Pursued by the Playboy (10 page)

“Thank you.  I won’t get in your way, I promise.”  She flagged down their waiter for the check.  “What about Jennifer…she won’t mind?”

“Jennifer?  Please, that was so last week.  This week it’s Lily.”  He plucked the bill from her hand.  “You can pick up the tab when you come work for me and start earning some real money.”

She laughed.  “I’m happy to consult, Jake.  Anytime except when I’m on deadline.”

Chapter
10

The following morning Kate sat at the dining room table, laptop and notes spread out in front of her.  At the opposite end of the table, Jake
tapped away on his own laptop
and fielded a
seemingly endless stream of
business calls. 
Eventually, he tossed his headphones atop a pile of contracts and announced he was taking a break. 

“You want some coffee?”

Kate waved off his offer and continued working.  Vaguely, she registered his return with a steaming mug and
news
paper
in hand
.  
For the next few minutes, t
heir companionable silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of a turning
page.

Abruptly, Jake set down his mug.  “What was the name of that
guy
you’re seeing?”

“Marc DiStefano.  Why?”

“He made the society page.”

Kate saved the document she was working on.  “Let me see.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”  He folded the paper and tucked it beneath the sports section. 

That got her attention.  “Why not?”

Jake hesitated.  “How serious are you about him, anyway?”

“Why do you ask?”

“If you don’t want to tell me, fine.”  He opened the travel section.   “I’m not prying.”

Kate blew out a frustrated breath and got up.  “Look, I’m sorry.  You know me.  I don’t do relationships.”  Even as she repeated the familiar sentiment, she wondered if it still held true. 

Jake apparently picked up on the uncertainty in her tone.  “So you and this DiStefano person are—what?  Casual acquaintances?  Sleeping together, but not exclusively?”

She made a grab for the paper but Jake snatched it up and backed away from the table.  She lunged forward, missing her target as he danced out of range.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she said.

“I’ll give it to you after you answer the question.”

That effectively stopped her.  “Fine, be that way.”  With studied indifference, she returned to her laptop.   

He contemplated her for a moment, then
came around the table to si
t down next to her.  “I don’t want you to get hurt
, Kate
.”

She eyed him warily, all amusement gone.  “What was in the paper?”

He hesitated a moment longer, then extended it to her.  She flipped
through it quickly until she found what she was looking for
. 

There, just above the central fold, was a black and white photograph of Marc resplendent in evening attire, his arm around a stunning raven-haired beauty.  The caption read
:
P
rominent Main Line surgeon
Dr. Marc DiStefano (pictured here, with companion)
was among the guests at
the
Mann
Center
’s 75th Gala Celebration of Music in the Park.  The event, which raised money to benefit inner-city youth, was followed by a concert featuring p
erformances by the world-renown
ed
Philadelphia
Orchestra, as well as former Secretary of State
Condoleezza
Rice on piano, and Queen of Soul Aretha Franklin belting out
signature
hits including
her trademark
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
 

Kate carefully refolded the paper and handed it back to Jake.   Despite the tightness in her throat, she managed to make her voice sound almost normal.  “Looks like we missed the social event of the summer.” 

“Could have been someone he works with,” Jake ventured.

“Could have been,” Kate agreed, turning back to her computer screen.

“Or something he arranged before you even met.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You could ask him about it.”

“Or you could leave it alone and let me get back to work.”

Jake raised an eyebrow at her sharp tone.  “Sorry.” 

She closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead.  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Jake, but you don’t need to make excuses for him.  I knew exactly the type of man he was from the start.  I grew up with the prototype for a father.  Well, maybe not the same class—we’re talking Guinness to Dom Perignon.  But believe me, I have no illusions.”

“Okay, then.”  He pushed back his chair and rose.  “I’ll leave you to work.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee, tea?  Chocolate?”

“Some peace and quiet would be nice.”

“Got it.  Peace and quiet coming right up.”  He backed away
, then turned and said, “I’ve got a meeting this afternoon, but I’ll be back in a few hours.  You’ll be okay on your own?”
 

“Go.  I’ll see you later.” 

She
waited for the sound of the door closing, then sagged back in her chair. 
Was it
really only three weeks since she had met Marc?  Three wonderful, blissful weeks.  In the grand scheme of things, hardly any time at all.  So what was there to be upset about?  Nothing tragic had happened.  No promises had been exchanged.  There hadn’t even been enough time for expectations to be raised. 

Then why did she feel such a terrible sense of betrayal?   As if something precious, something she hadn’t even been aware of wanting, had somehow slipped from her grasp.  It was completely and utterly illogical.  She’d gone into this affair with eyes wide open.  All those glamour shots she’d seen online of Marc with different women, like a Hugh Heffner wet-dream, screamed loud and clear:  this was not a man predisposed to fidelity.  

