Overseas (11 page)

“No, you did your best. It’s no big deal, I guess. It’ll blow over. Just a few days of crap from my colleagues, but I can handle that. And thank you,” I added. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Julian, you saved me from a serious beating. Maybe worse. And you set yourself up for a ton of unwanted public attention. So I’m the one who should be making things up to you.”

“Christ, Kate!” he burst out. “As if
that
matters! My God! What if I hadn’t been there last night?”

I returned my gaze to my lap and didn’t answer.

We turned right on Seventy-ninth Street and ran off the avenues to my apartment building. “Well,” I said, “this is me.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

The driver got out and held my door open.

“Um, would you like to come in? I mean, not
come in
, come in,” I added quickly. “Just to talk.”

A smile grew across his face. “Yes, I’d like that,” he said, and followed me out of the car. He turned to the driver and said a few low words; the man nodded and got back in.

“What did you tell him?” I demanded. “Because you’re not staying over, you know. I’m not
that
easy.”

“Of course not.” He looked shocked. “He’s just going to park down the street.”

“Good, then. Now I warn you,” I said, as he opened the lobby door for me, “my roommate is a little… well, you’ll see what I mean. If she’s home. Which she’s probably not. Hi, Joey.”

Joey was on the house phone; his eyebrows went up into his hairline when he saw us. “Good night, Kate,” he mouthed meaningfully, as we walked past the desk.

I pressed the elevator call button. The doors opened at once and we stepped inside. “Which floor?” asked Julian.

“Seven.”

He reached forward and pressed the button. “So,” he observed, as the doors closed, “Joey looked surprised.”

“I don’t exactly bring home a lot of men.”

“Really?”

“None, in fact,” I admitted. “I kind of went off dating after college.”

“Oh. And why was that?”

“Too many… what was that word you used?
Rotters
.”

The doors opened and I led him out of the elevator and down the hall to my apartment door. “We’ll see if Brooke is in,” I said darkly, as I fit my key into the door and opened it. “Sorry. It’s not exactly what you’re used to.”

“It’s fine,” he said.

“You haven’t even looked inside.”

“Well, go on in, then,” he urged. “I’m right behind you.”

I crossed the threshold, holding my breath, hoping Brooke was running true to form. “Brooke?” I called out. No answer. Thank God.

“She’s still out,” I told Julian, turning on the entrance lamp. “That little treat will have to wait until later. So, this is it. Typical Manhattan bachelorette pad. Living room, kitchen area, two bedrooms down the hall. Brooke has the master; it’s her apartment. Her parents’ apartment, I mean. They bought it as her graduation present. I pay rent to her.”

He smiled tolerantly at my babbling and walked into the living room, filling the space with his dignity. “And how did you find such a cozy arrangement?”

“Craigslist. Sit down. Can I get you something? Water? Coffee? I have one of those French press thingies; it makes a pretty good cup.”

“Coffee, then. But let me help you,” he said, and followed me into the tiny kitchen area.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I protested. The sink was still full of Brooke’s breakfast dishes. Eggs, from the look of the pan. She hadn’t even soaked it, and the remains had dried into an enamel-like hardness. “Sorry about the mess,” I said, turning on the water and filling the sink. “I leave way before my roommate does, and I never know what’s going to greet me when I come in.”

“Darling,” he said, “you don’t need to apologize for everything.”

“Do I? Apologize?” My ears tingled with delight.
Darling
again.

“You do. Now where’s this coffee press of yours?”

“Right here,” I said, reaching for it.

“No, I’ll get it. Just tell me what to do.”

He made the coffee and I did the dishes, laughing and getting in each other’s way, I in my gown and he in his tuxedo, like some sort of bizarre domestic comedy, and somehow the stiffness between us dissolved into familiarity. “So talk,” I said, when we were finally on the sofa, coffee cups in hand. I slipped off my shoes and tucked my feet under my dress.

“About what?” he asked, taking a cautious drink of the coffee. An expression of surprised pleasure crossed his face.

“You see? It’s not bad,” I said proudly. “A housewarming gift from my brother.”

“Tell me about your brother.”

