STACY PEMBROKE WAS angry. Very angry at being shoved into
second place.
Second place meant runner-up. Nobody ever remembered who
came in second in anything. Second place was an insult.
And lately, it was a position she was becoming all too
familiar with. A position she had been forced to occupy
much too often in the last few weeks. Maybe even the last
few months if she was being honest with herself.
It was time for Robert to make up his damn mind. "I don't
need this kind of grief," she shouted into the telephone
receiver, which she held in a death grip. She was
squeezing so hard, if the receiver had had a pulse, it
would have been erased by now. "Just who the hell do you
think you are, canceling on me at the last minute this
way? You think I have nothing better to do than sit
around, waiting for you to show up on my door?"
The fact that she didn't have anything better to do didn't
change her indignation. It was the principle of the whole
thing. Robert was taking her for granted, something she
had sworn would never happen to her. And if by some chance
it did happen to her, she'd promised herself to take
drastic measures. Like castrating the bastard who was
guilty of the crime. "I'll make it up to you, baby, honest
I will."
Stacy fumed. He was whispering. Keeping his voice low so
that she wouldn't hear him. That harpy of a wife he
supposedly hated. If she listened very closely, Stacy
could almost hear Robert sweating. He had to be fidgeting,
the way he did when he was caught in a lie.
Good. She hoped his damn blood pressure went through the
roof, killing him. He deserved it. Nobody treated her like
day-old trash and got away with it. For two cents, she'd
pay a call to his precious Emily, tell her what her
husband had been up to all those nights he'd told her he
was working to provide a better future for them.
As she toyed with the thought, her full, freshly made-up
lips peeled back into a smile. It would serve him right if
she did just that.
"I am through rearranging my life for you, Robert." And
she meant it. She was through serving up her heart only to
have it carved into small, bite-size pieces. "Now you're
obviously not going to leave that frozen Popsicle of a
wife —"
On the other end of the line, Robert Pullman drew in a
shallow breath. She could hear it. God, but he was a
mouse. "I told you, the kids —"
"The kids. The kids. The kids!" Stacy shouted into the
receiver, her face turning red, a stark contrast to her
ash-blond hair and her all but alabaster skin. It was an
effort for her to keep her temper from really breaking
free. Her nerves were frayed and strained. These days, she
reached the boiling point at lightning speed. But if she
finally let go, she knew that she ran the imminent danger
of falling completely apart.
If that was going to happen, it would be because of
someone who was a hell of a better catch than Robert
Pullman.
But her dwindling opinion of him didn't stop her from
verbally assaulting her lover for his
transgression. "Don't you think that I want kids of my
own?"
Frustration throbbed in his voice. "Stacy, I know. Look, I
don't have much time to talk. Emily thinks I'm in the
garage, working on a project."
Emily. She'd have thought by now that Emily Pullman, along
with her bratty kids, would have been a thing of the past.
Hadn't Robert promised her as much? When he couldn't make
Christmas last year because he had to take his family on a
trip to Lake Tahoe, he'd promised her that this year, they
would be ringing in the New Year together. Well, it didn't
look as if he was capable of ringing in a Sunday night,
much less the New Year.
And she was sick of it. "I hope to hell that it's a noose
to hang yourself with!"
"Honey," Robert pleaded as loudly as a whisper would
allow. "I know you're mad —"
"Mad?" Stacy scoffed. "Mad? I am way past mad, Robert. I
rounded the corner at 'furious'a long time ago. But you
know what? I just don't care anymore."
"You don't mean that."
"The hell I don't. You've stood me up for the last time.
I'm having a cleansing bonfire tonight. I'm going to burn
all the things you gave me — and the clothes you left
here," she added as the idea took on breadth and form. She
knew how particular Robert was about his clothing, how
everything had to be hung up just so. Well, she was going
to take extra pleasure in stomping on all of it before she
sent the articles to their final resting place. "As far as
I'm concerned, you are just an unfortunate chapter of my
life and I'm closing that chapter, Robert —"
"Stacy, please," he begged, "don't you think I'd rather be
there with you?"
"If you wanted to be here, you would be here," she
retorted flatly. "I'm not the sharpest knife in the
drawer, Robert, but even a dull knife can cut once in a
while. This is my once in a while, Robert. This is my time
to cut bait and run. So I'm cutting you off at the knees.
Go back to your ice queen —"
"Stacy —" Robert began, only to stop as another voice
echoed in the background, calling him. A female voice. "In
a minute," he responded irritably.
Stacy's fingers tightened so hard around the receiver, it
was in danger of snapping. She'd been such a jerk, such a
hopeless, stupid, stupid jerk. But that was all going to
be behind her very soon.
"Go, Robert. Your wife's calling," she ordered him coldly.
"No, Stacy, I want —"
She cut him off before he could get any further. "It's not
about what you want, Robert. It's about what I want for a
change."
With that, Stacy slammed the receiver back into its cradle.
Her tears began immediately. Tears of anger, of remorse
and, most plentifully, of regret. Barrels of regret. Not
for coming in between a husband and his wife, or even a
father and his children. Regret that she had spent the
past three years of her life, three of the most youthful-
looking years at her disposal, sneaking around with a
married man. In the beginning, she had been incredibly
naive. Thrilled at the fleeting moments of attention he
could spare her. Thrilled to have caught his eye to begin
with. And he had been generous. Incredibly generous.
