Tangled (34 page)

I tell her softly, “We’re already here.”

She gazes around the room. “Wow. It’s…it’s beautiful, Drew.”

I shrug. “The room’s nice.
You’re
beautiful.”

She blushes. And it’s amazing.

I want to kiss her. Badly.

You ever been thirsty? Really thirsty? Like on a ninety-eight-degree summer day when you don’t have enough spit in your mouth to even swallow? Now imagine somebody puts an ice-cold glass of water in front of you. And you can look at it, and you can picture how perfect it would taste—but you can’t touch it. And you definitely can’t drink it.

That’s pretty much the hell I’m in at the moment.

I tear my eyes away from Kate’s face and hand her a glass of red wine. Then I take a long drink of my own.

“What happened to your fingers?” She’s referring to the Band-Aids that cover four of my ten digits.

“Mushrooms. Spongy little bastards don’t appreciate being sliced.”

She looks surprised. “You cooked?”

I was going to take Kate to a restaurant. The best in the city. But she’s about quality, remember? And I figure she’ll appreciate my effort a hell of a lot more than anything a gourmet chef could come up with.

I smile. “I have many talents. You’ve only seen a few.”

And this might remain true. I’ve never cooked before.

Which reminds me—Martha Stewart? She’s my new idol. Seriously. I used to think her whole deal was a joke. Who becomes a billionaire by showing people how to fold goddamn dinner napkins correctly? But that was before. Before I actually tried to use my oven or set a table.

Now Martha’s a fucking god. Like Buddha. And if her recipe helps me pull this off? I’ll worship at her pudgy sandaled feet every day for the rest of my life.

Kate and I sit on the couch.

“So…how are things at the office?” I ask.

She sips her wine and brushes nonexistent wrinkles off her dress. “Good. Things have been good. You know…quiet.”

“In other words, you’ve been bored out of your mind without me.”

“No. It’s been…productive. I’ve gotten a lot done.”

I smirk. “You’ve missed me.”

She snorts. “I didn’t say that.”

She didn’t have to.

“Come on, Kate, I’ve taken a vow of honesty here. It’s only fair that you do the same.” I lean forward. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t thought about me—at all—in the last few days.”

“I—”

Buzzzzz…buzzzzz…buzzzzz
.

Dinner’s ready. Kate takes another drink from her glass.

“You should get that, Drew. Don’t want it to burn.”

And she’s saved by the buzzer.

For now.

The chicken Marsala I made looks…
unique
now that it’s actually out of the oven and on our plates.

Okay it’s fucking frightening. I admit it.

Kate’s brow is furrowed as she pushes at the brown lumps like she’s dissecting a frog in biology. “Did you mix the flour with water before you added it?”

Water? Martha didn’t say anything about water.
That bitch
.

“You know, Drew, some of the best culinary dishes in history looked disgusting. Presentation doesn’t count for much. It’s all about the taste.”

“Really?”

She picks up her fork and takes a deep breath. “No. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

I stare at my plate. “Thanks for trying.”

Before she takes a bite, I reach across the table and put my hand on hers. “Wait. I’ll go first.”

That way, if the food makes me keel over like bad blowfish, at least one of us will be conscious to call 9-1-1. Plus, if I’m hospitalized, I think there’s an excellent chance Kate would throw a pity fuck my way.

And don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t take it. In a freaking heartbeat.

I try not to breathe through my nose as I take a bite. Kate stares at me. I chew.

And then I smile slowly. “It’s not bad.”

She seems relieved. Maybe even a little proud. She slides her fork through her lips. Then she nods. “It’s really good. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah—I get that a lot.”

Through the entire meal, our conversation flows easily. Comfortably. I keep the topics safe. We talk about her new client, Matthew and Delores’s burgeoning relationship, and the never-ending political antics going on in DC.

For dessert, I serve strawberries and whipped cream. Strawberries are Kate’s favorite. I knew that from our Lost Weekend. Originally, I was going for strawberry shortcake. But you don’t want to know how the pudding turned out. I don’t think even Matthew would’ve eaten it. When Martha said stir constantly, she wasn’t screwing around.

While we enjoy our last course, I mention Mackenzie’s impending Christmas present.

Kate laughs. Unbelieving. “You’re not really going to buy her a pony, are you?”

“Of course I am. She’s a little girl. Every girl should have a pony.”

She sips her wine. We’re halfway through our second bottle.

“And I’m going to get one of those carts like the horses in Central Park. That way they can train it to take her to school.”

“This is New York City, Drew. Where are they going to keep it?”

“They have a five-bedroom condo. Two of the rooms are filled with Alexandra’s useless shit. I figure they can clean one out and make it the pony’s room.”

She looks at me straight-faced. “The pony’s room?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“How are they going to get it to their floor?”

“Freight elevator. All the older buildings have one.”

She sits back in her chair. “Well, you’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

I take a drink. “I always do.”

“Have you thought about what method your sister will use to kill you?”

“I’m sure she’ll surprise me. Will you defend me when she tries?”

She fingers her wine glass and glances up at me through those insanely long lashes. “No way, Pony Boy. She’s bigger than me. You’re on your own.”

