You Had Me at Good-bye Read online

  “For Jack?”

  “Who else?”

  Tabby frowns and takes a seat next to me. “What do you think he wants?”

  My stomach flips at the question. It’s the same one that has been swirling around in my head for hours, so it isn’t as though it’s something new. But hearing the words voiced this close to the time when I’ll find out fills me with butterflies. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Not even an idea?” she presses.

  I’m afraid to address my suspicions, but Tabby isn’t going to go away, so I give voice to my hopes. “Jimmy applied for the senior editor position at Stark Publishing.”

  “Isn’t that the exact same position he already has? Why would he leave without advancement?”

  “Stark is more about nonfiction, which is Jimmy’s first love, and we’re scaling back on nonfiction.”

  “And you think they might want you for his job?”

  I shrug one shoulder, afraid to say it out loud for fear of jinxing the whole thing.

  Tabby smiles and pats my knee. “No one deserves that spot more than you. That’s for sure.” She glances at the computer. “Writing?”

  I nod, suddenly feeling timid. I close the computer screen.

  “All right. I can take a hint,” Tabby says. “But I’d better get to play the heroine when someone buys the movie rights.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m never even going to send it anywhere.”

  She rolls her eyes and stands. “What a waste of a perfectly good book.”

  “For all you know, it stinks.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  My suspicious nature rears at the confidence in her tone. “Have you been reading it, too?”

  “Of course not! And don’t accuse Laini of anything. I know she read part of it, but that was innocent and you know it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just nervous about this dinner tonight.”

  “Relax. You have more talent in your little finger than anyone I know. Even if this dinner doesn’t turn out the way you hope it will, you’re still an editor at a publishing company you love and you’re writing a fabulous book.”

  I open my mouth to remind her that it might stink when she holds up her hand to shush me. “The reason I know it’s wonderful is because you know a good book when you see one. You know good writing, and you couldn’t possibly produce a manuscript that isn’t something a publisher would die to contract. And don’t argue.”

  How does she do that? With a few short sentences she makes me feel like the smartest, most accomplished person on earth. Oh, now I know. . . . She’s an actress.

  “You’re paid to sound sincere.”

  Tabby rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless. I’m going to go shower. If you’re gone when I get out, I’ll see you later to rehash. I wonder if Laini’s coming home to cook, or if I have to fend for myself.” She grins. “I guess if we didn’t love her so much, we could be accused of using her, couldn’t we?”

  I watch her leave, then turn my attention back to my computer, but words elude me. So much for my amazing talent. I close the laptop screen and glance over at Granny’s Bible instead. I don’t pick it up; still, the one quote I know by heart comes to mind: “Trust in the Lord. . . .”

  Trust. Weird, I never put my admission to Nick about trust together with this scripture. I can’t help but wonder if this is a coincidence, or if God truly is interested in my life after all. Something to explore, for sure. Later.

  It’s still light out at six forty-five when I step onto the sidewalk and start the two-block walk to the subway station. I notice a black car at the curb but don’t think much about it. After all, there aren’t too many thugs sitting around in black town cars in broad daylight. Well, maybe there are, but I don’t ever notice them. But as I walk, the car follows. My heartbeat starts to pick up speed. Slowly, I reach into my bag and wrap my fingers around the travel-size can of hairspray. I poise myself for defense in the event of an attack.

  “Dancy, whatever are you doing?”

  Jack?

  I whip around to find him seated in the backseat of the car, his window rolled down as he stares up at me with bewilderment washing over his features.

  I stop. “I was headed to the subway to meet you for dinner.”

  “Didn’t Crystal mention I’d be arriving around seven o’clock to fetch you?”

  To fetch me? Am I a stick and he’s a dog? Oh, well. That’s not a line of thought I need to follow. Just answer the question. “No, she said you wanted to meet for dinner to discuss business.”

  Irritation flashes in his eyes, but only briefly. He steps out of the car and moves aside for me to slide in. “I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sure Crystal assumed we’d meet at the restaurant, since this is not a date.”

