A Man She Couldn’t Forget (16 page)

Looking chic and sophisticated, Clarissa kept her cool but showed the right amount of enthusiasm. “I’m glad to hear that. You won’t be surprised to know it’s always been a dream of mine to be on the Cooking Channel.”

Jonathan stared at the tasteful matted and framed posters on the far wall: Ramona Rich, Claudia Dean. Soon, Clarissa Boneli would be among them.

“Then we’re on the same page.”

“I hope so.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I’d like to know what changes you’d be making.”

“Oh, well, of course.” He shot a questioning look at Jonathan. Rarely would anybody pass up a chance to go national, no matter what changes Lewis suggested.

“Our Clarissa is a perfectionist,” Jonathan said smoothly, trying to cover up for her, even though he was shocked himself that she hadn’t immediately consented.

Lewis picked up a folder on his desk and opened it. “My team has some minor things. We’d probably change the name of the show. Something a bit more…Italian. Maybe the
Italian Princess.
”

The line between Clarissa’s brows told Jonathan she didn’t like the title but she said, “I guess a name change wouldn’t be so bad. What else?”

“Listed here is a new set, a bit fancier.”

A genuine smile this time. “I don’t care about the set. As long as it has a stove, a sink and a cooktop.”

Lewis gave her a few other minor suggestions that, thankfully, didn’t mean anything to her.

When the executive leaned back in his chair with a glint in his eye, Jonathan knew what was coming. “The last request is a bit more significant. We’d want some…partnership, I guess you’d say, in your cookbooks.”

“In my cookbooks? Why? What do they have to do with the show?”

“When you syndicate, everything’s about the show. This is the big leagues, Clarissa. We couldn’t have you going off on your own with the cookbooks while we’re promoting your name across the country—the world, actually. We’d be creating an image for every aspect of your professional life.”

She crossed her legs and leaned back. “I don’t know if I can agree to this.”

“No offense, Clarissa…may I call you that?”

“Yes, Abe, you can.”

“The books need updating.” He pulled out pictures of the covers. “This format has served you well to get you established, but some changes would increase sales, I think.”

She cocked her head. “I thought they were selling well.”

“Our shows, and their ancillary products, are promoted aggressively. To fit into that market, these need to be…a bit more chic.”

“I see. I’d be glad to talk about this further, when my illustrator can be present.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Clarissa.”

“Why?”

“Because one of the things that would have to go are the illustrations.”

“S
HALL WE ORDER ANOTHER
bottle?” Lucy asked from across the small table at Síbon, a dimly lit, crowded little restaurant on Park Avenue.

Brady knew he shouldn’t have more wine, though they’d taken a cab to the movies and walked to the restaurant from there. But he wasn’t much of a drinker, and they’d already killed a bottle.

“No thanks. I’m done.”

She arched her brows. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I am. I’m glad you suggested this.”

“I’m good for you, Brady.”

He guessed that was true. He’d forgotten it, in light of what had happened with Clare. Now, though, she had part of her memory back, and maybe, in New York tonight, she would get the rest.

The thought of her sleeping with Jonathan—or worse, her having slept with him the night of the accident, after she’d been with Brady—made him ill. A sense of despair came out of nowhere. What if she did remember everything and wanted Jonathan again like the last time, and was upset with Brady for their lovemaking? He had to swallow back the painful emotion in his gut.

So he said, “You know what? I changed my mind. We’ll have more wine.” He raised his hand to call the waiter. “Bring another bottle.” If Clare being away with another man wasn’t enough to drive him to drink, nothing was.

“That’s the Brady I know and love.”

Reaching across the table, he took Lucinda’s hand. “Thanks for asking me to come out, Lucy. I needed this.”

“I’m not giving up on you, Brady.”

Oh-oh. Geez, he wished he didn’t have to be fair. But it was part of his makeup. “Luce, I don’t want to lead you on. Things have changed for me.”

“Yes, I know. But they can change back, given the right circumstances. For us.” She arched a brow. “And for Clare.”

