That Man 3 (20 page)

“No, Jennifer. Not until you tell me what kind of game you’re playing.”

“What do you mean?”

“My grandma told me she ran into you the other day, and you told her you’re
meshugunah
about me.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re crazy about me. The way I’m crazy about you.”

I narrowed my watering eyes. “I
was
crazy about you. And you know what? I was even going to forgive you for sending me
that despicable video until I saw that photo.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That photo of you all over Kitty-Kat in
The Hollywood Reporter.”

“Fuck.” He bit down hard on his bottom lip and slapped his forehead. “It—”

I cut him off, my voice venomous. “We’re broken up for not even a week and you’re
back to your old ways. I guess once the player, always the player.”

“I swear to God, Jen, it wasn’t like that. You have to believe me.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Blake, except you excel
at deception and breaking hearts.”

“Jesus, Jen. You’re killing me. You’re the only one. I love you body and soul.” He
moved in to kiss me. Our lips touched briefly before I turned my cheek away.

“This is harassment. Let. Me. Go.” My voice was tearful.

Cursing under his breath, he broke away and set me free.

With little satisfaction, I hobbled out of the room.

Blake

B
ack in my office, I was numb. Jennifer had absolutely wowed impossibly hard-to-please
Gloria with her pitch. She’d done exactly what my father preached. Lined up the three
cherries—the right idea, the right time, the right person. She’d done a great job
and I hadn’t commended her. Nor had I told her that throughout most of her presentation,
I was fantasizing about gathering her in my arms and spreading her across the conference
room table and fucking her clever brains out until she admitted she forgave me and
begged for more. Makeup sex.

I stared at the little snow globe she’d given me for Christmas. It sat on my desk
right next to that
Hollywood Reporter
. I tossed the damn magazine into my trash can and picked up the globe. I gave it
a shake and watched the shimmering flecks of snow dance around the golden ball. Jennifer
McCoy had melted my heart, but now it was frozen. It stung like hell.

She had made it clear to me that forgiveness was not in my stars. Damn. Why couldn’t
she be more like her animated hero SpongeBob and accept me with my faults? Why couldn’t
she trust me? Believe me? Yes, I was seriously flawed, but it didn’t stop me from
wanting her and loving her. Setting the snow globe down, I anchored my elbows on my
desk and sunk my throbbing head into my palms.

“Son, are you okay?”

My eyes darted to the door to my office. It was my father, back from his trip with
my mother to Aruba. He was dressed in one of his impeccably tailored gray suits and
sporting a rich tan.

“Hi, Dad,” I mumbled as he strode my way.

“You’re not ill again, are you?” he asked, taking in my feverish eyes and rumpled
hair.

I shook my head and loosened the tie around my neck. “Dad, I need to talk to you about
something.”

“Let’s go outside. Pour the brandy. I’ve brought you back a fine Cuban cigar.”

One shot of brandy and a half-smoked cigar later, I’d unloaded my relationship with
Jennifer on my father. He had the right to know as it could potentially affect Conquest
Broadcasting business dealings. He listened intently with very few interruptions.
He blew a curl of smoke into the unseasonably mild early evening air as I came to
the end of my confession.

“So, I fucked up.”

“It’s not the first time. Is she going to quit?”

“No. She made it clear she wants to continue her job. Her presentation to Gloria Zander
was outstanding. Gloria’s Secret is going to sponsor the erotic romance block she’s
developing, and Gloria even wants to partner with us on a potentially lucrative online
venture.”

My father smiled. “I knew she was a winner.”

I slumped in my chair. “I’m the loser.”

“Look at me, Blake.” My gaze met his burly brows.

“I didn’t raise you or your sister to be losers. Win her back. She’s the best thing
that’s ever happened to you.”

“But how? She’s totally shut me out.” I poured myself another brandy.

“Let me tell you a story about your mother and me.”

My parents had the perfect marriage. It defied Hollywood expectations. After more
than forty glorious years, they still loved each other madly.

“Well, it wasn’t always perfect between the two of us.”

My heart did a little jump. “What do you mean?”

