe from the back of the door. “There are things that don’t make sense.”

  “It all makes perfect sense. I tried to fall in love again and it didn’t happen. No love. No feelings.” She swayed as Daniel tied the robe at her middle.

  “I get that part. What I don’t get is how ending a relationship meant you were labeled as a man-eater.” He stripped off his soaked shirt and saw her gaze drift to his chest. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Why not? I am a man-eater. And you’re seriously hot.”

  “And you’re seriously drunk.”

  “Not really. I can walk in a straight line. Maybe you should take the rest of your clothes off. Then I can lick you all over.”

  He decided it was less taxing on his willpower to keep as many clothes on as possible. All the same he struggled to keep his focus. “And I don’t understand how you could have been fired from your job. An affair gone wrong is not cause for dismissal. You should have sued them.”

  “Viewing figures plummeted and it was my fault. They did the only thing they could do.”

  She stumbled back to the sofa and curled up. Without makeup and with her hair hanging in damp tendrils, she looked small and vulnerable. “You want the whole sorry tale? Why does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “We have no emotional commitment, remember?”

  His eyes darkened. “Just because we’re not in love, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “What are you going to do with the information?”

  He was about to make a sharp comment and then he saw the vulnerability in her eyes and realized she was genuinely scared.

  The thought of her being scared ripped something inside him. “I would never expose your secrets.”

  “If you hadn’t shown up at that party, you would never have known.”

  Should he tell her the truth? Should he tell her that he’d known before the party? No. There was nothing to be gained by telling her. The only thing that mattered was that he knew. The rest was just mechanics.

  And his view of “Aggie” had undergone a huge transformation in the past few hours. He’d had no idea that his Molly was the woman behind the popular advice column. That changed everything. For a start, Molly knew what she was talking about.

  He handed her the mug of coffee. “Drink and tell me everything. From the beginning.”

  She curled her hands around the mug. “My postgraduate research was in an aspect of human behavior and relationships and because of that I was asked to act as a consultant for a new reality TV show called The Right One. There had been dating shows before, but the producers wanted to increase the credibility and interest by adding in sections of the show where a psychologist talked about a different aspect of finding a partner. I was Dr. Kathy. Don’t ask me why, but the moment it aired my section became the most popular segment of the show.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “They had two presenters, but the show was really all about Rupert. He trained as a doctor, but he left soon after qualifying. He presented a medical show first before he was poached to front The Right One. He was great in front of the camera. Good-looking, charismatic, funny—and he played up the doctor side even though he’d never laid hands on a patient once he’d qualified. He had a massive female fan following.” She took a sip of coffee and eyed him over the rim of the mug. “They called him Dr. Sexy.”

  Daniel wanted to punch him. “I get it. The guy had an adoring audience.”

  She lowered the cup. “People tuned in to watch the show partly because of Rupert. There was a female co-presenter, Tabitha, but she didn’t get anywhere near as much attention. I was supposed to represent the serious side. I interviewed the participants and then recorded a piece to camera. I was never live. It was a very comfortable role for me. Then one day Tabitha was sick half an hour before they were about to go on air and they asked me to step in.”

  “And you were a natural.”

  She shook her head. “Far from it. I was out of my comfort zone and it was Rupert who saved the day, and the audience loved it because they saw it as another example of what a great person he was. He was a big star, but he took time to make sure I was comfortable. Tabitha was off for a month. By the end of the month viewing figures had tripled. Tabitha decided she didn’t want to come back—she was tired of always being in Rupert’s shadow. I replaced her. We had an on-screen chemistry, and soon the public was tuning in
to watch our relationship develop. The producers milked it. They suggested Rupert ask me to dinner on air, so he did. The story made some of the tabloid newspapers.”

  “Did you go?”

  “Yes. I liked him. He was good company, and he wasn’t called Dr. Sexy for nothing. The entire viewing public was in love with him.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “No, but I didn’t think it mattered. We were having fun, that’s all.”

  It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. “He thought differently?”

  She put the mug down on the table, her hand shaking. “We’d finished recording the show and were backstage one night when he told me he loved me. He asked me to marry him. Right there and then he went down on one knee and produced a ring. I thought it was a joke. I was worried he was going to electrocute himself because there were wires everywhere. I told him to get up. That was when I realized he was deadly serious. He told me he’d never felt this way about anyone before. He was crazy about me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Everyone loved him. He assumed I loved him, too. How could I not? And I couldn’t answer that, obviously. I don’t know why I can’t fall in love.” Her voice rose slightly. “All I know is that I can’t. And maybe it’s because of my mum. It would make sense that I’m worried about being rejected, but deep down I think it’s something more. That it’s not what I’ve witnessed or experienced, it’s part—” she swallowed hard, struggling to speak “—it’s part of who I am. There’s something missing in me.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’ve never actually said that aloud to anyone before. It must be the champagne.”

  He hoped it was because she trusted him, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he drew her hands away from her face. “I presume he didn’t take it well?”

  “No.” There was a long pause, as if she was deciding whether she’d already said too much. “And it turned out the production team had somehow found out what he was planning and filmed it live. I had no way of knowing, but what I thought was a private moment between us was in fact beamed live into millions of homes. It was seen by an entire population of women who thought Rupert was the catch of the century. Dr. Sexy being jilted. Did you watch it? It’s right there on YouTube. It had thirty-five million views last time I looked, but that was a few years ago.” Her voice shook so badly he decided this wasn’t the moment to tell her there had been a few million more since then. Watching that video had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life.