Tracy sank back into her office chair and clenched the receiver against her ear. No question who was on the other end of the line. Only one man’s voice had the ability to turn her insides into melted cheese. Damn him. “This is Tracy.”
“Paul here, Paul Sanders. Your dad just called me and I wanted to speak to you personally and say how thrilled we are at The Word, Inc. to be awarded this account.”
Tracy sneered and rolled her eyes. Sleazebag. “I’m so glad.”
“I also wanted to say that I’m pleased we’ll be—” he cleared his throat, “—working closely together developing this campaign. I actually prefer to have my clients involved every step of the way.”
“I see.” Scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling, algae-coated mutant. “How nice.”
“I have my calendar here.” The sound of pages flipping came over the line. “We’ll have our first brainstorming session early next week. Maybe you’d like to be there? What day is good for you?”
“How about…” When hell freezes over, when ostriches fly, when Mars bears life, when reality TV shows something real. “Tuesday? Ten o’clock?”
“We usually do our brainstorming in the evening, when we’re more relaxed. How about seven?”
Tracy narrowed her eyes. “Seven. Your office.”
“My place.”
“Excuse me?”
“Twenty-one eleven North Lake Drive, third floor. It’s more relaxing, more conducive to the easy flow of ideas.”
More conducive to the easy flow of bull, Liar Boy. “I don’t think—”
“My two colleagues will be there, Karen and Jim. We usually have a glass of wine, dim the lights, sit in comfortable chairs and throw out whatever comes to us. The ideas build off each other until we get what we want. It’s an amazing process. You’ll enjoy it.”
Like hell. She gritted her teeth. “Seven. Your place.”
“Terrific. It’s a date.”
Tracy hung up the phone. Oh, no it bloody well wasn’t. All the attraction in the world couldn’t make time spent with Paul into a date.
She snatched up her briefcase and stalked out of the office, out of the building and to her car. On the short drive to Louise’s Italian Café where the Manhunters met every week for dinner, her mood only got fouler. Never in her life had she experienced this torturous combination of lust and fury. Knowing what he was like should have effectively stomped out every last ember of desire. Finding out he was a manipulative, etc., etc., should have triggered her brain to signal a cool-down for the rest of her body. But while half of her very sensibly wanted to dip him in boiling oil, the other half wanted the oil warm and lightly scented, spread with her fingers over his entire body.
Worse, she’d spent the past few days sinking lower and lower into guilty misery watching her dad become more and more enchanted by Paul and his work. The last time she’d lied to her father she’d been twelve years old and blamed a broken window on a neighbor kid. Turned out her dad had seen her line drive heading for the house. He’d given her a sorrowful, “Oh, Tracy” look that had made her writhe in an agony of shame, and had dutifully doled out a this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you punishment. One month of being grounded and sixteen years of being honest had resulted. Now, unless she broke the news about Paul being Dan, unless she risked bursting the bubble that had lifted Dad’s spirits for the first time in so long, that streak of honesty was as good as over.
She grabbed an open parking space on Jackson Street and strode to the restaurant through the thick hot air, reaching the entrance at the same time as a dark, model-gorgeous man, cool and elegant in a perfectly tailored summer suit who opened the door and gallantly gestured her ahead of him. She smiled gratefully into his eyes, praying for a Manhunter moment, then sighed, gave her name to the hostess and went into the welcome coolness of the bar area to wait for her friends.
Nothing. The man was stunning. And probably nice, to boot. Probably didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t to get what he wanted from people he didn’t respect. And Tracy felt nothing.
She tried to catch the bartender’s eye a few times at the already full bar with no luck. Today, she definitely and rather uncharacteristically needed a stiff one.
It hadn’t really sunk in—or maybe she hadn’t let it sink in—until she made the appointment with Paul today that she was really going to have to deal with him. Really going to have to spend hours at a time in his company. She had to come up with some kind of defense so she wouldn’t feel so conflicted. So she could stay cool and confident and untouched and not betray that she was majorly overheated either by anger or…that other thing.
She gestured again to the bartender who seemed to have a blind spot exactly her size and shape. Nothing like feeling invisible to bolster your spirits.