Could Clare be changing back this very moment into the Clarissa who’d dumped him?

When more wine was poured, he lifted his glass and took a swig. Then another. And another. Soon it dulled his despair, which was all he wanted tonight.

S
HE WAITED UNTIL THEIR
early dinner at the revolving restaurant in the Marriott was over, and before they went to the theater, to say to Jonathan, “We need to talk.”

Casually, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The restaurant had already revolved once, giving them a spectacular view of the city.

“I know what you’re going to ask. No, I didn’t know about the changes Lewis suggested. No, I didn’t know he thought your image could be more chic. And, no, I didn’t arrange to have him cut Langston out of the cookbooks.”

“Did you know that he wanted a hand in the cookbooks?”

Jonathan flushed and averted his gaze, a neon sign that answered her question. “Yes.” Picking up his wineglass, he sipped his merlot.

“Why didn’t you tell me before I went to the meeting? Prepare me? I was totally ambushed in there.”

“Because,” he said in a harsh whisper, anger alight in his eyes, “I didn’t think you’d come to New York to see him if you knew how much control he wanted. The old Clarissa would have, but since you lost your memory, I can’t depend on what you’re going to do.”

“Well, you would have been right. I wouldn’t have come to New York if it meant cutting Brady out of the books. And I resent the fact that you tricked me.”

Frowning, he looked around. “Keep your voice down.”

“I’ll do more than that.” Angry, she threw her napkin on the table, stood and walked away without another word.

She reached the elevator while Jonathan was presumably paying the bill, rode it to the sixteenth floor and found her way to her room. Purposely she opened the connecting door from her side and found his already ajar. She paced until she heard him come into the room and appear in the doorway.

“What the hell were you doing, leaving like that?”

She rounded on him. His face was flushed. Jonathan didn’t get angry very often, but as she’d known before, and witnessed since the accident, anything to do with Brady set him off. “I’m furious with you,” she said.

“I can tell.”

“You had no right to lie to me.”

“No right? You wouldn’t even be considered for the Cooking Channel if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was my talent that got me this far.”

He stood ramrod straight, his expression tight. “And my connections.”

“You were very wrong to do this, Jonathan.”

“Damn it.” His voice rose considerably. “Do you have any idea what kind of opportunity this is? How rare an offer you’ve gotten? The old Clarissa would have jumped at the chance no matter what was asked of her.”

Squaring her shoulders, Clare crossed the rug and stood in front of him. “I know she would have.”

“You…” The expression on his face went from anger, to surprise, to something else she couldn’t decipher. This close, she could see him redden again. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I have my memory back.”

His complexion drained of color. Why? “All of it?”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, not all. I still can’t remember the two hours before the accident. But pretty much everything else.”

He swallowed hard. “What
do
you remember about that night?”

Facing him like this was…familiar. Frightening. Suddenly she started to tremble and her head began to hurt. He reached for her but she stepped back. “Don’t. We’re going to have this out now, no matter how it makes me feel. And I want the truth. If you lie to me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I won’t lie.”

“Did I come to your house the night of the accident? Around twelve?”

“Yes.”

Clare deflated. “And all these weeks, you didn’t tell me? Why?”

“Because I thought we weren’t supposed to tell you everything outright. That if you were blocking experiences for psychological reasons, then it wasn’t a good idea to reveal what I knew, but that I should let it come to the surface when you were ready.” He scowled. “Hell, Clarissa, why do I have to defend myself here?”

She ignored the question. “What happened that night that I might block, Jonathan?”

He angled his chin. “Tell me what you remember, first.”

Because she felt weak, she moved to sit on the bed. But damn it, she would see this through. “I came to you to tell you what I’d done.”

“You mean that you slept with Langston.”

So he did know. In some ways that was a huge relief. On the heels of that, anger surfaced. All these weeks, he’d known something this important and hadn’t told her.

Then again, so had Brady. The thought diffused some of her resentment.

“That’s all I remember.”

“I…see.”

