Page 93 of Just for Tonight

“No,” I say. “No. That’s ancient history.”

Mackenzie eyes me for a moment, sensing that I’m protesting too much. I’m actually a bit concerned about setting foot in that house again, the one where we grew up. But if there are ghosts, whatever they have to haunt me about is between them and me.

No, there is no what if. I am an island. I am an asshole. I am a fortress.

I am alone.

Yes, I’m isolating myself once more. It’s for the best. Mackenzie isn’t for me, and I’m not for her. Her future is with Darcy in BC.

I can still privately despise the guy.

I pay the bill and walk her to my car, watching as she elegantly slides in. What a view.

“You’re staring,” she chides, a hum of laughter in her voice.

“They’re great shoes.”

“Thanks for the ride, Jake.”

“No worries. Rhodes Vineyards is practically on my way.”

“I mean for everything.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Soon no one’s going to believe your PR,” she teases when I start the car. “You helped Candace. You helped me.”

“I would always help you.”

Her smile is so radiant that it gives me ideas. No. She’s escaped the desires of one man tonight, and besides, I’m a bear. I’ll take her straight home.

We ride in silence until she suddenly seizes her purse.

“For fucks’ sake,” she mutters, rummaging in it and coming up with her phone. Once it emerges from her purse, I can see it vibrating. She had it set to buzz instead of ring. “Yes,” she says when she answers, her voice hard enough to cut glass. “Because I was busy,” she explains and I wince in sympathy for the caller because this conversation is not going to go well.

Mackenzie is mad.

She’s listening to some explanation that can only be feeble because I feel her fury mustering. “I told you I had a client meeting and didn’t want to be disturbed,” she says, not even stopping for breath. “But did you listen? No, you did not. There are seven voice mail messages on my phone from the last ninety minutes, all from you, and another three from the hour before that. I’m sure there are text messages, too, and maybe even a message on the landline at home. Clearly, you do not listen to anything I say, and those messages will only prove that point again. I will bet that every single one of them includes a request for me to book a flight west right now to tour your vineyard etc., even though I have already told you six hundred and forty times that it is impossible for me to take time off right now. We are starting the harvest. It’s the only high-pressure time of the year for me, and of all people on the planet, you should be the one to understand that. But no, you just keep insisting on your way, ignoring everything I say, and if that isn’t a portent of doom for any shared future, I don’t know what the hell is.”

Ah. Mr. Darcy has stepped square in it.

I try to keep my expression impassive and just drive.

“No, I could not take your call when I was with a client. I was busy trying to…oh, trying to escape his plan. What plan? He had an idea that I should sweeten the deal by sleeping with him. Fortunately, a friend of mine arrived at the restaurant and helped me out.”

I feel the smile Mackenzie casts my way. It’s like a beam of sunlight touching my face, but I don’t look at her. I pretend to be oblivious.

I’m anything but.

“A friend,” she repeats, her voice hard. “Yes, a friend. Am I allowed to have friends? Am I allowed to know anyone who hasn’t been pre-authorized by you? Am I allowed to have a past? Because I have a past with this friend. We’ve been friends with benefits, because the sex was awesome.”

There is a choking sound from the caller and it’s hard to bite back my smile.

“And why was it awesome?” Mackenzie demands. “Because my friend pays attention. Because he listens. Because he cares about something other than his own satisfaction, and that, I suggest to you, is the key to every successful relationship of any kind. It doesn’t matter if someone is working for you, if they’re a casual acquaintance, if they’re your spouse and partner, the only way the relationship will work is if both parties give a fuck about something other than themselves.” She takes a breath. “And that’s why we’re done, Darcy. I am already tired of you making choices for me. I am fed up with your refusal to listen. I hate being a trophy instead of a person. I know how to do my job and I do it well. I love my job and I love where I am and my dreams are full of where I want to be. No one but no one is going to tell me I’m wrong or that my dreams are irrelevant or whatever the hell it is that you’re saying to me now. We are done.”

And she ends the call.

We drive in silence for a few moments.