Almost Like Love (17 page)

She looked back at Ian. “How was your date?”

He stood across the living room from her, looking tense and unhappy.

It was good to know he felt a little guilty. Seeing him so uncomfortable actually made her feel more at ease.

“It couldn’t have been
too
good,” she went on. “You’re home early, after all.”

He took a few steps towards her, his expression uncertain. “It was okay,” he said after a moment. “How was your night?”

She shrugged. “All right, I guess. Jacob and I had spaghetti for dinner.”

“Spaghetti, huh? That sounds good.”

He looked like he was waiting for her to strike him dead. She almost felt sorry for him. Had he spent the evening wondering what she was going to do to him when he got back?

The thought made her smile. Emotional maturity, it seemed, was its own reward.

She rose to her feet.

“I guess I’ll head home now. I’ll see you Tuesday—if you still need me to pick up Jacob after school that day.”

His eyes searched hers. “That would be great,” he said after a moment. “If you—if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’m happy to help you out with your nephew. Although”—
might as well get this out there
—“I’d rather not be your go-to babysitter for date nights. Find someone else for that.”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah, of course. I really appreciate your help tonight, but—yeah. I’ll find someone else for . . . if I . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Good,” she said briskly, slipping on her shoes and grabbing her purse.

She headed for the door, and he followed her. She turned the knob, then looked back over her shoulder.

“Good night, Ian.”

“Good night,” he echoed, and then she was out the door.

Ian was in hell.

It had been one of the worst weekends of his life. He would have felt better if Kate had punched him in the face, which he probably deserved.

He’d lied about having a date. He’d spent the evening at the gym, working out like a goddamn lunatic.

He hadn’t been able to wait until midnight to go home. Whatever Kate had to say to him, he wanted to get it over with.

And then she’d been . . . great.

A little pissed, obviously. That had been clear when she’d told him that she wouldn’t watch Jacob on date nights. Which, of course, was perfectly reasonable.

Her whole attitude had been reasonable. She didn’t pretend she was happy about his dating other women, but she didn’t punish him for it, either.

He should have been relieved. Kate had let him off the hook, and a hell of a lot sooner than he’d expected or deserved.

Instead, he was miserable.

Was it possible that that was what she’d intended? Was this some kind of Machiavellian plot to make him want her back?

If so, it was working.

But he couldn’t believe that Kate was trying to manipulate him. She was too straightforward, too transparently honest.

On Sunday afternoon he took Jacob to the new Spider-Man movie, but he couldn’t concentrate on what was happening on the screen. His thoughts kept returning to Kate.

What was she doing now? Had she called Simone to tell her what a prick he was and to make plans to go clubbing?

The thought that she might have hooked up the night before made him want to punch someone—like the guy who’d been lucky enough to go home with her.

He closed his eyes.

Had some man been with Kate last night? Had some man run his hands over that incredible body and seen her heart in those blue eyes?

He scrubbed his face with his hands. What Kate had done or hadn’t done with another guy was none of his business.
She
was none of his business.

He’d made sure of that himself.

It was a three-day weekend. On Tuesday morning he was back at his desk, but he had a hard time focusing. He was so distracted, he considered cancelling a lunch appointment with a producer who was thinking of leaving a rival network. But he’d never yet let a woman affect his work, and he wouldn’t start now.

The lunch confirmed his feelings about the producer, Walter Carey—that he was an untrustworthy weasel who would turn on a new company as easily as he was turning on his current one.

He seemed to think their meeting was going great, though. And he obviously thought he’d be putting the cherry on the sundae by imparting a piece of confidential information.

“You could use a man like me on your side, considering the way your former writers are stabbing you in the back. Of course, I’m sure they feel justified if their shows are cancelled, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, right?”

He asked the question with a smirk on his face, obviously expecting Ian’s curiosity to be aroused.

Oh, well, what the hell. They’d finished eating, but he still had to wait for the check; they needed some way to pass the time.

“Who’s stabbing us in the back?” he asked.

Walter’s eyes gleamed.

“This is strictly confidential, obviously. The boys upstairs are pretty excited, but nothing’s final yet.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked, surreptitiously glancing at his watch. Where the hell was their waiter with the check?

Walter leaned forward across the table. “Kate Meredith pitched a project to us. It’s a surefire winner. And get this—apparently she got the idea for it from your nephew.”

