Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “Actually, yes. You’ve known from the beginning that the purpose of your column was to draw attention to the magazine and encourage women to splurge on some romantic notion. It was never intended to be something people took seriously, and certainly nothing that could stand on its own. Plus, our analytics show your demographics are all wrong. You attract too many older married women and men when our magazine is geared toward a young singles crowd.”

  “What are you talking about? I get plenty of email from younger people.”

  “That’s not the whole picture. All you see is the email. The analytics shows who stops by to read those exchanges and where they go when they’re done. You’re not generating the flow we need.”

  “I see.” She wanted to argue, to fight for her site, to fight for herself, but feared fighting would sound more like begging. She didn’t even know what flow meant, which made her feel stupid. Her breath trembled, and she knew she needed to get off the phone before she broke down. “Okay then. I guess that’s that.”

  “Kate?” A moment of awkward silence stretched. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not a problem.” She forced brightness into her voice even as pain ripped through her. “I understand. But, hey, look, I need to go. I’ve got some things I need to do.” Like what? she wondered. She’d cleared her whole schedule to work on Dear Cupid with Dylan gone for the weekend.

  “Kate, wait!” Gwen called, then sighed. “I didn’t want to do this. We’ve been friends so long. But I had to do what’s smart for my business.”

  “I understand. I really do need to go, though.”

  She hung up and dropped her face into her hands. Oh, God! She’d lost her column. Even though she’d seen it coming, she felt as if Gwen had reached inside her chest and ripped out something vital.

  Letting anguish flood her, she indulged in a crying jag. She never would have allowed herself to fall apart if Dylan had been there, but he wasn’t. And that, she knew, accounted for some of her tears. Her baby had just left to have a big boy weekend at a ball game with his father, leaving her tangled up with worry.

  After several minutes, the tears subsided. She lifted her head, exhausted and hollowed out. Looking around, she wondered what to do. The house felt so empty, and she had no pressing task to pull her out of her grief.

  She couldn’t, however, spend the next two days blubbering. That wouldn’t solve anything. It dawned on her that she did have things to do, another job besides Dear Cupid that would last a while longer since Mike kept adding to his list of things he wanted done.

  The thought of going over there suddenly held infinite appeal. Not that she wanted to go running into Mike’s arms needing comfort, she assured herself. She just, well… needed something to do. Jim had told her the drawer pulls she’d picked out had come in yesterday and that he meant to install them today. She wanted to see how they looked, that was all. Anything to get out of the house.

  ***

  MIKE STUMBLED INTO the kitchen, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, and nearly tripped over Jim.

  “Jesus!” Jim exclaimed, jumping up from his crouching position before the cabinets. “I didn’t think you were here. You didn’t answer when I rang the bell.”

  “No problem,” Mike assured him as his heart settled back into his chest. Even though he’d given the contractor a key, he couldn’t quite get used to construction workers coming and going on their own. He’d be glad when this phase of Kate’s project ended and she got down to picking out furniture. “I probably slept right through the bell.”

  “Long night, eh?” Jim asked, moving aside an assortment of doorknobs and drawer pulls so Mike could get to the coffeepot.

  “Yeah,” Mike sighed, scooping grounds into the filter and thinking with satisfaction of the work he had accomplished. The robot was shaping up into a horrific bit of work—frighteningly fluid and lifelike. When finished, it world scare the pants off the audience. “You working alone today?”

  “It’s Saturday,” Jim grumbled, obviously in a surly mood.

  “Already?” Mike mentally counted the days since he and Kate had made love. “So it is,” he said, amazed at how quickly the week had flown by. “I take it your crew doesn’t work on the weekend.”

  “Most of them have families, so I give them the weekends off.” Jim shrugged and moved on to the next drawer.

  Since he needed to wait for his coffee to brew, Mike took a seat on one of the stools Kate had picked out for his new breakfast bar. He had to admit, now that the kitchen project was almost over, she’d been right about knocking out the wall. The open look made the kitchen seem larger and brighter. For countertops, she’d selected a light-colored granite that went great with the oak cabinet fronts. For drawer pulls, she’d found hammered copper knobs.

  He couldn’t wait to see what she did with the rest of the place. With luck, he’d be able to come up with enough projects to keep her around until she finally admitted they had something more important going on between them than physical attraction. How any woman could look at him as she did at times, with those hungry, admiring eyes, and then insist she wasn’t interested in a relationship, boggled his mind. Time, he reminded himself. Give her time.

  He turned back to watch Jim. “Speaking of families, why aren’t you home with yours?”

  “I don’t have a family,” Jim grumbled as he tightened the screw on a drawer pull. “What I have is a pregnant wife.”

  “Doesn’t that qualify?”

  Jim looked up from his work. “You ever had a pregnant wife?”

  “No, I, uh, can’t say that I have.” Mike chuckled. He did, however, remember some of the tales his brothers-in-law had told when Kim and Kelly were pregnant. There had been days when they, too, had fled the house to preserve their sanity. He noticed, though, as he reached around to pour his first cup of coffee, Jim looked a bit more uptight than Bryan or Larse ever had. “So,” he ventured, “what is it today? The crying tizzy about being too fat, or the hundred-and-one projects she wants you to do before the baby comes?”