I put my hand over my heart. “I’m crushed.”

She’s not buying it. “You’ll get over it.”

Our laughter fades into relaxed smiles. And I’m content to just watch her for a moment. She’s staring at me too.

Then she clears her throat and looks away. “This is a good CD.”

She’s talking about the music that’s been playing in the background for the last few hours.

“I can’t take all the credit. The guys helped me burn it.”

On cue, “I Touch Myself” by the Divinyls pours from the speakers.

“Jack picked that one.”

Kate laughs, and I stand up and press the button on the CD player, changing the song.

“And since I most likely only have a few weeks to live—” I hold my hand out to Kate “—may I have this dance?”

A new song fills the room: “Then” by Brad Paisley. I’m not really into country music, but Brad’s pretty cool. He’s a guy’s guy, even for a singer.

She takes my hand and stands up. Her arms go around my neck. And my hands rest at her waist—trying not to squeeze. Gently, we start to sway.

I swallow hard as her round, dark eyes look up at me without frustration or anger or hurt. They’re all warmth, like liquid chocolate. And my fucking knees go weak. I trail my hand up her spine to the back of her head. She turns her cheek and lays her head on my chest. And I pull her against me even closer—tighter.

I’d like to tell you what it feels like. To hold her again. To have my arms wrapped around her, at last, and her body pressed against mine.

I’d like to, but I can’t.

Because there aren’t words—in English or any other language—that could even come close to describing it.

I inhale the sweet flowery scent of her hair. If the poison in the gas chamber smelled like Kate?

Every Death Row inmate would die with a smile on his face.

She doesn’t lift her head as she whispers, “Drew?”

“Mmmm?”

“I want you to know…I forgive you…for what you said that day in your office. I believe you, that you didn’t mean it.”

“Thank you.”

“And, in hindsight, I realize that I didn’t help the situation. I could’ve said something, given you…reassurance about how I felt…before I went to talk to Billy. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“I appreciate that.”

And then her voice changes—becomes lower.

Mournful.

“But it doesn’t change anything.”

My thumb sweeps back and forth across the bare skin of her neck. “Of course it does. It changes everything.”

She raises her head. “I can’t do this with you, Drew.”

“Yes, you can.”

She stares at my chest as she tries to explain. “I have goals. Aspirations. That I’ve worked hard for—sacrificed for.”

“And I want to watch you meet those goals, Kate. I want to help make your dreams come true. Every goddamn one.”

She looks up. And her eyes are begging now—for understanding. For mercy.

“When Billy broke up with me, I was sad. It hurt. But I was able to keep going. I didn’t miss a beat. This thing with you…it’s different. It’s…more. And I’m not too proud to admit that if it doesn’t work out, I’m not going to be able to just pick myself up and move on. You can…You could break me, Drew.”

“But I won’t.”

My hand moves to her cheek. And she leans into it.

“I know what it feels like to think I’ve lost you, Kate. And I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I’m a man who knows what he wants, remember? And I want you.”

She shakes her head slowly. “You want me tonight. But what about—”

“I want you tonight, and I’ll want you tomorrow and the next day. And ten thousand days after that. Didn’t you get the memo in the sky?”

“You might change your mind.”

“I might get struck by lightening. Or eaten by a shark. And both of those things are a hell of a lot more likely than a day ever coming when I won’t want you. Trust me.”

And I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?

She stares at me for several moments, then her gaze falls to the floor. The song ends. And she starts to pull away. “I’m sorry, Drew. I just…can’t.”

I try to hold on. Like a drowning man gripping a life preserver.

“Kate…”

“I should go.”

No no no no no
. I’m losing her.

“Don’t do this.”

Her eyes harden like molten lava when it cools to black rock. “Your time’s almost up. This was lovely. But…”

This is not fucking happening. It’s like watching your receiver fumble the ball when you’re up by three with twenty seconds left on the clock. She turns toward the door. But I grab her arm and force her to look at me. My voice sounds desperate. Because I am.

“Just hold on. You can’t go yet. There’s one more thing I have to show you. Give me ten more minutes. Please, Kate.”

Look at her face. Right now.

She wants to stay. No—she wants me to
convince
her to stay. To give her a reason to believe in me again. And if this doesn’t do it, nothing on God’s green earth ever will.

“Okay, Drew. Ten more minutes.”

The breath rushes out of me. “Thank you.”

I let go of her arm, grab a black silk scarf off the chair and hold it up. “You can’t take this off until I tell you, okay?”

Suspicion washes over her face. “Is this some kind of weird sex thing?”

I chuckle. “No. But I like the way you think.”

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling right before I cover them with the scarf, and the world as she knows it fades to black.

Chapter 27

E
VERY
N
EW
A
SSOCIATE
at Evans, Reinhart and Fisher gets to redecorate his or her office. We’re not the only firm with this kind of policy. It’s good business. Makes employees feel comfortable, like a piece of the company belongs to them. The choices of paint colors and furniture patterns aren’t unlimited—but at a firm like ours, the pallet is pretty vast. That’s how I got my inspiration. How I was able to figure out what Kate prefers.