Three
“Ah... Ah...” For the life of her, Bailey couldn’t string two words together.
“Janice Hampton, I presume?”
Bailey nodded, simply because it was easier than explaining herself.
Parker’s eyes slowly raked her from head to foot. He obviously didn’t see anything that pleased him. “You’re not an old family friend, are you?”
Still silent, she answered him with a shake of her head.
“That’s what I thought. What do you want?”
Bailey couldn’t think of a single coherent remark.
“Well?” he demanded since she was clearly having a problem answering even the most basic questions. Bailey had no idea where to start or how much to say. The truth would never do, but she didn’t know if she was capable of lying convincingly.
“Then you leave me no choice but to call the police,” he said tightly.
“No...please.” The thought of explaining everything to an officer of the law was too mortifying to consider.
“Then start talking.” His eyes were narrow and as cold as the January wind off San Francisco Bay.
Bailey clasped her hands together, wishing she’d never given in to the whim to follow him on his lunch appointment. “It’s a bit...complicated,” she mumbled.
“Isn’t it always?”
“Your attitude isn’t helping any,” she returned, straightening her shoulders. He might be a high-and-mighty architect—and her behavior might have been a little unusual—but that didn’t give him the right to treat her as if she were some kind of criminal.
“My attitude?” he said incredulously.
“Listen, would you mind if we shorted this inquisition?” she asked, checking her watch. “I’ve got to be back at work in fifteen minutes.”
“Not until you tell why you’ve been my constant shadow for the past hour. Not to mention this morning.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Bailey half turned to leave when his hand flew out to grip her shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve answered a few questions.”
“If you must know,” she said at the end of a protracted sigh, “I’m a novelist...”
“Published?”
“Not yet,” she admitted reluctantly, “but I will be.”
His mouth lifted at the corners and Bailey couldn’t decide if the movement had a sardonic twist or he didn’t believe a word she was saying. Neither alternative did anything to soothe her ego.
“It’s true!” she said heatedly. “I am a novelist, only I’ve been having trouble capturing the true nature of a classic hero and, well, as I said earlier, it gets a bit involved.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“All right.” Bailey was prepared now to do exactly that. He wanted details? She’d give him details. “It all began several months back when I was riding BART and I met Jo Ann—she’s the woman I was with this morning. Over the course of the next few weeks I learned that she’s a writer, too, and she’s been kind enough to tutor me. I’d already mailed off my first manuscript when I met Jo Ann, but I quickly learned I’d made some basic mistakes. All beginning writers do. So I rewrote the story and—”
“Do you mind if we get to the part about this morning?” he asked, clearly impatient.
“All right, fine, I’ll skip ahead, but it probably won’t make much sense.” She didn’t understand why he was wearing that beleaguered look, since he was the one who’d insisted she start at the beginning. “Jo Ann and I were on the subway this morning and I was telling her I doubted I’d recognize a hero. You see, Michael’s the hero in my book and I’m having terrible problems with him. The first time around he was too harsh, then I turned him into a wimp. I just can’t seem to get him to walk the middle of the road. He’s got to be tough, but tender. Strong and authoritative, but not so stubborn or arrogant the reader wants to throttle him. I need to find a way to make Michael larger than life, but at the same time the kind of man any woman would fall in love with and—”
“Excuse me for interrupting you again,” Parker said, folding his arms across his chest and irritably tapping his foot, “but could we finish this sometime before the end of the year?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” His sarcasm didn’t escape her, but she decided to be generous and overlook it. “I was telling Jo Ann I wouldn’t recognize a hero if one hit me over the head, and no sooner had I said that than your umbrella whacked me.” The instant the words were out, Bailey realized she should have passed over that part.
“I like the other version better,” he said with undisguised contempt. He shook his head and stalked past her onto the busy sidewalk.
“What other version?” Bailey demanded, marching after him. She was only relaying the facts, the way he’d insisted!
“The one where you’re an old family friend. This nonsense about being a novelist is—”
“The absolute truth,” she finished with all the dignity she could muster. “You’re the hero—well, not exactly the hero, don’t get me wrong, but a lot like my hero, Michael. In fact, you could be his twin.”
Parker stopped abruptly and just as abruptly turned around to face her. The contempt in his eyes was gone, replaced by some other emotion Bailey couldn’t identify.
