Operation Cinderella (18 page)

Ross answered for them both. “We’ll talk later. For now, I need you to go back to your room.”

Macie shot him a look. Did he really think he could warehouse his daughter in her room whenever life got too real or too messy? To Sam, she said, “Your father and I are just having a discussion.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “A discussion, give me a break. I remember he and Mom used to have a lot of those when I was a little kid.”

Ross scowled. “For your information, young lady, you still qualify as a kid. A kid who’s going to spend all of next weekend locked up inside here tighter than San Quentin unless she gets her butt in her room pronto.”

Watching Sam hold her ground, Macie was silently, secretly proud of her. Sam tightened her fingers on the crutch’s crossbar and straightened her back. “That’s right, Dad. Go ahead and shut me out, just like you do to everyone who doesn’t see things your way.”

For a moment Ross stood stock still. Then, as if suddenly recovering himself, he said, “Then stay. MJ and I have just been
discussing
how all these fine suppers she’s been serving were catered and how the apartment’s in such great shape because she hired a housecleaning service. You know about any of that?”

Sam darted a look to Macie and the sick feeling in her stomach spread. “Maybe.”

He looked hard at Sam. “I asked you a straight-up question, young lady, and I expect a straight-up answer.”

Poor Sam, Ross was really grilling her. Looking on, Macie had to hold back from rushing over to hug her.

“I didn’t know for certain but I suspected…stuff,” Sam said. “She served up such big dinners but until lately I never really saw her cook anything. And she seemed real protective of the trash. But what’s the big deal? It all got done.”

Ross squared his shoulders. “The big deal is that I don’t much like being lied to.” He swung his gaze back to Macie. Her face felt flushed, as if she’d spent a day baking sans sunscreen on the beach.

“I didn’t lie,” Sam insisted, her cheeks turning bright. “I just didn’t tell. That’s different.”

Eyes on Macie, he said, “That is just the sort of moral relativism I would expect from someone like—”

“Like me?” That did it! Until now, she’d held back, but going forward the gloves would be off. “If you mean someone who’d dare to want more from life than to be at the beck and call of some beer guzzling man sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, then yes, guilty as charged.”

Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember ever seeing Ross drink a beer while watching TV. Other than
Blue Bloods
and
Law and Order
and the black-and-white movies they showed on the Turner Classics channel, he always said most of the programs on TV were crap, but that wasn’t really the point. It was his
attitude
that she objected to, not any specific action.

Frustrated to the point of throwing things, she ran a hand through her hair, wrecking the rest of the ponytail and popping a hairpin out of place. “Sam, sweetie, your father’s right. You shouldn’t have to be a part of this.”

Sam hesitated and then nodded. “Okay, I get it. You’re unlawfully imprisoning me in my room. If anyone needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”

…

Ross looked from MJ to his daughter and then back, thinking that any man who thought he knew a damned thing about women had better think again.

He waited for the sound of Sam’s door closing before starting in. “Well, Miss Gray, it looks like you’ve made a liar out of my daughter and a fool out of me, but I guess that’s all in a day’s work for a woman like you. Begging your pardon, I should have said
Ms
. Gray out of respect to your feminist sensitivities and such.”

MJ shot him a daggered look. “Not sensitivities, Ross, values. Yes,
values
. The trouble is we just don’t share the same ones.”

“Then why come to work for me?”

She hesitated. “Because…I needed a…change of scene from New York.”

She was lying. This time at least he could tell without any trouble. “Let me guess, joining the Christian missionary family in Belize didn’t much appeal?”

Her gaze shuttered. “You could say that.”

“That degree from CUA, you fake it, too?”

“No, it’s real. Liberals can like kids, too.”

“Your feelings for Sam, was that all part of the act?”

MJ shook her head. “Of course not, I honestly really…like Sam. Actually, I’m crazy about her.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Like you’re crazy about old movies and huevos rancheros?”

She lifted her chin. “I’ve always loved old movies. I’d never had spicy eggs before I met you but now that I have, I really like them and…I really liked making them for you last night.”

Ross swallowed hard. She’d cooked wearing an old apron they’d found at the bottom of a kitchen drawer—and nothing else. But already last night seemed like a faraway time and place, a dream. Not a dream—a fairy tale. Only minus the happy ending.

