Irresistible?. Stephanie BondЧитать онлайн книгу.
for a long kiss. “I’m so proud of you, son. I wish your father were here.” Tears sprang to her eyes immediately, but she blinked them away.
Mark swallowed the lump of emotion that lodged in his throat. He knew his father would be proud of him at this moment, even if Mark had “caved to the corporate philosophy,” as his flighty father was fond of saying. Ever the softheart, his dad had been struck by a car three years ago when he’d stopped to help a stranded motorist. Mark patted his mother’s hand. “I wish he were here, too,” he said simply, then smiled. “Now, let’s eat.”
During dinner, they chatted about his long-awaited promotion, but Mark had a feeling he wouldn’t escape without at least one more lecture on the importance of finding a good woman. Especially now that he’d made partner. He was right. As he helped his mother clean the dishes, she said in an innocent voice, “You know, the family reunion is this weekend. Are you coming?”
“Yes,” he said patiently. “Don’t I always?”
“Hmm,” she agreed, then asked, “Are you bringing a date? Your cousin Albert will be there with his new bride and baby. And Claire with her newborn—this is her third, you know. Her husband is such a dear man.”
“I can’t wait,” Mark said, inwardly wincing. He considered these get-togethers his penance for bucking the long family tradition of having a houseful of kids before having a house. He would endure one whole day of shaking hands and exchanging cheek kisses with new family members. And dutifully praising and holding everyone else’s kids while his mother drank wine in a corner and her sisters tsk-tsked over her woeful lack of grandchildren.
“So, are you bringing a date?” she asked hopefully.
“I’m definitely bringing a change of clothes in case Mickey’s little one has the runs again.”
Gloria covered her mouth and shook with laughter. “The video he took of you two is just precious.”
Mark rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’m awaiting my debut on one of those home-video shows.”
“Stop changing the subject. Are you bringing a date or not?”
His thoughts shifted to Shelia, the woman who’d last graced his bed. She hadn’t struck him as a woman who’d appreciate the rural pleasures of pitching horseshoes and doing the hokey-pokey. Neither did Vicki, Connie or Valerie, come to think of it. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. It was as close to a promise as he could make. Suddenly, a vision of short blond hair and flashing blue eyes came to mind, and he frowned. “I’m not really seeing anyone right now.”
Gloria clasped her hands together gleefully. “Stella’s niece is in town for the Sunday-school teachers’ convention—shall I give her a call?”
“No,” Mark said quickly, then recovered. “I have a lot to do at work this week, you know, rearranging my office and all that. I’ll be working late every night.”
His mother shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Suit yourself.”
Later, Mark squashed down guilty feelings which threatened to surface as he drove home. He knew his mother wanted to see him properly settled with a nice, quiet girl, but he truly liked being single. He’d sacrificed his social life during law school and the first few years after joining his firm in order to get a foothold. Now at thirty-six and established in his career, he was enjoying his unattached status. Life was good.
He almost managed to drive by the interstate exit to his office, but he merged onto the ramp at the last second. Just a few minutes to go over some paperwork, he told himself.
After he unlocked the office suite, he walked across the glossy inlaid wood floor not without a measure of pride. He considered the law office tastefully furnished, with just the right amount of opulence. His new office space had been achieved by removing a supply room adjacent to his existing office. He had been asked to select additional furniture, and he was pleased with his pecan wood and cream marble choices.
The Piedmont Park painting had been hung, and he approved of the location. One of his favorite pieces of art in the law office, he’d requested it for his own work area when the move began. He flipped on a floor lamp near his desk, and settled into his familiar tan leather chair to shuffle through the stack of papers on his desk.
Congratulatory memos comprised the top layer of paper. A box of cigars and an expensive leather-covered pen set were gifts from thoughtful colleagues. He smiled in satisfaction. Everything he’d worked for had finally been realized. He would never have to struggle like his father just to make ends meet. Clasping his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the swivel chair to prop his feet on the corner of his desk, basking for a moment in the recognition of his hard-won achievement.
Partner.
At a sound from the doorway, Mark turned his head. Patrick Beecham stood there, holding the hand of Patrick, Junior. “Hi, Mark,” Patrick said, his voice full of surprise. “Pretty late to be working.”
Mark rearranged himself into a position more appropriate for talking. “I could say the same,” he said to his partner with a smile.
“I just stopped by to get a fax,” Patrick said. The small boy pulled on his father’s pant leg. “This is Pat, Junior,” he added.
“I remember,” Mark said. “He’s growing like a weed. How’re you doing, buddy?” he asked the boy.
“Okay,” the child ventured, half hiding behind his father.
“Say, Mark,” Patrick said, “Lucy and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime. Do you have a lady friend?”
“You sound like my mother,” Mark said. “Are you two in on a conspiracy to get me settled down?”
Patrick laughed. “No, but I must admit it helps to have someone presentable when socializing with the other partners and clients. I’ll warn you—Ivan kind of expects it.”
Mark felt a sudden swell of anger that anything would be expected of him other than top-notch work. “I like being unattached,” he said evenly.
“So did I,” Patrick admitted. “But there comes a time when we all have to grow up. Luckily for me, Lucy was there when I came to my senses.” He swung the little boy into his arms. “Just food for thought, friend,” he said absently, tickling the little boy until he squealed. “Don’t work all night, and let me know about dinner, okay?”
“Sure,” Mark said. “Sounds great.”
Mark listened to the footsteps fading down the hall, and pounded his fist lightly on his desk in frustration. What idiot had said behind every successful man was a good woman? He’d made it this far on his own, and he wasn’t about to share the fruits of his labor with some money-hungry man-eater. He’d seen the way women’s eyes lit up when they discovered he practiced law. He’d seen them peruse every stick of furniture in his home as if assessing its worth. He bought nice things because it made him happy, not to impress women. And he resented the females who thought he’d be all too eager to turn over his possessions to their care. Demanding, all of them. Take that little chiseler in the deli the other day—seventy-five bucks for a scrap of fabric!
Where could he find a woman who’d settle for a no-strings-attached arrangement to be his escort, in return for a few nights on the town and an occasional romp? Oh, sure, they all said they weren’t looking for a commitment, but after a few dates, whammo! Feminine toiletries and articles of clothing started to appear in his house, and every jewelry commercial seemed too clever for her to let pass without a remark. Where was it written every man was supposed to settle down with one woman and be content for the remainder of his days?
He resumed his propped position and nodded his head in silent determination. Bully for the poor schmucks who fall for it, but count me out.
“WHAT