Hidden Gems (6 page)

Jamie let Sally pull him forward to the corner, the dog’s nose quivering as she scented the bursting spring foliage at the park. “You want to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I want us not to change. Not to make one kiss—”

Jamie’s new triple-X adult eyes knifed at her.

“Okay, a few kisses. Hot ones, even.” She took a steadying breath and started again. “Not to make a few hot kisses into some big drama that wrecks our friendship.”

“Like I said, you want to forget it happened.” Suddenly he sounded sad. Marissa’s stomach flipped. “Might as well forget what I said about your breasts, too.”

“Whatever. Really, it’s no big deal if you snuck a few peeks.” She looked down the neck hole of her T-shirt. “Breasts are breasts, unless they’re Pamela Anderson’s. So what if you’ve seen mine. I’m not shy.”

Jamie made a motion as if he intended to get another look, and she grabbed at the loose fabric, stretching the shirt taut across her front. Her nipples pressed sharp little points against the thin cotton.

The crosswalk light switched. The other pedestrians moved off quickly. Jamie didn’t budge an inch. Sally whimpered, tugging at the leash.

“Okay,” Marissa said. “You made your point. We can’t put the genie back in the bottle. But I’m not ready to deal with this.” She made a motion to reach for his hand, then pulled back. “Please, let’s go along as usual for a few days. I just got home. I’m wearing Shandi’s shoes.”

She put a hand up to flip back her hair and her fingers got stuck on a snarl. She never went out in such a state of disarray. Even going to the gym required a certain look with a coordinated outfit and her hair in a braided knot. “I’m all out of sorts.”

“I understand,” Jamie said. Grudgingly, for him. “But I’m not letting this drop for good,” he added because he couldn’t seem to help it. “You should think about the possibility that our friendship won’t be ruined if we become lovers. It might even be enhanced.”

“You’re such an optimist.”

He smiled. “And that’s a good thing.”

“I’ll think about it. But I can’t make a decision so fast.” Even though she always made decisions fast. “Will you wait? A reprieve is all I need to get my head straight.”

Man and dog cocked their heads at her.

“All I need,” she repeated, hoping that he couldn’t see that her heart was saying something more.

All I need is you.

“That and breakfast.” Jamie took her hand and turned Sally loose. The dog bounded into the crosswalk, feathered tail waving like a semaphore. They jogged after her, stretching their legs, and the tension inside Marissa finally let go.

“DO YOU THINK she’s gone?”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Jamie angled his head toward their brownstone. “I hear music. Maroon Five.”

“Then she’s still there. Damn.” Marissa slowly climbed the steps. “I really don’t want a roommate again. It’s been nice, having the place to myself. My first time completely on my own.”

Jamie followed. She’d talked often about her family in Miami, so he knew that she’d grown up poor but ambitious, sharing a tiny bedroom with her sister, dreaming of life in the big city. “I don’t want her, either, but if I have to take the bullet, I will.”

“No!” Marissa looked startled by her own vehemence. “That is, I don’t expect you to sacrifice yourself for my sake. She’ll find a place.”

He weighed the possibilities. “Are you worried that we’d sleep together?”

“Who? Us?”

He could only hope. “Me and Shandi.”

Cool now, Marissa raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”

“Hell, no.” When he ran into Shandi these days, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been involved with her. Thinking about it, he saw that she’d dazzled him with her freewheeling zest, somewhat like Marissa. Shandi Lee was an experience. Three years ago, he’d still been new to the city lifestyle, recently removed from a comfortable suburban home. He had commuted to college, then put in a short stint at a small-town paper before realizing that he’d become too settled.

But he’d progressed since his first days in the city. He’d become a lot smarter about what kind of woman he wanted in his life.

“You liked her once,” Marissa ventured.

“Uh, I still do.” Even if he didn’t entirely trust her.

“You liked her in a romantic way.”

“Well, you were with…what was his name?”

“Ivan. He’s a cancer researcher now, you know, at Sloan Kettering.”

“Impressive.” Marissa’s men usually had careers of importance or wealth. Jamie would never accomplish either with his average-paying job at the Village Observer. His big attempt at ambition was ghost-writing a biography with a rock legend, a project that had hit a major pothole when he’d realized the man was functionally illiterate.

Marissa had unlocked the front door. She turned her eyes on him. They were clear and unblinking, framed in a fringe of dark lashes. “No, I don’t want Ivan back.”

“And I don’t want Shandi.”

“Then we’re agreed. We’ll all be just friends.”

