The CEO Daddy Next Door (8 page)

Nine

“Y
ou're insane. You know that, right?” If Ashley had known she wouldn't get car sick, she would've closed her eyes. Marcus was treating the streets of Manhattan like his own personal racetrack. “I don't think I know anyone who has a car in the city. If they do, they use it for getting out of town, not going to dinner.”

He made another dangerous maneuver with the car, cutting off a city bus. She was scared out of her wits and more than a little turned on.

“Ah, but I'm not insane. One could argue that it's insane to get into a car and let a stranger drive you all over the city. At least I'm in control.”

She shook her head. “Most people at least drive a car in the city that can stand some abuse. I don't know what kind of car this is, but it seems like one ding in the bumper and you'll end up with a huge repair bill.” Her fingers caressed the leather upholstery. Whatever he was driving, it was fast and expensive.

He caressed the steering wheel, reminding her just how much she liked his hands. “It's an Aston Martin, and believe me, she can take all kinds of abuse.”

Photographers were waiting for them when he pulled up in front of the restaurant. Grace had done her job letting everyone know that Ashley and Marcus would be making their second appearance. The valet opened her door, and Marcus climbed out of the car.

“Take very good care of her.” Marcus smoothly slid a bill into the valet's hand.

“Give us a kiss,” one of the photographers shouted.

“Yeah. We need a kiss,” a second added.

The others followed suit, asking for the thing that had thrust Marcus and Ashley's fake coupling into the public consciousness.

Marcus glanced over at her, unfairly dashing in a black suit even when he was giving her his most perplexed look. He took her hand. Was he going to go for it? She might have to slap him. Or kiss him back. She remained undecided.

“It's your call,” he said.

Her call. She was too torn between what everyone else wanted
from her
and what she wanted
for herself
—the chance to show Marcus that she might not be the perfect woman, but she wasn't the wrong one, either.

Unfortunately, her body knew precisely how this should play out. Her cheeks flushed with warmth at the persistent, almost embarrassing urging from the photographers, from Marcus's penetrating gaze as he towered over her. The photographers wanted the kiss. Her mouth sure wanted the kiss. It even looked like Marcus wanted it, too.

She had to test him. She had to know what he was thinking. “I think we should do whatever you feel like doing.”

“Perhaps we should wait.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “We can't give them everything at once, right?”

The unusually warm night air brushed across her bare shoulders. Marcus's question made her even hotter, even when he'd just disappointed her greatly. “Right. Keep them waiting.”

Inside the restaurant, it felt as if all eyes were on them as they checked in with the hostess. Ashley should have been used to this by now, but it still made her uncomfortable, even after three years of it. She reminded herself that tonight was to make Grace and the network happy, although that wasn't much comfort. The last time she'd tried to please them, she'd done incredibly well, all while setting her own heart on a course for destruction.

They were guided to their table, dead center in the restaurant.
Great. Dining in a fishbowl.
“Do you have a corner booth available?” Ashley asked the hostess.

“Something more romantic. Of course.” The hostess turned and led them to a much quieter, more intimate spot.

Ashley's heart sank as she slid into the small candlelit booth. She consulted her menu while she berated herself. How could she be so stupid? Marcus was probably thinking that she was clinging to romantic notions, which was the last thing she wanted. “What looks good for dinner?” she asked, making small talk since she hadn't mustered the courage to ask him the questions she'd threatened to ask.

He closed his menu. “The steak.” He smiled half-heartedly.

The waiter came by and offered a respite by taking their orders for dinner and drinks. Unfortunately, he didn't stay long.

“Look, Ashley, I'm sorry about the other night.” Marcus adjusted his flatware on the table, avoiding eye contact. “Things went too far. That's all I can say. I think it's better that I yanked us back from the precipice before it got to be too much.”

“Always the gentleman.” Why did his logic so often end with a case of horrible frustration? Why did it actually have to hurt?

“It's the only way to be with a woman.”

Be with a woman.
Ashley's entire being bristled with curiosity over Marcus's love life, the sorts of women he'd been with, especially his ex-wife. “Since you made it clear that we're wrong for each other, I want to know what you look for in a woman. I think you owe me that much after the other night.”

He nodded solemnly, taking a deep breath, seeming stuck in his thoughts. “It's not the same now as it was when I was younger. Lila changed all of that. I need a woman who wants to be both wife and mother.”

“That's it? Nothing else matters?”

“Of course other things matter, but it's not that easy to quantify it. I only know that I want at least that much. It hasn't been easy. It's a delicate balance to let someone into your life only once you're certain that it's a good idea.”

“But you let me into your life. Was that a good idea?”

He took a long sip of his drink, eying her with an intensity that set her on edge. “You pushed your way into my life. There was no letting you anywhere.”

Her stomach knotted. Why did he see her as the veritable bull in a china shop? It made her feel like such a clod.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ashley saw a woman approaching the table. She had a piece of paper and a pen in hand.

“I think someone's coming over for my autograph,” she whispered to Marcus.

“Really?” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh. So I see.”

“Ashley, I'm your biggest fan,” the woman said, trembling as she inched closer to the table.

Marcus's expression said that he was truly embarrassed. This made Ashley want to invite the woman to join them.

Ashley scooted over on the banquette seat and patted the cushion. “What's your name?”

“Michelle. Can I have your autograph?”

Ashley took the piece of paper and scrawled her signature, personalizing it and adding a bit about hoping she had a life full of true love. “I hope you enjoy this. It was very nice to meet you, Michelle.”

Tears began to stream down the woman's cheeks as she looked at what Ashley had written. “My boyfriend broke up with me. I don't know why. I thought he was the one, but I guess he wasn't because he left.”

