It's In His Kiss (2 page)

Cat sniffed in disgust as she followed her. "You would. Do you have no sympathy for me at all?"

"Of course I do. I also heard what Scott said. You Dot Com is the biggest client we've ever landed."

"But assigning me a dating service is like asking Wrong Way Corrigan to lead the fleet. Scott might not like where it ends up."

Deb sat down at her desk and snatched the piece of paper from Cat's hand. "'You Dot Com, because YOU are our most important product,'" she read dramatically, then looked up at Cat. "Not to mention because you're our best web designer. Scott thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread."

"And that must be why he pays me bread and water rations. No. He's just too wrapped up in his marital problems right now to do the page himself."

Cat flopped down in a chair and sighed. "You do see the irony, right? I am the absolute worst person in this office, possibly in the world, to design a dating service."

Deb looked back at the piece of paper. "Ah but Cat, this dating service is special. She pointed to a line on the page. "It says so right here. 'Not your normal computer dating service.'"

"Let me see." Cat took the paper. "'We match you with your perfect mate, based on your psychological--" she rolled her eyes. "'Psychological profile.' Oh, brother." She made a gagging motion with her finger.

"See, not your ordinary computer dating service."

"It sounds like a painfully embarrassing version of The Dating Game." Her mouth widened in an evil grin. "I know. I'll make it look like an X-rated site, with flashing banners and lurid red background." 

"I'm not even going to ask how you know what X-Rated sites look like." Deb arched a brow. "You
could
make it subdued and tasteful." 

Cat held the look for a beat, then both of them laughed. "Nah," they chorused in unison.

Cat stood and backed out of Deb's cubicle. "I can see I'm going to get no help here," she grumbled.

Debra's voice followed her. "Remember what you said when he assigned me MLO-97.6, 'mellow rock for middle-aged listeners?'"

"Yep, and I stand by it. You're perfect for 'Mellow Ninety Seven.' It will ease your way into middle age."

"My point exactly," Debra's voice wafted up from behind the padded dividers. "You Dot Com will ease
your
way back into dating." 

"No it won't, because I am
never
going there again."  

Deb's laughter followed Cat back to her desk. She sat down and looked at the sheet. Under the logos and mottoes, there were some basic specifications for what the client wanted. But Cat's gaze kept coming back to that one phrase.

"Your own personality," she muttered, feeling a twinge in the general region of her heart. She set the page aside and stared at her screen saver.

What if your personality was shaped by a mother who was never there? What did You Dot Com have planned for those people who couldn't sustain a relationship long enough to actually get married?

Her phone rang.

It was the CEO of You Dot Com, a no-nonsense woman who immediately announced that she didn't have time to talk, but would fax over the questionnaire, the forms, and, according to her, "Everything else you could possibly need."

Cat hung up. "Does that include the perfect man?" she wryly asked the silent phone.

Around eleven, Deb stuck her head in. "Lunch?"

Cat looked up from the computer screen. "What time is it? Oh no, I'm late." She jumped up and grabbed her purse. "Can't do lunch, Deb. I've got to take the afternoon off. The movers are coming to pick up David's things."

Deb twisted her long curly hair into a bun, then let it fall loose again. "Your ex-fiancé can't even pick up his own things?"

Cat shooed Debra out of her way. "Are you kidding me? He delegated everything. I think he'd have delegated sex if he could have done it without me noticing."

Deb laughed, but as Cat slid by her, she touched her arm. "You okay?"

"Me? Sure." Cat's mouth twisted wryly. "I've had a lot of practice getting unengaged."

Debra patted her arm. "Okay, but you call me if you need me."

She smiled and nodded as she rushed out the door.

* * *

Two hours later, Cat closed her front door behind the movers, the lock clicking into place with an echo of finality. She sighed and turned away, trailing her fingers across the back of the couch that David had magnanimously left for her. They had picked it out together. Okay, to be truthful, she had picked it out, while David checked his watch six times, checked out the sales girl once, and checked his cell phone twice to be sure it was working. 

