An Irresistible Bachelor(57)

Now there were some huge selling points.

Jack fell perfectly still.

It was, he thought, entirely possible that Callie wouldn't choose him over Gray or anybody else even if she liked the way he'd kissed her. And who would blame her. He had all the success and sophistication in the world, but that didn't mean there was enough to him for her. Because she would want more from a man than a thick wallet and an old name. Hell, she deserved more.

Rage at himself hit in a dark wave, bringing bile up into his mouth.

Jack looked down at the glass he was holding and tightened his grip. Eyeing the wall directly across from his desk, he stood up and hurled the thing as hard as he could across the room. It shattered on impact, booze and glass shards flying everywhere.

Dragging a hand through his hair, only mildly appeased by the release, he collapsed back down into the chair.

The next morning, Callie was at the window seat in her room, looking out the clear windows on either side of the stained glass, when a limousine pulled into the driveway and under the porte cochere. From across the hall, Jack's door opened and closed and then heavy footfalls sounded out and gradually disappeared. Moments later, the limo shot down the drive as if there wasn't a moment to spare.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the leaded glass.

When she was young, she'd spent a lot of time alone because she was an only child with an odd family life. The trend toward solitude had only continued through high school, college, and graduate school. And after the turbulence of her mother's death, Callie had enjoyed the peace and ease of her own company as she readjusted to a life that wasn't all about suffering.

But solitude was not the same thing as being left behind, she thought.

She tried to imagine how Blair would react to the news that Jack had kissed another woman. Of course he'd say it meant nothing, that it was a mistake, that it would never happen again. How else could he possibly explain himself? She wondered whether the woman would cry and throw him out. Or did she have ice in her veins like his mother?

Part of her wanted to blame Jack and get angry at him for putting all three of them in such a bad situation. But she couldn't ignore her own role in the farce. The night before last he had been trying to resist kissing her in the kitchen. She'd been the one pulling him down to her mouth, so she was hardly an injured innocent. She was complicit and the idea that she'd damaged someone else's relationship made her sick. The adage that there had to be something inherently wrong between two people for infidelity to occur just rang hollow.

There were few things in Callie's Me that she truly regretted. But sitting in the clear morning light, surrounded by things that reminded her of Jack, she wished she had never met the man. She could have so easily gone about her life, perfectly happy in her cocoon of seclusion.

Instead, she was torn up.

As she continued to think about Jack, all sorts of scenes came to mind, none of them easy to bear. When she felt as though she'd been sitting forever, she checked the clock. Only half an hour had passed.

How was she going to get through the day? Or worse, the night? Even though she hated herself for it, she knew she was just killing time until Jack returned. And as with the distinction between being by herself and feeling abandoned, there was a tremendous difference between understanding that he had another woman and knowing that he was actually with her.

Callie thought of all those times she'd watched her mother wait for a visit that was canceled. All those evenings that had been spent sitting by a phone that never rang. All of the betrayals, large and small, that came with being number two. Her mother had lived less than half a life as she'd held on to a man who was never truly hers. After so many years of seeing the effects of the relationship, Callie had thought for sure she'd learned by a bad example and would never put herself in such a position.

She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek back against the stained glass, struck by a scene from childhood.



It had been her birthday. She'd just turned nine. Her mother had prepared a vanilla cake with chocolate icing and told her to set their small Formica table with three place settings. Callie had known what that meant and had barely been able to control her excitement.


He was coming. This time, her father was really coming.

In a role reversal, her mother had helped her pick out a dress to wear and they had spent time curling her hair and putting it up into bows. Her mother's mood had been light that day and Callie had taken pains to revel in it, fully aware it wouldn't last.