Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) (21 page)

Chapter 41

Darcy dodged people on the crowded sidewalk. Running late as a result of the extra subway traffic for the game, she strode into the dimly lit interior of Bar and Books. After taking a second for her eyes to adjust, she scanned the room for Josh and Laura.

She heard Laura’s laugh and glanced to her left to see Josh and Laura at a corner table, yukking it up and looking quite cozy. Laura had her hand on his forearm, while Josh chuckled at something she said.

Hurt, angry, and a little shocked, Darcy froze, wondering what she should do. Brush it off? Make a joke? Sneak away and text Josh that she’d meet him at the game instead?

“Hey, Darce!” Josh waved his hand. “Over here.”

Too late.
She waved back as she made her way through the crowded room to the table.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Of course not!” Josh said.

“Pfft!” Laura waved her hand, before conveniently scooting closer to Josh to make room for Darcy.

To Darcy’s mind, the two were just a little too nonchalant.

“Sit,” Laura said as she patted the seat next to her. “We were just talking about how bad my swing is.”

“I think the word is abysmal,” Josh said. “Just stick with volleyball.”

Darcy remembered Josh helping her with her own stance at the batting cage once, grabbing her hips and nestling up behind her. The memory triggered a quick flash of him impaling her against his door while she moaned in pleasure. She wondered if Josh had similarly helped Laura with her stance last night. 

“Yeah, those hooker heels Laura wears makes batting practice difficult.”
Wow. Talk about snarky.

Josh laughed, clearly remembering his same remark to Darcy. Laura, on the other hand, glared at Darcy.

Then Laura’s ever-present phone buzzed. “I’ve got to take this call. Thanks again, Josh.” She pecked him on the cheek. “See ya.”

Yeah, well don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

“You two seem to be getting along swimmingly,” Darcy remarked, her voice just a little too bright.

“Under that tough-girl exterior, she’s nice.” Josh shrugged. “I see now why you two have been friends for so long.” He reached over and patted her hand. “I know that makes you happy . . . to see us getting along, I mean.”

Ecstatic.

Darcy
strained so hard for the words to come she thought she’d burst a blood vessel. In search of a distraction, she popped over to Facebook, liked a few posts, then skipped over to Twitter to retweet and reply, before checking her inbox.

Seeing an email from her editor with the subject line ‘Holly’s Heroes’
and an exclamation point marking it as urgent, she opened it.

Darcy, we need to talk.

Never a good start to an email, especially from your editor.

Is there something going on with you that I need to know about? Are you ill? Has there been a death in the family? Clue me in here, because the first few chapters you sent me earlier this spring were fantastic, some of your best work, but these last few
. . .
P.U., do they stink. At this rate, I’m thinking your deadline is toast. Am I right?

And, not to pour salt in the wound, but I just received the review of
The Doctor’s Dilemma
from the upcoming issue of
RT Times.
It’s attached.
Not good. Not good at all.

We need to talk about some strategies to help you get your mojo back. Give me a call ASAP.

Elise

Darcy didn’t need her editor to tell her the last few chapters were crap. She already knew that. If it hadn’t been for her deadlines, she wouldn’t have sent them to her editor at all.

And now a bad review. Of course not everyone liked her books—that was fine—it was all part of the business, but the worst reviews she’d ever received were mediocre.

With dread, she clicked on the attachment.
Two Stars! Holy crap!
That was
RT Times
code for ‘has problems.’

Sadly, Darcy Butler’s latest book,
The Doctor’s Dilemma
, is DOA . . . Dead On Arrival. Trauma surgeon hero Garrick is flat and a little too perfect to be believable, while NGO-worker heroine Valerie is a simpering simpleton who couldn’t think her way out of a paper bag. The plot is predictable, containing the timeworn trope of knight-in-shining-armor rescues damsel-in-distress.

What happened to Butler’s smart, sassy heroines, fully capable of fighting their own battles while single-handedly saving the wrongfully accused hero from spending his life in prison?

On a positive note, the setting is exotic and the pace is dynamic. Too bad my two pet goldfish have more depth than the hero and heroine.

Maybe Butler needs a kiss from Prince Charming to awaken her from her stupor.

Darcy laid her head on her desk after reading, unquestionably, the worst review she’d ever received. Her life wasn’t
going
down the toilet; it was down the toilet and heading to the sewer.

What next?

There were few ailments a s
pa day couldn’t cure. Crappy manuscript, abysmal review, guilty conscience, unrequited love—all these things faded away, at least temporarily, under the capable hands of the massage therapist and aesthetician. Now Darcy lay on the warm tile lounger, wrapped in a cozy terry robe, cool cucumber slices over her eyes.

Laura stretched out with a sigh on the lounger next to her, tapping out something on her phone.

“Will you put that infernal device away?” Darcy could see why Gloria hated the things.