She couldn’t read his expression.

“What did you say when I told you?”

“More to the point is what else you said.”

“Really?”

Covering the distance between them, he sat down next to her and took her hand. She hated his touching her, but she was feeling really sick, so she allowed it. “You said you felt guilty for betraying me. You said there was no making this up to me.”

“I can believe all that. Did you kick me out? Did I leave upset and get in the accident?”

He hesitated. “I told you I forgave you. I told you I wanted to marry you.”

Clare began to tremble again. Violently. “What? Then why did I leave?”

“I think it was the guilt. You felt so bad. I went to get you something to drink, and when I returned, you were gone. My car was in the shop, so I couldn’t follow you.”

Suddenly, Clare saw him there in his house, the one in the photo album and this time she remembered it…

“I
LOVE YOU
. I’ve always loved you. This doesn’t change anything.”

“No, no, you don’t understand what’s happened.”

“We can work through this, love. We can work through anything.”

“Jonathan…”

B
EFORE SHE COULD
remember more, her mind exploded with a blinding headache. Her hands went to her temples. “Oh!”

“Clarissa, honey, another headache? It must be because you remember the worst of it.”

“I’m going to be sick.” She rushed to the bathroom, dropped to her knees and vomited violently.

Eventually, she became conscious of Jonathan holding back her hair. Saying soothing words, telling her everything was going to be all right. Then, he drew her up, wiped her face and gave her a toothbrush. “There, there, Clarissa, it’s over, it’s all over…”

Clare awoke with a start. What? Where was she? It was pitch-black and she became aware of an eerie quiet in the room.
Stay calm. Breathe.
Those were Brady’s words at the hospital, she remembered now.

Rolling over she looked at the lighted red numbers on the clock. 1:00 a.m. They’d missed
Wicked.
Because she’d remembered everything. She sighed, disturbed by what had been revealed tonight.

She’d gone over to Jonathan’s, confessed to sleeping with another man and he’d forgiven her. Something didn’t ring true, though. Why had his understanding been traumatic enough to blank out her memory? There was no reason to hide forgiveness.

Finally, she got up and made her way to the bathroom. The adjoining doors were still ajar and that little intimacy made her uncomfortable. Quickly, she closed her side, went into the bath and took a shower.

Once she was in pajamas with a towel wrapped around her head, she padded back to the bed. Feeling incredibly sad, she sat on the side, bare feet dangling to the floor, unable to figure out where the hopeless, lonely feeling was coming from.

She picked up the phone on the nightstand.

She needed to talk to Brady.

The operator connected her to his home phone, the one by the bed, in case he was asleep or his cell wasn’t nearby. She was nervous but needed to hear his voice.

Four rings. She was about to give up when she heard a click, then, “Hello.”

It wasn’t Brady’s voice. It was a feminine voice. A sleep-slurred feminine voice. And if Clare wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to Lucinda Gray.

She slammed the phone down. Already furious with one man, she let the same feeling come about another. Goddamn it, had Brady slept with his girlfriend?

A
N ALLIGATOR WAS BANGING
at the closed door between her room and Jonathan’s. It was so loud, so menacing, it scared Clare to death. She could hear it growl, picture its ugly teeth, its red eyes.

Lying on the bed, she burrowed deeper into the covers, unable to stop the battering, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. The monster was going to get through.

Suddenly, she was bathed in green light. The whole room was. It created a bubble around her. In its warm glow, a calm feeling washed over her. She wanted to become part of the light, part of what was on this side of the door. Her heart ached with the need.

Bang, bang!

The door splintered.

More thrashing, then clawing, scratching. And growls so loud they hurt her ears.

She tried to hide her face, but the covers were whipped off her, and the green light, the secure green glow, evaporated.

Clare watched in horror as the snout of the huge animal broke through the wood. His head inside, he looked around with his beady red eyes, his scaly skin glistening in the overhead lights. Then his jaws opened, baring sharp teeth. Then those jaws clacked shut, the sound reverberating in the still hotel room.