Little did she know. After Sally’s sojourn in the park, they’d gone to Blue Dog’s Café, a popular coffeehouse with huge breakfasts and free doggie biscuits at the counter. Marissa had excused herself and come back with her hair finger-combed and the baggy T-shirt knotted above her belly button. Without makeup, her face glowed. Her bare lips were full and soft. He’d found it tough to pull his gaze away, although her natural beauty was daunting. She could emerge from a ragbag and still pull herself together, while he counted himself dapper if he remembered to put on an unwrinkled shirt.

Over a tofu and spinach scramble, she’d continued with her insistence that this wasn’t the right time to start up anything between them. He’d agreed against every instinct, silently planning to bide his time until she adjusted to the idea.

The situation might have seemed hopeless. Except that he’d been struck by the way she’d avoided touching him. At first. And proof that she was as aware of him as he was of her.

The dog, who’d been sniffing at a concrete urn holding only the stiff brown stalks of last year’s planting, suddenly gave one short sharp bark. She shot to the end of the leash. The jolt almost jerked Jamie off his feet. “Sally! Quiet.”

Marissa stood at his shoulder. “What is it?”

“There must have been a cat.” He looked across the street. A woman pushed a stroller. A man in an ill-fitting business suit leaned against a mailbox, head lowered while he lit a cigarette. Sally growled low in her throat.

“I’m jumpy since the mugging attempt,” said Marissa. “I even thought Shandi was a burglar.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Jamie squeezed her hand.

The gesture was innocent, then not. They realized their proximity at the same moment. His gaze caught on her lips. She dented the lower one with her teeth. They leaned even closer, inches away, holding their breath—

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on here?” called a voice from above. Shandi hung out of the third-floor window. “Break it up, you guys.”

Marissa pulled away, her cheeks almost as pink as her lips.

“Would you mind answering your cell?” Cavalierly, Shandi tossed the phone out the window. “It’s driving me up the wall, ringing every ten minutes.”

Jamie made a lunge and caught the phone. He handed it to Marissa. “I thought it was switched off,” she said when the shrill ringer went off.

Shandi grimaced. “Yeah, well, I had to make a few calls and my minutes are running short. Quid pro quo—you stole my shoes.”

“Great.” Marissa flipped the phone open and said a wary “Hello?”

A deep voice immediately began fast talking on the other end of the connection. Jamie knew by the way her face sobered that the caller was Paul Beckwith. What he couldn’t tell was whether she’d wanted to hear from him.

He continued as if Marissa hadn’t spoken, essentially pleading for her forgiveness even though he talked around any actual admission of wrongdoing. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that he was as slick as a politician—or the stereotypical smarmy lawyer? Especially when cornered.

She broke in. “All I hear is yammering that doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m hanging up.”

“First say that you’re not angry with me.”

“Fine. I was angry, but I’m not anymore. Okay?”

“You still sound angry.” Paul inhaled as if he were going to relaunch, but maybe he’d finally run out of words because he actually waited for her reply.

Marissa sat on her bed cross-legged. Shandi was in the kitchen, making pancakes in animal shapes. With a nonchalant shrug, Jamie had signaled to Marissa that he was going upstairs to his place. She’d been relieved that he didn’t feel the need to stick around and coach her on her responses to Paul—while listening in—but another part of her kind of wished that he was the type of guy who fought for what he wanted.

“Marissa?” Paul said. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here. I don’t know why.”

“You are angry.”

“I’m disgusted, yes. I know where you went, the night I left.”

A pause stretched, then Paul asked, “How do you know?”

“I saw you from the hotel balcony. Through my camera.”

More of the elastic pause. “Your camera?”

“I was taking pictures.”

“Pictures?” Paul’s voice was strangled. “Of me?”

“Why would I want a picture of my cheating boyfriend?”

“So you didn’t—” He exhaled. “About that. It’s not what you think.”

“Was she good, the blonde?”

“Marissa. Sweetheart. You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Your hands were all over her. She stuck her tongue in your ear.”

“You saw a lot. Did you see…”

His Hugo Boss-tailored erection? Yes, indeed.

“Did you see my client, too?”

Marissa blinked. Paul was worried about the client instead of defending himself? He must be really guilty. Of something. “I had a glimpse.”

“Listen, Marissa. This is important. I can’t get back to the city yet. I have more to accomplish here—”

“I’m sure. Lots of island beach bunnies to catch.”

Paul got all stuffy. “Regardless of what you think you saw, this is business. Company business. It would be beneficial to your career at Howard, Coffman if you set aside your pride and just kept your mouth shut.”

Marissa was ready to feel insulted by his assumption that she would act like a wronged “wife” in the office, until she realized that this wasn’t about their relationship. Paul was trying to secure her silence. “What were you doing, holding a meeting in a parking lot?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned with.”

“But you are. Concerned.”

