Shine Your Love on Me (8 page)

Her breathing became rapid. Pres stroked her
back, holding her to him. Brooke wound her arms around his neck.
Need spiked up inside.
No, no. Not gonna hop into bed. No
way.
She warred with her instincts for a few moments then
pulled back. Pres dropped his hands. “A little intense there.” She
covered her slightly swollen lips with the back of her hand.

“Sorry. Can’t help it. That’s how I feel
around you.” She couldn’t see his face, but heard his shallow
breathing.

She pushed to her feet. “I have to go.”

“Why?”

“It’s late.”

“So?”

“I have to get up early and look for a
job.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday. Take the day off. No one
hires anyone on Friday in the summertime.”

“Even if I can’t reach anyone, I can research
job openings. Then, I hit the ground running on Monday.”

“You’re very focused, very determined.” He
laced his fingers with hers.

“I have to be. I have rent to pay.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you for the sundae. It was beyond
delicious.”

He grinned. “So were you. Saturday,
right?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“You don’t have to.”

They strolled down the avenue, bathed in
moonlight.

“I’m not too much fun to be around.”

“I’m good at cheering people up.”

She nodded. “Okay. Saturday.”

When they parted, she backed away, their
fingertips sliding apart. He raised his hand. Buddy tugged toward
home. While her mind revved up to face the stress of the morning,
her heart was at ease.
No conversation about deadlines. No
bragging. No trashing people. No complaining about clients.
She
grinned as she headed down Central Park West toward her
building.

Before any hard lessons in misplaced trust
and the ways of the real world hit home, Brooke smiled. She liked
her new friend, liked him a lot. The sensation of peace flowing
through her made everything seem possible.
Whatever comes, I’ll
be okay.

Preston Carpenter unsnapped the harness from
Buddy’s leash at the front door. He grabbed a beer from the fridge
and headed for the backyard. Buddy took a hefty drink from his
water bowl then followed along.

Neat beds of pachysandra, interrupted by
wooden buckets overflowing with blooming pink and white impatiens,
hugged the flagstone patio. There was a small, round wrought iron
and glass table and four chairs. A high, wooden fence provided some
privacy from neighbors on either side, but not much from those
across the way on the second and third floors. Townhouses abutted
townhouses. Space in Manhattan is precious.

Pres dropped his large frame in one of the
chairs and slumped down, stretching out his long legs and crossing
them at the ankles. He looked up, hoping to see stars, always hard
to find due to years of car emission pollution.

His thoughts centered on how much Brooke
surprised him. When he was certain he had her figured, she’d do a
one-eighty and take him unawares.
Classical music and Brooke.
Corporate, buttoned-up, advertising woman likes classical music.
Not shallow.

He hadn’t expected her to open up about her
parents. He’d only heard Ruth’s side of that tale and had never
considered how Brooke might see it. Now, he understood her
perspective.

God, she was beautiful in the
moonlight.
It had made her dark hair shine like satin. The
swell of her breasts had been shadowed, mysterious looking,
enticing him to find out exactly how silky, soft, and full they
were. And when he had kissed her…
Wow
. He closed his eyes,
ran his tongue over his lips, and swore he could still taste her,
with a whisper of mint. Pres hadn’t been this jacked about a woman
in months, maybe years.

After Eva, he hadn’t wanted anyone else.
Though not broken, his heart had been dented when she had suggested
they see other people. Pres had put his head down and focused on
his career, writing up a storm. Two treatments for movies, three
scripts for television series’ pilots. He’d done nothing but work.
He’d sent everything off to Max, his agent. Now, his scripts were
in the hands of others and nerve-wracking waiting replaced the hard
work of writing and editing.

Then, along came Brooke.

