Do-Over

by Dorien Kelly

  “One day, maybe you could take me to see this condo of yours,” he said. “I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.”

  She smiled. “I’d like to show it to you. Between all this Newby stuff, I’ve been trying to get my mortgage loan approved. It seems lately, if something can go wrong, it has. Mistakes on my credit report, requiring an income letter from the firm…” Color climbed her face. “Not that you need to hear my whining.”

  Her phone rang and as she took the call, Mark wondered what she’d do if he offered to help her out. Probably tackle him and give him a black eye or spit in his face. Still, he wanted to do something for her, and didn’t want to examine his motives too closely, either.

  Maybe if he floated a trial balloon, like a lunch with some of his financial contacts. Maybe then he’d lose this feeling that he was a thief, stealing her security. He’d formed his plan of action, insane as it was: He’d offer help, salve his conscience and risk the wrath of the local volcano goddess.

  Cara hung up. “That was Annabeth. She’s looking for you. Nicole’s in the reception area.”

  Mark slowly exhaled. Saved by his ex-fiancée. Did life get more contorted than this? He sure as hell hoped not.

  BEFORE JOINING MARK and Nicole Harris in the conference room, Cara pulled on an unstructured black blazer over her do-me-on-the-beach dress. Maybe this wasn’t quite first-time-meeting wear, but she felt as though she knew Nicole; they’d logged enough hours on the telephone, for sure. She could afford to appear a little relaxed, especially since the look counterbalanced the knots in her stomach.

  When Cara walked into the room, Mark and Nicole were seated at the table and in serious conversation, the kind with frowns and hands waving. The kind that would take an earthquake or other natural disaster before they noticed someone else had joined them.

  Cara set aside her mildly miffed feelings for later and scoped out Nicole, aka She Who Might Have Married Morgan. The more she looked, the more Cara decided that a business suit would have been the smart choice in apparel this morning.

  Why were some women so talented at looking stylish and collected, while others—like her—teetered on the brink of totally lost? Nicole Harris had long blond hair with a perfect sheen and perfect cut. Her makeup was impeccable and she had the posture of a princess. Her loosely fitted black dress had to be designer wear. She and Morgan made a dream couple.

  Cara straightened a little out of self-defense. Just then, Mark noticed her standing there like some sort of loud, flowered geek.

  “Cara,” he said as he rose, “this is Nicole.”

  Ms. Perfection pushed back from the conference table and stood as he was finishing with, “Nicole…Cara.”

  Nicole walked toward her, hand outstretched. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Cara’s eyes traveled all the way to the New Yorker’s toes, then slingshot back to her midsection. Cara shook her offered hand automatically. With less tact, she blurted, “You’re pregnant.”

  Nicole laughed, and after an instant Cara joined her. “You’d probably already noticed that, right?”

  “It was a good tip-off when my feet began to disappear.”

  Okay, it was really hard to be jealous of someone this good-natured. All you could do was admire her and hope to God that when your biological clock’s reproduction alarm clamored, you could look half so good.

  Thus far, Cara’s body seemed to be more centered on engaging in the act that led to reproduction than on the end result. She glanced over at Morgan. He gave her a grin, and she felt her temperature leap a few degrees. Yeah, that act was number three on her to-do list behind “shave legs” and “bikini wax,” and rising fast.

  Assembling the remnants of her poise, Cara asked, “So are we ready to get down to business?”

  They seated themselves at the table, Cara facing Nicole and Mark. She launched right in. “I spent a little time last night tweaking the Loan Agreement to reflect the most recent changes to the deal.”

  Mark started rolling his pen between his fingertips. She’d noticed he did that when annoyed. “What time last night?”

  “Does it really matter? The newest copies are right here,” she said, riffling through the paperwork she’d left in the room first thing this morning. “I can walk you both through them.”

  “Three in the morning? Four? I’m really curious.”

  She didn’t like the way the muscle at the side of his jaw was twitching.

