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She settled on, “What advice could you give our readers if they wanted to catch a man like you, Mr. Bishop?” Not that anyone ought to try.
“I’d tell them not to bother.”
Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”
His gaze was impersonal now, roaming over her in a way she didn’t like at all. In a bland, dispassionate voice he said, “No man should want any woman who makes it her life’s mission to catch a husband.”
Thrown off stride by that answer, Jenna was momentarily speechless. And then speech wasn’t necessary at all because the door to the penthouse opened and closed—again with a bang—and a gorgeous blonde stalked from the foyer into the living room.
The woman completely ignored Lauren and Jenna, and even Debra Lee, who’d come out of the kitchen area. She had the delicate, sculpted profile of an antique cameo, but there was nothing delicate about the way she approached Mark Bishop. She was breathing heavily, as though she’d just run a marathon.
A frown starting to form in his brow, Bishop straightened. “Shel? What’s the matter?”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Shelby Elaine Winston lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t move or react in any way, but his cheek turned bright red immediately.
“You despicable son of a bitch! Did you really think I would sign this?” Shelby raised her other hand and waved a sheaf of legal-size documents in Mark Bishop’s face.
“Be reasonable,” he said calmly. “A prenup is hardly out of line in a merger like this. Legally, it only makes sense to—”
She threw the documents on the desk beside him, where they scattered wildly. “I was wrong. I thought I could change you, but I should never have doubted my instincts. You really don’t know how to love or trust anyone, do you, Mark? I feel sorry for you, but I’m glad I got the wake-up call before it’s too late.”
“Shelby, if you’ll just think about it rationally—”
“I’ve done nothing but think about it the whole way over here from Ken’s office. Is that how you see our future? Is that what you think marriage between us will come to?”
Mark Bishop never looked in Jenna or Lauren’s direction. He kept his gaze focused on the angry woman in front of him. “I would hope not. But I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t know what the future holds, and neither do you.”
“Oh, but I do,” Shelby Elaine said in a tight voice. Lifting her hand, she twisted her engagement ring off her finger, then tossed it on the desk to join the papers. It bounced once, then rolled to a stop. “I see my future very clearly, Mark. And you’re not in it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“WELL,” LAUREN SAID as they waited for the elevator to take them back down to the lobby. “That was interesting.”
Jenna was still trying to catch her breath. “Interesting! You mean dreadful.”
After Shelby Winston had stormed out of the penthouse, Mark Bishop had turned to them calmly, apologized and said that the interview appeared to be over. Then he’d left the room. They’d gathered their things so quickly that anyone watching might have found their departure comical. Except that Jenna couldn’t find a single amusing thing about the whole sorry incident.
She stared up at the elevator numbers over the door, wishing it would hurry. She wanted to get back down to the sidewalk outside the hotel, where the last of the summer sun would warm her, make her feel less chilled.
Lauren glanced at her. “Oh, come on, Jen. Didn’t you learn anything from Jack about the rotten things men are capable of? Obviously Mr. Wonderful wanted to make sure Shelby Elaine couldn’t touch a single penny of his hard-earned money. If you ask me, she got out just in time.”
Jenna frowned. Something about that didn’t make sense. The elevator arrived, and all the way down she thought about it. Over the phone last night, Vic had prepped her pretty thoroughly about Mark Bishop, and Jenna, who had a mild interest in politics, had always kept current with what was happening in the wealthy and political Winston family.
Sure, a prenuptial agreement for a rich guy like Bishop might be a given, but he wasn’t exactly marrying Daisy Mae from Dogpatch. Her father was a senior state senator. The family history went back to Texas land grants deeded to her ancestors before the Alamo. Shelby herself was on the fast track as a campaign manager for Senator McDill from Nebraska. Why would money be the deal breaker?
Jenna said as much to Lauren as they strode through the lobby.
Lauren shrugged as she stepped through the revolving front door and didn’t reply until they were both on the sidewalk. “Maybe it was just the principle of the thing. Who cares? Except now we don’t have a story for the next issue.” She craned her neck to see if she could spot a taxi. “Vic’s gonna go ballistic when we come back empty-handed. I wonder if Bishop would be willing to be part of a new list—the South’s Ten Most Unromantic Males.”
