Kept (17 page)

“Cool. It starts at five. We can ride together, if you want. Garrett’s taking Dillan to the Cubs game for his birthday, so they’ll get there later.”

She sorted through Mark’s schedule. Wasn’t he due to pitch that day? “Sounds good.”

Miska closed the laptop and turned as Tracy’s elbow bumped the bag. It slipped to the floor, revealing the stacks of cash.

Miska froze.

Tracy stared at the money, then at Miska.

The stare woke her. “That was my package. It’s from a client—they like to pay in cash.”

“You make this much from editing? Holy cow. You are not cheap.”

She was far cheaper than Tracy knew. She hurried to the kitchen. “Let me put it away. Then I’ll make popcorn.”

“I’ll get the popcorn. You take care of your money.”

Miska grabbed the cash and stashed it in a desk drawer, out of sight but not forgotten.

As the popcorn popped, Tracy talked about discovering the flower order was wrong and the cake tasting she and Garrett had on Saturday. Even when Tracy stopped talking to watch Matthew Crawley fight in the trenches of World War I, Miska couldn’t forget the money—and what she’d have to do to earn it.

Was money truly worth it?

No. Never.

She’d send Kendall a message after he left, telling him she was releasing him from their agreement. She’d even save some money to send with it. Then she could throw away the red sheets and duvet he liked and move on.

Mark would be enough for her.

He had to be.

Melissa Leach, Miska’s former boss, stretched the cheese hanging off her pizza until it broke and dangled from her finger. “I can’t believe all the times I’ve been to Chicago and never eaten here. Makes me almost consider moving.” She winked at Miska as she piled the cheese on top of the slice. “But then I couldn’t get my thin crust.”

“I never liked that stuff.” Miska glanced out the window at pedestrians strolling by, taking in the same view she’d first had with her dad.

“What an unbiased Chicagoan you are.”

Miska smiled and cut another bite of pizza with her knife and fork. She popped it into her mouth while Melissa picked up her slice. Such a New Yorker. “Can’t fold this stuff in half, you know.”

“Shouldn’t have to eat it with a fork. Seems un-American if you ask me.” Melissa took another bite and set the pizza down. She chewed and swallowed as she wiped her fingers on her napkin, then sighed.

Here it came. When Melissa called last night and asked if they could get together while she was in town, Miska had sensed something was up. The sigh, the fading smile—it all reminded her of when she’d been pink-slipped. “Melissa, just tell me.”

She stilled. “That obvious?”

Miska nodded.

“Okay then. They’re closing the Relentless line.”

Oh no. Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes. So much of her work. “When?”

“We’re contracted through the end of the year. I’ve got maybe three months of work for you.”

Three months? She thought through the recent titles she’d edited. Five of the last twelve had been for the Relentless Hearts line. “I can’t remember the last time a romance line closed.”

“The newer lines have gotten some big names, plus we lost a lot of shelf space last year. Our e-sales just aren’t strong enough. We’re moving the authors that are selling well into one of the stronger lines.”

“But e-books are huge in romance. Are you sure it’s that bad?”

“Miska, the decision’s been made. We’ve been talking about it for the past two quarters. We’ve gone over the Q1 numbers, and they’re not good. Not good.” Melissa fiddled with her plate. “It won’t go public for a while. None of our authors know. But we have to be a good percentage of your income.”

Miska rested her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. What was she going to do?

“When I get back, I’m meeting with Randy Husner, and I’ll let him know what good work you do. I’ve got friends at other houses. I’ll let them know you’re available.”

“Thanks.” But they already had their holes filled. She’d just go on a list of names, if she were lucky, and have to wait for an opening.

“Feel free to use me as a reference.”

“Sure. Thanks, Melissa.” Going back to an office job didn’t thrill her like it had right out of college. All the meetings and hours of work—her experience still didn’t qualify her for a senior editor position. The only jobs she fit wouldn’t pay nearly enough, and no employer would grant her time off each time Mark came to town.

What was she going to do?

“Miska, it’ll be all right.”

She couldn’t look up and nodded instead.

“Get a mani-pedi, a massage. Have a night out with the girls. You’ll feel better.”

