Mr. Valentine

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Stephanie punched the button and the glass elevator started up the terraced atrium of the hotel. “Goodness, anyone would think you had a man hiding in your room.”

  Krysta tried to laugh and started to choke.

  Stephanie pounded her on the back. “You are a bundle of nerves. A shot of brandy is exactly what you need. I’m glad I thought of it. I know it can be disconcerting, attaining this level of success after years of struggling in obscurity, but I’m going to get you past this paranoia, Candy. I’ve been dealing with authors for years. You’re not the first one to run screaming from the thought of doing a little publicity.”

  Krysta sank against the elevator wall and tried to imagine how she’d get out of this mess.

  Stephanie crossed her arms and gazed at her. “I used to be just like you, afraid of success, but I conquered that fear and I’ve never looked back. You’re going to thank me someday for giving you a little push, Ms. Candy Valentine.”

  Krysta resisted the urge to laugh, afraid that she’d lose control and lapse into hysteria. For the first time she understood how Jack must have felt during all those lectures she’d given him in the Rainier cafeteria, and how she must have sounded to her brothers over the years she’d helped raise them. Stephanie was using exactly the same tone, and it made Krysta feel like a wayward child. She didn’t much like the experience.

  The elevator doors slid open at the forty-fifth floor and Krysta hurried out. “Don’t forget. I get thirty seconds to tidy the place up.”

  “To tell the truth, I’m not surprised you’re worried about that. You have definite perfectionistic tendencies. I can see it in your work.”

  “You can?” Now that was something to think about. Surely Jack didn’t have perfectionistic tendencies. Or did he? Perhaps she’d been too blinded by her own assessment of him to notice.

  She dug in her tote bag for the key as she tried to outdistance Stephanie. It didn’t work. Stephanie’s long stride kept right up with her even though she was practically running down the corridor. She pushed the card key into the slot and prayed that Jack wouldn’t meet her at the door.

  “Be right with you, Stephanie,” she said, a little louder than necessary as she opened the door about a foot. She slipped through and slammed the door in the editor’s face.

  Jack leaped up from the couch and threw down the book he’d been reading. “Who?”

  She rushed over to him. “Keep your voice down,” she muttered. “She insisted on coming up to the room for a nightcap.”

  He stared at her.

  “I tried to avoid it, Jack, believe me. Finally, I was afraid she’d cancel the whole deal if I didn’t let her come up here. And I’ve used all your arguments against the tour. She’s not buying a single one of them.”

  “Do you think she’s on to us?” he murmured.

  “I don’t think so. I hope not. Just take your book and go hide in the bedroom. I’ll get rid of her as soon as I can.”

  “Right. And don’t agree to that damn tour, no matter how many nightcaps you have.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I am not in the habit of getting drunk and giving in.”

  “Yeah, I know. I tried that.” With one last glance, he went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  Krysta took a quick inventory of the suite and was about to let Stephanie in when she saw Jack’s running shoes lying beside a chair. No way could she explain size twelve Reeboks. She grabbed them and ran to the bedroom door. She flung it open and heaved them in the general direction of the bed where Jack lay reading. As she closed the door she realized that Jack had been forced to duck. And maybe she’d meant for him to.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked to the hall door and opened it.

  ONCE HE HEARD VOICES out in the living room, Jack left the bed and went over to sit on the floor beside the door and listen as best he could to the conversation. Krysta was ticked. She’d heaved those shoes right at him, and he didn’t think it was an accident.

  Hell, he didn’t blame her for being furious. He’d started something he wasn’t in a position to finish. Yet during the evening as he’d waited for her to come back, he’d been unable to dredge up any regret for what had happened in the past three days. All his fantasies about Krysta had come true except the part about living happily ever after, and he wasn’t giving up on that one yet, although he couldn’t tell her.

  As for Krysta, he didn’t think she’d settle for somebody like Derek Hamilton after this weekend, and that was a plus. Jack might still lose her to somebody with a better portfolio, because she had to consider her responsibilities to her father. But at least now she’d demand a guy who knew something about how to treat a woman. He hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate the idea of her with someone else, though, which had served the useful purpose of keeping him from punching holes in the hotel walls.

  He leaned against the door and heard Krysta order a bottle of very good brandy from room service. He shouldn’t have made that crack about having too many nightcaps and agreeing to the book tour. She would never allow herself to get tipsy under these circumstances and he knew it.

  The stupid remark indicated how frustrated he was becoming with the whole situation, but that didn’t excuse it. He’d apologize after Stephanie left. Then maybe he’d ask if he could keep seeing Krysta once they returned to Evergreen, although they’d have to be careful not to run afoul of Hamilton for a while. Maybe if Jack kept coming around, she’d begin to understand that he wasn’t avoiding a commitment, just postponing it until the right time.

  He concentrated on the conversation between Stephanie and Krysta, and from what he could tell it centered around an illuminated billboard visible from the hotel window. He vaguely remembered the billboard, a shirtless guy who was modeling designer jeans.

  “Looks like a candidate for a Candy Valentine hero to me,” Stephanie said clearly.

