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But he was wild about anchovies, so that was how Susannah ordered the pizza. One large, extra cheese, mushrooms and onions on one half, anchovies on the other.
The wine and the beer, which she’d bought on the way home, she kept for herself.
The only problem was, she never drank much of either. So she stared at the six-pack of Rolling Rock and at the bottle of Chianti and tried to decide which would go better with pizza and with her plans for the evening.
What would a woman drink if she were dining with her lover by candlelight? If she were wearing her very oldest jeans, her most faded sweatshirt, a pair of wool socks…and if she had a photograph of Matthew Romano pinned to a dartboard? That had been her other purchase, made on the way home, and it was going to be, she was certain, the most rewarding.
Susannah lit the candles, opened the wine and poured herself a glass.
“To you,” she said, and hurled a dart at the board. It hit right in the middle of Matthew’s studly face. “Good shot,” she said happily, and raised her glass in salute. Matthew looked decidedly uncomfortable with a dart in his forehead and his hands outstretched, clasping nothing but air because, of course, she’d snipped out Bebe and consigned her to the trash basket, where she belonged.
She took a sip of the wine. It wasn’t very good. She’d bought it because of its cute raffia basket, which did not seem to be a very useful means of selection.
The beer, then. She dug in the utility drawer, found an opener, wrenched off the bottle top and lifted the bottle to her lips. Yes, that was better. Now, if she could only get enough of it down to get plastered, she’d be happy.
This was an evening she was going to remember. She was going to pig out on pizza because, even with anchovies on top, Peter would never eat more than half a slice. She was going to throw darts at Romano’s studly face until it was obliterated. And she was going to get drunk enough to fall into bed and sleep the night through without once staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why in hell she’d ever imagined herself in love with a lowlife, double-dealing fink like Matthew because, it went without saying, she was not in love with him and never had been.
“You’re pathetic,” she said.
Peter looked at her and meowed. Susannah bent and lifted him in her arms.
“No, not you, Petey. I’m the one who’s pathetic. You’d think, considering the times we live in, a woman wouldn’t have to he to herself in order to go to bed with a man. I wanted to sleep with Matthew. Why couldn’t I have done it without all that love nonsense?”
Peter purred and licked her chin.
“I suppose, in a way, I owe Mr. Romano a favor. If I hadn’t seen that picture of him and the FDB…”
“Mrrow?”
“The French Dumb Blonde. If I hadn’t seen that, I’d have sighed over him for another couple of weeks. And what an absolute waste of time that would have been.”
“Mrrow,” Peter said, and shut his eyes.
“I just feel badly for Claire and the others. But they’ll be fine. The next issues of CHIC are all set and, let’s face it, Petey, we both know that our Mr. Romano’s going to dump the magazine, no matter what its advertising numbers or its circulation. He just set the whole scheme up so he could…”
So he could what? Seduce her? Susannah tilted the bottle to her lips again Romano was a rat but, as he’d always said, business was business. He wouldn’t have spent all that money just to get her into bed. Besides, he wouldn’t have had to. She’d have ended up in bed with him anyway if he’d just persisted. His kisses had turned her knees liquid. Oh, those kisses…
The doorbell rang.
Susannah gave herself a little shake “Dinner,” she said brightly, as she undid the door locks. “Petey, you’re in for a treat. Anchovies, and you’ll get a little visit with your old friend, the pizza delivery…”
Oh, God!
It wasn’t the pizza delivery man. It was Matthew. Matthew, wearing jeans and those hiking boots, a sweatshirt that didn’t look much newer than hers, the beat-up leather jacket and a look that seemed dangerous enough to kill.
“Surprised to see me, Madison?”
Susannah tried to come up with a response. Peter, who didn’t like strangers, was humming to himself and backing onto her shoulder, using four-paw, all-claw drive.
“What—what are you doing here, Romano?”
Matthew smiled coldly. “You walked out in the middle of an expensive project. Did you really think I wouldn’t react?”
“React all you like. I handed in my resignation.”
“You told my secretary you were quitting. That’s not exactly a professional way to hand in a resignation.”
“Sue me,” Susannah said. “And now, if you don’t mind—”
Matthew brushed past her and slammed the door shut. “I don’t have to sue you. Do you really think you’ll ever get another decent job in publishing once this story gets out?”
He was right. It was something she hadn’t thought of, but even if she had, she’d have made that phone call and marched out of that office.
