Getting It Right This Time (5 page)

Swallowing the guilt clawing at his chest, piercing and scarring his heart, he stared up at the clear blue sky.

“I still love her, mate. I have to do this. I have to know.”

With his mind reeling, Mark wandered to the recreational park in the center of town and sat down on a bench. In front of him a family played a game of soccer. They looked relaxed and happy. Once upon a time he’d thought Kate’s dreams for the future consisted of the scene in front of him. Clearly he’d been wrong to think she’d want nothing more than to be with him, work with him toward his goal of his own agency one day while they brought up two or three kids together.

His jaw tightened. A chauvinistic assumption most people would think, but he seriously thought he’d known Kate and what mattered to her. Until she up and emigrated halfway around the world with James and his professional snowboarding dreams, leaving Mark with the stark realization he’d been miles off of her true wants and the maternal instincts he imagined lingering in her heart.

Ignoring the gnawing in his gut and the knife stabbing at his chest, Mark slowly shook his head. He found it hard to believe he’d been so colossally mistaken. But he must have been. Seeing her standing proud and tall, immaculately dressed and groomed, Mark guessed children were the furthest thing from her mind. And as her face emerged in his mind’s eye again, he knew if push came to shove he could forgo his own wants and live without children, if that’s what it took to share his life with the woman he’d always loved.

The ringing of his Blackberry interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the display and hesitated for a second before hitting the speak button.

“Marcia!” he said, with forced joviality. “What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the reviews?” she asked with a squeal. “My God, Mark, I’m walking on air!”

Mark grimaced. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d forgotten to pick up a copy of every newspaper after a client’s opening performance. Kate was clearly taking over in his priorities. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the most important aspect of his life was work--and now his neglect had landed him in an awkward position with his star client.

He cleared his throat. “I--”

“Can you believe what Morton Shankin said about me? No, no, Lara Hawkins’s review is even better.” Marcia laughed. “Listen to me carrying on as though you haven’t seen them. What do you think? Are you proud of me?”

22

Getting It Right This Time

Mark’s eyes darted to the park entrance. He needed to get to a newsagent’s pretty damn quick. “Proud of you?” he said, standing up and striding toward the huge iron double gates. “Of course, I’m proud of you. My phone has been going crazy this morning but I was about to ring you.”

“Can you meet me for lunch? Why don’t we go somewhere ultra expensive to celebrate?”

“I…um, the thing is…”

“My treat,” she said. “How do you fancy a meal at The Tulip Garden?”

Mark’s mind raced as he hurried along, trying to think of a viable excuse to get out of the lunch. Then he stopped, ignoring the curse of the man who smashed into Mark’s back. What was he thinking? Why couldn’t he go? Kate made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to meet him. Why add the risk of upsetting Marcia into the bargain as well?

He forced a smile. “Sounds good to me. My treat, okay?”

“We’ll fight it out over lunch. Shall we say one-thirty?”

“Great. See you then.”

“Oh, and Mark?”

“Yes?”

“We need to come up with a way of averting the bad side of the press attention I’m getting,”

she said quietly. “I thought I could handle the paparazzi turning up everywhere despite your warnings, but
The Picture
is becoming particularly intrusive.”

Mark ground his teeth together.
The Picture
was Britain’s highest selling tabloid. A cheap eighty-pence rag that made money on featuring stars and B-list celebrities in compromising positions and writing damn near libelous claims.

“What are they insinuating now?” he said, walking into the newsagents.

“It’s not the usual stuff saying we make the perfect couple,” she said coyly. “That never bothers me, as you know…”

Ignoring the clear neon signal Marcia flashed him at a thousand volts, Mark cleared his throat. “So what are they saying?” She didn’t answer right away so he tried again. “Marcia?”

“Kate.”

A lump of heavy weight fell into his abdomen. “Kate?”

“Yes. And it’s not remotely funny, Mark.”

Mark’s fury erupted. “Who the hell do they think they are snooping around asking about Kate?”

“Mark--”

“Bastards. Do they really think I’ll let them get away with this? My God, how dare they as much as speak her name! They don’t deserve to kiss the ground she walks on.”

