As the nausea settled, he slowly opened his eyes and focused his vision with all his might on Missy. The effects of last night must have still showed. She just looked him—gawked at him—without uttering a word.
“What?” he finally croaked. “What’s the matter?”
She approached him, but still kept a good two-foot distance. “Uh, is everything all right?” she asked, handling him as if he were a grenade whose pin could be pulled at any second. “You look a little…”
“What?” Her normally perky face looked so distressed, he wondered if last night’s drinking binge could’ve shaved ten years off his life. He knew he didn’t look his best, but jeez, he was still among the living. Or so he thought.
She licked her lips. “Um, you look… Maybe you should see Sandra.”
Not. A. Chance.
Seeing Sandra again so soon was the dead-last thing on this earth he needed at the moment. He was trying to get Sandra out of his system, not in it further. “I’m fine. Just had a bit of a…sleep disturbance. So, maybe we could whisper in circle time, or better yet, have some sort of quiet festival today. How does that—?”
“Sweet Moses!”
Carol’s outburst had them turn in the direction of the door, and lo and behold, she now gawked at him too. Oh, come on. What was this, kick-Ben-when-he’s-down day?
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“He had a sleep dust-dance,” Hannah told her.
Carol looked back at Ben with a grin. “If that’s the case, maybe you should hire a housekeeper.”
He would have given her one fine, evil glare if hadn’t hurt so much to squint his eyes—or to see in general. “Sleep disturbance. I had a bit of a problem last night.”
Carol snorted. “I’ll say. Looks more like a catastrophe than a problem though. Maybe you should see Sandra. She’ll know what to do.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Missy said, bobbing her head up and down.
Ben rubbed his head, wishing for spontaneous combustion again. “No,” he growled. “No Sandra. Look, I’m fine. I don’t need to see—”
“Oh, Ben!”
Just when things couldn’t be worse, Sandra came into the room and was at his side in seconds. She laid her soft, cool hand on his forehead, caressing him, then moved her hand through his hair and down the sides of his face. At any other time in his life, he would have enjoyed this kind of attention from her. Heck, he would’ve done a halleluiah dance and had done some touching of his own. Only now, for reasons she was oblivious to, her contact was excruciating.
“What happened?” she asked him. “You didn’t get sick from my meatloaf, did you?”
Missy perked up. “Meatloaf?”
Sandra paused, realizing her slip, and then glanced at Ben before she answered. “Uh, Ben was over at the house to…discuss business, so I invited him to stay for dinner.”
As partially blind as he was, Ben didn’t miss the exchange of looks between Missy and Carol. Man, even when he wasn’t trying to be a playboy he was labeled a playboy. This situation wasn’t helping his reputation any.
Pressing his fingertips into his eye sockets, he let out a sigh. “It wasn’t your meatloaf, Sandra. Dinner was delicious.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” she said, sounding relieved. “But if you’re not feeling well, maybe you should leave.”
“It’ll pass.” He hoped. And he hoped it passed right on out the door with the weird feeling he had from seeing the look of true concern in Sandra’s eyes. He didn’t need her getting attached to him right now—or him getting attached to her.
“Don’t you worry,” she said, stroking his shoulders. “I’ll go get you some water.” Sandra turned and hurried out, Carol quickly following behind.
“See?” Missy said, with a smile so bright his head began to pound all over again. “Sandra always knows what to do. She’s our resident caregiver.”
“Resident caregiver, huh? Who takes care of Sandra?” he found himself asking.
“Huh?”
“Who takes care of Sandra?” he repeated.
Missy’s delicate brows pulled together. “Well…I do. I guess. Although Sandra never really needs mothering. She handles everything on her own just great, unlike me. You’d be surprised. She’s a tough cookie.”
Tough cookie?
