The Twelve Dates of Christmas Page 7

Their gazes caught and held, as one door of their relationship closed and another squeaked open. She was no longer a poor girl who needed his help. She was a woman who’d confided her past. He wasn’t just a rich guy who wanted a date. He’d listened. He hadn’t judged. He’d sympathized.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Pitchers are all on a table in the back,” the guy who’d challenged Ricky to the pool game said. “Help yourself pizza and wings, too. We don’t stand on ceremony. It’s self-serve.”

  She smiled at Ricky again. “I’ll be right back.”

  She got him a beer and put two pieces of pizza on a paper plate for him. She took them to a table near the pool game, pointed them out for Ricky and walked over to the gaggle of women.

  “All right. Spill. Who are you, and how the hell did you get Ricky to go out, especially at Christmas?”

  Holding the glass of beer she’d poured for herself, she smiled at the dates of his fraternity brothers. “As I told Binnie, Muriel and Jennifer on Sunday, we met at the Christmas party of a mutual friend.”

  “Tucker Engle,” a short, dark-haired woman supplied. “Jeremy and I were there and we saw you. That means you haven’t known each other long.” She stuck out her hand to shake Eloise’s. “I’m Misty, by the way. I date the tall guy over there.” She pointed at a true geek with glasses and a sweater vest. “Jeremy.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The remaining women introduced themselves, but as the conversation moved on, thoughts of Sunday’s dinner party came back to her. Especially Muriel and Jennifer talking about his tragedy.

  She glanced back at Ricky. When she’d told him about Wayne, she’d handed him the perfect opportunity to tell her his trauma and he hadn’t taken it.

  She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that their relationship was only an arrangement, but tonight that argument didn’t float. Not because she liked him or because the new feelings that had sprung up made the situation feel real. It was because she suddenly realized she might be fulfilling her end of their bargain, but he wasn’t doing anything about his. He hadn’t gotten her one interview. Not one.

  She was doing everything he wanted, even confiding her secrets, but he wasn’t doing anything for her.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before everyone had congregated together at a table. Soon, they pulled a second table over and then a third. As Ricky played game after game of pool, he watched Eloise kick back and chat, sip beer and eat a piece of pizza.

  He was glad. He didn’t know how his search had missed the death certificate of her husband, except that he hadn’t been looking for a death certificate but a divorce decree. When he hadn’t found one, he’d gotten angry and stopped searching.

  He’d tried to rationalize her situation with the fact that every time he’d gone to her apartment, he’d only seen signs of two women living there. No man. No husband. And his internet search had confirmed that she worked as a temp in New York City, but she’d married in Kentucky. He’d assumed she’d left the bad marriage behind and was waiting until she could afford a divorce. Which wasn’t a crime, but it was something she should have told him.

  So her story in the limo had stopped him short. Especially the part about the guilt. Lord knows he understood guilt over someone dying. Most people understood the grief. He understood the guilt.

  He started another game, but noticed that his fraternity brothers were ambling toward the tables with the women. They pulled chairs behind the chairs of their dates, but those without dates—and there were plenty—seemed to be congregating around Eloise.

  As he played pool with Jonathan Hopewell, the laughter from the now crowded tables rolled over to him. He glanced up and saw Kyle Banister, who was seated on a chair behind Eloise, lean in to say something to her. She smiled prettily and twisted to face him. Ricky missed his next shot.

  Whatever she’d said made Kyle laugh. He reached across her, grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled both their glasses.

  “Your shot.”

  He spun to face Jonathan. “Sorry.”

  “I know it must be boring to never lose and have to play every challenger, but at least pretend it’s hard to beat me.”

  He laughed and lined up his shot, but just as he slid the stick forward Eloise’s laughter floated to him. He missed.

  “Are you doing this on purpose?”

  He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “No. I’m distracted.”

  Jonathan followed the line of his gaze and laughed. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  “Of course not.” They were in an arrangement. The fact that Kyle had outgrown his geekiness, fit into his sweater and had hair that could have been on an infomercial for workout videos meant nothing.

  Jonathan put his next three balls into the pockets with ease. “I’m getting confidence from your jealousy.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  Eloise’s giggle reached him again. He nearly cursed. Not because he was jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. Refused to be. He was worried about their charade.

  He put his stick on the table. “You win, Jon. You play the next challenger.”

  “But everybody wants to beat you. Geez, you’re no fun when you have a girlfriend.”

  Ricky heard Jon’s words, but they barely penetrated. He was focused on his date, who was currently being chatted up by one of his friends.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he said as he ambled up to the table.

  She looked up at him with bright, happy eyes and his stomach plummeted. He’d never been able to put that look in her eyes. But Kyle had.

  “Hey!” She scooted her chair over and made room for a chair for him, which someone immediately provided. “Kyle was just telling me that his company is looking to hire a human resources director.”

  Ricky glanced at Kyle, who reddened guiltily. “Really? I thought you were just in start-up stages.”

  “We are,” Kyle said defensively.

  Which meant he didn’t need an HR person for at least a year. He didn’t have to say it. Kyle got the message.

