Ringing in Love (21 page)

“Not now, Melody. I'm not in the mood.”

“Okay, I'll leave you alone. When will you be back in the office?”

“January second. Bright and early. Eating humble pie all the way from the lobby to the fifteenth floor, it looks like.”

“See you then. I'd say Happy New Year, but I have a feeling you'd yell at me.”

• • •

New Year's Eve might not be turning out the way she wanted it to, but the least she could do was greet the New Year with a tidy house. Her bedroom and the living room were adorned with discarded, mostly unread, newspapers and books from her week of failing to distract herself with escape reading. Empty take-out containers and dirty dishes decorated the kitchen because she'd been too unmotivated either to cook or clean up. A sad-looking Christmas tree was dropping needles all over the floor of the dining room because she'd forgotten to give it water. For a woman who hated clutter, she'd certainly managed to live in it since she'd holed up in her house.

So, she decided to clear things away, take a shower, and get into clean clothes. Maybe, she thought, she'd even cook something for dinner and watch New Year's Eve in Times Square. A million people eager for the New Year to arrive might convince her to feel the same.

Some of the plan worked. By eight everything was tidy, she was showered and in her favorite yoga pants and tank top. She plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree, flipped on the gas fire, and put on some background music. The idea of cooking had lost its appeal, however, so she ordered a pizza. Less than ten minutes after she called, there was a knock on the door. She scrambled for her purse and opened the door saying, “Wow, that was …”

But it was no pizza delivery guy standing on her doorstep in the lightly falling snow. It was Dominic wearing a tux, a white silky-looking scarf, a black coat, and a wary expression.

“Oh … uh … hello.” Avoiding his eyes, she tried to find someplace where it was safe to rest her gaze. But there wasn't one place on his whole freaking body that didn't send her hormones into high gear just from looking at him. Damn him. “What're you doing here?”

“I came by to wish you Happy New Year, Catherine, and talk to you about something.” He held up a bottle. “I brought champagne. I hoped this time you'd drink it with me instead of throwing it at me.”

She winced, embarrassed at the memory of what had not been her finest hour. “I owe you an apology for that. I don't know what happened. I've never done anything like it before.”

“You were angry, quite rightfully, given what you'd just found out. Although I would have preferred conversation to dramatic gestures.” He brushed snow off one coat sleeve. “May I come in? It's a little wet and cold out here.”

She reached up to help him de-ice himself but regretted it as soon as her hand touched his shoulder. Even through his cashmere coat and tux, she felt the tingle that always hit her when she was around him. Now she was the one who was shivering, and it wasn't because she was inappropriately dressed for the cold air streaming into her house.

Looking around him at the Escalade parked at the curb, she asked, “Is Jack sitting out there? Shouldn't you ask him in out of the cold, too?”
Please ask him in. I need a chaperone, a barrier, someone to keep the conversation on safe topics until I can pull myself together.

“Jack's off. I drove myself.” He stepped into her entryway, glancing up and down her body. “Doesn't look like you have plans for the evening.”

“Ryan Seacrest can't see me from Times Square, so I decided to be comfortable. You look like you're on the way to the party at the Barnes Foundation.” She headed for the kitchen and he followed.

“No, I'm dressed like this because I'm reduced to using my wardrobe to get your attention. You once said you liked the way I looked in a tux, so I thought I'd wear it in the hope it would soften you up enough to get me through the door. It seemed a better option than more roses, although I was tempted.”

He draped his coat and scarf over a chair and waited for a few moments, holding the bottle out to her with an inquiring look. When she didn't move to retrieve glasses for the champagne, he shook his head and got them.

He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her. “Happy New Year, Catherine.” He touched his glass to hers.

She started to raise her glass then put it down on the counter. “I can't do this, Dominic. I can't pretend we're just celebrating New Year's like nothing's happened.”

“I'm not suggesting …”

“Please, let me get this out.” She finally raised her eyes to him. “I owe you an apology. Actually, a lot of apologies. Enough that I don't know where to start. At the same time, I'm so damn mad at you it makes me crazy. And I'm even madder at myself for being mad at you because I guess you didn't have anything to do with what happened, but I don't care, I'm still mad.”

“Sounds complicated. How about we make it simple and issue blanket apologies to each other and go on from there?”

“Apologies to each other?
Why would you apologize to me?”

“Because you were right about Edie and I brushed it off. She
was
possessive. She was jealous of you, and that's why she did what she did to the proposal. I should have seen it. I didn't. And I'm sorry.”

“That hardly compares to throwing wine at you, threatening you with the police, saying mean things to you, ignoring all your attempts to talk to me.”

“I didn't like the face full of champagne more because it was a waste of expensive wine than any other reason. And it was worth being threatened with the cops to see the expression on your face. You do fierce very well. The rest …” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her ranting and deleting his emails, texts, and phone calls without reading or responding to them. “If I'd paid any attention to the signals Edie was giving out every time she was around you, I could have headed off the whole thing. I didn't. So, that's my apology.” He lifted his glass to her. “Now, it's your turn.”

“Is it really that easy?”

He nodded. “It is as far as I'm concerned.”

“Okay, if it is, I apologize, too. For the champagne, threatening you with the cops, throwing you out of my office, ignoring your calls. Please forgive me.”

“Good. That's out of the way. Now, about the part where you're still mad. I have something that may make a difference.” He set his glass on the counter, pulled a folded eight-and-a-half-by-eleven manila envelope from the inner pocket of his overcoat and handed it to her. “When I couldn't get your attention with words, I decided I'd stop trying until I could prove to you with action that I meant what I said about setting things straight.”

“Action? What do you mean? What is this?” She tried not to look curious although she was.