“Well, in my day, I was considered a player too. Except they called it ‘being a ladies’
man.’”

I was all ears as my father recounted the time he had to chase my mother, then a young
starlet but more of a drama queen, all the way to New York to prove he was in love
with her. She had run back home after catching him with another woman. A rare moment
of weakness. He practically bought her a flower shop and stood outside on the stoop
of her parents’ house in the pouring rain for two days, banging the door until she
caved in. She let him in. The drenched flowers and all. My poor soaked to the bone
father came down with pneumonia. Mom took care of him, nursed him back to health.
And since then, they’d never been apart or stopped caring about one another.

I was in awe. I never knew that. The point of the story: You’ve got to go after what
you want.

He took another puff of his cigar. “My old friend George Carlin once said, ‘Men are
stupid; women are crazy. And women are crazy because men are stupid.’”

Words of wisdom for sure.

“Women like slamming doors in our faces. They also like having them opened for them
and knocked down.”

Taking a sip of the brandy, I drank in his words.

“Skip Shabbat tonight and be smart. Buy her a dozen roses and go knock down her door.”

And with that, I knew why I loved my old man so much. I did something I hadn’t done
in a very long time. I gave him a hug.

Jennifer

T
GIF.
Thank God, it was Friday. Finally, the end of the day rolled along. It had been one
of the most emotionally and physically challenging weeks of my life. A rollercoaster.
A close second to the week following my almost-rape in college. Between getting around
on crutches, pitching Gloria, and dealing with a broken heart that showed no signs
of healing, I truthfully wasn’t sure how I’d made it through. In fact, I felt more
broken than I had on Monday. I should have been thrilled I’d won over Gloria and Gloria’s
Secret was going to sponsor my block of programming—and that was just for starters.
But the truth: the victory was short-lived. The mere touch of Blake’s lips on mine
had set my heart on fire. My whole body was ablaze with an ugly wildfire that couldn’t
be put out. It kept destroying everything in its path. I was charred and marred. Tears
burned my eyes as I wrote up a summary of our meeting—the last thing I had to do before
heading home.

Libby was flying to Chicago straight from work to do focus groups there, so I was
going to have the house to myself. I had little to look forward to except getting
my stitches out on Saturday. I’d be able to walk again on my own two feet and return
to some form of normalcy. With the way my crippled heart weighed against my chest,
I just didn’t know what my new normalcy would be.

A little after six o’clock, I packed up my bags. I was missing one thing. My glasses.
My eyes darted around the office. I frantically checked under my paperwork and then
beneath my desk. I then opened and slammed shut a few drawers. They were nowhere to
be found. And not being able to see too well without them didn’t help a bit. Damn
it. Where the hell had I left them? In the cafeteria? In the conference room? In the
ladies’ room? They could be anywhere. Giving up, I slipped on my backpack, which was
roomy enough to hold my laptop, and hobbled out of my office on my crutches. Though
I’d gotten used to them, I was so looking forward to saying good-bye to them tomorrow.
Fellow workers I passed on my way out bid me good night and wished me a great weekend—yeah,
right. As I neared the lobby, I heard footsteps running up to me from behind.

“Jen, wait.”

Fuck. Blake. I hobbled faster. Giant steps. I’d gotten good with these sticks.

He caught up to me and stopped me in my tracks. “You left these in the conference
room,” he said breathily as he lowered my glasses to the top of my head. His thumbs
grazed my temples and made my skin prickle.

“Thank you.” My voice was glacial.

He brushed a loose strand of hair that had fallen onto my forehead away. I clutched
my crutches to steady myself. My body was a quivering mess.

“And you left this.” He reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket. My heart raced,
knowing what was coming.

“This is yours,” he said softy, holding the heart-shaped tourmaline necklace in his
palm.

It took all I had not to burst into tears. “I don’t want your heart, Blake.”

His eyes bore into mine. “But it belongs to you.”

“No, Blake. Your heart doesn’t belong to anyone.”

He pinched his lips thin. “Just let me put it on you.”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Defeated and crestfallen, he slipped the necklace back into his pocket.

