After dinner, Megan offered to bathe the rather filthy Andrea, and then she and Tom put the exhausted girl to bed.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Megan offered. “You must be ready to keel over.”
Tom held out his arms for another hug, perhaps their hundredth in the last twenty, crazy hours. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said quietly. “Without you, this whole thing... Well, I just don’t know.”
“You’d have done the same for me. You’re family to me, I hope you know that.”
Their embrace tightened briefly before Tom let her go. “You get some rest. Maybe, once things settle down here a bit,” Tom offered, “I could buy you dinner to thank you properly for everything you’ve done.”
Megan kissed his cheek. “I’d like that very much.”
***
“It’s not in the dictionary,” Erica maintained, for the third time.
“It doesn’t have to be in the dictionary. It just has to be in common usage.” Megan had been trying for the last forty minutes to make Erica concede this simple rule, but progress was minimal.
Erica leaned forward from her seat on the small sofa and removed the word from the board. Megan, sitting across from her on the carpet, harrumphed indignantly and put it back. “Listen, if I was texting you about a guy...”
“Texting? You’re bringing texting into Scrabble, now? Give me a break!”
“If you’ll let me finish,” Megan said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “If I were texting you, and described a guy as H-A-W-T, you’d know exactly what I meant, right?”
Erica threw up her hands. “Of course I would. But I wouldn’t use it in a term paper for a professor.”
Megan growled in exasperation. “Yes, I know, but you’d understand what it meant. It is, therefore and by definition, in common usage.”
“Bull.”
“Fine.” Megan removed the word and shifted to another, equally promising area of the board. “Try this, then.”
Erica watched her friend place the word, took a large slug of rum and coke, and set down the glass like a judge’s gavel. “That, young lady, is what the rulebook calls a ‘proper noun’.”
“Huh?”
“Oh. My. God. If the word begins,” she explained, as though to someone with learning difficulties, “with a capital letter, then it’s not allowed in Scrabble.”
“You just want to win,” Megan contended, her green eyes narrowing.
“You’re just a cheat!” Erica countered.
“A cheat?! Says the girl who thinks ‘cretin’ is spelled with a ‘K’.”
“I was mixing it up,” Erica explained tiredly, “with ‘keratin’.”
“Well, then you’re a cheat, and a dim-wit.”
Accusations flew, and a few seat cushions, before the pair calmed down and finished the game in something approaching a respectful manner.
“You ever played Scrabble with a guy?” Erica asked, a glint in her eye.
“No. But I suspect you have, oh great Dater of Nerds.”
Erica helped her friend to pack away the set. “Remember when you were in Chicago for that gallery opening with, er... He Who Shall Not Be Named?”
Megan nodded and made the established, extremely rude gesture.
“Well this cute guy from MIT came over, you remember him, the guy from Slovenia?”
“I thought it was Slovakia?” Megan said.
Erica cast her mind back, and came up blank. “Wherever. He was cute. Anyway, we’re playing Scrabble and he says that any naughty word we can make, we have to act out.”
Megan stared down at the bag of tiles and then plopped them on the table top as if suddenly discovering, to her disgust, that they were inexplicably sticky. “You don’t need to tell me. I can imagine.”
“Want a highlight?” Erica asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“No.”
“He was pretty good,” Erica assured him. “I’d already put down ‘course’, and he had the ‘inter’ and, well, I guess the game kinda petered out after that.”
“One track mind,” Megan said, sotto voce.
They put away the set, found a crappy movie full of hot guys on TV, and poured more vodka and cokes.
“So,” Erica asked, apropos of nothing, “when’s the big date with Tom?”
Megan made a face. “It’s hardly a date. He’s thanking me for keeping his soul in one piece while his daughter was missing. If you remember. Erica.”
“You say potato, I say it’s high time you two gave it a try.”
Megan sat up and muted the TV. “Is this not,” she asked pointedly, “the exact same advice you gave me about a certain brother of his?”
