No More Lonely Nights (63 page)

“More coffee?” Carter got up from the floor and stretched. She carefully stepped around the binders on the carpet to approach Dominique’s desk. They contained finished portions of the Corcoran proposal. The two women had spent the entire day preparing the fourteen copies necessary for the board, and Dominique was now drafting the cover letter. Carter reached across her desk and picked up her boss’ mug.

Dominique sighed and rubbed her sore eyes. “I’m going to float away, but I need coffee to stay awake.”

A sonorous clap of thunder shook the building, and Dominique shuddered.

Carter looked at her. “You hate storms, don’t you?”

Dominique gave her a sheepish look.

Carter laughed and brought her the full mug of coffee. “Is that ready to type up?” She pointed at the draft Dominique was working on.

“I suppose,” Dominique said wearily. “I’ve edited it so many times that I don’t know if I’m making it better or worse. I wish we could afford one of those memory typewriters so you wouldn’t have to keep retyping the same thing.”

“At the business school, they’re even using computers for stuff like this,” Carter commented.

“Computers!” Dominique exclaimed.

“You never have to retype. You can edit and print as many copies as you want.”

“What a time-saver,” Dominique said wistfully. She needed more people, but she also needed better office equipment. If only she could get this contract!

The item in next morning’s paper was a blow so unexpected, so damaging, that Dominique could only stare at the column in disbelief.

Everyone’s dying to see who the Corcoran’s going to pick to organize its big gala in honor of top photographer Harlan Wilkie. Word is that the new Affairs to Remember was front-runner, but there’ve been whispers about how firm president Dominique Parker gets her contracts. Everyone knows that she’s
very good friends
with powerful Louisiana Senator Mark Patout, and sources tell us that the connection is her biggest business asset. It’s not that he does any arm-twisting, but the “friendship” is no secret. And, Dear Reader, you know as well as I that there isn’t a Washington player who won’t snap at the chance to win favor with a high-ranking senator.

Sniffs one former associate of Dominique’s, “All museums get federal grants. Obviously, Dominique is going to have the advantage over another firm, even if she’s less experienced and less capable. If I were a competitor I’d want to know as much as possible about how that contract is awarded.”

And how does lovely Dominique respond? Hard to say, since at press time, she hadn’t returned our call. As for the senator, we couldn’t keep his receptionist on the phone long enough to take a message. “He doesn’t respond to gossip items,” she told us. Yes, but, but, hold on a minute—“I’m sorry. That’s his policy.” Click! Well, Dear Reader, there you have it. Don’t say I didn’t give them a chance.

Dominique gripped the newspaper, her nails tearing into it. She remembered the phone message. It hadn’t been left by the gossip columnist, whose name everyone knew. It had undoubtedly been an assistant. Dominique groaned at her mistake. She had thought it was, as usual, a salesperson trying to talk her into a subscription; the circulation department called at least once a week since she’d started her business.

Dominique was trembling with rage, humiliation, regret—her body ready to do battle. But with whom? The gossip columnist? The woman was only doing her job by printing a tip from Dominique’s “former associate.” Sylvia! It had to be Sylvia. What other “former associate” would say such a thing!

With shaking hands, Dominique pushed herself up from the table and hurried to the phone. She fumbled with the receiver, then dialed Felice’s number. The other woman answered at once.

“Did you see the paper?” Dominique asked without preamble.

Felice sounded almost as agitated. “What are you going to do?”

Dominique’s voice was ragged with frustration and anger. “What am I supposed to do? How do I fight something like this? Dammit, Sylvia’s not even competing for this contract! Why won’t she just leave me alone?”

“I told you…” Felice moaned, “she’s a miserable person. Don’t look for sense in her actions. She can’t stand the fact that you don’t depend on her anymore—that your business is doing well.”

“Well?” Dominique’s voice grew shrill. “I can barely afford to pay Carter. I work nights and weekends. Except for the French embassy job, I’ve only gotten a few lousy little contracts. And who’s going to want me after this?” Her voice cracked.

“Calm down, calm down, Dominique,” Felice said soothingly. “Let’s think…” There was a moment’s silence, then Felice suggested, “Why not call the reporter? Get her to retract this?”

