Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (23 page)

“I just thought that considering your tendency to jump to conclusions, it might be better to wait to tell you about Mathias Industries’ involvement with DuBois until you settled things regarding your show.”

“You mean until you’d convinced him to turn me down.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Maybe not personally. But your company did, and you run the company. Which means you had to know about it. And you didn’t even have the common courtesy to tell me about it. And please, don’t tell me it’s just business,” I said, waving my hand again. “We’ve been sleeping together. Or was that just part of some bigger plan? Some
business
deal.” I paused to suck in a breath, shaking my head when he tried to intervene.

“I didn’t come over here to discuss this. Or to hear you make excuses. I just wanted to look you in the eye and tell you how despicable I think you are. You took my idea, and turned it to the benefit of Mathias Industries. You used me. And then when it looked like I might actually be going to pull it off—when DuBois agreed to meet with me—you torpedoed my chances by threatening to pull your support of DuBois. He really didn’t have a choice, did he? God, what an absolute idiot I’ve been. I was right all along. We don’t have anything in common.”

And then, before he had the chance to rebut any of it, I stalked out of the office. In the elevator going down, I’ll admit I had a momentary fantasy that he’d follow me. That he’d convince me that everything was going to be okay. That somehow the facts had lined up incorrectly. But when the elevator doors opened on the lobby, there was no one there.

Big surprise.

In the taxi on my way home, I called Cassie. But she wasn’t answering. Probably trying to persuade the Gourmet execs to keep our show despite our inability to follow through on what turned out to be our very rash promises. I called Clinton next, but he wasn’t answering, either. Maybe they both figured it was best to give me a little space. And in all honesty, they were probably right.

The adrenaline rush that had carried me over to Ethan’s office and buoyed me while I gave him a piece of my mind had evaporated the minute I’d hit the elevators. And now all I was left with was the bitter aftertaste of my anger and disappointment.

I really had wanted to be wrong about Ethan. To believe that he was different. That he wasn’t all about his heritage and his money and his privilege. But in the end, he’d been worse. Instead of showing his true colors, he’d managed to convince me that he was worth caring about—maybe even worth loving. And then when I’d trusted him enough to turn my back, he’d buried the knife.

And the worst thing of all was that I’d let him do it.

The taxi pulled to the curb outside my building, and after stuffing a twenty through the Plexiglas divider, I slid out onto the sidewalk, slamming the door behind me. It’s funny how catastrophe can strike, everything in your life seemingly turned on end, and yet life goes on. Tourists still flocked down the street, craning their necks to see the carefully crafted ironwork or maybe trying to spot a star. The panhandler on the corner still sang his off-key songs, waving his cup, pleading for money. Businessmen in expensive suits, glued to their BlackBerrys, ignored both the tourists and the beggars, intent on making that next big deal or screwing some unsuspecting innocent.

Like me.

I went inside and headed for the stairs, too keyed up to wait for the elevator’s ancient chassis to wheeze its way down from the upper floors. I reached the landing and pushed through the door to find the hallway already occupied. Bethany was sitting in front of my door eating from a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Chocolate Fudge Brownie. My favorite.

“The key wasn’t behind the fire extinguisher,” she said by way of explanation.

“Althea,” I sighed. “She used it once too often. So I moved it.” I pointed to the mirror across from the elevator. It served as the hallway’s sole adornment and had seemed the perfect place for my key. “I attached it to the back with some tape.”

“I should have thought of that.” She smiled, pushing to her feet. “I brought ice cream. Although I’m afraid I’ve eaten most of it.”

“How did you know?” I asked, opening the door just as a flying fur ball came barreling through, jumping at my feet with enough adoration to almost make a girl feel loved again. I bent to pick him up, my fingers ruffling his soft fur.

“Know what?” Bethany said, scrunching her nose as we walked inside and settled on the couch, Bentley happily ensconced between us.

“About Ethan. I just assumed, since you brought ice cream, that Clinton had called to fill you in.”

“Actually, he did, but I didn’t pick up,” she said, looking honestly worried now. “Sounds like I should have. What’s happened?”

