The Lives Between Us (8 page)

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Authors: Theresa Rizzo

Tags: #Fiction, #Political, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Family & Relationships, #Love & Romance, #Medical

BOOK: The Lives Between Us
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A guy in tight blue jeans and a white dress shirt crouched in front of a large wooden desk over a box of squirming bundles of fur. His thick hair was pushed to the side revealing coffee brown eyes. A hint of a beard shaded his chin and face, giving him a disheveled, outdoorsy kind of appearance.

“Mark Dutton?”

He stopped petting a puppy and put it back with its whining littermates. Standing, he wiped his hand on his thigh, and reached out to shake her hand. “You must be Skylar Kendall.”

This
was Mark Dutton? Crap. Not elderly—at least not for another thirty years. Skye took an involuntary step backward, frowning. He had dark hair. And he was large, muscular, and fit, not the scrawny, anemic nerd she’d expected. She stared at his proffered hand before taking it. Part of her registered the warm, firm handshake, while the other thought,
No scientist geek, either
.

“Please, call me Skye. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her gaze wandered around the office from the box of puppies to framed photos of an older couple and a large family, to the encased Bronco Jersey signed by Peyton Manning on the wall over a worn leather couch. On the credenza sat a collection of various group pictures, and one of Mark Dutton and...

Mark leaned back to rest his butt on the credenza and knocked over the picture she’d been looking at. He barely glanced at it before flipping it over. What was he hiding? A wife? Her glance dropped to his hand. No wedding band.

“Pardon my appearance. I usually dress a little nicer for work, but I didn’t have any meetings today, and I had these guys to take care of.” He bent to run a comforting hand over the whimpering pups. “You like dogs?”

He held up one little fluffy thing that faintly resembled a multi-colored guinea pig. Border collie or Aussie would be her guess, if it wasn’t a mutt. The pup lay in his palm docilely and blinked.

“Not particularly. Do you always bring your pets to work? I would have thought you’d want to keep things a bit more sterile.”

Mark wedged the small animal next to the other sleeping pups then scooped up a little finger of moist food and held it out to a noisy puppy. It immediately licked the food, and then began chewing on Mark’s index finger. Mark positioned him in front of the bowl of puppy food.

“No, this is a first. My sister needed someone to keep them while she’s on vacation.”

“They’re pretty tiny.” Skye scanned the floor for a larger dog. “Where’s the mom?”

“Died.”

Dead. Figured. “Well, I...” Skye smiled and handed him the envelope. “I just want to thank you for what you did the other night and repay you for my meal.”

Mark ignored her outstretched hand. “Not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

“Keep it. Please.”

“I can’t.” She placed the envelope on his desk and smiled. “It was sweet of you to run interference for me, but I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can.” Full lips curved into a slight smile under his steady gaze.

“I can.” Skye couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, but she was definitely picking up on some sexual undercurrents that had her internal alarms humming.

Mark held up his hands as if to ward her off. “I believe you.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I just wanted to thank you and give you back your money.” Skye swung around and headed for the door.

“Whoa, hold up.” He pushed off the credenza and came closer. “No need to get offended.”

“I’m not offended.”

Mark raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you’re used to, but all I did was run off a guy who looked like he didn’t understand the word no and buy you a meal. No big deal.”

“If it’s ‘no big deal’ then why not let me pay you back?”

“Where I come from, men take care of ladies, and the ladies don’t pay.”

“Where do you come from?”
The middle ages? Mars?

A mischievous looked crossed Mark’s face. He poked his tongue in his cheek, then his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Are you hitting on me?”

Her mouth flopped open. “What?”

“Cause it’d be okay if you were. I was just wondering.”

Skye felt the heat of embarrassment and astonishment flush her face. What an arrogant ass. Or maybe he was teasing her? “
No
, I’m
not
hitting on you. I was just... We were having a conversation. It’s a dialogue, where people exchange words. Back and forth. Speaking. You. And me.”

“Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked you out to dinner.” Mark glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry.”

She looked at the box of puppies. “What about your little pals?”

“I just fed them. They’ll be fine ’til I come back.”

