Pretense (45 page)

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"I've got tickets for a show this Saturday night," Paxton said as soon as he heard Mackenzie's voice. "I have to go and I don't want to, so you're going to have to doll up and go with meorI'll lose my mind."

"You know," she said dryly, working not to laugh, "this is the third time you've called this week. Unlike some people who have the cushy life of an editor, most of us have to work for a living."

"Cushy?" He sounded outraged. "Do you know how much rewriting was required on Brett Kirby's last book? I didn't think we'd ever get done."

"Did you ever go out with his sister?" Mackenzie asked.

"Yes."

"Was she nice?"

"No. The evening couldn't end swiftly enough. All she did was talk about the book she wants to write. Save me from aspiring writers."

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Mackenzie laughed, but inside she was cringing. Never in a million years would she tell Paxton she'd been playing with a story of her own-not just playing, but writing in earnest on a personal computer she had splurged on and bought the month before. She hadn't done any serious writing since the summer she took a writing course, but after reading
The Timepiece,
a book she enjoyed, she felt vaguely dissatisfied. Most of the book was fabulous, but she would have written a completely differently ending, and there wasn't a need for the sex scenes, or for that matter, the swearing.

Mackenzie was no prude, but in high school she'd had a teacher who was very firm on several things, one of which was "cut the superfluous." She could still hear him: "If the scene doesn't add to the story, cut it. I don't care how well-written you think it is, cut it. I don't care if it's your favorite part, cut it."

To say such a thing to Paxton would hurt him. After all, he was the editor, but Mackenzie would have probably cut a good 50 pages from the book. The finished length was well over 700 pages, and in her opinion, no one would have missed the scenes she didn't like.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"So are you free Saturday night or what?"

"I think so. Just how dressy is this?"

"Very. I'll be in a tux."

"Are you serious?"

"Um-hm." He sounded too satisfied by half.

"Pax, I don't have anything that dressy, and none of my roommates is the same size."

"Go shopping."

"For a dress I'll wear one night?"

"You buy a dress, and I'll see to it that you wear it again."

Mackenzie wasn't sure she found that a deal, but Paxton Hancock was turning out to be a great friend. His expectations of her were next to nothing, yet he was always ready to give of himself.

"Come on, Mackenzie," he coaxed. "You'd look good in black."

"I'll be sure and look for red."

"Mmm, red would work too."

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"I don't know, Paxton. Can I think about it?"

"No. Now tell me you'll go shopping tomorrow and be ready with bells on Saturday night."

Mackenzie heard herself agreeing. It was the first time he'd ever demanded anything of her, and a sudden desire not to be so self-centered caused her to acquiesce.

"Six o'clock" were the words he rang off with, and for a long time Mackenzie stood looking at the kitchen floor. She would shop, but not before she ruled out her roommates' closets. Hoping one of them had the perfect dress, she moved to the living room to give them the third degree.

"Mackenzie," Aimee breathed when Micki came from her room four days later. Aimee's reverent voice brought the other two women from the kitchen. They were headed out as well, but with something more casual in mind.

Mackenzie was anything but casual. The dress she'd bought at Jones was deceivingly simple. A deep green velvet with a rounded neck and long sleeves, it hit just below her knees, and, although not skintight, showed her figure to perfection. She wore her best gold earrings and a thin gold chain. Beth had loaned her a dressy watch and bracelet. Her high-heeled pumps were black and so was her small clutch. With her hair pulled back in a loose chignon, she looked like she had just stepped out of a mansion.

"Are you sure Paxton is just a friend, Micki?" Janelle wanted to know. She still liked to be in charge, but Mackenzie had learned that her heart was big.

"Yes, he is. It's some sort of show, so he'll be in a tux."

"When will he be here?" Beth asked.

"At six o'clock."

"Are you nervous?" This came from Aimee.

"No. It's just Pax, and we never run out of things to talk about."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Mackenzie moved to get it, but Janelle beat her to it. She opened it with a flourish but was let down when Paxton did little more than spot Mackenzie and ask if she was ready to go.

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"Sure. Goodnight," she called to her roommates and headed out the door. Janelle was there to close it behind her. Paxton and Mackenzie walked down the stairs in silence. Not until they were next to his elegant Mercedes did Mackenzie speak.

"You look nice, Pax."

He opened the door but didn't speak, and Mackenzie had the sudden fear that his silence was over the fact that she was dressed all wrong. She stepped between the car and the curb but didn't get in. She looked back to find him watching her.

"This was my idea, wasn't it?" he said before she could question him.

"What was?" Mackenzie asked in genuine confusion.

"You don't have time to go back and change into fatigues?"

Mackenzie laughed. "I don't think so. Is that what you really want?"

"No, but I'm going to pay for it."

Mackenzie let that one go and stepped into the car.

"What do you hear from your family?" Paxton asked after a short silence.

"Everyone's fine. D.J. has been looking into several art schools. Most are pretty close to home, and I can tell she is ecstatic."

Traffic was heavy, so Mackenzie fell quiet as Paxton drove them into the downtown D.C. area. He pulled into a parking garage a little off the main route, so parking wasn't impossible. Thankfully they weren't that far from the theater, since Mackenzie's shoes were not made to walk for miles. A few elevators and a long walkway, and soon they were in front of the theater. Mackenzie's mouth opened.

"You're taking me to see
Les Miserables?'

"Uh-hm," he responded, sounding bored.

Mackenzie came to a stop.

"Why don't you want to see it?"

"Because I've seen it twice."