“Fortification first,” I said, reaching over for a bite of ice cream. Then with a sigh, I leaned back into the sofa, and filled her in on DuBois’ defection and Ethan’s duplicity.

“This calls for something stronger than ice cream,” Bethany said, after I’d finished regaling her with my sordid tale. “Vodka tonic okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the tonic. “Are you sure about all this?” she asked as she poured generous portions of vodka into two glasses, followed by a splash of tonic.

“Yeah. Cassie says she has proof.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Bethany said, handing me a drink. “Ethan seemed so nice at the party. In fact, I was a little jealous."

"For absolutely no good reason, it turns out.” I sighed as a sip of vodka burned its way down my throat.

“What did he say when you confronted him?”

“I didn’t give him much of a chance to talk. But he did admit the connection between his company and DuBois. And he didn’t deny that getting DuBois for Applause would be a coup.”

“So this whole thing was a ruse? He was using you the whole time?”

“No. That part still doesn’t make sense. Maybe he thought he’d be able to have his cake and eat it, too. See me and steal DuBois. I mean, if it hadn’t been for your friend on the inside at Metro Media, we might never have been able to suss out the real truth.”

“Maybe he was going to tell you?” she suggested.

“After the fact? Big deal. I mean, did he think I’d just shrug it off and pull back the sheets?”

“I don’t know.” Bethany sighed, then took a long sip of her drink. “Men are pigs.”

“Hey,” I said, a new thought making its way into my overloaded brain, “if you didn’t know about Ethan, then there had to be some other reason for the ice cream.” Since our college days we’d relied on Ben and Jerry—and each other—to get us through whatever calamity our lives managed to throw at us. Usually involving the aforementioned pigs. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” she sniffed. “I mean, in light of what happened to you, my problems sound pretty silly.”

“Nonsense. Tell me what happened. Does this have something to do with Michael?”

She nodded. “He dumped me.”

“But I thought he wanted you to move in?” I frowned, shaking my head.

“He did.”

“And you told him you needed some time to think about it, right?”

“Yes. But what I didn’t tell you was that he made a really grand gesture of the whole thing. He got Payard to make a chocolate box. And inside the box was a key to his apartment. He gave it to me when he came to pick me up for your party. As romantic gestures go it was lovely. But it also scared the hell out of me.”

“That’s totally understandable.” I nodded to underscore my solidarity. “You’d only just started dating.”

“I agree. But I could have handled it better. Anyway, we came to your party and I thought everything was okay. Until he took me home. I asked if he wanted to stay the night, and he said no, that he had things to do the next morning. And so I let him go. I thought that under the circumstances it might be a good idea.”

“So what happened next?”

“He showed up at my apartment Sunday afternoon. And he’d had a few drinks.”

“Never a good start.”

“Exactly. Anyway, he basically just let me have it. Told me that if I wasn’t ready to move in with him, then clearly I wasn’t committed to the relationship and that he wasn’t going to stick around to wait for me to kick him to the curb.

“I tried to tell him that he was wrong. That I’d been thinking about nothing but his request. But he didn’t want to listen. Just said that he’d heard me describe him as boring. And that as much as he’d tried to get past the fact, he couldn’t. He said that he’d thought I was different, but it turned out that I was like every other woman—only interested in guys I couldn’t have. Guys with an edge. Not nice guys like him.” She paused for a sip of courage. “You should have seen him, Andi. He was so angry. So self-righteous.”

“Well, maybe you’re better off without him. Maybe we’re both better off.”

“I’ll drink to that,” she said. We clinked glasses and drained the rest of the vodka. “But I don’t feel better off.”

“Neither do I,” I said as I walked over to pour more drinks. “But I think maybe that’s what men do. They sucker you in, pretending to be something they’re not. And then—wham—when you least expect it, they revert to type.”

“Assholes,” she said, taking the glass I handed her. “And to think I thought he was different.”

“Well, at least Althea won’t have another notch on her belt,” I said, feeling a little woozy from the alcohol.

“I guess there is that,” Bethany agreed. “But I’d much rather that she’d won. I mean, I really did like him.”

“Then maybe you should tell him you were wrong.”

