by Nancy Warren
Her heart lurched when she saw the note on the scarred kitchen counter, and the object on top of it.
“See you at the movies, Princess” was scrawled in bold black handwriting across lined paper torn from a notebook. On top of it was a silver-wrapped chocolate kiss, which he must have found in her kitchen cupboard. She smiled at the gesture. Maybe he wasn’t such a warthog. With a finesse that impressed her, he’d managed to say goodbye and to remind her they’d be returning to their former relationship.
Don’t worry, bad boy. You’re in no danger from me. She twirled the candy in her fingers, watching light wink on the wrinkled silver paper. Didn’t Mike realize he could wreck her life just as surely as she could ruin his?
Her life plan was simple and clear. First, she’d become the kind of reporter that made powerful men—men like her father and Ty Cadman—take note. Then, when she was successful and established, she’d think about settling down, about marriage and children. But she wanted a career first.
She’d just experienced the greatest sex of her life, for which she’d always be glad. But she wanted nothing more from her rival reporter—nothing but that he bring his table manners with him when she served him crow on a silver platter. Dress: black tie. And what kind of wine did one serve with crow?
And if a little voice whispered that she was lying to herself big-time, she ignored it.
TESS SLIPPED into the Mexican restaurant and took a furtive glance around before relaxing. Pasqualie was big enough to sustain two newspapers, a university, art gallery and museum, but it was small enough that it was commonplace to run into people you knew. Especially if you were a former supermodel like Caro, or the daughter of Walt and Rose Elliot. Tess and her best friend had solved the problem by discovering an out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant that hadn’t been fashionable since the eighties.
Their palates might prefer Indian fusion or sushi, but when they wanted uninterrupted girl talk, they chose burritos and enchiladas.
Caro was already seated, her black designer blazer making envy shoot through Tess’s already battered heart. Caro was tall enough, slim enough and beautiful enough to pull off any style, and did.
Her friend rose and they hugged. As Tess’s hand brushed the fine wool of the blazer she let out a groan of envy. “Armani?”
“Escada.”
“It looks great on you. But then, everything does.”
“Maybe not for long,” Caro said, slipping a hand to her flat belly.
Tess’s eyes widened at the implication. “You mean?”
Caro nodded. “We’re trying for a baby. We’ve been trying for a while, but this month I feel lucky. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations!” She gripped Caro’s hand across the table and blinked rapidly against a sting of tears. “I must be a candidate for sainthood to be friends with someone who looks like you do, has a gorgeous, sexy newspaper baron for a husband, and now is planning for a baby.”
They shared a bright-eyed moment, than laughed.
“So, ‘Saint Tess’ tell me about last night. Who is he? How’d you meet? Is it serious? How come I’m only finding out now?”
Tess blew out a breath, almost glad that the waitress arrived at that moment for their order.
While they waited for their iced tea and taco salads, Tess said, “You know the man I was with when I saw you and Jon at the opera house opening?”
Some of Caro’s excitement dimmed. “You’re sleeping with Harrison Peabody?”
“No! Last night I slept with Mike Grundel.”
“Mike Grundel?” If Harrison had surprised Caro, Mike downright shocked her.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing.” But her eyes stayed round. “He’s gorgeous, sexy in that wild kind of dangerous way he has. So…not your usual type.”
Tess sipped the iced tea that had just been delivered. “I know. He’s not my type at all. He’s completely wrong for me. He’s too arrogant, commitment-phobic, chauvinistic—”
“Good in bed?”
Warmth washed over her and her eyes half closed as remembered sensations assaulted her. “Not good. Great. The best. I’ve never known anything like it.”
A delighted chuckle met her news. “I had a feeling. He’s a good man, you know, under all that attitude. Jon and he have been friends since they were kids. He’s all right.”
Now that Tess had come to know Mike a little better, she was no longer curious of his friendship with a rival newspaper’s publisher. “I watched Mike and Jon fighting it out at the boxing club.”