  “I’ll settle your curiosity later, okay?” she asked through a smile she’d manufactured for Nicole’s benefit.

  Mark pushed back his chair and stood. “Nic, can I get you some coffee?”

  “It’s bad for the baby,” Cara said. She was no slouch. Her sister had been pregnant twice, after all.

  “Soda?” he asked, glaring at Cara.

  “That, too.”

  “I’ll have some water,” Nicole interjected. “Water would be wonderful.”

  Morgan’s gaze didn’t waver from Cara. She decided to become riveted by her planner. A heavy—okay, pregnant—silence fell over the room.

  “Cara, come help me get the water. Now.”

  She gave up. “Her master’s voice,” she quipped to Nicole, who seemed fairly entertained by the show her attorneys were putting on. “We’ll be right back.”

  Mark stalked to the kitchen with Cara trailing a few steps behind. Maybe he was ticked, but she wasn’t really thrilled with him, either.

  “So, did you have to jump off the deep end in front of our client?” she demanded once they’d closed the door behind themselves.

  “She’s a friend and she’s seen worse.”

  Cara pulled a glass from the cupboard holding the service ware reserved for guests. She placed it under the ice-maker in the refrigerator door and scowled as the cubes rattled their way in. “That’s a crummy excuse.”

  He pushed on with the single-mindedness he was so very good at. “I’m finding you a local chapter of Workaholics Anonymous, or putting a guard on you. You’re going to work yourself to death, and I won’t watch it.”

  “You’re overreacting,” she said as she hit the button so the fancy-ass fridge could give up some chilled water, too.

  She set the filled glass on the counter. Mark closed the distance between them and gripped her upper arms.

  “I’m not overreacting. In case it’s slipped your notice, I care about you. What you’re doing isn’t healthy, and if that’s not a good enough reason to stop, there’s also the fact that sooner or later you’re going to be so tired that you make a mistake. With luck, you or someone else will catch it before it costs money or jobs, but what’s the point of risking it?”

  “I’ve got everything under control,” she lied, then settled her hand against his chest. She was so very tired. “Don’t be angry. Please.”

  He relaxed and dropped his hands to his sides. Cara kept her palm over his heart, finding some measure of comfort and constancy in its beat.

  “Don’t you see? All I have to offer this firm is myself. I don’t have money or connections, and the only way I can compete is by working twice as hard as you do. I need this deal to be perfect.”

  “Cara, nothing in this business comes out absolutely perfectly. You know that, right?”

  She didn’t feel like answering. It would only provoke another argument.

  “Killing yourself isn’t supposed to be the end game…happiness is. Are you happy?”

  He must have been reading one of those damned self-affirmation books. She backed up a half step. “Of course I am! How could you even ask that?”

  Head tipped, he drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. When his gaze met hers again, all Cara could think was that she’d never seen such regret.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Wondering why she suddenly felt like crying, she gave him a wobbly smile. “Hey, don’t worry, Morgan. I’m not dead yet.”

  For some reason, he didn’t laugh. Instead,
he kissed her. Not a kiss that was meant to lead to anything more, but one for the sheer pleasure of the kiss.

  Without too much more effort, she could love this man, Cara thought. Oddly, the thought didn’t terrify her as it should.

  It did, however, stay with her through their kiss and its abrupt ending when Vic Mancini barged into the kitchen and then stammered an apology. The feeling lingered during the morning’s meetings, and seemed to expand in her heart every time she allowed herself to look at Mark.

  She could most definitely love this man, and that was the last thing he needed to know.

  AFTER LUNCH, MARK was delayed by a phone call, leaving Cara and Nicole alone in the conference room. Cara took the opportunity to ask a question that she’d long wanted to ask another fast-track professional, but didn’t dare at Saperstein, Underwood, where she was supposed to know everything.

  “How do you have it all—career, husband and a family?”