Ben had to wonder about that. When he first met Sandra he would’ve bet the entire farm on a notion like that, too. She came across as cold, strong-willed, and fully capable of handling anything dished out at her in stride—and then some. The problem was she seemed to keep a lot to herself, surrounding her feelings in a shield of perfect composure and coolness. The first time he’d seen that shield melt was yesterday when she admitted to the problems she was having with the school and her ex-husband. But maybe that acknowledgement was only scratching the surface of what she truly felt. After all, cookies weren’t invincible.
Sandra thought movie stars were supposed to be invincible. They were always supposed to be charming, have glowing tans throughout the year, and always look incredible at all costs. How wrong she was. Ben looked awful. The worst she’d ever seen anyone’s face outside of a Halloween costume. His coloring was so pale, and he looked dehydrated. Just thinking about him made her pick up her pace, hoping the water and maybe a few aspirin would do the trick.
“So, Sandra, Ben Capshaw just happened to be at your house last night?” Carol called from behind.
Sandra stopped in front of her office. Poor Ben, she thought. He was in for a long wait for that water and aspirin. She was never going to get out of Carol’s probing clutches now.
She turned and regarded Carol, hand on her hip. “As a matter of fact, yes. Ben happened to be at my house…bringing in a stuffed animal for Hannah…that he won at the boardwalk…when we all had lunch together.”
There. It was all out in the open now.
“What? You spent the whole entire day together? Sandra, you little vixen. I didn’t know you had it in you. All that talk about not noticing him, and here you were all along, weaving your little web—no pun intended.” She faked as if she would cry. “I’m so proud.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “I didn’t weave any web. Besides, nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
“He’s not interested in anything more than friendship.”
Carol’s eyes widened. “He’s gay?”
“No, he’s not gay!”
“How would you know if nothing happened?”
“Look, trust me, he’s not gay. He’s just so happens to be a gentleman. He even said he would help me paint the classrooms this weekend—for free, for your information.”
“Whoa,” Carol shot, holding up spread hands. “Back up here. He offered to help you paint the school? Hmm. You might be on to something here.”
“You lost me.”
“What heterosexual man in his right mind would do something like that?”
“Still lost.”
“Honey, believe me, men don’t do much unless they’re after something. Since he already has money, and your cooking skills are…well…there, I’m going to have to go with the penis factor.” Carol threw her arms around her and squeezed. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Thank you so much,” she muttered into her shoulder.
Carol pulled back from her with a laugh. “I’m serious. I am happy for you. It’s about time you stopped living in the past and moved on with your life. Ben’s super hot and rich. True, the arachnophobia thing he has is a little weird, but all in all, he seems like a good guy. He’s actually pretty cute with the children, too. Hannah especially. And what better way to stick it to Steve? Can you imagine his face when he finds out you’re involved with Ben Capshaw, someone he could never attain to be career-wise? Boy, I’d love to see that.”
Sandra frowned. “I don’t want to date Ben to stick it to Steve.”
“Ah, so you have thought about it, then.”
“Dating Ben or sticking it to Steve?”
Carol just co
cked an eyebrow.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sandra said with a sigh. “I can’t think straight anymore. Yes, Ben seems very nice, but you know how actors are. You never know what you’re really getting underneath all the charm. I can’t go through what I did with Steve all over again. I just can’t. For Hannah’s sake, as well as my own, I need to think rationally this time.”
“You know, Ben isn’t Steve, Sandra. Some actors marry and even stay married.”
“Yes, actors get married. But actors aren’t the most responsible of men. They more than likely get divorced. I can vouch for that since I’m part of that statistic.”
Carol folded her arms. “You know, your attitude is what we in the preschool world call super smelly.”
“I’m not listening to this anymore.” She stepped into her office and tried to shut the door, but Carol blocked her.
“Okay, okay. I still think you’re nuts. What if that superstar out there is your soul mate?”
“He’s not.” Ben couldn’t be. She didn’t want him to be. She turned away and grabbed an unopened bottle of water off her desk. “Besides, we’re only going to paint—not have a romantic tryst.”