He’d met Ruth in the park. Freddy and Ginger
had escaped, but had stopped to play with Buddy. Pres had nabbed
their leashes and returned them to a grateful Ruth. She’d invited
him up for homemade apple pie and hot cider. Best offer he’d had in
months, especially on a cold, March day. They had sat talking for
hours, and their pugs had become friends, too. After that, Pres had
volunteered to take Freddy and Ginger along with Buddy on his
afternoon walk. She had tried to pay him ten dollars, but he had
refused.

He had seen Brooke coming into the building
as he was leaving. A subtle scent of lilac had followed the
dark-haired beauty. She had glanced at him with big, green eyes and
an absent smile. She had worn a long, black skirt and a cotton
sweater, knit in bright pinks and lilac. It had appeared to be
handmade and had accentuated her ample bosom. He chuckled,
remembering how he could hardly breathe after seeing her.

He’d asked Rocky who she was and practically
jumped for joy when he found out. When he’d return the dogs, Ruth
would chatter on about Brooke. They had shared many a cup of coffee
over stories about the smart, beautiful, young woman. Every tale
drew Pres in more, until he was half in love before he had even
been introduced.

After he had met her, and she had looked down
on him as the dog walker, he had considered her shallow. It had
appeared her values were so different from his that they could
never be compatible. He had wondered what Ruth saw in Brooke that
he didn’t. That hadn’t stopped him from lusting after her delicious
body, and his goal to sleep with her had still driven him to seek
her company.

As he got to know her, his assumptions had
crumbled like a dry muffin. Each layer of her personality that
peeled away like an onion revealed fascinating new sides of this
complicated woman. When she focused on him, he sensed her warmth,
saw her listen with rapt attention, and wondered why he’d had the
wrong impression from the get-go. His disappointment had faded. He
had been intrigued and had increased his pursuit.

Pres took a swig of his beer and revisited
their most current conversation. Settled back into his seat, he
closed his eyes.
She likes classical music. Misses her parents,
but is pissed at them. Likes mint chip. Kisses great.
His mind
began to wander, visions of her, naked in his bed, filled his head.
His groin tightened as the daydream heated to more explicit
details. As he was about to plunge into her, his cell rang.
Cursing, he checked the display.

“Hey, Max. What’s up?” He shifted to give his
deflating erection room.

“Good news, Pres.”

“Yeah?”
Better be after what you
interrupted.

“I’ve got a couple of producers interested in
the pilot scripts for your TV series.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Pres bolted upright
in his chair, instantly wide-awake.

“I never kid about business. They were
impressed you sold the
Homerun
script. I’ve been building on
that.”

“About that. Any word on production
plans?”

“Nah. Doesn’t matter. You sold the script.
That’s what impressed these guys.”

“How many?”

“Two guys interested in all three pilots.
This could be great. Do you have scripts for the first three
episodes for each series ready to go?”

“Nope.”

“What the hell? Why are you sitting here
talking to me? Get busy.” The phone clicked off.

Adrenaline rushed through Pres’ veins. He
picked up his beer and headed for his computer. He began re-reading
one of the pilots. Salacious thoughts about Brooke vanished,
replaced by snatches of dialogue. The growing plot of his story
took up all the available space in his brain.
Maybe Brooke
brought me luck?

Returning to his living room, he kicked off
his shoes and pulled out a notepad. Reading the teleplay aloud, he
stopped from time to time to make notes for the script. He was on
fire.

* * * *

Brooke was surprised when Pres postponed
their date for a week. He said he was on a roll and had to finish a
script. She believed him…sort of.
He’s got no reason to lie,
unless someone better came along. Like someone with a job. He’s a
good friend, a hot, good friend, but I’m not in love with him. It’s
fine.
She ignored the disappointment that crept into her
heart.

She called Nan, but her grandmother already
had plans for Saturday night. Harry was taking her to a classic
movie at Benson Cinema.
Another Saturday night alone. Unless I
call Lloyd.

She fought with herself. But she was weak.
She cursed her spineless self as the phone dialed, but his number
went to voicemail.
He’s probably off screwing the client.
She ordered
Penny Serenade
, a five-hanky classic on
Netflix,
heated up some franks and beans, and spent the
evening crying over the film and feeling sorry for herself.