  Nicole laughed as she settled back into a chair, then turned it and propped her feet on the one next to her. “All? On a good day I have about a third of it.”

  “Really. No jokes. I’m curious because I’ve been making such a god-awful mess of that stuff, myself.”

  “Cara, I don’t have it all,” she repeated, her face dead earnest. “I have the advantage of money, which means I’m going to hire a nanny to help with this guy,” she said, settling a protective hand over her burgeoning belly. “But I’ve made compromises. I’m going part-time at work after the baby comes, and I know I’ve lost a shot at Senior VP for the next few years.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  She smiled. “Well, I’m competitive, which I think you can relate to, so it bothered me for about ten minutes. Then I decided that I was much better off having a healthy family life than taking on more work responsibilities. When I’m ready to return full-time, I’ll get back on track.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Then I’m a really good liar. But it’s like this deal with Newby. If it’s worth it to you, somehow you find a way.”

  Which was the wrong analogy to choose, given Cara’s current disenchantment with all things Newby.

  Nicole didn’t seem to notice. She’d developed a Cheshire cat grin. “So, you and Mark, something’s in the air…”

  Cara shifted a little in her seat, uncomfortable with the topic. “Thwarted hormones, mostly.”

  “No wonder Mark’s so stressed. He’s never been very good at having anything thwarted, let alone that.”

  “I’ll bet,” Cara muttered.

  “Between you guys and what his mother’s going through, Mark must—”

  Cara was zapped by a jolt of anticipatory dread. “His mother?”

  Nicole’s gaze became guarded. “Sorry, I think I just spoke out of turn. After seeing the two of you, I assumed…”

  “It’s okay,” Cara said quickly, as though she could fast-talk her way past Nicole’s hesitance. “Would you please tell me what’s going on with his mother?”

  “Mark must have his reasons for not saying anything. Let’s just let it drop, okay?”

  Cara wasn’t crazy about confessing her character flaws to friends, let alone business acquaintances. But this mattered, so she went with her instincts and opened up.

  “Here’s the problem, Nicole. I haven’t been much of a friend to Mark. I’ve been starring in a ‘poor me’ show since he joined the firm. If there’s something going on with his mother, I really need to know.”

  “So the way you feel about Mark is more than hormones?”

  “On my side, at least,” she said eventually. To make the admission aloud stung.

  Nicole smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t try to lie to me because I already knew the answer.” She paused a second before saying, “Mark’s mom had a stroke a few months ago. She’s making a pretty solid recovery, but Mark’s dad hasn’t exactly been a model of devotion. That’s why Mark decided to move home.”

  “I see,” was all that Cara could say to work past the guilt that was unpacking and settling in for a long visit.

  “Mark mentioned that you’re coming for cocktails and an early dinner on Saturday before I take off.”

  “Did he?” she replied, not even half listening.

  “You’ll meet Frances, his mom, then. She’s incredible.”

  Cara nodded absently. She had always thought that these life-changing moments would come with appropriate notice from the gods. A chorus of trumpets would have been nice, or maybe some shimmery sort of good fairy lady appearing to visit wisdom upon her. Instead, she felt as if she’d taken a kick to the teeth.

  Not once had she asked herself why Mark Morgan might have thrown away the perfect setup and returned to Detroit. In fact, she couldn’t recall being even remotely curious. She’d been so damn egocentric, thinking of only how her life was being trashed and how hard she was working.

  He had returned home out of love for his mother. How many men would have the self-confidence and self-knowledge to do that? How many women, for that matter? She had come to view her weekly family dinners as a messy imposition on her work schedule. He had changed his life for his. She thoroughly sucked as a human. Hell, she hadn’t even evolved to the point of primordial ooze.

  Mark returned, and she found herself really looking at him for the first time. Not just noticing how hot he was, or the way he wore his confidence, but at the person beneath all that external stuff.

  “Ready to start?” he asked.