“Hello, hello.” Cynthia and Missy arrived from their jobs at Atkeson, Inc. Missy gave Tracy a hug while Cynthia cast an eye around for any interesting male sights.
“What’s up with our first Manhunter quest?” Cynthia lifted one manicured forefinger and the bartender charged over with a welcoming smile. “Tanqueray martini, extra dry with a twist, diet cola for Missy and…beer, Tracy?”
“A bourbon Manhattan.”
The bartender nodded and walked back to his bottles.
“A Manhattan?” Cynthia raised her eyebrows. “Honey, you better tell us what’s going on.”
“Is everything okay?” Missy ducked out of the way of a couple jostling rudely past her and apologized over her shoulder.
“Everything’s splendid. Fabulous. Tremendously wonderful.” The words came out distorted by Tracy’s clenched teeth.
Cynthia and Missy exchanged glances. “Uh-oh. What is—”
“Hey, guys.” Allegra emerged from between two smartly dressed women, a riot of color and jangling jewelry. “Sorry I’m late. One of my ‘Am I the Me I Want to Be?’ students achieved nirvana and had to tell me about it.”
“Nirvana?” Missy frowned. “What is that exactly?”
Cynthia retrieved their drinks from the bartender and ordered Allegra a sparkling water. “Nirvana? Isn’t that like a state of constant orgasm?”
A business-suited bar patron did a double take toward her; Cynthia smiled sweetly. “Yes, you heard me. Ever been there?”
The man’s mouth fell open; his date jerked his attention back before he could answer.
“Cynthia.” Missy grabbed her arm. “We were trying to find out what was wrong with Tracy.”
“Something’s wrong?” Allegra peered at her over the tops of her plain-glass black granny glasses, her hair a brassy red bob today. “You do look a little out of optimal balance. What’s up?”
“It’s Paul.”
“Paul?” The three women stared blankly.
“Paul Sanders, CEO of The Word, Inc. advertising agency, brimming with wealth and good taste, the newly hired advert man for 21st Century Produce’s latest product…” Tracy narrowed her eyes, preparing for the killer punch line. “Also known as Dan the mysterious sunglassed Door County beach bum.”
The women’s gasps and subsequent looks of outrage did a lot for Tracy’s frazzled nerves. Nothing like allies to make troubles less overwhelming. If anyone could help her figure out what to do, her friends could.
“The same man?” Missy’s face crumpled in horror. “But he was so nice. And those sad stories about his childhood…”
“One-hundred-percent, Grade-A, executive manure.” Tracy slugged back a good portion of her drink, craving the sweet comforting burn of the bourbon.
“I thought there was something not right about him.” Cynthia nodded smugly. “When you genuinely come from nothing like Tracy and me, you recognize when it’s being put on.”
“Are you sure?” Missy shook her head in bewilderment. “I mean he was so—nice.”
“I thought he was a straight arrow, too.” Allegra tilted her head, frowning. “I did think it was peculiar that he told all those stories to strangers, but I didn’t sense he was lying. No irregularities whatsoever in his aura.”
“He was lying. Through his perfect pearly whites.” Tracy gulped down another healthy dose of her Manhattan.
“Well it’s an amazing coincidence he showed up at the beach and then again…at your…oh.” Missy looked pityingly at Tracy. “No coincidence, huh?”
“Not the slightest bit of one.” Tracy tried to keep her tone light and sarcastic, but it came out sounding bitter and hurt instead. “He wanted to check us out.”
“But surely he didn’t expect you to invite him to the party. Why would he risk going if he was a fake?”
“Because it was the perfect opportunity to find out what kind of people we are so he could get a better shot at the account.”
“It is a little strange, though, Tracy.” Allegra tapped her finger on her cheek. “Why would he go on to try and seduce you, then accuse you of being a boy collector if he just wanted to know how to get your business?”
“So to speak.” Cynthia waggled her eyebrows.
“Because he was sure a ‘collector’ like me would never recognize him dressed as a CEO. He could do whatever he wanted, play the role of the boy toy, maybe even get lucky. What fun that would have been! Score with the boss’s daughter without her having any idea who you were.”
