Can I See You Again? (12 page)

“Sure, of course.”

“Bree, I'll be right back,” Candace says. “You don't go anywhere either, Nick. I have more questions for you two.” With keys in hand, she steps outside.

“Won't this be fun, Bree?” Sean marches toward the door, shoulder-checking Nixon.

“Hey, watch it, man,” Nixon says.

Sean doesn't respond, just pushes open the front door, slamming it against the stucco.

“Sean?” Nixon asks.

“In the flesh.” I clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling. “The paper just made him my client. I have to match him with a girlfriend. A
girlfriend
. If I don't, then I look like an incompetent loser and I can say good-bye to my business and a bestseller and Jo's house. But if I do find Sean a match, and he falls in love . . . then . . . I don't know . . . I don't want to talk about it.” I rub my aching temples from an instant headache. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He waves the rolled-up article in the air. “I'm wondering why people at my office are gathered around the conference room discussing what I'm like in the sack.”

“Don't you mean what Nick the urologist is like in the sack?”

“What's the difference?” He tosses the circular onto my desk.

“Oh, c'mon, it's not like your picture is in there. Plus, it's not even your real name. No one will ever suspect it's you.”

“Why does Candace have more questions? I signed up for one interview, remember? ‘One and done' is what you said.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you're a big hit.”

“I don't want to be a big hit.”

“People love you.” I poke him on the arm, trying to spin the situation and my mood.

He couldn't care less.

“I couldn't care less.”

“You can't cut and run.”

“I can, too. I don't have time for this nonsense. I hired you to find me a girlfriend, not thrust me into the nation's eye for
a public dissection of my sex life. I'm sorry, but this is your deal.”

I fold my arms across my chest and pout like a spoiled toddler. “Then I'm out. I'm not coming to the wedding.”

“You said you would.”

“Yes, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I entered into a lopsided arrangement.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nick, Bree?” Candace returns from outside and calls us over.

“Um . . . just a minute.” I smile at her, then say to Nixon, “A wedding is a big deal. It's hellos and hugs, it's family and friends. It's five hundred bucks for a new dress and new shoes that I'll spend hours searching for and will likely never wear again. It's a manicure and pedicure. It's overnight and—”

“Whatever. I'll go alone.”

“Do as you wish, but your mom called and I told her you were bringing me. The seating chart is finalized and placement cards have been ordered. Nice stuff, embossed ivory card stock.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you
were
bringing me. But if you back out, then so do I, because, think about it, I'll need to get my hair done and—”

“If I agree to this interview crap, will you stop talking?”

“Well, not during the interviews.”

“Guys, I really need to get rolling.” Candace grabs Nixon by the arm. “Come along now, you two can make googly eyes at each other later.”

“Yes, come along, baby.”

We sit across from Candace, as she has arranged the chairs in the same pattern as the other day.

“Such luck that I caught you both here.” She settles into her chair. “I want to get a jump start on the next article. Readers are dying to know more about you two. Buckle up, we're about to delve deeper into your relationship.”

“Deeper?” Nixon asks, glaring at me.

“Scores of women asked about your private life, how you two keep the attraction going, and where Dr. Nick works. Tell me, do you work for a hospital or your own practice? Scotty can't find a urologist named Nick that matches your description.”

“This is insane,” Nixon whispers, and starts to stand.

I press my hand on his forearm, forcing him still. He nearly lifts me off my chair. Damn, he's strong. I glare at him.

He glares back.

“You know, Candace, his work doesn't need the publicity. Let's focus on the other questions, shall we?”

“Yes, I suppose we can. Let's see, now.” She skims through her notes. “As I said, hundreds of women sent in their phone numbers; some included photos of themselves. One girl posed half dressed in some sort of bumblebee costume and another not dressed in anything at all, just her phone number penned across her belly. My, my,” she says before looking at me, “if I were you, Bree, with all these interested women, I'd hold on to him tight.”

“Don't worry, I will.” And, I am.
Literally.

He pries at my fingers.

I cover his hand with my other, digging my nails into his skin.

He doesn't flinch.