“That was different. Jake’s a playboy. Tom’s the steady, dependable type. A father, a CEO....”
“And a lifelong friend who has had a very tough couple of weeks and who just wants to say thanks,” Megan added firmly.
“OK, I’ll leave it. But, if something were to happen between you two...”
“Which it won’t,” Megan interrupted.
“...Then there would be a huge crowd of people, with me at the front, singing ‘Thank God, Finally’ in four-part harmony.”
“Sing whatever you want. He’s a friend.” Megan clicked the sound back on. “And we’re going out on Saturday, since you asked.”
Erica clapped like a ten-year old. “Awesome!” Then, in a sultry whisper, “Wear the black lacey ones. He’ll love those.”
Megan growled and stared hard at the TV, but not before a smile crept over her face.
***
“Oh, Tom... for me?”
As bunches of flowers went, these were absolutely sensational, a riot of carefully combined colors. “You’re more than welcome,” Tom grinned, standing on her front porch in a casual tan suit and blue button-down shirt.
“Let me put these in some water. Erica?! Fetch a vase or something, would you?”
Her roommate’s part in Megan’s pre-date routine, albeit recently established, had become indispensible. For this date, they had selected a slim-fitted violet blouse that brought out Megan’s green eyes, and a figure-hugging, black, knee-length skirt. Reaching the top of the stairs, Megan handed the bunch to a slack-jawed Erica.
“Fuck me,” Erica breathed. Make no mistake, honey, that is a bunch of flowers,” she gushed.
“Just find a vase and make sure they don’t die, OK?” Megan put the finishing touches to her hair, which she had decided to wear down, flowing over her shoulders.
“OK,” Erica said, still shell-shocked. “Did you wear the black lacey ones, like I said?”
“I,” she said by way of a reply, “will see you later. Cocktails and a date report to follow, OK?”
The sense of déjà vu was palpable but Megan, to her relief, found it possible to ignore. There was, after all, no Lamborghini, but a very comfortable Mercedes. Neither was there the least chance that the black lacey panties, which Megan was, in fact, wearing – a fact connected more with prosaic laundry issues than any desire for Tom to see her in them – would end up on her date’s bedroom floor. It’s just friends, having dinner together, repeated Megan’s inner moral compass. Nothing untoward is going to happen. Honestly.
“How does seafood sound?” Tom asked as he drove them onto one of Boston’s broad, cross-town avenues under the final rays of a setting sun.
“Sounds perfect.”
Megan felt calm and comfortable with this man, in a way she’d never felt with any other. There had been, for a long time, the feeling that Tom would never let her down. Whether Tom knew about her handful of dates with his brother or not – and he gave no indication that he did – theirs was a special and distinct relationship, very different from the jet-setting, high-profile antics of Jake. Without having to worry about sex, they could just be themselves. It was like a knot gradually unwinding in Megan’s core, and it felt wonderful.
Legal Seafood, that dependable bastion of Boston cuisine, was as packed as usual, but Tom had obviou
sly requested a table which would give them some privacy while still offering a view of the harbor. They decided against a quick spin around the Aquarium before dinner, feeling that it smacked of hypocrisy to enjoy the natural beauty of the seas before tucking into large portions of the same.
“Now, I want you to just go ahead and order anything you want, OK?”
“I don’t need to be told twice,” Megan said, perusing the more expensive end of an already expensive menu.
“They have my card on file. I don’t think we’ll even see a check, if that salves your conscience.”
Starters arrived, and wine, with Megan and Tom finding the background noise just reasonable enough for them to speak at normal volume levels. “Sometimes it’s a fight to be heard,” Tom admitted. “I wouldn’t want you screaming at me.”
Provided you don’t talk about Jake, there’s no danger of that. “Tom, how’s Andrea doing?”
“She’s fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Really. I mean, I could haul her over the coals and call her an idiot for worrying everyone like that, but where would it get us?”