“That story about how your kid sister nicknamed you MJ, is that even true?” Ever since that night they’d stood together on the Kennedy Center terrace and shared their first kiss, she’d been MJ to him. He felt like the funny little nickname was engraved on his heart. If that turned out to be a lie, too, he wasn’t rightly sure what he would do.

Tears spangled her lower lashes. “It’s true, it’s all true. The things that really matter are all true. They’re all me—the
real
me.”

“There are two of you and only one of me. So, sorry Martha Jane or MJ or whatever name the
real
you is going by today, but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m having trouble keeping up.” Too angry and overwhelmed to know what to believe, he whipped away.

“Where are you going?” she demanded as if she still had any rights over him, as if anything he said or did from here on was any of her goddamn business.

Setting his course for his bedroom to change, he answered anyway. “Where I go whenever I need to keep from doing something that’ll come back to bite me in the butt: Rock Creek Park for a run.”

Chapter Ten

Pounding the path into powder, Ross ran his customary five miles—and kept going. Jesus H. Christ, to think he’d actually proposed marriage to a card-carrying member of NOW! He must be a seriously bad judge of character, a bad judge of women, or maybe both. From here on he would devote all his energies to straightening out his kid. He couldn’t afford to have his emotions tangled up with a woman who’d admitted to lying to him from the start.

Two hours later, he returned to the apartment, sopping with sweat and bad knee aching. Eerie quiet greeted him—the cold shoulder routine again?

He headed for Sam’s room to check on her. Limping out into the living room, she saved him the time. “Oh, Daddy!”

Taking in her stricken face and streaming eyes he hurried over, too concerned to care that he must be tracking mud on the beige carpet.

Reaching her, he slung a sweaty arm around her shuddering shoulders. “Sam, honey, what happened? Is your leg hurting? You take your pain medicine?”

She swung her head from side-to-side. “She…left.”

It took him several seconds to absorb the news. “MJ left?” Even though he’d planned on telling her to go, the preemptive strike landed like a fist in his gut.

Between halting breaths, Sam managed to get out that MJ had packed her bags after he’d left and called for a cab to the train station.

It was one thing to break his heart but breaking his kid’s was another matter entirely. “Heartless—”

“No, Daddy, it wasn’t like that. She was crying pretty bad, even worse than me, and she kept hugging me and telling me that she’d never forget me, that even though she couldn’t stay, we were friends for life.”

Ross broke away and rushed to MJ’s room. The closet was cleared out, the suitcase gone. Set out atop the dresser, one red-velvet slipper anchored a note. Weak kneed, he pulled out the folded slip of stationery.

Ross
,

You asked me earlier “why”? Well, trust me on this one, going into all the gory details would be pointless and painful for everyone. Let’s just say I’m not the person you thought I was, and it’s better for all of us that I leave now. Please give my love to Sam and tell her to forget what I said about fairy tales. After her cast comes off and she finishes the therapy, I want her to put on these shoes, knock her heels together three times—and believe in Happily Ever After every chance she gets.

MJ.

P.S. I may not be the princess perfect person you thought I was, but thanks for helping me remember the person I started out wanting to be.

…

Macie spent the train ride back to New York conducting an in-depth interview—with herself. The bottom line was she didn’t much like what she saw. The never-ending search for the next sensational storyline had consumed her for five years. Now that struck her as pointless and sad.

Later, walking in the West Village, the colorfully lit Empire State Building a beacon in the near distance, it occurred to her that before she’d met Ross, her life had been as monochromatic as her all-black wardrobe. Now that she’d let in the light, the love, she couldn’t go back to the way things were before. More to the point, she didn’t want to. Maybe it was time to revisit her dream of working for a small environmental magazine. The grassroots pay scale wouldn’t support staying on in New York, but leaving the bright lights and big city no longer seemed like such a tragedy. The past weeks had changed her profoundly and forever. Though it could never work out between her and Ross, though her heart was hurting more than she’d ever imagined a heart could hurt, still she’d realized one very valuable thing.

It was time to move on.

…

Ross arranged a week’s leave, prerecorded his program, and then put himself and Sam on a plane to Paris, Texas. The three-hour flight into Dallas Fort Worth and the two-hour car drive to Paris provided plenty of opportunity for self-reflection. Why had he gone to graduate school in the first place? The answer wasn’t long in coming but the simplicity all but knocked him to his knees.
I wanted to make a difference
. The research had engaged his mind but what he’d really loved about being a college professor was teaching. Somehow he’d gotten sidetracked, caught up first in academia’s publish-or-perish culture and later the sudden, head spinning sensation of instant celebrity. Being a nationally known talking head was a monumental ego trip, not to mention just about the best substitute he could find for the real life he was missing out on. Sure, hundreds of thousands of people knew his name, but how many knew the real him?

