Satisfaction Guaranteed(7)

Just keep that tidbit close to the chest, okay?

Maybe you should make a new pair for yourself—Resist. Resist Harder This Time.

It's not a huge deal that you revealed you stalk him. And hey, he keeps tabs on you too. You’re just a couple of stalkers.

And damn, that stalker can kiss.

We’re talking the weak-in-the-knees, flip-of-the-belly, tingles-down-the-arms style of smooching.

Just don't do it again.

Also, you’re out of milk. Get some at the store, along with Cinnamon Life cereal. Sublimate with that. Tastes just as good as a hot kiss.

’Kay, thanks, bye. You’re awesome, self.





6





At long last, Friday rolls around.

I’m as antsy as a feisty Chihuahua, a bundle of live wires all through the workday.

When the day ends, I close up and make a beeline for the gym for a quick workout. After I shower, I put on my best slacks and a freshly pressed shirt. Popping in earbuds, I play my lucky Sinatra playlist as I leave, walking among the Friday evening Manhattan crowd on my way to meet Doug at his favorite spot for dinner—Portnoy’s, a tavern on the Upper East Side. As the crowd thins, I switch off “Strangers in the Night” and put in a call to my mother, who answers on the third ring.

“No, Cole. Leave it. Leave it on the deck. Leave it now.”

She’s talking to the dog. My mother is always talking to dogs. With a father who was a vet and a mom who took in strays, it’s not as if I had a lot of choice in my profession. And that’s just fine with me.

“Good boy. Good boy, Cole. You’re so handsome. You’re the most handsome boy I’ve ever known.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” I ask, managing to get a word in edgewise.

“You’re my smart one,” she answers diplomatically. Then her voice rises. “And you’re the best boy, Porter. The absolute best.”

Yup, we’ve got the handsome boy, the best boy, and the smart one. I have no illusions about the pack order. “It’s a good thing I’m well adjusted, or I might resent your secret preference for dogs over your own son.”

“Oh, please. Don’t be silly. I don’t harbor any secret favoritism of the pups.” She pauses. “It’s blatant.”

“Indeed it is.” I sidestep a throng of long-legged women huddled over phones as I head to the restaurant. “I’m off to my dinner now with Doug.”

“Ooh, is that tonight?”

“He said he had big news about the practice to discuss, and he’s been cutting back his hours in the last year. I even went ahead and prepped the paperwork. Just to get ahead of the game. Be ready, and all that.”

“You were always two steps ahead on everything. That’s wise, to be prepared.”

“Exactly. As soon as we firm up the details, I can move forward with all the specifics.”

“Your dad would be so proud. It’s what he’s always wanted for you. What he wanted for himself. And you’re doing it.” Her voice tightens, but just as quickly she softens. He’s been gone long enough that the pain has lessened for her, for all of us. It’s background pain. Present, but not too intense.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do this without what he’d taught me . . . or without your support.”

“Let me know how it goes. I’m sure it’s going to be great,” she says. “And get your butt out here to celebrate this weekend!”

“Love you, Mom. I’ll catch the first train to Warwick in the morning.”

I stuff the phone into my back pocket, turn into the restaurant, and say a quick prayer that this is the start of the next phase of my career. The one I’ve been wanting since I was still hitting high notes when I sang.

Doug is parked at the bar, his salt and pepper hair slicked back, nursing a gin and tonic.

He’s twenty-five years my senior. The man who gave me my first big chance. I owe a ton to this guy. Doug, though he has his faults, has been impeccable at business. I respect the hell out of him. That’s why I had to stay away from Sloane, even though I had no clue she was his daughter when I started seeing her. They don’t have the same last name.

He stands, claps me on the back, and says hello, telling me the conference he just went to was the best. Everything is the best for Doug. He glances around the wood-paneled restaurant with high-backed red booths. “Want to know why I love this place so much?”

“Tell me.”

“Because I never took any of my wives here.” Wives being the operative word. He’s had enough to need all the fingers on one hand to count.

“So it’s the man zone, then,” I say, peering around.

He smacks the bar for emphasis. “Not a single one of them,” he says, as if proud of this accomplishment. “A man needs to keep some places sacrosanct from the women in his life. It wasn’t easy, but I kept all four away.”

I force out a laugh. “And how’s it going with the fifth?”

“Helena’s my favorite. She’s the only one who’s been here, but then, she’s the keeper among the bunch. She’s been instrumental in so many things.”

“Such as?”

He signals for the tab. “We’ll get to that. Let’s get a table, Malone. I’ve done all my best deals here. This place and me—we’re tight.”