“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked gently.
“A doctor?”
“Have you discussed this problem with a professional?”
It took Bailey a moment to understand what he was saying. Once she did, she was so furious she couldn’t formulate words fast enough to keep pace with her speeding mind.
“You think...mental patient...on the loose?”
He nodded solemnly.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” Bailey had never been more insulted. Parker Davidson thought she was a crazy person! She waved her arms haphazardly as she struggled to compose her thoughts. “I’m willing to admit that following you is a bit eccentric, but...but I did it in the name of research!”
“Then kindly research someone else.”
“Gladly.” She stormed ahead several paces, then whirled suddenly around, her fists clenched. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m new to the writing game. There’s a lot I don’t know yet, but obviously I have more to learn than I realized. I was right the first time—you’re no hero.”
Not giving him the opportunity to respond, she rushed back to her office, thoroughly disgusted with the man she’d assumed to be a living, breathing hero.
* * *
Max, Bailey’s cat, was waiting anxiously for her when she arrived home that evening, almost an hour later than usual since she’d stayed to make up for her lengthy lunch. Not that Max would actually deign to let her think he was pleased to see her. Max had one thing on his mind and one thing only.
Dinner.
The sooner she fed him, the sooner he could go back to ignoring her.
“I’m crazy about you, too,” Bailey teased, bending over to playfully scratch his ears. She talked to her cat the way she did her characters, although Michael had been suspiciously quiet of late—which was fine with Bailey, since a little time apart was sure to do them both good. She wasn’t particularly happy with her hero after the Parker Davidson fiasco that afternoon. Once again Michael had led her astray. The best thing to do was lock him in the desk drawer for a while.
Max wove his fat fluffy body between Bailey’s legs while she sorted through her mail. She paused, staring into space as she reviewed her confrontation with Parker Davidson. Every time she thought about the things he’d said, she felt a flush of embarrassment. It was all she could do not to cringe at the pitying look he’d given her as he asked if she was seeking professional help. Never in her life had Bailey felt so mortified.
“Meow.” Max seemed determined to remind her that he was still waiting for his meal.
“All right, all right,” she muttered, heading for the refrigerator. “I don’t have time to argue with you tonight. I’m going out to hear Libby McDonald speak.” She removed the can of cat food from the bottom shelf and dumped the contents on the dry kibble. Max had to have his meal moistened before he’d eat it.
With a single husky purr, Max sauntered over to his dish and left Bailey to change clothes for the writers’ meeting.
Once she was in her most comfortable sweater and an old pair of faded jeans, she grabbed a quick bite to eat and was out the door.
Jo Ann had already arrived at Parklane College, the site of their meeting, and was rearranging the classroom desks to form a large circle. Bailey automatically helped, grateful her friend didn’t question her about Parker Davidson. Within minutes, the room started to fill with members of the romance writers’ group.
Bailey didn’t know if she should tell Jo Ann about the meeting with Parker. No, she decided, the whole sorry episode was best forgotten. Buried under the heading of Mistakes Not to Be Repeated.
If Jo Ann did happen to ask, Bailey mused, it would be best to say nothing. She didn’t make a habit of lying, but her encounter with that man had been too humiliating to describe, even to her friend.
The meeting went well, and although Bailey took copious notes, her thoughts persisted in drifting away from Libby’s speech, straying to Parker. The man had his nerve suggesting she was a lunatic. Who did he think he was, anyway? Sigmund Freud? But then, to be fair, Parker had no way of knowing that Bailey didn’t normally go around following strange men and claiming they were heroes straight out of her novel.
Again and again throughout the talk, Bailey had to stubbornly refocus her attention on Libby’s speech. When Libby finished, the twenty or so writers who were gathered applauded enthusiastically. The sound startled Bailey, who’d been embroiled in yet another mental debate about the afternoon’s encounter.
There was a series of questions, and then Libby had to leave in order to catch a plane. Bailey was disappointed that she couldn’t stay for coffee. It had become tradition for a handful of the group’s members to go across the street to the all-night diner after their monthly get-together.
As it turned out, everyone else had to rush home, too, except Jo Ann. Bailey was on the verge of making an excuse herself, but one glance told her Jo Ann was unlikely to believe it.
