Mad About You (22 page)

She closed the solitaire app and reached for the Harvard application. Before the doubts could cloud her mind, or she could talk herself out of it, she started filling out the form. Why had she left it so long to take this step? She didn’t fully understand herself, knew only that it had something to do with waiting for Scott. Well, regardless of what happened between them in the future, she knew she was doing the right thing. As she’d discovered while working for Scott, taking action and moving forward felt good.

A noise made her look out the window. A UPS van was pulling into her driveway. Crap. Two in the afternoon and she was still in her pajamas. Now the driver was climbing down, going around the side, and bringing out a parcel. Now he was coming up the walk to her front door. She contemplated rushing to her room and getting changed. Then the doorbell rang and it was too late. Oh well, she wasn’t wearing anything the UPS guy hadn’t seen before.

“Hey, Joe,” she said, opening the door. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. You?” He handed her a pen and the form to sign.

“Yeah, okay.” She scribbled her signature, one eye on the return address. Scott’s. Had she forgotten something under the bed?

Joe left.

Cassy turned the narrow rectangular package over in her hands. What could it be? She tore off the paper. Inside was padding, then wrapping paper, then a note in Scott’s sprawling handwriting.

I hope these put the sparkle back in your eyes.

Oh, God. No. Not… She ripped open the embossed paper to find the distinctive turquoise box. It was.
Damn him. Damn him to hell
. Tears started from her eyes even before she opened it and saw the exquisite pink diamond earrings and matching necklace.

This was step two in her patented three-phase plan to let down an ex-girlfriend gently. He was treating her just the way he’d treated all the other women who had passed through his life.

Didn’t he care about her at all?

…

Scott couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened the package.

She sent the diamonds back.

Didn’t she care about him at all?

He rested his chin in the palm of his hand and focused his attention on the rejected jewelry. She’d initially tossed away the wildflowers, too, then admitted she really did like them. But this looked to be a more thought-out statement. This time, he couldn’t say he’d never given another woman jewelry because he had, and she knew it.

She must be angrier than he thought.

Pick up the phone and call her.

Scott slid off the barstool and paced across to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. Call him a coward, but he didn’t want to risk hearing her telling him
no, go away, it’s over
. If she did that, he wouldn’t know what to say to stop her. And he had too many other things on his mind. He had part of the financing but he needed more money. He’d found Cassy’s list of angel investors in her desk and sent out feelers, but waiting to hear back was excruciating. He needed to hire another office manager and an accountant and oversee the factory renovation and…

Oh, God, a dozen other things. He couldn’t focus on work while Cassy was away.

He needed to soften her up some more.

What was next? He consulted his notes again. A trip. Not just any trip, something really flash to get her attention. Paris? No, he took all his women to Paris. Women he’d liked but not loved. He needed someplace fresh, someplace special that would be his and Cassy’s alone.

He clicked his fingers. What was that old movie she’d wanted to watch that first night? Something with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck.
Roman Holiday,
that was it. He’d given in, of course, because he’d rather she be happy than he get his own way. She’d exclaimed over the ancient landmarks and expressed regret that she hadn’t visited the city when she’d backpacked through Europe as a student.

Rome it was. Excellent. He rubbed his hands together. If a ticket for a romantic weekend in the eternal city didn’t work, he didn’t know what would.

…

Cassy stared at the ticket to Rome the UPS guy had just delivered. She felt like ripping it in two. This confirmed it. Scott was trying to buy her off. She had a good mind to call him and give him a piece of her mind. Who did he think she was, some floozy he could fob off with expensive baubles and flashy trips? She didn’t understand him.

Call and find out exactly what’s going on in that big brain of his.

Cassy started to reach for the phone, then pushed away from her desk to check on Rupert in his aquarium. He’d seemed listless and depressed so she’d bought an angelfish thinking the company would cheer him up. But poor Rupert had hidden in the grotto, bullied by the much larger new arrival.

She sprinkled a few flakes of fish food on the surface of the water. “Come on, sweetie. Come out and fight for what you want.”

She wished she had the guts to fight for Scott. She wouldn’t call him. She was weak where he was concerned. He would talk her into coming back to Seattle and continuing on as they had been. Or worse, getting married even though he didn’t truly love her. She might agree to anything just to be near him. But she couldn’t do that. In the long run, it would hurt too much, having only part of a relationship. She wanted it all. If by some chance he did truly love her, he needed to figure that out. He needed to be smart enough and brave enough to tell her.

She put the ticket back in the envelope, scribbled a note about her future plans, taped the envelope shut, and wrote “Return to Sender.” Then she walked out to the mailbox and dropped the letter in.

…

Scott clicked on Cassy’s Facebook page as he took another swig of scotch from the half-empty bottle. He didn’t often get drunk but tonight he was making a serious effort. Aha! She’d posted an entry,
lessee,
eight hours ago. Not about receiving fabulous gifts from the man she loved.
Oh, no!
It was about a fish. An ugly black goldfish with bug eyes named Rupert. There was even a photograph of Rupert cowering beneath a ceramic arch while Beelzebub the angelfish, circled relentlessly. There were twenty-two comments in answer to Cassy’s question about what to do about Rupert and Beelzebub. Didn’t people have anything better to do?

He noticed she hadn’t posted a question about whether to go back to her fake fiancé. Should he post a comment? Or start a new thread? Hey, what have you got against Rome?

The intercom buzzer from the concierge rang. Scott got up and, weaving slightly, went to answer. “Hey, Martin.”

“You have a visitor, Mr. Thornton.”

His heart gave a wild flip. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Ian Thornton.”

Oh, shit!