“I’m concerned for how you’re feeling,” Paul said in his slippery way.

“Uh-huh.” She pulled the phone away and rolled her eyes at it. “I’m really hanging up now. Rest assured, I have no intentions of telling tales at the office.”

“You’re not due back yet. They don’t expect you until Monday.”

“True.” Let him think she wasn’t going in. “If you’re finished with your top-secret meetings by then, you can be there in person to be sure I don’t besmirch your sterling reputation.”

“You always were a smart cookie, Marissa.”

Cookie? She didn’t crumble that easily.

“Oh, absolutely.” She couldn’t resist making a dig so he’d have something to worry about. “I won’t even show around the photos of our—your—romantic rendezvous. Ta-ta!” Marissa laughed gaily and clicked off on Paul’s stuttering response.

Shandi stood in the doorway with a pancake on a spatula. Her expression was almost apprehensive. “I made a turtle,” she said awkwardly, “and there’s burned sausage, too.” Behind her, the air near the ceiling was layered with smoke. “What did Paul want?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Sounded like he was trying to make up with you.”

“No, actually, I wasn’t his top priority. At least not the me he sees outside of the office.” Marissa frowned, absorbed in replaying the conversation. Paul was worried about what she’d seen—and who she’d tell. He knew she had the ear of Thomas Howard, a senior partner. His blather about making up with her was just a smokescreen.

“Do you want the turtle?” Shandi asked, lifting the pancake toward Marissa.

“Thanks, but no. I ate breakfast with Jamie.”

“You two…” Shandi put a finger on the pancake to hold it in place as she turned to go. “Three’s a crowd. I’ll pack up and be out of here as soon as I can.”

“Take your time,” Marissa said. She was distracted, trying to remember where she’d dumped her luggage. In the closet? No, under the bed. She dove forward on her stomach and reached for the handle. The suitcase was caught on something and she yanked it free.

The bag was upside down with the zipper half undone. Her stuff spilled from the gap. Damp swimsuits. Ew. At least she’d wrapped them in a towel.

A hotel towel. Bad girl.

She dropped the suits on the carpet and pawed through the other tumbled garments, setting aside two pairs of shoes before tipping over the suitcase to form a dirty laundry pile. After a cursory check of the outside pocket, the bag went back under the bed empty. What a crummy trip it had been. No souvenirs, not even a postcard.

Shandi had returned to the doorway, licking syrup off a fork. “What are you looking for?”

“My reason.”

“Reason for what?”

“Not that kind of reason.” Marissa sat up and ripped off her sleep shirt. Gross. She’d actually worn it outside. She might be a slob in the housekeeping department, but she liked to look good. Maybe she’d become too comfortable around Jamie.

No longer a problem.

She sighed. “I’ve lost my head. And damn if my libido isn’t working overtime.”

Shandi grinned. “Oh, so you meant a reason to jump Jamie’s tush?”

“That would be entirely unreasonable,” Marissa muttered from inside her closet. She’d left her robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door. It wasn’t there. Or on the floor, among the tangle of strappy sandals and unmatched socks. “Did you use my robe?”

“I might have.” Shandi made an oops face beneath her halo of tumbled curls. “Someone came to the door when I was still in a towel. Must have been one of your old boyfriends, because he was surprised when I answered.”

“None of my old boyfriends would expect me to be at home on a Wednesday.” Marissa found a silk kimono and slipped that on. She wiggled out of the yoga pants. “I hope you didn’t let him in.”

“Do I look like I’m fresh off the farm?” Shandi asked. She was from Nebraska, where her single mom was a Mary Kay consultant. Shandi liked to say that foundation ran in her veins.

“No, but knowing you, you’d have thought his dimples were cute and five minutes later he’s your best bud and you’re feeding him macadamia-nut cookies from my secret stash.”

Shandi considered. “He wasn’t that type of guy. In fact, I just realized that he wasn’t your type of guy at all, even though he wore a suit.”

“I’m done with ‘my type,’” Marissa said from the bathroom. The pipes clanked inside the wall when she turned on the taps. C’mon, baby, she pleaded with the recalcitrant plumbing. She shed the robe, always the optimist. The showers at her gym were hot and hard enough to satisfy any single girl, but she couldn’t go another minute without washing away the stink of the bad trip with Paul. Maybe any lingering inclinations for her old type of guy would also go down the drain.

“One question,” Shandi said, practically following her into the tub.

“Go ahead.” Marissa stuck her head under the thin, lukewarm spray. “But if you’re going to ask me about Jamie, don’t bother because I have no idea.” No idea, that is, except for the one where he’s a Bedouin raider and I’m a captive princess, lying naked in a desert tent when he comes to me with his body all hot and hard and whooo, boy, talk about libidos in overdrive.

