by Amber Page
There was a beat of silence. “Becky. You do realize you’re in Detroit, right? Cars are what we do here.”
“I know, I know. And I’ll do it. It just doesn’t thrill me.”
“Well, I’ll bet you’ll feel differently when the offers come in. They’re going to throw buckets of money at you, honey.”
“All right. Call me if you hear anything,” she said, and hung up the phone.
She turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the soulless office park. Everything here seemed so sterile. Although cars jammed the streets, there was not a single person on the sidewalk. There was no music. No street vendors. Not even any taxis leaning on their horns. It was as if somebody had hit the mute button on the world.
The leaden skies didn’t help, either. The only thing worse than early December in Detroit was late February in Detroit. It was cold. Wet. And eternally cloudy. Only the twinkling Christmas lights that winked into life after the sun went down relieved the monotony.
But that didn’t help during the day.
God, but she missed Mark...er...New York.
She put her hand on her belly and sighed. “I hope you appreciate what I’m trying to do here, kiddo. Because I gotta tell you, it kind of sucks.”
* * *
Mark stepped into the dimly lit bar, hoping a night out with his college roommate would snap him out of the funk he’d found himself in. Quickly he scanned the room, looking for the former football player.
It didn’t take long to find him. Although John had blown his knee out the season before, he was still the guy who’d kicked the winning field goal in the Super Bowl a couple of years back. He attracted a crowd wherever he went.
Tonight he was surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women, as usual.
He strode up to the booth and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, Casanova,” he said.
Immediately John turned and grinned. “Mark, you made it! Sit down, buddy. It’s been too long.”
“It has, hasn’t it? We’ll have to make up for lost time. What are you drinking? I’ll get the next round.”
John waved his arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Unless you’ve cozied up to that rich stepdad of yours I’ve got more money than you do. Still like tequila?”
He nodded.
“All right.” He motioned to the bartender. “Jake, I’m going to need a double of Patrón. Fast.”
Within moments a large glass of tequila landed in front of Mark.
He downed it, trying hard not to think of the last time he’d done shots of tequila—or who he’d done them with.
Unfortunately his brain insisted on showing him Becky’s eyes glittering at him from behind an empty shot glass.
Her voice echoed in his ears. All right. Let’s toast, she’d said, raising her glass. To one wild night.
He’d clinked his glass and locked eyes with hers. To one wild, scandalous night.
If he’d known how much that one night would change his life he probably would have walked away after that toast. Although he was really glad he hadn’t. Even if what they’d had wasn’t meant to last, he was glad he’d gotten the chance to experience it. To experience her.
“Hey, dude. You still with us?” John asked.
Mark shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, man. Sorry. Just lost in my thoughts.”
“Ri—ight. Dude, the last time I saw you looking this pathetic you’d just found out about Sandra... Oh. This is about a chick, isn’t it?”
Mark just looked at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not while you’re covered in women.”
“Say no more,” John said. “Okay, ladies, it’s time to shove off. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Although they pouted and whined they slowly left the booth. Once they were alone, John turned back to him.
“Okay, out with it. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Mark, looking down at his newly refilled shot glass. “I’m just a little off my game tonight.”
“Right,” he said. “And I’m Robert DeNiro. Try again.”
He looked at him and sighed. “All right, but you’re going to think I’m a jerk.”
John just looked him, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
By the time the story was done the tequila was long gone. John took one last swig of his beer, then shook his head.
“You were right,” he said.
“About what?”
“I do think you’re a jerk. How could you abandon her like that?”
Immediately he felt his hackles rise. “I didn’t abandon her. It was her choice to go. She left without even telling me.”
John stood. “Only after you proved yourself to be an immature cad who runs the second the going gets tough. She did the right thing.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. But you’re leaving. You’ve got no business being here, Mark. Man up and go get your woman. You’re too old to sulk because things got too real.”
Unable to think of anything to say, Mark got up and left. He didn’t want to drink with someone who was lecturing him, anyway.
He wasn’t sulking. And he certainly wasn’t immature. He’d done Becky a favor by refusing to get involved— better that the child never have a father than have one who didn’t really love his mom. He knew from experience how much that sucked.
And he didn’t love Becky. He was infatuated, maybe, but not in love.
It never would have lasted.
Even if he did love her she wouldn’t have stuck around. A woman like that could have any man she wanted. She’d never be happy settling for a schmuck like him.
Logically, he knew he had done the right thing.
Maybe in a couple more years his heart would believe it, too.
* * *
Becky lay back on the paper-covered pillow and breathed out, trying to relax. As the technician moved the gel-covered wand around, trying to get a clearer picture, she did her best to avoid thinking about the last time she’d been in this position, or about the baby that first sonogram had shown her.
