by Susan Meier
“Because I tell them the truth?”
“Sometimes brutally.”
He laughed, then marveled that he’d laughed even though he continually said the wrong thing. Even though he couldn’t stop thinking about Blake. Even though he had guilt that swallowed him whole some days, she kept making him laugh and he kept making her miserable. “Let me call my friends.”
“No. I don’t want to be that girl in the office who only got her job because of her boyfriend. It’s why I didn’t want a job from you. I can’t be the girl in the office who only got her job because her boyfriend pulled strings.”
It wasn’t so much what she said but how she said it that caused him to shake his head. “It’s been a long time since anybody called me a boyfriend.”
“Fake or not, that’s what you are.” She settled onto the wide sill of her living room window, wishing, like Binnie Margolis, for snow. Laura Beth was out. Olivia was in Kentucky. Christmas was getting close. Telling her story to Ricky on Sunday morning had pounded home the fact that she’d soon be facing another holiday by herself, without even a blanket of snow to make her feel cozy in her empty apartment with her eighteen-inch plastic tree and the cookies Olivia’s mom would mail to her.
She swallowed. Desperate to get her mind off her troubles, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “So how was your day?”
He sniffed. “Same. Kinda boring.”
“Really? Rich wheeler-dealer like you has boring days?”
He hesitated, as if he really didn’t want to talk anymore, but he said, “It was fun when I started out. Now things are routine.”
“Maybe you need a new venture.”
“A new venture?”
“You know. Instead of writing new video games, invent a different kind of microwave popcorn. Try taking that to market. I’ll bet you’ll meet some challenges.”
He laughed. “Microwave popcorn?”
“Hey, my dad loves the stuff...” Even as the words flipped out of her mouth, her heart tugged. Her stomach plummeted. As gruff and socially conscious as her parents were, they were her family and they didn’t want her.
How could she miss people who didn’t want her around?
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. Someone’s knocking on the door. I’ve gotta run. See you Thursday night. In a gown.”
She didn’t wait for his reply, just clicked off, tossed her phone to the sofa and laid her head on her knees. She refused to be pathetic, refused to let tears fall for the loss of people who didn’t want her. She’d done that enough in her twenty-five years. All she wanted was a job, a way to support herself. And once she got it, she’d be fine.
She repeated that mantra as she went to bed, got up, showered, dressed for work, jumped on the subway, rode up in the average elevator to the law office and made coffee for the senior partners, none of whom even acknowledged her existence.
CHAPTER SIX
THURSDAY NIGHT RICKY walked up the four flights of stairs to Eloise’s apartment, trepidation riding his blood. Every Christmas decoration reminded him of his son. Even the cold air reminded him of bundling Blake in a snowsuit, buying knit caps.
Wanting to roll up in a ball of misery and privately mourn Blake, he was tempted by thoughts of ending this charade. He could bow out of the rest of the parties. All he had to do was go to Jamaica or Monaco, and everybody would be jealous of his vacation. Nobody would wonder why he wasn’t attending any more of the parties.
Except Eloise didn’t have a job. Taking her to these events was his best way of keeping her in front of his friends who might want to hire her. Lord knows, sending emails hadn’t worked.
Not sure what he’d find when she came to the door, he sucked in a breath before he knocked. When the door opened, she stood before him looking beautiful in a simple straight gown. Red and shiny, it complimented her hair, which she’d put in some curly creation on top of her head and spun thin tinsel through.
“You look great.” The words popped out naturally, and he almost shook his head in wonder that just seeing her had him feeling better.
When she smiled, relief poured through him. It would have been a long night if she’d been as depressed as she had been on Sunday morning and in their phone call. Instead, she’d pulled herself together. He admired that.
He returned her smile. “Every dress gets better.”
She laughed as she handed him her black cape. “That’s because the closer we get to the actual holiday, the more Christmas-y I feel. Just wait till you see what I’m pondering for Christmas Eve.”
They walked to the limo and, when Norman opened the door, they slid in. With the advanced stage of the season, more and more shops and apartment windows were decorated for the holiday. Bright lights winked. Tinsel blew in the bitter breezes. Because it was cold, everything had a sparkly, icy look, but it wasn’t quite as pretty as if there had been snow.
“I like snow too.”
He spun to face her. Had he said that out loud? “I...um...grew up near the Finger Lakes.” Damn. So much for trying not to be personal. “By now, they’re probably knee-deep in the white stuff.”
“Probably? You don’t know?”
He peeked at her. “If there’s snow?”
She nodded.
He winced. “I haven’t talked to my parents in a while.”
She said, “Oh. Okay,” as if she understood. And he supposed if anybody understood complicated relationships with parents, it would be her.
But that only reminded him of how difficult her life was, and when she turned away from him, that ridiculous sadness for her filled him again. Fighting it, he squeezed his eyes shut. She would be fine. Once he helped her land a job, she’d be ecstatic. He did not have to feel sorry for her.
