it was tough to find the time to date, not that I never did. But you’re getting a little personal here. We’re just business.”
“According to you. Now humor me—are you seeing someone?”
Cara could almost hear the clock ticking as she decided how to answer. If she said no, she’d sound honest, though pathetic. Everyone else at Saperstein, Underwood—including Morgan—appeared to have a life. This reality was hitting hard, fast and painfully.
If she said yes, she’d be flirting with an indisputable rule regarding attracting the male of the species: The more unavailable you are, the more they want you.
She didn’t want Morgan wanting her. At least, if she was inclined to be sane, she didn’t.
The theme song from Jeopardy kicked in as she weighed her options.
“Cara?”
“Yes,” she said in a rush. “Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
Great, now she was having an affair with a ticked-off bride who was about to buy her a butt-ugly dress. She fought the impulse to bury her face in her hands and howl.
“Would you mind giving me a minute?” she asked instead. “I’ll meet you back in the conference room.”
After Morgan left, Cara let fly an accurate self-affirmation. “I am so totally losing my mind.”
A T ELEVEN THAT NIGHT , Mark sat at a windowside table in a Royal Oak martini bar with his friend Trey, Trey’s wife, Kathy, and some girl named Mimi, whom Trey had set him up with.
“She’s a lot of fun,” Trey had said. If “fun” included disgorging every detail of one’s life from birth forward in an endless monologue, yeah, she was a regular riot. One thing was certain: Her parents had foreseen her favorite topic when they’d named her Mimi.
Mark had already figured out how to time his nods so it would appear to Mimi that he was paying some attention…if she cared. While she talked and Trey and Kathy flirted with each other in a wonderfully unmarried way, he gazed out the front window to the sidewalk café beyond and rehashed the day’s events.
Breakfast with his mom had been kind of disturbing, but necessary. She’d given him the journal her therapist had told her to write both as language practice and as a means of coping with her body’s betrayal. It had felt so intrusive, paging through her thoughts. This was the woman who’d given birth to him. But she’d insisted, and between bites of apple pancake, he’d read.
He could understand her rage, her frustration, how far she’d come since her stroke, and how far she had yet to go. By the time he’d finished the journal, Mark knew that if his father didn’t reappear damn soon and start being supportive, Mark was going to fly to Palm Beach and haul his ass back.
Mimi settled her hand over Mark’s left wrist, returning him to the present. “And I made varsity field hockey in ninth grade, which no one expected.”
“That’s great,” he said, raising his gin and olive in a sketchy toast before taking a much needed drink.
“Isn’t it? And then in my senior year…”
Mark crossed Trey off the list of pals he’d listen to when it came to women. Then he let his mind drift to his new place of work.
From a business standpoint, the day had been a relative success. Cara and Nicole had immediately hit it off, which was both not surprising and not necessarily a good thing. Not surprising because the two of them were very much alike, and not a good thing because he and Nicole had been briefly engaged before they’d wised up. He knew this would bug the hell out of Cara when she found out, which she would, since sooner or later, Nicole would have to come to Detroit for a meeting. Nicole liked to talk, but not as much as chatty Mimi.
“And then I pledged Delta Theta because the sorority house was so much nicer than my dorm room,” she was saying as she shook her bouncy black curls.
Mark nodded and smiled. At least they were up to her freshman year in college. Thank God she was young; they couldn’t have more than four years to
“According to you. Now humor me—are you seeing someone?”
Cara could almost hear the clock ticking as she decided how to answer. If she said no, she’d sound honest, though pathetic. Everyone else at Saperstein, Underwood—including Morgan—appeared to have a life. This reality was hitting hard, fast and painfully.
If she said yes, she’d be flirting with an indisputable rule regarding attracting the male of the species: The more unavailable you are, the more they want you.
She didn’t want Morgan wanting her. At least, if she was inclined to be sane, she didn’t.
The theme song from Jeopardy kicked in as she weighed her options.
“Cara?”
“Yes,” she said in a rush. “Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
Great, now she was having an affair with a ticked-off bride who was about to buy her a butt-ugly dress. She fought the impulse to bury her face in her hands and howl.
“Would you mind giving me a minute?” she asked instead. “I’ll meet you back in the conference room.”
After Morgan left, Cara let fly an accurate self-affirmation. “I am so totally losing my mind.”
A T ELEVEN THAT NIGHT , Mark sat at a windowside table in a Royal Oak martini bar with his friend Trey, Trey’s wife, Kathy, and some girl named Mimi, whom Trey had set him up with.
“She’s a lot of fun,” Trey had said. If “fun” included disgorging every detail of one’s life from birth forward in an endless monologue, yeah, she was a regular riot. One thing was certain: Her parents had foreseen her favorite topic when they’d named her Mimi.
Mark had already figured out how to time his nods so it would appear to Mimi that he was paying some attention…if she cared. While she talked and Trey and Kathy flirted with each other in a wonderfully unmarried way, he gazed out the front window to the sidewalk café beyond and rehashed the day’s events.
Breakfast with his mom had been kind of disturbing, but necessary. She’d given him the journal her therapist had told her to write both as language practice and as a means of coping with her body’s betrayal. It had felt so intrusive, paging through her thoughts. This was the woman who’d given birth to him. But she’d insisted, and between bites of apple pancake, he’d read.
He could understand her rage, her frustration, how far she’d come since her stroke, and how far she had yet to go. By the time he’d finished the journal, Mark knew that if his father didn’t reappear damn soon and start being supportive, Mark was going to fly to Palm Beach and haul his ass back.
Mimi settled her hand over Mark’s left wrist, returning him to the present. “And I made varsity field hockey in ninth grade, which no one expected.”
“That’s great,” he said, raising his gin and olive in a sketchy toast before taking a much needed drink.
“Isn’t it? And then in my senior year…”
Mark crossed Trey off the list of pals he’d listen to when it came to women. Then he let his mind drift to his new place of work.
From a business standpoint, the day had been a relative success. Cara and Nicole had immediately hit it off, which was both not surprising and not necessarily a good thing. Not surprising because the two of them were very much alike, and not a good thing because he and Nicole had been briefly engaged before they’d wised up. He knew this would bug the hell out of Cara when she found out, which she would, since sooner or later, Nicole would have to come to Detroit for a meeting. Nicole liked to talk, but not as much as chatty Mimi.
“And then I pledged Delta Theta because the sorority house was so much nicer than my dorm room,” she was saying as she shook her bouncy black curls.
Mark nodded and smiled. At least they were up to her freshman year in college. Thank God she was young; they couldn’t have more than four years to
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