“There you are, little bean,” the technician said. “It’s time to check you out.”
Becky looked up at the video screen, trying to identify which of the grainy black-and-white blobs was her baby.
“Mmm-hmm,” the technician muttered. “That’s good. And there’s that...perfect.” Then, louder, she said, “Ms. Logan, your bean is in good shape. So far everything looks just the way it should.”
Becky still wasn’t sure where to look. “Good, but can you show me? I’m embarrassed to say I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking at.”
“Oh. Of course. Silly me.”
She punched a few keys on the computer and in seconds a peanut-shaped fetus zoomed into focus.
“There’s your baby,” the technician said. “All curled up and ready to grow. Want to hear the heartbeat?”
Becky nodded.
“All right, here it comes!”
Soon a soft, rapid-fire whooshing beat filled the room.
“That...that’s my baby?” Becky asked.
She nodded.
“Oh. Oh. wow.” She lay silently for a moment, struggling against tears as a flood of emotions washed over her. Joy. Fear. And a fierce, all-consuming wave of love.
She was going to be a mommy. In fact she already was. And this time nothing would stop her from loving her baby with everything she had.
Eventually the technician cleared her throat. “Sorry to rush you, Ms. Logan, but I have another appointment in just a few minutes. I’m going to have to shut this down. How many pictures would you like?”
For a moment she thought about asking for three. One for her, one for her mo
m, and one to send to Mark. Maybe seeing the baby would bring him around.
But. No. That was just the hormones talking. Mark didn’t want to be involved in the baby’s life. And she didn’t need him to be.
“Just two, please.”
* * *
Mark was reviewing the latest round of Eden coupon designs when David let himself into his office.
“We’re going to the bar. Come with us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, David. I have a lot of work to do,” he said. Truth was, he had no desire to spend a second longer in the older man’s company than he had to.
“Come on. I’m tired of seeing you moping around here. It’s time to go out and have some fun.”
Fun? With David? Somehow, Mark didn’t think that was going to happen. But he knew it was important to appear to be a team player.
“All right,” he said. “Just let me get my coat.”
A short time later he found himself sitting on a stool in David’s favorite dive bar.
“Two whiskeys on the rocks,” David said to the bartender.
“Actually, I don’t—”
“Every ad man drinks whiskey, son. Buck up.”
Mark nodded and fell silent. Think about the money, he told himself. And the job. Thanks to this man, you’ve finally made it. You can drink a little whiskey if it makes him happy.
When their drinks came David took a deep swallow. Mark copied him, feeling the burn all the way down into his intestines.
“Listen, Mark, I asked you to come for a drink so I could set you straight on a few things,” David said.
“Oh?” Why was it everyone wanted to talk to him all of a sudden?
“I know you think what happened to Becky was unfair. That it was none of my business what you two were getting up to once work was done.”
“Well, sort of.” The man was a master of understatement.
David continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Here’s the thing, though. It had to be done. If it hadn’t been because of you I would have found another reason to get rid of her.”
“But she got rid of herself,” Mark protested.
“Oh, please. I knew what she would do when I called the two of you in there. I’d even warned the Eden people that she would probably be taking a leave of absence. Becky’s got too big of a heart to let someone else take the fall for her. And you have too much common sense to let go of a golden opportunity like this one.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Mark said slowly, his stomach churning.
“Women don’t belong in advertising,” David said. “Not in the upper ranks, anyway. They’re too emotional. Too distracted. Becky is a damn fine copywriter, but she’s incapable of achieving the single-minded focus men like you bring to the table. Eventually she would’ve found a man. Started a family. And just like that her career would have fallen to third place in her priorities. This agency is too important to me to allow it to take anything less than top priority in the lives of my management team. Advertising isn’t a business. It’s a lifestyle. I have yet to meet a woman who gets that.”
He took a sip of his drink and chuckled.
“Sometimes you have to get creative to persuade them to make the right choice. Like, say, with a ‘no relationship’ clause.”
Mark slammed his glass down on the counter, barely containing his sudden fury.
“Wait a minute. Are you’re telling me there’s not a no-relationship clause in our contracts?” he asked.
“There is now,” David said with a smug smile.
It was all Mark could do not to punch him.
“Did you actually have proof that Becky and I were involved?”
“Well, I saw you hugging in your office that day. I didn’t need any more proof than that. It was written all over your faces.”
Mark’s jaw dropped. This man was the biggest ass he’d ever met. And he’d chosen him over the woman he loved.
Loved? Yes, loved. As soon as the thought ran through his consciousness he could no longer deny the truth. He loved her with every fiber of his being. No job, no matter how awesome, would ever fill the hole her absence had left in his heart.
