Ready or Not (33 page)

For her.

“How are you doing?” she asked Mallory. “It couldn’t have been comfortable sleeping in that chair.”

“Better now. It’s been a hell of a fifteen hours, but I finally feel like I have a grip on everything that’s going on.”

“That’s because you’ve seized the remote control.”

Mallory smiled at her knowingly and set down the English muffin, which she’d broken into smaller sections. “Yes, a little of that.”

“Are you going to head in to work now?”

“No. I let my friends know what happened. They wanted to race down here, but I told them you might be discharged later, so they’re going to wait.”

“Mallory?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been great, but don’t feel like you have to miss work to babysit. You probably have some big important client meeting, for all I know. I’ll be okay if you need to go.”

“I don’t have any big important client meetings that can’t wait. Plus, I have one goal, and one goal only right now, and that’s getting you well. All the rest can wait. Okay?”

The sentiment struck a powerful chord in Hope and she relaxed against the pillow, emotion flaring in her chest as she watched Mallory try to figure out the TV remote. She was special. You didn’t encounter people like her too often in life.

Hope filed that fact away.

*

“How in the world I let you talk me into this, I have no idea,” Hope said as they made their way gradually into Mallory’s apartment. It had been easier than Mallory thought it would be, getting Hope from the cab to the elevator. She could walk pretty much on her own, as long as they took it extra slow. Anything that required movement of her left arm was a bit more difficult, however.

“Because I’m very persuasive,” Mallory told her, sliding the door closed behind them. “It’s a gift.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Hey!” Mallory said, passing Hope a glance.

“Please. You love persuading people to do things.”

She looked skyward. “Yeah, I kinda do. Let’s get you settled.” She stood nearby as Hope gingerly lowered herself onto the couch, just in case she needed help.

“Now what can I get you? Nursemaid Mallory, here.”

“I’ve had Buddy Mallory and now I get Nursemaid Mallory? This day just gets better and better. Water?” Hope asked. “I’d kill for some water. And maybe a sidecar of Scotch.” Mallory eyed her. “Kidding. The pain pills have me fuzzy enough as it is.”

It had been just after eight that night when Hope had been officially discharged from the hospital and sent home with a bottle of pain pills and instructions to rest. The idea of sending Hope to her own apartment to fend for herself just wasn’t an option in Mallory’s mind, so she’d managed to convince Hope to stay with her.

And after delivering the glass of water, Mallory turned her attention to unpacking the bag she’d packed for Hope earlier in the day, settling her in a bit. This presented a momentary dilemma for Mallory, because while she’d be more than happy to let Hope stay in her room as she always had in the past, she also knew that under the present circumstances, it was less than appropriate to push that angle. Hope was injured and skittish, and in this capacity, she was Hope’s friend. Nothing more. So instead, she carried the bag into the small guest room across from her own room and went about setting out Hope’s things for easy access.

“Want to maybe get some sleep?” Mallory asked when she re-entered the living room and found Hope relaxing her head on the cushion. It was only nine thirty, but Hope’s body probably needed the extra rest and she looked beyond exhausted.

“Just walking a little bit kind of took the wind out of me, but I think maybe I’ll watch some TV first, if that’s okay. I probably need to chat with Teddy too. Make sure everything’s okay at Showplace. And update Kara and let her know I’m out of the hospital. She’s been freaking out.”

“Teddy’s a pro. That place is in good hands. You need to focus on you. Can you do that?”

Hope nodded. “I can try.” After a brief phone call to Kara, Hope turned to an episode of
Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives
, and Mallory took a seat in the club chair next to the couch and looked over some of her notes from work. Every once in a while she’d catch Hope smile at something on the show or laugh quietly at the zany host with the spiky hair. It hadn’t escaped Mallory that she damn well could have lost Hope this week, and the idea was almost too much to consider. Watching her now, in this quiet moment, she knew how lucky she was that Hope was not only all right but going to make a full recovery.

“Do you ever watch this show?” Hope asked her, gesturing at the credits now rolling on the television.

Mallory focused on the question, pulled from her thoughts. “Once or twice. It’s much more fun with you in the room though. You seem to enjoy it. I like that.”

