No Time Like Mardi Gras (7 page)

He was going to need it. Although Colin tried to focus on the code, thoughts of Jamie kept forcing their way back in, distracting him. Most of it was simple, ridiculous, moony teenager stuff—the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, her triumphant joy at catching a doubloon in one hand, the way she’d gamely tried to eat a muffuletta bigger than her own head—but those innocent images quickly gave way to much more adult images, and
those
were much harder to get out of his head because they came with full sensory memories that affected him physically as well as mentally.

He could still taste her, feel her
...

Argh.
He shifted in his chair. He needed his blood flowing to his brain right now, not his lap. “Memory leak. Lost revenue. Angry gamers.” Jamie had been an aberration, an interlude, a time out from the norm.

One perfect, amazing day with an amazing woman. He should just be happy it had happened. It would give him something fun to think back on when he was old and in the nursing home.

He fingered the watch, and Callie’s over-romantic ideas came rushing back.

Maybe...

He didn’t get to finish the thought, because a message from Eric popped up on his screen at that moment with the two most beautiful words inside:
FOUND IT.

Aside from the jubilation, it was another, more forceful reminder that this daydreaming was a waste of time. He dropped Jamie’s watch into his desk drawer and closed it.

If he could get Callie, of all people, to drop it and move on, he could do it, too.

It was that simple.

But he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Because three days later, Callie’s extra-special edition of
The Ex Factor
went viral.

FOUR

Jamie cursed under
her breath as the brush slipped and left a streak of Moody Mauve across the top of her thumb. Ah, how quickly she’d gotten used to paying other people for things like manicures.

Her bank account wasn’t in dire straits just yet, but until things got settled, she couldn’t waste money on things she could do herself. She allowed herself one brief wistful memory of the Ivy Spa and their amazing staff, who included a mimosa and a scalp massage with every mani-pedi.

She’d gotten spoiled so quickly. After seasons of barely getting by as Joey was making next to nothing in the minor league, the jump to the major league had felt like a lottery win. Then Joey had signed a couple of endorsement deals, and she’d discovered the stores on Rodeo Drive and Fifth Avenue. Joey had called her his princess and encouraged her to live the part.

So she had.

And while she truly believed she was doing the right thing now and was proud of herself for doing it, she wasn’t ashamed to say she missed it.

But she had two job interviews lined up—one tomorrow and one the day after—and if all went well, maybe one day she’d be able to afford some of those little luxuries again—even if Prada would never be in her budget again.

Sometimes she wondered if her pride and self-respect had been worth what she had traded for them.

And she’d traded back and forth a lot.

But this was the right thing, she reminded herself. Money was like a drug and she was just detoxing. It wasn’t as though she was in danger of starving or living in a box under the bridge. Ninety-nine percent of the world lived without valet service and scalp massages. She could, too.

She was thinking positive thoughts about her interview tomorrow, even though her résumé was a bit thin. “Arm Candy” wasn’t exactly a skill set that excited potential employers, and the gaps in her employment history were going to be hard to explain, too. At least she had
some
experience—she
had
worked for a while—but between that and the rather questionable ethics situation she’d been embroiled in—however accidentally or unwillingly—it might be tough to find a business willing to trust her too much.

The crows of doom were perched on her shoulders again, and she gave herself a strong mental shake as she went back to her manicure.
I can do this. Put positive energy out to the universe and positive things will return to me.

Kelsey’s apartment in the Warehouse District was tiny, but well kept and seemingly safe. And since Jamie didn’t own much stuff, the tininess didn’t matter. While she and Kelsey didn’t have much in common, they were getting along well enough. Granted, it helped that Kelsey worked odd hours as a nurse, but when she
was
home, she spent a lot of time on the computer and didn’t really care what Jamie watched on TV.
Housing—check.
Job was next on the list, and after that, the world would be her oyster.

That was the plan, at least.

She blew on her nails, pleased with her efforts.
Not too shabby,
she thought, and placed another little check mark in her mental list of accomplishments. Joey had used to say—and not completely teasingly either—that her idea of roughing it was doing her own nails, yet here she was. “Proving Joey Wrong” was a large category, but she was chipping away at it bit by bit.

Kelsey was in the recliner, eyes on her laptop and ears covered by a set of large black headphones, so Jamie let the
Law & Order
marathon drone on without much guilt. She was debating another coat of polish when Kelsey took her headphones off.

“Hey, Jamie, do you know anything about the Zephyrs?”

