Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy (10 page)

"Well, if that's the way you feel," she
replied, "I respect that." She prayed her disappointment was well
masked. "I won't argue. Under the circumstances it probably is for
the best."

For a moment neither spoke.

"I'm glad you liked the bracelet," he said.
"And I hope you won't forget about me."

"No, I'm sure I won't,
Michael. Bye." She ended the call feeling like something inside had
deflated. His words had sounded sensible enough...but Priscilla
couldn't help feeling that something was
off
about them.

Closing her eyes, she
remembered the earnest and eager reassurances he had given her in
her sitting room, and again down on the beach. But all the shame
she had felt about having slept with him
on sight
—the day of the funeral of
all days—still came rustling back.

Well
, she thought.
At least now I don't
have to bother saying a word about him to anyone
.
The horse never even left the
gate
.

Bearing her disappointment, she headed back
downstairs, resigned to forgetting about this complete lapse in
judgment—a.k.a. Michael Frost—and just putting the whole episode
behind her.

If nothing else, at least Douglas would be
relieved.

•
CHAPTER ELEVEN •

I
t had been only a few short days since Michael had ended
things with Priscilla, and his life was now back to the dismal
routine he realized he'd been drowning in. Slowly.

Jason had convinced him
that it was best to work things out with Amber, and after that
conversation he realized that leaving her would be akin to swimming
against the tide—his father would be against it, his best friend
was
advising
him
against it, and Amber was certainly against it. So nobody wanted
it. Nobody but Michael. And everyone else couldn't be wrong, could
they?

So, he had made the difficult decision to
let Priscilla down as gently as possible, and then he'd gone home
to Amber.

But today, as he locked up
at the office and went out to the parking lot headed for his car,
Michael had to swallow an overwhelming urge to reach out to
Priscilla again. He wanted to hear her voice so badly he could
taste it. What was she doing right now? Who was she talking to?
Was
she
thinking
about
him?
Would
they ever see each other again?

He sat there in the car
for several minutes, scrolling through their texts.
It's over,
he thought as
he finally clicked them off.
Let it
go
.

Pressing the button, he
started the Corvette's engine. His eyes closed as it roared to
life.
You'd better get home now,
he thought.
Amber's
waiting
.

But Michael didn't go home. He couldn't. Not
just yet.

Instead, he called Jason
to see if he was free and they agreed to meet at
Stools
.

•~•

Stools Bar &
Grille
was an off the road sports bar with
a billiard set up Michael and Jason had always enjoyed. It had been
a sanctuary for them over the years, a problem-solving haven as
they journeyed from boys to men. Never overcrowded, it was the
perfect place to grab a drink, a bite, relax and figure out how to
solve the world's problems. Tonight Michael was feeling especially
dramatic.

When Jason arrived, he
found his friend nursing a whiskey and...
sulking?
"That bad, huh?" he asked,
joining him.

Michael huffed. "I could easily hold you
responsible for this, you know."

Jason signaled the bartender. "Quit being so
melodramatic, Michael. If you really want to end it, then just go
ahead and end it—but stop being such a blonde about it."

"If only it were that simple."

"Newsflash," said Jason,
making an imaginary banner with his hands. "It
is
that simple."

Michael smiled, despite. This was why he
loved this guy. He could always count on Jason to clear the fog.
"You wanna know why I'm staying?" he asked.

"Oh, you mean it's not because you love
her?"

Ignoring his friend's sarcasm, Michael said,
"I'm staying because I couldn't live down the guilt after the way
she begged me not to leave her." He looked seriously at Jason. "I
mean it. It would be like a dark cloud hanging over my relationship
with this other woman."

"You still won't tell me who she is?" Jason
said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "You sure it isn't someone I
know?"

Michael looked at his friend and sighed.
"Let's just shoot some pool." He got up with drink in hand and
walked over to their favorite table. Grabbing a stick, he got the
game started with a near miss. They played on and Jason beat him
pretty badly.

"Dude, you're shooting
like a blind woman! What is with you, M? Look. You've made a
decision, get onboard with it, or change it. But I highly doubt any
other girl is worth throwing away a perfectly decent eleven- or
twelve-year relationship. You've been with Amber since you guys
were like sixteen—that's gotta count for
something
."

"
Damn it
." Michael swore, frustration
gripping his gut.

Jason stared at him now, a
little worried. "Seriously, Frost. You can't keep this up, and you
don't have to. Hell, I bet if Amber could see you like this right
now—even
she
wouldn't want you to."

Michael downed the last of
the whiskey. "Ahh," he said, raising the empty glass. "At least
this is
one
shot
I’ll never miss. Hey," he called out to the bartender, "another
round."

When the drinks came, Jason was having his
usual; always something fruity like sangria. Michael shook his head
at the drink and attempted a laugh.

"Talk to me, M," said Jason as he racked a
new set.

"I'm afraid to tell you who she is."

"Why? She can't be married
or something. You wouldn't leave Amber for a
married
woman, would you?" Jason
hesitated. "
Would you?
"

"C'mon, be real. She's not married."

"I mean, it's not
my
wife, is it?" Jason
smirked.

Tapping the pool stick against his chin,
Michael walked over to his friend. He leaned in and said quietly,
"It's Priscilla Bauer."

Jason frowned. "Why does that name sound
familiar?"