  “Think I’ll go play pool with Jon.”

  Ricky found himself saying, “You do that,” and then wondering why he had. He was not the type to get jealous. Ever. Eloise wasn’t really his date. She was a cover. A symbol to let people know he was getting past his grief. So why was he behaving like a Neanderthal?

  Eloise patted the chair beside her. “Have a seat.”

  Confusion buffeted him. The noise of the bar closed in on him, and the last thing he wanted was to be squeezed into a cluster of people.

  “I want to go home.”

  He heard the words coming out of his mouth and almost couldn’t believe he’d said them. He sounded like a petulant child.

  But Eloise didn’t argue. She smiled and rose.

  He strode over to get their coats. He handed hers to her without looking at her.

  As she slid into it, his fraternity brothers came over and said their goodbyes. When all his goodbyes were made, he waved good-naturedly at the women, who still sat at the table.

  They waved back, but he knew what they were thinking. That he still couldn’t handle being out. That he was defensive, a prima donna who wasn’t even trying to get over his grief.

  He and Eloise stepped out into the cool air and he stopped. “I forgot to call Norman.”

  She huddled into her coat. “Is he close enough to get here in a few minutes?”

  “That’s his job.” He pulled out his cell phone, sent a text to Norman and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “You’re supposed to like me. You shouldn’t have been flirting with Kyle.”

  “The guy was talking about a job. Everybody at the table heard every word we were saying. Everybody could see we weren’t flirting. He was offer
ing me a job.”

  “A nonexistent job.”

  She huddled more deeply into her coat. “Well, I know that now that you embarrassed him.”

  He ran his hand over his face. Damn. He had embarrassed him. He’d made an ass of himself and embarrassed a friend.

  He was definitely losing it. “You should still know better than to think a half-drunk guy at a party is legit.”

  “So in other words, I shouldn’t believe the guys you’ll be introducing me to at your other parties...oh, wait...the other people you’ve introduced me to haven’t actually talked about jobs. They’re only concerned with getting your attention.”

  Norman pulled up and she strode to the limo. She didn’t wait for Norman to come around to the side, just opened the door herself.

  Ricky raced up behind her. “It’s the fact that they want my attention that may get you noticed.”

  She sniffed a laugh as she slid inside. Norman stood off to the right, waiting for Ricky to enter. Once he had, he closed the door.

  “No one will ever notice me as long as you’re around.” She sighed, disgusted with herself for getting angry with him. But she was angry. She knew this relationship was fake, but after their discussion about Wayne, she felt he knew her. The real her. Plus, she’d promised herself she would help him enjoy the holiday.

  Still, he was the one who had ruined this evening, not her. She shifted to the right. “Just forget it.”

  “No. If you have something to say, I want to hear it.”

  She sucked in a breath. As Christmas angels went, she was a failure. He was mad. She was mad. So maybe it was just time to end this thing.

  “All right, you want the truth. You’ve already gotten a lot out of this deal. We’ve gone through almost half your parties, and I don’t have anything to show for it. So I saw an opportunity with Kyle and I pounced.”

  He stared sullenly out the window. “You should have known what he told you was ridiculous.”

  “And I’m an idiot for falling for it. Great. Fine. Thanks. I get it.”

  She crossed her arms on her chest. They stayed silent until they reached her apartment building. When Norman opened the door, she slid out. He started to get out behind her, but she pushed him back inside.

  “Norman heard our fight.” She glanced at Ricky’s driver. “Didn’t you?”

  The man in the dark suit and driver’s hat winced.

  “Which means he’ll perfectly understand when I say I don’t want your pigheaded behind walking me to my apartment.”

  Norman winced again.

  She slammed the door on Ricky and ran into the building. Not slowing down at the steps, she took them two at a time, raced into her apartment and back to her bedroom.

  The stress of the night had destroyed her. When she put her head on her pillow, tears slid off her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks.

  It hadn’t been easy remembering her marriage, Wayne getting sick, his death. She’d bared her soul to Ricky, not expecting understanding, but in trust. And the way he thanked her was to tell her she was foolish.

  Yeah. Duh. She already knew that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEXT MORNING a series of sharp knocks woke Eloise and Laura Beth. Both ran to the door, shrugging into long fleece robes. Eloise got there first, looked through the peephole and saw a man holding flowers.

  Without disengaging the chain lock, she opened the door a crack.

  “Are you Eloise Vaughn?”

  “Yes.”

  He set the tall vase on the hall floor. “These are for you.”

  He turned to go.

  Eloise fumbled with the chain lock. “Wait! I’ll give you a tip.”

  The kid smiled. “Tip was included.” With that he raced down the hall.

  She cautiously opened the door and picked up the vase. Tissue paper covered the flowers to protect them from the cold. She ripped it off. A holiday bouquet—roses, white mums, tinsel and mistletoe—greeted her.

  Laura Beth closed the door. “Wonder who they’re from?”

  She opened the card, smiled. “My fake date. He says our fight last night made everything look real.”