“Sorry.” Laura laughed. “Just replying to a text from Josh.”

Josh!
Snatching the cucumber slices off her eyes, Darcy sat up and looked at Laura like she’d sprouted another head. “Josh?”

“Well, yeah,” Laura replied, clearly taken aback by Darcy’s reaction.

“Since when do you and Josh exchange texts?” So much for the relaxing effects of the massage and facial.

“Since when do you care who I exchange texts with? Jesus, Darcy. What is your problem? I haven’t forgotten the snarky remark the other night about my ‘hooker heels,’ you know.”

Darcy ignored Laura’s comment. “What’s going on with you and Josh?”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to you? Since when are you my or Josh’s keeper? And I thought you wanted us to get along.”

“He’s not your type.”

Laura sat up. “What the hell does that mean?”

Seeing the Cold Room empty but for her and Laura, Darcy got up to pace. “He’s not one of your international boy-toys or a one-night stand. Josh deserves more than that.”

“You mean he deserves more than a nymphomaniac?”

“No. That’s not what I mean.”

“Sure sounded like that to me.”

“He needs someone who wants to settle down, have children, grow old with him. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I see. And that’s all I’m capable of—hurting him?”

“Laura, your track record isn’t exactly that of long-term relationship material.”

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black. You think I don’t see it? Your feelings for Blake aren’t what they were at the start. Is he failing to live up to your fairytale notions like all the others?”

Darcy winced.
Ouch.
The truth hurts. “We’re not talking about me and Blake.”

“No. And we’re not talking about Josh and me. We’re talking about you and me. You think I’m capable of only hurting someone like Josh?”

Darcy turned her back to Laura. She couldn’t let her see the jealousy she knew was tattooed across her collagen-masked face. “Just stay away from Josh.”

“I see.” Laura strode to the door. “I guess that says it all.” Her hand on the door handle, she glanced back at Darcy. “I know you think I’m a hard-hearted, emotionally distant woman who likes to sleep around, but I’ve always wanted whatever you’ve dreamed of to come true. That includes the husband, the kids, the happily-ever-after you write about in your books. And I know you think there is
always
something better, but you don’t have always.” She closed the door with a quiet click.

This time Darcy didn’t ask what was next. She was afraid of the answer.

Chapter 42

Josh shoved some files into his messenger bag for the trip. The conference in Dallas didn’t mean he could let his other work slide. The weeklong conference couldn’t come at a worse time. He had two cases going to trial soon, and another one in the discovery phase. After spending the days in conference sessions, his evenings would be spent reading and responding to emails, reviewing documents, and communicating with clients.

And he’d get in just hours before Darcy’s big thirtieth birthday bash—provided there were no flight delays.  

But he couldn’t pass up this chance to attend the Alternative Dispute Resolution Conference. He’d made up his mind to become a certified mediator, and this conference offered the perfect opportunity to network with other mediators, talk about the pros and cons, get some training under his belt. Once he’d accomplished certification, he had a plan cooking for his future at Butler, Lukeman, and Michaels.

His carry-on stood next to his desk, ready to go. Only one thing left to do—call Darcy to let her know he’d be out of town but would be there for her birthday.

Disappointed to get her voicemail, he left her a message. Knowing the week ahead would be an exhausting blur, he didn’t make any promises to call her. He’d just see her at her party.

Coming up f
or air, after methodically working through her marked-up, color-coded manuscript—yes, Darcy had broken down and followed Millie’s advice—she ran down the stairs to get her heart rate up, get the blood flowing, and take a mental break.

She couldn’t say it was going well, but she had made some modicum of progress. Taking a swig of diet soda straight from the can, she picked up her phone, which she’d purposely left downstairs to avoid the distraction. She’d been as obsessed as Laura with her phone, desperately hoping to receive an email, text, or voicemail from her friend.

The other day in the spa hadn’t been a shining moment for her. She’d said some things to Laura out of jealousy and pain—things she, of course, regretted now. An overactive imagination—that’s what she had. Too bad that over-activity didn’t come in the form of ideas for her manuscript. She’d tried to call Laura to apologize, but she’d only gotten her voicemail. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to her, which only made Darcy feel worse.

Seeing a voicemail from Josh, she listened to it first. The short message left little to be desired. No promise to call—no explanation about where he was going. Just that he’d be back in time for her birthday. “He’d better be,” she groused.

Her phone buzzed and she saw a text from Laura.
Finally.

In case you care, I just thought I’d let you know that I’m going out of town so you wouldn’t think I’d been kidnapped. But if I’m still invited, I’ll be back for your birthday party.

Darcy got a sick feeling in her stomach. Josh and Laura leaving town at the same time? It had to be a coincidence.
Pfft. Of course it was.
Laura and Josh wouldn’t go away together, would they? Recalling the confrontation with Laura, she realized Laura never denied there was anything between her and Josh, and she never promised to stay away from him either. Laura never made promises she couldn’t keep. Did that mean Laura couldn’t stay away from Josh?