Ian just stared at him.

He knew his shock was showing on his face, because Walter looked pleased.

“Sure, you guys cancelled her show—but that happens all the time. It takes a stone-cold bitch to get her revenge by pitching an idea she got from your nephew to a rival network.”

Oh, God.

It was a hell of a lot worse than this jackass suspected. He hadn’t heard a word about this from Jacob, which meant that he didn’t know about it, either. So Kate wasn’t just pitching an idea she’d gotten from him to Walter’s network. She was pitching an idea she’d
stolen
from him.

Jacob wrote stories and drew comics—Ian knew that. Jacob must have showed them to Kate. Had it been then that she’d thought of this way to get her revenge, or had her planning started even further back?

Maybe when he’d asked her to watch Jacob, it had occurred to her that his nephew might be a vulnerable spot. A way to get back at him for cancelling her show.

Or maybe it wasn’t about that. Maybe her plan was more recent, and she was getting back at him for breaking her heart—not that she had a heart to break.

“When . . .” He had to clear his throat. “When did Kate come to you with this pitch?”

Walter shrugged. “I’m not sure. I heard about it for the first time yesterday.”

Yesterday. It all fit in.

But whether she’d done this to get back at him for cancelling her show or to punish him for Friday night didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that Kate Meredith was manipulative, vindictive, and a first-class liar.

But to involve an eleven-year-old boy in her plot? That took a rare breed of nastiness.

He felt sick.

Boy, he sure could pick them. He’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for Paula, and she’d never given a damn about him. And years later—long after he should have known better—there’d been that actress who’d declared her undying love . . . all the while hoping he’d get her a part on one of his shows.

How could he have been so stupid? He might have great instincts when it came to business, but when it came to women he didn’t have a goddamn clue.

He’d better stick to one-night stands.

Unable to look at Walter’s self-satisfied face any longer, he shoved his chair back and got to his feet. “I’m going to find our waiter and pay the bill. It’s on me, of course. We’ll be in touch.”

Walter looked a little startled, but he nodded and held out his hand. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Ten minutes later, Ian was striding away from the restaurant with his cell phone in his hand, trying to reach Mick.

“Hello?”

“Thank God. I need a favor. A big one.”

“Of course,” his friend said immediately. “Whatever you need.”

“Can you pick Jacob up from school today? If you can’t, I—”

“No, I can do that. The best thing about being a web designer is setting my own hours.”

“Thanks, Mick. I owe you.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

He hesitated. “Not really. Not right now. Maybe tonight when I pick up Jacob.”

“Okay. I’ll see you when I see you.”

That was like Mick—helping him out with no questions asked. Thank God there were people like him in the world to make up for the people like Kate.

He checked his watch: one thirty. If he went to her apartment now, he might catch her before she left to pick up Jacob. If not, he’d go to the school and wait for her there.

One way or another, he was going to tell her exactly what he thought of her before the day was over. And then, God willing, he’d never see Kate Meredith again.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

K
ate was getting ready to go pick up Jacob when her intercom buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Hart is here. Shall I send him up?”

“Yes, of course.”

Why was Ian here? And without calling first? Was something wrong with Jacob?

As soon as she heard the elevator stop at her floor, she pulled the door open.

“What’s going on? Is Jacob all right?”

“He’s fine—no thanks to you.”

She stared at him. He was in a business suit, so he’d come straight from work. His eyes were narrow and his jaw was tight.

“What are you talking about? What on earth is wrong with you?”

He took a step closer to her and then stopped, stuffing his hands in his pockets as though stifling an urge to wring her neck.

“How could you do that to Jacob?”

She was completely bewildered. “Do what to Jacob?”

“Pitch an idea to a network that you stole from him.”

Her head jerked back as though he’d slapped her. He’d found out about
Powers
, obviously—and this was the conclusion he’d drawn.

“You think I stole an idea from your nephew? You think I could do that?”

“I didn’t until today. You really did a job on me, Kate. I was starting to think you were different.” He shook his head. “I was wrong.”

“Ian, listen to me. I did pitch an idea to another network, but—”

“Spare me,” he said, his voice cold. “I don’t want to hear it. I just came up here to tell you to stay away from Jacob—and from me.”