“I can’t believe that’s all it was.” Missy put a gentle hand on Tracy’s arm. “That amazing connection between you—that wasn’t just about getting lucky.”
Tracy swallowed hard. “Who’s to say whether he felt it that way?”
“Oh, he felt it all right.” Cynthia nodded firmly. “You should have seen how he looked at you when you went outside onto the deck.”
Tracy tried very hard to keep hold of the cauldron of boiling oil that Cynthia’s words were fast turning into the massage variety. No question, when they’d met again at the 21st Century offices, the chemistry had still been there, potent as ever.
“Well, thank goodness you didn’t sleep with him.” Cynthia chuckled. “Even I would be glad I didn’t in your situation.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t have, Tracy…would you?” Missy bit her lip anxiously.
Tracy tipped back the last of her drink, a warm relaxing glow spreading through her body, making her feel reckless and confessional. “Actually, yes.”
Missy gasped. Allegra nodded. Cynthia grinned. “Atta girl.”
“I would have. I’ve never felt anything like that…need before. The problem is…” She stared down at her empty glass, euphoria making a quick exchange with sinking uncertainty. “The problem is…”
Cynthia tsk-tsked. “Uh-oh. You got it bad.”
“What?” Missy looked from Cynthia to Tracy and back. “What do you mean?”
“She still wants to.”
Missy’s brows drew together. “Still wants to what?”
Tracy drew in a huge breath and let it out in a doomed sigh. “Sleep with him, Missy. I still want to sleep with him.”
“Oh no!” Missy shook her head. “But you can’t. Not after—”
“I know I can’t. I didn’t say I was going to. I just said I wanted to.” Her face twisted, the alcohol bringing on an unusual overdose of self-pity. “But I also want to send him a crate of attack dogs. That’s the trouble. That’s the trouble with my whole life. I’m a walking, breathing conflict. I don’t want to stay at 21st Century, but I don’t want to leave. I don’t want all this money, but I don’t want to give it away.” She furrowed her brow, feeling a little unsteady. “And I’m whining too much. I want to stop.”
“I think you need food.” Allegra took Tracy’s elbow and steered her toward the hostess with Cynthia and Missy following. “Problems are always worse when your blood sugar is low and your electrolytes are out of balance.”
“And when you come so close to finding someone so right, only to be disappointed.”
“And when you haven’t gotten any in months.”
Ten minutes later, they were seated at a table in the noisy bustling dining area, the three women absorbed in the familiar menus, Tracy staring at hers without registering a single entrée. Finally she flung it to the table. “What’s worse, Dad suddenly has all this experimenting to do and assigned me to work closely with Paul.”
“Ugh.” Cynthia folded her menu and shuddered. “Matchmaking at its most misguided.”
“Wait until I tell him the first meeting is supposed to take place Tuesday evening at Paul’s apartment.”
“What?” The three women spoke at once.
“Something about it being more conducive to the easy flow of ideas.” She quoted Paul and rolled her eyes. “Like a mental laxative.”
“He’s right.” Allegra nodded vigorously. “It’s been proven. A comfortable happy body equals a comfortable productive brain.”
Cynthia snorted. “Sounds like a setup to me. Are you two the only lovebirds attending?”
“No, thank God. Two of his colleagues will be there.”
“Oh, well that’s okay, then.” Missy sighed with relief. “Your dad won’t mind.”
“I take it you didn’t tell your dad about Paul being Dan?” Cynthia asked. “He didn’t figure it out?”
“No.” Tracy made a sound of disgust. “He was so excited about Paul’s work. The tomatoes were Mom’s pet project and I think he wants the launch to be successful for her sake. At the same time, I can’t stand not telling him. It’s like lying.”
“I think you should definitely tell him. Honesty is always best. Because sooner or later you get trapped in lies and misunderstandings,” Missy said.
“I agree with Missy.” Allegra folded her arms and pushed back her cascade of colored bracelets. “You start lying and your spirit gets all twisted up. Then you get indigestion, back pain, skin problems, you name it.”