Tears were verging; I needed to get away from him. “Excuse me, please, but I’ve got
to go.”

“Can I, at least, give you a ride home?” His gaze held me captive.

“No need,” I gritted, my heart aching. Without saying good night, I hopped away as
fast as I could to the building entrance. Hopefully, Chaz would be waiting outside
with his Jeep. Libby had arranged for her brother to take me home in her absence.
I could always count on Libby.

There was no getting away from Blake; he ran after me.

“Jen—” He held me back. I jerked away and almost stumbled.

“Please…” He sounded desperate.

“Fuck you,” I barked as I kicked open a door with my good foot and made my escape.

I thought it would feel good to say the two words I’d longed to say all day. It didn’t.
It hurt. Bad.

Jennifer

T
hank goodness, Chaz was waiting for me in front of the building. He helped me into
the Jeep and laid my crutches on the back seat. Coming straight from his studio, he
was dressed in a tight tee and studded jeans. The up-and-coming fashion designer always
looked fashionable. After fastening my seat belt, I glanced out my window—half expecting
Blake to still be at the entrance watching me. He wasn’t. My heart sunk as we pulled
away.

I hadn’t seen Chaz since the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas Ball. Expecting him to
ask me how my holiday had been, he instead turned to me and gawked. “Jenny-Poo, are
you going emo?”

“What does that mean?”

“You look suicidal.”

As we existed the parking lot, the dam holding back my tears burst. “Oh, Chaz, I’m
a mess,” I sobbed out.

“It’s
that
man.” He handed me a box of tissues from the dashboard, and I dabbed my face.

“You know about Blake?”

“I know about everything in this town. Libster told me what’s going on.”

I had made Libby swear she would tell no one at work about Blake and me, but I couldn’t
hold anything against her for sharing our relationship with her brother.

“Chaz, he broke my heart.”

“Because of that video?”

Though that was only partly the truth, I nodded.

“Puh-lease. That was so frickin’ brilliant.”

“How could you say that?”

“He saved you from becoming Mrs. Douchebag.”

“But the way he handled it was so deceitful.”

“What did you expect him to do? Knock on your door and say, ‘Oh by the way, honey,
I saw your dweeb fiancé making it with his hygienist?’”

I blew my runny nose. He had a point.

“Jenny-Poo, get real.
That
man is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He’s sex on two legs. He could
make a dyke want a dick. If I could, I’d fuck him in a New York minute.”

Despite my sorry state, I almost laughed.

“And he’s crazy in love with you.”

“How do you know?” I sniffed.

“Honey, I saw the way he kissed you at that Christmas party. No man kisses anyone
like that unless he’s madly in love. It was fierce. And I saw the way he looked at
you at that art gallery opening.”

The memories of those two events flooded my head. Another torrent of tears touched
down on my face.

“But, Chaz, he’s not in love with me anymore. He’s totally over me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw a photo of him kissing one of his hook-ups at some big event the other night.
He was all over her.”

“Shut up. That’s so not true. I happened to have been there. That bitch was all over
him. I should have slapped her.”

Every muscle in my body clenched. Oh, God. I’d made a terrible mistake. I should have
trusted him. Believed him. But now it was too late.

“Chaz, I’ve totally fucked up. I’ve been so unforgiving and mean. I didn’t believe
him and told him to fuck off. He’s so done with me.”

“Honey, it doesn’t happen that way. He’s not.”

“Oh, Chaz, what should I do?”

“Call him right now and tell him you know what happened. And tell him you love him.”

I so loved Chaz. He had given me a glimmer of hope. I immediately pulled my phone
out from my backpack and speed-dialed Blake’s office number.

His phone went immediately to his voice message. Mrs. Cho’s accented voice sounded
in my ear. Instead of leaving a message, I simply hung up.

“He’s not in the office,” I glumly told Chaz.

“Girl, what are you waiting for? Call his cell.”

Blake always had his iPhone with him. Sometimes in the wrong places and at the wrong
time. But I was past that. Without wasting a second, I hit that number.