Falling for Sir (18 page)

It wasn't until she'd walked out of his office
and back into the elevator that she realized next Thursday was Thanksgiving.

She paused, holding the door with her hand, much
to the annoyance of everyone behind her. Should she go back and remind him it
was a Holiday? Maybe he didn't care. The store would still be open even if the
administrative offices were closed. A man like Jack Marchetti wouldn't stop for
a public holiday. He had a tough schedule and if she wanted to get on in this
business—play with the big boys and girls— she'd have to be the same.

Holiday? What Holiday?

So Marianne stepped back and let the door slide
shut.

Chapter
Thirteen

Temptation

Since he was leaving town tomorrow he'd agreed
to meet Alana for dinner before he realized they were precisely one week from
Thanksgiving. A very dangerous time.

"You have to come, darling. My parents are
expecting us. You know they adore you. When they asked if I was bringing you
for dinner next week, I had to say yes. It would break their hearts if you
don't come out to Long Island on Thursday."

Jack checked over his shoulder to make sure they
were no cameras following them into the restaurant. One could never be sure
with Alana. "But I may not even be in the country next week. I wish you
wouldn't make plans for me without my input." They'd had this discussion
before, but she never listened.

"What on earth could you have to do on a
Holiday?"

"The rest of the world doesn't celebrate
Thanksgiving, Alana. Business doesn't stop."

She waved her fingers through the air by her
face, dismissing that fact. "You must come. How can you be so mean?"

Suddenly he caught sight of two women seated at
the bar across the restaurant. Usually he wouldn't even look twice, but this
time something trapped his attention. Dark, curly hair and soft laughter. Was
it...? Yes. She'd just turned her head slightly and he saw her profile as she
laughed again at something the bartender told her. His heart slowed. Marianne.
With that frazzled woman—Christie— from her department. Drinking a martini.

He quickly looked back at his plate. "I'm
sorry, Alana. I can't make plans for next week. Not yet." It was the best
he could do to keep her in a civil mood for the rest of the meal. If he told
her it was absolutely out of the question, she would sulk. Trouble was, he
didn't like upsetting Alana. She was irritating occasionally and could be
downright pushy, but she was an old friend and he did care about her. If only she'd
get over this fantasy of them being a romantic couple, it would make their
friendship much easier on the both of them.

Her eyes narrowed. She sipped her chilled
grapefruit juice. Apparently she was on a new diet that consisted solely of
grapefruits in one form or another. Except deep-fried. "I met your
interior decorator the other day."

The knife slipped in his fingers and chimed
against his plate. "You did?"

"Nice girl. Bit on the chunky side."

"Is she?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No."

"She's very young."

He didn't respond.

"She's over there at the bar, behind me. I
don't suppose you noticed that either."

Christ, she must have eyes in the back of her
head. He coughed and wiped his mouth on a napkin, pretending he'd found a
fishbone. "She's talented. One of Rawlings' discoveries. I agreed to give
her a chance to show me what she can do." Aware of Alana's intense gaze
studying his face, he added, "How's the fruit salad?"

She picked up her fork and pushed a wedge of
grapefruit around her plate. "Fine."

"Maybe you need a steak."

"Very funny."

Jack placed his napkin back in his lap and tried
not to glance over her head at the bar again. "Your TV show going
well?"

Alana shrugged. "I'm sure my story arc is
the most boring. They tell me I'm starting to look desperate." She toyed
with the stem of her glass. "Am I?"

"Who's
they
?"
Marianne must have gone home to change after work, he thought. That outfit was
slinkier than her usual office attire. Low cut, drawing the eye to her
bountiful breasts.
 
Her hair was half up,
half down, in a tousled, sexy style that looked as if she didn't put much
effort into it. Gone was the tight ponytail.

"Viewers, fans. You know, people who blog
about the show."

He forced himself to pay attention. "Why do
you care what they think? They obviously have no lives of their own or they
wouldn't be watching that—" He cut himself off, realizing his mistake.

She arched an eyebrow. "That tripe? Is that
what you were about to say?"

He shook his head. "Alana it's pulp TV. You
know that. It's nothing to do with who you really are. It's fodder for the
masses. The producers throw you to the wolves, the way the Romans threw slaves
to the lions in the coliseum. Surely you didn't think they really cared about
the real you." Jack offered her some wine, but she shook her head and
flopped back in her chair, her eyes dimmed.

"You should go along with it. Play the
part," he added. Over at the bar Marianne had just crossed her legs and
leaned closer to the bartender. She rested her elbow on the bar, her hand on
the back of her neck, under her hair. Where he liked to kiss her, lick her,
whisper into her skin. He swallowed. "It's not real. Don't be fooled into
thinking it is and you'll be fine. Don't take it so seriously."

 
Alana
watched as he refilled his own wine glass. "You make everything sound so
easy. Maybe you can separate your life into different compartments, but I
can't." Afraid he'd just seen tears forming, he quickly got on with his
dinner. The last thing he needed was Alana breaking down in a restaurant. The
sooner they finished and he took her home the better. "You don't realize
how much it hurts," she muttered.

"What hurts? That stupid show?" He
knew he was starting to sound angry. Couldn't help it. The bartender was paying
Marianne a lot of attention and she was enjoying it, her foot swinging.
"Stop doing the show then."

"Not the show. You." Alana caught her
breath and briefly covered her face with one hand, before shaking it off, her
black hair gleaming as if it was wet. "I look desperate because of you."

