Staying Single. Millie Criswell

his lunch, she asked, “How was your meal?”

      “I enjoyed it very much. This restaurant was an excellent choice.”

      “Would you care for dessert? The pastry chef is very good here.”

      “No thanks. I need to stop by my new apartment, make sure the furnishings have been delivered as promised.”

      “You rented an apartment? Does that mean you’re planning to stay on awhile? I thought Associated Press photographers were on the road a lot.”

      “We are. But I requested assignments closer to home. I’m a bit travel weary and like the idea of putting down roots for a while. With my seniority, it wasn’t a problem.”

      “So, where’s your new apartment?”

      “It’s called The Stones at Rittenhouse Square. Do you know of it?”

      Francie’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. “But…but that’s where I live.”

      Mark smiled, his right brow shooting up. “Really? What a nice coincidence. I guess that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then. I hope so, anyway.”

      Warning bells clanged in her ears and red flags waved wildly in front of her eyes, but as she gazed into Mark Fielding’s big blue eyes, so filled with promise and passion, Francie ignored them completely.

      4

      PUSHING the rented sofa to a position beneath the bay window that overlooked the park across the street, Mark stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed the room.

      Depressing at best, he decided.

      It didn’t come anywhere close to his elegantly furnished room at the Ritz-Carlton. But hey, it was temporary. Which was good. Because if he had to spend any significant amount of time with the red-brocade sofa and green-velvet wing chairs he might have to commit himself to an asylum for the criminally design challenged.

      This had been a last-minute arrangement, so he couldn’t afford to be too picky. Plus, it accomplished an important goal—living in close proximity to Francesca Morelli. Beggars can’t be choosers, his stepmom always counseled, and she was usually right.

      As if conjured up by his thoughts, the cell phone rang, and it was Laura on the other end. “Mark, are you okay? We haven’t heard from you in days.”

      It had only been two, but he knew his mom was a worrier. “I’m fine, Mom. How’re you doing? Hope you and Dad have recovered from the wedding.” He knew they’d been exhausted by the ordeal, both physically and mentally.

      Francie had a lot to atone for.

      “You don’t sound like you’re in Afghanistan, Mark. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were just a few blocks away. Very impressive technology. How do they do it?”

      Mark felt heat rising up his neck at the lies he’d told his parents and brother. But it was a necessary fabrication if he was going to pull off his scheme. Matt was still too smitten with Francesca to be included in his plan for revenge. He’d have to go this one alone.

      “Yeah, these digital cell phones work great, don’t they? So how’s Dad? And Mark? He was pretty depressed the last time I spoke to him. Is he doing any better since the wedding?”

      “Not really.” There was a great deal of worry in those two words. “That’s why I’m calling, dear. Your father and I have decided to take a trip to Maui, and we’ve convinced Matt to go with us. I think the change of scenery will be good for him. For all of us, actually. We liked Francie very much, and this has been a difficult situation to deal with.”

      “I totally agree,” he replied, trying to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. “When do you leave?”

      “First thing tomorrow morning. Because of our last-minute booking it’s costing us a small fortune for the plane tickets and hotel. But your dad thought it a necessary and worthwhile expense, so we’re going. I wanted to let you know, in case you tried to call. I didn’t want you to worry that something had happened to us.”

      Laura was like that, always so considerate of others—a total opposite to his brother’s self-centered ex-fiancée. Oh sure, Francie came across as nice, because she wanted his business. But he knew what the woman was really like—a heartbreaker, ball-buster, selfish to the bone. She was no different from all the other women he’d known.

      “I’m glad you called to let me know. Tell Matt I said to have a good time, and you do the same. You and Dad never really had a honeymoon, so make the most of this trip. Maui is a very romantic place. Try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

      Laura’s embarrassed laughter filled his ears, making Mark smile. It was such fun to tease her. Because of his stepmom’s fair complexion, her face always turned beet red whenever she got self-conscious about something.

      “Always the romantic, son. It’s one of the things I love best about you.”

      “Only one? When I have so many wonderful qualities,” he quipped.

      A knock sounded on the door just then, and Mark cursed softly under his breath, hoping his mother didn’t grow suspicious.

      “Did I just hear a knock, Mark? Where on earth are you?”

      He thought quickly. “Ah, yeah, Mom. I ordered room service. This hotel is the pits, so I don’t want to keep the guy waiting. He might decide to spit in my food. They’re not real fond of Americans here.”

      “I understand. Call us when you can. And please be careful. Your dad and I worry about you when you’re over in those dangerous places.”

      Mark reassured her he would, then clicked off to answer the door, where he found a handsome blond man with a wiry build standing on the other side.

      His visitor was impeccably dressed in a very expensive suit—Armani would be his guess—and he was holding a bottle of wine, which Mark accepted from his outstretched hand with a thank-you.

      “I’m Leo Bergmann, Mark. Francie told me you were new to the building, so I’ve come by to welcome you. We’re mostly a friendly group, except for Mrs. Hunsaker three doors down,” he said, indicating the hallway to his right. “She’s got inflamed hemorrhoids. A real nightmare, that woman. I’d try to stay clear of her, if I were you. There’s not enough Preparation H in the entire world to cure what ails her. She gives new meaning to the term ‘a pain in the ass.’”

      Mark chuckled, warming quickly to his new neighbor. “Come on in. I’m still getting things sorted out, so don’t mind the mess.”

      Leo’s gaze swept the room and he couldn’t hide his disgust. “I see you’re going for a retro look. I’m not sure it’s working. The couch really sucks. I won’t bother commenting on the chairs. But the word hideous comes to mind.”

      “This stuff is rented. I’m not usually in town long enough to worry about furnishings. I live mostly in hotels when I’m on assignment.”

      “So Francie said. The couch would look much better facing the fireplace. And perhaps you could flank the wing chairs on either side of it.” Leo tapped his chin with his forefinger, mentally rearranging the room. “You’re not going to be able to hide the ugly things, so you may as well make them the focal point of the room. Sort of an in-your-face statement.”

      Seeing the wisdom of the suggestion, Mark nodded. “Thanks. Are you a decorator, by any chance?”

      “Not all gay men are decorators—that’s just a vicious rumor being circulated by followers of Jerry Falwell.” The blond man grinned mischievously. “Some of us are hairdressers. But I do dabble in both, from time to time.

      “Actually, I don’t have a full-time job. I live off a trust fund, which allows me to indulge my hobbies, one of which is interior design. And I do haircuts free of charge. If you’re game, drop by sometime. But not