“But I wasn’t. He shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Or at least he should have given me a chance to explain my side of it. I don’t respond well to ultimatums.”

“It could have just been the alcohol talking,” I said.

“No. That might have bolstered his courage, or made him be a little more harsh than he intended, but he still meant what he said. He couldn’t handle the fact that I needed time.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, reaching over to cover her hand with mine. “It just hasn’t been a good month for finding Mr. Right. I’m actually two down, if you want to keep count.”

“Dillon. I’d forgotten all about him.”

“I wish I could. I mean, it’s just too much to deal with, really. First my longtime boyfriend ditches me for the queen of Manhattan triviality. And then her counterpart wines and dines me right out of my chance for prime time.”

“It’s not fair,” Bethany said, shaking her head. “They’re all jerks.”

“Now if only we can figure out how to live without them.”

“More vodka,” she laughed. Bentley barked as someone knocked on the door and I wondered what the hell had happened to the security in this building.

“Probably Clinton,” I said as I pushed off the sofa to open the door.

“Good, he can join the wallowing.”

“He can’t, actually,” I called over my shoulder. “He’s met someone new.”

“Well, at least one of us is having a success.”

“I hope you brought libations,” I said, throwing open the door. But it wasn’t Clinton.

It was Ethan.

Shit.

Chapter 18

“I, uh, think maybe I should be leaving,” Bethany said, grabbing her purse as she made a beeline for the door, where I was still standing, staring at Ethan.

“No,” I said with a visible shake of my head. “There’s no need for that. You are welcome here.”

“Actually, Bethany,” Ethan said, his voice deceptively soft, “I think it might be best if you go. Andi and I have some things to talk about.”

“I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.” My fingers itched to slam the door in his arrogant, aristocratic face, but my heart just wasn’t buying into the idea, and besides, Bethany was in the way.

“
You
may have said what you wanted to, but I haven’t had a chance for rebuttal.” His eyes were like lasers pinning me to the spot. And too late I remembered that the man was an attorney. A rather good one, if present circumstances were any indication. “And if I remember first-year law,” he continued, “our entire system of government is based on the right of the accused to face his accuser.”

Okay, so I wasn’t a poster child for innocent until proven guilty. But I still had the facts on my side.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Bethany said, inching toward the door looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to go,” I insisted stubbornly, shooting a narrow-eyed look at Ethan. If he thought he could intimidate me, he had another think coming.

“Yeah, actually, I do.” She nodded. “You guys need to sort this out and I don’t think I’ve got anything to add to the equation.”

“We could use a referee,” I suggested, tentatively.

“Andi—,” Ethan warned.

“Fine,” I sighed, accepting the inevitable, as Bethany scrambled out the door. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

“Hang in there,” she mouthed behind Ethan’s back. And then, in a more audible tone, “I’ll call you later.”

I nodded, and stepped back to let Ethan into the apartment. Bentley, who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the whole disastrous affair, threw himself at Ethan in unabandoned delight.

“Bentley,” I called, leaning down to pick up my traitorous dog.

“This isn’t a war, Andi,” Ethan said, still using his overly calm tone.

“No. It isn’t.” I sighed, straightening to face him. “So what is it you came to say?”

“Can we at least sit down?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “duplicity tends to make me forget my manners.” I hadn’t meant to sound so snippy, but backstabbing boyfriends have a way of bringing out the worst in me. And lately, I seemed to have hit the mother lode.

I walked over to the sofa, still holding Bentley, and took a seat, waiting.

“There was no duplicity,” Ethan ground out. “You’ve taken what appear to be the facts and assumed the worst.”

“Can you blame me?”

“For connecting the dots, no. For not giving me the benefit of the doubt, I guess I expected more from you in that regard.”

“You didn’t deny any of it when I was in your office,” I said, crossing my arms, trying to channel Jack McCoy.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” He walked over to the bar and poured a few fingers of bourbon. Okay, I’ll admit I’ve got no idea what “fingers” of bourbon even are. But it sounds better than saying he sloshed some whiskey in a glass. And since the buzz from my vodka tonic had evaporated the minute I’d opened the door, I held up my glass, silently requesting another.