Enchanted (8 page)

“Is that why you became friends?”

What a strange question. Kathleen tried to remember their first meeting, the first time they were alone, and not together at a meeting or company function. “Somebody told him I grew up in Montana. It really surprised me when he came to my office one day, just to talk about life in the West.”

Kathleen joined Mac at the bookcases, scanning the titles of bound leather classics, some obviously first editions, and an array of paperbacks, some tattered and
torn
. She had spent many hours with Patrick O’Brien in this room, and she fondly remembered how much they had shared when Mac went away. She pulled one of the worn paperbacks from the shelf. “Your father loved reading Louis L’Amour,” she said, fanning through the pages. “What about you?”

“Afraid I don’t have time.”

Kathleen shoved the book back into its slot and walked over to a massive buckskin leather armchair, where Mac’s dad used to sit, where he had spent many hours talking about his son, mostly about how he wished Mac had never met Ashley, how he wished he’d settle down with a woman the O’Brien family could love. She lightly ran her hands over the back of the chair. “He liked hearing stories about the ranch I grew up on. He talked about hunting and fishing, things he enjoyed but rarely got to do. We talked about old Western movies, and our heroes—I liked Randolph Scott, and he liked John Wayne.” Kathleen smiled at the memories. “I liked your dad. We had a good time together.”

Mac went back to his desk, sat on the edge and picked up the framed photo of his father. “There were so many things I wanted to tell him when I got back from Europe, but my timing was pretty bad. It was Christmas Eve, and the house was full of guests. Dad and I didn’t have much of a chance to talk.” Mac looked at Kathleen. “You know he died on Christmas Day, don’t you?”

Kathleen nodded.

“All those things I wanted to tell him—none of it mattered after he died. Everything would have been different if I hadn’t gone away.”

“Nothing would have been different, Mac.” Kathleen walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. She hadn’t touched him in six years, but that electrifying feeling she had experienced back then only increased. With all her heart she wanted to put her arms around him and give
him
comfort, but she was afraid he’d only pull away.

And he did. He put the frame back on the desk, went to his chair, and sat down. “It wasn’t my intention to bring up my dad. Hell! I don’t even know why I wanted to see you.”

“There was a time when we used to sit in your office and just keep each other company. We didn’t talk. You did your work and I did mine. Do you remember?”

“I remember. But that was a long time ago, and we can’t go back.”

Time for reminiscing ended. The concrete barrier Mac had erected between them returned.

“You still haven’t answered my question about the magazine,” he stated. “Is everything going well?”

I suppose if he wants to talk about business, Kathleen thought, we’ll talk about business. At least that’s better than not talking at all. At least it’s a start. “We’re having a tough time with the advertising, but we’ll get it worked out.”

His expression softened. “I know I said I wouldn’t help, but if you need anything, I hope you’ll ask.”

“Thanks, but I can make it work, Mac. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true.”

“If you think I gave you the go-ahead believing you might fail, you’re wrong. I have no doubt whatsoever that you’ll succeed.” He leaned back in his chair, resuming his look of control. “I don’t play hunches in this business, Kath. I want to make money on this project. I want you to get your promotion. There’s no hidden motive. Strictly business, that’s all.”

“Okay. Strictly business.”
Damn him!
She had hoped they’d resolve that unknown problem between them, that they’d once again be friends. Just a few moments ago, she thought they had been on
the verge of renewing the closeness
, that special rapport
. She couldn’t have been more wrong. But she gave it one more attempt. What they had shared was much too special, much too valuable to give up easily. “I take it a return to our old friendship is out of the question?”

Mac opened a drawer, thumbed through some file folders, and pulled one out. Putting it on his desk, he opened it up and started reading the contents. A moment later he looked up at Kathleen, his face an expressionless mask. “Just business, Kathleen. That’s all there is.”

“Okay.” She gritted her teeth at his cold harsh words, rose from her chair and made a calculated attempt to calmly walk to the door. She put her fingers to the knob, then turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the old Mac, but he appeared deep in thought, his eyes trained on his papers. What the hell could he be thinking? Why did he open up to her one moment, then clam up the next? He was the most infuriating man she’d ever met.

He looked up from his papers. “Did you need something else?”

That did it! She couldn’t contain her anger and frustration any longer. She yanked open the door and slammed it behind her. When she reached her office, she slammed that door too, fell into her chair, and exhaled all her pent-up emotion. What the hell had she done to deserve this treatment from Mac? He’d grown too
darn
moody over the years, too serious. She must be crazy to care so much, to let his behavior ruin her frame of mind and, quite possibly, her evening. No. She wouldn’t let his sour humor put a damper on her date tonight. She planned to enjoy herself, in spite of him.

She grabbed her briefcase and opened a desk drawer to retrieve her purse, and hidden below it was that newspaper photo of Mac and Ashley at the Pallenbergs’. Her humor plummeted.

Damn that man
!
How could she possibly be in love with such an insufferable
pig
?

The Plaza’s lounge overflowed with people, more than Mac had expected. With luck, he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. Not that it mattered, but he didn’t want to answer any questions. He felt ridiculous sitting alone at a table waiting for a blind date. Forty-nine years old and placing an ad in the Personals. He really had gone insane.

Seven o’clock on the dot. Mac thrived on punctuality—but what about the ladies he expected? What if they showed up at the same time? Why did he send letters to two women? Why did he even send one?

