Enchanted (16 page)

“Not to me.” She forced a lone tear from her eye.

“It takes two to have a relationship, and neither one of us was interested in making ours work. We just kept going on. We didn’t move forward, in fact, we seemed to regress.”

“But how could you go from me to someone like . . . her?”

“That’s not open for discussion.”

“Why? If you just want someone to sleep with, you can get it a lot cheaper on the streets. You’d better wake up and realize she’s out for your money.”

Mac laughed and shook his head. Ashley stared. She didn’t find it funny.

“No, Ash. I don’t just want someone to sleep with. If that’s what I wanted, you and I would have been history years ago. And no, she’s not after my money. As for my relationship with Kathleen, well, my dear, that’s strictly between her and me.”

She wiped another tear from her eye. “Don’t yell at me, Mac. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Stop acting, Ash, and please, stop the tears. After ten years they don’t work any longer.”

Her face burned red, and she took a swing at Mac. He caught her wrist and held it.

“Why don’t you go home?”

“I don’t want to go home. I need to stay here and talk some sense into you.”

“No. You need to go home and make some sense out of your own life. I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Are you going to keep on seeing her? Be careful, darling. Pictures with someone like her can be damaging to your image.”

“I’ve never worried about my image. You have, but not me. And I told you already, I don’t want to discuss my personal life.”

Ashley eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not in love with her, are you?”

He hesitated a moment too long. “No.”

“You’re lying. I can read you like a book.”

“Then you know I’m serious when I tell you it’s over between us. Let’s get on with our lives.”

“I’ll try, but I’m concerned about you. I can’t understand this sudden change in lifestyle. Cookies? Milk? And, my God, Mac. Cowboy clothes? How could you?”

“You’d never understand.”

She di
dn’t understand, and even if he
had explained, she wouldn’t have listened. She had made up her mind the moment she saw the picture in the paper what she was going to do. Ashley Tate planned to get even.

Kathleen tried to ignore the pictures that appeared in
The Tattler
but found it hard to shove them completely out of her brain. They depicted her climbing into the taxi, great expanses of bare leg and thigh showing below Mac’s coat, which just barely covered her backside. Mac stood beside her, sneering at the photographers, a hand placed squarely on her bottom. The headlines told all, at least from the columnist’s point of view: The Prince of Publishing and his latest flame—what was hiding under the big man’s coat, and why was he looking so guilty?

She tried to concentrate, to focus her attention on the pressing matters of the day. Unfortunately, she could only
think
of Mac’s hand on her bottom, the touch of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, the smoothness of his teeth, the hardness of his body pressed against hers.
Oh
how she wanted him. Years of dreaming had been nothing compared to five minutes of tasting, feeling, touching.

She wanted him still, in spite of that stupid argument. She knew he’d come back. She also knew she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t give in. She might be able to bend a little. But why should she? He didn’t want to bend at all.

She had tried not to think about him, but nothing seemed to work. If he had at least come into the office, maybe they could have talked, tried to iron out their differences, reach a compromise. But it had been three days since their argument, and three days since he’d been to work. Grace kept her posted, but even she heard little, except the early-morning call saying he wouldn’t be in.

Unable to focus her attention on the pile of articles awaiting her approval, she grabbed her purse and walked out of her office. Since she couldn’t concentrate, maybe a walk in the park would clear her mind.

The elevator doors opened at the lobby, and Kathleen stepped out, almost running head-on into Ashley.

“Why, hello, Kathleen. You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

Such a sickeningly sweet voice, Kathleen thought, and not an ounce of sincerity.

“I’ve had the most exhausting morning, and I’m just dying to have lunch. I remembered you telling me how busy you always are, and I thought maybe I could drag you away from all this for a while.”

“Thanks for the thought. But I really can’t get away today.” What she wanted to say was she’d rather have lunch with a rattlesnake.

“Nonsense. Of course you have time for lunch.”

“No, really. I have to get back to work.”

“Please?”

What was Ashley’s hidden agenda? Was something devious lurking behind her false words and actions? What if she was sincere? The woman couldn’t possibly have any friends. “Maybe we could get a Coke and hot dog in the park.”

“Hot dog?
” Ashley questioned. “
No, that wouldn’t do at all. I was thinking a nice crisp salad at my club.”

Kathleen surveyed Ashley’s cool appearance—the yellow sundress,
white strappy sandals with sky-high heels
, and matching purse. Then she remembered how she had looked when she last peeked into a mirror. The day’s humidity had played havoc with her hair, and much more than curly wisps had fallen out of her bun. In fact, she looked as if she’d been caught in a tornado. She had absently worn a wool suit instead of a linen one, and she had popped a button on her blouse just an hour before. Standing next to Ashley she felt drab, and hot. Looking at Ashley, she decided the blonde had never shed a drop of sweat.

“I’m not exactly dressed for your club.”

Ashley looked Kathleen up and down, then waved off the statement. “Don’t worry. No one will even know you’re there. We’ll just sit and chat.”

She grabbed Kathleen’s arm, pulled her through the lunchtime crowd, maneuvering toward the curb outside. She nudged an older man out of the way and pushed Kathleen into the backseat of a waiting taxi, following close behind.

“Club Anton,” she snapped at the driver, then settled comfortably into the seat next to Kathleen.

“Have you got a date yet?”