They walked into the hotel, and he dropped off their outerwear at the coat check. Just before they entered the ballroom, he saw her shift her face and change her countenance. She formed a smile big enough to remove the sad expression in her eyes, but he saw no light in them. Then she slid her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked into the ballroom.
Guilt buffeted him. She was going the whole nine yards for him and he wasn’t really doing anything for her.
Seated with another group of his friends, he held out her chair as he made quick introductions, and the discussion immediately zoomed to stock options.
This was why he’d never worried that anyone at any of the parties they attended would tell Eloise about Blake. His friends didn’t talk about anything but business. And the wives who didn’t join in on the discussion of stocks and strategies generally sat dutifully at the husbands’ sides or chatted among themselves about inconsequential, party-worthy topics, not ridiculously sad things that would bring everybody down. He wasn’t saying they were fake. They were more like courteous. Proper.
Still, with his mission in mind, he tried to work human resources into the conversation but couldn’t. Frustration wound through him. No wonder Eloise couldn’t find a job. No one seemed to care about the administration of their projects. All they cared about was the project itself.
When the dancing started, he and Eloise moved to the dance floor. He slid his hand across the smooth material covering her back. Attraction slithered through him. With every inch of his heart and soul, he longed to pull her to him and just give her what she needed. A little bit of affection. But although he might be able to hug her tonight, maybe kiss her, who knew what he’d be like tomorrow? And if he held her tonight, kissed her tonight and then couldn’t get out of bed the next day because of debilitating grief...wouldn’t he hurt her?
Yes. He would. And he refused to do that to her.
Needing to get his mind off how good she felt, he said, “So this is a pretty nice party.”
She met his gaze and smiled. “They’re all wonderful.
”
“I’m glad you enjoy them.”
“I do.”
His conscience tweaked again. While he took all this for granted, she was happy to get a good meal and a nice glass of wine, even though he basically ignored her. With the exception of dancing, he was generally occupied with his friends, and when he wasn’t, his fear of getting too close kept him from really talking to her.
“Even with a grouch like me?”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, you’re not so bad.”
But he was. He knew he was. Ever since she’d told him about being alone and made him realize he had an abundance of things to be thankful for, he’d seen the signs. Short temper with his staff. Nothing but cool professionalism with Norman. Presents for his friends and his family bought by David. Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d bought his own mother for Christmas. Since Blake’s death, he’d insulated himself inside a bubble of sadness. He didn’t think that was wrong, but he did see he was letting Eloise down. He’d made a promise that he couldn’t seem to keep. And suddenly it became overwhelmingly important that he at least do something for her, even if it was only make her happy for one night.
“We should do tequila shots.”
She laughed and pulled back so she could see his face. “What?”
He’d surprised himself as much as her with the suggestion. But now that he’d said it, it sort of made sense.
“Tequila shots. This party might be nice, but we’ve gone to six of these. They’re getting boring. Tequila shots would liven up this place.”
Another laugh spilled out of her, causing his heart to tug and his chest to tighten with something that felt very much like pride that he’d made her laugh for a change.
“I’m sure the hosts would be thrilled.”
“Why not? Isn’t the purpose of giving a party to make your friends happy?”
“Yes.” She said the word slowly, as her eyes rose, and she met his gaze. Soft but curious, the light in her crystal blue orbs told him she was cautious about the shots, but the idea appealed to her.
Pleasure rolled through him. He spun her around, mentally thanking Tucker Engle for forcing him to take ballroom dancing classes so he wouldn’t be awkward at these parties. Not only had it turned out that he loved to dance, but tonight he loved seeing that light in her eyes.
“So, if we asked the bartender to set up shots, maybe eighteen or twenty, we could probably get that many people to join us. I’ll bet with every shot, our crew would grow.”
“Our crew? Are you nuts?” She shook her head, but her eyes glowed.
He spun her around again. “Maybe. But I see at least three of my fraternity brothers. I’ll bet we could have this place rocking in three shots.”
She laughed gaily. “I’ll bet you’d have a room full of drunks in three shots.”
“But think of the pictures that would show up in tomorrow’s society pages.”
She laughed and shook her head. “It would probably be the newspaper’s best issue ever.”
The music stopped and, as always, one of his friends slid over. After introductions, he asked Ricky a question about a company he was considering partnering in and, as Ricky answered, his gaze slid to Eloise.
She stood at his side, smiling, playing the part. But they never touched. Aside from when they danced. Or when she put her hand in the crook of his elbow. Or when she fixed his bow tie.
He’d never touched her with affection. Never held her hand. Never put his arm around her. To a woman who lived her life without family, without affection, his lack of touch probably seared her.
He reached out and took her hand. Her gaze swung to his. He smiled. She smiled. He tugged her closer. And while they held hands, his conversation continued until the band began to play again.