“Mark--”

“Who’s the journalist? No, not journalist, asshole who wrote it? I bet it was Underwood.

God damn it, he only does freelancing work if it involves messing something up for me.”

“Mark!”

Rachel Brimble

23

Marcia’s sharp yell sliced through the mist of his red-hot anger. “What?”

“You seem a damn sight angrier they’re more interested in Kate than you are with them hassling me.”

He swiped a trembling hand over his face. Shit. She was right. The entirety of his anger was a defense reflex for Kate--for the first time since he’d started representing Marcia two years before, she was not at the forefront of his mind. He swallowed down his anger, struggled to get a hold on the violent need to punch something.

He looked round to find a young couple standing next to him. The man slowly slid a protective arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder as he met Mark’s gaze. Mark turned away. He needed to get a grip.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll deal with them. They’ve got no right knocking on your door.”

“I want to be taken seriously as an actress, Mark, and having Underwood asking me about your love life is the same as him throwing dirt in my face.”

“I know, I know. I’ll deal with him. He’s a weasel.”

“A weasel who is clearly intent on aggravating you. If he wants to go after Kate, he will.”

Mark opened his mouth to respond but something in the tone of Marcia’s voice melted the words of retaliation on his tongue and changed them to something else. “You say that as though you admire the man.”

“I don’t admire him, far from it,” she said. “All I’m saying is, he’s ruthless and when you deal with people like him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

Unease rippled along Mark’s nerve endings as he pulled various newspapers off the shelves.

“I can deal with the press, Marcia. You know I can.”

“Mmm, I know.”

Mark narrowed his eyes, his anger threatening to re-surface at her implied disbelief. “Pardon me?” he said.

“Oh, nothing,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I just think you need to get re-focused.”

He tightened his jaw. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Marcia.”

Her laughter tinkled. “Don’t be absurd, I would never do such a thing!”

“Good. I’ll see you at one-thirty.”

He snapped the phone shut and marched to the till armed with four broadsheet newspapers and the rag known as
The Picture
. He paid for them and quickly left the shop, intending to go straight to his office and read every review and piece of crap written about him so he was fully informed when he met Marcia.

But as he made his way back through the center of town, he passed the picture perfect window of an elegant patisserie. His frown instantly smoothed and a smile curved his lips. One short detour on the way back to his car wouldn’t hurt.

* * * *

24

Getting It Right This Time

Kate got out of her Peugeot 307 and took a deep breath. Mark’s unexpected visit had sent her already stretched nerves to overdrive, and when he’d left the salon, the extent of the state he’d left her in manifested in a number of ways. She walked straight upstairs and accidentally upset an entire vat of wax onto the laminate flooring in treatment room one, then she’d walked into the kitchen and eaten Jo’s specially made Weightwatchers chicken and salad wrap, oblivious to the equal amounts of care and contempt Jo had put into making it at seven-thirty that morning.

The poor girl was edgy enough being on a diet without Kate eating every last morsel of her best intentions.

So, feeling incredibly guilty as well as astonishingly stupid, Kate had jumped into her car to go out and replace the wax and low-fat, low-calorie chicken wrap as fast as possible. But no, once more, the gods were against her and after sitting in a traffic hold up of laughable proportions, she’d missed a scheduled appointment and left Jo to hold the fort on her own for over an hour.

Kate pushed open the door on the salon and cursed the jingling bell announcing her arrival.

No doubt Jo was ready to kill her. She took three steps inside when Jo shot out the back room, lunged forward with the panache of an Olympic gymnast and grabbed Kate’s upper arms.

“He came back!” she cried.

“What? Who?” Kate stared at her, completely bewildered by the look of pure ecstasy on her assistant’s face.

“Sexy Mark Johnston.”

A rush of heat surged over Kate’s body--only to be replaced with ice-cold perspiration bursting onto her upper lip. “What? Why?”

Jo squealed and clapped her hands together. “He brought you something.”

“He…”

Kate’s echo died on her lips when Jo dragged her over to the payment counter. “Look!”