He looked at the glass of scotch in his hand. He wasn’t in any shape to talk to anyone, let alone his father. Especially after the way their last conversation ended. On the other hand, he needed to talk to
someone,
and his dad was partly responsible for Cassy leaving.

“Send him up.”

A minute or so later, the elevator door opened and his father stepped into his apartment. He nodded at Scott, then glanced around at the luxurious fittings. Scott waited in the living room, wanting to meet him halfway but struggling with his pride.

Ian came to him, extending a hand. “Nice place.”

Scott took his hand. “Drink?”

“Sure.” Ian took a seat on the leather couch and crossed a leg over his knee, pulling up the pant leg to avoid stretching the fabric. “Where’s Cassy?”

“Gone.” Scott hesitated, the bottle over the glass. “Ice? Soda?”

“Neat.”

Same as him. Hereditary trait or coincidence? Who the hell knew? He poured out two fingers, then sloshed in a third. “I haven’t changed my mind, by the way. Lorraine Dempsey came to the party.” No need to tell him Lorraine wasn’t stumping up all the money.

“So I heard through the grapevine.” Ian took a sip and set his glass on the coffee table. “I was hoping Cassy would be here so we could discuss my proposition.”

“Told you, she’s gone.” Damn, he was slurring his words. Enunciating carefully, he added, “She’s out of a job, so why would she stay?”

Ian’s frown sharpened. “Because you two are engaged.”

Scott shook his head and thought he could feel his brain hitting the sides of his skull. “Fake engaged. She gave the ring back.”

“Where did she go?”

“Home to Rupert the goldfish.” Scott gulped at his scotch and belched.

“Well, get her back. I came to say I’ve changed my mind. I was too dogmatic. I’d like to see her in a high position, although not CFO, not right away. Maybe assistant CFO. If she gets her MBA then she can be moved up.”

“She’s applied to Harvard Business School. She added a note to that effect when she returned the airplane ticket to Rome I sent her with me as companion. I also gave her diamonds, big ones.” Scott rubbed his hands over his pricking eyes. “She’s returned all my presents. I gave her everything I could think of that women want from a man.” Bitterly, he added, “Nothing worked. How the hell is a man supposed to know what a woman wants?”

Ian gave him a long hard look. “Did you tell her you love her?”

Scott didn’t answer. Tell her he loved her? What if she said she didn’t love him? What if she said all she wanted was to be friends? Friends with benefits. That wasn’t bad—it was pretty damn good, in fact—but it wasn’t enough. “Told you…I’m not in love with her.”

“No, of course you’re not. That’s why a nondrinker is halfway through a bottle of scotch.”

Scott raised his mutinous gaze. Who was his father to tell him how he felt about Cassy? “How do you know I’m not a drinker? I could be a complete lush for all you know. You know dick about me.”

“If you were a drinker you wouldn’t be swallowing this rotgut. It’s not fit to strip paint.”

Scott glanced away from the compassion and understanding in his dad’s gaze. “Someone gave it to me last Christmas. I thought it was shit but I wasn’t sure. I’m more of a beer drinker.” A lump came to his throat as he was overwhelmed by maudlin emotion. Cassy was right. He’d missed an opportunity with his dad. And for what? He’d lost her. “Yes, I’m in love with Cassy. I guess I always have been. What the hell am I going to do about it?”

“She never struck me as a mercenary person. Did you ever think she doesn’t want gifts or monetary items that have no meaning?” Ian asked. “Did you ever think that maybe she just wants you, in person, telling her how much you care?”

That would be too hard. Much easier to send gifts by mail to soften her up before he made his big declaration. But she hadn’t softened one iota and now he didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, Scott was disgusted with himself. He thought he was so brave, so smart, and so adventurous. He couldn’t even tell Cassy that he loved her. What was the worst thing that could happen? She would gently let him down and continue to be his friend because that’s the kind of wonderful person she was.

Scott pushed the glass away, sickened by the taste and smell. “You know, for a businessman, you’re pretty smart.”

Ian gave him a dry, rueful grimace. “Experience is a good teacher. I should have told you long ago how much I care about you. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”

Ian was not only smart, he was all right. Scott regarded his father thoughtfully. “I have room for two angel investors.”

“I know. That’s the other thing I came to talk to you about. We’ll discuss it while you sober up. Then you can go get your girl.”

Scott’s spirits rose, buoyed by hope for the first time since Cassy left. “It’s too late to see her tonight. But tomorrow, for sure. I’ll put coffee on.”

…

From the kitchen, Cassy heard a vehicle in her driveway and a moment later, the doorbell.
Oh, no, not again
. What had Scott sent her this time? When was he going to get a clue? She didn’t want his stupid presents. She wasn’t like the women who’d gone before.

She caught a glimpse of herself as she went past the hall mirror. Since she’d made the decision to get her MBA, she’d taken to getting dressed instead of staying in her pajamas all day. But it was only seven o’clock in the morning, for cripe’s sake! She hadn’t had a chance to put on some clothes. Quickly, she dragged her fingers through her hair and tucked it behind her ears to make it appear a little tamer.

The bell pealed again.

“All right, Joe, keep your shirt on,” she muttered and flung open the door. “Whatever it is, I’m sending it straight back without opening…”

Scott stood on her doorstep. He held up a plastic bag containing a yellow goldfish. “I thought Rupert might be lonely for a friend. One of his own kind, who understands him.”

“What are you doing here?” she said stupidly. She drank in the sight of him even though he looked pretty scruffy, too, with his shaggy hair and wrinkled shirt.

“Can I come in? I’m terrified I’ll drop this bag and the fish will splat all over the concrete.”

Cassy stepped back and Scott entered her house. She fiddled with her hair some more and made sure the top button of her pajamas was done up. “I’ll go get dressed.”