What is he, some sort of robot?

“Look at you two. Can't keep your hands off one another.” She flips open her notebook and clicks on her recorder. “So
the paper's decided to engage the audience and ask you
their
questions.” She refers to her notes again. “Where do I start?”

Nixon frees my hand, his skin blotchy from my clasp. “Listen, there's been a misunderstanding.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?” She bounces her gaze between Nixon and me.

“You see, Bree and I—”

“Can't decide where to go on vacation this year. I'm thinking Hawaii, but in his twenties, Nick spent a couple summers there as a deckhand, on a tour boat thing. He's leaning toward Greece. But, you know, we'll figure it out.” I laugh a little longer and louder than necessary, ignoring the instant flash of heat brewing along my neck.

Nixon's frown grows deeper, but he remains seated.

Thank God.

“Either place is lovely.” She sorts through more printed e-mails. “Lena from right here in La Jolla wants to know: Do you two live together?”

“Nope,” I start before Nixon has a chance. “We believe in marriage first.”

“Traditional values, that's refreshing. You don't hear that too often these days.”

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” I say.

“Especially if she has mad cow disease,” Nixon adds.

“Sorry?” Candace says.

“He's teasing. Such a kidder.” I smack him hard on the arm. “Be serious now, sweetie.”

“Makayla from La Mesa wants to know if you have a single brother. If not, do you have a single sister?” Candace's cheeks redden. “Why, now that's an interesting proposal, isn't it?”

“No brothers or sisters,” I interject, recalling his questionnaire. “But we are visiting his family in a few weeks. Nick's
cousin is getting married at his parents' house. All the family will be there. Loads of fun.” I pat Nixon's knee.

“And where is that?” Candace asks.

I have no idea.

Nixon tilts his head with a smirk on his face. “Go ahead,
sweetie
, tell Candace where my parents live.”

Candace sits poised, ready for my answer.

A hive blossoms at the nape of my neck. “Um . . . it's a lovely place . . . in . . .” Then I remember Mrs. Voss's area code when she called the other day.
442
. “Carlsbad area, north of here.”

He flinches, likely surprised by my knowledge.

Now Nixon must really think I'm stalking him
and
his family.

“Nice area.” Candace selects another question. “Here's a good one. Erica from San Diego says, ‘Nick and Bree sound so cute and totally in love. What do the two do for fun?'”

“Oh, that's easy,” I say. “We like wine tastings, movies, fiddling around one another's houses taking care of Cinderella chores. In fact, I have a sprinkler valve—”

Nixon clasps my hand. “You know, I should contribute to this conversation, too. After all, it is about
us
.”

“No, you relax, honey. I don't mind answering the questions.”

Please stay quiet, please.

“Actually, Bree, I'd like to hear from Nick. Tell me, what do the two of you do for fun?”

“In or out of the bedroom?” He laughs. “Or should I say the parking lot of Whole Foods? Am I right,
sweetie
?” Nixon runs his fingers through my hair. “What this girl can do with an olive.”

Please tell me he did not just say that.

“Oh, my.” Candace writes a few notes.

I whisper to Nixon, “What are you doing?”

“Just playing along.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?”

“You roped me into this song and dance. Now we play it my way.”

Good Lord, I've created a monster.

“All right, so aside from . . . um . . . Whole Foods”—Candace clears her throat—“what else do you two like to do? Like, say, for example, what are your plans for this weekend?”

“Well, my little Breester is quite the adventure buff. So, I'm thinking rappelling.”

Dangle from a tiny rope? I'd rather slather myself in strawberry jelly and crawl into a grizzly bear's den.
“Um, too bad, baby cakes, I called, and they're booked, so—”

“Jet-Skiing,” he says.

In the ocean? Hasn't he ever watched Shark Week?
I catch the light in his eye. He's enjoying this. Okay, funny guy, no reason you should have all the fun.

“Unfortunately, that's out, too. You see, Nick has this skin condition on his butt that gets flaky in salt water, so—”

“So . . .” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.

I do not like the look in his eye. I do not.

“We signed up for a Tough Mudder.”

