Mark rehearsed what he wanted to say to Clarissa under his breath. He swung around to face the office window, the midafternoon sun in his eyes as he waited for the call to send. After ten rings, it went to voice mail. Damn. She must be busy. He floundered as he heard a beep.
"Hi, Rissa," he said, exhaling on a rush of air. "It's me, Mark. I’m calling, just like I said I would.” Brilliant strategy, stating the obvious. “It was great to spend time with you this weekend. I wish we’d had longer together." He cringed. Did that sound too clingy for how long they’d known each other? Oh well, too late to take it back. Besides, it was the truth.
"Are you at work today? I'm sitting in my office at the moment. It's a lovely day up here, but I've been run off my feet this morning. Sterling has his pants in a twist about a property he wants to buy, and he’s decided to make it my problem too. All my other work built up while I was away. I suppose it's the same for you."
He was an addle-headed idiot, having a one-sided conversation with an answering machine. Wrap it up, Talbot. “I, uh, well, I suppose I’ll—”
“Mark?” The voice caught him off guard. He hadn’t noticed her pick up.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, blood rushing to his cheeks, which were no doubt a violent shade of crimson. “I thought I’d missed you.”
“I could tell.” A smile warmed her tone. He tried to focus on the positive. At least he amused her. “I was busy with a client, but I got back to my office just as you were leaving a message.”
Turning to the wall, he knocked his forehead against it. Dolt.
“How are things today?” he asked, desperate to change the topic. “Was everything as you left it?”
“More or less. And you? I know how your day has been, but what did you do after you got home last night?”
He loved that she sounded genuinely interested. Like she wanted to know the minutiae of his life. “I had a quiet night. Needed to recover from the weekend. It was just me, a book, and a couple of fingers of whiskey.”
“Sounds blissful.”
He laughed, taken aback. “A lot of people would call that boring.”
She sighed. “Not me. I’m an introvert, and I like my quiet time. We should probably get that out in the open now.”
As if that would put him off. “Rissa, sweetie, I know who you are, and if that were a problem, I wouldn’t be talking to you, so put your mind at rest.”
He thought he heard her exhale softly. A sound of relief? Or was he imagining things?
“Which book?” she asked, clearly done talking about herself. “Was it the one you were reading the other night?”
“No, I finished that on the plane and started a new one. A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean. I'm not totally sold on the hero yet. He’s behaved pretty poorly so far, but I have faith that he’ll pull through. Sarah always writes a good story, and I adore her heroines." He paced by the window and gazed out over Auckland, the familiar towers and the harbor behind them all. “What do you like to read?”
“Crime thrillers,” she replied. “Police procedurals, mostly. Some mysteries and psychological suspense, but I prefer the ones where I know the bad guys will be put away in the end.”
He gaped, then pulled himself together and clapped his mouth shut. That answer did not gel with the mental image he was building of her.
“I’d never have expected that,” he admitted.
She chuckled, apparently not offended that he’d stereotyped her reading material. “Most people don’t. I used to love the classic romances. Mansfield Park, especially, but I don’t read them anymore. I don’t like the way they build up expectations to a standard that real life can’t possibly live up to.”
His brows drew together. It sounded like something had happened to disillusion her with romance, which wasn’t particularly surprising given how reticent she’d been with him, but he disliked the thought of any man hurting her. In fact, while he wasn’t prone to violence, he’d happily do harm to anyone who’d made Clarissa feel less than perfect. He wanted to ask about this theoretical man from her past but didn’t want to push too far too soon. If he frightened her off, there was very little he could do to win her back, so he held his tongue.
“How about movies? What’s your favorite?” Before this conversation, he’d have guessed Dear John or something else based on a Nicholas Sparks book. Now, he had no bloody clue.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Cross my heart.” How bad could it be?
“It’s Underworld.”
It took a moment for his brain to process this. “As in, vampires and werewolves locked in an eternal battle, terrible special effects, bucketloads of blood? That Underworld?”
“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
He didn’t, but it was hard. “I’m not laughing, I swear.” He sucked in a breath. His stomach ached from the effort of controlling his laughter. “You love Underworld. That’s, uh, totally understandable. I know, um, people who—”
“I know it’s ridiculous,” she muttered, saving him from digging himself into a deeper hole. “That’s part of the reason I like it. It’s a form of escapism.”
He’d never heard gory horror flicks described that way before, but if it worked for her, who was he to disagree?