“I do like it.” They shared a smile. “You’re super studious over there though. What are you working on?”

“I landed us a new dog-food client not long ago. Brooklyn put together a great commercial spot for them, and now we’re trying to organize the logistics of the shoot. I’ve got some pricing that Samantha sent me for locations. I’m compiling it all to present to the client this next week.”

“It’s fun to watch you work. You get the tiniest little crease just below your eyebrows when you concentrate.”

Mallory absently touched her face. “Do I?”

“You do. It’s kind of…well, you get one is all.” She was withholding, that much Mallory could tell. The air was thick between them. So much still unsaid about…everything. Hope moved them out of it. “I should probably get some rest. Thanks for all your help today.” She used the armrest to ease herself into a standing position and walked slowly to the guest room. As she moved, Mallory winced along with her, hating the fact that Hope was in pain and wishing she could do something, anything to take it away. “Good night, Mallory.”

“Good night, Hope,” Mallory said. She gazed at the picture window behind her as the lights of the city danced and her heart thudded away, lonely for what had once been and longing for what would probably never be again. Life was tricky, that’s for sure, and matters of the heart were proving to be the trickiest. Speaking of which, she really owed her mother a phone call after the numerous voice mails she’d left. She’d get on that tomorrow and maybe—

“Mallory,” Hope said quietly from the guest room. “Could you come in here for a sec?”

“On my way.” Mallory set her notes on the coffee table and walked to the guest room. Hope had one arm free from her shirt and stood there looking beyond frustrated.

“It’s stupid, but I think I need you to help me get dressed.”

Mallory took a moment with that one before snapping to attention and taking hold of the situation. “Sure. No problem.” Totally professional. In fact, she excelled at professionalism. It was in her DNA. “So I’m thinking if you just let me slip this over your head. There. Perfect. And now I’ll slide the shirt off your left arm slowly. You only have to raise it a tiny bit. That’s it,” she said, sliding the shirt off Hope’s injured arm and freeing her of it altogether.

She turned and folded the shirt, setting it on the nightstand before returning to Hope. Professional or not, she blinked at the expanse of skin on display to her now, the curvy tops of Hope’s breasts visible from the bra she wore. “Turn around,” Mallory said quietly. Hope met her eyes briefly but did so without a word. Mallory unclasped the maroon bra and set it with the discarded shirt on the nightstand. She’s injured
,
Mallory reminded herself, and should not be subject to objectification right now. She reached for the new T-shirt Hope had set out to sleep in, swallowing against the fact that Hope was topless and standing in front of her. Finally, giving her head a little shake, she refocused her actions and helped Hope slide into the sleep shirt. “And there you go,” she told Hope with a gentle pat to her good shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Hope said, meeting her eyes and holding on. The moment hadn’t been lost on her either, that was for sure. Apparently, chemistry superseded shattered relationships and broken ribs. They were human after all.

“You’re welcome.” Mallory nodded an extra time or two and moved to the door as if on automatic pilot. “Good night again.”

A week later, Mallory returned to her apartment for lunch, a habit she’d developed since bringing Hope to stay with her. Hope’s progress had been slow, which frustrated her, but it had been steady all the same. Today, Mallory found her scribbling notes on a pad of paper on the couch. “Thank God I’m right-handed,” she told Mallory when she arrived home. “Or I’d have thrown this pad across the room by now. It’s hard enough to hold it in place.”

“You seem to be doing a good job from here. What fancy thing are you working on?”

“A few ideas for Timmy’s cocktail menu. We did a conference call this morning. He’s looking for something that rotates seasonally. Summer’s up first, so I’m naturally thinking fruit-influenced.”

“Naturally,” Mallory said, enjoying the cheerful visual. Hope was smiling today, clearly in creative mode, and it stole Mallory’s breath to see her so into her work. With everything about her so vibrant, she lit up the whole room. God, she’d missed seeing that in Hope lately, and just like that, her energy shifted up. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I am. Shower time is down to ten minutes from thirteen. Progress. Hold your applause.”

“Okay, but only because you demand it. Can I make you lunch?”