“Tough Mudder? What's that?” Candace asks.

Yeah, what's that?

“It's a twelve-mile military-style obstacle course, designed to play on common fears like heights, space, and water, that sort of stuff. It tests mental strength and physical stamina.”

“Sounds quite challenging,” Candace adds.

Sounds like torture.

“It is, but, my Bree, she's resilient. Besides, it's for a good cause, raises money for the Wounded Warrior Project. It's this Saturday morning in the mountains east of San Diego.”

“All for charity, that's wonderful.” Candace gathers her papers and stands.

We join her.

“Well, as I said last time, I'm no expert, but it seems as though you two have it all figured out, an excellent example of your professional skills overlapping into your personal life.”

“She's my peach.” He smacks me in the ass.

I will kill him.

“Do you have all you need, Candace?” Randi asks.

I'd forgotten she was still here.

“I believe so. Andrew, you got the information on the new client, Sean, right?”

Damn. It wasn't a bad dream.

“I do,” he says.

“Now, the cocktail party is in a couple of days? And you'll have potential matches for him there?”

“Uh . . . yes, I will.” I barely squeak out the words.
How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to find love for the man who still holds my heart? And my vinyl collection.

“Wonderful. As I've mentioned, we're expediting the pace here and moving right along. Next week's article will feature the two of you.” She motions toward Nixon and me. “Alongside will be Sean, and if Bree is as good as she says, then his new gal, too.”

Gee . . . great.

“So, with that said, I'll have Sean here the day after the party, at nine a.m., for a quick interview. After that, I'll meet with him privately. Thanks again, everyone. We'll talk soon.”

“I'm off, too,” Randi says. “Only a little over a month before the release and I've got a lot to do.”

“Olives?” I snarl at Nixon. “My grandmother is going to read this article.”

“You know, it wouldn't hurt to thank me. I'm not doing this interview for
me
.”

“Yes, fine, you're right. I'm grateful for your help and quick thinking. I mean the Tough Mudder stuff is classic.”

“Think I'm kidding? Hope you have a decent pair of tennis shoes. I'll pick you up Saturday, six a.m.”

A few minutes later, Andrew follows me to my desk.

I collapse into my chair. “This day started off well, then fizzled into disaster.”

“Yes, but on the flip side, the phone has been ringing all morning. I signed a dozen new clients all because they saw the article, and I had to print off more applications for a dozen others.” Andrew glances at his watch. “It's not even eleven a.m.”

“At least something's going right today.”

“Yeah, about that. This may not be the best time to tell you, but Mr. Chambers called. Don't you think he sounds like an arena announcer?
Let's get ready to rumble . . .
”

“What did he say, Andrew?”

“The hearing is set for next Wednesday.”

The confirmation weighs on my chest like a brick. “Okay, right. Guess it's official, then. Well, that's good, I suppose. At least then we'll know exactly what we're up against.”

“Have you told Jo what's going on?”

“Not yet. She hasn't asked and”—I shrug—“what's one more tiny white lie?”

“You're not lying to her.”

“I'm withholding the truth. Same difference.”

“She's tough, you know? Remember when she crawled underneath her sink and repaired her garbage disposal?”

“I know she's tough, but I've never seen her like this. She crumbles at the thought of losing her house.”

“Then let's not let that happen. By the way, there's an e-mail from Chambers, listing a few things he wants beforehand.”

“Okay.” I dig in my purse for Advil.

“There's more.”

“Of course there is.”

“The Gardens canceled our reception for Thursday night.”

I perk up. “No, that's perfect. I can cancel Sean and—”

“I already paid the nonrefundable deposit with the caterer.”

“Damn. Why'd they cancel?”

“Roof leak.”

“On top of everything else and now this.” I swallow the pills without water, something my dad used to do.

“Any other venue ideas?” Andrew tucks his bright yellow shirttail into his white jeans.

“No.”

“What about that new restaurant on Sixth?”

“Too bright. I want somewhere classy and fresh, yet untapped.”

“How about the park with the carousel?”

“No, the ticket-taker guy creeps me out. I swear he angles the mirrors to peek up girls' skirts.”