“You went in that place?” Caro made a gagging sound. “I hope you bathed in Lysol when you got home. How is it that men bash each other a few hours a week and call it bonding?”
Tess smiled and stabbed a hunk of salad. “That sounds like one of my movie reviews.”
Caro started to laugh. “I bet you seduced each other lobbing insults through your columns.”
She couldn’t tell Caro about the secret deal and the investigative reporting they were doing on Cadman, of course, so she settled on being enigmatic. “Something like that.”
“So you had sex with a total hunk, but I’m not seeing you swinging from the rafters. What gives?”
“He said it was only for one night. Practically made me promise I wouldn’t expect more.”
“He said that?”
Tess nodded miserably. “I’m such an idiot. He’s the kind of man who sees a movie once and it’s done, but I love classics I can watch over and over. I—I don’t do one-night stands. I want reruns.” The two of them would be working together for weeks yet. In spite of Mike’s perky little note suggesting nothing had changed, she didn’t believe him. Everything had changed. She pushed a tomato around her taco-shell bowl, already losing what little appetite she’d had. She would humiliate herself if she threw herself at him and he rejected her.
“How long have you been in love with him?” Caro’s quiet words made Tess almost drop the iced tea she picked up.
“What are you talking about? I’m not…” She gaped at Caro, her heart sinking.
“I’ve known you a long time, Tess. I’ve never seen anyone get to you like this.”
The truth hit her like a bad case of the flu, leaving her shaky and queasy. “No wonder I feel so awful. I’m in love with him.” She dropped her head into her hands in despair. “What am I going to do?”
“Give him time. If he’s trying to set rules, he’s scared. In the meantime, your job is simple. You’ve been a good girl all your life and he’s counting on that. He’s set the rules to protect himself. But they’re his rules, not yours. I say, the hell with them. Seduce him.”
A surprised chuckle broke through the gray fog of misery. “Seduce him?”
Caro shot her a wicked glance. “Every chance you get. If you want help picking out lingerie, let me know.”
While her lunch with Caro certainly hadn’t calmed her any, at least she was facing the truth, Tess thought as she pulled into the parking lot at the Standard.
She got out of her car, but never made it inside the building. “Oh, no,” she moaned as her vision started playing vicious tricks on her.
She should have seen it coming. No sleep. Too much stress. The trauma of having slept with Mike. Migraine.
Knowing she couldn’t drive with a migraine coming on, she hailed a cab, settling miserably in the back where the smell of stale cigarette smoke sent her stomach rocking.
Why was it that when other people fell in love they danced through blooming meadows, kissed on sunset beaches. When Tess fell in love, she literally got a blinding headache.
A TERRIBLE NOISE, like that of a dull, rusty saw being dragged back and forth across her skull, woke Tess. It hurt so much to open her eyes that she closed them again with a groan.
The sawing started again.
“Go away,” she muttered, pulling the pillow over her aching head. Her migraine had been a whopper. She’d taken her pain medication
, closed all the blinds, unplugged the phone and crawled into bed moaning.
The headache wasn’t gone, but at least she could see. Except she didn’t want to see. She wanted to go back to sleep. But the noise continued until gradually she recognized her door buzzer. Someone was leaning on it, not giving up until she answered. Her mouth felt fuzzy, her head pounded and her stomach pitched, but if she didn’t stop that buzzer her skull would explode.
She squinted at the clock. Eight. Evening? Or had she slept right through to morning?
Slowly and painfully she dragged herself to the door and pushed the intercom. “What?” Her voice sounded like a feeble old woman’s.
“Morning, princess.”
Of all people, it had to be Mike Grundel sounding disgustingly hale and obnoxiously loud. She’d barely survived the trip from her bed to her front door, in a condition that was at least partly his fault. A friendly visit from Mike would do her in. “Go away.”