  Laura Beth huffed away. “And his billions of dollars make it possible for him to wake a florist at—” She squinted at the clock. “My God, it’s not even five o’clock yet. And it’s Sunday!”

  “He also says I was right. He hasn’t been fulfilling his end of the bargain. So he sent the flowers early to catch me before I planned my day. If I want him to, he’ll send his driver to pick me up and take me to his condo, where we can redo my résumé and look over my options.”

  That stopped Laura Beth. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard a guy say.”

  Eloise laughed. Poverty certainly changed a woman’s view of romance. “Yeah. Me too.” But she shivered. She wasn’t sure she was done being angry with him. And sometimes being with him made her feel like a selfish failure as a human being. He was hurting and he wouldn’t even tell her why. But she needed a job—so desperately needed a job—that maybe it was time to forget being a Christmas angel and just go back to their original deal.

  She texted the number he’d put on the card and told him to send Norman. Then she found a copy of her résumé and got dressed.

  Forty minutes later the driver texted her that he was downstairs, and she raced out into the cold, cold morning.

  Norman held open the door. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  Eloise smiled. “Good morning, Norman.”

  He closed the door, got behind the wheel and sped off.

  Surprise made her frown when he stopped the limo at a respectable but far from plush condo building. She rode up the normal elevator to a very normal hallway and knocked on a simple door.

  Ricky opened the door immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. “I am so sorry.”

  She tried to smile, but being in his presence sent shivers down her spine. In a sweater and jeans, he looked gorgeous and approachable, making it difficult to remember they were from two different worlds. Worse, they didn’t seem to get along. She shouldn’t be attracted to him.

  She shrugged out of her navy blue parka. “Your flowers said it, but helping me find a job would say it even better.”

  As he took her coat to a convenient closet, she glanced around. Dark wood cabinets dominated the kitchen of the small open-plan condo and matched the dark table and chairs that took up the space before the living room.

  “Have you eaten?”

  She faced him. “No. But I’m not hungry.”

  “You had one piece of pizza last night. Not enough to sustain you.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled a griddle from a lower cabinet. “I’m making pancakes.”

  Himself? She almost smiled. “Where’s your maid?”

  “She went with the penthouse.”

  “You lost your penthouse and maid? Was it a bet? A poker game?”

  “I sold the penthouse and she chose to stay with the new owner. Which is only right because there’s not a whole hell of a lot of housecleaning to do around here. This condo’s tiny.”

  She liked his apartment, but she wouldn’t trade a penthouse for it. “Why did you sell your penthouse?”

  He spared her a glance. “I didn’t need that much space.” He paused and pulled in a breath before he added, “I also wanted to be alone.”

  She didn’t have to be a mind reader to conclude that he’d sold his penthouse and gotten rid of his maid after his tragedy. This was as close as he’d ever come to telling her something personal. So she appreciated the gesture, sort of a peace offering, and said, “Well, this is nice. Modern. Kind of bacheloresque.”

  “Bacheloresque?”

  “I made it up. It’s a word meaning like something a bach
elor would own.”

  He laughed as he gathered milk and eggs from the stainless steel refrigerator.

  “You’re making pancakes from scratch?”

  “No. I’ve got a box mix, but it allows me to add fresh ingredients so they taste better.”

  It made sense to her, and she totally agreed a short while later when she took her first bite. “These are great.”

  He smiled, and they ate their pancakes amid sporadic conversation about the food, the condo and the cold. She wanted to ask him so many things, especially because he knew so much about her. But now that they were back to being congenial acquaintances with a mission, she knew better than to breach boundaries, poke or prod. She wanted a job. He wanted to help her find one. And her Christmas mission? He seemed to like her best when she wasn’t trying to make him happy. So maybe it was time to scrap that.

  He cleaned up, rinsing the dirty dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. Then they took mugs of coffee into the room he called his den.

  Obviously designed to be a second bedroom, the small space barely had room for the big table with the huge computer system with three oversize screens, two keyboards and three printers. “Wow.”

  “I design games and think up extraspecial search engines,” he said as he hit the button that turned everything on. Lights blinked, screens flashed, small motors hummed. “Did you bring your résumé?”

  She pulled the folded sheet out of her jeans pocket.

  He frowned. “I hope you don’t send it out like that?”

  The implication that she wasn’t smart enough to send a neat résumé sent anger rumbling through her again. But looking around and remembering some of his conversations with his peers, she finally realized he might be one of those guys who was so intelligent he didn’t think before he spoke.

  Still, she wasn’t going to let him get away with dissing her. “I’m not a dingbat. I print a fresh one every time I answer a classified ad or get a lead.”

  He sat at the desk, scanned her résumé and brought it up on a screen. He read for a few seconds, then said, “I think your first mistake is that you emphasize the secretarial aspects of your temp jobs.” He faced her. “You’d be better off to list the jobs without giving too much explanation of what you actually do. That way you’re accounting for the time, proving that you’re working and not a slacker, but taking the emphasis off those skills, so people realize you’re looking for a job that uses your degree.”