They walked across the street to the brightly lit and almost empty restaurant. As they sat down in their usual booth, the waitress approached them with menus. Jo Ann ordered just coffee, but Bailey, who’d eaten an orange for lunch and had a meager dinner of five pretzels, a banana and two hard green jelly beans left over from Christmas, was hungry, so she asked for a turkey sandwich.
“All right, tell me what happened,” Jo Ann said the moment the waitress left their booth.
“About what?” Bailey tried to appear innocent as she toyed with the edges of the paper napkin. She carefully avoided meeting Jo Ann’s eyes.
“I phoned your office at lunchtime,” her friend said in a stern voice. “Do I need to go into the details?” She studied Bailey, who raised her eyes to give Jo Ann a brief look of wide-eyed incomprehension. “Beth told me you’d left before noon for a doctor’s appointment and weren’t back yet.” She paused for effect. “We both know you didn’t have a doctor’s appointment, don’t we?”
“Uh...” Bailey felt like a cornered rat.
“You don’t need to tell me where you were,” Jo Ann went on, raising her eyebrows. “I can guess. You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? My guess is that you followed Parker Davidson to his lunch engagement.”
Bailey nodded miserably. So much for keeping one of her most humiliating moments a secret. She hadn’t even told Max! Her cat generally heard everything, but today’s encounter was best forgotten.
If only she could stop thinking about it. For most of the afternoon she’d succeeded in pushing all thoughts of that man, that unreasonable insulting architect, out of her mind. Not so this evening.
“And?” Jo Ann prompted.
Bailey could see it was pointless to continue this charade with her friend. “And he confronted me, wanting to know why the hell I was following him.”
Jo Ann closed her eyes, then slowly shook her head. After a moment, she reached for her coffee. “I can just imagine what you told him.”
“At first I had no idea what to say.”
“That part I can believe, but knowing you, I’d guess you insisted on telling him the truth and nothing but the truth.”
“You’re right again.” Not that it had done Bailey any good.
“And?” Jo Ann prompted again.
Bailey’s sandwich arrived and for a minute or so she was distracted by that. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to put off Jo Ann’s questions for long.
“Don’t you dare take another bite of that sandwich until you tell me what he said!”
“He didn’t believe me.” Which was putting it mildly.
“He didn’t believe you?”
“All right, if you have to know, he thought I was an escaped mental patient.”
Anger flashed in Jo Ann’s eyes, and Bailey was so grateful she could have hugged her.
“Good grief, why’d you do anything so stupid as to tell him you’re a writer?” Jo Ann demanded vehemently.
So much for having her friend champion her integrity, Bailey mused darkly.
“I can’t understand why you’d do that,” Jo Ann continued, raking her hand furiously through her hair. “You were making up stories all over the place when it came to discovering his name. You left me speechless with the way you walked into his office and spouted that nonsense about being an old family friend. Why in heaven’s name didn’t you make up something plausible when he confronted you?”
“I couldn’t think.” That, regrettably, was the truth.
Not that it would’ve made much difference even if she’d been able to invent a spur-of-the-moment excuse. She was convinced of that. The man would have known she was lying, and Bailey couldn’t see the point of digging herself in any deeper than she already was. Of course she hadn’t had time to reason that out until later. He’d hauled her into the alley and she’d simply followed her instincts, right or wrong.
“It wasn’t like you didn’t warn me,” Bailey said, half her turkey sandwich poised in front of her mouth. “You tried to tell me from the moment we followed him off the subway how dumb the whole idea was. I should’ve listened to you then.”
But she’d been so desperate to get a real hero down on paper. She’d been willing to do just about anything to straighten out this problem of Michael’s. What she hadn’t predicted was how foolish she’d end up feeling as a result. Well, no more—she’d learned her lesson. If any more handsome men hit her on the head, she’d hit them back!
“What are you going to do now?” Jo Ann asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” Bailey answered without a second’s hesitation.
“You mean you’re going to let him go on thinking you’re an escaped mental patient?”
“If that’s what he wants to believe.” Bailey tried to create the impression that it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. She must have done a fairly good job because Jo Ann remained speechless, raising her coffee mug to her mouth three times without taking a single sip.
“What happens if you run into him on the subway again?” she finally asked.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Bailey said blithely, trying hard to sound unconcerned. “What are the chances we’ll be on the same car again at exactly the same time?”