“Okay. How about I help you paint tomorrow, too, then?” Carol shot her a devilish smile. “Since you won’t go for it, there’s no sense letting a perfectly good opportunity with a certain super hottie go to waste, right?”
She blinked. “Oh…right. Thanks.”
“No problem at all.” Carol swiped the bottle of water out of her hands and waved it in front of her. “I’ll take this to Ben for you.”
Sandra watched her go, but couldn’t help feeling as though something was off. She didn’t know why. It was nice of Carol to offer to help her and Ben paint tomorrow. Yes. The more she thought about it, it was quite nice. A relief, too. Now she wouldn’t have to be alone with him. So if Carol wanted to make a fool of herself and be all over him like stink on Pepé Le Pew, well, that was her choice. Carol was single, had no responsibilities to anyone, and didn’t mind one bit that Ben seemed to be looking for a brief fling. More power to her.
She closed the door and ran her tongue over her teeth, experiencing just a taste of something bitter. It was oh so very Florence Nightingale of Carol to bring the water to Ben, too. That didn’t bother her either. She couldn’t care less how Ben was feeling. He was a healthy man who could bounce back quickly from whatever was ailing him. Carol was probably offering to give him a little personal TLC at this very minute. He’d be fine. Everything was fine.
So why did she suddenly feel sick herself?
Ben paced outside the preschool, waiting for Sandra. He said he’d help her paint the classrooms today. What was holding her up?
He glanced at his watch again. Okay. She was over forty-five minutes late now, which was funny in itself, since she didn’t strike him as an unpunctual person—his usual specialty. No, she struck him as one of those anal-retentive types. The type who harped about things being just so and always wanting things their own special way. He rolled his eyes.
She would’ve made one heck of an agent.
Sandra’s car suddenly raced into the parking lot, screeching to a stop. The car door flew open, and she jumped out, unsmiling and her shoulders as rigid as plywood boards. Somehow, wearing jeans, pink sneakers, and a sweatshirt that just said “Mexico”, she still managed to look like royalty. Her head was held high and with each step toward the rear of the car, her ponytail swung from side to side in a crisp rhythmic pattern. She hooked open the trunk, shoved some paintbrushes under her arm, and yanked out two gallon-sized paint cans.
“Don’t just stand there modeling your designer jeans for me,” she snapped as she marched up the sidewalk. “Or are you having second thoughts about painting?”
Ben glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was the one she was addressing. “Oh. Uh…no. I’m going to paint.”
She gave a stiff nod. “There’s more stuff in the trunk.” Sidestepping him, she opened the front door and disappeared.
Ben tried to get his bearings as he rubbed his arms to ward off the chill from that whirlwind of frost she’d just left in her wake. What was that all about? What had he done? He thought long and hard for almost a full minute. Nothing! For the first time, he did absolutely nothing! He’d been on his best behavior. In fact, he was being a damn nice guy even being here on a Saturday, and there she was giving him a nasty minus-thirty-two-degree attitude.
Oh, no. Not this time, sweetheart. What more could he do to prove to her that he wasn’t here at her school for some lark, but to help her. He wasn’t going to lie down and take it like any ordinary Joe Shmoe she was used to dealing with. Publicity be damned! This woman’s attitude needed adjusting.
Ben marched in after her, longing for a good fight to get out some of those pent-up feelings he had for her—in one way or another. If his agent wouldn’t allow him to do it physically, then he’d have to do it verbally. “Look, Miss High and—”
He stopped in the doorway as he took in the picture presented before him. Sandra sat on top of a small desk with her head tilted down and a hand spread covering her face. She was silent, and her chest rose unevenly as though she had difficulty taking in a breath. He stood there, stunned, and the anger left him before he could blink, replaced with an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.
For that reason alone, he didn’t dare step closer.
Sandra swiped at her eyes and looked up. “Is there a problem?” she asked. She questioned him with such composure he would have never guessed she was upset, except for the few tears that still clung to her eyes.
