No More Lonely Nights (53 page)

“Nice birthday present,” Mark said dryly.

Dominique stopped short, not certain she had heard correctly.

“August fifth, right?” he asked.

“How did you remember?” Dominique asked, stunned.

“I remember the important things,” he said lazily.

Dominique glowed with pleasure. It had been so long since she’d been at the center of anyone’s thoughts. She laughed, this time genuinely. Then she remembered the purpose of her call and her voice became more businesslike. “As delightful as it is to talk to you again, I’d better confess that I’m calling to ask a favor.”

“I’m glad,” Mark said immediately. “I owe you one.” He paused for a second. “Correction. I owe you at least ten or twenty.”

“You don’t!” Dominique protested, her voice affectionate. “What Clay and I did for your campaign—” She stopped abruptly. There it was again. Clay and I. Why couldn’t she expunge him from her speech? “What
I
did,” she amended, “I did because I believed that you were the best person for the job. And… and I had fun.”

“Well, I’m glad, but I still owe you. Now what’s on your mind?”

Dominique picked a green bean out of the bowl in front of her and absently snapped off the stem as she explained about the embassy-hosted “Welcome to Washington” party. “I thought about having it at that new Kennedy Center, if we could possibly get it. I have an appointment to meet with their public affairs person.”

“So you’re planning a big ball?”

“Not only that. I want to find out what play is scheduled to run that evening and ask for a special performance. I hope I’m far enough in advance so they won’t have sold tickets to the general public.”

“Sounds great!” Mark said enthusiastically.

“That’s not all.” Dominique’s eyes sparkled as she was drawn into explaining her concept. “For earlier, I have another idea that I think will make the event unique. Practical, anyhow.” Dominique frowned.

“I hope the sponsors won’t think it too commercial.” She hesitated. “Maybe I could test it on you.”

Mark chuckled. “Go ahead.”

“Well, it occurred to me that when I first moved here, I had no idea where anything was. Most of the stores in Georgetown are expensive little boutiques. I wanted to know where I could find the best supermarkets, health clubs, doctors, shoemakers, dry cleaners—and not have to pay Georgetown prices.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know, the taxes in Virginia are half what they are in D.C. You just take a five-minute drive over the bridge and you’ve already saved a little money.” Her tone became more brusque. “But that’s not the main point. Newcomers just need to know where things are.”

“I agree. So what are you going to do? Print guides?”

Dominique grinned. “No. That would cost my clients money. But what if we set aside an area at the gala where local businesses can have display tables? They could open charge accounts or just hand out information.”

“You mean an exhibition area? You think the embassies would like that image?”

Dominique laughed. “You sound skeptical, and I don’t blame you. But what I have in mind is very discreet—not cardboard booths draped in red, white, and blue.” She paused. “The room would be completely separate, maybe even on a different floor from the main event. We’d set up attractive writing tables—the kind you’d see in a bank or a very nice hotel. The people manning the desks would be in black tie. And we’d have waiters circulating with champagne. Maybe some harp music.” Dominique paused. “You know, it occurs to me that those businesses would probably be willing to cover the cost associated with using the Kennedy Center.”

“They’ll probably compete for the privilege!” Mark sounded as excited as Dominique.

“So you like the idea of having businesses there?”

“Now that you’ve explained it.”

Dominique beamed. “And, of course, the ball itself will have the best of everything. The Iranian embassy is providing the caviar; the French, the champagne; flowers from Holland—they all want to make it as lavish as possible.”

“Sure. It’s a chance for them to showcase their countries and get off on the right foot with new members of Congress.”

“Then… you have no problem with being the guest of honor?” Dominique asked, a little shyly.

“Dominique, for you I’d be the guest of honor at a tractor pull.”

Dominique laughed. “Thank you. You’ve encouraged me!” she said cheerfully. “I can’t wait to present the idea at the staff meeting tomorrow.”

“I’m sure they’ll love it,” Mark said warmly.

“I’ll let you know. Otherwise, the concept may have to be something different.”

There was a brief, awkward silence.

Mark cleared his throat. “Listen, Dominique, I’d like to see you before the gala. How about getting together for a drink?”