The question came so far out of left field that Jamie nearly dropped the polish bottle she was holding between her knees. She didn’t really know much about Kelsey, but she hadn’t mentioned baseball at all until this moment. And since Kelsey didn’t know about her past—just that she’d come out of a long-term relationship, but not with whom or why—it was an odd question, indeed. “Um, they’re the triple-A affiliate for the Marlins, they’ve got some good players... Why?”

“If I got tickets, would you want to go?”

“God, no.” She’d been the perfect athlete girlfriend, always in her spot at every game, cheering as loudly as she could, but the honest truth was that she abhorred everything about baseball. She’d rather watch paint dry. Breaking up with Joey had meant she’d never have to spend another minute of her life at the ball field, and
that
knowledge had helped buoy her through the worst of it. Belatedly realizing how her refusal might be considered rude—assuming Kelsey was trying to broach new avenues of friendship or shared interests—she tried to soften it. “I mean, thanks, but I’m not really a fan.”

Kelsey nodded. A second later, she asked, “Are you double-jointed?”

What the hell?
Did Kelsey have some kind of weird disorder?
Wonder if the hospital knows.
“Yeah, my elbows. Why?”

Over the top of the computer screen, Kelsey smiled. “Just wondering. By the way, do you know what time it is?”

Time for me to be looking for a different place to live?
The girl had a computer on her lap and a cell phone balanced on the arm of her chair, and she was asking Jamie what time it was? “Sorry, no. Maybe a little after ten?”

“No watch, huh?”

“I lost mine.”

“I see. How interesting.”

If Kelsey was crazy, better to find out now. “How is that interesting?”

Kelsey closed the laptop. “I know you’re new in town, but have you heard of
The Ex Factor?
”

“The TV show? Of course.”

Kelsey shook her head. “No.
Ex
as in ex-boyfriend.”

“Then no, I haven’t.”

“It’s an online column run by a local girl who does wedding planning. She and her ex-boyfriend do a little thing a few times a month where they give different perspectives on an issue or a question that’s sent in. It’s hugely popular, and the kind of thing that everyone will be talking about at work the next day.”

And?
“It sounds cute. I’ll have to check it out one day.”

Kelsey passed the laptop her way. “Actually, you might want to check it out now.”

Carefully, so as not to mess up her nails, Jamie took the computer and flipped it open. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking at, but it seemed like a basic website, with a cartoon drawing of a man and a woman back to back and a
The
Ex Factor
banner between them.

The headline, in a very large font, read, A Real Cinderella Story, and the paragraph beneath started, “Once upon a time, in the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday...”

No.

Something akin to dread settled into her chest.

By the end of the first paragraph, the pieces fell into place. Adrenaline surged through her veins. “Oh, my sweet God.”

The horror only got worse as she scanned the article. While thankfully rather skinny on the details, there was the story of what, until this moment, had seemed like the best day of her life. Something she could think back on fondly and relish the memory.

It had been a private, happy story, one she hadn’t shared with anyone simply because she’d wanted to keep it to herself. But it seemed to be news somehow, and based on the counter at the bottom of the page, it was now
everyone’s
business.

It was all there: how they were separated at midnight, leaving her Prince Charming with her watch instead of a glass slipper. A physical description of her and those details Kelsey had been checking—like the fact she had extensive baseball knowledge but didn’t enjoy the game and her double-jointed elbows. It ended with a plea for anyone who knew “Cinderella Jamie” to please contact someone named Callie with the info.

That gave her pause. A second, less panicked look at the article showed her that it didn’t mention Colin by name or description, simply calling him Prince Charming and providing little detail to his identity.

Kelsey snorted again. “That is you. Don’t deny it.”

Jamie wondered if she possibly could. She looked over to see Kelsey messing with her phone.

“I remember you taking his picture and putting his name into my phone in case he turned out to be an ax murderer or something,” Kelsey muttered, “but now I can’t find it.”

And you never will.
Wednesday morning, after deciding it would be best if she didn’t contact Colin again, she’d deleted both his picture and his name from Kelsey’s phone while Kelsey was in the shower. She’d felt a little silly doing it, but now she was thankful for her forethought.

“Damn it, why can’t I find it?”

Jamie let that question pass. She was on the internet.
Again.
No one in town knew her and there was no reason anyone—even those who followed sports obsessively—would recognize her from the description here, but still.... She didn’t want to be notorious again. Ever.