Shandi stuck her head past the shower curtain. “All I want to know is where you hide the cookies.”

“WHAT’RE YOU WORKING ON?” asked Skip Sisman, the metro reporter who’d never met a pastry he didn’t like. “A revival of Sound of Music?” He guffawed around a bite of something crusty and oozing. Singing nuns were high humor in Skip’s world.

Jamie closed his laptop and slid it out of pastry flake range. Early that morning, he’d e-mailed a book review to the copy desk. But after leaving Marissa on the phone with Paul, he’d been too antsy to sit at home. He’d come into work to pick up his mail and whip out a few hundred filler words on the new CD from Overdog, four teenagers from the lower East Side who were too cool to realize they were basically just another boy band. His comments were kind. He’d been there with his own band, back when he didn’t yet know that he was hopelessly uncool.

Jamie tilted back in his chair and gave Sisman the fish eye. “What are you working on? The fascinating ins and outs of the fifth day of the garbage strike?”

“Following up on the theft at Stanhope’s. There was a rumor the thief was caught trying to leave the country with the goods, but my inside source says that was bull. Nobody’s in custody.”

Sisman was always citing his inside source, as if everyone at the paper didn’t know the big contact was his aunt Dena, who worked the switchboard at One Police Plaza and was the queen bee of information gathering. Her drones were in every precinct in the city, from property clerks to the receptionist at the coroner’s office. As sources went, Aunt Dena was a valuable one. Sisman rarely left his desk, except for bakery runs.

“I thought there’d been a break in the case.” One of the pieces had supposedly shown up in a Queens pawn shop. Sisman had made a big deal of his “investigation.”

“That went nowhere,” the reporter admitted. “But I hear the people at Stanhope’s are screaming to the right people. Ergo, the mayor’s office is tightening the screws on the police force.” Sisman sat on the corner of Jamie’s desk, getting cozy. A ring of fat lapped his belt like an overinflated inner tube.

Jamie reminded himself to cut out the midday doughnuts if he wanted to keep up with Marissa. “Then you’d better get on the big story.”

Sisman licked filling out of the pastry. “You’re the arts guy.”

“I am.” The staff at the Village Observer was small, so most of them doubled up on responsibilities. Jamie’s duties included every opening from gallery to letter.

“Then you’d know about the White Star.”

The ancient ivory amulet known as the White Star had been one of the pieces stolen from Stanhope’s. Jamie shook his head. “Never heard of it until the heist.”

“Yeah, that’s the rub. Here’s this supposedly rare and valuable tschotske and nobody knows about it, not even you art-loving types. How come?”

“It’s been in private collections.”

“Interesting.” Sisman popped the last bite into his mouth.

“Not really.” Jamie opened his laptop, then closed it again while Sisman brushed off his sweater. “What are you after, Skip?”

“The Wart Hog wants a sidebar on the amulet. You could research it.”

“You kidding me? I’m not doing your work.”

“Okay, so you write the piece and get a byline.”

“Go talk to Alice in Features.”

“I tried. She sent me to you.”

To the moon, Alice. “Then go bug someone else. Anyone else. The intern or the bike messenger. I have enough on my plate.”

Sisman poked the thick ARC—advance reader copy—that had come in yesterday’s mail from one of the big publishers, along with a packet of promo materials and a plea for column inches. “The Savvy Woman’s Guide To Breast Feeding. Yeah, that sounds fascinating.”

The man had a point. “But there are breasts involved. Which makes it far more fascinating than some dusty old relic.”

Sisman heaved himself off the desk. “Any pictures in there?”

Jamie laughed. “Changing your tune, huh?” Maybe he could turn the tables and con Sisman into writing the review or taking over his tickets to the Streetcorner Player’s experimental version of Guys and Dolls.

“So you won’t help?” Sisman pushed.

“Nope. Unless you’re willing to make a deal.”

“Not if it involves breast pumps.”

After Sisman had lumbered away, Jamie reached for the phone, feeling like he was fifteen again and calling for his first date.

“Hey, Jamie,” Marissa said after the second ring.

“You’re picking up again.”

“Only when I recognize the number.”

“Paul’s still in the Caribbean?” Subtext: he’s not racing home to win back your heart?

“As far as I know. Let’s not waste our time talking about him, okay?”

He heard her panting and for a moment thought she was overwrought until the rhythmic whirring sound penetrated his brain. “You’re at the gym.”

“Yep.”

“Got plans after that?”

Whirr-whirr-whirr. “Nope, except for a few errands. Since I’m officially on vaycay, I gave myself a day all to myself. Tomorrow’s soon enough to go back to work.”