As if spending more money would solve her impending financial troubles. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I knew I wouldn’t sleep well until I told you. Just keep it between us.”

“Sure.” She’d have to ask Adrienne about openings at her house. She faked a smile. She was getting too good at those. “I’m sure it’ll work out. It’s just a little overwhelming right now.”

“Of course.” Melissa picked up her pizza again. “But you’ve got that inheritance to fall back on. You’ll land on your feet.”

Miska cut another piece off her pizza. She was living in that inheritance. There was nothing to fall back on.

Nothing but men.

The news ruined her afternoon. Miska set editing aside and contacted publishers she hadn’t worked with lately as well as friends who’d moved up the editorial ladder. She texted Adrienne about jobs at her house.

Adrienne said she’d check.

By dinner, Miska felt sick with anxiety. To distract herself, she watched the recording of Mark’s afternoon game. It had ended after four. He was probably just now flying out of Dallas. Give him two hours for the flight, another hour and a half to get to her. She checked the clock. He should be at her door around nine thirty.

She’d be ready by nine.

When the knock came at seven thirty, she panicked. The condo was clean, but she had yet to shower and touch up her makeup. She looked through the peephole.

Just Tracy.

She sagged in relief and opened the door.

“Garrett’s working again,” Tracy announced. “If he isn’t careful, I
will
end up in love with Matthew Crawley.”

“Then he’d be sorry, wouldn’t he?”

“He would.” Tracy walked in. “You get the popcorn, I start the DVD?”

“I can’t tonight.”

“Oh.” Tracy froze. “Oh my goodness, I just walked on in, didn’t I? I am so sorry, Miska.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I. Am. Mortified.” Tracy pulled Miska’s hand to her cheek. “Feel how hot that is? I have almost never been so embarrassed.”

“Stop it.” Miska laughed. “I’ll watch Matthew Crawley with you. It’ll just be awhile.”

“Great. So what’s going on?”

“Mark’s in town.”

“Oh.” Tracy pressed her lips together and glanced toward the living room. “Oh. I see. He’s, umm, he’s coming to see you?”

“They’re here to play the Cubs.”

“Right. Oh, right. The Cubs are playing Milwaukee this weekend…” Her words trailed off, and Miska guessed she was realizing that the game Dillan and Garrett were going to would be against Mark. “Maybe after he leaves?”

Except Kendall was coming in, right on Mark’s heels. “I’ve got some things going on next week too. I might not be free until the weekend.”

“With the way Garrett’s schedule is filling up, I’ll probably be sitting home alone all weekend. Watching dear Matthew.” Tracy glanced at the DVD case, then peered up at her. “You be careful, okay?”

The warning chilled her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Well—okay. I’ll be praying for you.”

Praying? “For what?”

“That you’ll see the truth. That you’ll be free.” Tracy paused. “If you feel something in your spirit, listen. Okay?”

The warning made her throat grow thick. “I will.”

“All right, then. You have a good night.”

“You too.” She watched Tracy head down the hall. “Tell Matthew hi for me.”

Tracy waved and smiled.

Miska closed her door. Something in her spirit?

She thought through the night to come—the lingerie she’d picked out, the music ready to go on her iPod, the perfume, the lights she’d turn on for just the right ambience. Tonight was the night she’d get pregnant—or tomorrow or Saturday or Sunday or Monday morning.

It was the decision she’d come to after a week of thinking, after the news Melissa had delivered, after the money and impending arrival of Kendall. The answer to everything was a baby with Mark. Mark’s baby meant no more Kendall. Mark’s baby meant no worries about finding work. Mark’s baby meant
Mark
.

What would Tracy think? Would she say go for it? Get pregnant? Or take Dillan’s advice?

He doesn’t care about her; he wants one thing.

Not Mark. He loved her—even though they hadn’t talked much since their last argument. He’d asked her to wait so they could talk in person and see each other’s face. How she wanted to see his face.

Being apart wasn’t good for them. No wonder their relationship struggled, especially since she’d put an end date to the relationship. She needed to back off, let him enjoy his time with her. His decision would be easy then.

She showered and curled her hair the way he liked it. She slipped into a cream teddy and perfected her makeup, then dabbed on perfume.

