Be My Valentine (9 page)

“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 in trigued her so much she spent a couple of precious hours on Saturday afternoon on the Internet, learn ing 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.”

P
arker stared at the manuscript box as though he feared it was a time bomb set to explode at any moment.

“Go ahead and open it,” Bailey said. When he didn't, she lifted the lid for him. Awkwardly she flipped through the first fifteen pages until she'd gathered up the first chapter, which she shoved into his hands. “Read it.”

“Now?”

“Start with the header,” she instructed, and then pointed to the printed line on the top right-hand side of each page.

“York…Forever Yours…Page one,” he read aloud, slowly and hesitantly.

Bailey nodded. “Now move down to the text.” She used her index finger to indicate where she wanted him to read.

“Chapter one. Janice Hampton had dreaded the business meeting for weeks. She was—”

“That's enough,” Bailey muttered, ripping the pages out of his hands. “If you want to look through the rest of the manuscript, you're welcome to.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So you no longer have the slightest doubt that I wrote it,” she answered in a severe tone. “So you'll believe that I
am
a writer—and not a liar or a maniac. The purpose of this visit, though, why I find it necessary to prove I'm telling you the truth, isn't clear to me yet. It just seemed…important.”

As she spoke, she scooped up the loose pages and stuffed them back into the manuscript box, closing it with enough force to crush the lid.

“I believed you before,” Parker said casually, leaning back in his chair as if he'd never questioned her integrity. Or her sanity. “No one could've made up that story about being a romance writer and kept a straight face.”

“But you—”

“What I didn't appreciate was the fact that you called yourself by a false name.”

“You caught me off guard! I gave you the name of my heroine because…well, because I saw you as the hero.”

“I see.” He raised one eyebrow—definitely a hero-like mannerism, Bailey had to admit.

“I guess you didn't appreciate being followed around town, either,” she said in a small voice.

“True enough,” he agreed. “Take my advice, would you? The next time you want to research details about a man's life, hire a detective. You and your friend couldn't have been more obvious if you'd tried.”

Bailey's ego had already taken one beating from this man, and she wasn't game for round two. “Don't worry, I've given up the chase. I've discovered there aren't any real heroes left in this world. I thought you might be one, but—” she shrugged elaborately “—alas, I was wrong.”

“Ouch.” Parker placed his hand over his heart as though her words had wounded him gravely. “I was just beginning to feel flattered. Then you had to go and ruin it.”

“I know what I'm talking about when it comes to this hero business. They're extinct, except between the pages of women's fiction.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but do I detect a note of bitterness?”

“I'm not bitter,” Bailey denied vehemently. But she didn't mention the one slightly yellowed wedding dress hanging in her closet. She'd used her savings to pay for the elegant gown and been too mortified to return it unused. She tried to convince herself it was an investment, something that would gain value over the years, like gold. Or stocks. That was what she told herself, but deep down she knew better.

“I'm sorry to have intruded upon your busy day,” she said, reaching for her manuscript. “I won't trouble you again.”

“Do you object to my asking you a few questions before you go?” Parker asked, standing. He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it, crossing his ankles. “Writers have always fascinated me.”

Bailey made a show of glancing at her watch. She had forty-five minutes left of her lunch hour; she supposed she could spare a few moments. “All right.”

“How long did it take you to write
Forever and a Day?
”

“Forever Yours,”
Bailey corrected. She suspected he was making fun of her. “Nearly six months, but I worked on it every night after work and on weekends. I felt like I'd completed a marathon when I finished.” Bailey knew Janice and Michael were grateful, too. “Only I made a beginner's mistake.”

“What's that?”

“I sent it off to a publisher.”

“That's a mistake?”

Bailey nodded. “I should've had someone read it first, but I was too new to know that. It wasn't until later that I met Jo Ann and joined a writers' group.”

Parker folded his arms across his broad chest. “I'm not sure I understand. Isn't having your work read by an editor the whole point? Why have someone else read it first?”

“Every manuscript needs a final polishing. It's important to put your best foot forward.”

“I take it
Forever Yours
was rejected.”

Bailey shook her head. “Not yet, but I'm fairly certain it will be. It's been about four months now, but meanwhile I've been working on revisions. And like Jo Ann says—no news is no news.”

Parker arched his brows. “That's true.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at her watch again, but not because she was eager to leave. She felt foolish standing in the middle of Parker's plush office talking about her novel. Her guard was slipping and the desire to secure it firmly in place was growing stronger.

“I assume Jo Ann read the manuscript after you mailed it off?”

“Yes.” Bailey punctuated her comment with a shrug. “She took it home and returned it the next morning with margin notes and a list of comments three pages long. When I read them over, I could see how right she was and, well, mainly the problem was with the hero.”

“Michael?”

Bailey was surprised he remembered that. “Yes, with Michael. He's a terrific guy, but he needs a little help figuring out what women—in this case Janice Hampton—want.”

“That's where I came in?”

“Right.”

“How?”

Bailey made an effort to explain. “A hero, at least in romantic fiction, is determined, forceful and cool. When I saw you the first time, you gave the impression of being all three.”

“Was that before or after I hit you in the head?”

“After.”

Parker grinned. “Did you ever consider that my umbrella might have caused a temporary lack of, shall we say, good judgment? My guess is that you don't normally follow men around town, taking notes about their behavior, do you?”

“No, you were my first,” she informed him coldly. This conversation was becoming downright irritating.

“I'm pleased to hear that,” he said with a cocky grin.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I
was
hit harder than I realized.” Just when she was beginning to feel reasonably comfortable around Parker, he'd do or say something to remind her that he was indeed a mere mortal. Any effort to base Michael's personality on his would only be a waste of time.