"Then why are we here?"

Paxton gestured toward the curb with his head. A black limo had pulled up, and with it, enough pomp and ceremony to welcome the queen. A man and a woman were emerging from the deep rear seat.

"Who are they?" Mackenzie asked.

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"I don't know who she is, but the man is Carson Walcott. We're trying to lure him away from Bancroft for his next book."

Mackenzie gripped his arm with bruising strength. "Do you mean to tell me we're watching
Les Miz
with Carson Walcott?"

"Yes."

"You could have warned me." She glared at him.

"But then you wouldn't have come. You would have been nervous and upset instead of relaxed and beautiful."

Mackenzie opened her mouth and shut it. He was right. She would have been sick with nerves. Paxton smiled at her before taking her arm and mewing forward. She was introduced to Carson Walcott, a best-selling mystery author and playwright, as though hobnobbing with celebrities was an everyday occurrence. Mackenzie hoped she did everything right because ten minutes later, when she was seated in a private balcony seat, she couldn't remember a thing.

"Do you work with IronHorse?" Carson turned to ask her.

"As a matter of fact, I don't," she said softly, hoping it didn't matter and wishing that Paxton wasn't seated on the other side of Ruthie, Carson's companion. Mackenzie would have gone on to tell the famous author where she worked, but he put his hand on her knee and slid it up her leg a little. She was stiff as a poker by the time he stopped. When Ruthie touched his arm and spoke to him, he moved his hand.

The show hadn't even started, but Mackenzie was ready to leave. For the next few minutes, Carson was in deep conversation with Ruthie and magnanimous with his tips to the man who brought them drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Mackenzie shifted away from him in her seat and pulled the hem of her dress over her knees as far as it would go. She thought everything would be all right, but without warning Carson turned to her, his hand landing so high on her thigh that she jumped to her feet and moved toward the door. The hallway where she emerged didn't look familiar, but escape was Mackenzie's only intent. She turned left and had to stop herself from breaking into a run.

Mackenzie didn't know that Paxton was on her heels. He made the mistake of not speaking as he caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. Mackenzie reacted without thinking. She whipped around, caught her attacker by the neck, put a leg behind his knees, and none-too-gently landed him flat on his

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back. Not until Mackenzie looked down into the stunned face of Paxton Hancock did she realize what she'd just done. She straightened, shifted her dress into place, and moved down the hallway to lean against the wall. Her whole body felt suffused with heat, and for a moment she closed her eyes. She heard movement and steps but did not look at Paxton until he stepped directly in front of her.

"The show has started," Paxton said softly, amazed that none of the ushers had seen the display and called security. "Will you please come back inside?"

"Sure, Pax." Mackenzie's voice was low with rage. "I'll come back in, and when Carson Walcott puts his hand on my leg again, I'll break his nose and you can kiss your book deal goodbye."

It was on the tip of Paxton's tongue to tell Mackenzie to grow up, but he was glad he held his words. Mackenzie was the victim. He noticed absently that she didn't have a hair out of place.

"Promise me you'll stay here, Mackenzie. I'll be right back."

Mackenzie only stared at him.

"You don't even have your purse."

Again the stare.

"Can I help you, sir?" An usher had appeared.

"Please," Paxton recovered smoothly, "my date would like a tall glass of ice water. We're in the Jefferson box."

"Very good, sir."

Paxton leveled Mackenzie with a look and steered her back down the wall in the direction of their box. She hadn't promised to stay, but in truth she was too shaken to move from where he left her. He returned in a surprisingly short time.

"Ruthie has moved to your seat," he wasted no time in telling her. "I'll sit next to Carson, and you'll be on my right."

Mackenzie knew that if she didn't get her mind off what had just happened, she would burst into tears. She nodded and allowed Paxton to take her arm. Moments later he took a seat, effectively blocking her from the lustful author, and waited for her to sit down. As soon as she did, his arm went around her shoulders.

Very aware of her trembling, Paxton said nothing and hoped they could make it through the next few hours. The usher came several minutes later with the ice water, but Mackenzie didn't reach for it. Paxton took it from the offered tray. When the man moved away, the editor leaned close and spoke to her.

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"Don't you want a little?"

"I'm shaking too much right now to even hold the glass."

Paxton took a drink himself and suddenly found Carson leaning close. His breath smelled of wine.

"I wanted Mackenzie to sit by me."

"Come on, Carson," Paxton responded, keeping his voice light, "you can't expect to have my woman. No book contract is worth that."

The mystery author grunted but then laughed at something that occurred onstage. A glance to Paxton's left told him Ruthie's leg was getting some of Carson's attention, but she didn't seem to mind. His arm told him Mackenzie was still upset. He leaned close.

"It really is a fabulous show. If you can relax, you might enjoy it."

"I don't even know why I'm here. Where's my purse?"

"Under your chair. I'm sorry, Mackenzie. I won't let him at you again. Try to enjoy this."

"Do you tell everyone I'm your
woman?'

"No, only when the man is trying to take advantage of a situationIput you in."

His voice was so contrite that for the first time in many minutes, Mackenzie was able to let her back relax against the seat cushion. The music coming from the orchestra pit was beautiful, and even though she wasn't as interested in the stage performance, she did allow herself to enjoy the music.

By the intermission she was enjoying both. There was a moment of panic when Carson stood and came toward her, but he did so only to tell Paxton that he and Ruthie were leaving. Paxton saw them out, and Mackenzie sat with her eyes on the curtain of the balcony box and waited for him. She stood as soon as he appeared.