“You’re right,” Jo Ann concurred. “Besides, after what happened today, he’ll probably go back to driving, freeway renovation or not.”
It would certainly be a blessing if he did, Bailey thought.
* * *
He didn’t.
Jo Ann and Bailey were standing at the end of the crowded subway car, clutching the metal handrail when Jo Ann tugged hard at the sleeve of Bailey’s bulky-knit cardigan.
“Don’t turn around,” Jo Ann murmured.
They were packed as tight as peas in a pod, and Bailey had no intention of moving in any direction.
“He’s staring at you.”
“Who?” Bailey whispered back.
She wasn’t a complete fool. When she’d stepped onto the train earlier, she’d done a quick check and was thankful to note that Parker Davidson wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She hadn’t run into him in several days and there was no reason to think she would. He might have continued to take BART, but if that was the case their paths had yet to cross, which was fine with her. Their second encounter would likely prove as embarrassing as the first.
“He’s here,” Jo Ann hissed. “The architect you followed last week.”
Bailey was convinced everyone in the subway car had turned to stare at her. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she muttered, furious with her friend for her lack of discretion.
“I’m not. Look.” She motioned with her head.
Bailey did her best to be nonchalant about it. When she did slowly twist around, her heart sank all the way to her knees. Jo Ann was right. Parker stood no more than ten feet from her. Fortunately, they were separated by a number of people—which didn’t disguise the fact that he was staring at Bailey as if he expected men in white coats to start descending on her.
She glared back at him.
“Do you see him?” Jo Ann asked.
“Of course. Thank you so much for pointing him out to me.”
“He’s staring at you. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Ignore him,” Bailey suggested sarcastically. “I certainly intend to.” Still, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the advertising posted above the seats, she found Parker Davidson dominating her thoughts.
A nervous shaky feeling slithered down her spine. Bailey could feel his look as profoundly as a caress. This was exactly the sort of look she struggled to describe in Forever Yours.
Casually, as if by accident, she slowly turned her head and peeked in his direction once more, wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing. For an instant the entire train seemed to go still. Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and an electric jolt rocked Bailey, like nothing she’d ever felt before. A breathless panic filled her and she longed to drag her eyes away, pretend she didn’t recognize him, anything to escape this fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach.
This was exactly how Janice had felt the first time she met Michael. Bailey had spent days writing that scene, studying each word, each phrase, until she’d achieved the right effect. That was the moment Janice had fallen in love with Michael. Oh, she’d fought it, done everything but stand on her head in an effort to control her feelings, but Janice had truly fallen for him.
Bailey, however, was much too wise to be taken in by a mere look. She’d already been in love. Twice. Both times were disasters and she wasn’t willing to try it again soon. Her heart was still bleeding from the last go-round.
Of course she was leaping to conclusions. She was the one with the fluttery stomach. Not Parker. He obviously hadn’t been affected by their exchange. In fact, he seemed to be amused, as if running into Bailey again was an unexpected opportunity for entertainment.
She braced herself, and with a resolve that would’ve impressed Janice, she dropped her gaze. She inhaled sharply, then twisted her mouth into a sneer. Unfortunately, Jo Ann was staring at her in complete—and knowing—fascination.
“What’s with you—and him?”
“Nothing,” Bailey denied quickly.
“That’s not what I saw.”
“You’re mistaken,” Bailey replied in a voice that said the subject was closed.
“Whatever you did worked,” Jo Ann whispered a couple of minutes later.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, but in case you’re interested, he’s coming this way.”
“I beg your pardon?” Bailey’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat at the mere prospect of being confronted by Parker Davidson again. Once in a lifetime was more than enough, but twice in the same week was well beyond her capabilities.
Sure enough, Parker Davidson boldly stepped forward and squeezed himself next to Bailey.
“Hello again,” he said casually.
“Hello,” she returned stiffly, refusing to look at him.
“You must be Jo Ann,” he said, turning his attention to Bailey’s friend.
Jo Anne’s eyes narrowed. “You told him my name?” she asked Bailey in a loud distinct voice.
“I... Apparently so.”
“Thank you very much,” she muttered in a sarcastic voice. Then she turned toward Parker and her expression altered dramatically as she broke into a wide smile. “Yes, I’m Jo Ann.”