Before Robert, there had only been costume jewelry. Now
there were diamond earrings and gold bracelets.
Diamonds and gold. How the hell could she have sold
herself so short? What was wrong with her, anyway?
Stacy stopped to look at herself in the oval hall mirror.
What she saw was a still-gorgeous blonde in a filmy
negligee. But for how much longer? God, she deserved
better than to stand there, waiting for crumbs while
Robert's wife got to eat at the banquet table, devouring
whole portions.
"Okay," she addressed the woman in the mirror.
"Okay, so we start over. We stay strong and we start
over." She said it over and over again, until she felt as
if she meant it.
What would help, she thought, would be getting rid of
every single shred of evidence that Robert had ever been
in her life. She took a deep breath. It would be like a
caterpillar shedding its cocoon.
"There's still a butterfly in there," she promised
herself. "A butterfly that's going to do hell of a lot
better than Robert Pullman when she's through." It
amounted to a declaration of independence. She was through
with that lying cheat. That she was the one who had made
him such didn't trouble her in the least.
Crossing back to the bedroom, she went straight to the
closet and began to pull Robert's garments off their
hangers. Stacy made a point of stomping on each item she
took out, grinding her heel into the fabric.
She'd just yanked off his sweater, the black one she loved
so much on him, when she heard the doorbell ringing. Her
revelry froze.
Robert.
He didn't live that far away from here. Only a few blocks.
But there was always traffic to reckon with. Still. He
must have gone through all the red lights to get here this
fast.
A smug expression slipped over her lips. She knew he
couldn't stay away. Knew he wanted her. But she wasn't won
over that easily. Stacy intended on making him crawl for
his supper. Or for his pleasure.
Maybe she'd take him back, maybe she wouldn't, but
whatever way she was going to play this, she was
determined that he was going to beg.
Confidence filled her veins. She checked herself over in
the mirror, ran her fingers through her storm of ash-blond
hair, then subtly adjusted the negligee she'd put on when
she'd thought he was coming over. Left on her own, she
slept in the T-shirt that her first lover had left behind
when he walked out on her. She'd spent the past eight
years hating him.
Ready to knock him dead, Stacy made her way to the front
door, the negligee she'd bought for Robert flapping in her
wake as she moved.
"There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind,"
she announced, flipping the two locks the superintendent
had recently placed on her door. "Because I —"
The second she yanked open the front door, she froze,
stunned. Instead of the rugged physique of her lover, she
was looking at a tall, thin, nervous-looking young man. He
looked anywhere between his late twenties and early
forties. He had the type of face that was impossible to
place, although he did look vaguely familiar. But then,
she waited on so many people during the course of the
evening at Robert's restaurant, it was hard to remember a
select number, much less everyone.
"Oh." Impatient, disappointed, Stacy gripped the
doorknob. "Who are you?"
The man was dressed completely in brown. Brown shoes,
brown slacks, brown pullover. He seemed to almost fade
into the hallway. He cleared his throat before answering,
as if he wasn't accustomed to speaking to anyone but
himself. One of those nerd types who invented things the
world suddenly couldn't do without, Stacy thought. She
wondered if he'd done anything of importance and if he was
worth a lot of money. Certainly he didn't dress that way.
But then, rich nerds never did.
"Jason, ma'am. Jason Parnell," he added after a beat.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I live just down the hall."
Turning, he pointed vaguely toward the long hallway.
"And my phone went out." Brown eyes looked into hers,
imploring. "I was wondering if I could use yours to call
the phone company."
She remained where she was, her hand still on the
doorknob, ready to slam it shut. "It's Sunday."
He bobbed his head. "Yes, it is. But their customer
service line is opened twenty-four/seven. You have to go
through several menus, but you wind up with a live person
eventually. I've been through this before," he added
sheepishly. "Um, I knocked on some of the other doors." He
turned again, nodding at the various apartment doors,
behind which all sorts of lives were being led. "But
you're the only one who answered."
"Look, I'm expecting someone —"
"I'll be quick," he promised. "My mother lives with me and
she's not well. That phone is her only lifeline when I'm
at work. If I leave tomorrow morning and the phone's down,
she'll be helpless."
He looked pathetic, she thought. Exactly what she would
have thought a man past the age of twenty and living with
his mother would look like. She didn't remember seeing him
in the building before, but then, he was one of those
people she wouldn't have noticed unless he was lying on
the pavement next to her feet.
She supposed there was something to be said about a man
who cared that much about his mother. At least he was
better than a dirty, rotten, cheating husband who used his
wife as an alibi every time he didn't want to bother
coming over.
"Your mother, huh?"
"Yes, ma'am." His head bobbed again, like a subservient
creature. "She's eighty-five and in a wheel-chair."
"All right, all right, you're breaking my heart." With a
sigh, Stacy opened the door and stepped back. "Come on in.
But make it quick," she added.
Turning away, she didn't see the smile that curved her
neighbor's lips.
"As quick as I can. I promise."