Mr. Right Now (17 page)

She thought she saw a thin trickle of red at the base of his nose, but couldn’t tell for sure.

“Here’s your bag,” she said, placing the handles in his left hand. “And here’s the box of tissue.”

He blotted twice and then looked at the small red dots on the paper.

Casey crossed her arms over her chest. No sympathy. Not this time. She was starting to think he knew how to start and stop the blood flow in his nose. “You’re supposed to put your head down, remember? The doc told us that much last night.”

He shrugged. “Can’t very well put my head between my knees when I don’t have a chair.” Grabbing another tissue, he stuck it to his nose.

Sighing, she gestured inside. “Fine. Come in. But only until the nosebleed stops. You are
not
staying here the rest of the cruise.”

He sat on the sofa, bent over and put his head between his knees. She dampened a towel with cool water, folded it and placed it on the back of his neck.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I thought these were getting better. You lasted almost twelve hours this time.”

“Yeah, well everything was fine until you dropped the bomb up in the dining hall. Having nowhere to sleep for the next six nights is a little disturbing.”

Had it really only been a day since she boarded the ship? Met Mason. Tyler. God, what a mess she had made in twenty-four hours. A pang of regret hit her. She was blaming Tyler for all of this when it wasn’t his fault. She sagged against the sofa.

“I guess, maybe we could—”

“But then January took me to the crew quarters. They’re not so bad. Not exactly the first-class accommodations I was promised, but then how much time do you spend in your room on a cruise, right?”

“Right.” Thank God January overturned the no-moving-rooms rule. Casey wasn’t sure she could keep to the hard line of not allowing Tyler to sleep in the room when he was bleeding all over himself. Why couldn’t she have overturned the rule yesterday? Then the situation wouldn’t be a situation at all.

You brought this on yourself
.

Tyler kept talking, the words muffled by his knees. “What I really came down here for was to get my stuff, not beg to be let back in to the room. You said earlier this whole thing was a misunderstanding, but when I saw you with that other guy, I got a little jealous.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to know why he was jealous and was surprised when the question popped out of her mouth.

Tyler shrugged and sat up straight. “Because I have a reputation to uphold. I’m very good at my job, and with you I couldn’t get past first base.” He pulled the tissue away. It was clean. “I take these things very seriously.”

Confused, she said, “You take sex with strange women ‘very seriously’?”

“No. I take my job seriously. It’s not easy going out with different women every night. You have to learn how to read people. It’s like a science. It’ll provide great information for my thesis.”

“Thesis?” Casey said the word with dread. A scientific escort? Whoa, wait a minute. Just what was he talking about?

“Yeah. Human behavior. I’m working on my PhD.”

Jane was dead meat. “You’re getting a PhD?” Casey felt like an idiot, parroting Tyler’s words, but the conversation seemed to be taking place around her instead of with her.

Tyler settled back against the sofa, either enjoying her discomfort or warming to his PhD work, Casey couldn’t tell which.

“Sure, this is just a job and my experience will make it easier to open my own practice, publish books instead of articles.”

“Practice? Publish?”

“Mmm. Most sex therapists are sole proprietors. I’m going to change that, and maybe open my practice for clinical study of sexual problems. I plan to have at least two partners to start with, and we’ll each have different specialties. Couples therapy, one-on-one consultations, classes, group meetings.”

Clenching her fists into the sofa arm, Casey shut her eyes and took two deep breaths.
In with the good air. Out with the bad
. She repeated the mantra during her breathing exercise.

“But you sleep with women for money. You can’t ethically use their lives as part of your dissertation. It just isn’t right.”

“I use situations, not real people. And I don’t sleep with women for money.”

“You are an escort. You sleep with women and you get paid. It’s black and white.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Semantics. Prostitutes are paid for sex. I’m paid for companionship. I only sleep with about ten percent of my clients, and then only if they are fully in control of their emotional needs. Some women don’t want the hassle of a relationship. If they do and we are both into one another, there may be sex. Otherwise, I’m simply a companion.”

“The box you put it in doesn’t matter. If you’re paid for sex, it’s prostitution.”

“Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I’m a prostitute, you’re my current john.”

“I am not! I didn’t—”

“Whether the money came from your pocket or not, I’m being paid to be with you. I’m your boy-toy.” Tyler clasped his hands behind his head and sat back against the cushions.

“Nothing happened. Besides, I kicked you out.” Casey stood, walked to the bathroom and began filling the empty trash bin with Tyler’s personal products.

“And then you let me right back in.”

Casey took a deep breath. “Because you had a nosebleed. I couldn’t leave you in the hall, bleeding all over the place. But you’re fine now, so get out.” Finished packing the rest of his things, she shoved the bin under his nose.