“Your turn,” she said, her tone verging on petulant. “What’s your favorite movie? And if you say Underworld, I’ll know you’re lying.”
“Fine.” He had no problem sharing. “It’s Titanic.”
“And you judged me? There was plenty of room on that door for both of them.”
“Hey,” he cautioned, “I didn’t say anything about the dubious science of vampires. Let me have Rose and Jack’s tragic love story without bringing your logic into it.”
The cell phone on his desk, which was reserved for work use, vibrated. He went over and checked the screen. It was Sterling. He sighed, if he didn’t take this, there’d be no living with the boss.
“Sorry, Rissa, I have a call on my other line. I’ve got to go.”
“Oh, okay then.”
A stupid grin spread over his face because she sounded as reluctant to end the call as he was. “Can I call again tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said, quickly enough to be considered eager. “But evening would suit me better. Can you call after eight?”
“Absolutely. Have a wonderful day.”
“Bye, bye.”
He ended the call and picked up the other phone, raising it to his ear. "No, Sterling, I haven't acquired that property yet."
Sterling grunted. "Keep working on it."
"Yes, sir." He saluted in the direction of his friend's office, regardless of the fact that no one could see. Then he looked up the name of the woman he needed to persuade to part with her beloved piece of land in order to appease his boss. Katarina Hopa. Poor Katarina had no idea what was coming to her.
“Hi, gorgeous.”
Clarissa smiled when Mark’s greeting filtered through the phone. “Hi, flatterer.”
It was Sunday, a week after they’d last seen each other, and Clarissa adored Sundays. They were her one day free of customers and business concerns, when she could embrace the creative aspect of her job. She was sitting cross-legged on her apartment floor and had been leafing through a stack of the latest bridal magazines, snipping out images of dresses or accessories that captured her imagination, when Mark had called. At present, she was surrounded by photo clippings, the center of her spartan living room in disarray.
“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.
She put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table beside her. “No, I’m just doing some industry research. I can keep going while we talk.”
“Oooh, that sounds interesting. What does ‘industry research’ involve for a wedding dress designer?”
“It comes in lots of different forms,” she hedged. “But at the moment, I’m cutting and pasting designs I like into a brainstorm notebook.”
He chuckled. “You’re doing arts and crafts?”
She bristled, but he wasn’t far off. “And I suppose you’re using your Sunday more productively?” If she sounded snippy, so be it. She knew he was teasing, but she was used to people belittling her work, and she wasn’t about to take it on the chin. Not from him. Not if she wanted to build a relationship with him based on mutual respect, and she thought maybe—just maybe—that might be where this was going.
“On the contrary, I rolled out of bed an hour ago, had a coffee and a shower, and all I plan on doing later is making a trip downstairs to the gym.” He hummed, a deep, contented sound. “I might not even leave the building. Oh yeah, and I’ve got a podcast to record. Will you be listening?”
“Of course. I hope you answer the question I sent. I much prefer hearing you talk to me during the livestream to reading an email after you’re done.”
“And why is that?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Why do you think? I like the sound of your voice, and I like seeing your face and knowing you’re thinking about me, even if it’s only peripherally.” Saying these things to him was easier when she couldn’t see him. It removed the visual barrier, making her confession seem safer.
A beat of quiet followed her statement. “Have you always felt that way?”
She shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Maybe.”
“Clarissa,” he said, his voice rumbling from low in his chest. “I need you to be completely honest with me.”
She nibbled her lip, hesitant to agree without knowing what he’d say next. “I’ll do my best.”
He needn’t know her fingers were crossed behind her back.
“Before we met, when I was just some guy you listened to online, did you have a thing for me?”
She squirmed and contemplated hanging up, but that would be childish. “Just a little one.”
“Clarissa Mitchell. You had a crush on the teacher.”
She blushed ferociously. “Okay, okay, I did. Stop tormenting me.”
He was instantly serious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I go a little too far sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It’s sweet.”
Sweet. Exactly how she wanted him to think of her.
“Easy for you to say.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Fantastic. Let’s see you wiggle your way out of this one, Rissa. “Erm. Just that you’ve probably got a lot of experience with women, and things like that don’t faze you. I haven’t had many boyfriends.” Understatement. “It’s hard for me, getting close to someone. Opening up. Sharing things like a silly crush.”
“It’s not silly,” he said. “And sure, I’ve dated my fair share of women, but each person is different, and none of them has been you.”
Her downturned lips twitched up. How was it that he knew just the right thing to say?