Jenna shook her head. “I don’t see how you can be cavalier about what we just witnessed. It was so…unpleasant.”
Lauren stopped watching the traffic and turned to give her friend an incredulous look. “God, Jenna, don’t tell me you think there was any hope for that relationship! I mean, really, he’d buy her silk flowers? And why? Because you get better value. Yep, the blowup had to be a money thing. Men are always so generous before the wedding, aren’t they?” She spotted what appeared to be an available cab and waved her arm, but the driver whizzed right past them.
Jenna blew out a long, frustrated breath. It still didn’t make any sense. Mark Bishop struck her as a lot of things, some of them annoying, some of them downright infuriating, but not stingy. “It sounded as though he was willing to go to any expense for the wedding and honeymoon.”
“Why are you worrying about him? He looks like the kind of guy who knows how to land on his feet. And as good-looking as he is, he won’t have a difficult time finding someone to fill Shelby Winston’s shoes.”
“I just find it puzzling, that’s all.”
A cab squealed up to the curb at last. “Let’s get out of here,” Lauren said, clearly finished with the topic of Mark Bishop and his ex-fiancée. “I want to shop.”
Jenna backed away from the taxi. “I’m really not in the mood. It’s only a couple of blocks to the hotel. I think I’ll walk.”
“Spending money will put us both in a better mood.”
“You go on. It will give me time to think, let my nerves settle.”
“We’re in New York,” Lauren said. “You told me yourself that we blew all the frequent-flyer points the magazine has to come here. You can’t let this opportunity go to waste. Surely there’s something you want to see or do.”
“Maybe this evening.”
“Jen—” Lauren stared at her in complete exasperation now “—do you even remember how to have fun anymore?”
The question stung, but she wasn’t going to get into an argument. “I’ll see you later,” she said with a wave of her hand. Before Lauren could say another word, Jenna slipped into the thick, urgent river of people making their way home.
Back at their hotel, the phone was ringing as she unlocked the door. She kicked off her high heels and snatched up the receiver as she sank onto one of the beds. It was her father, calling from Atlanta.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he reassured her quickly. “I just wanted to see if you made it there safely—since you didn’t call me.”
Jenna stopped rubbing one sore calf muscle and switched to massaging her temple. After a day like today, she wasn’t prepared to handle a guilt trip for not checking in. “Everything went fine, Dad,” she said between gritted teeth. “I didn’t need to have a note pinned to my jacket, after all.”
Her father laughed, unfazed by her sarcasm. “You know I can’t help worrying.”
“I know.” She supposed there were a lot of things William McNab couldn’t help doing out of habit, but that didn’t mean she had to like them. She’d canceled her initial appointment with the real-estate agent, but now she made a mental note to call the woman again once she got back home. Time to start an earnest search for just the right place. “Are the boys there?”
“Chris took them out to the batting cages. He’s going to work on Petey’s swing. Fat lot of good it will do, just between me and you.”
Her oldest son was probably the worst Little League player in the history of the game. Her brothers and father had worked with him quite a bit over the summer, but he still “stunk to high heaven,” as his coach so charmingly put it.
“How did your interview go?” her father asked.
“Fine,” she replied. He didn’t need to know what a bizarre and miserable failure the whole experience had been. “We’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”
For some reason not clear to Jenna, her father was a huge fan of the weather channel, and in no time he was lecturing her about a storm watch in effect for the whole eastern seaboard starting around midnight. The flight home was bound to be bumpy. She should remember to take her antinausea medicine. Barely listening, Jenna began paging through the hotel’s guest-information book that sat on the nightstand.
“Are you listening to me, Jen?”
“Every word, Dad,” she said absently. She squinted down at the laminated page in front of her—the list of contents of the room’s honor bar. Good grief, I can see charging a fortune for macadamia nuts, but can two ounces of vodka really be worth twenty-six dollars? She rubbed her temple again as her father warned her about a cold front blowing down from Canada. Maybe twenty-six dollars was a bargain, if you were desperate enough.