He expected her to turn him down. Well, she could be unpredictable, too.

“Sure.” Skye lifted her chin. Swiping the envelope from his desk, she held it out to Mark. “But only if you accept this.”

“All right.”

That’s it? No argument? Skye dropped the money into his open palm.

Mark folded the envelope and put it in his back pant pocket. His tight jean pocket that curved beautifully to his tight butt. Skye ripped her gaze away to look at the box of sleeping puppies. “Okay, so where should we meet?”

“The Grille okay with you?”

“I don’t know it.”

“The Village Grille. It’s on Kercheval down in the village. It’s in—you can follow me.”

“Okay.” Skye consciously kept her gaze from dropping to his butt. Following him would be no great hardship.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

Mark glanced in the rearview mirror to be sure Skye’s blue Prius was still behind him. He had to admit he was impressed. Skye moved fast. He hadn’t anticipated a visit at work—he’d thought maybe a phone call, at the most, to thank him for dinner. Then he’d almost blown it by overreacting when he turned over the photo of him and Ed. That had to have made her suspicious, but Mark wasn’t ready for her to find out about his friendship with the senator—at least not before he got a chance to know her and find out why she was so pissed at Ed.

Thinking about those deep brown eyes and full, juicy lips, his stomach clenched. Soft. They’d be smoother than satin, he’d bet. He could kiss those lips all night. That was just one of the things he was looking forward to finding out about Ms. Kendall.

Not that Mark hadn’t dated beautiful women before. He had, and he had an appropriate appreciation for them—except for deceitful or overly needy women—those he couldn’t stand, but Skye seemed genuine and smart. What started out as a whim might turn into something far more interesting.

The Grille was an unpretentious place with good food and a comfortable atmosphere. Ordinarily, he’d have run home for a quick shower, shave, and change, before taking his date to a little more upscale restaurant, like The Hill. The Village Grille wasn’t his typical first date type of place, but then Skye wasn’t his typical date either.

Their first meeting wasn’t typical, her restraint around him wasn’t typical, and her who-cares attitude about his money and connections definitely wasn’t typical. In fact, his relationship with Ed was a definite liability. Skylar Kendall intrigued him.

After Skye ordered a BLT with avocado, fries—extra crispy—and a glass of cabernet sauvignon, and he ordered a salad, a roast beef sandwich smothered in mushrooms, and a cold Heineken, she folded her hands primly and cast him a curious look. “So. How’d a guy like you get into this kind of business?”

He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “A guy like me?”

“You know, handsome, smart, socially adept, not some reclusive scientist out to cure the world of disease with some woman’s reproductive leftovers.”

Was there a compliment buried in there? It sounded like she was flirting with him, albeit, poorly with that reproductive leftovers comment, but her question seemed motivated more by genuine curiosity than any romantic overture.

“My dad is the doctor/scientist guy and CEO. He started the company. Our head researcher, Eileen, is the one who cures the world of disease with women’s reproductive leftovers. I take care of the fundraising and making this a profitable enterprise so that Dad can lecture and teach.”

“And have you?” Skye swirled the red wine in the large bowl glass.

“We’re getting there. I’d consider it a major victory if I could persuade insurance companies to cover the expense of collecting and storing cord blood for those insightful enough to want it stored. We’ve made enough headway so that Dad was able to semi-retire last year.”

“Well, that’s something. Congratulations.” Skye raised her wineglass in a toast, then tilted the glass and sniffed it before taking a sip.

Mark forced his gaze away from her full lips, moistened with heady rich wine, back to her eyes and the conversation. “I’ve still got a whole laundry list of things to achieve with this company.”

“But still, it must be nice to have accomplished your goal and know where you’re going.”

He heard the wistfulness in her tone—almost envy. “It is satisfying,” he admitted. He took a long drink of his beer, then moved it aside to make room for the meal the waitress brought. “How about you? What do you do?”

Skye wrinkled her nose and sighed. “I work for the
Detroit Chronicle
. Right now... I’ve been assigned an advice column, but one day soon I hope to be able to write articles that mean something.”

“How long have you been a journalist?”