  “If only it were that easy.” Jim gave the screw another twist, coming dangerously close to stripping the threads. “Linda’s never looked better than she does right now, and as for projects, I’d build her a whole damned house if it would make her happy.” Sitting back on the heels of his work boots, Jim let out a heavy sigh. “This, however, I have no idea how to fix.”

  “And what is ‘this’?”

  Jim rummaged through the pile of hardware for another drawer pull. “She thinks I don’t want the baby.”

  “Ah,” Mike said, sounding far more sage than he felt. “I assume you’ve told her that you do?”

  “Well, of course I’ve told her.” Wielding the screwdriver, he tightened the next drawer pull into place. “I’m making the baby crib, aren’t I? Every night, I spend hours out in the shop working on the thing. And what does she do? Breaks out bawling and accuses me of avoiding her.”

  “Hmm.” Mike mulled that over as he sipped the scalding coffee. The situation was clearly more complicated than he’d thought. “How about getting her to talk about, you know, how she’s feeling and everything? My sisters’ husbands seem to think listening to them go on about their bodies and the baby and making a big deal over all that confusing stuff they get at baby showers helps. Women are big on talking about things.”

  “I don’t know.” Shaking his head, Jim grabbed another drawer pull. “Right now, I don’t think anything will help. I might as well just stay out of her way until this whole thing is over.”

  Mike frowned, thinking something sounded wrong with Jim’s logic, but damned if he knew what it was. When it came to women, logic rarely applied. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “So.” Jim eyed him. “You got any more rooms you want me to tear apart and put back together?”

  Mike started to laugh, but realized the man wasn’t joking. In fact, Jim looked frustrated enough to tear apart a whole hou
se with his teeth. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Kate on that one.”

  As if on cue, the front door opened. “Jim?” someone called. Mike straightened as he recognized Kate’s voice. “Are you in here?”

  “Speak of the devil,” Jim muttered to Mike before raising his voice. “In here, Kate.”

  The minute she rounded the corner, Mike noticed her pale complexion. He tried to catch her eye, to give her a smile before he said hello, but she didn’t even look at him.

  “I, uh.” She bit her lip. “I thought I’d come by and see how those handles look.”

  “I’m putting them on now,” Jim said. “Want to see?”

  Mike frowned when she stepped around him as if he weren’t there. “Oh. Yes. They look fine. Just f-fine.” Her voice broke over the last word.

  “Kate?” Mike came off the bar stool. “Are you crying?”

  “N-no,” she sniffed. “Of c-course not.”

  “Hey…” He settled his hands on her bare arms and turned her toward him. “What’s this? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I—” She covered her mouth with one hand.

  Mike looked to Jim, but the man held up his hands as if to say, “Leave me out of it.” Not knowing what else to do, Mike led Kate to the living room. “Here, sit down,” he urged, perching awkwardly beside her on the sofa. “You, um, want to tell me what happened?”

  “No,” she sniffed as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Okay,” he assured her. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  “I lost my job!” she wailed. “I’m not Dear Cupid anymore.”

  Mike’s stomach fell. That column meant the world to Kate.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jim head for the door, apparently choosing to abandon ship and leave Mike to deal with this on his own. He panicked at the thought. His usual way of dealing with a crying woman was to find another woman to figure out what to do, then make himself scarce.

  “I can’t believe she’d do this to me,” Kate managed through sniffles. “After all the years we’ve been friends.” She ran the back of one hand over her cheeks.

  “Kate?” he asked, dreading the answer. “Is this because of the animation I loaded on your site?”

  “No. She said it had nothing to do with that. Then she started rattling on about demographics and analytics. Why didn’t she tell me any of this before?” she demanded as anger flashed in her watery eyes. “How was I supposed to know I was drawing the wrong audience if she didn’t tell me? All she ever said was, ‘make the column fun,’ and ‘engage your readers.’ I did that, didn’t I?”

  “You definitely engaged me.” He smiled, preferring her anger over tears.

  “Apparently I engaged others too, since she told me my traffic was up. My readers like my column. And I like them. I love them! Do you know what a thrill I get from helping people? I’ve always enjoyed that. And I’m good at it. I don’t know why, but I’m just good at it.”

  “Because you care,” he told her. “From reading your column, I’d say you also get what makes men and women tick in a way most of us don’t.”

  “I guess all those semesters of psychology weren’t a total waste after all.” She rubbed a knuckle under her eye. “Even if I never did use my bachelor of arts degree to get a real job.”

  “Hey!” He straightened with offence on her behalf. “Writing a column is a real job.”

  “Right,” she snorted. “Do you know how little it paid?”

  “Well, yeah, per user. So why weren’t you selling it to other markets?”

  She gave him an odd look, like he’d started speaking in tongues. “What are you talking about?”

  “Syndication, Kate. Why weren’t you doing that? You just said your traffic was up, which shows you have an audience. That’s bankable.”