Not that she was necessarily looking for anything long-term, she reminded herself.  With her parents’ less-than-sterling example of what marriage entailed, she had always shied away from any entanglements.  The last thing she wanted or needed was to end up like her mother,
completely dependent on
a man
who didn’t give a
damn about her well-being,
her entire identity subsum
ed by the needs of someone
who
had apparently
never reciprocated her feelings
.   It was enough for Kate to have witnessed her parents’
self-perpetuating cy
cle of hostility and bitterness,
the
ir
never-ending
volley of verbal pot-shots fired over
a
widening marital divide
, to know that she wanted something different for herself.  She was strong, clever, and
hoped to have
a brilliant career ahead of her.  She didn’t need a man to complete her, even if he was gorgeous and smart and so sexy he could melt her with just a look.  

It took some time, but she was finally able to concentrate on the grant application.  Not her best effort, perhaps—more
regurgitation and embellishment of ideas
from previous papers and proposals—but at this point she felt too numb and exhausted to care.  She’d take a couple days off from the lab,
she decided.  F
inish
the
requisite paperwork at Jake’s house
.  T
hen try to sort out the rest of her life. 

###

Early that evening
, Kate’s cell phone rang.  She glanced at the number and let it go through to voicemail.  She wasn’t in the mood to talk to Marc.   It rang again just as Jake entered the room to see what she wanted for dinner.  When she made no move to pick it up, he
prodded
, “Aren’t you going to answer?”

“I’m busy.”

“Then why don’t you turn the ringer off?”

She blew out a frustrated breath.  “I would, if I could figure out how.  Too many damn buttons and I don’t know what I did with the manual.”

“Oh for God’s sake, you have a Ph.D. and you can’t figure out how to use your own cell phone?”  Jake grabbed it off the table.  As he scrolled through the menu options, it rang again in his hand.  He raised an eyebrow, glanced up at Kate, and answered.  “Hello?”

Kate shook her head frantically, making cutting motions across her neck.

Jake ignored her.  “No, you have the right number.”  He paused, listening.  “She can’t come to the phone right now.  She’s sleeping….No, not sick exactly.
  Just a rough few days.
”  Again a pause.   “Actually, she’s not at home.  She’s staying with me for a bit….Jake Stein….Yes, that’s right.  Can I give her a message?”

Kate waited impatiently for him to hang up.  “What did he want?”

Jake took his time reprogramming the ring tone.  “He sounded concerned.  Maybe you should talk with him.”

She shoved back her chair and stood up.  “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

He handed her the phone.  “Yours, as always.”   For a few moments, he studied her silently, then sighed.  “Come on, let’s eat.  I’ve got Thai, Chinese, and Indian on speed dial.  What are you in the mood for?”

Chapter 1
1

It took Marc four days to run her to ground.  Four seemingly interminable days of swinging between confusion, anger, concern, and frustration.  It was as if Kate had completely disappeared, leaving behind only paths that led to dead ends.  Her home answering machine and eventually her cell phone informed him that her mailbox was full and advised him to call later.  He tried texting and then emailing her, but got no response.  On Tuesday he dropped by her work,
only
to find that Mahesh,
along with two other
graduate student
s he hadn’t met before, were working
in the laboratory
on their own
. 

“She should be back Thursday,” Mahesh told him.

Marc nodded his thanks and returned to the hospital to round. 

He wasn’t sure what to think.  Kate had been edgy the last few times he had seen her, something he attributed to her parents’ separation and the strain that imposed on her as their daughter.  He didn’t know the details of her relationship with them, but Kate’s obvious tension whenever she mentioned her family—and in particular, her mother’s recent move to stay at Kate’s apartment—made it clear even to the least intuitive that these were not smooth waters.  Perhaps that even accounted for Kate’s own wariness in entering into a relationship with him.

What it didn’t explain was what she was doing at Jake Stein’s house.  Nor why she was suddenly blowing so cold that if he wasn’t careful he’d get frostbite.  She had said that she considered Jake family, had all but denied any romantic relationship there.  But that didn’t mean Jake viewed it the same way.  There had been a warning in the man’s tone when he had deflected Marc’s questions by phone.  Was it just protectiveness or outright hostility toward a potential rival?  

On the off-chance that Jake hadn’t been completely forthcoming, Marc stopped by Kate’s apartment on the way home mid-week.  The lobby door, which should have locked to prevent entrance by anyone other than the building residents or guests who were buzzed in through the intercom, was propped open by a rolled up newspaper circular.  Marc gritted his teeth over the lax security, and closed the door firmly behind him. 

At his knock, an unfamiliar female voice called out, “Who is it?”

He responded, then waited as various locks and bolts clicked open on the other side.  The door swung open just enough to reveal a middle aged woman with a gray-shot bob attired in a style that he instantly associated with his parents’ country club casual set:  white linen trousers, silk and cotton blend tunic the color of clotted cream, discreet pearls adorning her ears, wrists, and neck. 

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Kate.”

The woman’s lips tightened, deepening the lines that bracketed her mouth.  Her tone was less than friendly.  “She isn’t here.”

Marc flashed her a smile that in his experience few women could resist.  “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find her?”

The woman studied him for a few moments, eyes narrowed.  Then she abruptly swung the door wider and gestured him in.  “I assume the boxer shorts in Kate’s room belong to you?”

The effrontery of the question took him aback.  Before he could come up with a suitable response, she waved him toward the kitchen.  “I was just about to have some tea,” she said.  “You can join me.  I’m Kate’s mother, by the way.  You may call me Margaret.”