"So much for nostalgia," she muttered, flopping down on the leather cushions. She switched on the television, but there was nothing worth watching on any of the twenty-seven hundred channels. She turned it off and looked around.

Well, she had lots more room now, for as long as it lasted. David had paid the rent through the end of the month, which brought up another problem. She had to find a roommate fast, or move.

Pushing that depressing thought aside, she went into the kitchen. Maybe she'd indulge herself and fix something delicious for dinner. A quick perusal of the refrigerator revealed eggs, three lemons, a quart of expired milk, and more eggs. She made a face. There'd been a special on eggs.

She wandered back into the living room and sat down, staring into space. What was the matter with her? After all, it wasn't as if she was a novice at broken engagements. After all, this was her third. She winced. "Let's don't go there."

Too late. Nothing like telling your brain not to think about something to encourage it to do just that. Three broken engagements. It was probably a record. She wondered what the You Dot Com questionnaire would say about that.

"You mean besides the obvious, that you have miserable taste in men?" she muttered. Well, she'd finally learned her lesson. This was absolutely, positively the last time. She was through with men, forever.

She sighed in exasperation. Not only was she talking to herself, she was answering. She glanced at the phone. It would be much healthier to talk to another person wouldn't it? More productive too.

Something tickled her cheek. When she swiped at it, she was surprised to find her finger damp. Berating herself for letting David get to her, she picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Mama?" she said, after the brisk 'hello' on the other end of the phone.

"Call me Janice, dear."

Cat sighed. "Hello, Janice dear."

"Try not to be sarcastic, dear."

"Sorry, I keep forgetting that you don't want people to know you have a thirty year old daughter."

"Twenty-nine."

Cat sighed. "Thirty. I was thirty last month, Mother."

"Oh, of course. While I was out of town."

Cat grimaced. "Of course." She shook her head at her own stupidity. Why had she called her mother for sympathy? She knew better. There was no one on the planet less interested in Cat's life than her mother was. She was grown up now, and had learned to accept her mother's quirks, like forgetting her birthday.

"What did you need, dear? I'm getting dressed to go out."

Naturally
. "Mama, David broke our engagement." Cat gritted her teeth and concentrated on keeping her lip from quivering. 

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Catherine. What did you do this time?"

Her hand cramped on the receiver. "Gee thanks. I knew I could count on you. For the record, I didn't
do
anything. Mother--" Her lip persisted in quivering. She clenched her jaw. 

"David and I were supposed to pick out the bridesmaid and groomsman's gifts yesterday, but instead, he told me he didn't think he--" Cat paused, blinking, disgusted with herself for being emotional. She sounded so needy.

Her mother's nails rat-tat-tatted through the phone. Each click chipped another jagged little piece off her brittle heart. "Okay, I tell you what,
Janice
. Never mind. You're obviously in a hurry." 

"Well, that is true." She paused. "But darling, if you really need to talk . . ."

Cat wanted to say she really did and she'd be right over, but before she could get the first word out, her mother spoke.

"Just forget about him. He probably wasn't right for you anyway. Oh, speaking of weddings, have you returned the wedding dress yet?"

Bewildered, Cat answered, "No. Did I mention he just broke up with me
yesterday
? I'm taking it back this weekend." 

"Well don't just yet. I might want to use it." Her mother giggled.
Giggled
. 

"Use my wedding dress? For what? Never mind, Dumb question." Cat cringed, waiting for the answer. Her mother had been divorced from husband number four for almost six months now. She was way overdue to get married again. Cat racked her brain for the name of Mom's latest flame.

"Hank has asked me to marry him."

"
Hank?
I thought you were dating a Joe or a Moe or something. Who's Hank? Please tell me he's not a country singer." 

"Don't be silly. Actually he's--well, let's just say he's in construction."

"Construction?" An image popped into Cat's head. Her mother, dressed to the nines, carefully made up to look ten years younger, on the arm of a beefy guy in a hard hat and work pants that rode dangerously low in back.