“You tell me,” he said.
“There’s no problem at all.”
He didn’t want to think about why her refusal to open up stung him so much. After all, he’d only known her for about a week. He wasn’t a relative. He wasn’t a shrink. So maybe it wasn’t any of his business to know what was bothering her. He didn’t want to get any more involved in her life anyway. It wasn’t his style. In fact, he should respect her want of privacy and turn right around and ignore the distress he saw on her face.
But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because if there was anyone who was in need of a friend right now, it was Sandra.
“Where’s Hannah?” he asked, changing the subject.
“At home. Missy’s with her.”
He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to put on an air of ease and casualness. “I guess that’s why you were late then, because of Missy, right?” He fell silent and waited.
Seconds ticked by. He almost thought she wouldn’t respond.
“No,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t late because of Missy. I was late because of Steve. He called before I left.”
Steve. The jerk-face himself. He should have known it was the ex-husband who put her in such a foul mood. “So what did the Man of Cheer want?”
Sandra didn’t smile at his potshot, which told him she was even more upset than he thought. “It was what he didn’t want. He promised Hannah he’d come to school for the Halloween party. She’s excited to show him her princess costume. But he called to tell me he has a sudden conflict with work and can’t make it now.” She shook her head. “I really thought this time was going to be different, for her sake. Hannah’s going to be so disappointed. I don’t why he makes these promises to her.”
“Can’t make it? Just what the hell does he do for a living that he’s too busy and can’t change his schedule?”
She cleared her throat and then looked away. “He’s an actor,” she said softly.
He went numb.
“Uh, did you say actor?”
“Yes. He usually does off-Broadway stuff. Some Broadway, too. That’s why he’s in New York right now. He has a small role in The Producers.”
Her ex-husband was an actor. Holy crap. No wonder she gave him such a hard time. He was the enemy.
“You don’t say,” he managed, still feeling dazed by the news.
“I
suppose you can sympathize with his situation more than I can.”
That comment snapped him back to awareness. “What? No! Hey, I do have some principles.”
She cocked her head and gave him a long look before she responded. “Yes, I’m starting to believe you do.”
“Damn right, I do! If I had a great daughter like Hannah who I didn’t get to see often, I would make it a point to be there for something I promised. What a loser that guy is. Your deadbeat ex-husband doesn’t know the half of what a super kid he’s disappointing, because if—”
Sandra laughed, surprising him into silence. “Thank you, Ben.”
“Thanks for what?”
She shook her head as if she didn’t quite know either. “For helping me. You know, for getting all riled up for me. I didn’t tell Missy or Hannah about Steve’s call. I just thought it’d be best if I dealt with it myself somehow. I don’t even know why I told you, but I’m glad. I feel so much lighter.” She grinned. “You’re like therapy or something.”
“Well, maybe you don’t have to always show you’re the boss of every situation. It’s okay to admit you’re upset, that you need someone to talk to. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
She shrugged lightly. “I guess I just got in the habit of that when I found myself raising a baby alone. But you’re right. Sometimes, I do need someone.”
Ben didn’t like where this discussion was heading. Sandra was too open with him, too vulnerable at the moment. He was feeling kind of vulnerable too and, since it was for real and not acting, he didn’t know how to deal with it. He needed to end where this discussion was heading before he ruined everything.
He quickly picked up a paintbrush and twirled it in his fingers. “Okay,” he rushed out with a forced smile. “How about we start painting? I’ll let you watch the master with his skilled strokes firsthand.”
Sandra shot him a seductive smile. “Well, I know a little about skilled strokes myself, you know.”
He flinched and dropped the brush with a swoosh and a plop.
Holy unexpected, Batman!
Did Sandra just flirt with him? He wasn’t sure. But he was pretty sure she had. He tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. This was terrible…but, in a way, friggin’ awesome. He suddenly thought of his agent… Okay, it was mostly terrible.
The Role of a Lifetime Page 9