“A date?” Kathleen wondered what Ashley was talking about, but more than that, she wondered how she had managed to get dragged into the taxi. What happened to her nice, pleasant walk in the park to clear her mind? Having lunch with Ashley would surely be a disaster, and not the least mind-clearing.

The ride in the taxi proved uneventful, discounting the dirty looks the driver tossed in Ashley’s direction. She complained about his driving, the smell in the backseat, the outrageous prices, and told him she refused to give lazy good-for-nothing taxi drivers a tip. Kathleen prayed they would make it to Club Anton in one piece, knowing if Ashley had been alone, the driver might dump her in the worst part of town and speed away without bothering to look back.

Arriving at Club Anton, Kathleen smiled weakly at the driver, then placed a five-dollar tip into his hand as Ashley walked away.

She didn’t expect the club’s warmth and charm, the soothing floral wallpaper, or the soft blue-and-rose damask curtains and upholstery. When she envisioned Ashley’s club, she had thought of gilt-framed landscapes and ostentatious furnishings.

Ashley brushed kisses across the cheeks of nearly every woman in the room as they walked to their table. Gossip flowed from her mouth, little tidbits shared with this one and that one as they passed by, and Kathleen wanted to fade into oblivion when she took a seat at their table. She didn’t like gossip, and she despised showy displays of false affection.

“You seem to know everyone here,” Kathleen said, as she attempted to control an errant strand of hair that refused to stay behind her ear.

“Of course I do. I’ve been coming here for years. These are my dearest and closest friends.” Ashley blew a kiss to someone across the room, looking totally in her element and absolutely content. Kathleen wished she felt the same.

The waiter arrived and Ashley ordered wine, not giving a thought to what Kathleen might prefer.

“Now,” Ashley began, “tell me all about yourself.”

“There’s not much—”

“Oh, look,” Ashley interrupted. “There’s Constance O’Brien, Mac’s mother. But, of course, I’m sure you already know her.”

“No. We’ve never met,” Kathleen admitted. She dreaded the thought of meeting Mac’s mom.

“Well, you’ve just got to meet her. She’s a wonderful woman.” Ashley waved to the older lady, beckoning her to the table.

Tall, regal, and still a stunning beauty at seventy-six, Constance O’Brien could have been royalty the way she commanded attention as she walked toward their table. A true aristocrat, all eyes in the room followed the woman whose short, stylish hair was as white as the pearls in her ears, and who looked like she’d just stepped out of
Town and Country
in her impeccable Wedgwood blue silk suit with a white silk scarf draped over her right shoulder. Ashley stood to greet her. Kathleen stood in awe.

“Hello, Ashley. How nice to see you here today,” Constance O’Brien said, her voice and expression reminiscent of Mac’s. Cool, composed; sophisticated and elegant. Mac’s mother, like Mac himself, reeked of money and breeding. Kathleen studied Mrs. O’Brien’s face and saw, hidden behind the aloof exterior, tenderness and compassion sparkling in her smoky blue eyes. Mac’s eyes.

“I knew you’d be here today, Constance. That’s why I came.” Ashley’s voice dripped with sweetness as she tossed an arrogant smile at Kathleen. “I knew you’d want to meet Kathleen Flannigan. Of course, you’d know her better as the woman in all those pictures with Mac.”

Kathleen wanted to die. Instead, she threw back her shoulders and stuck her chin higher in the air. It felt wonderful. Mrs. O’Brien equaled her in height, and the two women looked straight into each other’s eyes. Kathleen liked what she saw.

Mrs. O’Brien clasped Kathleen’s hand in a firm, friendly grasp. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

Kathleen had expected a snide comment, a cold handshake. “Thank you.” She attempted to pull her hand away but found it trapped in Mrs. O’Brien’s grip.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone today. I apologize—”

“Oh, no, dear. The first rule in society is never apologize, especially when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Excuse me,” Ashley butted in, positioning herself between Kathleen and Mrs. O’Brien.

“Ashley, dear. I’d almost forgotten you were here.” Mrs. O’Brien gave Ashley a practiced smile.

“Those pictures of Mac were absolutely horrible, weren’t they, Constance?”

“Horrible? Well, now that you mention it, Mac did have that tight-lipped frown on his face. I absolutely despise that look of his. He has such a wonderful smile. Don’t you agree, Kathleen?” Mrs. O’Brien’s frozen expression warmed as she turned to Kathleen.

“Yes. It is.” Kathleen saw more than Mac’s smile. She saw his lips lowering to hers, and she tasted them again in her memory.

Mrs. O’Brien tossed a wink at Kathleen. “Such a silly photo. And those captions. Annabella Adams is definitely slipping in her old age. She used to write the most wonderful gossip column. Made my day reading those stories about my husband and the quote-unquote women he was secretly seeing. It still amazes me how people believe that trash.”

“I thought they were awful,” Ashley interrupted. “How embarrassing for Mac.”

Constance frowned. “You’ve always given too much credit to the gossip columns. Anyone who’s anyone wouldn’t give them any credence.”

“But this is different. These were so trashy. She wasn’t fully clothed, and Mac hardly knows her. Don’t forget, those pictures insinuated they were together in that hotel room.”

Kathleen gasped in horror. How could Ashley be so cruel?

“You were together, weren’t you?” Ashley asked, glaring at Kathleen.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Kathleen, my dear,” Mrs. O’Brien interrupted, patting Kathleen’s hand. “Remember what I said about apologizing.”