“Go to bed early tonight,” her father advised. “You’ll manage better tomorrow if you get a good night’s rest.”
Irritated that even her bedtime didn’t seem to be her call anymore, Jenna took perverse enjoyment in saying, “This is my only night in New York. I was thinking of painting the town red.”
There was a long pause. Then her father said in a low, serious tone, “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Maybe not,” she said. Then, remembering her last conversation with Lauren, she added, “But I’d like to think I haven’t forgotten how to have fun.”
“You haven’t forgotten, honey. You just grew up. You’re a good girl. And whatever else Jack may have been, marriage to him taught you some valuable lessons about responsibility and the dangers of reckless disregard and—”
Advice about the weather and keeping late hours she could tolerate. Discussions about her failed marriage were something else entirely. “I have to go, Dad,” she interrupted him. “Kiss the boys for me. I love you.”
Feeling frustrated and edgy, she crossed to the bar and started to remove every tiny bottle in the fridge. She hadn’t concocted mixed drinks in years, but she was pretty sure she could manage it. But then she put everything back. Not because she’d changed her mind, but because if she really wanted to improve her mood, she stood a much better chance if she was to go out, be around other people. Feel the ambiance of New York City, a little excitement, a touch of the unknown.
Though her feet were killing her—she hardly ever wore heels these days—she slipped her shoes back on, applied fresh lipstick and ran her fingers through her hair to give it a less-structured look. On the walk back to the hotel she’d passed at least a dozen bars and restaurants. One of them was bound to offer what she needed.
She didn’t know when Lauren would be back, but one thing was certain. She wasn’t going to spend the evening checking the weather channel, eating stale nuts and washing them down with thimble-size bottles of liquor. It had been one hell of a day, and she deserved to let her hair down.
After scribbling a short note to Lauren, she dropped the small container of macadamia nuts into her jacket pocket and headed back out the door.
Forty-five minutes later found Jenna sitting at a small table in Willowby’s Tavern. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a great view of the avenue and a golden, fading sunset that had turned the windows of every office building into a pretty caramel color. She was on her third drink, some festive rum mixture that was more appropriate for a tiki bar in the South Pacific than a dim, crowded watering hole in Manhattan. She’d drunk more today than she had in six months. But at least she no longer felt as though someone was sawing on her nerve endings with a dull knife.
The bar was noisy and full of New Yorkers having a few drinks with friends after a long day at work. Jenna ignored them, concentrating, instead, on the FTW file in her lap, which she’d pulled out of her purse.
Undoubtably Vic would find her interview with Mark Bishop lacking in substance, and they still needed something to fill pages. Maybe one of these other guys on the Ten Most Eligible list would be a better candidate. Of course, none of them were engaged to be married, so they’d have to come up with some other hook.
She flipped through the pictures, reading bios and trying to imagine having better luck with one of these rich, powerful, attractive men. Not surprisingly, when she came upon it, she couldn’t help focusing on the picture of Mark Bishop in his sleek mahogany boardroom.
She tried to see what Lauren and Shelby Elaine had accused Mark Bishop of being—a man who didn’t know how to love or trust, and a cheapskate to boot.
Nothing she saw in the picture hinted at that. He was arrogant. Audacious. A snob, probably. Without a doubt he was the most unromantic man on the planet. But the photograph made him look isolated and lonely, too. Incapable of feeling? She just didn’t see it. And when she’d interviewed him, she’d hadn’t sensed it, either.
Growing up around men, Jenna felt she had a special insight into the male psyche. With the notable exception of her ex-husband, Jack, she was pretty good at figuring out what made them tick. Who they really were. What they really wanted out of life.
Mark Bishop could antagonize. Seduce. Confuse. But she’d seen flashes of humor and kindness in him. Most of all, he had a kind of genius for making a person believe they were the sole, fascinating center of his attention. Something in the eyes. A certain lift of the mouth that made you want to… She shook her head and had to smile at her foolishness.