Skye finished chewing her French fry and lifted the plate to him. “Less than a year. I’ve been your classic underachieving adult wandering the world in search of herself. But I think I’ve found my passion.”

Mark took a couple of fries and popped them in his mouth. “What’d you do before becoming a journalist?”

“After college, I moved to Colorado to ski and tend bar. I was a dog groomer until I got bit by a Yorkie.” She ticked past jobs off on her fingers. “A paper boy, grocery teller, waitress, clerk at Hudson’s before it became Macy’s... Oh, and I worked in a florist shop, before I became a flight attendant.”

“And you traveled all over the world helping people identify the nearest exits and fasten their seatbelts.”

Skye smiled. “For a while.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Truth be told, I’m not really much of a people person.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. Skye hardly seemed the shy type, and she had strong communication skills. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I just don’t like them on the whole. I mean, people are always complaining about something. Very few people are happy with their lives, and I hate the games people play. You know, for one lame reason or another they don’t say what they mean.” She took a big bite of her sandwich. Chewing quickly, Skye swallowed and took a drink of wine. “It’s too much work deciphering all the lies and double talk.”

Mark knew exactly what she meant. Skye would tell him straight up if she was upset or hurt—or if she’d met someone else. He wouldn’t have to worry about catching her in bed with another guy.

Mark stabbed a tomato wedge and lettuce and chewed. “Pretty odd choice of jobs, bartender and flight attendant—and now advice columnist, for a person who doesn’t enjoy human interaction.”

“The last wasn’t my choice. I got a journalism degree, not psychology. I’d rather spend time researching, interviewing, and writing articles that might actually uncover some important truth or enlighten people, rather than being a public therapist.” She picked up a fry. “But first I have to get my foot in the door.”

“And how’s that going?”

“The truth, or would you like me to concoct some glamorous lie?”

Ed had told him some of the truth, so Mark wondered how creative she could be. “Lie. Definitely the lie.”

Skye swirled a crisp golden fry in the little tub of ranch dressing. “Hm. My first assignment, many, many years ago, I was sent to cover Princess Di’s funeral—a tragic event.” Her expressive face crinkled in a deep frown. “I always thought that she must have lived a very odd life, being adored by millions of strangers. So many people felt they had a right to violate her privacy because she married the heir to the British throne—another reason to dislike people.” She shook a fry at him. “And then, naturally, there was the time I was sent to New York to cover the World Trade Center terrorist attack.”

“Naturally.” Even though these events had probably happened before she’d hit high school, her choice of topic was revealing. She could tell an entertaining story. Mark took a bite of the sandwich he’d neglected.

“I took the unique angle of researching its effect on the average New Yorker. Just the average Joe. The street vendors miles away. The ferryboat operators. The medical personnel across the five boroughs waiting in emergency rooms with refrigerators overflowing with units of blood for hordes of patients that never materialized. How did that feel? What was that like?”

Passionate topics with strong human-interest components for a person who didn’t like people. “Seems you’ve had some fascinating issues to cover. You must have acquired quite the following.”

“Yeah, my pen name is Tom Brokaw.” A playful smile tugged at Skye’s lips and her eyes twinkled. “Men go farther in every field.”

“So I hear.” He pursed his lips. “However...to be fair, I’ve heard that female models make more than their male counterparts.”

“Heard that, have you?”

He nodded.

And just how would a business/scientist guy know about models’ paychecks? He’d probably dated one. One? Heck, a guy as charming, smart, and good-looking as Mark probably had his pick of models.

“Really?” Skye raised one eyebrow and gave a superficial sniff. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I don’t pay much attention to the world of high fashion.”
Obviously, I’m hardly a clothes horse.
Skye lifted her wine glass and then looked at the TV in the corner. “Him again,” she murmured.

“Hm?”

Skye gestured toward the TV and the newly re-elected Senator. Handsome, fit, and well- dressed, Edward Hastings looked nothing like the interfering moralistic asshole Skye knew him to be. First Niki died and now Faith’s life was jeopardized all because Senator Edward Hastings couldn’t resist imposing his morals on everybody. If he’d just allowed and encouraged funding of embryonic stem cell therapy, there’d have been no need for Faith to get pregnant.

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