“Kyle? Well, he lives back in Wisconsin. He’s still in college, senior year. He’s a great guy. Very into baseball. He’s majoring in accounting.”

“You can read
accounting
here?” He laughed.

“Sure you can. We like to take the arts out of liberal arts, here in America.”

“Are you close? You and your brother?”

I thought about that for a second. “About average. I mean, I don’t spill my guts to him, but I know he’d be there if I needed him. We e-mail a lot. He keeps hoping I’ll run into some Yankees hotshot and get an autograph for him.”

He smiled, fingered his coffee cup. “And your parents?”

“The usual.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say, really. They’re just parents. Dad’s in insurance. Mom used to be a teacher. She still subs sometimes, during the cold and flu season, when they’re short.” I took a drink of coffee. “She likes to read and garden. Pretty typical stuff.”

“You’re fortunate.”

“What about your parents? What were they like?”

“My parents.” He looked at me sideways and lifted the cup to his mouth. “I’m not sure I can explain this properly.”

“Secret agents, huh? You’re the hidden love child of Bond and Moneypenny?”

He choked on his coffee. “Bloody hell. Was it that obvious?”

“I took a DNA sample. Look,” I said, setting down my coffee cup with an abrupt thrust. “Do you mind if I change?”

“I do,” he told me solemnly. “I rather like that frock. But go on. I imagine it’s rather more pleasure for me to watch than for you to wear.”

“Something like that. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

I fled down the short hallway to my bedroom. I wanted to change, it was true. The dress wasn’t exactly comfortable. But the more pressing imperative was that, after all the champagne and excitement, my bladder was about to explode. I twisted myself into a pretzel, unzipping my dress, and slipped on a bra and my usual evening uniform of tank top and yoga pants and cardigan; then I went to the bathroom and started in surprise at the reflection in the mirror. I looked possessed. My skin glowed with color; my drab gray eyes burned almost silver. I pulled out the pins from my hair and shook it free, and then found an elastic to twist the waving strands out of my face.

He was standing up when I came back, looking at the photographs on the windowsill. “That’s me with my best friends,” I said. “Michelle and Samantha. We went through Europe the summer after college. I think that was Paris.”

“Yes, Paris,” he said softly. He turned around and looked at me. “Now I feel rather ridiculous,” he complained.

“You can loosen your tie,” I pointed out.

“I wasn’t brought up to loosen my tie,” he said, but he untied the bow anyway and released the top button of his shirt, drawing apart the pointed triangles of his dress collar. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out an envelope. “For you.”

“What’s this?”

“I arrived just before the silent auction closed,” he said. “I felt I owed you something more than a simple apology, for my behavior last Christmas.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” I eyed the envelope suspiciously. “And it had better not be that thing with Brian Williams, either, because I don’t do live TV.”

He laughed. “It’s not. Open it.”

I took it from him and ran my finger under the flap. “Oh no,” I said, feeling the blood drain downward from my face. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not, repeat
not
, going to give me a freaking
airplane
share
!”

“I already have.”

“Julian, the bid was… I don’t even want to say it! I mean, way, way too much.”

“It was a charitable donation,” he said.

“That’s not the point. You can’t just
give
me stuff like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not that kind of girl,” I bit out, thrusting the thing back in his hands.

He flinched in horror. “I didn’t mean it like
that
! I’m not expecting…”

“No, it’s not that. I know you’re not… that it’s not… But you see,” I tried to explain, past the heat building once more under the skin of my face, “it’s kind of the elephant in the room, isn’t it?”

“Elephant?”

“Oh, please. Who you
are
, Julian. Your… um… your…” I looked down at my fingers, picking anxiously at one another.
Your money. The m-word.
Just say it.
But instead I only sighed: “Let’s sit down. We might as well get this over with.”

“Get
what
over with?”

“This.” I sank into the sofa, girding myself. “Ground rule one: you are not allowed to buy me expensive gifts.”

“Define expensive.” He dropped down next to me and folded his arms.