He was just so different from the men in her tiny, civilized universe, that was all. Or maybe it was the liquor she’d consumed on an empty stomach. It might be time to break out the macadamia nuts.
She became aware of a presence at her shoulder. She looked up to find an attractive blond man gazing down at her. His eyebrows lifted in encouragement and his mouth sketched a smile, revealing that the drink in his hand wasn’t his first.
He indicated the empty chair across the table from her. “Is this seat taken?”
“Well, I…” Jenna stopped. She recognized that predatory look. This man had more than conversation in mind. It might be fun to practice her flirting skills, which were pretty rusty, but she didn’t want to have to eventually fend off a drunken advance. Especially since her own mind wasn’t all that sharp right now, either.
You’re a good girl.
Yes. And a boring one.
Do you even remember how to have fun?
No, but I’m willing to relearn.
But starting now? Starting with…him?
Lauren and her father had helped her to realize the depth of the rut she’d been living in for so long. The truth was, her level of boredom with her life was rising above her level of fear. But that realization couldn’t keep a cold, clammy mist of insecurity from settling over her.
The guy was waiting for her answer, his hand on the back of her chair as he leaned close. She returned his smile, trying to recall male/female banter that had been in mothballs for too many years. “Actually—”
Surprise jolted into her at the warm touch of a hand on her shoulder. At first she thought it was the blond man, but quickly saw that it wasn’t. Surprise turned to shock as Mark Bishop edged past her would-be companion and slid into the chair opposite her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said to Jenna. “Did you order my usual?”
He sent the other man a friendly glance of regret. Without a word the man drifted away and back into the crush at the bar.
Jenna blinked at Mark as he settled in. She’d just been looking at his picture, and now he was here. She felt as though she’d conjured him up.
He arched a dark brow at her. “What’s the matter?”
“What are you doing here?”
His gaze slid away from hers momentarily, back to the blond man at the bar, who had already linked up with another woman. “From the looks of it, saving you from making a big mistake.”
His answer annoyed her. Jenna took a big swallow of her drink to get her wits back. The cute little umbrella got in the way and almost took out her eye. She tossed the wretched thing on the table as the alcohol swirled in her system. “I don’t need saving. I was looking for a little conversation, and now you’ve spoiled everything.”
“Really?” he said. He frowned absently out the window as though something on the street displeased him. “I seem to be very adept at spoiling things today.”
His tone sounded raw. There was such regret carved in his profile that she found her annoyance lessening somewhat.
“How did you find me?”
“I wasn’t actually looking for you. I took a walk to clear my head.” He nodded at her red suit. “That color’s hard to miss, and when I saw you in the window, I thought I’d come in. Where’s your partner? Why are you drinking alone?”
“Lauren’s out enjoying New York. And I didn’t think I was going to be drinking alone for very long.”
He gave her a strange look, and she knew she’d surprised him. Good. The last thing she wanted right now was for one more person to think they knew everything there was to know about dull Jenna McNab Rawlins.
Mark jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Do you want me to call him back?”
“No.”
“Do you mind if I stay awhile?”
She should have told him to go. He confused her. Her reaction to him confused her. If she ever had a hope of stepping back into the real world and facing the prospect of dating again, Mark Bishop was the last man she should consider practicing her feminine charms on.
Instead, ignoring the sudden racing of her heart, Jenna found herself shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s a public place.”
He laughed lightly as he motioned at a passing waiter. “That’s a pretty tepid reception. Where’s all that warm hospitality Southerners are supposed to be so famous for?”
“We’re not in the South.”
His humor faded. “No,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “We definitely are not. Today, I feel like I’ve landed on a completely different planet.”
Jenna would never have thought a voice could sound so tense and utterly devoid of hope. She observed him for a long, quiet moment while the waiter took his order. Maybe he really wasn’t the rat Lauren and Shelby Winston claimed him to be.
She watched him play with the napkin the waiter had left. He had beautiful hands. When the silence between them stretched too thin, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and Miss Winston. Can you salvage your relationship, do you think?”
