Marrying Mister Perfect (16 page)

Her gaze caught on the new haircut and low
scoop of her top. She still looked good—for all her emotional
turmoil—maybe even a little sexy.

For all the good it had done her.

Things between her and Jack were worse after
her attempt at a vixen makeover. So much for seduction.

Who was she kidding? A mouse in vixen’s
clothing was still depressingly mousey. A new haircut and new
clothes didn’t make her brave. They just made her desperate.

Though there had been a moment in the
screening room when she was sure the lure-him-to-love plan was
working. For a minute there she had been convinced he was going to
kiss her. She’d told him she loved him, come so close to explaining
that it was more than just friend-love…

Then the intercom had broken the spell.

The fates were aligned against her.

And Lou wanted to maim the faceless intercom
operator.

Everything had fallen apart from there. She’d
wanted to confess her love and whisk him away from the show before
he got sucked in any deeper with the Suitorettes, before they
brainwashed him into love. But it wasn’t meant to be. All of her
frustration had welled up and she’d said things she probably
shouldn’t have and he’d said things she’d never be able to
unhear.

And now she’d be gone all week. An entire
week for the Suitorettes next door to work their wiles on him. And
he was hardly going to be resisting their efforts.

And she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to
be.

The way he’d spoken to her… he wasn’t her
Jack anymore. If he ever had been. Perhaps she had been as bad as
Missy, falling in love with a construct of her imagination,
building the perfect man out of her dreams and pasting his image
over Jack.

Maybe this was all for the best.

But why did
for the best
have to hurt
so much?

#

Jack’s anger lasted until about five minutes
after the limo had left with Lou and the kids in it. As soon as he
simmered down, he immediately started regretting the words he’d
thrown at her. By the time he was half-dressed for his romantic
evening out, he was calling himself seven different kinds of
scumbag idiot.

He knew Lou, knew the best way to hurt her,
and had gone for the throat in a knee-jerk reflex. The week’s
stresses had piled up on him. He’d been defensive and stressed out
since he got to LA. Lou’s visit was supposed to make him feel
better, but it had only made him feel more off-kilter. More
confused. She’d been so
different
and he’d felt even more
twisted and tangled than ever.

Then when Lou—the one person he could always
count on to support him—attacked his choices, he’d lashed out
without thinking. It was no excuse, but it was all the explanation
he had.

He needed to call Lou. He needed to
apologize. But by now she’d be at the airport, juggling the kids’
carry-ons through security. She may have already turned off her
cell. He wouldn’t be able to grovel for at least four more hours,
so he might as well suffer through date night with as much
appearance of pleasure as he could muster.

Jack groaned as he knotted his tie. The last
thing he wanted to do was spend the evening smiling for the cameras
and wooing at the symphony.

Marcy was easy to be with and Missy was
sweet, in an overeager puppy kind of way, but the person he needed
to be with right now was Lou. He needed to set things straight
between them before the poisonous words he’d said could hurt her
any more than they already had.

“Jack?” Miranda’s voice cut through the door.
“We’re ready for you, darling. I’ve got two gorgeous women and a
private box at the symphony with your name on it.”

Jack cringed. His name was also all over the
contracts requiring him to play along or else he would have told
Miranda where she could shove that private box. “I’m on my
way.”

The symphony was everything he thought it
would be. Boring and boring, with a side of extreme boredom.

Sweet, curly-haired Missy perched on the edge
of her seat, as if that would help her receive the music better,
with her eyes closed and her head swaying slightly with the dips
and swells of the song.

He glanced to his other side. Marcy leaned
back in her chair, a small, amused smile curving her lips and her
eyes locked on him. Also brunette, her hair was slightly lighter,
slightly longer, and not as curly as it tumbled over shoulders left
bare by her dress. “Having fun?” she whispered, with a sarcastic
lift of one eyebrow. Her eyes twinkled like his boredom was a
fabulous secret they shared.

Jack gave her a half-hearted grin—which was
about all the enthusiasm he could muster. “Are you?”