“There’s nothing to retract!” Dominique cried. “The whole piece is based on a quote from Sylvia. Anyhow, what’s to deny? Mark and I
are
seeing each other. He
has
recommended me to people.”

“But the way it’s written twists everything,” Felice said bitterly.

Dominique was silent as she tried to think. Finally, she said in a dull voice, “I can’t let this go without a response, even if it draws out the whole episode.”

“What are you going to say?”

“That’s not even the point.” Dominique’s tone was despairing. “What’s this going to do to my business?” She felt like collapsing in bed and weeping. She felt like locking herself in her room until the news grew stale. “And what about the Corcoran? They just got my proposal yesterday. Sylvia timed this perfectly!”

“Are you going to call them?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

“Have you talked to Mark?”

“I called you first. I thought maybe you would know something—”

“You know how secretive Sylvia is. She never tells anyone anything.” Felice paused. “I wish Mrs. Filmore weren’t in Italy.
She’d
tell the reporter how good you are!”

Dominique’s voice dropped. “Can you get me a number where I can reach her?”

Mark watched Dominique come through the revolving door then emerge into the lobby of the Mayflower Hotel. He expected to see a downcast expression—he knew she was deeply upset about the gossip column that morning. But instead she wore a look of expectation as she scanned the seating areas. When she spotted Mark, a happy smile appeared on her face.

Mark’s heart thumped as he saw the change. It was exactly how he felt about Dominique. Without her, things seemed dimmer and less alive. With her, problems seemed less important. He rose to meet her, hands outstretched. His skin tingled with anticipation of her touch. When she drew close, he smiled into her eyes, and she, in turn, embraced him with hers.

She tilted her head in expectation of a light kiss. Mark had the urge to wrap her in his arms and hold her close, but mindful of the room full of people, he restrained himself. At the contact of her lips on his, chaste though it was, Mark’s pulse quickened. She always had that effect on him.

A waitress appeared to take their order, bourbon on the rocks for Mark, a glass of red wine for Dominique.

Dominique began to speak even before the waitress turned to go. “I called Mrs. Filmore in Italy. I hate to think of the phone bill—it’s going to cost a fortune! But she said she’d call the reporter. She’s really the only one in Washington who can credibly deny that article.”

Mark frowned. “What about Michelle de la Croix?”

Dominique looked troubled. “I don’t want a client involved in this. Besides, when I talked to her today, she said, ‘These Americans make such a fuss about love affairs. It’s all so provincial.’” Dominique laughed. “All I need is for her to say something like that. It won’t help my case at all!”

Mark couldn’t suppress a smile.

The waitress returned with their drinks and they clinked their glasses together.

“To better times,” Mark said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Dominique said.

Mark reached for Dominique’s hand, which lay on the arm of her chair. He entwined his fingers in hers. “Did you talk to the Corcoran?”

Dominique shook her head. “No…. What could I say? To defend myself, I either have to lie about us or criticize Sylvia. Either way, I won’t look good. But I’m hoping Mrs. Filmore’s denial will put an end to this once and for all.”

“What did she say about Sylvia’s behavior?” Mark asked with a scowl.

Dominique gave him a resigned half-smile. “Her exact words were, ‘Oh, dear.’”

Mark raised one eyebrow. “That’s all? ‘Oh dear’?”

Dominique shrugged. “What do you expect? That she’ll fire her? She depends on Sylvia.”

“I expected a little more outrage!” Mark spoke in a huffy tone.

Dominique wore a resigned look. “We have no proof. It suits Mrs. Filmore to believe there’s some doubt about Sylvia’s role.” Dominique waved her hands as though to dismiss the subject. “Anyhow, I’m sure Mrs. Filmore will make a glowing statement and, hopefully, that will be that.”

Mark looked doubtful. “I suppose any comment from me will just fuel the fire?”

“Absolutely! Especially since you never talk to gossip columnists. If you make an exception for me, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Dominique shook her head vigorously.

They stewed in frustrated silence for a few moments. Then Mark turned to a happier topic. “Well, you said the Corcoran loved your ideas. This’ll blow over.”