Before MJ had blown into his life like a twister, shaking things up, shaking
him
up, he hadn’t even known his own daughter, not really. It was high time he did what he was always telling other people to do—go back to basics. High time for Ross Mannon to sign off as morals arbiter for the whole world and put his own sorry-ass life back in order.

That evening, as he helped Sam up onto his parents’ front porch, he wondered why he’d ever left.

Wearing her apron, his mother rushed out to greet them. Careful of the crutches, she enveloped Sam in a hug. “Samantha, you’ve got so grown up. How you feeling, honey?”

“Pretty good, Grandma. The cast itches.”

Ross added, “It comes off in five weeks, and then she’ll start physical therapy and wear an immobilizer for a while. Once the break heals, her leg should be as good as new.”

His mother let out a relieved breath. “Thank the good Lord for that. For now, though, she should rest.” Turning back to Sam, she said, “I put you in the downstairs bedroom so you wouldn’t have to worry with the stairs. Go on in and I’ll bring you some pie in a bit.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

His mother’s arms went around him next. A wisp of a woman, she hugged him hard, like a momma bear embracing her cub, even though he had more than a foot on her. Ross hugged her back, inhaling the scents of talcum powder and lilac, scents that he always associated with home.

She dropped her arms and stepped back to survey him. “You look bone-tired, son.”

“It’s been a long travel day.” He looked around her to the two pies set out to cool on the kitchen windowsill. “One of those wouldn’t happen to be peach, would it?”

She smiled. “They’re both peach and I expect you know that. I was just fixing to put on a pot of coffee. Come on inside.”

A while later, Ross sat at the kitchen table across from his mom, a hunk of flaky peach pie and a steaming mug of coffee set in front of him. “Best peach pie in Lamar County,” he said, mouth full.

His mother didn’t deny it. “I took first prize in the county fair again this year.” He followed her gaze to the kitchen wall covered in framed certificates, all bearing blue ribbons.

“Those judges sure are smart.” Ross pushed another forkful into his mouth.

Watching him, she shook her head. “You look just like you did when you were sixteen and Amy Johnson turned you down for the sophomore ring dance.”

Once, Ross would have found that hard to believe, but being a parent had changed him. Sam might be into Miracle Bras and makeup, but every time he looked at her, he still saw that same sweet toddler fresh off the plane from England.

She stirred her coffee. “I know that look of yours, Ross. It spells girl troubles.”

The maternal radar was indeed on point. Appetite gone, Ross put down his fork.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not Frannie because you got her out of your system a good long while ago. And I just can’t see you with any of those Washington women, either. The only real prospect is that little girl from New York you brought down to help out as your housekeeper. Remind me of her name again.”

Ross knew his mother had a mind like a steel trap, but he answered anyway. “MJ. It’s short for—”

“Martha Jane,” she finished with a smile. “Sweet name, though it doesn’t sound much like New York to me.”

Ross snorted. “She may not be from New York originally, but believe me, she’s a lot more ‘New York’ than she is anything else. Can’t cook for crap,” he added, well knowing his mother all but slept in her kitchen. “Turns out all the home-cooked meals she supposedly made us these past weeks came from a personal chef service.”

He’d expected his mom to get fired up, but to his surprise she only shrugged. “It’s a different day than when you boys were growing up. I’ll bet that Rachael Ray hardly ever darkens the door of her own kitchen once she steps out of the studio.”

Ross felt his jaw drop. Just when had his old-fashioned mother started sounding like a…
feminist
?

She cocked a brow and leveled him with what over the years he’d come to think of as The Look. “You ever think that maybe, just maybe, it’s not so much what’s on the table as who’s sitting at it across from you?”

He shook his head, not liking how shallow and small-minded he suddenly felt. “I’ve been down this road before with Frannie. Opposites may attract but they don’t stick, not for the long haul.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Land’s sakes, Ross, it didn’t work out because you two weren’t right for each other, not because her piecrust was soggy. Son, if this girl, this MJ, truly touches your heart—and by the woebegone look on your face, I’d bet my last fair ribbon she’s wormed her way in good—it seems to me you owe it to yourself and to her to find out why.”