"She's Veronica Bauer's granddaughter."

Jason's eyes widened.
"
The
Veronica
Bauer?"

Michael nodded.

"Well, how in the hell did
you meet
her?
"

He explained about
attending the funeral. "And I fell hard, Jay. Like,
really
hard." He took
another sip of whiskey.

Jason took a while to respond, apparently
needing a moment to digest this news. He glanced around the bar
thoughtfully before he finally spoke. "Well, fuck."

"Right?"

"And she was willing to go out with
you?"

"Yep."

Jason's voice suddenly
went high-pitched. "And you
dumped
her?"

"You told me to!"

"Yes, but that was
before
I knew we were
talking about richer than shit Hollywood royalty over
here!"

"C'mon," said Michael. "You and I both know
that shouldn't make any difference."

"Maybe it
shouldn't,
but it does,"
Jason said, looking him right in the eye. "Michael, you
know
it does. It's a
definite game changer if ever a game changer there was."

"How so?"

"
How so?
" he asked. "Hell, I don't
know—it's fucking
exciting!
It's like you're dabbling in a parallel universe
or a higher frequency or something."

Michael just shook his head and set down his
glass, ready to get back into the game. He rolled his neck around
to relieve some tension, then took the next shot. Lining it up
perfectly, he hit it home.

"Now,
that’s
more like it!" Jason
exclaimed, giving him a round of applause.

"So, let me get this straight," said
Michael. "You're telling me that your advice would've been
completely different if I'd told you exactly who she was?
Seriously?"

"Look," Jason replied, "I
won't lie to you. I love Cindy to death...but a hot,
vulnerable
celebrity
chick would turn my head just as quickly as the next man's. It's
just human nature, Michael. Now, would I
leave
Cindy just to date her? Dunno,
I couldn't say for sure...but probably not. Then again—I'm still in
love with Cindy."

Yeah,
thought Michael.
And I've obviously
fallen out of love with Amber—or I wouldn't even be considering
it
.

A basket of greasy, gooey nachos covered in
double jalapenos and dripping beef was laid at their table. They
abandoned the game to dig in.

"Look, like I said, you've made a decision,"
Jason argued around a mouthful. "So stick with it. Make the best of
your life with Amber—it's not the worst thing in the world. She
loves you."

Knowing he was right, Michael nodded. But as
he chewed, he barely tasted the food.

•
CHAPTER TWELVE •

"I
told you, Ms. Rivers," said Amber. "Your article
will
be up by Monday—I’m
just about finished. You might even have it by
tomorrow."

Muting the Skype call, Amber heaved a
frustrated sigh.

What a paranoid bitch of a nag!

She threw her pen down on
the glass desktop and massaged her temples before she returned to
the call. "Yes, I've made the introduction pretty theatrical. And
as we discussed yesterday, the article delivers the support, so
it's not
overly
so once you read the whole thing. Would you like me to go
ahead and send you what I've written so far?"

Oh, how Amber hated being micromanaged! The
client had already given her a detailed outline; so detailed, Amber
had looked it over wondering why the hell the woman hadn't just
written the article herself.

After the call ended, she wrapped up the
piece, proofread it and then shot off an e-mail delivering it ahead
of schedule. She thanked the client profusely, saying she'd love to
work with her again when it was actually the very last thing Amber
wanted to do.

Margie's piece is due
tomorrow,
she thought, attempting to stay
focused.
Might as well get a jump on
that
. But still, she found her mind
wandering. So taking a break, she did some online shopping.
Anything to keep from wondering why Michael hadn't made it home
yet.

It was definitely time to move forward with
the plan—but Amber was nervous and kept questioning her ability to
pull it off.

$388 later, she finally
heard Michael's key in the lock. He came in smelling of single malt
Scotch and
Stools
ambiance. What a relief!

"Welcome home," she said, keeping her voice
light as he walked in. She didn't even bother turning around from
the computer.

"Hey," he replied, rather neutrally. "What's
for dinner?"

Hearing a slight slur in
his words, she turned to look at him.
He's
drunk?
He looked fairly normal, standing
there in his baby blue button-down and well-fitted gray trousers.
His hair was tousled, as if his hand had been through it a few
times. "Uh, we’re ordering out tonight," she replied. "I didn't
have time to cook anything—have a couple deadlines to meet. How
does Chinese sound? Coffee's on, so feel free to sober up. I have
something to share with you. Some news."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Good news, I
hope—can't wait to hear it." He removed his satchel and dropped it
on the sofa. Heading for the kitchen, he added, "And Chinese sounds
good. Just had some nachos with Jay but there's plenty of room
left."

Yep, he's definitely
slurring
, she thought. And that was a
first. He drank, of course, but never to excess.

Maybe I should wait until tomorrow...

She fidgeted in her seat,
torn, knowing that once she went
there
, there was no going
back.

After grabbing a cup of coffee, he came back
into the living room. She smiled and watched as he forced a smile
back, which was painful to see.

"How about I order?" he said.

"Sure." She kept the smile plastered to her
face. "Nothing spicy for me. I'll have the shrimp and Chinese
vegetables."

Michael pulled out his phone and placed the
order for delivery. "So, what's up?" he asked, putting his phone
away, looking at her expectantly. "What's the news?"

"I'm pregnant, Michael," she blurted. "I
just confirmed it today. This morning, actually."