  “Bankable?” Her scowl grew.

  He shook his head, stunned. “You need to hang out with more writers.”

  “As opposed to CEOs and hedge-fund investors?” A startled laugh escaped her. “At least with writers I might not struggle to stay awake through dinner. Not that I’d do any better at adding something of value to the conversation.” Her eyes widened. “Wow, that last part was a seriously ‘Edward’ thing to say. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.”

  Her words caused such a spurt of anger, he had to work to keep his voice level. “Your ex told you that you have nothing of value to contribute?”

  “Look,” she said, rubbing her temples, “could we talk about something else? My head is starting to ache.”

  “Okay.” Afraid her tears would return, he glanced around for something that would magically make her feel better. “Hey, I have an idea.”

  “What?” She looked wary of his sudden brightness.

  “I’ve been working like a dog all week. What do you say I take the day off so you and I can go sailing?”

  “Sailing?” She frowned. “Mike, no. I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

  “Hey, it’s the weekend, isn’t it? Surely I’m entitled to a weekend off every now and then.” A ridiculous statement, since he rarely took any time off in the middle of a project. Visions of a relaxing, potentially romantic sail came to mind, until he remembered her son. That dampened the image a bit, but didn’t kill it completely. “We can, you know, take Dylan with us. What do you say?”

  “Dylan’s spending the weekend with his father.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He tried not to sound too happy about that. “Well, in that case, how about an overnight sail?”

  “Overnight?” Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Sure. I do it all the time. In fact, there’s this great cove a few miles up the lake. We’ll drop anchor, do a little swimming, grill hot dogs, watch the sun set. It’s the perfect cure for anything that ails you.”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “It’s already nearly noon. We’d need to pack food, and I’d have to go home to get a swimsuit.”

  “Not to fear. We’ll stop at the marina and get everything we need, including a swimsuit for you.”

  “I can’t afford a new swimming suit!” She looked horrified at the expense.

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “You will not!”

  “All right.” He held up his hands. “We’ll skinny-dip.”

  She smirked at that suggestion, even though he thought it a perfectly reasonable solution.

  “Come on,” he coaxed, deciding to play on her soft heart. “I could really use some downtime.”

  “Well, that’s the truth,” she agreed, concern softening her face. “You work like a madman. I’ve actually started to worry about you a bit. You need more sleep and a better diet.”

  “See? You’d be doing me a favor.”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll go—on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “That you turn off your phone.”

  “For the whole sailing trip?” The idea made his heart race.

  “How else will this give you some down time?”

  “Are you crazy?” He straightened. “I can’t turn off my phone for that long. Frank will freak!”

  “Mike.” She took his hand in hers. “You have a right to a personal life. Plus, you won’t be able to relax if you don’t disconnect.”

  “Well, I darn sure won’t relax if I’m wondering if someone’s trying to get in touch with me about some catastrophe that needs my attention.”

  She just stared at him, a patient, knowing look on her face. When he didn’t say anything, the patience turned to disappointment.

  “Okay, okay!” He stood in a rush to get some room to breathe. Good God, were his palms actually sweating? At the thought of turning off his phone? He wasn’t that bad, was he? He had legitimate reasons for needing to stay plugged in. His job demanded it.

  Still, she had a point. He’d been pushing himself hard lately and he needed a break.

  “All right.” Resolved, he tur
ned to face her. “I’ll do it.”

  “Really?” Delight filled her eyes.

  “On a condition of my own.”

  “What?” She looked ready to agree to anything.

  “That you disconnect too.”

  “What!” The happiness fled from her face. “I can’t do that! I have Dylan to think about. What if something comes up? What if Edward has a question?”

  “See, not so easy, is it?”

  “It’s totally different!” she insisted. “Dylan is my son. I’m responsible for him. That’s life and death.”

  “And my situation isn’t?” He arched a challenging brow. “Making a movie at this level costs billions of dollars and employs thousands of people. We’re talking careers on the line, which involves the families of everyone working on this flick. You don’t think that’s life and death to the people involved?”

  “It’s different.”

  “Why? Because your job is being a parent?”

  “Dylan isn’t a job.”

  “Of course he is. He’s your job around the clock and you never shut that off. Even now, when he’s spending the weekend with his father.”

  “Because I’m his mother!”

  “I’m not criticizing,” he assured. “You’re a great mother. I’m just saying, if you want me to disconnect, you have to be willing to do the same.”

  Kate stared at him, wondering how he’d turned the tables on her. Except, she was talking about a seven-year-old boy. Her son who, as Mike pointed out, was staying with his father. Edward could be self absorbed, but he wasn’t totally clueless or irresponsible. Besides, if he had a question, he had Linda’s number. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she did hover and overprotect.

  “Okay,” she finally said, and felt instantly terrified. She tamped the feeling down. “I’ll do it, if you will.”

  “You mean it?” Excitement brightened his face, followed by horror. He’d just agreed to turn off his phone.

  “I mean it.” Stoically, she pulled her phone from her purse and stared at it.