  “I suppose.”

  We engage in small talk for the first half of the trip. How’s your mum and dad? Did you have coffee at Nick’s today? And so on. Finally, I can stand the suspense no longer.

  “It’s going to be another fifteen or twenty minutes in this traffic,” I say. “Would you prefer to go ahead and discuss whatever’s on your mind?”

  He gives me a half-smile. “I never discuss business on an empty stomach.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll wait until after you’ve had a few bites of filet mignon. Then we can talk business.”

  “We will discuss business after we’ve had our dessert and are enjoying a cup of coffee.”

  I give a huff and cross my legs. “Why have a business dinner if you don’t want to actually discuss business over dinner?”

  “That’s a valid question. I’m not sure I have an answer.” He leans in a little, and I catch the subtle scent of Polo cologne against clean-shaven skin. I fight the urge to shiver as a heady sensation washes over me. “Perhaps,” he says, “I was hoping you might consider this a date.”

  Oh, be still my beating heart. I know he’s not a bit serious, and I can’t let him think I’m naive enough not to understand that he’s just being facetious. “I rarely accept dates from men who ask me through their assistants.”

  “Interesting.” He grins. “I’ll have to remember to call you myself next time.”

  I give him a wry smile. “Yes, do that.”

  His eyebrows go up, but the car pulls to a stop in front of our restaurant. The driver opens my door and I slide out. Jack follows me, his warm palm heating up the small of my back, not to mention making me a little weak in the knees as we enter the restaurant.

  Dinner is more small talk, and I realize I know virtually nothing about Jack’s life. Kale rarely discusses Jack beyond the casual passing comment. “Where exactly are you from in England, Jack?”

  “London. My parents own a little pub. Prince William even ate there a few times.”

  I give him an impressed smile. “Exciting.”

  “My nieces were all aswoon.”

  “Nieces? I didn’t know you had any.”

  He pulls a billfold from his coat pocket and proudly displays school pictures of two cute teens—one with braces, one slightly older. “Pretty.”

  “Yes. They know it, too. Get their looks from my sister.” He flips the picture to the next one. “That’s Lizzie. She’s two years younger than I am.”

  “Beauty must run in your family,” I muse absently.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  My eyes go wide, and I jerk my head up as I realize I just told Jack I think he’s beautiful. I can only imagine. But there is no trace of teasing in his eyes. He is, however, scrutinizing me intently.

  His gaze makes me uncomfortable. “What?”

  “Forgive me for staring. But beauty also runs in your family.”

  Pleasure swells my chest, and I take in a deep breath. “Thanks, Jack. That’s nice of you.” Then a thought strikes me. What if he’s including Sheri in the mix?

  The waiter arrives with our salads just in time to save
me from making a complete idiot of myself, which I inevitably would have done.

  One thing I have to say about Jack: he’s skilled in small talk and in making a person feel good about herself. I guess that’s why I’m caught off guard as the waiter brings our coffee, clears our dinner and dessert plates, and Jack folds his hands on the table.

  “I suppose it’s time to get down to business now.”

  The way he says it fills me with dread.

  Wretched man! Wretched, wretched man! And he calls himself a gentleman. All that suave, sophisticated British charm. Nothing but a ploy to lull Americans into a false sense of security. We let our defenses down, and whammo! He lands the big punch.

  I have to warn my brother. His best friend is nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, ready to pounce when least expected. I couldn’t care less about severance packages. I don’t need the money. This is about me finally doing something for myself. Something I can feel good about. Something I thought I was good at, until Jack Quinn came along and destroyed my self-esteem, and now my career.

  10

  Fool, Valerie chided herself. You’re nothing but a fool. Tears streamed down her face. Tears of anger, humiliation, heartbreak. How could she have ever thought John Quest loved her? She let down her guard and he used her vulnerability against her.

  And now she was left with nothing . . . absolutely nothing.

