Would Drew’s kiss turn off the analytical, calculating part of her mind?
Somehow, she had the sneaking suspicion it would.
Tyler pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes shone in the dim light of the limousine. “Wow, that was awesome.”
Slightly above average, at best. Suddenly, Maggie felt tired. All she wanted was to go home, kick off her heels, and soak in a bubble bath while thinking up the scathing things she could say to Drew now that she had gone out with a normal person.
I’m not a snob. So there, Drew Jackson.
Darn. She could not even say those words in the privacy of her own mind without sounding like a thirteen-year-old.
She mustered a smile. “Good night, Tyler.”
He grasped her hand before she could step out of the limousine. “One more date, Marguerite, please. A real date. This one didn’t count. It was too public. I was surrounded by too many people for me to relax and just be me.”
Maggie’s eyebrows arched. Those words could have come from Drew’s mouth. Could the real Tyler be as compelling as the real Drew? More importantly, did she care? Maggie drew in a deep breath, but the word “no” caught on her lips before she tossed out the rejection. Instead, she smiled. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
~*~
Drew woke the next morning to a headache pulsing through his skull. He had drunk too much wine at dinner the night before, stayed up too late analyzing Maggie’s investments, and then slept horribly despite swallowing two Benadryl before heading to bed.
He squinted against the shafts of sunlight piercing the cracks in his curtains to pool upon the hardwood floors. He suspected the real reason he felt like crap was because he had spent too much mental energy trying not to think about Maggie’s date with Tyler Lamarck.
Careful not to jostle Felicity, who lay asleep beside him, he got out of bed and headed to the shower. He adjusted the intensity of the spray to target the knotted muscles in his shoulders and back, then closed his eyes and let the water do its work. What had Maggie worn last night? He hoped not the turquoise dress that made her look like a sea goddess, with her long blond hair spread like a silk curtain over her back. Without effort, he summoned her scent—the heady, inviting, luxurious fragrance that wafted around her whether she wore jeans and a T-shirt or a dazzling ball gown.
Damn it. He flipped the water to cold and turned around to cool his raging hard-on. Frustration gnawed at him. With a low grunt, he touched his forehead to the shower wall tiles. If he wasn’t going to make his move on Maggie, how could he begrudge others who did?
Of course he could. And he did.
Drew’s hands clenched into fists. The promise he had made ten years ago was like a choke collar around his neck. He swore under his breath. His word, easily given, should have cost him nothing to keep, until, like a fool, he realized he had fallen in love with Maggie.
Then it had become hell.
Under his breath, he cursed the man who had extracted the promise from him. Just for the hell of it, he cursed Maggie too, and then himself, to round out the sorry bunch.
“That was almost poetic.” Felicity’s voice, low and amused, cut through his muttered swear words.
Drew glanced over his shoulder. Felicity stood by the bathroom door, wearing a T-shirt she had borrowed from his closet. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Your phone did with its nasty buzz.” She waved the smartphone she held in her hand and set it down on the bathroom countertop. “I’ll get the coffee going. You sound like you could use caffeine and sugar.”
Drew stepped out of the shower, dried off, and picked up his phone. Google had kicked back its daily search results for “Marguerite Ferrara.” Multiple links led to several dozen photographs of Maggie in that turquoise dress—damn it—posing with Tyler Lamarck and a host of partygoers.
His phone buzzed again with an incoming text message from Maggie. Dated a NORMAL person. Hah!
Several possible replies immediately came to mind, some snide, others crude, but in the end, the message he sent back simply said: Hope you had a good time. He tossed his phone aside and dressed before joining Felicity in the dining room for breakfast.
Felicity looked up from the tablet she had been browsing. Remnants of scrambled egg lay on her empty plate. “Do you want something other than coffee?”
“Not for a while.” He sat across from her and reached for his mug. He, too, opened his tablet and pulled up the latest electronic copy of the Financial Times.
Felicity’s calm voice interrupted his thoughts. “How long have you been in love with Marguerite Ferrara?”
Drew didn’t look up. “Nothing will come of it.”
Felicity chuckled. “Not if you’re going to keep behaving like a surly bear. Come now, Drew. You’re not going to insult me by confessing that you love someone else. We knew when we tumbled into bed together a year ago that we wouldn’t be anything more than good friends with benefits—great benefits, actually—but in the end, just friends.”
Drew released his breath in a sigh. He looked up and met Felicity’s gaze across the table. “Why couldn’t we ever get beyond friendship? I wanted to.”
“In your head you wanted to, but your heart was never available. There was always a part of you I couldn’t reach. How long have you loved her?”
“Ten years.”
“Ten…” Felicity’s eyes widened. “God, you move slower than a glacier.”
Drew ground his teeth. “First, she was too young and dating my brother, then she went away to Italy. She came back a high-flying model, with celebrities lining up around the block to date her.”
“But that’s only part of the reason you haven’t made the move on her, isn’t it?”
Drew sighed. He did not elaborate. What was the point? What was done was done, and in the final count, he acknowledged that her father was right. Drew had a stable job, a solid income, and great career prospects, but ultimately, it was still only a job in corporate America. He had no right to stand in the way of Maggie’s dazzling career as a model and, if she chose, as a trophy wife.