But Kelsey had figured it out. Eventually she would make friends here, and what if one of them managed to put it together? Although it wasn’t specifically stated in the article, the subtext was that she’d hooked up with Prince Charming, and now she looked like a slut. Or maybe that was just her own guilty conscience talking. “You say this
Ex Factor
thing is pretty popular?”

Kelsey’s amused look turned to pity. “
Very
popular. And this article has gone viral. I doubt there’s anyone in New Orleans under the age of sixty who hasn’t heard about it.”

And now she had to go job hunting in this atmosphere. Sweet Jesus, maybe she should just move. At least she wasn’t even fully unpacked yet. Of course, there was the slim hope that this would all die down quickly—the internet was fickle and had a short attention span.

Dignity and distance.
If she’d learned anything from that three-ring circus Joey had dragged her into, she knew how best to handle this. Do not acknowledge. Do not deny. Everything she said would be held against her, so it was best to say nothing. She forced herself to shrug casually and handed the laptop back to Kelsey.

“That’s it?” Kelsey asked. “Aren’t you excited that Prince Charming is looking for you?”

“Not like this, no.” She wanted privacy, not notoriety.

“At least tell me who he is.”

She tried to sound casual. “Nobody.”

“Bull. You ditched me to spend the day with him. You liked him. And I do remember he was pretty damn cute, too.”

Kelsey had ditched her—mentally at least—long before Colin had come into the picture, but she let that slide. “Look, I really don’t need to go rushing into anything with anyone right now. I’m still finding my feet here.” But Kelsey’s fingers were already flying across the keyboard. There was a flutter of panic in her chest. “You’re not emailing that Callie person, are you?”

Kelsey paused and grinned over the screen. “Want me to?”

“No.”

“Pity. I’m just checking out what other people are saying.”

“I don’t want to know.” Jamie pushed against the laptop gently, bringing the screen down, but not all the way onto Kelsey’s fingers. “I’m asking you to please just let this go. Don’t tell anyone you know who Cinderella is and let it die down. Believe me when I say that I have my reasons, and simply let it go at that.”

“But he’s looking for you.”

“So? Maybe I don’t want to be found.”

“Did he turn out to be a jerk? Get creepy?”

Try as she might, she couldn’t lie about it. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t really need for it to be any more than it was.”

Kelsey huffed. “Well, don’t you at least want your watch back? I remember it’s pretty. Looked expensive, too.”

The watch had been a gift from Joey, a grand gesture when he’d signed with his first minor-league team and a promise of much nicer things to come, but it didn’t hold any sentimental value to her now. In fact, it seemed more symbolic to just let it go, like a shackle that she’d freed herself from as she started over. “No. I never really liked it anyway.”

“Well, hell, you could have given it to me,” Kelsey grumbled.

Kelsey had oohed and ahhed over her clothes and her shoes as she’d unpacked, assuming they were fakes and wanting to know where Jamie shopped to find the “good stuff.” Jamie hadn’t corrected her, not wanting to admit that while she was cash poor, she was wardrobe rich. Tomorrow she’d be wearing a Gucci skirt and her lucky Louboutins while looking for a job that she hoped would pay enough to cover her rent.
Oh, the irony.

Jamie pushed to her feet and packed up her manicure supplies. “I’m going to bed. I have interviews tomorrow.”

“You’re crazy, you know. You land in town like a refugee and immediately meet a hottie who’s now pining for you. I’ve lived here my whole life and nada. It’s not fair.”

For the sake of homestead harmony, she had to answer that. “Surely there are some cute doctors at the hospital,” she offered optimistically.

“You’d think, but sadly, no.”

She and Kelsey weren’t really friends, so Jamie wasn’t sure whether to provide sympathy or encouragement. And with her background, she certainly wasn’t qualified to offer dating advice of any sort. She went with the lame but true, “Pity.”

“That it is.”

“Good night, Kels.”

While she’d claimed disinterest to Kelsey, now that she was alone in her tiny bedroom, she started to have second thoughts. She’d liked Colin—liked him a lot, actually—and had they not parted so abruptly, she probably would have ended up giving him a phone number and planned to see him again. But in the last week, she’d gotten accustomed to the idea that it was a one-off, and something about it had given her some much-needed confidence.

And she really didn’t like the fact that their day was now plastered across the internet. It cheapened the whole thing, somehow.

Last week she’d seen the way they’d parted as a sign from the universe they just weren’t meant to be. She could assume the article was another sign, but it was hard to tell what kind of sign it was. A nudge to get her to contact Colin? Or a very public reminder guaranteed to make her want to stay away?