  —An excerpt from Fifth Avenue Princess

  by Dancy Ames

  I take the subway. Preferable by far to sharing a car with Benedict Arnold. When I get home, Brandon is sitting on the step. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “I got into an argument with Dad. Can I stay here tonight? Kale’s at the hospital.”

  “Why didn’t you ring the buzzer? Tabby’s home. Probably Laini, too, by now.”

  “They said you weren’t here.”

  “They didn’t ask you to come in?”

  “Yeah, I just didn’t want them asking questions and acting weird. I said I wasn’t staying.”

  I unlock the door. “Well, let’s go in. I’ll have to call Dad, but I’m sure you can spend the night on the couch.”

  Truthfully, I’m relieved to have something else to focus my mind on.

  I open the door just wide enough to stick my head in before I walk in with a teenage boy. “Everyone decent? My little brother’s here.”

  “We’re in the kitchen.”

  The apartment smells like chocolate. I grin at Brandon. “Smells like Laini’s been baking. This is your lucky night.”

  We head into the kitchen, and sure enough, a wonderful-looking chocolate cake is sitting in the middle of the table with a chunk missing. “Girls, this is Brandon. My little brother.”

  “Younger brother,” he corrects.

  Tabby and Laini grin at him. “Nice to meet you, Brandon,” Tabby says.

  Laini stands. “Sit down. I’ll bring some more plates and forks.”

  “This looks good,” I say. “But I’d better pass. Jack forced me to share a chocolate mousse and I’m stuffed.”

  “How was dinner?” Tabby asks.

  “Hang on. I need to call my dad about Brandon. And I’m going to change my clothes.”

  “Go ahead,” Laini says. “We’ll get to know Brandon.”

  I put in a quick call to Dad and find out he’s more than happy to get Brandon out of his hair. They had quite an argument about Brandon moving to Florida with them. Brandon says no. Apparently Mary is glad to have him out of her hair, too. According to Dad, she’s turned the poor boy over to him, claiming she’s raised him for sixteen years and now it’s Dad’s turn.

  My heart goes out to Brandon as I slip into a comfortable pair of white yoga pants and a pink T-shirt. When I enter the kitchen, he looks up with eyes full of questions.

  “Dad says you can hang out here tonight.”

  His face reveals his relief. “Good, because I wasn’t going back there.”

  “Do you want to talk about it now, or wait?”

  “Maybe I don’t have anything to say about it.”

  Laini and Tabby exchange glances and pull the stretch-and-yawn routine. “Boy, am I tired,” Laini says.

  Tabby stands and rinses her plate, then slides it into the dishwasher. “I have lines to learn.”

  “Good night, guys.”

  Tabby nods. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Brandon.”

  Laini gives him a smile. “I’ll fix breakfast.”

  “G’night,” he says around a large bite of cake.

  When they’re gone, I focus on him. “Okay. Dad says he wants you to go to Florida with him and my mom. Why don’t you want to move to paradise?”

  He gives a short laugh into his milk glass, swallows a drink, then sets it on the table. I cringe as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I already live in paradise.”

  I can’t argue with him there. And I’m gratified to find a kindred spirit who shares my blood. Mother, Dad, and Kale are all dying to leave New York. Of course Kale’s stuck here, but he’d rather be on a farm somewhere. It’s just beyond comprehension.

  “You have my sympathy. But you could always come back after you graduate.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. For sure. Only, I’m supposed to start at Juilliard’s precollege program next month.”

  “What? Brandon, that’s incredible. What do you play?”

  “Piano.” He shrugs, and I see pain in his face. “But it doesn’t matter. If Mom doesn’t want me living with her anymore, and Dad’s gone to Florida, I’m sunk.”

  “Wait. Dad and your mother know you were accepted to Juilliard, and they aren’t doing everything in their power to let you go?” I shouldn’t have blurted that out. But quite frankly, I’m livid. It’s an amazing feat to be accepted into the prestigious school for drama, music, and dance. And to be accepted and then not allowed to attend, even in the precollege program, is unacceptable.