Felicity studied him as if he were an interesting specimen beneath a microscope. “When did you fall in love with her?”
“After my car accident.”
“The one that wrecked your knee?”
And ended his football career. “Maggie spent hours visiting me each day. She got me out of my depression. She even attended physical therapy with me. I don’t think I could have done it without her.”
“I’m sure you would have, just not as quickly or as gracefully. Does she know the impact she had on you?”
Drew shook his head. “We never talk about the accident.”
“Why?”
“I don’t go there.” The sense of loss had subsided to a dull ache, but it still ached each time he received a Google search report of Maggie’s celebrity dates. If not for the accident, he might have gone on to the NFL after college. He might have been a celebrity, too, and had an honest chance of winning Maggie’s affections. Her father would have approved.
Instead, he was stuck at a desk job earning a fraction of what he might have earned as a NFL player, and unable to walk without pain and a limp. He could not marry Maggie, not when he posed a financial and physical burden to her. And if he could not marry her, he had no right dating her. It would be too cruel to win her love only to break her heart. It left him with no choice other than to do what he had always done—watching from afar as Maggie flitted from one man to another.
The only problem was, with the abundance of social media and Maggie’s rising fame, there was simply no way to “watch from afar.” She didn’t flaunt her affairs, but the paparazzi did. Like a moth drawn to flame, Drew could not not watch, and he drove himself crazy in the process.
Felicity reached for her coffee. “I’ve been thinking recently that I might be ready to invest my time and energy in something long term. You’re not at the same place. Perhaps we should go ou
r separate ways.”
Drew expelled his breath in a sigh. He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”
She waved her hand, dismissing his apology. “I knew, going in, that you weren’t quite over someone, and now I see that it’ll be a while before you’re ready to move on. We’ll still be friends, though, won’t we?”
Felicity’s voice was level, but Drew caught a glimpse of pain lurking in her dark eyes. He had hurt her, too, with his obsession with Maggie. “Yes, of course.” He pushed to his feet and walked over to stand behind her chair. He rested his hand on her taut shoulders. A tremble coursed through her. The breakup was not as easy on her as she made it seem.
His chest ached. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, interlacing his fingers on her chest, over her breasts. His cheek pressed against hers, the gesture an intimate farewell.
Felicity leaned into his embrace and chuckled, the sound wavering between a sob and a laugh. “Maggie’s a fool if she doesn’t know what she has in you. Or maybe you’re the fool for not letting her know.”
Together, their breath rose and fell on a sigh. Drew closed his eyes against a future that offered nothing. “Sometimes, it’s better not to know what you can’t have.”
Felicity left after breakfast, and his one-bedroom apartment fell silent. Moving slowly from emotional and mental exhaustion, Drew cleared the breakfast dishes and then returned to the table. He flipped open his computer notebook and continued working on his analysis of investment opportunities for Maggie. The work would eat up his entire weekend, but then again, it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do. Besides, working for Maggie was a hell of a lot less painful than thinking of Maggie.
Chapter 5
Maggie’s second date with Tyler began with brunch at Café Reggio in Greenwich Village. Their knees bumped under the table as Tyler pulled up a map of New York City on his smartphone. “Now, my goal is to give you a whirlwind tour of the most iconic, non-touristy New York sights,” he said.
“Sure. I can get behind non-touristy.” Any day when she could avoid the paparazzi was a huge win. “Where do we start?”
“We’ve started.” He tapped on his smartphone screen with one hand and waved his other hand to encompass the café. “Did you know that this café is a hundred years old and boasts the oldest espresso machine in the city?”
“That monstrosity back there? Does it still work, or should I be grateful I ordered tea?”
Tyler laughed. “You can try my cappuccino.” He set the phone down as a waiter came over with their drinks and breakfast—a bowl of granola for Maggie and pancakes for Tyler. “So, not that I’m complaining or anything, but why did you make New York your home instead of say, Milan or Paris?”
“Well, I came for college—Parsons School of Design—and after I graduated last year, it made sense to stay. The top fashion brands may have originated in Italy, but all of them have offices here—Armani, Versace...” Drew. She dug into her granola to conceal the sudden flush. “What about you?”
“New Yorker, born and bred. Never leaving. No other city in the world compares. No other city is as…alive.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I know this place like the back of my hand.”
“Looks like I’ve found the perfect tour guide, then.”
Tyler looked under the table. “You wore comfy shoes like I told you. Good. We’ll be eating well and walking a ton to appease the gods of skinny waistlines.”
Maggie laughed. Motion by the entrance of the café drew her attention. Several people stood by the door, pointing and waving at Tyler and her. “Friends of yours?” she asked.
“Never seen them before.”
One of the gawkers, a woman in her mid-thirties, walked toward them with a sheepish smile. “Excuse me, Ms. Marguerite. I’d like to take a photo with you.” Her eyes darted to Tyler. “And you too, please?”
“Of course!” Tyler grinned and pulled his chair closer to Maggie. He slipped his arm around the back of her chair, and leaned in.