“I’ll find a job in something else, then,” she said. “Get out of my apartment, Romano. You’re not welcome… Where are you going?”
“Mrrow,” Peter said at the sound of her raised voice. He leaped from her shoulder onto the couch as Susannah stalked after Matthew, who was poking his nose into her bedroom.
“Charming place,” he said politely.
“It’s my place,” Susannah said in warning. “You have no right to—”
“Cozy,” he said, peering into the tiny kitchen. “Dinner for two, complete with candles.” His brows lifted. “Wine and beer? You and Mr. Katz plan on drinking a lot tonight?”
“Me and…” Susannah flushed. “Peter—Peter wasn’t sure which he’d prefer with—with our meal. So I bought both.”
“Ah.” Matthew strolled toward the table, lifted her glass of wine and took a sniff. “Nasty stuff,” he said, with a shudder. “But the beer’s a good choice.”
Susannah’s legs felt rubbery. He was going to look at the counter and see the dartboard propped against the wall any minute. She edged in front of it while her brain ran in circles, trying to figure a way to get him out of the room.
“Where is Mr. Katz, by the way? I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s—he’s in the bathroom.”
“Wasn’t that the bathroom I passed in the hall? The door was open. It looked empty to me.”
Susannah swallowed dryly. “I forgot. He—he went down to—to put another quarter in the meter. His car’s parked out front.”
“Well, that shouldn’t take long.” Matthew folded his arms, propped a hip against the edge of the table. “I’ll wait.”
“Are you dense, Romano? I didn’t invite you in, and I’m sure not inviting you to—”
“Mrrow?”
Peter strolled into the room, tail high.
“Nice cat.” Matthew squatted and held out his hand. “Strange, I didn’t see him the other time I was here.”
“He keeps a low profile when strangers are around. He doesn’t like…” Susannah gave an inward groan as Peter offered Matthew his head to scratch.
“Yeah, well, he seems to like me.”
“That’s only because he doesn’t know you.” Susannah put her hands on her hips. “Give him time.”
Matthew picked up the cat. “That’s the general idea, Madison. By the time Katz gets back, this guy and I will be old pals. What’s his name?”
“His name? His name is—is Fluffy.”
“Fluffy? For a cat with such dignity?” Matthew rubbed Peter between the ears. “You have my sympathies, fella.”
“Look, Romano. I—I understand that you’re upset.”
“Upset? Do I look upset?”
“Peeved, then”
“‘There’s a word I can’t stand, Madison. Real men do not get peeved.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, will you jus
t get out of here? My—Peter will be angry if he finds you.”
“Mrrow?” Peter said.
Matthew grinned wolfishly “That’s good to hear. You think he’ll take a poke at me when I tell him he’s got one hell of a nerve, moving in on my woman?”
“Your…?”
“That’s right. My woman.” Matthew put Peter on the table and strode toward her. “I have a rule I live by, Susie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s a simple rule.” He reached out and clasped her shoulders. “I’m faithful to the woman I’m involved with. And I expect her to be faithful to me.”
“Ha,” Susannah said, and folded her arms
“We became lovers in Paris. Didn’t that mean anything to you?”
“We slept together, Romano.”
“Yeah. So you kept telling me.” He shook her, not hard but not gently, either. “Call it what you like, Susannah. I expected fidelity.”
Susannah pulled free of his grasp. “Fidelity? You?” She laughed. “You don’t know… What’s the matter?”
“What in hell is that on the sink?”
She turned quickly, snatched the dartboard and put it behind her. “It’s nothing.”
“It sure looks like something to me. Hand it over.”
“No,” she huffed, as he reached for the board. “Romano, don’t you dare!”
Matthew wrenched the dartboard from her hand. “I don’t believe it,” he said, as he stared at his mutilated photo. “Where’d you get this?”
“What’s the difference?”
“This damn photo was in last Sunday’s San Francisco Post.”
“Well, you made the big time, Romano. It ran in Women’s Wear Daily, too.”
Matthew looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is all about? Did you think I was cheating on you?”
“No. Of course not. Why would I care if you were seeing Bebe and Claudia and Claudette and Noelle and—and half the blondes on two continents?” Susannah tossed her head. “Your life is your own, Romano. You can do what you like.”
“You did think I was cheating.” Matthew tossed the dartboard aside. “And you decided to get even by getting engaged to Peter Katz.”
