Speaking of Love Read online

  She turned to him and tilted her head. “Aww, look at you, you’re on a roll. That’s two jokes tonight.”

  Rick made a slight, theatrical bow. “You can catch my show every Monday at nine p.m. Standing room only.”

  “Okay.” She patted his arm. “I think you’re done now.”

  “Two jokes is my limit?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Apparently.”

  When Rick took her elbow, Mac slapped on a bright smile. This was what she was here for. It was time to shine, and she was pretty good at it, even if she was wearing too much makeup. Rick called it her “war paint.” She wondered what he would think if he knew she’d had twice as much on earlier.

  “Where should we sit?” Rick asked from behind as he steered her into the ballroom. His fingers swept across the bare skin of her back, making Mac shiver deliciously. Then she gave herself a mental slap. Why in the world had she let her best friend Tess talk her into wearing a backless dress tonight? If Rick kept touching her like this, she was liable to…

  Another mental slap. Look alive, Mackenzie!

  “How about on the floor?” she suggested. “It’ll be our own little picnic.” She gripped his arm with both hands. “No, wait. Maybe under a table, like a tent. Yeah?” She couldn’t stop herself from laughing, picturing the scene. “Let’s get a little gossip going to liven things up. What do you say?”

  “Are you finished?” Rick said, staring down at her.

  “Party pooper.” Mac groaned. “These city-sponsored events are so pompous,” she added, softly enough that only Rick would hear. She thought she might have just spotted the mayor. Black suit, no miniskirt. Too bad. “Never any fun.”

  “Oh, really? Never?” Rick chuckled quietly. “I seem to remember you having quite a bit of fun at Franklin’s tree lighting ceremony. The after-party, especially.”

  Mac looked at him. “You were there?”

  “I didn’t know you sang karaoke. Good evening, Congressman.” Rick shook hands with some darling old gentleman in a gray suit who passed by. “Will I be graced with an encore of ‘Sugar, Sugar’ later tonight?”

  Mac was trying not to burst into giggles as Rick turned to greet another old dude in a dark suit. Despite herself, she liked watching the way he could schmooze the VIPs and then crack a joke to her under his breath. He could be so damn charming.

  “Okay,” she admitted, “sometimes fun.” Temporarily satisfied, she gazed forlornly over Rick’s shoulder and toward the bar set up at the back of the ballroom. “But they never have Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper on tap.”

  “There’s always champagne.”

  “You know I can’t exactly handle liquor. Do you want me to up-chuck on your Armani?”

  When Rick smiled down at her, it played with the rhythm of Mac’s heart. Or maybe it was the thought of caffeine. Yes, that made more sense. She shouldn’t be thinking about Rick’s potential effect on her heart. They’d gone down that road briefly, and it hadn’t worked out. Only once in a while did she regret that.

  Like now, for example, when he stepped away from her to chat with someone and she got a good look at his butt inside that five thousand dollar suit. There went her heart again.

  “You remember Doctor and Professor Upshaw? Mac?”

  Mac blinked and lifted her gaze to Rick, who was standing next to a couple that looked about fifty. She’d met them before on their first non-date. Was he the heart surgeon or was she the law professor? Or vice versa?

  “Lovely to see you again,” Mac said pleasantly. Ready to roll. She shook hands with the wife first, then the husband.

  “How’s business?” Rick asked them.

  Mac listened intently, hoping to gain a hint as to their vocations before she started in with the small talk. As a speech teacher, she prided herself on being able to carry on a conversation with anyone about anything. She just needed one little clue.

  “As well as can be expected,” the husband replied.

  Hmm. That was no help.

  “Beastly,” the wife added.

  Even worse.

  Just the same, Mac nodded with an expression of interest as the couple continued. Rick was nodding, too, though his expression of interest was probably more believable than hers. After all, he’d been attending events like this his whole life.

  In these sorts of situations, Mac knew that current events were usually safe. Ones that related to the other members of the conversational party were best. Let’s see…what had she read in the news this morning? She racked her brain until something popped.