He meant it. He wasn’t going to give her a chance to explain—and he obviously hadn’t bothered to get the true story from Jacob before he’d come over here.

A hot wave of anger burned away her confusion and hurt.

“That’s what you came up here for?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, I guess that’s it. Have a nice life.”

He stared at her. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

She laughed shortly. “I thought you didn’t want to hear anything from me. But if I’m allowed to speak, then yes, I do have something to say.”

She took a step towards him. “You’re a smart man, Hart. You have good instincts—sometimes. You should use those instincts to compare the person you know I am with what you just accused me of. Then ask yourself if it makes any damn sense.”

She took a breath. “I know you’ve been betrayed before. Paula used you and almost got you killed, and I’m sure you’ve had other shitty experiences with women. I get that, and I feel sorry for you.”

He flinched.

“But nothing anyone ever did to you gives you the right to hurt someone else. You think you’re the only person in the world who’s been let down or betrayed? My grandmother was a Holocaust survivor, for God’s sake. There’s not a person on the planet who would have blamed her if she’d turned her back on the human race. But she didn’t. She made a life for herself and her family. She used to say that you can look forward with love or backward with hate, and people have to make that choice for themselves. But holding on to bitterness is like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die, and she by God wasn’t going to waste her time like that.”

He started to speak, but she held up a hand. “I only have one more thing to say. When you talk to Jacob about this, you’re going to find out that you were wrong. That you behaved like an ass and lashed out at me for no reason. You’re going to feel really bad about it, and you’ll probably want to apologize. So let me save you the trouble in advance.” She lifted her chin. “
I don’t want to hear it.
I don’t give a damn about your apology. I don’t want to see you or hear from you ever again. I’d still like to spend time with Jacob, but if that’s going to happen, it’ll be up to you to manage it without us having contact. Goodbye, Hart.”

She turned on her heel and went back into her apartment, slamming the door behind her. Then she went into her bathroom, turned the water on full force, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the shower.

She was so mad she could spit, so it was a good thing she was standing over a drain.

A little while later she was dressed again and pacing back and forth across her living room. The shower hadn’t calmed her down, and neither had stalking around her apartment like a caged tiger.

She texted Simone.

I need you. Code red. Where are you?

Her answer came in less than a minute.

Watching rehearsal. I’m sitting in the back of the house.

Half an hour later, her taxi pulled up in front of the theater. She could hear the rehearsal in progress from the lobby, so she went through the door as quietly as possible.

Simone was sitting in the back row watching the actors onstage. As soon as she saw Kate, she slipped out of her seat and came to meet her.

“Is this a bad time?” Kate whispered.

Simone shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got an hour or so before they’ll need me. Do you want to grab a coffee?”

Kate nodded. She was just about to open the door, when a strong baritone voice called out from the middle of the house, stopping the action. She paused, watching as a tall male figure strode down the aisle and went up on the stage, talking to the actors.

It was Zach Hammond. Kate stared at the impossibly handsome man for a long moment, and then turned to Simone.

“He’s like a Greek god or something.”

Simone ran both hands through her short hair. There must have been some product in it, because when she was done it stood on end.

She looked like she’d been electrocuted. “I know. Let’s get out of here.”

Clearly Simone was dealing with some issues of her own, but Kate decided hers had priority. She started talking in the lobby and she didn’t stop until they’d gotten their drinks at Starbucks and sat down at an outside table.

When she was done, Simone nodded slowly. “Okay. Here are my thoughts.” She paused. “First, what a dick.”

Kate felt a fresh wave of anger. “I know.”

“Second, why the hell didn’t you tell me you guys slept together last week?”

Kate blinked. Then, to buy time, she took a sip of her latte. It was too hot, and she burned her tongue.

“I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “I mean . . . there’s no particular reason.”

“You can do better than that.”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed. “I guess I was afraid you’d think . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Simone frowned. “You couldn’t have thought I’d judge you. You know my track record with guys.”

Kate shook her head. “I didn’t think that. I knew if I told you I’d had rebound sex with Ian, you’d be all for it. The problem was, it was more than that to me. I couldn’t separate the sex from the feelings I had when we were having sex.” She paused. “That’s kind of a confusing sentence, but you know what I mean. And that was the part I was afraid to tell you. I’d just broken up with Chris, and Ian obviously isn’t relationship material. I thought you’d say—”

“That you should stop being a hopeless romantic and just be happy you finally had great sex?”