“It's three copies of a contract I signed this afternoon. Dick Rittenauer signed them yesterday, and you need to sign tonight or tomorrow.”

“Contracts? For what?”

“For the Rittenauer Foundation work, of course. I convinced Dick to look at the real proposal, the one you and I signed off on before Edie changed it. When he realized most of what he'd been impressed with came from your shop, he asked his board to amend the contract they'd offered me. It took a while to get them all together because of the holiday, but when he finally did, they agreed. The contract you're holding reflects what our two firms developed together.” He shrugged, a half-smile on his face. “Well, it's not quite what we signed off on. Dick thought your firm should have more of the budget. He changed it so you do.”

She still hadn't opened the envelope, stunned by his words. Finally, and very quietly, she said, “This is an incredibly generous gesture. I don't know what to say.”

“There's nothing to say, other than ‘where do I sign?' And it's neither generous nor a gesture. It's making it right. I can't have the good reputation I've carefully cultivated for years damaged by a vindictive woman. And I won't let your staff get cheated out of the work they developed. Most importantly, I couldn't disappoint a client. They should get what they contracted for.”

She could feel herself tearing up and tried to wipe her eyes without him seeing her. Of course he did. With what seemed like great caution, he moved the two champagne glasses out of her reach before extending his hands to her. She couldn't help smiling. “I promise I won't throw any more champagne.”

“I'm relieved. But why are you crying? I thought you'd be happy, not sad.” He took her hands and tried to draw her closer. She resisted.

“I
am
happy.”

“Then come here and tell me how wonderful it will be to work together.”

“Maybe I … it's just that … I still feel like I owe you a big
I'm sorry
.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“It doesn't feel that way to me.” She took a deep breath. “There's more I regret. There's … well, everything else.”

“Everything? How far back are we going here?” He had an all-too-familiar wry smile on his face.

“New York. Just to New York.”

“Thank God. I was worried you were going to say you're sorry you wasted your time with me. Which would make me worry about losing my touch …”

“I'm trying to seriously apologize here, Dominic.”

“You already did. Look, you had a reason to be angry when Mel told you what happened. And as much as I don't like being lumped in with your ex-husband, I even understand a little why you might think I'd do something like that. It had happened before—a man you trusted betrayed you. I'd hoped you'd learned to trust me, that I'd earned your trust.”

“You did. I had. At least, I thought I had. When Melody called me yesterday and told me the whole story, I had to finally admit to myself I should have known you wouldn't … you didn't … do what I accused you of. But it got all mixed up with being pissed off that you got the work my people had developed. I knew I had to apologize, but I was still seething about our work being stolen. So I took the coward's way out and avoided you.”

He grinned as he returned her to his embrace. “Well, then, aren't we lucky I don't give up when I'm after something I want?”

“You have told me that once or twice.”

“Yes, I have. And what I want is you. Always have. I love you. You have to promise, however, in the future you'll let me explain things before you waste really good champagne.” He kissed her forehead. “Which reminds me—you owe The Plaza for a broken glass. I paid for the room but told them to bill you for the glass.”

“You love me?” She kept her face hidden in his shirt so he couldn't see the hopeful expression she knew was on her face.

“Yes, Catherine. I love you.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger and gently touched her mouth with his. “I believe this is the place where you say, ‘I love you, too, Dominic.'”

She laughed. “I love you, too, Dominic.”

“Maybe the next time you can say that without prompting, but it'll do for now.” He ducked his head to kiss her again, but just before his mouth met hers, seemed to reconsider. “Hmm. This might be a good place to give you your Christmas—well, New Year's now, I guess—present.”

“Oh, I have one for you, too. I'll go get it.” She started to pull away from him but he stopped her.

“Let me give you yours first.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out a small box. It was a distinctive blue and had a red ribbon around it. He handed it to her saying, “Happy New Year, Catherine.”

She stared at the box for a long moment. “I thought Tiffany used white ribbon.”

“That's your reaction? You object to the color of the ribbon?” He was smiling as he said it.

“No, no, I'm not objecting. I was just surprised.” She couldn't bring herself to open the gift, afraid to hope she knew what was inside.

“At Christmas, I was told when I asked, they use red ribbon.” He pulled on the end of the bow and the ribbon fell away. “Now, you open it the rest of the way.”

Inside was a diamond ring in a classic Tiffany setting. “It's beautiful,” Catherine said, trying hard not to cry.

“No,
cara
, you're beautiful. The ring is only a reflection of that.”

She removed the ring from the box and started to put it on.

“Let me,” he said and slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. “Marry me, Catherine. I don't want to spend another New Year's Eve wondering if you'll be with me at midnight.”

She didn't answer but only shook her head. “This sure makes the cashmere sweater I got for you look insignificant.”

When he could stop laughing he said, “Tell you what, wrap that sweater around a ‘yes, I'll marry you,' and we'll call it even.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. “You have yourself a permanent New Year's Eve date, Mr. Russo. I'd love to marry you.”

“Good. Now, how about we continue this conversation …”

Whatever he was going to suggest was interrupted by the doorbell. “You're expecting someone else? I thought you said your date was the guy on television,” he said.

“It's my pizza.” She broke from his embrace, grabbed her purse, and went to the door. When she returned, he had removed his jacket and bowtie, undone a couple studs in his shirt, and brought down two dinner plates from the cabinet.

He took the box from her and opened it. “Anchovies and olives? Interesting choices.” Popping an olive into his mouth, he added, “I've never started a New Year with pizza and Dom Perignon. If we like it, we may have to make it a tradition. But we seem to be missing dessert.” His smile was sinful.

Catherine tried to keep from matching his expression as she picked up one of the plates. “Oh, I'm sure we can rustle up something. Maybe something Italian, like tiramisu. What do you think?”