She was halfway back to bed when the buzzing roared in her ears again. It was hopeless. She stumbled back, pushed the button that would unlock the main entrance and propped her own door open with a shoe, knowing if she didn’t he’d only pound the damn thing down. Then she crawled back into bed and pulled the pillow over her head once more.
It seemed only a second later that she was again jarred awake. Mike pulled the pillow off her head and shook her shoulder.
She glared at him. “Are you trying to murder me?”
“You look terrible. What happened?” He looked worried.
“Migraine. Did you say it’s morning?”
“Yeah.”
Groaning, she dragged herself up to sit.
His hands gentled, rubbing her shoulders and neck, then he leaned forward to kiss her temple. “Do you want some tea?”
She nodded, too weak to throw him out. Besides, for tea in bed she’d put up with almost anyone. “And my pain pills. They’re in the kitchen, I think.”
While he was gone she glanced at herself. She’d stripped down to her coffee-colored camisole and panties and crawled into bed. The man had seen her naked, so it was tough to be modest now.
He returned with tea, a glass of water, her pills and a slice of dry toast, all on a tray. She gulped down a couple of pills with the water and then sipped the tea slowly. “I think you saved my life,” she murmured, and sipped again.
He rubbed her knee under the duvet. “Get them often?”
It even hurt to shake her head, but she knew the pills would kick in soon and she’d be able to function again. “A few times a year.” She squinted at him. The last time she’d seen him, he’d snuck out at dawn and, from the tone of his note, hadn’t been planning to surprise her in bed at eight o’clock in the morning anytime soon. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you. I called and called last night but you didn’t answer.”
“I unplugged the phone.” Her eyes widened slightly and her pulse kicked up a notch. “You called me?” She gazed up at him, seeing him for the first time since she’d realized she was in love with him. She liked what she saw. His gaze held a new intimacy. His hair was neatly tied back, but she knew exactly how it felt spread over her flesh, running through her fingers, curtaining her face as they made love. Was he here to tell her he’d tumbled into love with her as foolishly as she’d fallen into love with him?
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. He reached out to cup her cheek and she half closed her eyes against the feel of that hard warrior’s palm. “You stood me up for our date at the movies last night.”
Her eyes jerked open, soft romantic notions ripped away like so much gauze. “Oh, no! The opening of China Doll. I should have phoned in and arranged for a stringer, but I couldn’t think. I forgot all about it and fell asleep.”
“I could read you my review. Maybe that will help.”
“Very funny.” She closed her eyes and moaned. “I’m always so reliable, not wanting anyone to think I don’t pull my weight because of who I am.” She groaned and clenched her hands. “I skipped a movie because of a headache. That looks professional.”
He was stroking her face, rubbing her temple where the echo of yesterday’s pain still drummed. “I was worried. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
One eye cracked open and she saw the question and concern in his eyes. What? He thought he was so all-fired wonderful that one roll in the sack would have her falling madly in love with him? Well, okay. So she had. But pride was at stake here. He didn’t need to know she’d fallen at his feet. “Why would I avoid you? It was great sex, but it’s done. We agreed. Remember? One night. Your rules.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” And even in her less than brilliant state she could see he wasn’t too happy. Ha.
“Give my piece a read anyway. It’s on your computer desk. Don’t forget to eat your toast.” He kissed her nose as though she were a child, gazed at her and sighed. He shook his head, then kissed her gently on the lips.
She couldn’t have borne a passionate assault such as he’d launched the other night, but the devastating gentleness of this kiss made her feel as though she were floating on a moon-dappled lake. Pain receded and quiet pleasure took its place. He was careful with her, feathering his lips across hers, caressing her with light touches that soothed more than aroused.
He pulled away slowly, as though it cost him to do so.
“Mmm,” she said, determined to keep the mood casual even though she fisted her hands to keep from dragging his mouth back to hers. “Wasn’t that against the rules?”