  When the conversation lulled, Mac jumped in. “I was reading an article in USA Today,” she began, “about the amount of defense attorneys disbarred last year.”

  The husband was staring blankly at her, so Mac moved her eyes to the wife. She must be the lawyer.

  “It’s interesting,” Mac went on, “how the number has nearly doubled in the last decade.”

  Oh boy, where was she going with this? Abort! Abort! They were all watching her, and all she could think of now was last night’s Top Ten list on the Late Show with David Letterman. She was usually so much better than this.

  “Anyway,” Mac continued, “they all belong at the bottom of the ocean, right?” She touched the wife’s arm. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  She laughed then—snorted, actually. She hadn’t meant to, but it sometimes just happened.

  “Yes, well,” the husband said, “it was nice to see you again.”

  “Have a good evening,” Rick said. Once the couple was out of earshot, he turned to Mac. “What was that?”

  “Chit-chat,” she explained. And a snort.

  Rick lifted an eyebrow. “The bottom of the ocean?”

  “It’s a classic joke,” she said, waving a hand. “I thought he might find the article interesting. Or she might. Whichever is the law professor. Ethics is an important issue. That’s what the story was about.” She bit her lip. “If I remember correctly.”

  Rick’s eyebrows knit together. “Mac, you’re thinking of the Uptons, not the Upshaws. The Upshaws are forensic scientists.”

  “Oh.” She looked across the room at the couple, feeling like a complete idiot.

  She didn’t belong here, making idle small talk with a bunch of rich people who didn’t get her. How much more proof did she need that she did not fit in Rick’s world?

  “I’m making an effort, Rick,” she said. “You know I don’t like coming to these things. It’s excruciating—”

  “Mac.” Rick cut her off, then turned from shaking hands with some other suit. He leaned his face down to her. Mac wasn’t entirely comfortable with their sudden closeness or the way the smell of Rick’s aftershave made her head swim. “Our arrangement was working,” he continued. “Until…”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Mac knew what he was about to say. Their arrangement had been working until their last date, when Councilman Whats-his-head had gotten all up in her grille about the fiscal benefits of building over the tiny park near the high school.

  She might’ve made a tiny scene.

  When she’d called Rick the next morning to apologize, before she knew it, instead she’d offered to set him up with her cousin Brandy to be his date du jour. Being a former beauty queen and all-around perfect trophy girlfriend for someone like Rick, Brandy would slide right into his world without a hitch. Rick had agreed to the set-up…rather quickly, Mac recalled.

  “Sorry, again,” Mac whispered, pulling back a tiny smile. “About last time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rick replied.

  “No, really.” She took his arm. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just…sometimes I feel like these people—”

  “Look,” Rick interrupted, pointing his chin to the left. “My parents are at the front table.”

  Caught unprepared, Mac was suddenly being towed forward, her mouth still hanging open from her last word. When she got close enough to actually see Mr. and Mrs. Duffy, she felt every corp
uscle of blood drain from her face.

  This is so wrong. I should not be here.

  “Mother, Dad,” Rick said. “This is Mackenzie Simms.” Rick shifted to the side like he was allowing them to see Mac unobstructed. “Mac,” he continued, “this is my father.”

  Mac had taken the previous ten seconds to brace herself. She felt her eyes narrow. “I know exactly who you are.”

  Chapter Two

  After a deep breath, Mac changed gears, deciding it best to go the other way.

  “Good evening, Mr. Duffy,” she said, while gritting her teeth and wondering if her smile looked as fake as it felt. “Mrs. Duffy.”

  As Rick held out her chair and she slid into her seat next to Mrs. Duffy, Mac was determined not to make a scene; Rick didn’t deserve that. On the flip side, when nerves got the better of her, she often fell speechless, which was worse. Words were her life—if she couldn’t grab onto them, she didn’t know what to do.

  “How are you tonight, dear?” Mrs. Duffy asked.

  “Fine,” Mac said, trying not to look at the person seated on Mrs. Duffy’s other side. Instead, she found herself gaping at the humongous diamond ring on Mrs. Duffy’s finger. “Splendid,” she added. Splendid? Idiot. “And you?”