His manner was brusque, but not ungracious. “No. It’s over between us.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man to give up easily.”
He looked at her. His features were full of fatigue. “Some things just aren’t salvageable.”
“I’m sure…” She stopped, unable to think of anything inspiring to say. He was right. Some things couldn’t be fixed. But she felt the need to say something. She thought of all the lectures she’d endured from her family.
“If you’re made of the right material, a hard fall is bound to result in a high bounce,” she said at last.
His mouth lifted. “Sage advice from your last fortune cookie?”
Her senses swam for a moment, but she knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. She would need to watch out for that smile of his. It was lethal. She shook her head. “No. Unsolicited wisdom from my father after my divorce. And I wasn’t any more receptive to it than you are. Sorry. Force of habit, I guess. In my house, someone’s always getting positive reinforcement. I’m either giving it to my boys or getting it from my father and brothers.”
“Sounds like an interesting family.”
“Sometimes ‘interesting’ is just a polite word for ‘peculiar.’”
“Tell me about them,” he said, clearly ready to move the conversation elsewhere.
She settled her chin on her hand. The discomfort of talking about his breakup with Shelby had passed. God, he was beautiful to look at. Who looked this way outside of Hollywood film actors?
She drew a deep breath. “I have two wonderful sons. Six and seven. I live with my father in Atlanta. I have two older brothers.” She frowned. “I can’t remember how old they are, but they still think of me as their kid sister.” Somehow she’d drained her drink, and now she lifted the glass in the air. “If you want anything deeper than that, you’ll have to buy me another Rum Blaster, because without benefit of liquor, I don’t find my life remotely worth discussing.”
He pinned her with a shrewd glance. “How many of those have you had?”
“This makes three. But they’re girlie drinks, so you really can’t baste the tooze.” She blinked in confusion. “I mean, taste the booze. Gosh, I guess it’s true what they say—the tongue’s the first thing that dissolves in alcohol. Or was that dignity?”
“Have you had any dinner?”
“No.” A colorful row of pineapple, oranges and cherries lay forlornly on a long toothpick in her glass. She pulled them off with her teeth and munched happily for a moment. “Unless you count this fruit.”
“My turn to give advice. Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea.”
“I’ll write that down,” she said in mock seriousness, patting herself as though looking for a pencil. Her hand stumbled across the bulge in her jacket pocket. “Oh wait, I do have dinner!” She pulled out the small jar of macadamia nuts, tilting it toward him. “Want some?”
“I was thinking of something a little more substantial.”
“They’re awfully expensive, you know? The fact that I’m willing to share them with you means that you must be very, very special.”
Silence. Then he sent her another one of those slow, confusing, blinding smiles. “That’s nice to know,” he said softly.
He was looking at her intently, filling her with an acute and perfect pleasure. How wonderful, she thought, to have a man look at you the way Mark Bishop was. She knew with a helpless, hopeless shudder that she no longer cared what Shelby or Lauren or anyone thought about him.
“Jenna—” her name on his lips was the most seductive sound she’d ever heard “—would you have dinner with me? A real dinner?”
“I suppose,” she said. “I don’t want to throw up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a short laugh. He rose, deposited a few bills on the table and held out one hand. “Come on, I know just the place.”
She seesawed up to her feet, a little surprised at how unsteady she felt. Was it the rum or her damned heels or the effect of standing this close to Mark Bishop? With one hand on her elbow, he led her out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
They walked in silence, side by side. Jenna clutched her file folder to her chest as if it was the most valuable possession she owned.
Sunset was over, but night had yet to claim the streets completely. The air was soft, full of the promise of rain and a dozen different city scents. They passed bookshops and travel agencies and restaurants too numerous to count. Honky-tonk music drifted out to them from a cowboy bar, beckoning the sinful.
Jenna drew in a deep lungful of air. “I love this time of day, don’t you? All the anxiety and tension you’ve struggled with all day suddenly seem rounded out and smoothed over.”
“Yes,” he said. “It does seem to put all the complexities of the day into perspective.”