Marcus noticeably bristled, and Ashley shot him a look. This poor woman was hurting so badly that Ashley could feel the pain square in the middle of her chest. Breakups were always the worst kind of heartache, the kind that felt permanent, a life sentence, like it would never go away.

Ashley rummaged through her purse for a tissue and handed it to Michelle. “Sometimes we have to be with the wrong ones just to help us learn what we want out of a partner.”

Michelle nodded, wiping the tears from her cheek. “It just feels so hopeless right now. I feel so hopeless. I don't even know what to do. I walk around this city all day long like a zombie and I have to just smile and go to work and pretend I'm not feeling any of it. I hate it.”

Marcus stood. “You ladies will have to excuse me.” He stalked away. Everything in his body language said that he was annoyed. Ashley wasn't sure where he was going, and she wasn't entirely sure that she cared.

Ashley thought back to the months after the breakup with James. He had made her feel so important at first, as if she truly belonged in this unfamiliar world of money, stature and fame. He'd propped her up and helped her see her own worth. Just as easily, he'd torn her down, claiming that she'd led him on since she wasn't ready for marriage. She wasn't ready for children. He didn't care that she felt so overwhelmed by her life that the idea of marriage and children just made her stressed out. And for that, she'd been turned into a zombie, just like Michelle, forced to smile and do her job while her heart crumbled into tiny pieces.

She had to help this woman. Without hesitation, she pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it over. She wouldn't normally give her contact information to a fan, but this was important. “Tell you what. I want you to go on the show's website and fill out the dating profile and an application to be on
Manhattan Matchmaker
.”

Michelle's tears made a swift reappearance. “Really? I've heard it's practically impossible to get on the show.”

Ashley smiled wide. These were the moments she lived for, when she had a real chance to help someone. “And that's where my card comes in. Send me an email when you've done it and I'll have the producers move up your application.”

“Really?”

“No promises, but we'll give you the best chance possible. If there's a match for you in our database, I'll find him.”

“You're being so nice to me. I don't even know what to say.”

“You know what, Michelle? I'm helping you because I know exactly how you feel. Exactly.”

* * *

Marcus waited for the water in the sink to heat up, glaring at his reflection in the men's room mirror. Why was he so annoyed? Why did the interruption of the woman bother him so much? Was it because it was outside normal, polite behavior? Or was it because this was a powerful reminder of what Ashley's life was like and what she was comfortable with—the unexpected, the out of control?

Thankfully, the woman was gone by the time Marcus arrived back at the table. Their entrées had arrived, as well. He shook out his napkin and took his seat.

“Well, that was interesting.” He wanted to let it go, but he couldn't.

“What was?” Ashley twirled pasta on to her fork and popped it into her mouth. A tiny bit of noodle poked out from between her lips, and she sucked it in. Her lips—why did they have to speak to him like that? Even when he was angry with her, she could do these sexy things that stopped him dead in his tracks.

“The interruption of our meal.”

“It was just for a few minutes, Marcus. It's really not a big deal.”

“I don't understand how you stand it.”

“She was crying. What was I supposed to do?” She leaned forward and whispered, “Tell her to shove off because I was on a date with my fake boyfriend?”

A sputter left his throat. “Don't call me that.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. My disgruntled neighbor.”

His brain said that he was her embattled neighbor. As she gathered her hair in her hands and twisted it to the side, draping it over her shoulder, his body said he was her horribly frustrated neighbor. “And I wasn't asking you to get rid of her, but you also didn't have to listen to her entire life story. That seemed excessive.”

“She needed someone to listen to her, she sought me out and I wasn't about to turn her away. This is what I do, Marcus. I counsel people. I help them find love. I help them understand the things that are keeping them from love.”

He certainly felt put in his place. “You actually take this seriously when the cameras aren't on?”

Her eyes grew impossibly large. “You do realize I'm actually qualified to do this, right? I Googled you and you couldn't be bothered to do the same? After all this time?”

“I'm not nosy. And it's none of my business.”

She shook her head and returned to her pasta. “I'm a licensed professional counselor, Marcus. I was a clinical counselor for years before the matchmaking show came about. I've clocked a lot of hours listening to people tell me how unhappy they are, especially with their love lives.”

“How in the world did you get a television show out of that? You must have really pulled some strings.”

Her shoulders dropped with exasperation. “The show was an accident. I had two clients who I was sure were perfect for each other. So I arranged for them to meet by accident in my waiting room.”

“That hardly seems ethical.”

“It probably isn't, but you know what? They're married with two kids and incredibly happy, so I don't regret it for a second. My female client figured out what I'd done, and she was immensely thankful and grateful. We had a talk about matchmaking, and I told her that I'd been doing it since I was a kid.”

His vision narrowed. “You what?”

“My first match was in fifth grade. My best friend, Elizabeth, and a boy named Sam. They just seemed like they belonged together, but they hated each other. I was signed up to help the teacher after school on the same day as Sam, but I pretended to be sick and got Elizabeth to do it instead. They were boyfriend and girlfriend the next day.”

“Don't tell me they're married with two kids.”

“No, they're not. But they were each other's first kiss. And they actually ended up friends, so I didn't do too badly the first time around. That was the start of it, and once I realized I was good at it, I just kept doing it.”

“And that's how your face ended up on the side of half of the buses in Manhattan?”

“I knew my client had a production company specializing in reality TV, but I never dreamed she'd ask me to do a pilot for a show. That was not my aim.”

“Your aim was to help your clients fall in love?”

“Yes. It physically pained me to think about how perfect they were for each other, knowing they might not ever meet. It wasn't right.”

Marcus swallowed. He'd read Ashley wrong on this point. She really did take this seriously. And her goals were noble. There was no question about that. “Sometimes people might seem like they're perfect for each other, and it can be quite the opposite in reality.”