Part 11 (1/2)

”You know, I'm really not sure . . .” Brooke Mackenzie was shaking her head, preparing to retreat.

”Just promise me you'll call him and set up a meeting to discuss the party with him,” Edward cut in smoothly. ”After that meeting, if you feel it's not something you want to do, I'll let him know we won't be able to help him.”

”I guess I could do that,” she said, though she didn't look happy about it.

”Splendid.” He stood and she did the same. He'd learned long ago that once you got what you wanted it was best to conclude the conversation before the other party could change his or her mind. ”Here's his information. Just tell him you're part of Private Butler and that I asked you to call.”

”All right.” She held the notepaper by one corner as if it were a telegram from outer s.p.a.ce, but she didn't hand it back. ”I'll call him today. And I'll let you know what I think after I meet with him.” She hesitated. ”But I'm really not certain that I have the skills necessary to represent your company in this kind of a professional capacity.”

He studied her closely and thought how misleading an exterior could be; how small a part of a person it really revealed. Brooke Mackenzie wasn't beautiful. She didn't have a veneer of sophistication, did not possess so much as a hint of swagger. Her eyes were clouded with self-doubt. But buried deep inside there was bedrock, he was sure of this. ”If you'll forgive me for saying so, I think you underestimate yourself, Mrs. Mackenzie.”

She looked at him oddly, clearly not understanding what he meant.

”I'm certain you can handle this,” he said gently. ”After all it's not everyone who could handle having her ex-husband and his girlfriend move into her building with such aplomb. You have an amazing amount of self-possession. I'm sure a child's birthday party is nothing in comparison.”

”What did you say?” Brooke Mackenzie's voice didn't rise above a whisper. But that whisper was fraught with the same horror he now saw reflected in her eyes.

Good Lord. Edward felt a great deal of horror himself at what was apparently a complete and utter lack of discretion on his part.

She blinked rapidly. He could feel the effort she was expending not to cry.

”I'm so sorry,” he said wis.h.i.+ng there was something, anything, he might say that would erase his horrible, inexcusable, mistake from both of their memories. ”I a.s.sumed you already knew that Mr. Mackenzie had purchased the three bedroom on the tenth floor. He and Ms. Grant are scheduled to move into it in two weeks' time.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

ARE YOU SURE?”

”Absolutely.” Samantha eyed her husband, who was already dressed for their Sunday round of golf. ”I do have a bit of a headache and a round of golf and Sunday dinner with you is going to make Cynthia feel like it's her birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas all rolled into one.”

”I hate to leave you all afternoon when I'm flying out to Boston right after dinner.”

”It's okay,” Samantha said. ”It'll be my gift to your mother for arranging an interview for Meredith at the Atlanta Preservation Board. But if you tell her I begged you to stay home and you insisted on asking her to play instead, she'll enjoy it even more.” She had no doubt that this many hours alone with her son would send Cynthia into the genteel version of hog heaven.

”All right. But I'm tempted to tell her the truth so you get at least a little credit.” He leaned down to kiss her.

”Up to you,” Samantha said as he turned to go. ”But why hollow out her sense of victory?”

After Jonathan left Samantha downed two more Advil and reached for her cell phone. The headache had begun as a small throb behind the eyes the day before when Jonathan had handed her a copy of her American Express bill. He'd said only, ”When exactly are you expecting Meredith back?” but his eyes had been carefully blank and the tick in his cheek p.r.o.nounced.

Samantha had already been trying to reach Meredith for almost twenty-four hours at that point. Her interview at the Preservation Board was set for Tuesday and Samantha had booked a flight home from New York for her on Monday, but was not at all positive Meredith would be on that flight since she hadn't yet spoken to her.

Now, with renewed determination-and desperation-she found Fredi Fainstein's cell phone number and called it, holding her breath as it rang.

”'Lo?”

”Fredi?”

”Yes?”

”This is Samantha Davis. Meredith's sister.”

”Oh.”

There was a silence. As if a hand were covering the mouthpiece.

”Fredi,” Samantha said. ”Please put her on the phone now.” She imitated the tone she'd heard Jonathan use when he would brook no argument.

There was what sounded like a scuffle and then Meredith was on the line.

”What's the big emergency?” Meredith asked, her tone belligerent. The clatter of cutlery and laughter-laced conversation sounded in the background.

”If you'd responded to any of my emails, phone messages, or texts you'd know that Cynthia has arranged an interview at the Atlanta Preservation Board first thing Tuesday morning.”

Silence.

”We pay for your phone and Internet primarily so that we have the ability to communicate with you. And yet you don't respond.” Samantha realized she sounded as sullen as Meredith. No, not sullen. She was well and truly p.i.s.sed.

”I've been busy.”

”Yes, I realized that when I saw my AmEx bill,” Samantha said.

”But I don't want to come back now,” Meredith whined. ”Fredi's been introducing me to absolutely everybody. I met Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson at a party last week. And I sat at a table right next to Ashton Kutcher's table at this adorable little restaurant in SoHo. Our knees were practically touching.”

”And this would help you find a job how?” Samantha asked.

There was a brief pause. ”The Frick thing didn't pan out. But I did meet someone who knows someone at Sotheby's. I think I might be able to turn that into . . . something.”

”Meredith. Today is Sunday. The interview is Tuesday. I've booked a flight for you out of LaGuardia at ten a.m. tomorrow.”

Meredith remained silent.

”The job's not yours yet. You have to actually show up and impress them.” She backed off a notch. If she made Meredith too angry, there'd be no talking to her. ”As you are perfectly capable of doing when you want to.”

”But I can't come back now. Not when I'm starting to make inroads here.” There was a pause as Meredith regrouped.

It was Samantha's turn to remain silent.

”It's not fair. It's easy there for you married to Jonathan and everything. But I like it up here where things are actually happening. And . . . I met someone, Samantha. I need to stay here and see where it leads.”

Samantha knew exactly where it would lead if in fact it were even true. She'd heard the same thing far too many times to hold out any real hope that Meredith would ever be attracted to or settle for the kind of man she really needed. Or a life that didn't revolve solely around herself.

And whose fault was that? she asked herself. Herself did not answer. ”I'm sorry,” Samantha said determined not to be swayed. ”But Cynthia's called in quite a few favors on your behalf. You will be at that interview and you will be charming and professional. Once you have a job and the money to take yourself back to New York for a visit, you'll go. Or you can invite him down here. We'd all be glad to meet him.”

Samantha could feel the waves of resentment behind Meredith's silence. ”I'll be at the airport to pick you up. If you're not there, your credit cards will be canceled and your bank account closed.” And then because she couldn't stay on the phone another minute, she said, ”Have a nice day,” and hung up.