  Both Nicole and she said they were, but Cara had another voyage in mind, too. She foresaw a tough climb before she was evolved emotionally, but she knew that she was ready. After all, the prize at the top was the very best.

  BY THAT SATURDAY EVENING, Mark was convinced that the Cara Adams he knew had been subjected to mind-control experiments or kidnapped by aliens. Instead of the bash-though-all-defenses tack she usually took, she was sitting back and watching, which was supposed to be his job. It wasn’t a bad change, mind you, just kind of creepy in its sudden onset.

  She’d never grilled him on his relationship with Nicole, as he’d expected her to. Though the fact that Nic looked about ready for her own zip code might have had something to do with that.

  When he’d told Cara of his plans for dinner at Lakewind, complete with his only partially recovered mother in attendance, she’d scarcely batted an eyelash. Instead of delivering a diatribe on business protocol, she’d simply asked if the dinner was to be formal or casual. He’d ended up so suspicious of her actual intent to attend that he’d told her he’d pick her up at her place. She hadn’t fought that, either.

  Strange. Very strange.

  The only Cara-like behavior he’d seen was her refusal to let him see inside her apartment, but that could be because she was never home long enough to clean it.

  Now, as they turned off the main road and onto his private one, she began to look around, practically rotating in her seat.

  “What’s up?” he asked, fighting back a smile. He could remember being like this when he was a kid and his parents gave in to his whining and took him to that most plebian of all places—Disney World. The trip had turned out to be one of his favorite childhood memories.

  “Okay, I know you weren’t exactly poor, but this is incredible. How old are the trees lining the drive?” She didn’t give him the chance to work up some B.S. answer. Instead, she said, “I’m having an Audrey Hepburn moment. Her movies are like comfort food to me. I watched a few the other night, and you know what this reminds me of?”

  “A guerilla-training camp for preppies?”

  “No. Sabrina. You know, with William Holden and Humphrey Bogart?”

  Not only a chick flick, but one in black-and-white—the double kiss of death. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “How long is this road? Shouldn’t we be across the lake and in Ontario by now?”

  “The house is around the next bend.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Anyway, Sabrina w
as the chauffeur’s daughter and lived above this incredible garage.”

  Mark bypassed the loop of drive leading to the front entrance and continued to the back.

  “Oh, my God. One like that. You guys don’t have a chauffeur, do you?”

  “My father does. His name’s Paddy and if it makes you feel any better, he lives a couple of miles away, in his own house. Are you nervous or something?”

  “Your father actually has a driver? No, I don’t think that piece of news is helping at all. Not that I’m admitting to nervousness to begin with. What have I done to make you think I’m nervous?”

  “You haven’t stopped talking since we pulled past the gates.”

  “Oh. Okay, point taken.”

  Mark parked the car, then walked around to Cara’s side and opened her door.

  “Just give me a second,” she said while flipping down the visor and checking her hair and makeup. She looked perfect to him, but then again he was biased. “Anything I should know before we go inside?”

  Since she still hadn’t left the car, he was pleased to hear that they would be going inside eventually. He held out his hand and waited for her to grasp it.

  “That man in the doorway who’s wondering if you’re ever getting out of the car is Jerome,” he said. “Unfortunately, he’s not my father.”

  She took his hand and eased from the vehicle, testing the ground with her foot as though there might be quicksand. “Okay…Jerome, who isn’t your father. Anything else?”

  He closed the car door so she couldn’t change her mind, then led her toward the steps. “I’ve already told you about my mom and her troubles with words. If she gets frustrated and starts throwing things, don’t worry. Her aim stinks.”

  Cara stopped on the bottom step. “What?”

  “I’m joking.” He squeezed her hand. “Pretty much everybody who has come into the house has come out alive.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m always one to buck a trend. And this, Morgan, is no house.”

  He bent down from his vantage point on the next step up and gave her a quick kiss—an appetizer. “But you, Adams, are no coward. Now, relax.”