Dominique’s expression brightened. “Yes, Cecilia was excited about the black-and-white ball. It’s traditional, but still different for Washington.”

Mark nodded, his eyes alive with interest. As a member of the Senate, he was used to relying on his staff, so he appreciated Dominique’s ability to conceive an idea, then execute it with elegance and efficiency. She was remarkable! He watched as she spoke, her hair bouncing with each gesture, her eyes sparkling with excitement. He had the sudden urge to take her in his arms, to kiss her. But Dominique was absorbed in the discussion of the Corcoran contract. Mark let his fantasy slip away and instead focused on what she was saying.

“This would be such a wonderful job! The Corcoran knows exactly whom they want to invite and Congressman Yancy has already agreed to host it, so there won’t be anything for me to do other than organize the event itself.” Dominique’s expression turned grave. “I hope Sylvia hasn’t ruined my chances. If I could get this job, I could hire another person, maybe even Felice. Carter and I just can’t handle—” She stopped in mid-sentence, regretting the words immediately.

The couple had assiduously avoided the subject of Mark’s loan offer, but Dominique’s mention of her financial situation gave Mark grounds for bringing it up again. Now he wore an I-told-you-so look.

Mark saw the warning in Dominique’s eyes, but went on anyhow. “You’re holding back the growth of your business by not accepting my help,” he said sharply. He was hurt that Dominique still refused to fully trust him—for he interpreted her refusal as a lack of trust.

Dominique gently placed her hand on his arm. “Let’s not open this can of worms again,” she appealed to him. She looked down and added quietly, “Especially in light of that gossip column.”

“Dominique.” Mark’s tone was softer now. “If we were married, gossip wouldn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?” she asked with exasperation. “It would be all the worse because the connection to you would be even stronger. It would confirm everything in that column!” Dominique paused and her expression turned gentle. She leaned forward and took Mark’s hands. “If I were ready to remarry, none of this would matter, but it’s too soon. I’ve told you that. The divorce has only been final a few months. I’m trying to get my business off the ground and”—she shrugged—“now this thing’s come up.”

“It’ll blow over by next week,” Mark said impatiently. “But how long are you and I supposed to go on like this?”

Dominique drew back, releasing his hands. “You act as though what we have now is unendurable. What’s wrong with it?”

Of course, she knew the answer. Mark wanted a commitment that she simply wasn’t prepared to give. Couldn’t he understand that she was still recovering from the terrible blow of her divorce? She felt uncertain of her future, of her ability to make her business work, her ability to take care of her mother and Gabrielle. And, deep in her soul, she felt that this was her final chance to prove herself. How many false starts had there been? How many times had she struck out on the road to independence only to be sidetracked?

She remembered the girl she had once been—twenty-one, eager to free herself of her mother’s stifling presence. But her love affair with Stephen had become the watershed event of her adventure, and she hadn’t attained independence at all. And later, when she had left Anton, she had launched a successful career. But, once more, she had fallen in love and been absorbed into the life of another.

Dominique had played the “what if” game many times, and she knew that good things had resulted from both episodes. But she couldn’t let her love for Mark cut short her promise once more. When she committed herself to him, she wanted to do it from a position of strength, not weakness. Not until she felt certain she could stand on her own would she feel free to irrevocably unite her life with his. If he’d only be patient!

Mark answered in a voice that was controlled, but insistent. “This isn’t enough. It’s not a real commitment.” He saw Dominique’s expression turn to one of alarm. He paused. Did he really want to pursue this discussion? Maybe he should back off and smooth things over. He didn’t want to anger her, or scare her away. It was already a tense time for her. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. He told himself to suppress his disappointment, to just let things lay. But it was as though the words were fighting to come out. Before he even quite realized it, he said, “You’re looking at this in the context of your past, Dominique. You’re acting like you can’t pursue your own interests if you marry me. I’m not like Clay or your first husband. I’m not trying to take away your independence. I’d never want to do that.” He shook his head. “I want for you the same things you want for yourself.”

Dominique studied his beloved face. Mark meant so much to her. She loved him, truly loved him, but a part of her was frightened by the feeling of powerlessness, of dependency that it gave her. By his importance in her life.