But in her bedroom, standing in front of her closet, she couldn’t put on the cream lace dress she’d picked out. After debating, she slipped into a favorite pair of jeans and pulled on a lightweight, fitted, peach shirt.

There. Comfortable. Relaxed. Just Miska as she was. Take it or leave it.

Around nine fifteen his key sounded in the lock. The lamp on her desk gave her enough light to reach the door as it opened.

Mark slipped inside, duffel bag over his shoulder. “Miska,” he whispered. He set his bag aside and pulled her into his arms, into a hug that warmed her in ways she’d forgotten.

When he finally released her, he set his hands on her neck and jaw. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss her. His lips were gentle on her mouth, waiting for her response.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, her back arching as he held her tight. He felt so good, so right. What was missing was here. She knew it.

Finally he drew back and grinned, eying her up and down. “Baby, you look so good. It’s like coming home.”

He kissed her again. Kissed her again and again. His hands tangled in her hair, then slid down her back.

“Mark.” She pulled back and covered his hands on her waist. “I don’t… I don’t want us to sleep together while you’re here.”

The fog in his eyes vanished, and he searched her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We’re fine. It’s just…” She toyed with the edge of his sleeve. “I get so caught up in you when you’re here. I think we should take some time to really look at us. As a couple.”

He shifted, and she raced to convince him. “I won’t say a thing about you making a decision. That’s not what this is about. We just need time to focus on us without getting lost in all the great sex we have.”

He chuckled, pressing his nose into her hair. “Bringing that up doesn’t help.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Would he understand at all? “It’s just this once, Mark. For us, for you. So we’ll make the right decision.”

He studied her, his blue eyes scouring her for something more. “You sure we’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“I know I haven’t been the easiest guy—”

She pressed her hand to his mouth. “I’m past that. This weekend is for us. So we’ll know what it’s like if we decide to be together.”

His palm settled on her cheek, and his thumb traced a gentle path above her eyebrow down to her earlobe. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

Eyes closed, she nodded.

“Can I still kiss you?”

She looked up. His mouth curved in a tender smile. “Please,” she whispered.

He lowered his mouth to hers and gave her a slow, excruciating kiss. “Okay, Miska. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

He loved her.

The knowledge burst in her while fear she hadn’t acknowledged vanished. He truly loved her.

Dad had been wrong. Dillan too. Mark loved her, loved her for her.

She kissed him as he pressed her against the wall, glad she’d waited. There might not be a baby this time, but there would be one in the future.

Which meant, ironically, that Dillan and Tracy were right after all. Waiting did matter. Because all she knew as she kissed him over and over was that she’d never been so happy.

Dillan’s parents lived in a typical suburban neighborhood, the home an updated two-story with white siding and black shutters, an asphalt drive out front with a scuffed backboard over the garage. The driveway was full, and cars blanketed both sides of the road.

Tracy parked on the street three doors down.

“You don’t get reserved parking?” Miska asked.

“Got to fight for it like everyone else. Looks like a lot of people beat us here.”

They’d watched the first inning of the Cubs and Hogs’ game, but after Mark gave up five runs, Tracy convinced her their time would be better spent with the Crawleys. They got caught up in the story and didn’t leave the Loop until five.

The front door was open, and Tracy walked inside. “Mom, Dad? It’s Tracy.”

“In the kitchen,” a woman called.

Miska followed Tracy past the carpeted staircase into a wide, open kitchen and great room.

Shari Foster stood at the sink, washing a colander of grapes. People filled the great room. Several sprawled across the checkered couch and floor while two surfed via a Wii.

“Hi, honey.” Shari dried her hands, then hugged Tracy. “I was beginning to think you’d met up with the boys after the game.”

“No, we got busy with something. Mom, you remember Miska.”

Shari held her hand out, and Miska took it. “I do. It’s good to have you, Miska. Make yourself at home.”

Miska followed Tracy outside onto a wide, two-level deck where more people spread out. By the doors six people played an intense game of Rook at an umbrella-covered table. On the lower level, Jordan Foster sat with a blond football-player type who looked like an all-American from the fifties, complete with a high-and-tight haircut.