“Too late. I made you some,” Hope said and gestured with her chin to the sandwich she’d laid out for Mallory. “Fresh turkey with a slice of avocado and garlic mayonnaise. Your favorite. Oh, and a side of salt-and-vinegar potato chips because I’m no fool. I still don’t understand how you like those things, however.”

“They have bite,” Mallory said, lifting the plate. “Like me.”

“You think you have bite?” Hope retrieved the plate she’d made for herself and had set aside until Mallory arrived, this one with regular potato chips like a normal person. She picked up a chip and gestured at Mallory in a circle. “Grow up in my neighborhood and you’ll see tons of people with real bite. It isn’t pretty either.”

“I have lots of bite. You don’t know.”

Hope laughed. “Okay then, clearly, I’m mistaken.”

“Clearly,” Mallory said and took a seat at the island next to Hope. “Have you not noticed my power suits and killer heels? Total bite. Please don’t neglect to register the killer heels, because they’re Jimmy Choos.” She gestured to the navy-blue, pinstriped pants suit all the way down to the pumps she’d worn to work that day and watched as Hope gave her a once-over.

“I have, in fact, noticed the Jimmy things. And the business suits. Because, well, hard not to…” She felt the warmth move into her cheeks.

Mallory bit into a chip and smiled. “Wait a minute. Are you blushing right now?”

“No way.” Hope stared back at Mallory, who looked glamorous and like the girl next door all wrapped into one. How was that even possible? One thing she did know for sure was that she liked being there when Mallory came home for lunch. Hell, she liked
making
her lunch. There was something decidedly domestic about it.

But at the same time, alarm bells sounded, and due to recent events, she wasn’t sure she should entertain those kinds of thoughts about Mallory. It was a fact she’d been trying desperately to face, and if Mallory hadn’t shown up at the hospital, it would have been decidedly easier.

But she had. She’d been there for Hope and that was everything.

Yet, logistically, they were still a very bad idea.

Hope wasn’t exactly Park Avenue material and never would be. The prospect of always feeling like she fell short of the ideal would surely eat away at her over time if they were together, and then where would they be? What she and Mallory had was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced. The girl only had to flash a smile and Hope was putty in her hands, and she had the distinct feeling it worked both ways. But they could tear each other apart if they let themselves, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

They weren’t a match.

So instead of continuing the line of flirtation that had cropped up, they ate their lunch in that easy silence you can only achieve with someone you’re comfortable with. And Mallory was that for her now. Regardless of whether they were sleeping together, she planned to hold on to that friendship and sidestep the rest as best she could, because Mallory was too important.

Maybe one day it would get easier…

“Sweetheart, what do you think of the blue?” Mallory looked on as her mother held up a periwinkle blouse Mallory had utterly mixed feelings about.

“It’s beautiful, Mom.”

“They say periwinkle is this summer’s peach. I don’t know how I feel about peach.”

“Do they say that?” Mallory asked absently. Her mother had invited her on a midday shopping excursion, which Mallory figured was just a guise for a little one-on-one time, a chance for them to talk for the first time about her parents’ relationship. Turned out, not so much, as they were now legitimately
shopping
for her mother’s summer wardrobe at Barney’s. Shopping! Mallory’s patience was wearing thin, as the one thing she didn’t want to do on their shopping excursion was
shop
. Was that too much to ask?

“Mallory, why do you have that sour look on your face? It reminds me of when you were ten and found out that those stupid tennis shoes on the commercial didn’t really make you fly.”

She tried to brighten, but it was as if her smile muscles weren’t working in some sort of smile-muscle betrayal typical to her life of late. Instead she blew out a breath and leveled with her mother, because honestly, why continue the girls’-day-out-shopping charade? “I thought maybe you’d invited me out to talk. About things…with you…and Dad…and the tennis coach.”

“The divorce,” her mother filled in.

“Right. The divorce. Are you still getting that? Because it would be great if maybe we all rethought that decision a moment. Maybe took five and found a way to Oprah this thing to a healthy place.”

Her mother nodded solemnly and lifted a halfhearted hand in the direction of the nearby mannequin. “I always found that a little extracurricular shopping cured the most incurable of blues.”