Cynthia leaned back and frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe you should tell him. Then Daddy can help you cook up some kind of horrible revenge—after Paul delivers on the ad campaign of course.”
“I also think you should come clean to Paul about knowing who he is, Tracy. People do a lot of strange things for very good reasons. I don’t know why he lied. You don’t know. But he does. And you could give him a nice chance to tell you. Maybe the two of you could still work things out.”
“What, are you nuts?” Cynthia stared at Missy in horror. “The guy’s a total creep. He deserves public humiliation. He deserves figurative castration. He deserves to have his member exposed for the bite-size cocktail wienie it is.”
“Cynthia!” Missy slumped in her seat and pointed surreptitiously to the just-arrived waitress, her cheeks flaming.
“Hello, ladies. Ready to order?”
The women ordered—Allegra went on and on with her list of substitutions and requests for organic produce; Cynthia let drop the chef’s first name and ordered dishes not on the menu; Missy apologized for wanting something they were out of. Tracy ordered the first thing her eyes lit on because she didn’t even care what she ate. Her mind was so busy sorting out the advice and the feelings that her stomach’s needs were purely secondary.
Telling Paul she’d figured out his little game wasn’t going to happen. If he wanted their association to be based on lies that was exactly what he’d get. After all, it wasn’t as if they were heading for any kind of long-term relationship, romantic or otherwise. Certainly not as long as he kept up the pretense. The move toward honesty would have to come from him.
But she probably should tell her father about “Dan.” No matter how talented Paul was, if he’d been dishonest in one thing, he could easily be dishonest in another aspect of his business. She owed it to her father so he could be on his guard, be careful. Whether or not he wanted to confront Paul with the knowledge was up to him. At least Tracy wouldn’t feel she was holding anything back anymore. Now that she and her dad only had each other for family, that was all-important.
And seeing how talking the problem over with her friends had helped, how their concern and support shrank Paul/Dan down to a manageable size, having her dad in on the problem would give her another ally in the war for repossession of her sanity.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Three female heads whipped around. “What?”
“I’ll tell my dad in a cool, reasonable way that Paul is a sneaking opportunistic jerk from hell.” She lifted her water glass, feeling balance and control already returning. “First chance I get.”
“SO YOU GOT a hot date tonight.” Dave forked up a huge mouthful of kung pao chicken from the take-out carton he’d brought over to Paul’s place.
Paul sent him a glare over his nearly untouched plate and re-restudied the 21st Century file he’d brought home with him. “It’s not a date. Tracy is coming over to sit in on our usual company brainstorming session with Karen and Jim. It’s work, Dave. She’s a client. One I happen to want to make a good impression on for personal reasons. But not the ones you mean.”
“So you’re not nervous?”
“No.”
Dave gestured at Paul’s jiggling knee with his chopstick. “I see.”
Paul relaxed his leg. “I always do that when I’m pumped for a session.”
“Professionally speaking, yes.”
“Oh, professionally pumped.”
Paul rolled his eyes and turned a page over in the file. “Look. I admit, Tracy isn’t quite the usual client. I was pretty angry over what happened last month. But that was last month. Now, I’m excited about what The Word can do for 21st Century and what 21st Century can do for me. If I can show Tracy along the way that all beach bums aren’t what they seem, so much the better, but I’m not letting it get to me.”
He turned another page, pleased with how rational he sounded. Maybe it wasn’t entirely true that he wasn’t angry anymore. But after seeing her in the office with her dad, after seeing what a good match their companies were, he’d realized that going for revenge was a pretty bad idea. As long as there was capitalism, there would be women like Tracy who valued money more than humanity. If he could change her mind even a little he’d have done some good, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. And he wasn’t going to risk hijacking his own success by getting involved in destructive behavior.
As for his attraction, he was pretty sure that would soon be a thing of the past as well. You couldn’t stay attracted to someone once you discovered aspects of their character that were distasteful to you. Maybe Dave could, but Paul couldn’t. Granted, in the conference room at 21st Century, he and Tracy had still exchanged some powerful vibes, but Paul was pretty sure those were lingering in his head from their time on the beach. He’d be willing to bet that tonight, with the exciting job ahead of them and in the easy familiar company of Karen and Jim, his feelings for Tracy would be redefined into something easily manageable. Like polite deference to her as a client and casual indifference to her as a woman.