“I've seen that look before,” Andrew says. “What's your grand idea?”

“How about Sara's gallery? It's a great space. Not too small. Not too large.”
Plus, Sean hates stuffy art galleries.

“Definitely classy and hip.”

“I'm sure she has the gallery finished by now. I bet she'd
love the exposure. Do I have any appointments scheduled soon?”

He checks his iPad. “Nope, not until after lunch.”

“Great. I'm going to ask Sara in person. Wanna come?”

“Absolutely.”

After a quick stop for a coffee, Andrew and I head toward Sara's gallery, pausing at the crosswalk for a red light.

“We haven't talked about it much, but how are you doing?” he asks, and I know he means Sean.

“I don't know. I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm embarrassed. I'm confused.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

There have been a few times that I've forgotten that Sean ended our relationship. Just this morning alone, as I readied for work, several fleeting thoughts about us grilling steaks this weekend and finishing up the yellow peppers from last Saturday's farmer's market fluttered through my mind. And without thinking, I almost texted him about catching the new Robert Downey, Jr., movie on Sunday.

But then there are moments when the truth consumes me, when reality smacks me in the face and the images of his pained expression, his parted lips as he mouthed the words “It's not working” and his eyes narrowed with pity, carve a deeper pit into my heart.

“It helps having the article and even my little fake relationship with Nixon . . . er . . . Nick to take my mind off Sean. But I must admit, I fall asleep and wake up thinking of the past four years and everything I did wrong.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, but I must not have done enough right, either.”

“I'm sorry he acted like such a jerk. Want me to kick him in the nuts next time I see him?”

“Yes.”

“I think Sean truly feels bad for what he did.”

“He should.” We weave between two parked cars and cross the street.

“Yeah, he should. But, I don't know . . .” He shrugs and sidesteps a newspaper stand. “I'm just saying if he's that important to you, then don't close the door. You know better than most, a good relationship is hard to find. Give him some space and don't let your pride get in the way.”

“Thanks, Andrew. I appreciate it.”

“Speaking of swallowing pride, I called my parents yesterday.”

“Not the spray tan thing again?”

“No.” He laughs. “I asked them to lunch. For real. All this talk about Jo and family has got me thinking, maybe I'm as much to blame as them for our family's dysfunction.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“Over the years, I've thrown our differences in their face, kinda gayed things up, so to speak, just to piss them off.”

I know what he's referring to. So frustrated with his parents' criticism for his sexual orientation, Andrew dropped out of college late in his junior year. He cashed in his savings bonds and blew the money on nightclubs and weekends in Vegas at expensive hotels with random guys.

“All it got me was thirty-six credits shy of a degree, broke, a scar on my ankle that I have no idea where it came from, and a dad who can't stand the sight of me.”

“That's not true. He just doesn't understand your choices, that's all.”

“But that's the thing. That aspect of my life is not all that I am. And their disappointment in my ‘lifestyle' isn't all they are, either.”

“Dang, Andrew, that's the most profound thing you've ever said. Maybe anyone's ever said.”

“Yeah, well, remind me of that if they slam the door in my face. I'll let you know how it goes.”

“Hey, by the way, who were you having lunch with yesterday? At Ryoko's? The place you hate.”

“Huh?” He bites his lip, buying time.

“What's going on?”

“It's nothing.”

“Oh, c'mon.” I tickle his stomach. “What's the matter? Parasites swimming around in there?”

He swats my hands away. “Let's get back to you and your troubles.”

He reveals no more about his sushi lunch and I decide to let it go. Besides, Andrew can't keep a secret. I'll find out soon enough.

“What kind of matchmaker can't keep a boyfriend?” he says with a playful, inoffensive tone.

“Ha. I'm quite impressive, don't you think?” I fan my hands in the air and call out as if reading a marquee.
“Come find love with Bree Caxton and Associates, never mind that she can't find love herself.”

“If you want to work with a loser, give her a call.” Andrew laughs, then wraps his arm around me.

“You know, sometimes I wish you weren't gay.”

“Sometimes I wish you weren't a woman.”