Pale pink ribbons were tied around the handles of the biscuit-colored picnic basket and a wide pink and white gingham ribbon circled its center. Both of the dual lids were ajar, one revealing a dozen pink carnations, the other a bottle of white wine so chilled the perspiration slid in occasional rivulets down its neck.

“Why would he do this?” Kate whispered, taking another step closer as a smile tugged at her lips.

She smoothed her hand over the surface of one of the handles and inhaled the aroma of freshly baked bread seeping from inside. Her stolen Weightwatcher lunch groaned inside her stomach.

“Open it. Open it,” Jo said, bouncing from one foot to the other.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Kate huffed, yet dismally failing to curb her stupidly insistent grin.

Sighing theatrically, she lifted one of the lids and her breath caught. He’d bought her favorite granary bread, along with delicate slices of Parma ham and a thick wedge of creamy brie. Tears stung at her eyes, and she swallowed the ball of emotion in her throat.

Rachel Brimble

25

“Oh, Mark.” She said the words on an exhalation as she carefully lifted a crisp white napkin to reveal two of the most delectable mini strawberry and fresh cream tarts she’d ever seen. Her absolute weakness.

She slowly closed the lid and re-arranged her expression into what she hoped was careless nonchalance before turning around. “When did he leave?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Jo said breathlessly. “Can you believe this? Isn’t it lovely?”

“What did he say?”

Her assistant frowned. “Aren’t you happy? Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

“Jo, focus. What did he say?”

Her blue eyes clouded, clearly displaying her disproval of Kate’s seemingly unappreciative response to such a thoughtful gesture. Kate smiled inwardly, knowing full well she’d be the topic of conversation between Jo and her friends at the wine bar later. Finally averting her gaze, Jo feigned interest in the bottles of lotion lining the shelves behind the counter.

“He said he was sorry he’d missed you and put that basket on the counter and then asked if he could borrow a pen and some paper.”

Kate stared at her turned back. “What for?”

She swiveled round. “To write you a note. The guy is obviously love-struck and you’re standing there as though he looks like Shrek after a mud-bath.”

Glaring at her, Kate fisted her hands on her hips. “Jo...”

“Fine, fine.” She whipped an envelope from the pocket of her tunic. “Here.”

Kate took the note and sat down. Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to five and started to read.

Swiping at the tears slowly edging over her cheeks, Kate looked up at Jo who hovered above her with her hands clasped to her chest.

“He wants to have dinner with me tonight,” she said.

“Ooh, you’re going to go, aren’t you? You have to. You can’t say no to Mark Johnston.”

“Why? Because he’s some hot-shot agent now?” Kate pushed to her feet and brushed past her. “That doesn’t make a blind bit of difference to me.”

“But surely--”

Kate raised her hand. “And besides, I’ve got a three-year-old to think of.”

“Don’t you have someone you trust to watch her? Kate, listen to me. I know I’m being silly about how handsome, rich, successful, gorgeous, sexy--”

“Jo, for crying out loud--”

“Sorry, sorry. But he’s serious. He looked so….so absolutely gutted when you weren’t here.

His entire face dropped like a young boy. He wasn’t hot-shot Mark Johnston, Kate. He was just a man who wanted to impress you.”

Kate stared as her heartbeat quickened and then sense rang supreme. She curtly shook her head. “Whatever he’s feeling is not important, Jessica is.”

26

Getting It Right This Time

“But--” The phone on the counter rang. “Damn it.”

Jo hurried to the phone and picked it up. Kate opened the note and re-read it. She needed to put an end to Mark’s desire to see her. Maybe she should meet him tonight and hear what he wanted to say and then tell him about Jessica--that would soon put an end to his interest, guaranteed.

His reaction to her having a daughter with James would surely dampen what she’d seen lingering dangerously in his eyes every time he looked at her?

The irrational pull she felt toward him was dangerous, pointless and completely irresponsible. She needed to quash it--quickly. Jessica’s happiness was Kate’s entire world and purpose. Getting involved with Britain’s most eligible bachelor with a reputation of hard working and hard playing would be emotional suicide for both her and Jess. She would not risk Jess’s emotional well-being, not to mention the fear of her getting caught up in a media frenzy.