Joe grinned. “Poor Matt. Women just throw themselves at his feet. So, in Paris, it wasn’t the French babe, it was our… Sorry. It was Susannah, huh?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“Why not the French babe?”
“She’s not my type.”
“What’s she look like? Maybe she’s my type.”
“She looks the way they all look,” Matthew said impatiently. “Tall, gorgeous face, great body, eager to please, blond hair down to her butt…”
“Ah,” Joe said wisely. “Definitely not your type.”
Matthew scowled. “I know. It’s crazy. The one who’s really not my type is Susannah. In looks, in temperament… The woman has the disposition of a porcupine.”
“Is that why you were supposed to fly to New York last weekend? To see her?”
Matthew nodded.
“But you canceled out. And now you’ve canceled again.”
“Business,” Matthew said gruffly. “The Vernon deal, the Tolland contract…”
“Oh. Well, sure. Any of that stuff would be more important than being with the lady.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s more important than…” Matthew muttered under his breath. “You see what I mean? It’s crazy.”
“You want to see Susannah?”
“No.”
“You want to break things off.”
“No!” Matthew jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and paced the length of his office. “You know how it is, Joey. You meet a woman, something clicks, you know where it’s going to lead.”
“Of course. Straight to bed.”
“Right. Once you get there…well, no matter how great it is, you know it’s going to end. But…”
“But?”
There was a long silence. “But this situation doesn’t seem to be going that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hell,” Matthew said, with a bitter laugh, “neither do I.”
Joe cleared his throat. “I must be missing something here. Susannah doesn’t look like your dream girl. She’s as bristly as a porcupine.”
“You’ve got it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Matthew stared at his brother. It was a good question. What, exactly, was the problem?
Joey smiled. “You know what you need, pal? A night on the town. A couple of hot chicks, some good vino, a rare steak. Take Dr. Romano’s advice, you’ll be a new man in the morning.”
Matthew smiled, too. “You think?”
“I know. And, if you change your mind and decide you still want to see Susannah, well, she’ll be there when you want her.”
“Yeah.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I just wonder about this friend she’s seeing this weekend.”
“Did you ask her who it was?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Well, then…”
“It better not be Sam. Or Peter.”
“Who?”
“On the other hand, we didn’t make any commitments. If she wants to see another guy, that’s that.”
“Now you’re thinking straight.” Joe clapped Matt on the back. “Take out your little black book. Get yourself a date for tonight. I’m seeing somebody new, did I tell you? We’ll go out to dinner, have some laughs…”
Matthew shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not really in the mood.”
“Nonsense. You need a night on the town.” Joe’s voice softened. “Matt. You need to clear your head, and this is the only way to do it.”
“Maybe,” Matthew said. “But I’m going to pass.”
* * *
Things started to come apart at CHIC on Friday morning.
Claire came bristling into Susannah’s office at nine o’clock and dumped a stack of magazines on her desk.
“Time for the monthly check,” she said briskly. “Got to see what the competition’s up to.”
“You see. I’m busy”
“Busy?” Claire’s brows rose. “You’re staring into space.”
“I’m being creative,” Susannah said stubbornly. “How’s the vote coming? Who’s going to be our sexiest man centerfold?”
Claire grinned “Actually, there’s an unofficial but unanimous vote for Matthew.”
Susannah could think of other names for him, but she decided to keep them to herself.
“The man is gorgeous, Suze.” Claire smiled slyly. “Studly, to quote an authority”
“Claire, I’m really busy. Could we get to work? Let’s see what’s doing in these magazines.”
Claire raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she shoved the current issue of Vogue across the desk.
Susannah opened it, thumbed quickly through the glossy pages.
“Nice idea they have with this layout on shoes. Ask Amy what she thinks. Next?”
“Harper’s. Take a look at the perfume ad on page eighty. Why don’t we see if we can’t get some bigger advertising bucks out of Chanel?”
“Fine. Next?”
“The latest Women’s Wear Daily. There’s a really clever column on… What’s the matter?”
Susannah didn’t answer. She sat staring at a page of celebrity snapshots.
“Suze?” Claire came behind the desk. “You’re white as a ghost. What… Oh, hell. Is that—”
“Matthew.” Susannah swallowed. “Matthew and—”
“Bebe. The model.”
Bebe, the model Bebe and Matthew, on the steps of a building the caption identified as the headquarters of Romano Inc., in California. Bebe, with her pouty mouth, her big eyes, her long blond hair. Bebe, standing a step above Matthew, her hands on his shoulders, her big eyes gazing adoringly into his face. And Matthew, gazing back at her, his hands spanning her waist, the look on his face one of dark intensity.
“The sexiest bachelor alive,” the caption burbled, “and his newest conquest, the hot new model Bebe Le Beau.”
Susannah began to tremble. “The son of a bitch,” she whispered.
Claire tried to tug the magazine from her hands. “Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s not her. Maybe—”
“The no-account, lying, cheating swine!”
“Suze, there’s got to be an explanation.”
“There’s an explanation, all right. I just gave it to you. Matthew Romano is a pig. A filthy, lowlife, dirty pig. And I’m a fool. Was a fool. Was…”
Susannah grabbed the telephone and punched a button.