“Have you been friends with Janice long?”
“Janice? Oh, you mean...” Bailey quickly nudged her friend in the ribs with her elbow. “Janice,” Jo Ann repeated in a strained voice. “You mean this Janice?”
Parker frowned. “So that was a lie, as well?”
“As well,” Bailey admitted coolly, deciding she had no alternative. “That was my problem in the first place. I told you the truth. Now, for the last time, I’m a writer and so is Jo Ann.” She gestured toward her friend. “Tell him.”
“We’re both writers,” Jo Ann confirmed with a sad lack of conviction. It wasn’t something Jo Ann willingly broadcast, though Bailey had never really understood why. She supposed it was a kind of superstition, a fear of offending the fates by appearing too presumptuous—and thereby ruining her chances of selling a book.
Parker sighed, frowning more darkly. “That’s what I thought.”
The subway stopped at the next station, and he moved toward the door.
“Goodbye,” Jo Ann said, raising her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Me, too.” He glanced from her to Bailey; she could have sworn his eyes hardened briefly before he stepped off the car.
“You told him your name was Janice?” Jo Ann cried the minute he was out of sight. “Why’d you do that?”
“I... I don’t know. I panicked.”
Jo Ann wiped her hand down her face. “Now he really thinks you’re nuts.”
“It might have helped if you hadn’t acted like you’d never heard the word ‘writer’ before.” Before Jo Ann could heap any more blame on her shoulders, Bailey had some guilt of her own to spread around.
“That isn’t information I tell everyone, you know. I’d appreciate if you didn’t pass it out to just anyone.”
“Oh, dear,” Bailey mumbled, feeling wretched. Not only was Jo Ann annoyed with her, Parker thought she was a fool. And there was little she could do to redeem herself in his eyes. The fact that it troubled her so much was something for the men with chaise longues in their offices to analyze. But trouble her it did.
If only Parker hadn’t looked at her with those dark eyes of his—as if he was willing to reconsider his first assessment of her.
If only she hadn’t looked back and felt that puzzling sensation come over her—the way a heroine does when she’s met the man of her dreams.
* * *
The weekend passed, and although Bailey spent most of her time working on the rewrite of Forever Yours, she couldn’t stop picturing the disgruntled look on Parker’s face as he walked off the subway car. It hurt her pride that he assumed she was a liar. Granted, introducing herself as Janice Hampton had been a lie, but after that, she’d told only the truth. She was sure he didn’t believe a single word she’d said. Still, he intrigued her so much she spent a couple of precious hours on Saturday afternoon on the Internet, learning everything she could about him, which unfortunately wasn’t much.
When Monday’s lunch hour arrived, she headed directly for Parker’s building. Showing up at his door should merit her an award for courage—or one for sheer stupidity.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked when Bailey walked into the architectural firm’s outer office. It was the same woman who’d helped her the week before. The nameplate on her desk read Roseanne Snyder. Bailey hadn’t noticed it during her first visit.
“Would it be possible to see Mr. Davidson for just a few minutes?” she asked in her most businesslike voice, hoping the woman didn’t recognize her.
Roseanne glanced down at the appointment calendar. “You’re the gal who was in to see Mr. Davidson the first part of last week, aren’t you?”
So much for keeping her identity a secret. “Yes.” It was embarrassing to admit that. Bailey prayed Parker hadn’t divulged the details of their encounter to the firm’s receptionist.
“When I mentioned your name to Mr. Davidson, he didn’t seem to remember your family.”
“Uh... I wasn’t sure he would,” Bailey answered vaguely.
“If you’ll give me your name again, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Bailey. Bailey York,” she said with a silent sigh of relief. Parker didn’t know her real name; surely he wouldn’t refuse to see her.
“Bailey York,” the friendly woman repeated. “But aren’t you—?” She paused, staring at her for a moment before she pressed the intercom button. After a quick exchange, she nodded, smiling tentatively. “Mr. Davidson said to go right in. His office is the last one on the left,” she said, pointing the way.
The door was open and Parker sat at his desk, apparently engrossed in studying a set of blueprints. His office was impressive, with a wide sweeping view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island. As she stood in the doorway, Parker glanced up. His smile faded when he recognized her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Proving I’m not a liar.” With that, she strode into his office and slapped a package on his desk.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Proof.”