Sunday morning, she awoke, happy to spend the
day with Nan and the pugs. Pres didn’t show, so she walked Freddy
and Ginger by herself. Though she didn’t expect to, she missed him
and wondered what he was doing.
Does he work shirtless? In the
nude? Doubt that. But shirtless, most definitely.
A tremor as
quick as a snake shot up her spine at the sexy thought.

Brooke bounded out of bed on Monday, happy to
be able to return to job hunting. After writing up a schedule, she
dove into each day’s assignment with enthusiasm.
The more I do,
the faster I’ll find work.
At the end of each day, she smiled,
satisfied she’d spent her time productively, and confident a new
place of employment was just an email away.

By Friday, she had contacted everyone she
knew and applied to every position that appeared reasonable with
her experience. But when she called to follow up, all she got was a
brush off or a run-around when she pressed for reasons for the
rejection. She didn’t buy the excuses of her not fitting their
parameters, or that they had decided to promote from within.

Frustrated, she phoned Cookie Santos, a
headhunter she’d used when Gibbon & Walters was hiring, and
called in a favor. Cookie had placed her at the agency. She knew
Cookie had received a fat commission. Maybe she’d level with
Brooke.

“Hey, Cookie.”

“Hi, Brooke. How’s the job search
coming?”

“Do you have anything new?”

Silence for a heartbeat. “I’m sorry, but
things are really slow. Summertime and all.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“I make no promises.”

“I’m not having any luck. I submit my résumé.
Go for an interview. Make it past the first, second, and even the
third. All goes well. Then, wham! Nothing. I get turned down for
some made-up reason. Nobody explains. Never anything specific. I
think people are lying, hiding something.”

“You know we can’t say much more than you
didn’t fit the profile or what they were looking for or something
like that.”

“Yeah, I know. You can’t say we don’t want a
woman or someone who needs deodorant. I get that. But this has
happened several times, and I’m suspicious there’s something more.
Do you know what’s going on?”

There was another silence.

“Cookie? Come on. I can’t get a job if I
don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Please?”

The pleading tone of her voice must have
softened up the hard-hearted headhunter because Brooke heard a sigh
at the other end.

“You didn’t hear this from me. If you say you
did, I’ll deny it. What happened between you and Pete Walters?”

“Nothing. Well, he made a pass at me, and I
turned him down.”

“Thought so. He’s blackballing you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Probably the old ‘best defense is a
good offense,’ chauvinistic bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t want you bad-mouthing him all
over town, telling the truth about what a scumbag he really is. So,
he’s saying you made a pass at him, and he had to fire you because,
when he turned you down, you became a stalker.”

“What?” Brooke rose up off the sofa and began
to pace.

“Remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Who’s saying this?”

“The HR person has let it slip to one or two
of the biggest gossips in the industry. They took care of the
rest.”

“Damn. I should sue. That’s slander,
defamation.”

“You can’t say you heard it from me.”

“I won’t. Thanks for being honest with
me.”

“Good luck.”

“Wait, Cookie! Do you have any suggestions
about finding a job?”

“Switch to a new profession. Gotta go.”

“Thanks.”

Brooke closed her cell and leaned on the
windowsill, staring out at the courtyard. Fresh air brought in the
smell of spring flowers from a nearby window box. She frowned at
the unfairness of Mother Nature, being so cheerful when she was on
the verge of losing her livelihood. Panic tightened in her chest.
How am I going to pay the rent?

* * * *

She dialed her grandmother, but Nan was on
her way out the door, going to dinner and the theater with a group
from the senior center.
She’s got her own life. I have to figure
this out for myself.
After a walk around the block, she was no
better. A few quick calls and she managed to rally the Dinner Club
to meet, even though it was a Friday night.

Everyone was already at Bess’s house when
Brooke arrived.

She gulped half a glass of wine then launched
into her story. The women were shocked.