“Well,” I said, “it’s kind of like pornography. You know it when you see it. And
this
is definitely too expensive. Way, way,
way
.” I peered at his face, which had settled into a pensive frown. “Look, flowers are nice. I love dark chocolate. Maybe even the day spa. But nothing I couldn’t afford to buy myself. Nothing I couldn’t reciprocate.”

“But it’s
useful
,” he protested, holding up the envelope.

“Julian, be serious. I mean, don’t you worry…”

“What?” he pressed.

“That I’m just a gold digger.”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Darling,” he said, “believe me, I know the difference. I’ve had a bloody sign hanging around my neck from the time I was born.”

“Well, but maybe I
am
a gold digger.” I drew up my legs against my chest. “Because it’s part of who you are. Don’t you see? I have to prove to
myself
that it isn’t true, that I don’t care about your millions. Or billions. Whatever it is. Don’t tell me!” I held up one hand. “I don’t want to know. Look, how do I explain this? I never wanted to be Cinderella. Never wanted to be
that
girl, the one looking for a rich guy to drape her with diamonds. I always wanted to make it on my own, and it scares me that… that from the moment I met you, I felt this… this connection. And I didn’t even
know
you. So maybe it
is
the money. Maybe I really
am
that girl. Charlie said something today…”

“Charlie,” he said crossly.

“No, but he made me think. Because obviously we can’t separate you—Julian—from what you are. You’re a very successful man, and I’m a woman, and maybe I’m just
programmed
to respond to that. Millions of years of evolution.”

He lifted one of his long angled eyebrows. “And that’s all? There’s nothing else to like about me?”

“No! No, of course not. You’re…” I stopped, feeling the blush rise up. “Well, I’m not going to sit here and list it all. But yes. I mean, you don’t
lack for attractive qualities. Obviously.” A pause. “You’re gentlemanly, for example. I like that a lot.”

“Thank you.” He seemed amused.

“Or maybe it’s your looks, which makes me even more shallow.”

“Kate.” He sighed, reached out his hand to touch my fingers. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Well, I have a tendency to do that.”

“Then let me apply a little logic for you. By the very nature of your job, you’re in daily contact with any number of wealthy men. One or two of them have surely worked up the courage to ask you out by now. Am I right?”

“One or two,” I admitted.

“And did you accept any of them?”

“No.”

“Paul Banner, for example. He must be worth a fair amount.”

“Oh,
blech
!”

“You see? So please allow me to flatter myself that this sweet blush of yours,” he said, brushing my cheek with his finger, “might perhaps be due to some genuine feeling for me. Which I shall do my best to deserve.” He paused. “Now, that’s a rather cynical expression crossing your face just now. Don’t you trust me?”

“Well, no. I really don’t know what’s going on here, to be honest. Why you disappeared on me, and why you’re back. And then why you even began with me at all. You should be out partying with models and actresses, not drinking coffee with nerdy investment bankers.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Do you really think so little of me? Of yourself?”

“No. I know my own worth. But it’s not the kind of thing that inspires instant attraction, is it? Especially to a man who’s spoiled for choice.”

He lifted the coffee cup to his lips, covering a smile. “Spoiled for choice, am I?”

“Oh, please. You’re like catnip, Julian.”

A caustic laugh. “Not if one keeps clear of the cats.”

“Well, maybe I’m one of them. How would you know?”

He flashed me a teasing under-look from across the rim of his cup. “Perhaps I’ve been studying up. Perhaps I know all about you.”

My head snapped up. “
What?
Do you?”

The amusement vanished. He regarded me steadily, soberly, faint lines gathering about the corners of his eyes. This time I recognized it, that comprehensive gaze of his: picking apart, one by one, the seams that held me together. “I have,” he said, setting down the cup, “been guilty, on rare occasion, of placing myself where I hoped I might perhaps catch a glimpse of you.”

“Like last night?”

“A perfect evening for a run; I thought you might feel the same. I never meant to follow you, but it was growing dark…” He glanced away. “I was concerned for you.”

I watched him for a moment, the side of his face visible in the lamplight: the clean beauty of it, drawn in effortless strokes by some unseen expert hand; the faint blush still staining the skin of his cheek, exactly as I remembered. “I just can’t figure you out,” I said at last.