Bailey clutched her manuscript to her chest. “I really have to go now. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It's fine. I found our discussion…interesting.”

No doubt he had. But it didn't help Bailey's dignity to know she was a source of amusement to one of the city's most distinguished architects.

 

“What else did he say?” Jo Ann asked early the following morning as they sat side by side on the crowded subway car.

Even before Bailey could answer, Jo Ann asked another question. “Did you get a chance to tell him that little joke about your story having a beginning, a
muddle
and an end?”

Jo Ann's reaction had surprised her. When Bailey admitted confronting Parker with her completed manuscript, Jo Ann had been enthusiastic, even excited. Bailey had supposed that her friend wouldn't understand her need to see Parker and correct his opinion of her. Instead, Jo Ann had been approving—and full of questions.

“I didn't have time to tell Parker any jokes,” Bailey answered. “Good grief, I was only in his office, I don't know, maybe ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes! A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

Bailey crossed her long legs and prayed silently for patience. “Believe me, nothing happened. I accomplished what I set out to prove. That's it.”

“If you were in there a full ten minutes, surely the two of you talked.”

“He had a few questions about the business of writing.”

“I see.” Jo Ann nodded slowly. “So what did you tell him?”

Bailey didn't want to think about her visit with Parker. Not again. She'd returned from work that afternoon and, as was her habit, went directly to her computer. Usually she couldn't wait to get home to write. But that afternoon, she'd sat there, her hands poised on the keys, and instead of composing witty sparkling dialogue for Michael and Janice, she'd reviewed every word of her conversation with Parker.

He'd been friendly, cordial. And he'd actually sounded interested—when he wasn't busy being amused. Bailey hadn't expected that. What she'd expected was outright rejection. She'd come prepared to talk to a stone wall.

Michael, the first time around, had been like that. Gruff and unyielding. Poor Janice had been in the dark about his feelings from page one. It was as though her hero feared that revealing emotion was a sign of weakness.

In the second version Michael was so…amiable, so pleasant, that any conflict in the story had been watered down almost to nonexistence.

“As you might have guessed,” Jo Ann said, breaking into her thoughts, “I like Parker Davidson. You were right when you claimed he's hero material. You'll have to forgive me for doubting you. It's just that I've never followed a man around before.”

“You like Parker?” Bailey's musing about Michael and his shifting personality came to a sudden halt. ‘You're married,” Bailey felt obliged to remind her.

“I'm not interested in him for
me,
silly,” Jo Ann said, playfully nudging Bailey with her elbow. “He's all yours.”

“Mine!” Bailey couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You're nuts.”

“No, I'm not. He's tall, dark and handsome, and we both know how perfect that makes him for a classic romance. And the way you zeroed in on Parker the instant you saw him proves he's got the compelling presence a hero needs.”

“The only
presence
I noticed was his umbrella's! He nearly decapitated me with the thing.”

“You know what I think?” Jo Ann murmured, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I think that something inside you, some innate sonar device, was in action. You're hungering to find Michael. Deep within your subconscious you're seeking love and romance.”

“Wrong!” Bailey declared adamantly. “You couldn't be more off course. Writing and selling a romance are my top priorities right now. I'm not interested in love, not for myself.”

“What about Janice?”

The question was unfair and Bailey knew it. So much of her own personality was invested in her heroine.

The train finally reached their station, and Bailey and Jo Ann stood up and made their way toward the exit.

“Well?” Jo Ann pressed, clearly unwilling to drop the subject.

“I'm not answering that and you know why,” Bailey said, stepping onto the platform. “Now kindly get off this subject. I doubt I'll ever see Parker Davidson again, and if I do I'll ignore him just the way he'll ignore me.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“Then why do you suppose he's waiting for you? That
is
Parker Davidson, isn't it?”

Bailey closed her eyes and struggled to gather her wits. Part of her was hoping against hope that Parker would saunter past without giving either of them a second's notice. But another part of her, a deep womanly part, hoped he was doing exactly what Jo Ann suggested.

“Good morning, ladies,” Parker said to them as he approached.

“Hello,” Bailey returned, suspecting she sounded in need of a voice-box transplant.

“Good morning!” Jo Ann said with enough enthusiasm to make up for Bailey's sorry lack.

Parker bestowed a dazzling smile on them. Bailey felt the impact of it as profoundly as if he'd bent down and brushed his mouth over hers. She quickly shook her head to dispel the image.

“I considered our conversation,” he said, directing his remark to Bailey. “Since you're having so many problems with your hero, I decided I might be able to help you, after all.”

“Is that right?” Bailey knew she was coming across as defensive, but she couldn't seem to help it.

Parker nodded. “I assume you decided to follow me that day to learn pertinent details about my habits, personality and so on. How about if the two of us sit down over lunch and you just ask me what you want to know?”

Bailey recognized a gift horse when she saw one. Excitement welled up inside her; nevertheless she hesitated. This man was beginning to consume her thoughts already, and she'd be asking for trouble if she allowed it to continue.

“Would you have time this afternoon?”

“She's got time,” Jo Ann said without missing a beat. “Bailey works as a paralegal and she can see you during her lunch hour. This afternoon would be perfect.”

Bailey glared at her friend, resisting the urge to suggest
she
have lunch with Parker since she was so keen on the idea.

“Bailey?” Parker asked, turning his attention to her.

“I…suppose.” She didn't sound very gracious, and the look Jo Ann flashed her told her as much. “This is, um, very generous of you, Mr. Davidson.”

“Mr. Davidson?” Parker said. “I thought we were long past being formal with each other.” He dazzled her with another smile. It had the same effect on Bailey as before, weakening her knees—and her resolve.