Dominique’s heart raced. Was it possible that Mark still felt toward her as he once had? She shouldn’t jump to conclusions, she warned herself. Maybe he was just being kind to an old friend. Dominique knew he felt obligated to her. But how did she feel toward him? She loved talking to him on the phone, just as she always had. But was she attracted to him? In need of ego gratification? She wasn’t certain of the answer—she only knew that she would very much like to see him.

“I’d like that,” Dominique said warmly.

“Great!” Mark sounded genuinely pleased. “How about”—Dominique heard pages turning—“next Wednesday at six? I’ll pick you up in front of your office.”

Wednesday. Not a weekend. Drinks, not dinner. Dominique’s racing heart slowed. Mark was probably just being friendly, after all. She said, “Fine. And you don’t need to pick me up. Why don’t we just meet in the lobby of the Madison Hotel? That’s a halfway point. I’ll try to have a blue line of the invitation by then.”

There was a momentary silence, as though Mark didn’t understand the reference. Then he said, “Oh. Oh. That would be great. Okay, I’ll see you then.”

Mark replaced the receiver, noting the damp print his palm left on the instrument. He felt like a schoolboy after an encounter with the most popular girl in class. He had felt that way ever since his secretary had handed him the message slip with Dominique’s name on it. He had read with disbelief the return phone number in Washington. Laying aside messages from the deputy secretary of commerce, a fellow senator, and two important lobbyists from Baton Rouge, Mark had immediately dialed the number. He had dialed it himself, not wanting to depersonalize the call by having his secretary place it for him. Unfortunately, there had been no answer at Capital Events. Dominique must have gone home. Where did she live, Mark wondered? He called information. “What city please?” the operator asked. Mark hadn’t a clue. After several tries, the operator located a D. Parker in Georgetown.

Dominique’s wonderful voice was the same. Even if there had been nothing else alluring about her, that accent would have been enough, Mark thought. Talking to her made him feel somehow more complete, as though she had awakened his emotions from a state of hibernation. It wasn’t that he didn’t have women friends. Although he had long ago left behind a disillusioned Nina, there had been others. But no one had evoked in him the response Dominique had so many years before. And though he hadn’t seen Dominique often over the years, each time he did, he felt that same reawakening that made his emotions toward other woman seem shallow by comparison.

What was it about Dominique that attracted Mark? He wished he knew. So many times he had tried to shake free of it. He had never imagined himself the sort for unrequited love, and he had never depicted it that way to himself. Often he went months without thinking of her. So why hadn’t he fallen in love with someone else?

Mark laced his hands behind his head and sat back in his chair as he thought about it. His secretary buzzed the intercom. He leaned forward, clicked it on, and said, “No calls now, please.”

He swiveled his chair one hundred eighty degrees so that he faced the window. The view was impressive: the white dome of the Capitol brightly illuminated from below. It was rare that Mark paused long enough in his busy day to admire it. Now, as he sat staring out the window, he barely noticed it. His thoughts were on Dominique. Each encounter with her provided a new surprise, a new trait to be admired. When Mark’s secretary had handed him the message slip bearing Dominique’s name, he had surmised immediately that she had begun a new life. It was brave of her to move her family to Washington, away from everything and everyone she knew.

Then, when he heard her “Welcome to Washington” idea, it delighted him that she had lost none of her creative flair. He could sense in her the same energy that had been such an asset to his campaign.

These traits Mark could list as justification for his attraction to Dominique. But in reality, her effect on him was the result of inexplicable chemistry. He read her name and his heart beat faster. He heard her voice and a thrill surged through him. And when he actually
saw
her… He tried to conjure an image of her. His mind didn’t take him to their most recent encounter. Instead, he remembered her as she’d been on that first day, her hair glinting in the sun, her eyes closed, lost in a daydream.

Mark closed his own eyes as he thought of Dominique. What could possibly have compelled Clay to give up such a woman? Mark frowned as he thought of her ex-husband. What a son of a bitch! He took his young girlfriend to all the parties to which he had once taken Dominique, not even trying to conceal the fact that he had left his wife for her. Mark had heard the talk when he’d been home for Mardi Gras. There had been chuckles of commiseration from the men, a resigned expression from the women.