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “I’ve just….” She trailed off, then tried again. “The experience I do have, it made me a little wary. I don’t trust easily. You might have to be patient with me.”
"It sounds like you've had the wrong men in your life, honey, but I can absolutely give you whatever time and space you need to work through things. If you want to talk, I’m here for that. If you fumble sometimes, I'll never think less of you for it. I’m guessing you wasted your time on an idiot who wasn't worth it, and I want to show you that not all men are like that. Is that all right with you?"
She nodded. “Thank you.” She spoke so low she wasn’t sure whether he’d heard her, but she carried on. "I don't know what I've done to make you interested in me, but I want you to know that I don’t take it lightly.” She screwed up her courage and forced herself to continue. “You mean something to me, and even if nothing more happens between us, I want to thank you for being so kind."
It cost her a lot to open up, but a weight lifted off her shoulders. She’d been so repressed for so long that letting go of some of the things she kept tight to her chest was as freeing as it was terrifying.
“It’s no hardship at all,” he said, and she thought his voice sounded gruffer than before. “You’re the kind of woman who makes a man want to better himself.”
If only that were the truth.
“You’re clever and humble, and you deserve all the goodness the universe has to offer,” he went on.
If he kept going, she might cry. “Thanks.”
“Who was he?” Mark asked. “The man who hurt you.”
Her heart sputtered like a backfiring engine, and she went cold. “I can’t tell you that yet.”
It would take more than a week of phone calls and a couple of kisses for her to air out that particular baggage.
"No pressure. You tell me when you're ready."
She exhaled roughly, but didn't say anything. They shared the silence, and she listened to his even breathing, waiting to see if he’d make the next move. When it became clear he wanted her to do so, she shook off memories of the past.
“Mark?”
“Yes, honey?”
She grabbed the double-sided tape and focused on cutting it into even lengths. "It seems only fair that since you've complimented me, I return the favor."
"I'd like that."
She turned a couple of cutouts upside down and added bits of tape around the edges. If she distracted herself enough, perhaps she wouldn’t notice how much she was splaying herself open, putting herself out there, with the potential of being shot down.
"I like the sound of your voice. I like how professional you are with your podcast, and how much you go out of your way to help people. I like that you dote on your mum, but maybe my favorite thing about you is that you have a good heart.”
“Thank you,” he said softly. “Your good opinion means a lot to me.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “You know what else? Most people would say I’m too close to Mum. They don’t understand it.” His voice was thick with emotion.
She ignored the tightening in her chest. “I do.”
Because she’d never had that bond, but she’d wanted it. She’d been the rebellious daughter. The constant disappointment. The mess her parents needed to fix. If she’d had the bond with her mother that Mark had with Rose, she’d have held onto it for dear life.
“Speaking of Mum,” he said in a lighter tone, “how’s her dress coming along?"
She latched onto the change of topic, eager to cast aside her increasingly gloomy thoughts. "It's fantastic. We've agreed on the final design, and I sent it to one of my seamstresses to begin work. I'm so excited for her. I hope the wedding is everything she's dreamed of."
"I'll make sure it is," he assured her. “She deserves the best."
"Why?" The question blurted out, and only when she heard herself say it did she notice how rude she sounded. "I mean, every woman deserves a special day, but it seems like there's a particular reason you want Rose's wedding to be perfect. Why is that?"
Twenty seconds ticked by, and she begun to think he wouldn’t answer, but then he did, in a most unexpected way.
“My dad died from a heart attack when I was twelve. He was young, and the doctors weren’t sure why it happened.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her heart hurting for him.
“Thanks. Anyway, Mum raised my sisters and me alone after that. She was a working, single parent, and we weren't exactly angels. It can't have been easy, but she did it anyway. She put herself through law school as an adult. Life never handed her anything, but she would've given us everything that was in her power to give. That's why I want to do whatever I can now to make things good for her.”
Clarissa sniffed. "That's so sweet." Her voice sounded watery to her own ears.
"Are you crying?"
"No." She sniffed again. "Maybe a little. She sounds amazing, and I think it's wonderful that you appreciate her."
“Well, uh, thanks.” She could tell she’d taken him by surprise again. "Tell me about your parents."
And just like that, her constricted throat threatened to suffocate her. The flow of her tears ceased. "Another time."
Preferably, never. Her parents weren’t a suitable conversation topic when trying to impress a man. If she told him the truth, she might scare him off. Either that, or he’d pity her. Neither option appealed. She needed to change the subject. Fast.
“Has the hero in your book redeemed himself yet?”