“I agree,” Megan said, trying her first spoonful of the lobster bisque.
“She knows what she did wrong, and I don’t need her to go through life weighed down by having scared everyone to death. Especially you,” Tom added.
“The whole city was scared there, for a moment,” she countered mildly.
“Andrea would hate to think she’d upset you,” Tom continued. “I can’t think of anyone she respects more.”
Megan smiled beautifully and raised a glass. “To Andrea, our favorite pain in the ass.” They clinked glasses and laughed together. So easy, so effortless. So natural. As though we’re meant to...
“Don’t you have exams coming up? I didn’t want to pull you away from your books,” Tom said, “but I had to thank you somehow.”
Megan nodded. “Next week. I think I’m ready. Or nearly. Or something. I guess we’ll see.”
“Do you know what kind of nursing you’re going to be doing after you graduate?”
Their entrees arrived. “Sea bass for the lady,” the waiter announced, “And for the gentleman, our swordfish special. Please enjoy.”
Megan took a bite. “Wow.” Lemon, fish and capers were among her favorite combinations. “Er, well I’ve applied to the ENT department at Brigham and Women’s, and I know a couple of people there, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Tom said. “Any hospital would be lucky to have you.”
Way to make a girl feel special. It’s like an evening-long ego boost, she thought to herself. I love it. “What about you? How’s work?”
Tom caught her up on his business, keeping the complex simple and leaving aside the routine stuff. Megan had the impression of a working life filled with meetings, with reading proposals and reports, rather dry but vigorous and ever-changing, all the same. Whatever he was doing, she reasoned, he was doing it well; the company’s stock price had never been higher, and Tom was being touted as a potential Time Man Of The Year for 2014.
Desserts were served and, though delicious, only half eaten. “Don’t tell me you’re watching your figure?” Tom asked.
First I’m a super-hero to Andrea, then I’m super-nurse, medical miracle on legs. Now, I’m a supermodel? “No... Just very full, is all. You hardly need to trim down, yourself.”
Tom patted a satisfied stomach, made a few jokes about burning brain calories all day, and settled the check with seemingly little more than a wave. “Shall we?”
The only thing left to decide, Megan reasoned on the way back to her apartment, was what kind of goodnight kiss it should be. Erica had called it ‘the most sophisticated form of male-female communication known to man’, and beseeched Megan not to overlook giving it some careful thought.
“It’s been a pleasure,” Tom said. “Thanks for letting me thank you.”
“I was grateful to be thanked,” Megan said, slightly convolutedly. Then he was right there, his mouth an inch from hers, and as her arms enfolded around him, their lips brushed just for a moment. Megan continued an inch further and kissed his cheek. Mixed message, idiot. Maybe apologize for that one? But there was no need. She felt Tom kiss her own cheek, and then as they hugged, just the slightest, softest kiss on her collarbone, just by the strap of her dress.
“Goodnight, Megan. And thanks again.”
Back inside, pulling off her heels, Megan found Erica standing at attention, a freshly-poured vodka martini in hand. “Well?”
“It was nice,” she confessed, taking the drink.
“Nice?” Erica exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Megan replied, without a hint of a lie. “It was just... really nice.”
***
“Depression, right?” Della asked, desperation straining her voice.
“That’s one of them,” Megan agreed. “But there’s anxiety and sleeplessness too. Did you put those?”
Della’s forehead hit the desk and she let out a strangled yell. “They’re going to deport me. I know it.”
Megan smiled and put an arm around the forlorn slump of her friend’s shoulders. “Oh, stop it. You’re smarter than most of us, by far.”
Another wail, louder than the first. “So smart I can’t remember a simple set of drug side-effects. Farewell, nursing career,” she said with a Shakespearian flourish.
Megan pulled, bullied and cajoled her classmate until she agreed to join the others in the pub, a short walk from the exam building. “Time to take our minds off exams,” Megan announced, handing Della a potent cocktail with an exotic name she couldn’t remember.