“Rules were meant to be broken,” he said, and left.
9
China Doll, A Movie of Unbreakable Truths By Tess Elliot
China Doll is the story of a woman who breaks free from the imprisoning dictates of her society. The movie brings to mind the painful plight of Nora, the central character in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House….
TESS RUBBED HER EYES. Squinting, she concentrated once more on the computer printout on her desk. Her eyes widened in amazement. Either she’d made it to the movie, written her review and then gone to bed and forgotten all about it, or Mike Grundel had written her movie review for her. Since she didn’t think she’d been in any state to write movie reviews last night, she had to assume this was Mike’s work.
And he’d written her review. Why, this sounded exactly like her prose. She couldn’t believe Mike had even heard of Ibsen, never mind that he’d see the parallels between the late-nineteenth-century play and a modern movie.
He’d also saved her butt.
Beside the printout was a disk. She popped it into her computer and found the file of her review. He’d also included a copy of his own review. Fascinated, she clicked on his file to open it.
Don’t women ever do anything but whine? his review began. She chuckled out loud.
There was no mention of Ibsen in his column, although Humphrey Bogart and Arnold Schwarzenegger unaccountably crept into it. It was vintage Mike, big on good-old-boy disbelief at the way women carry on. Ignorant, cocky and blatantly chauvinistic.
The big faker.
She clicked on “her” review and after making a few minor adjustments to make it sound more like her writing style, she e-mailed the file in to work. Just before she pushed the send button, it occurred to her that Mike could be setting her up; the movie had been a children’s cartoon for all she knew.
She watched as her finger depressed the mouse, sending the file on its way. And in that moment she knew she trusted Mike Grundel, and that whatever he said, there was more between them than one night of passion. She tapped her fingernail against her front tooth as she read “her” review once more. How could he mimic her writing style so perfectly unless he read her stuff as avidly as she read his?
She staggered into the shower, dressed on autopilot, by which time the pain pills had eradicated all but a faint outline of yesterday’s migraine, called a cab and managed to make it to work on time.
In the back of
her mind, the wheels whirred. For some reason, her new feelings made her more eager then ever to help Mike get his reputation back by proving his allegations against Cadman. Of course, she might have fallen in love with Mike, but she wasn’t a pushover. The article that restored his reputation would naturally be written under her byline.
It was pretty clear from what little new information Mike had been able to dig up that he was dog meat as far as his much-vaunted sources were concerned. In fairness, he also had to tread carefully if he wanted to keep his job.
She had more leeway. No one suspected her of being anything more than a society columnist and movie reviewer. She was the one in a position to uncover information about Cadman’s alleged casino plans.
While she checked her schedule, looking ahead for anything that needed a photographer booked, her mind chewed at the mess of leads and possibilities that made up the Cadman file. Was he involved with Margaret Peabody?
She glanced ahead a couple of weeks and one entry in her schedule made her start and slop coffee over her hand. Fortunately she’d been holding the cup and staring into space so long the coffee had cooled to tepid.
Grabbing a tissue off her desk, she wiped her hand and picked up her phone to call her mother.
“Darling! How nice to hear from you,” Rose Elliot said in her Americanized British accent.
“Hello, Mother. It’s great to hear your voice, too, but I’m calling about work. I’m covering the Historical Society Tea in a couple of weeks and I was thinking it might be good publicity for your group if I did some research ahead of time. Could you meet me at the museum this afternoon?”
Tess kept her fingers crossed. Not only would her mother have all the up-to-date society gossip, but Pasqualie Museum, where the tea would be held, also housed the city’s archives. All kinds of old land deeds and memoirs, records of the original claims and gifts of land to attract early settlers could be found there. No doubt there was information about Eugene Butterworth. Since Bald is Beautiful had been formed to support his work, it would be great to get some background on the man himself, and the longer she poked around the archives, the more time she had to gossip with her mother about the possible Peabody/Cadman connection.