The diet soda boiled in Darcy’s stomach like hydrochloric acid. What would she do if her two best friends became lovers, or worse, already were?

Darcy needed air. Her comfortable brown
stone had suddenly become an airless tomb. Grabbing a jacket, she ran out of the house as if flames dogged her heels. Where to go? Not Dumbo. Too many memories of Josh. Turning in the opposite direction, she walked with no destination in mind.

She passed families walking dogs, lovers strolling hand-in-hand, joggers, power walkers, people scurrying home to a late dinner. None of them held any interest for her. Deep inside her head, she strode the streets of Manhattan. What had she done? Had she fallen in love with Josh only to realize it too late? How had she overlooked her feelings for him all these years? Surely she didn’t suddenly fall in love with him when he danced with Millie. She must have been in love with him for years. Perhaps it happened so gradually she didn’t see it.

She thought of Josh’s intervention with Anne and Matt. He’d said they’d taken each other for granted. Grown complacent in their relationship. Is that what she’d done? Taken Josh for granted, believing he would always be there, no matter what?

She’d been looking for something she was so afraid to find that she couldn’t see what had been right in front of her. The question was whether Josh could love her.

All the years of complaining to him about the guys she’d dated. She couldn’t have made a relationship with herself any less desirable than if she’d had bad hygiene.

And what about Laura? Would she let this come between her and her childhood best friend? Right now, she couldn’t answer that question. Every time she thought about Josh and Laura together, she wanted to scrub her brain with radioactive sulphuric acid. Unbearable.

She finally found herself on the High Line. Wrapping her jacket closer around her to fight against the chilly wind, she stopped and looked over the rail at the view below, then at the lights of the city beyond. She remembered walking with Blake along this very stretch of the High Line, her feet barely touching the ground in her bliss. Recalled his kisses, his romantic lines, his hero-perfect features, and his larger-than-life image.

It all paled in comparison to Josh’s Perfect Kiss, his frank opinions, his boy-next-door charm, and his quiet heroism.

Maybe deep down she knew Blake wasn’t real—couldn’t be real. That was why she hadn’t felt the same fear, the same need to bail before things got serious with him, because a fantasy could never be serious.

What now? Turning her feet toward home, she knew the answer. Even if she couldn’t have Josh, she couldn’t continue with Blake. It wasn’t fair to him. She didn’t love him. Didn’t think she ever could. She still didn’t know how he’d come to be in her life, and she guessed she never would, but she knew it was time to send him back to wherever he’d come from.

The next morning, Darcy wiped the sweat from her palms as she wa
lked to the front door. The hour of reckoning had come. She opened the door to Blake Garrett, a man most women would kill for, a man she once thought was the perfect man for her. Of course he looked handsome, even in his hospital scrubs, his hair disheveled from his surgical cap.

She’d left a message for him earlier, telling him she needed to see him. She’d received a text message from him asking if she was okay and that he was in a case but would come over as soon as he could. She’d texted back that she was fine so he wouldn’t worry. That was three hours ago. She’d been pacing ever since.

“Darcy, are you okay?” Blake ran his hands through his hair as he stepped into her foyer.

She sidestepped his attempt to kiss her, instead walking into the living room.

“I’m fine, Blake.”

He followed her into the room. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, I have to get back to my patient.”

“I’m sorry to take you away from the hospital, but this won’t take long.” She’d never been so nervous breaking up with someone before. Then again, she’d rarely let the relationship progress to this point. She took a deep breath, turned back to Blake, and said, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” She exhaled in relief after the words were out.

“I see.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Is it the hours I keep at the hospital, or my trips abroad?”

“No.” Her voice held steady.

“Oh. Well.” His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. “Then, what is it?”

“It’s nothing. It’s everything. I just don’t . . . I don’t love you, and I’m not sure I ever could. I’m so sorry, Blake. Truly sorry.”

He wore a pained expression. “I could reduce the number of medical missions I go on. Spend more time with you.”

“No, Blake. It’s your calling. It’s what you’re meant to do.”

“But, Darcy, we’re so perfect together. Isn’t there anything I can do?

She walked up to him, and cupped his face. “You’re perfect, Blake. You’re just not perfect for me.”

His phone buzzed again. “Dammit.”

“You have to go. Duty calls.” She smiled gently at him.

“Darcy”—he grazed his fingers along her cheek—“you’re one exceptional woman. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently because whoever wins your heart will be the luckiest man alive.”

She shivered at the memory of her Uncle Al’s words.

“You’re pretty exceptional yourself.” Tears welled up, despite herself.

Blake’s phone buzzed again, then he leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across her lips, before snatching it out of its holster and striding to the door.

“Dr. Garrett,” he answered.

And with that, he walked out of her life.