“And drown them in alcohol?” Della asked.
“Absolutely. Besides, it’s Friday.” Glasses clinked, laughter replaced perplexed regret, and the stress of exams began to ease as the pub filled up with similarly relieved – or despondent – nurses and their significant others.
“Where’s your plus one?” Della inquired. “Or, was it too difficult to choose just one?”
“Hah! Like I’m the dating machine around here. How many of those young doctors from Harvard Children’s Hospital have you been out with now?”
Della set down her glass and swallowed quickly. “They all signed up to the same website, on the same day!” Della explained defensively. “How was I to know they all work together?” She paused and her eyes went crossed for a second. “What... is in this thing?” she asked, peering into the cocktail glass.
“It’s a carefully formulated chemical relaxant called ‘Fuckitol’,” Megan explained. “You’ll love it.”
Della was helpless with laughter. “Just make sure I don’t have too many, OK?”
“When will I know?” Megan asked
“If I start belly dancing for strange men, that’s a pretty good clue.”
Megan was surprised. “I didn’t know you’ve learned how to belly dance.”
“I don’t,” Della confessed sheepishly. “But they don’t know that.”
“I’ll keep an eye on you.” Megan glanced past Della at the hordes of pretty people loudly celebrating in the main area of the bar. “Speaking of which, check out the guy in the glasses and blue shirt, seven o’clock.”
Della glanced at her watch. “Huh? That was an hour ago.”
“How long have you lived here, again?” Megan asked rhetorically. She steered her friend’s attention in the right direction.
Della immediately returned her eyes to the table and fixed them there, a shocked look on her face. “Been there,” she said quietly. “Done that.”
Megan burst out laughing. “Going to do that again?”
Della glanced round to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “He was... umm... underwhelming, size-wise,” she said, ashamed at the revelation. “I wouldn’t have minded but he was tiny... and extremely, erm... over-enthusiastic.”
Megan was helpless for a long moment before Della quizzed her on her own romantic life, for seemingly the thousandth time. “
Tom and I are just friends.”
“Tom and I are just friends,” Della parroted in her lilting accent. “Friends who belong together. Think about it,” Della urged her. “You love his daughter like your own. He’s wealthy and not given to jetting off to accumulate more notches on his bedpost,” she said, a little unkindly, Megan felt. That said, she was inwardly furious with Jake, and saw no reason for that to change; his silence had continued since Andrea’s disappearance, which she found simply unforgivable. Even if the thought of his body was enough to...
“And...?” Megan asked. If you give me enough reasons to be with him, I might just agree with you. That’s a good thing, right?
“And he’s handsome. And rich,” she added. “Not that rich matters,” she quickly added as Megan began to protest, “but you shouldn’t hold it against him. Plus, didn’t you tell me he’s texted every day since you went out on that date last weekend?”
Megan nodded. It had become a comforting part of her evening routine, something to which the ever-observant Erica was very much alive.
“Then he’s probably in love with you.”
Megan nearly spat out her martini. “Slow down there, Della.”
“What? You don’t see that?”
“You’ve never met him!” Megan nearly shouted. “How could you possibly know how he feels?!”
Della drained her drink, already looking a little glassy. “I know you, and I know men, and if he’s got a brain cell in his head, he’s passionately in love with you.”
There are things which happen by chance. Then there are remarkable coincidences. And then there’s Megan’s phone ringing, at that precise moment.
She stared at Della. “Do you have witches in Egypt?”
“Huh?”
Megan answered the call. “Hi, Tom, how are you?” Della’s hands flew up in triumph but Megan shushed her. “It was fine, really. Nothing unexpected.... Yes, we’re celebrating a bit just now, as it happens.... Really? Tonight? Well... Sure, I can meet you there.... What time is the... OK... Great, Tom. Thanks. Bye.”
Della was gesticulating at a waiter who was already completely overwhelmed, and said to Megan, “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You have to go?”
The Billionaire Brothers Page 7