Suddenly he knew what he had to do. And it didn’t involve wasting any more time with the man sitting next to him.
“David, do you have a pen?”
“Sure,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his suit coat. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Mark said. Then he grabbed a fresh cocktail napkin from the pile on the bar. Uncapping the pen, he wrote “I QUIT,” in all caps, and signed his name.
“Here,” he said, handing it to David.
“What’s this?”
“My resignation letter. It’s effective immediately. Good luck with Eden,” he said and strode out through the door, already punching a number into his phone. “Jessie? I’m going to need Becky’s address. I have a mistake to fix.”
THIRTEEN
Becky stepped back to admire the Christmas tree. Twinkling lights sparkled from its branches, highlighting the perfectly coordinated red and gold ornaments.
“It looks like something out of a store catalog,” her mother said, a note of wistfulness in her voice.
“A little too perfect, huh?”
“No, I just wish you’d saved a little room for our family ornaments. I really love that snowman you made when you were five.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mom, I was just trying to do something useful. I feel like such a mooch.”
Her mom hadn’t let her do anything since she’d arrived home. She didn’t want any help cleaning. Wouldn’t allow her to touch a pot or pan. And she refused to accept any money for her room and board—money Becky knew her parents could use.
The forced idleness was driving her batty.
“You’re not a mooch. You’re my daughter, recovering from a very recent heartbreak and trying to build a whole new life—while making a new life. Cut yourself some slack.”
She sighed. “I’ll try. It’s just that I’m feeling itchy. I need to go back to work. I haven’t had this long of a break between jobs since I was sixteen.”
“I know. Give it time, Becky. The right opportunity will come along.”
“I hope so. Can you bring me the other box of ornaments? I’ll fix the tree.”
As her mother disappeared into the basement Becky heard the muffled sound of her phone trilling from somewhere in the room.
“Oh, great. Where’d I put the damn thing now?” she muttered, lifting boxes and tossing pillows.
She finally found it, mushed between two couch cushions.
“Hello?” she said a little breathlessly.
“There you are. I was just getting ready to leave you a message.”
“Oh, hey, Amy. What’s up? Another car agency sniffing around?”
“Nope, I promised not to bother you with any more of those. This one’s different.”
“All right, I’m listening,” Becky said.
“Well, it’s a new agency. Pretty much brand-new.”
“Uh-oh...”
“Now, hang on. They have some pretty big accounts. And not automotive, either.”
“Which ones?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you. You have to sign a nondisclosure agreement first. But they said you’re first on their list of candidates. Said they’d pay a premium if I could snag you.”
“Hmm. That’s flattering.”
“It is. Very. Why don’t you just go and see what they have to say? It could be just what you’re looking for.”
She looked over at her OCD tree and nodded. “All right. At the very least it will give me something to do.”
* * *
Becky parked in front of a bright yellow Victorian house, checking
the address one more time. Yep, this was where Amy had directed her to go.
Huh? It didn’t look like any ad agency she’d ever seen. She had to admit that the surroundings were charming, though. It had the same vibe that all her favorite New York neighborhoods had—young and hip and full of life.
She shouldered her laptop bag and clacked up the carefully manicured walk. As she crossed the covered porch she noticed a small woodcut sign that read ‘Trio’ hanging from the wreath hook.
Definitely the right place, then.
She was about to ring the bell when a gawky pink-haired girl opened the door.
“You must be Becky,” she said, blue eyes sparkling.
“I am. And you are...?”
“Izzie. I’m just a temp, but I’m hoping to convince the owner to keep me on,” she said conspiratorially.
“Ah,” Becky said, at a loss for words.
“Come on in,” she said. “He’s expecting you.”
She stepped inside and handed Izzie her coat, taking a moment to check out her surroundings. The house looked fabulous—contemporary furnishings contrasting nicely with ornate woodwork and jewel-toned walls.
“It’s this way,” Izzie said, leading Becky into what must have once been the dining area but what was now a fully kitted-out conference room.
“Have a seat anywhere you like. He’ll be right in.”
Becky pulled out one of the cushy wood chairs and sat down, realizing she had no idea who she was about to interview with. No one had ever given her a name.
Oh, well. The mystery would be solved soon enough.
She fired up her laptop and was opening her online portfolio when she heard a familiar rumble.
“There you are. Detroit’s hottest copywriter, in the flesh. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Her head snapped up. It couldn’t be.
It was.
Mark stood in the doorway, wearing a tailored black suit, looking even more delicious than she remembered. Her emotions spun, unsure whether to settle on absolute fury or melting delight. She stood, fighting the urge to either hug or throttle him.
“M-Mark? What are you doing here?”
“This is my agency.”