“Suze? Listen, you really need to calm down. Think this through. Don’t do anything you’ll—”
“I want to speak to Matthew Romano,” Susannah said furiously. “This is Susannah Madison calling.”
“Suze,” Claire pleaded, “don’t do this!”
“Don’t do what?” Susannah slapped her hand over the receiver. “Recover what little remains of my dignity? We’ve been friends for a long time, Claire. Don’t ruin it by defending a—a gob of human scum!”
“I’m not defending him. I’m just saying you could be making a mistake.”
“I made my mistake in Paris. And now I’m going to set things right.”
Matthew’s secretary came on the line at the same instant Claire shut the door behind her.
“He’s not in?” Susannah said. “Not to me, you mean. No, there’s no problem. Just give him a message, please.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Mr. Romano that he has my notice. That’s right. I’m quitting. Quitting as of today. No, he won’t be able to return my call. I’m leaving the office immediately, and I won’t be taking any calls at home.” She hesitated, then went on in angry defiance, despite the tears that were already blurring her vision. “Tell him I’m spending the weekend with—with my lover. With Mr. Peter Katz. And Mr. Katz and I most definitely will not want to be disturbed.”
Susannah slammed down the telephone, gathered her things and left.
* * *
Peter didn’t like wine. He didn’t like bee
r, either. He was pretty much a heavy cream man.
But he was wild about anchovies, so that was how Susannah ordered the pizza. One large, extra cheese, mushrooms and onions on one half, anchovies on the other.
The wine and the beer, which she’d bought on the way home, she kept for herself.
The only problem was, she never drank much of either. So she stared at the six-pack of Rolling Rock and at the bottle of Chianti and tried to decide which would go better with pizza and with her plans for the evening.
What would a woman drink if she were dining with her lover by candlelight? If she were wearing her very oldest jeans, her most faded sweatshirt, a pair of wool socks…and if she had a photograph of Matthew Romano pinned to a dartboard? That had been her other purchase, made on the way home, and it was going to be, she was certain, the most rewarding.
Susannah lit the candles, opened the wine and poured herself a glass.
“To you,” she said, and hurled a dart at the board. It hit right in the middle of Matthew’s studly face. “Good shot,” she said happily, and raised her glass in salute. Matthew looked decidedly uncomfortable with a dart in his forehead and his hands outstretched, clasping nothing but air because, of course, she’d snipped out Bebe and consigned her to the trash basket, where she belonged.
She took a sip of the wine. It wasn’t very good. She’d bought it because of its cute raffia basket, which did not seem to be a very useful means of selection.
The beer, then. She dug in the utility drawer, found an opener, wrenched off the bottle top and lifted the bottle to her lips. Yes, that was better. Now, if she could only get enough of it down to get plastered, she’d be happy.
This was an evening she was going to remember. She was going to pig out on pizza because, even with anchovies on top, Peter would never eat more than half a slice. She was going to throw darts at Romano’s studly face until it was obliterated. And she was going to get drunk enough to fall into bed and sleep the night through without once staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why in hell she’d ever imagined herself in love with a lowlife, double-dealing fink like Matthew because, it went without saying, she was not in love with him and never had been.
“You’re pathetic,” she said.
Peter looked at her and meowed. Susannah bent and lifted him in her arms.
“No, not you, Petey. I’m the one who’s pathetic. You’d think, considering the times we live in, a woman wouldn’t have to he to herself in order to go to bed with a man. I wanted to sleep with Matthew. Why couldn’t I have done it without all that love nonsense?”
Peter purred and licked her chin.
“I suppose, in a way, I owe Mr. Romano a favor. If I hadn’t seen that picture of him and the FDB…”
“Mrrow?”
“The French Dumb Blonde. If I hadn’t seen that, I’d have sighed over him for another couple of weeks. And what an absolute waste of time that would have been.”
“Mrrow,” Peter said, and shut his eyes.
“I just feel badly for Claire and the others. But they’ll be fine. The next issues of CHIC are all set and, let’s face it, Petey, we both know that our Mr. Romano’s going to dump the magazine, no matter what its advertising numbers or its circulation. He just set the whole scheme up so he could…”
So he could what? Seduce her? Susannah tilted the bottle to her lips again Romano was a rat but, as he’d always said, business was business. He wouldn’t have spent all that money just to get her into bed. Besides, he wouldn’t have had to. She’d have ended up in bed with him anyway if he’d just persisted. His kisses had turned her knees liquid. Oh, those kisses…
The doorbell rang.
Susannah gave herself a little shake “Dinner,” she said brightly, as she undid the door locks. “Petey, you’re in for a treat. Anchovies, and you’ll get a little visit with your old friend, the pizza delivery…”
Oh, God!
It wasn’t the pizza delivery man. It was Matthew. Matthew, wearing jeans and those hiking boots, a sweatshirt that didn’t look much newer than hers, the beat-up leather jacket and a look that seemed dangerous enough to kill.
“Surprised to see me, Madison?”