Mark felt the stirring of an ancient instinct—one that made him want to protect Dominique. Logic told him that she was fending for herself, but logic had nothing to do with Mark’s feelings for her.

“THIS isn’t a convention! We can’t have display booths!” Sylvia said scornfully.

All twelve people around the long cherry conference table—the entire staff of Capital Events—turned to look at Dominique.

“I absolutely agree,” Dominique said serenely. “And we need to address that by having strict guidelines on dress and decor in the display area. We can pull it off in a very elegant way.” Dominique explained the ambiance she envisioned. “But most of all, we want this night to be unique. These new members of Congress are going to be feted by every lobbyist, law firm, and interest group in town. They’ll be invited to an infinite number of lovely balls. The Ambassador’s Ball, the National Symphony Ball, White House balls, charity balls, and, in a couple of years, the Inaugural Ball.” She held up one hand and ticked off the items on her fingers as she spoke. “If we can actually provide something more than a good time—a service, if you will—I think our evening will be a standout.”

Dominique looked around the table for assurance, and saw a few nodding heads. She continued. “The service area won’t be foisted on the attendees, but I’m willing to bet they’ll exploit it to the maximum. Plus, I think we can get the businesses to pick up a lot of the expense of holding the event at the Kennedy Center, so we’ll save our clients some money.”

She looked pointedly at Sylvia. She held her eyes, ready to drop her bombshell. “Besides, I’m sure Senator Mark Patout wouldn’t have agreed to be guest of honor if he didn’t like this idea.”

There was a murmur of surprised excitement. Everyone began to speak at once. Dominique looked at Mrs. Filmore. The older woman sat back in her chair at the head of the table, her hands steepled under her chin. She said nothing, but her eyes gleamed.

Across the table, Felice caught Dominique’s eye and gave her an almost invisible nod of approval. The younger woman had been promoted from receptionist to executive assistant of one of the company’s top account executives. And she had become a close friend—and an important sounding board—for Dominique.

Finally, Mrs. Filmore leaned forward and rested her hands on the table. The room fell quiet. “Sylvia?” she said.

No one spoke. The only sound in the room was the staccato tapping of Sylvia’s pen on her notepad. Then the blond woman exhaled loudly and sat forward in her seat. “Mark Patout will make an impressive guest of honor. Congratulations.” Her voice was grudging, and she didn’t look at Dominique. She removed her glasses and met Mrs. Filmore’s gaze directly. “And since Dominique here is so experienced in these matters, I think we should give her the opportunity to oversee this project on her own, should our clients agree to it. Of course, I’ll negotiate the terms of the contract, as usual.” She cast a tentative look at Mrs. Filmore.

Mrs. Filmore sat forward and dropped her hands to the table. She fixed Dominique with a thoughtful look. “Let’s see how the embassies react. The manner in which you propose to handle this has considerable style. Practicality, too. But I wouldn’t want to push our clients into something they’re uncomfortable with.” She paused and turned her gaze to Sylvia, her expression pointed. Everyone else at the table swiveled their heads in the same direction. “Sylvia will accompany you on your meeting with the ambassadresses. In that way, there can be no question of misinterpreting their reactions.”

Dominique knew she should feel victorious, but she felt instead like an animal being lured into a trap by a delicious tidbit.

Dominique closed the folder on her desk and glanced out her office window. It was almost dark already. Only an hour to go until cocktails with Mark. She should start getting ready. She had told Gabrielle and Solange that morning, in a nonchalant way, that she would be late for dinner because she was having drinks with a client. Gabrielle had innocently accepted the explanation, but Solange’s eyes had flared with curiosity. Dominique, however, offered no further explanation. If she did, they would pester her with a barrage of questions. There was nothing to tell, really. Dominique and Mark were just old friends. It was silly to think he could be interested in anything more. He was an important senator and, since his divorce, one of Washington’s most eligible men.

Dominique pulled her purse out of her desk drawer and stood up. She felt rumpled after a day’s work and wanted to freshen her makeup. As she moved down the hall, she paused at Felice’s door.