Tyler took it, picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “If that’s what you want, fine. But before I go, why did you need me along on this trip if you had Mason? Are you two trying to keep things quiet because of your jobs?”

“We’re not having a relationship, but even if we were, what would Mason’s job have to do with it?” Casey walked with Tyler to the door, opened it and motioned him through. He didn’t move.

“You know, keeping the personal away from the professional. I know a lot about keeping things on a professional basis when they get personal. I could help you out.”

What the hell was Tyler talking about?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I really don’t care. January said she found you a room with some of the stewards, so go find it. We’re done here.”

“You should at least set some ground rules up before he has your cruise plastered all over the Sunday papers.” Tyler turned to go and Casey grabbed his arm to keep him in place.

Doubt sent Casey’s stomach into somersault mode. Papers? How would a plumber make it into the Sunday papers?

Tyler didn’t slow down at all. “Yeah, you know, journalism is a pretty cutthroat business, but I guess it’s no surprise he wound up here. After that disaster with the story on the mayor’s office, he was bound to be brought down a peg or two. Still, entertainment writing would pay his bills nicely until he rebuilds his rep.”

“He’s a plumber.”

“Nope, he’s a reporter,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “Took me a minute to place him, because his picture isn’t beside the byline.”

“How do you know this is the same Mason?”

“I thought we established this. Just because I currently work as an escort, that doesn’t mean I don’t read. I do. A lot. His picture hit most of the morning shows and every daily except the one he works for when the story broke. Something about misquoting a source and falsifying the story. Anyway, he’s a real killer in print. That’s why I figured you two had some ground rules about personal and professional stuff.”

Casey sagged against the door. “No. We don’t. Didn’t.”

Tyler smiled down at her, triumph in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s just as well there isn’t anything to tell about us, huh?” He turned and walked down the passageway.

“Yeah. Sure,” Casey said to no one in particular.

Only there was plenty to tell, and she’d spilled the beans the night before. Jane’s stupid idea, going along with it. Not being able to write. Had he set up the cameras, hoping she would run and he could become her confidante? Did he set up their meeting?

Damn. The deck. The sauna. She had jumped him twice in only a couple of hours. Just that would make a story, much less all the stuff she’d told him about Tyler and Jane and this screwball cruise. He was probably holed up in his room writing it all down, while she was alone in her room having a pity party.

Well, not for long.

Casey stalked to her purse. She was not going to be the patsy. Not this time. Jane started this whole mess, she could damn well call in a few favors and fix it. They’d hit the papers first, with their own version of events from the cruise. Beat Mason Drury at his own game.

If Tyler was right, Mason’s reputation was already on the road to ruin. She would confront him, then finish him off. The world would be a better place with one less reporter in it.

But the cell phone was dead. Or as good as dead. No signal. The head of steam she’d built up fizzled out. She was on her own. But if she didn’t have service, then Mason wouldn’t have service either. That was good.

Tossing the cell phone to the bed, Casey paced across the room. She could compose an email, but without cell service, she couldn’t send it. Smoke signals were out. She couldn’t wait to reach the next port. She needed more than a few minutes’ lead to beat Mason at his game.

She needed a ship-to-shore line, and she needed it now.

Maybe Tyler would come in handy after all.

Time to bite the bullet. Mason couldn’t help Casey if he didn’t first quit the story. She wouldn’t believe he simply wasn’t going to write it; he would have to prove it to her.

He took his BlackBerry from his pocket, powered it up and groaned. No signal, and he hadn’t signed up for the data plan offered by the ship. Great. He needed to quit the job now, not in another day or two. He composed the message and saved it to email later. Later would be too late, but at least he would have his integrity.

He just wouldn’t have the girl.

By the time later—whenever that was—rolled around, who knew what Casey would think? Powering down the BlackBerry, he shoved the unit in his pocket.

The bartender stepped over to him. “What’ll it be?”

“Beer. In a bottle.”

The man nodded and disappeared into the cooler. Mason turned, leaned his elbows against the bar and stared up at the sky. The morning rain showers were gone, replaced by a few high clouds and warm sunshine. Some cruisers had ventured outside to take advantage of the rain break, but most were still inside. Too many other distractions, Mason supposed, for them to take advantage of something they would have in their backyards at home.

As for him, Mason hadn’t seen a sky this blue in years. New York wasn't Chicago-gray but inside the newspaper office or running down leads, he mostly paid attention to his notes and stories. He wanted to sit back and enjoy it, but he couldn’t.

There was something going on with Casey. Everything she’d showed him since boarding the ship was that she was only looking for a fling. But he didn’t believe it.

Cassandra Cash wasn’t a fling kind of girl. From everything he knew she was a serial monogamist. The type looking for commitment, not a quick lay in the pool house.