This time when he pulled her into his arms, he felt her relax against him. He relaxed a little himself. He wasn’t making this real. Just realistic. And, all right, he also wanted her to feel wanted. He might only need her to help him get through the holiday. But he needed her, which meant he wanted her around.
And she needed to know that somebody wanted her. Albeit for a little while.
When the band took a break, he walked her to their table, then excused himself. When he returned, he had two shots of tequila. She burst out laughing. Their tablemates frowned.
He nodded at the shots, as he sat by Eloise. “Private joke.”
He picked up a shot and motioned for her to do the same. “Ready?”
“I think this is kinda nuts.”
“It’s been a long, hard couple of years for both of us. Maybe one night of I-don’t-care is in order.”
“One night of I-don’t-care?”
“One night of forgetting everything and just having a good time.”
She picked up her shot. “I could handle that.”
They downed the tequila. She shuddered in distaste but laughed, and when the band began to play again, they were both more comfortable.
The music shifted to a quiet, mellow tune, and he pulled her into his arms for a slow dance. She melted against him. Loose from the tequila, he rested his chin on the top of her head and inhaled the fragrance of her hair. For the first time in eighteen months, he just let go.
When the band took a break, they took another shot and washed it down with a glass of champagne. Dancing took a lot of the sting out of the alcohol. Still, by the time they returned to her apartment, they were just tipsy enough to clamor up the stairs.
The “shh” she sent back to him from the step above his only made him laugh.
When they stopped in front of her apartment door, she said, “We’re gonna get me kicked out of my building.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. He wasn’t one for medicating pain with alcohol, but tonight wasn’t about getting rid of pain. It had been about acknowledging it and telling it to go to hell for a few hours.
“If I get you kicked out of your building, I’ll find you another apartment.”
She snorted a laugh. “Laura Beth and I can barely afford the one we have.”
Her words slurred endearingly. He smiled stupidly. “I had a good time.”
“So I’m guessing you’re thinking we should have tequila shots at every party.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to form any bad habits, but...” He glanced around, searching his alcohol-numbed brain for the words that should follow that but, and in the end he couldn’t help stating the obvious. “It was good to loosen up a bit. I really had fun.”
She put her hands on his chest. “Doesn’t happen for you much, does it?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t happen at all.”
“So, I’m good for you.”
She was. When her life didn’t make him feel like an ingrate, she was. Thinking of her, instead of himself, instead of his grief, instead of his guilt, was so much easier.
The urge to kiss her swam through his blood, making it tingle. But it was the very fact that he was so tempted that stopped him. She was good for him. But he wasn’t good for her. He was broken. She was broken, too. But that meant she needed someone strong, someone filled with love to shower her with affection. And that wasn’t him.
He stepped back. “Good night, Eloise.”
“Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve said my name?”
“I say your name all the time.”
“Yeah, when you introduce me.” Her gazed locked with his. “But you’ve never said it to me.”
The urge to kiss her shimmied through him again. She was so pretty, so perfect. So wonderful sometimes. And thanks to Preston he knew her lips were as soft as a cloud, the inside of her mouth like silk.
He took a step closer.
She put her hands on his lapels again and slid them up his chest.
&n
bsp; Need surged. Not just from the intimacy of her touch, but from hope. He longed for her to put her hands around his neck, something she didn’t do in their very proper dancing. He yearned for her to hold him. To hug him. To pull him close.
Instead, she straightened his tie and smiled up at him.
She wouldn’t make the first move, but she clearly was telling him she wanted him to kiss her.
Desire pleaded with him. Just do it. Just bend your head. Just kiss her.
His breath faltered. Dear God, he wanted this.
But he knew himself. When the tequila wore off, he’d regret it. And even if he didn’t, he’d leave her. Not in a big, splashy departure scene. But after these parties, he’d stop calling. He’d drift back to his own dark, quiet world because his guilt wouldn’t let him handle the bright optimistic world she wanted. And he’d forget her.
He would hurt a woman who’d been hurt enough.
He closed his fingers around her hands and removed them from his lapel. “Good night, Eloise.”
Then he turned and walked away, his mouth yearning for a kiss, his limbs longing to hold her, his heart telling him he was a fool.
* * *
Ten o’clock the next morning, Eloise’s pride could no longer hold off the pounding in her head. She rose from her desk and walked into the employee break room, where she rifled through the cabinet above the sink until she found painkillers.
Getting water from the cooler beside the refrigerator, she glanced up sharply when Tina Horner walked in with her empty mug and ambled to the coffeemaker.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She popped the two pills into her mouth, chugged her water and headed for the door and up the hall to her office. She and Tina weren’t supposed to leave their cabinets full of confidential files unattended. A fact Tina frequently forgot...or ignored...because she was a full-time employee with little fear of being fired or replaced.
A few seconds later, Tina caught up with her. “Come on. You can’t tell me nothing’s wrong. I’ve worked beside you for weeks. You never need painkillers.”