Marcy tipped her head to one side,
considering the question. “I am entertained,” she admitted. “Though
the musicians can’t claim full responsibility for that. You, Mr.
Perfect, are fascinating.”

She didn’t say it the way the other girls
did—gushing with manufactured adoration. She sounded more like he
was a puzzle she hadn’t quite worked out yet. No love or hate—real
or fake—clouded her tone. Just curiosity.

Jack found himself leaning over the armrest
toward her. “What’s so fascinating?”

Her smile grew a little, as if by asking he
had passed some test. She leaned closer until they were inches
apart. Her eyes were green, he noticed. Somehow he’d just assumed
they’d be brown.

“You signed up for the show,” she whispered,
“so clearly you want to be here. But right now, you look like
you’re hoping a hole would open up in the floor and swallow you.
And I don’t think it’s just because you hate the music. You keep
tossing glares at the pro—” Marcy caught herself. They weren’t
supposed to mention the behind-the-scenes folks. Ever. “I just
meant you look like you want to escape the whole
experience
.
So which is it? Happy camper or inmate digging his way out with a
spoon?”

Jack glanced at the cameraman hovering nearby
to catch their intimate exchange. He could feel the segment
producer’s gorgon stare on the back of his neck, but he didn’t turn
to look at her. He took Marcy’s hand and smiled as he ran his thumb
across the backs of her knuckles. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather
be,” he said, willing himself to mean the words.

Marcy leaned closer. For a moment, he thought
she was going to kiss him and he had to force himself not to flinch
away, but she just pressed her cheek against his so her lips were
directly next to his ear.

“Liar,” she whispered, too low for the mics
to catch.

Jack felt a genuine smile curling his lips.
He really liked Marcy. No games. No pretense. And she wouldn’t let
him get away with a damn thing. Just like Lou.

Jack’s smile faded. Had Lou and the kids
landed yet? If he called her now, would she answer? The symphony
felt like it had been playing forever, but it couldn’t have been
more than an hour or two. They were probably still in the air. Or
baggage claim. And then she would be driving. The traffic around
O’Hare was a nightmare, even on a Sunday night. He shouldn’t
distract her while she was driving, but could he afford to wait
until she got home? His hand slipped into his pocket, stroking the
links of the gold charm bracelet.

“You’re gone again,” Marcy said, watching him
from a distance of inches. “Where’d you go just now?”

Jack sighed and gave up hiding it. He didn’t
want to be here. “I need to talk to my kids. There’s something I
forgot to say.”

Marcy’s head tipped to the side in that
considering way again. “I don’t think that’s all of it. You look…
guilty.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re too
perceptive for your own good?”

“All the time. Does that mean I’m right?”

Jack glanced back toward the producer. She
was frowning. Internally, he shrugged. What the hell. They could
edit this part out. “It’s Lou. My friend who helps me take care of
the kids. My best friend. I said something stupid to her this
afternoon as they were leaving.”

“Ah. And now you can’t sit still until you’ve
made it right. That’s actually a pretty admirable trait—that you
realize when you’ve fu— ahem,
messed
up and want to make it
right. I know a lot of guys who would stand by their guns even
knowing they’re in the wrong.”

“I doubt they’d do that if they were quite
this far in the wrong.”

“Really screwed the pooch, did ya?”

He winced. “You know, this isn’t making me
feel better.”

She grinned, unrepentant. “It’s not supposed
to. You want to beat yourself up until you can make amends. I’m
just helping.”

“You’re all heart.”

A mischievous smile quirked the corners of
her mouth. “That’s what they tell me.”

A little huff of indignation from his other
side reminded them both that they weren’t alone—even if they didn’t
count the camera crew that crowded the box. Jack wasn’t sure
whether Missy was upset because they were talking during her
transcendent musical experience or whether she was in a tiff
because he was ignoring her to favor Marcy. At the moment, he
didn’t particularly care. He just didn’t feel like playing the
game.

Marcy jabbed him with her elbow. “Put your
arm around her,” she whispered low. “She’ll eat it up.”

Jack looked at Marcy questioningly, but she
was already turning back to the symphony, feigning sudden interest
in the current concerto.
Strange girl.