Maggie glanced at the crowd gathering outside the café. Her heart sank.
One photograph became two, then three. The line kept growing. At some point, Maggie stopped counting. By the time she got back to her breakfast, her granola was soggy. She picked out the last strawberry from the sodden mass of grain and bit into it. From across the room, several smartphone cameras went off, capturing her every move. Maggie closed her eyes, wished for Tylenol, and prayed for patience.
After brunch, the initial crowd fell away as Tyler and Maggie made their way across Washington Square Park, but gawking newcomers arrived to fill the gaps. Maggie and Tyler spent their day in the Village. They visited a comedy club, had a picnic lunch in Washington Square Park, and then spent the afternoon in a jazz club. Frequently, a celebrity watcher worked up enough courage to request a photograph and then it became a free-for-all until Maggie found herself wishing for professional paparazzi instead. At least the professionals would not have stopped her for selfies.
In spite of the lack of physical progress, Tyler looked like he was having fun. His indulgent attitude toward the endless stream of celebrity hunters soothed the irritable edge of Maggie’s temper. He smiled and laughed as if born to the spotlight. Drew, Maggie reflected, could never have handled the attention as gracefully. Even when he had been Stanford’s star quarterback, he would take the long way around the stadium to avoid reporters and fans. After the initial burst of news around his car accident, Drew quietly faded out of public consciousness and never found his way back.
Most of the time, Maggie suspected Drew did not mind not being in the spotlight, but she had seen him look at pictures of her on the arms of other celebrities, with shadows in his eyes that hinted of loss and regret. She never understood it, and she never asked. Her friendship with Drew had clear boundaries; his car accident and its tragic aftermath were out of bounds.
“You look like a thousand miles away.” Tyler’s voice drew her back to the present.
Maggie turned to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with the crowd. It’s usually not like this.”
“Oh? How is it like usually?”
“Usually the casual-clothes-and-sunglasses disguise works better.” She tapped the frame of the sunglasses she wore. “I can get around unnoticed unless I’m with someone more famous, like an actor or a celebrity.”
“But I am a celebrity.” Tyler thumped his chest. “The person with the most social media followers wins, and I am right up there with some of the biggest names in Hollywood. Even better, I’ve got something they don’t.”
Unease coiled in the pit of her stomach. “Really?”
“I’m the every man.”
“What?”
“The man on the street. The celebrity non-celebrity. I’m just a data analyst who has made his fame the real way, the hard way, posting smart and funny video commentaries about living in New York. Every like, every share, is one person saying they support what I do. They don’t just let their fingers do the clicking. They do the walking too.”
Maggie stared at him. “You’ve been sharing our date on social media? Is that where all these people are coming from? They’ve come out here because you’ve told them where we are?”
“Of course.”
“What do you mean ‘of course’? You said the high school reunion didn’t count as a date because it was too public and you were surrounded by too many people for you to relax and just be you. What do you call this?” She flung her arm out at the host of people surrounding them, people that Tyler was apparently not seeing.
“How was I supposed to relax surrounded by the jocks who tormented me in PE, or the sorority chicks who snubbed me in front of all their friends, and mine too? Everyone stared when I walked in with you on my arm. I kept expecting someone to trip me up just to make me look like a fool in front of you.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Marguerite, are you really so naïve? Isn’t modeling supposed to be one of the most cutth
roat industries out there?”
“It is, but I wasn’t expecting a high school reunion to rank alongside it, and I certainly wasn’t expecting a running Twitter or Facebook commentary on our date.”
“My followers are loving it.” Tyler grinned. “My last tweet about how sexy you look in that yellow sundress had nearly four thousand retweets. That’s publicity money can’t buy, Marguerite. You’re trending on Twitter, right up there ahead of the 6.0 earthquake that hit San Francisco this morning.”
“And that statement, right there, is exactly what’s wrong with the world.”
Tyler chuckled. “Reality sucks. People want to live a dream, and that’s what I’m doing for them. The ordinary man on the street, dating a model. It doesn’t happen for everyone. I’m making dreams real, and you’re a big part of it.” He flashed her a grin. “Don’t you want to make dreams come true? Be an honest-to-god fairy godmother?”
Maggie laughed, because it was easier to laugh at her unease than to give in to the nagging uncertainty. “Are you going to buy me a magic wand?”
“I can, if it helps the image.” Tyler brushed a kiss over her lips.
His kiss did not set off any delicious, toe-curling sensations, but several smartphone cameras clicked anyway. Maggie stifled the sigh and decided to go with the flow. She was overthinking the situation—never an attractive trait—and Tyler was right: He was giving her publicity money could not buy. Any publicity was good publicity, after all; even her agent had told her that.
~*~
By the time Maggie arrived home late that evening, her feet hurt but it was a good kind of ache. Tyler had shown her every attraction worth mentioning in Greenwich Village, and they had walked the length and breadth of the Village several times. It was an experience her other dates would not have offered, probably because they would have considered it too common. Drew would have thought of it, and likely enjoyed it, but his injured knee would never permit it.
Spring Into Love Page 113