  “He is pretty cute, at that,” Krysta said, almost as if she’d raised her voice for his benefit. “Nice pecs.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. She sure knew how to get under his skin.

  “You should see some of the cover models,” Stephanie said. “Really yummy. I already have somebody in mind for Jake in Uptown Girl. I think we’ll show him shirtless, like that guy on the billboard.”

  “I can see that for the cover,” Krysta said.

  “You know, it would be fun if you could be around for the cover shoot. Hey, maybe you’d like to meet the model I have in mind. You two would probably hit it off great.”

  “Sounds nice, but we’ll have to see,” Krysta said.

  Jack’s breath hissed out through his teeth. He could have done without the sounds nice part.

  “Do you have a guy waiting for you back home, Candy?”

  Jack tensed. “No, nobody,” Krysta said.

  Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Nobody. But there was, dammit. She just didn’t understand.

  The brandy arrived, and there was some clinking of glasses and laughter as they apparently got comfortable with their nightcaps.

  “I’m just not going to take no for an answer on that book tour,” Stephanie said. “You’re doing it, and that’s that.”

  “I really can’t,” Krysta replied.

  “All right. I didn’t want to play hardball, but you’re forcing me to. Unless you agree to the book tour, we’ll have to reconsider our publishing program for you. We need that tour to help assure Candy Valentine’s success. You scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours. That’s the way it has to be.”

  Jack surged to his feet, ready to go out and tell Stephanie what she could do with her program. His hand was on the knob as Krysta gave her answer.

  “Then, of course I’ll do the tour.”

  13

  JACK FROZE IN PLACE. She was willing to make that kind of sacrifice for him, even if she thought he didn’t care enough to offer her a wedding ring? He’d get her out of the tour somehow, of course, but if he stormed out there now he’d diminish the value
of her gesture and make her look like a fool in front of Stephanie.

  “I’m glad you came to your senses,” Stephanie said. “Now, before I leave, I’d like to use your bathroom, if I may.”

  Grabbing his shoes, Jack headed for the closet with no time to scan the place for any other signs of his presence, but he had a bad feeling that a pair of Jockey shorts were lying somewhere on the floor. He had to crouch down to fit under the top shelf, but he managed to close the closet door after him before Stephanie walked into the bedroom. From what he could tell, Krysta was right on her heels.

  “Now you’ll really embarrass me,” Krysta said. “I’m sure the bathroom is a disaster.”

  Jack could picture Krysta, her heart pounding as she visually swept the area.

  “I’m not on an inspection tour,” Stephanie said. Then the bathroom door closed.

  Jack stood with Krysta’s white silk blouse caressing his cheek on one side and the powder-blue suit she’d worn on the plane rubbing his shoulder on the other side. The whole closet was filled with her fragrance, and he wanted to hold her so much his arms ached.

  “Jack,” Krysta whispered from just outside the closet. “You in there?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Did you find anything of mine on the floor?”

  “I kicked your Jockey shorts under the bed. Jack, I had to agree to the tour.”

  “I know.”

  There was the sound of the bathroom door opening again. “Krysta?” Stephanie said. “Are you okay?”

  Krysta’s footsteps headed away from him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Why?”

  “When I came out, I could have sworn you were talking to the closet.”

  “Just verbally going over my wardrobe,” Krysta said. “Making sure I had something to wear back on the plane.”

  “With the closet door closed?”

  “That’s right. You caught me standing there muttering to myself. Authors are strange ducks, as I’m sure you’ve discovered over the years.”

  “You’re right, I have. By the way, I noticed you use a man’s razor and shaving cream on your legs. I’ve found that works better, too.”

  “Yes, it certainly does.” Krysta closed the bedroom door after them.

  Still holding his shoes, Jack emerged cautiously from the closet and crept over to listen at the door again. Stephanie seemed to be in the process of taking her leave, thank God.

  “It’s been a fascinating few days,” Stephanie said. “I feel as if we’re very much alike, you and I.”

  “I think so, too,” Krysta agreed.

  There was a pause. “You’re sure you don’t have a special someone back in Evergreen?”

  “Yes, I’m very sure.”

  “Then maybe that special someone is right here in New York with you?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean,” Krysta stammered.

  Jack held his breath.

  “Don’t be embarrassed about it,” Stephanie said. “I probably would have brought my boyfriend along for support on my first trip to New York. But next time, come alone. You’re a big girl now, and you can make your own business decisions.”

  “Stephanie, I—”

  “With the kind of drive you’ve shown thus far, it didn’t make sense to me that you’d fight the idea of a tour so vigorously, especially after you indicated originally that you’d do it. Besides that, the arguments you came up with sounded a little rehearsed. Finally, I put all the evidence together and came up with the answer. I’ve edited a fair amount of mysteries in my day, too.”

  Her comment was met with dead silence. Jack could imagine Krysta standing there completely dumbstruck.

  “Some men can’t handle it when their women threaten to become independent and successful,” Stephanie continued. “If this guy of yours is telling you it’s okay to make a lot of money, but not okay to get out there and promote your book, please don’t listen to him. Soon you’ll have your pick of gorgeous men. You don’t have to settle for a chauvinist.”