"I have to go now," Cat said tightly, rubbing her temples. There ought to be a law against mothers marrying repeatedly, especially since it seemed the only man her mother had ever dated and
not
managed to marry was Cat's father. 

"All right. I've got to fix my hair. It's always nice to chat with you. Um, we should talk more often."

"Yeah, right." Cat ignored the change in the tone of her mother's voice. She'd be a real idiot to think she'd heard anything like wistfulness. Janice was probably just distracted by her new nail polish.

Still, she felt the old emptiness opening up inside her. Ever since her grandmother had died, she'd longed to be closer to her mother, but Janice seemed determined to keep her at arm's length. "Mother--?" she started.

"Goodbye dear. Maybe we'll drop by some time when we're in that area. I want you to meet Hank."

"Can't wait," Cat lied.

"Bye--" the dial tone buzzed in her ear. "Mother." She punched the off button as hard as she could. Cell phones just weren't as satisfying. It would have felt better to slam a receiver into its cradle and hear the protesting jangle.

So, calling her mother had been a huge mistake.
Surprise, surprise.
Whatever it was that Cat sought in the woman who'd born her, it obviously wasn't there. Her mother had missed the mothering gene somewhere.  

No matter. She didn't need a mother. She had friends she could count on. She could call Deb, or Sara. Deb was probably just getting home from work, to face three kids and a husband.

Sara then. It had been a long time since she'd talked to Sara. She searched in her phone for the number. It was an hour later in Knoxville, so she might be at a soccer game with her son, but it was worth a try. If Sara were home, she'd make time to talk to Cat. She'd know just what to say to make Cat feel better.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Sara answered the phone.

 * * *

The next morning Michael Gray was elbow deep in paperwork when his phone rang. He pushed aside a stack of manila folders that were covering the device and answered. 

"Morning," his sister said.

"Sara. Hi." Michael Gray sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair, propping his heels on his desk. "I was afraid you were my boss, with
just one more thing.
" He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "What's up?" 

"I talked to Cat last night."

"Yeah?" Michael said cautiously. For the past three years, since he'd quit his job in Japan and returned to Nashville, he'd been careful to avoid any possibility that he might run into Cat Morrison. The last time they'd spoken, she'd told him she never wanted to see him again.

"Her fiancé broke their engagement."

Still wary, Michael said, "Okay." He recognized the tone in his sister's voice. She was in
fix-it
mode and talking about Cat, and that meant she was going to try to get Michael to contact his former best friend. 

"You should call her. It's been way too long. You two need to make up."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Michael, you know she didn't mean what she said. You've been back in Nashville all this time and haven't called her. She's your best friend and she needs you now."

He punched the speakerphone button and set the telephone receiver back in its cradle. Then he stood and started pacing. "Who was the idiot who broke up with her?"

"David Sanford. Remember? I told you when they got engaged. It was about five months ago."

He stopped in front of the big picture window that looked out over West End Avenue near downtown Nashville. "Is she okay?"

There was silence.

 "Sara?"

 "I'm still here. You know how much I hate these speakerphones."

 Michael flopped back into his chair and picked up the receiver. "Okay, Sis. It's just you and me again. The walls can't hear a thing."

 He heard Sara's sigh through the phone wire. "I'm not sure she is okay, Michael. She called me last night. She sounded terrible."

 "Terrible how?" Michael thought about the last time he'd seen Cat. She'd looked anything but terrible, in the little swim suit, with her jaunty ponytail and her happy smile.

 "Just kind of beaten down, you know?"

 "Yeah."

 "You need to go see her."

 "No." He winced at the speed of that answer. "I mean, I'm probably the last person she'd want to see right now."

 "Come on, Michael. You and I both know that's not true."

 "Why are you pushing this? Don't you know she's going to be mad at you too? You've kept the big fat secret about me being back from her."

 "I can handle that. But I'm worried about her. Go see her, Michael. She needs you."