Susannah tried to come up with a response. Peter, who didn’t like strangers, was humming to himself and backing onto her shoulder, using four-paw, all-claw drive.
“What—what are you doing here, Romano?”
Matthew smiled coldly. “You walked out in the middle of an expensive project. Did you really think I wouldn’t react?”
“React all you like. I handed in my resignation.”
“You told my secretary you were quitting. That’s not exactly a professional way to hand in a resignation.”
“Sue me,” Susannah said. “And now, if you don’t mind—”
Matthew brushed past her and slammed the door shut. “I don’t have to sue you. Do you really think you’ll ever get another decent job in publishing once this story gets out?”
He was right. It was something she hadn’t thought of, but even if she had, she’d have made that phone call and marched out of that office.
“I’ll find a job in something else, then,” she said. “Get out of my apartment, Romano. You’re not welcome… Where are you going?”
“Mrrow,” Peter said at the sound of her raised voice. He leaped from her shoulder onto the couch as Susannah stalked after Matthew, who was poking his nose into her bedroom.
“Charming place,” he said politely.
“It’s my place,” Susannah said in warning. “You have no right to—”
“Cozy,” he said, peering into the tiny kitchen. “Dinner for two, complete with candles.” His brows lifted. “Wine and beer? You and Mr. Katz plan on drinking a lot tonight?”
“Me and…” Susannah flushed. “Peter—Peter wasn’t sure which he’d prefer with—with our meal. So I bought both.”
“Ah.” Matthew strolled toward the table, lifted her glass of wine and took a sniff. “Nasty stuff,” he said, with a shudder. “But the beer’s a good choice.”
Susannah’s legs felt rubbery. He was going to look at the counter and see the dartboard propped against the wall any minute. She edged in front of it while her brain ran in circles, trying to figure a way to get him out of the room.
“Where is Mr. Katz, by the way? I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s—he’s in the bathroom.”
“Wasn’t that the bathroom I passed in the hall? The door was open. It looked empty to me.”
Susannah swallowed dryly. “I forgot. He—he went down to—to put another quarter in the meter. His car’s parked out front.”
“Well, that shouldn’t take long.” Matthew folded his arms, propped a hip against the edge of the table. “I’ll wait.”
“Are you dense, Romano? I didn’t invite you in, and I’m sure not inviting you to—”
“Mrrow?”
Peter strolled into the room, tail high.
“Nice cat.” Matthew squatted and held out his hand. “Strange, I didn’t see him the other time I was here.”
“He keeps a low profile when strangers are around. He doesn’t like…” Susannah gave an inward groan as Peter offered Matthew his head to scratch.
“Yeah, well, he seems to like me.”
“That’s only because he doesn’t know you.” Susannah put her hands on her hips. “Give him time.”
Matthew picked up the cat. “That’s the general idea, Madison. By the time Katz gets back, this guy and I will be old pals. What’s his name?”
“His name? His name is—is Fluffy.”
“Fluffy? For a cat with such dignity?” Matthew rubbed Peter between the ears. “You have my sympathies, fella.”
“Look, Romano. I—I understand that you’re upset.”
“Upset? Do I look upset?”
“Peeved, then”
“‘There’s a word I can’t stand, Madison. Real men do not get peeved.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, will you jus
t get out of here? My—Peter will be angry if he finds you.”
“Mrrow?” Peter said.
Matthew grinned wolfishly “That’s good to hear. You think he’ll take a poke at me when I tell him he’s got one hell of a nerve, moving in on my woman?”
“Your…?”
“That’s right. My woman.” Matthew put Peter on the table and strode toward her. “I have a rule I live by, Susie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s a simple rule.” He reached out and clasped her shoulders. “I’m faithful to the woman I’m involved with. And I expect her to be faithful to me.”
“Ha,” Susannah said, and folded her arms
“We became lovers in Paris. Didn’t that mean anything to you?”
“We slept together, Romano.”
“Yeah. So you kept telling me.” He shook her, not hard but not gently, either. “Call it what you like, Susannah. I expected fidelity.”
Susannah pulled free of his grasp. “Fidelity? You?” She laughed. “You don’t know… What’s the matter?”
“What in hell is that on the sink?”
She turned quickly, snatched the dartboard and put it behind her. “It’s nothing.”
“It sure looks like something to me. Hand it over.”
“No,” she huffed, as he reached for the board. “Romano, don’t you dare!”
Matthew wrenched the dartboard from her hand. “I don’t believe it,” he said, as he stared at his mutilated photo. “Where’d you get this?”
“What’s the difference?”
“This damn photo was in last Sunday’s San Francisco Post.”
“Well, you made the big time, Romano. It ran in Women’s Wear Daily, too.”
Matthew looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is all about? Did you think I was cheating on you?”
“No. Of course not. Why would I care if you were seeing Bebe and Claudia and Claudette and Noelle and—and half the blondes on two continents?” Susannah tossed her head. “Your life is your own, Romano. You can do what you like.”
“You did think I was cheating.” Matthew tossed the dartboard aside. “And you decided to get even by getting engaged to Peter Katz.”
The Sexiest Man Alive (The Romanos Series Book 1) Page 18