He stared at his beer, deep in thought, not paying attention to the people entering the lounge. Then he heard it. A low, raspy voice. “Are you expecting me?”

She wore short white gloves and stood about five feet two. Her eyes were big, blue.

“Hello.” Mac could barely get a word out of his constricted throat as he stood up and tried not to gape at the petite, dark-haired woman at his side. Somehow he managed to pull out the chair for the creature whose generous breasts nearly spilled out of the extremely low-cut red spandex tank dress she wore.

She slipped off her gloves and offered a hand to Mac in greeting. “I’m Hillary.”

“Mac,” he croaked, then took her hand in his, holding it a second longer than necessary. Hers was warm. His was clammy.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, raking his palm w
ith long red fingernails as she
pulled her hand away.

Mac returned to his chair, nodding for the waiter.

“What may I bring you?” The man addressed Hillary, his eyes straying to her cleavage.

“Jack Daniel’s, straight up.”

Mac nearly gasped.

“And you, sir?”

“Another Molson. No, on second thought, I’ll have the same as the lady.” Mac smiled weakly. He couldn’t afford to look like a wimp. If Hillary could drink whiskey straight up, he could too.

“Tell me about yourself,” Mac said, unable to think of anything more creative as he fought to keep his gaze on her face. Sitting with a stranger was more than uncomfortable; it was downright miserable. To make matters worse, he looked at Hillary like a display piece—a commodity whose purchase he was contemplating.

“Well,” she said, then appeared to lose her train of thought as she opened the small white purse she held in her lap. She fumbled through the contents and pulled out a pack of Marlboros.

The waiter appeared with their drinks the moment the cigarette touched Hillary’s lips. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You can’t smoke in here.”

Hillary grinned and put her index finger to the waiter’s lips. “Just one quick puff, please?” she purred.

The waiter’s eyes dropped to the rose tattoo on her left breast, and when he looked up again, his face flushed, he removed the lighter from Hillary’s fingers and laid it on the table next to her gloves. “Sorry.” He winked and left Mac to deal with any further problems.

“No sweat,” Hillary said, waving the unlit cigarette in Mac’s face. “Nasty habit, but I hate to give it up.”

Mac watched Hillary open her purse and drop the lipstick-stained cigarette inside, fought back his disdain, and attempted to start a conversation. “You were about to tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, right.” She took a sip of her whiskey then ran her tongue over her dark red lips. “I’m not from New York, but I bet you already guessed that from my accent.”

He hadn’t guessed. He’d been too busy trying to overlook Hillary’s offensive mannerisms, trying instead to concentrate on her tiny, turned-up nose. Long, thick, dark eyelashes. Liza Minnelli black hair. And that rose tattoo that increased in size every time Hillary took a breath.

“I want to be an actress,” she said, forcing Mac’s attention back to her face. “But I’m just not having any luck. Danny, he’s my agent, says I really got lots of potential.”

“Is that so?” Mac yawned.

“Oh, yeah. I went on an audition just the other day. The director said I could be a real star, with my looks and all.”

“I see.” He took a good look at Hillary. At first glance, in the dim light, she looked great, but on closer inspection he could see the pucker lines around her lips, the caked makeup at her hairline, the heavy buildup of mascara at the comers of her eyes. He swallowed the last of his beer, and started on the whiskey.

“Yeah, well, to be honest, it’s some kind of really low-budget movie. You know, the kind nice girls shouldn’t be in. I like the idea of being a star, but the guy sort of gave me the creeps.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy you should stay away from.”

“Well, Danny wasn’t too crazy about me telling the producer I wasn’t interested.”

“Have you thought about finding a different agent?”

“Nah. Danny’s okay.”

Hillary downed the rest of her whiskey. Mac followed suit. He needed it to dull his senses and to get through the conversation with Hillary.

“Hey! What about you?” Hillary asked. “Why’d you put that ad in the columns?”

“Somebody dared me to,” he lied. If he admitted his plan had been to find the perfect wife, she’d think he was crazy, and she’d probably be right. Just look what a disaster Hillary had turned out to be.

“Yeah, I thought it was something like that. I mean, all that talk about trees and gifts. Did you like my line, the ‘five foot two, eyes of blue’ bit?”

“Pretty clever.”

“Well, yeah. I’ve used it a few times before.” She picked up her gloves and purse. “Look, Mac. Thanks for the drink, but I’m really not interested. You know, you’re a little too old for me, and, well, gosh, I got to go.”

Mac stood. He didn’t have time to pull out Hillary’s chair. She departed in a flash. He wished he could run out too. Disappear before the next woman arrived.

He drank another Molson and checked his watch, over and over. He didn’t expect the next lady until eight, but when she walked in at seven-thirty he wasn’t surprised. She had flaming red hair and a short, tight black dress. Every man in the room followed her with gaping eyes. She sauntered across the room and took a seat at the bar, stuffing the white gloves into her purse.

Mac cautiously approached the bar, his beer clutched tightly in his fingers. He stood next to her and raised one boot to the foot rail. “I think you were expecting me.”

She stared Mac straight in the eyes. “I beg your pardon. Are you speaking to me?”

Mac had an inkling he’d made a mistake. “I’m the guy with the holly.’’ He fingered his lapel.