"Me?" What had he done now?

"Oh Jack, how can you be so blind. I've
made myself look a fool on that show because you and I are supposed to be a
couple but you never want to be filmed with me. I'm starting to think they only
signed me because they were hoping to get you too. The fabulous, enigmatic Jack
Marchetti. Instead they've got me, desperate divorcee and daddy's girl."

"Alana," he lowered his voice,
"we're friends. We always will be. But we're not a couple."

"Why not?" she choked out. "We
should be. Everyone says how good we look together. We're right for each
other."

He set down his knife and fork, done with his
meal.

"I've been in love with you for four
years," she snapped. "And now this little chunky thing comes out of
the blue."

Jack stared across the table. "What?"

"You can pretend to be blind, Jack. I
can't. You've barely taken your eyes off her."

"Alana, I don't know what you—"

"I saw her when we came in and I waited to
see if she caught your eye. I didn't even have to turn around to know who you
were looking at, Jack. I just saw your face, looked into your eyes and knew it
was her." She sat up straight in the chair. "Were you with her on
Monday night?"

He felt the blood drain from his face.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

She raised her chin, her expression one of
martyrdom. "I called your office after you cancelled our dinner date. You
weren't there—"

"I don't do all my work in the office. You
know that."

 
"—so
I called your chauffeur and asked if he was with you. He said he'd taken you out
but he was very cagey about where."

Now he was furious. "You called my
chauffeur?" He didn't even know she had the number.

"And now you won't come to my parents’
house for Thanksgiving. It's not like you to cancel a dinner date and I knew
something was up. There haven't been any other women since Laura died. I'd know
if there were. Suddenly you're acting totally different. Hiring an
inexperienced girl to decorate an apartment that you would never let anyone
touch since you bought it four years ago. Letting her organize the Marchetti
Holiday party, when I could have done it for you—offered to do it for you last
year and you blew me off. Oh, yes, Jack, I've heard all about her from
Bracknell. That old hag never liked me, of course, and couldn't wait to tell me
about the new girl when I called on Monday and she said you were already gone.
Gone home...to
change
. I know you
keep clean shirts in your office, so why would you go home to change if it was
just work?"

So that was what prompted it. Mrs. B and her penchant
for damn details. It wasn't always so useful, after all, to have her knowing
everything.

"What's going on, Jack?"

Apparently Alana really had lost herself in a
world of unreality if she thought he owed her any explanation about another
woman in his life. But he stayed calm. Somehow. A few faces had turned their
way as she raised her voice for the unpleasant, breathless tirade. But now she
sat back again and drained her glass of grapefruit juice.

"There's no need to get upset," he
said quietly. "Ms. Miller is an employee of mine. She's not interested in
dating me." The damned woman across the restaurant was enjoying the
bartender's company and hadn't even noticed
him
.
No, but she liked his cock well enough. Correction: "Claudia" liked
his cock. Liked his cock pounding into her and coming hard.

It was the one and only time he'd ever not used
a condom. Even with Laura he'd used protection. His wife had been paranoid
about getting pregnant because she was focused on her career. They'd had a plan
laid out. No children, they'd agreed, for the first seven years of marriage.
Then Laura got sick after five years and that was that.

But with Claudia he'd lost control and there was
no plan. She'd wrapped her legs around him so tightly, arched her body against
him and he'd thrust again and again. The feel of her, and the soft whispers
against his skin, were too luxurious to resist

Now he was hard. Just from thinking about it. He
put his head in his hands and waited for the guilt that should come—guilt for
replacing memories of his wife with those thoughts about Marianne. But his head
was clear. He looked up again and dropped his hands to the table.

Alana blinked rapidly and set down her glass.
"So you've tried?"

"Tried what?"

"You've asked her out?"

"Not exactly," he hedged, fidgeting
discretely in his chair, trying to get comfortable with another inconvenient
erection. He hadn't suffered this many since he was a teenager. "But I
know she isn't interested in dating her boss. She told me that."

"She probably told you that on
purpose."

He looked at her, squinting. "Why?"

"For pity's sake. You are so naive about
women." Alana leaned across the table. "She told you she's not
interested because she is. Girls of that age do that sort of thing. Women of my
age don't have the time to waste, fooling around. We just lay it all out
there." She laughed bitterly, tucking hair behind her ear. "Get our
hearts trampled."

Jack still frowned. "I don't know. She's
not like that. She's quite sensible." He couldn't see her playing that
type of game. Although she did like chess. She already had him in check.
"Too young for me anyway," he growled.

"Yes, she is." Alana sighed. "But
I've never known that stop a man yet." She nodded at the wine bottle.
"Maybe I'd better have some of that after all."

* * * *

She'd tried to ignore his presence in the
restaurant. If not for Christie she might have managed it.

"Look who's here!" her workmate
whispered as they waited for their second drink. Apparently Christie had only
just seen him. She clutched Marianne's arm and almost cut off the blood flow.
"The boss."

"I know." He was with Alana Shepherd.
So? Who cared? Not her. She'd turned him down for a date, hadn't she? Knew it
would be a mistake to become a part of his personal life. She'd never look
right on his arm. She couldn't act the way she was supposed to or say the
proper thing. He seemed amused by her right now, but probably only because she
stood up to him. That would wear thin if they started dating. He'd probably
tried to fix her when, in her eyes, she wasn't broken.

Besides he'd been around a lot longer than her,
knew more about life and these sorts of games. They had nothing in common.