We hold hands all the way until we reach Sara's gallery.

The tarps have been removed, the artwork hung, the birch floors polished. A series of frameless watercolors line the smooth walls. Dominating the center of the room is a sculpture formed with industrial-style heavy black iron pipe shaped into a flying bird . . . or a hang glider . . . or maybe the movers dropped the figure on the concrete and who's to know?

All the same, the gallery is modernly sparse and fresh, yet sophisticated and trendy enough that no one will dare admit
they don't understand the art. It's an ideal venue for my upscale crowd.

“Perfect, isn't it?” I say.

Andrew gazes up at a sweeping chandelier made of shiny chrome arms and covered with ivory-colored feathers. “This place is beautiful. It has an engaging sense and a great environment for mingling. We can set the bar up in that far corner.”

“Yes, and arrange a few chairs in the other corner for seating.”

“Bree? What a nice surprise.” A bright shade of coral lipstick colors Sara's lips. She's twenty feet away and I can see the glow on her face.

“The power of a new love,” I whisper to Andrew, before Sara reaches us.

“The power of
Nixon
,” Andrew says. “Fifty bucks says she bought new underwear.”

“Hello, Sara. You remember Andrew?”

“Of course. A pleasure to see you.”

“You, too,” he says. “I love those sandals.”

We all peek at her camel-colored double-strapped shoes. “Thanks.”

“Sara, the gallery is incredible,” I say. “I'm impressed you pulled it together so quickly.”

“Thank you.” She bends down to pick a piece of fuzz off the ground, sticking it inside her pocket. “It's been a lot of work, more than I anticipated, but thrilling at the same time. All I've got to do now is get people in the door. So, what brings you here? Did you come to take me up on that offer of Cristal?”

“Yes!” Andrew says.

I still his clapping hands. “Not today, thank you. Actually, I might have an idea to help get people in the door. At least for one night. We're here today with a proposition.”

She tilts her head. “Really? What is it?”

“Well, as you know, each month I host a get-together for my like-minded clients to meet and mingle.”

“Yes, I attended the brunch at Hotel del Coronado.”

“That's right. Well, I planned to host this month's party at the Gardens, but they canceled. I know it's last minute, but I'm wondering if you'd consider holding the mixer here.”

“In my gallery?”

“Yes. Thursday night. It'd be great exposure for the new place.”

She nibbles on her fingernail. “That it would be. But this Thursday?”

“I know, not a lot of time to prepare, but I'll handle all the arrangements: food, bar, wait staff, clean up, everything with the exception of security. I'm sure you have your own firm.”

“I do.”

Andrew jumps in. “We're keeping the guest list small and intimate, twenty-five to thirty people, maximum. A couple of hours, tops. What do you say?”

“I do have a few pieces from a new expressionist that I've been excited to display. This mixer will be a perfect occasion. I say yes. Let's do it.” She places her hand on my forearm. “First you find me Nixon, who may very well be the
one
. I had another nice conversation with him earlier today, by the way.”

Yeah, so did I.

“And, now you offer me a fantastic business opportunity. Bree Caxton, you're my new favorite person.”

A few hours later, after my appointments have been wrapped up, client calls returned, bills paid, my mouse pad wiped clean, pencils pointed east in my desk drawer, tea bags organized in the cupboard, and anything else I can do around the office to prolong the inevitable, Andrew props his laptop on his knees. He clicks open the database. “We need to do this.”

“How'd I get myself into this mess? Not long ago I bounced around happy and clueless. And now, my future rests on Sean falling in love. With
someone else
.”

“Put on your professional hat and get this over with. What are the parameters?”

“Missing front tooth. Incontinent. Riddled with cold sores.”

“C'mon, now, Bree. You said yourself, the success of
Can I See You Again?
hangs in the balance. It isn't going to work if you don't take this seriously.”

“Fine, fine.” I exhale a long breath.
For Jo, for the book, for the house.
“Okay, search for a nonsmoker, cultured, snarky, nice ass.” I arch my back and pat my own butt. “But I guess you already knew that.”

“Now there's the Bree I know and love.”