She slumped down in her chair. “Yes.”

“It’s not too late to do that, you know. I mean, yes, Ian has proved himself to be a total asshole, but you can still be happy you had great sex. You’re no worse off than if you’d never seen him again after that night.”

“It’s not that simple. There’s Jacob, for one thing.”

“That’s a little tricky, sure. But that part’s not up to you. Ian’s his guardian; if he wants Jacob to spend time with you, he’ll have to make that happen within the boundaries you set.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Simone looked at her shrewdly. “But that’s not all you’re thinking about, is it?”

Kate covered her face with her hands. “I can’t look at you.”

“Are you kidding? Kate, this is me. You held my hair back while I puked in the parking lot sophomore year. We’ve seen each other at our best and our worst. You can tell me anything.”

Kate looked up. “I think . . . I still . . . have feelings for him.” She went on quickly. “Of course, I won’t act on them. I have too much self-respect to do that to myself. It’s just . . .”

“You can’t change the way you feel.”

She nodded.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, drinking their coffee and watching the people walking past. That was one of the great things about living in New York: there was so much life happening around you at any given moment that it was easy to distract yourself from your own pathetic existence.

After a while Kate sighed. “Do you remember what I said that night at the club?”

“You said a lot of things. Which one, exactly?”

“I said I was sick of being the well-meaning idiot everyone feels sorry for. I said I was sick of thinking about everyone but myself.”

“And?”

“And here I am again. I guess character really is destiny.”

Simone folded her arms. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight. It’s not a character flaw to be a decent, loving, forgiving person. It’s only a flaw if you let people walk all over you, and you haven’t done that. In fact, it sounds to me like you scorched Ian Hart pretty damn thoroughly.”

Kate thought about it. “I guess I did.”

“Hell, yes, you did. So don’t beat yourself up for your feelings. We can’t control the way we feel; we can only control the way we act. And you’ve done that.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Kate grinned suddenly. “Yeah? That reminds me—speaking of feelings we can’t control, how is it working with Zach Hammond?”

She’d never seen her friend blush like that before.

“Wow. You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Simone muttered.

“I’m telling you, that man could be a movie star.”

“Very funny.”

“But of course, if he doesn’t do it for you, he doesn’t. Not everyone reacts to—”

“Will you please shut up?”

Kate shook her head but let the subject drop. Simone wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on her feelings for long. Eventually there’d be a late-night phone call and Kate would hear everything. They’d taken turns supporting each other for ten years now, and she hoped they’d keep doing it for the next fifty.

That was the nice thing about best friends: unlike men, you could always count on them.

As though her last thought had been a cue, her phone rang. When she saw Chris’s name, she sighed.

“This’ll just take a sec,” she told Simone, before getting up and walking a few paces away.

“Hi, Chris. What’s up?”

“Hi, Kate.” A short pause. “I just . . . I need to apologize. For Anastasia, for that day at your apartment . . . for everything.”

“It’s okay.” And as she said it, she realized it was true. She didn’t want Chris back in her life, but she forgave him.

The split between them had been for the best. They’d been together because it was easy, not because it was right. They both deserved better than that.

“Thanks. I was hoping maybe we could have a drink or something. Not because I want to get back together,” he added quickly. “The truth is, I think I should spend some time alone. But I’d like a chance to say goodbye to you. Goodbye and thank you.”

They’d been together for eight months. Getting closure would be good for both of them.

“Sure. We can do that. Why don’t you come by my place tomorrow night? We can have a drink at the bar on the corner.”

“That sounds great. Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll see you then.”

As she sat back down at the table, she reflected on the turn her life had taken. It had been less than a month since Chris had slept with another woman and broken their engagement, and she’d come to terms with her feelings and moved on.

Now she just had to come to terms with her feelings for Ian . . . and move on.

It was raining cats and dogs and Ian didn’t have an umbrella, but he didn’t care. He had to apologize to Kate, and if that meant waiting in the rain until he grew gills, then that was what he’d do.

He’d been in the doorway of the building across the street for the last twenty minutes. She hadn’t answered any of his calls—no surprise there—and when he went to her apartment, Andreas told him that she’d gone out about an hour before.