  “I simply detest these things,” Mrs. Duffy said, leaning toward Mac an inch, though not quite looking at her.

  “You do?” Mac had never felt so relieved in her life. “So do I.”

  “It’s this food.”

  “I know, right?” Mac agreed. Maybe tonight was salvageable, after all.

  “There’s never enough caviar,” Mrs. Duffy said, pushing her plate back, her red-painted upper lip curling.

  Mac blinked at her. “Caviar?”

  “And the wine list is dreadful.”

  Mac sat back, the wind out of her sails. Just when she thought she had one little thing in common with Rick’s mother. And weren’t there bigger problems in the world than caviar and wine? Like unemployment? Surely her husband should know a lot about that after shutting down the Elm Street factory.

  “Oh, of course,” Mac couldn’t help saying. “There’s just never enough wine and caviar. I was just saying that.” She turned to her date. “Right, Rick?”

  “Umm.” He blinked.

  She knew she’d thrown him under the bus, but she couldn’t help it. Mac was about to reach over and squeeze his hand, just a friendly gesture to show she was only kidding around. After all, it was much too early to lose her cool. She had a very long evening ahead of her. But then Mrs. Duffy started up again.

  “What do they expect us to do? Bring our own caviar?”

  “Maybe we should organize a fund-raiser,” Mac said, “or stage a demonstration. I’m pretty good at those.” She lifted a fist. “More caviar for the masses! I mean, the sheer tragedy—”

  “That is a marvelous idea,” Mrs. Duffy cut in.

  Mac could only stare at her. Did the super-rich really not understand sarcasm? Unbelievable.

  “You know what, Arthur,” Mrs. Duffy continued, turning to her husband. “I know a dozen couples at the club who would contribute…”

  As Mrs. Duffy went on, Mac angled her chin toward Rick. “Is she serious?” She spoke behind her fingers. “It was a joke.”

  “And a very good one,” Rick said with a crooked smile. “Have a drink.”

  Mac automatically reached for the tall glass a waiter had just placed in front of her. Taking a sip, she was surprised to find that it was Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper.

  “How did I get this?” she whispered, stirring the icy drink with a straw.

  “I ordered it for you.” Rick twisted a cuff link. “I called ahead.”

  “You called ahead to order me a soda?” She took another sip. “Is it spiked, I hope?”

  Rick leaned forward an inch. “Oh, how I’ve been waiting to get you liquored up, Ms. Simms.”

  “Taking advantaging of me at long last?” she joked back.

  When Rick gave her a smoldering glance, Mac’s heart sped up. She was just about to say something more when Mrs. Duffy cut in.

  “And who catered this?” She took a sip from her own glass. “The high school cafeteria?”

  Mac lowered her drink.

  “Mother,” Rick jumped in, probably knowing that if he didn’t, Mac would. “Mac is a teacher at the high school.”

  Mrs. Duffy lifted her chin and blinked at her son. “Who, Richard?”

  “Mac,” he repeated, draping his arm along the back of Mac’s chair.

  “Oh?” She turned to Mac, finally looking her in the eyes. “You have a man’s name.”

  “Um, yeah,” Mac said, torn between wanting to slide to the floor and thumping the lady on the forehead.

  “And you teach at a public school?” This came from Mr. Duffy.

  Mac froze, caught off guard again. She had foolishly thought she might get through the evening without having to speak to him again.

  He was smiling and looking her in the eyes, the same way so many of the rich, successful businessmen did at places like this. But Mac noticed a slight hint of condescension in his expression. Well, maybe not so slight, come to think of it.

  “She’s a speech teacher,” Rick answered for her. “And she coaches the debate team. I’ve told you that.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Duffy touched Mac on the arm. “What did you say your name was, dear?”

  Just as Mac was about to unleash a very witty, very fitting retort, the glasses and silverware on the table jumped and rattled.