As usual, his mom had cut to the core of things. MJ had touched his heart in ways he hadn’t dreamed of, made him feel things he hadn’t ever felt for a woman, any woman, before.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll think about it,” Ross said. He pushed back his chair, rose, and reached down to clear his dishes as he’d been brought up to do.

For the first time ever, his mother swatted his hand away. “Leave it and go relax. Your daddy will be home soon and Ray’s stopping by later. You’d best have a nice restful visit, because it sounds like you have serious business to take care of once you and Samantha get back.”

…

Standing outside of the
On Top
offices, Macie steeled herself to go inside. Starr was expecting one hell of a story. Considering she was turning up empty-handed after blowing off more than a month’s work and thousands of dollars, Macie figured the least she could do was deliver one hell of a show. She took a big breath and pulled open the double glass doors.

“Hi Darcie, happy Monday.” Stepping inside, she greeted the receptionist behind the kidney-shaped front station.

“Macie, is it…you?’

“In the flesh.” She’d encountered a similar double take moment downstairs at the building security check in.

“Is everyone in the conference room?”

Still looking bemused, the girl nodded. “The staff meeting started a couple of minutes ago. I just dropped off the coffee and bagels.”

“Good to know, thanks.” She sent Darcie a parting smile and breezed by.

Peering through the clear glass, she saw the meeting was in full swing. Pulling back on the door, she entered. “Hi guys.”

Six sets of eyes zeroed in on her, including Terri’s and those of the new Art Director, Matt Landry.

“Nice of you to join us,” Starr said from the head of the table. “I gather you’re back and prepared to make your presentation?”

“I am,” Macie said, slipping into her seat.

A month ago she would have pitched a fit if her skinny soy latte wasn’t waiting, but now she reached for one of the unclaimed regular coffees, popped the lid, and dumped in a creamer.

Sipping the weak coffee, she listened with half an ear to the presentation-in-progress, an idea for a new repeating feature, an opinion piece written by a rotation of New York based celebrities that Starr pronounced “very high concept.”

Starr turned to Macie. “Next up, we’ll hear Macie’s report on Operation Cinderella, the Mannon undercover exposé. Macie, take it away.”

Macie gathered herself for this, her Big Reveal. Pushing back her chair, she stood. “I was wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Starr leaned closer as if she must have misheard. The others followed.

Macie lifted her voice a notch. “I was one hundred percent wrong. I’ve got nothing on Ross Mannon, and if I couldn’t dig up any dirt in more than a month of living under his roof, then it doesn’t exist. I’m afraid Operation Cinderella is a bust.”

Shocked exclamations made the rounds. Starr’s mouth fell open. “What the f—”

“It’s true,” Macie confirmed, cutting her off. “I realize I built up your expectations, and I’m sorry for that. But not so sorry that I’m willing to sell fiction as fact, to wreck a man’s life and his kid’s life to sell some magazines. I was wrong about Ross Mannon. I went in sure he must have a mistress or a mister stashed somewhere or at least a really embarrassing kink, but he doesn’t.” She glanced down at her paper cup and smiled. “If he has a vice, it’s that he drinks kind of a lot of coffee.”

Starr slammed her fist down on the table, sending the pastry platter and coffee cups jumping. “I send you in for dirt—freaky sex, drug addiction, embezzlement, animal cruelty, something,
anything
—and the best you can come up with is he drinks too much caffeine?”

Macie nodded. “That about sums it up.” She’d spent the previous night sleepless and that morning with her stomach churning, but now that she’d dove in, she was actually enjoying herself, not a little but a lot.

Silent until now, Terri spoke up. “I don’t understand how you can defend him after everything he said and did. He tried to put us out of business.”

Macie focused on her assistant editor, willing her to understand. “Look, we don’t have to like his politics, I
don’t
like his politics, but I have to say it’s pretty hard, almost impossible not to like him. He’s every bit as squeaky clean as his public persona. Actually, there is no persona, just an actual person, a person who’s honest and honorable, hardworking and kind and a really phenomenal dad.”

Starr snorted. “That’s all very heartwarming, but how are you proposing to come up with a story, a tell-all exposé, when there’s nothing to expose?”

“I’m not. There’s no story here, absolutely none.”

Her boss tore off her glasses. “Macie, are you…on drugs?”