“Paul?”
Paul closed the folder and looked up impatiently. “What.”
“Does the word denial mean anything to you?”
“Look, Dave. I know you have this idea that we’re some kind of match, but please. Leave it. It’s totally unrealistic. As long as she has this ‘us and them’ attitude, I can’t handle any kind of real friendship with her. Especially considering where she came from. I can’t respect anyone who thinks money makes a difference.” Paul stood up and looked pointedly at his watch. “I have to get ready.”
“Okay, okay.” Dave gathered the remains of the Chinese food and pushed the cartons back into the plastic grocery bag. “I’m outta here. But I’m betting one nice intimate tête-à-tête talking about tomatoes is all it will take to show you I’m right. Very sexy vegetable, the tomato.”
“Which is scientifically classified as a fruit. And two other people will be here, who have done this dozens of times before, which will make it tête-à-tête-à-tète-à-tête and not at all intimate.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Paul.”
Something about his tone made Paul’s head snap around. “Excuse me?”
“Your secretary is pretty cute, I ever tell you that?”
“No.” Paul stared at him warily. “Why are you changing the subject?”
“She and I went out a few times.”
“Susie? Geez-oh-man, is there anyone you missed?”
Dave strolled over and put his arm around Paul’s shoulders in a mock-fatherly gesture. “The thing is, Paul. When The One comes along, you can’t take chances, you can’t play games. You gotta go for it.”
Paul pushed him away and put his hands on his hips. He smelled a rat the size of a Usinger salami. “Elaborate, please.”
“I’m guessing Tracy is It for you. Susie, she owes me one, so I cashed in by having her innocently pass along a couple of phone numbers.” He reached the door and opened it. “And you’re my friend so I always owe you one.”
A very, very bad feeling began creeping up Paul’s spine. He had to take a deep breath to make sure his voice would come out evenly. “What are you talking about, Dave?”
“Did I forget the point? I’m sorry. Karen and Jim can’t make it tonight. They suddenly had other plans.” Dave tilted his head to leave the apartment, then ducked back in and winked. “So tonight it’s just you, Tracy…and her tomatoes.”
Slam.
“Wha…” Paul stared at the closed door, his mind reeling. He lunged for it, then changed direction abruptly and hauled ass to the telephone, yanking his Palm Pilot V out of his pocket on the way. Richards. Richards. There it was. He dialed, paced two steps and turned, two steps and turned, two steps and turned. No answer. She must have already left.
Karen. He speed-dialed her cell phone. Ring…Ring…Ring… Her voice mail picked up. Damn. Not answering. No point leaving a message. He needed someone here now.
Jim.
Ring…Ring—
“Hello?”
“Jim.” He raised his eyes and thanked the ceiling in a silent prayer of relief. “This is Paul. About tonight, I—”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks for cancelling. My kids are in a camp show tonight. They were bummed I wouldn’t be there. When are we rescheduled for?”
“We’re not. We’re on tonight.”
“What? But your friend said you had other—”
“I know. But…Tracy’s already on her way. I’m here by myself. No one else is coming. We’ll be—” Paul stopped pacing and squeezed his eyes shut. God, he sounded like a complete panicked mess. He was about to tell a colleague that he was freaking at the thought of being alone with a client. This was ludicrous. Tracy had no idea he was Dan, wouldn’t at all be remembering that the last time they’d been together the emotional climate, if not the conversation, had revolved entirely around sex. Tracy was simply coming over to talk about her company’s product. He was here to see that they could come up with some good ideas for selling it. Period. He was acting as if he were a teenage virgin introduced to Miss September and told he had ten minutes to give her multiple orgasms.
“Paul?”
“Yes, I’m here.” He forced a smile into his voice. He was a professional. She was a professional. Together they would be thoroughly and completely…professional. End of story. He took a deep breath.
“Have a great time at your kids’ show, Jim. Everything’s under control.”