  “Arthur! How ya doin’ you old son of a gun?” There was a man at Mr. Duffy’s side, leaning over his shoulder, one meaty hand on the table. From his slur and his smell, he was pretty far gone.

  “Phillip, hello,” Mr. Duffy said with a big smile, standing up to shake the man’s hand. “Wonderful to see you. It’s been ages.”

  The guy took a drink from the deep, round snifter in his hand. “Too long,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since that Bristol affair in Chicago. Ha ha ha. Remember?”

  “Remember?” Duffy repeated jubilantly. The two men laughed—some private joke. Drunk Guy put his hand on Duffy’s shoulder. “I’ll never forget that,” Duffy added.

  “Ya know,” Drunk Guy slurred, addressing the table now, “I first met this old duffer when we worked together to close the Elm factory on the other side of town.” He took another drink. “Remember that?” The guy had to pause to laugh at the hilarity of his statement. “It took months, but we finally got our way and shut ’er down.”

  Duffy laughed and shook his head. “What a to-do that was,” he agreed.

  “Cheaper to outsource,” Drunk Guy continued after another sloppy swig. “It was just a couple of hundred workers—could’ve been much worse.”

  “So true.” Duffy chuckled, clapping the guy on the back. “So true.”

  Unable to listen to another word, Mac stood up, her chair nearly toppling over backward.

  The still-laughing Mr. Duffy looked at her. After a moment, his smile dropped and the two stared at each other.

  Don’t do it, one side of Mac’s mind pleaded. He’s not worth it. While the other side screamed, Now’s your chance! Say it! You’re a speech teacher for crying out loud!

  “Uh, Phillip,” Mr. Duffy said, just as Mac was unclenching her jaw, “I want to introduce you to some people. Over there.” He nodded a good-bye to the others at the table then the two walked away.

  “Mac?” She heard Rick speak, but she only shook her head. Her blood seething under her skin.

  “Mac?” Rick repeated, standing up. “Are you—”

  “Get me out of here,” she managed to say through clenched teeth. “Now.”

  …

  Rick wasn’t sure what was going on. He never claimed to understand the happenings inside a woman’s mind, but with Mackenzie, most of the time, he had absolutely no clue.

  “Hey,” he said, standing beside her. His fingers circled her slender wrist, not wanting her to leave. “Where are you goi
ng?”

  “I’m”—she turned to look him directly in the eyes—“thirsty.” There was something obviously wrong. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

  “Just…” He tugged at her hand. “Stay put.” He lifted a hand and made eye contact with one of the waiters. “There are people here who get paid to serve you.”

  “Serve me?” she repeated, sounding a bit heated. “Is that what you think?”

  He lowered his raised hand. “It’s their job.” Even though this was true, Rick knew he’d said the wrong thing. The way she was looking at him made him feel like he’d just failed some secret test.

  He let go of her wrist when she turned away and started dabbing at the corner of her eye. Okay, was she angry or sad? He had no idea.

  For a moment, he just watched her, wondering what was going on in that busy brain of hers. He couldn’t help glancing past her at his mother, who was eyeing Mac critically. What did Mac have against his parents? And what did his parents have against her? Whatever it was, he was sure her current behavior wasn’t helping. A few weeks ago, Mac had mentioned something about making sure his father never ran into her father, but then she’d changed the subject, cutting short personal information yet again.

  Rick didn’t know much about Mac’s family, except that she came from a blue-collar background with divorced parents and two siblings. Anything further than that, Mac was never willing to share. Rick often found it difficult not to press the issue, to rein in his journalist desire for information.

  “I need to go look at that…thing,” Mac said, stepping away from the table.

  Rick caught the stress in her tone.

  He needed to get her away from this table, maybe completely out of the ballroom.

  “I’ll come with you,” Rick said, then offered a quick good-bye to his mother, who was now speaking with someone at the table behind them.

  “Thank you,” Mac said in a whisper, looping her arm through his as they walked away. Out of habit, Rick put his hand over hers, which was resting against his bicep. He couldn’t help noticing that her fingers twitched away when he touched her.