  “Brandon, I understand how upset you are.” I sit there, wishing I had anything to offer my brother that might help his pain. Then I remember the Bible verse. “Listen. You’ve been going to church with Kale, right?”

  Brandon nods. “Gives me something to do.”

  “Well, I don’t go to church, but I’ve been reading my granny’s old Bible, and I have a verse that might help. Hang on a sec.”

  I go to my room and lift the Bible from my nightstand, where I put it earlier, before my dinner with Jack (that I do not want to think about).

  Brandon is downing the last of his milk when I return.

  I open the Bible to Proverbs even though I know the passage by heart. It just seems like it will pack more of a punch if I read it.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I guess.”

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

  When I finish, I look up. Brandon is staring at me with a blank expression, and I know he either wasn’t listening at all or doesn’t get it.

  “It’s saying that if you trust God to lead you and don’t try to figure things out by yourself, He’ll direct you in the way you’re supposed to go.”

  I’m not positive, but I think I see a little bit of a nod.

  “All right, kid,” I say. “Let’s get the couch made up for you.”

  I get him all set up, then make my way down the hall to Tabby and Laini’s room. Light shines out from underneath the door, so I give a little tap. “Can I come in?” I open the door a crack.

  “Yes,” Laini says, waving me inside. She’s lying down with a book. “Is Brandon all tucked in?”

  I can’t help but grin. “Well, I didn’t tuck him in, but he’s settled in for the night. Thanks, you guys, for letting him sleep over.” I quickly relay the conversation with Dad and Brandon.

  “Wow,” Tabby says. “I can’t imagine a parent not sacrificing almost anything so a child could attend that school. Even the precollege program.
It would only be for one year, right? Maybe your folks will put off the move if you explain how important this is for his future.”

  “I’m going to Dad’s tomorrow night. Maybe I can explain it in such a way that he’ll really get it.” But I’m not holding my breath.

  Tabby is sitting up in bed with pages on her lap. “Okay, Dan. We’re dying to know about your dinner with Jack.”

  I flop down at the end of her bed. “Don’t ask. You aren’t going to believe it.” I pause. “They’ve decided that, instead of scaling back on nonfiction, they’re going to scale back on fiction instead. Not much, but enough so that my job is gone.” My voice breaks at the admission. I thought a four-week vacation was horrible. But looking into my future without Lane Publishing is dismal, to say the least.

  Laini sits up on her bed. “Dancy, I’m so sorry.”

  “That Jack guy actually took you out to dinner to let you know you’re being fired?” Tabby’s voice is filled with outrage.

  I shrug. “At least I got dinner out of it.”

  Laini pulls her legs in to sit cross-legged. “That’s good! You’re accentuating the positive. I can think of another bright side.”

  Tabby groans and tosses a throw pillow at her. “Bright side?”

  “Yes! Now Dancy can finish her book.” She looks at me. “It’s not like you need the money. Take some time off. You always work way too hard anyway.”

  “I’ve been off almost three weeks! I’m going crazy.”

  “There are all kinds of opportunities for you in the city, Dancy,” Tabby says. “You’ll find another job soon.”

  “Or you could finish your book.”

  “Maybe I will.” Dejected, I stand. “’Night, guys.”

  As I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, I can’t help but ask, “Is this what trusting You gets me?”

  When I step into my dad’s condo the next night, I’m shocked by the changes my mother has already made. There is not one trace of animal prints anywhere that I can see. Not even in his office, where he takes me after Brandon stalks off to his room.

  My dad gives a vehement shake of his head while I try to explain how horrible it would be for him to deny Brandon the opportunity to go to Juilliard. “Princess, my hands are tied. I’ve already sold my practice here, and I start at a clinic in Destin in February. It’s too late to change it now. Brandon will have a lot of opportunities. And there’s no reason to believe he won’t be accepted to the college program for the following year. He’s a gifted musician.”