He shifted in his chair, draping his arm
along the back of Missy’s seat. Missy, who hadn’t budged from the
tip of her chair all night, sighed happily and leaned back into the
curve of his arm, proving she was definitely aware of her
surroundings, no matter how entranced she seemed to be.

Jack slanted a look at Marcy out of the
corner of his eye and caught her repressing a wicked little smile.
For a moment, the I-shouldn’t-be-laughing-but-I-am expression
reminded him sharply of Lou.

They were so much alike. Marcy even seemed to
share Lou’s mild skepticism toward the entire
process
. He
wondered if Marcy would be half as good a mom as Lou had
been—before he’d essentially told her she had no right to have an
opinion about his children.
Dumbass
.

As the orchestra finished a number and the
audience surged to their feet in applause, Jack came slowly out of
his chair to join the fanfare, wondering for the first time if the
only reason he liked Marcy so much was because she reminded him so
strongly of Lou.

Chapter
Sixteen

When Lou’s plane landed at O’Hare, there was
a message on her phone. She didn’t listen to it. She set the phone
to silent and herded two cranky, sleepy kids through the maze-like
airport toward baggage claim, trying to remember where she’d parked
the Focus.

She didn’t check the phone again until she
had the kids home, in their pajamas, brushing their teeth like
zombies, already half asleep. When she flipped open the phone, it
immediately lit up with four new messages.

Four.

All from Jack.

Lou held her breath. That was good, wasn’t
it? He still wanted to talk. He wouldn’t call five times if he just
wanted to tell her to get the hell out of his house and drop the
kids at their grandparents’ on her way. Would he?

Lou herded Emma and TJ into their beds, the
need to listen to her voicemail burning inside her. She would have
broken the speed record for cover-tucking—forehead kiss,
fast-forward through the lullaby, nightlight on, overhead light
off—but just as she was pulling Emma’s door shut behind her, a soft
voice piped up from the bed.

“Aunt Lou?”

Lou froze with her hand on the knob, her cell
phone burning like a hot coal in her pocket. “Yes, baby?”

“I miss Daddy.”

Lou’s heart dropped. She’d been expecting
this. Frankly, she was surprised Emma and TJ hadn’t felt their
father’s absence sooner. Of course it would have to be now. When
Lou was exhausted, frustrated, hurt and angry with Jack. When the
last thing she wanted was to sing the long-distance praises of
Emma’s daddy.

Lou pushed the door back open, ignoring the
siren call of the cell phone in her pocket, and moved to perch on
the edge of Emma’s bed. “He misses you too, sugar.” She brushed the
baby-fine hair off Emma’s forehead. “There’s nowhere he’d rather be
than with you.”

“Then how come he doesn’t come home?” Emma
mumbled, burrowing down under the blankets until they covered
everything from the nose down, Fluff Muffin peeking out beside her,
pressed against her cheek. Heart-stopping blue eyes gazed out from
her rounded baby face. Em had gotten Gillian’s dark hair, but the
eyes were all Jack.

“He has to stay for the show, but that
doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking of you every minute.”

“Why does he have to do the show?”

Trust Emma to ask the simplest unanswerable
questions. “He…” Words failed her.

What could she say? That Jack didn’t really
have
to do the show. Lou wasn’t even sure in her own mind
about his motives anymore. If she had ever been. How could she
explain it all to Emma? A reality TV show was never a
need
.

“Is it to get a new mommy?”

Her heart stuttered. Had Jack told Emma that?
Lou couldn’t refute it. “Maybe. But not just any mommy will do for
you guys, so he has to stay a while and make sure she’s the right
one.” Uncertainty snaked through her thoughts. Was that the right
thing to say? Dr. Spock didn’t exactly cover this part of
parenting. Suddenly Lou wished for Jack, someone to talk to about
the tricky parts, but his words from that afternoon haunted
her.

Had he just lashed out? She didn’t want to
hold a grudge about words spoken in anger, but what if he’d really
meant it? Had she hallucinated all the team parenting over the last
four years?