  “I—I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And I’ll be in touch. It’s been a pleasure, Candy. Good night, now.”

  Jack slumped against the doorjamb and waited until Krysta came and opened the bedroom door.

  She stood there, looking exhausted. “Did you hear her? She thinks Candy Valentine was bush-league enough to drag her hometown sweetheart to New York with her. And that he’s the reason she won’t go on tour.”

  “He is.”

  Tired though she obviously was, Krysta lifted her chin in defiance. “Well, too bad. I’m going on that tour. This whole house of cards will collapse if I don’t. Furthermore, I see no reason why you have to come along. I’ve got the routine down well enough. It’s not as if I have to speak in literary phrases or anything. Maybe I’ll even take a community college course in literature, just to beef up my conversation on the subject of writing and writers.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy. You don’t have the time to—”

  “I believe in finishing what I start, as I’ve said to you before. When the tour is over and your first book is a success, you can decide what to do about the entire charade. But if I don’t do this for Uptown Girl next February, your career won’t be launched.”

  “Sure it will. Maybe not with as much fanfare, but the book will still be published. Stephanie won’t change her mind about that.”

  “Maybe not, but she’ll think Candy is a wimp who listens to her boyfriend instead of standing on her own two feet.”

  “Who cares what Stephanie thinks?”

  “Well, you should, but that’s only part of the problem with not doing the tour. I realize after this very informative weekend that it takes more than a good book to make somebody a bestseller. You may never have such a golden opportunity to get your work in front of an audience as you do right now. I don’t want your failure as a writer on my conscience.”

  Her tone was reminiscent of the lectures she used to give him in the Rainier cafeteria, but tonight he wasn’t amused. He was frustrated as hell at her bullheadedness. “Krysta, think of the consequences to you. You’ll have to lie to Hamilton again, and this time it will be an even bigger lie. You’ll have to pretend you’re going on a book tour for your first book, because the word might easily get back to him if you’re going to be that visible. And you’ll have to tell the same lie to your friends and your family. Everybody you know will be led to believe that you’re Candy Valentine. That’s nuts.”

  “In your view. Not in mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed. We have a plane to catch in the morning.”

  The ice dripping from her every syllable told him that she intended to go to bed alone.

  He lost control. “You’re being a damned martyr, Krysta! Hamilton will crucify you and you’ll be left with nothing! What about your career? What about your father?”

  A dangerous-looking light came into her green eyes. “I can handle Derek, Jack.”

  His blood ran cold. There was only one way he could imagine her handling Derek Hamilton. He’d been so sure she wouldn’t settle for a guy like that, but maybe he’d been wrong. “Don’t do it, Krysta.”

  The crack of her hand against his cheek resounded in the stillness that followed. “How dare you?’ she whispered at last, her whole body trembling.

  As he stared into the fury and hurt of her gaze, he had no answer. And where Krysta was concerned, he had no rights, either, considering he wasn’t ready to step forward to claim her himself. “Okay, maybe that was out of line.”

  “Maybe?” She stormed past him into the bedroom.

  “Okay, it was definitely out of line.” He couldn’t demand that she not go back to Hamilton. He could only hope she wouldn’t.

  She paused by the bedside table with her back to him. When she turned around she had something in her hand, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Here, Jack. Catch!” She hurled the plastic heart across the room.

  He caught it with one hand and the plast
ic arrow shaft bit into his palm.

  “Now get out of my sight.”

  He left the room, and walked out of the suite. Outside in the hall he paused to put on his shoes. His jacket was still inside, but he didn’t care. He trotted toward the emergency exit door and pounded down the stairs, the downward spiral perfectly matching his mood. Once outside he hit the pavement running, welcoming the cold. As he ran he tried to crush the fear that he’d just hurled Krysta right back into Derek Hamilton’s arms.

  BY THE TIME KRYSTA opened her bedroom door the next morning, Jack was already packed and gone. Somehow he also avoided her in the airline terminal. Although the flight home was a blur of pain as she worked to blot out thoughts of the man sitting back in the coach section, she forced herself to think through her options.

  If she planned very carefully, she would get her promotion, provide for her father’s care and do Jack’s book tour. It was a lot to handle, but if she’d learned one thing in life, it was how to shoulder responsibility. Because she had no intention of becoming a martyr or Derek’s mistress, she had to find a way to make herself more valuable to Rainier Paper.

  Her first move after returning to work on Monday morning was to pay a visit to marketing department head Denise Terkel to present some of the ideas she’d picked up while schmoozing with the marketing department at Manchester. Advertising was advertising, in her opinion, and it was time she concentrated on a transfer to a department where promotion was more likely.

  “EXCELLENT IDEAS, KRYSTA.” Denise, a redheaded dynamo who stood barely five feet tall, smiled at Krysta across the cluttered expanse of her desk. “Did you dream those up while you were soaking in a mud bath at that spa you went to?”

  “You might say that.”

  “I didn’t realize we had such a creative mind sitting down in the contracts department.”

  Krysta absorbed that statement and its possible implications. “I guess you’ve forgotten I was the one who suggested doing infomercials promoting Rainier’s research into alternative sources of paper material,” she said carefully.