Jennifer Greene - Can’t Say No

Bree stiffened, even more so as Marie stood up with a little laugh. “Come on, Hart. There’s an empty dance floor out there, and you must be sick of listening to me talk about business. Between Bree and me, we’ll keep your feet moving for a while.”

Bree noticed the quick flash of annoyance in his eyes, replaced almost instantly with a cool mask. Seconds later, he escorted Marie to the pocket-sized dance floor. The pianist was playing an old torch song, and Bree watched Marie’s fingers seductively climb up Hart’s shoulders, her head tilting back, her lips looking miraculously moistened.

Hart danced like a robot, amazing Bree. She hadn’t figured for him for a disco kid, but the music was sensual and she knew well that he had a most incomparable sense of…rhythm. And his mouth, she noted, was going a mile a minute. The lady in his arms wasn’t getting kissed; she was getting grilled. Poor Marie.

Bree almost smiled, but couldn’t. A clear-cut attack of jealousy would have been easy enough to handle, but she could hardly blame Hart because women fell all over him. She’d done the same, hadn’t she?

And the entire evening had opened up a can of worms. Hart’s comment about Marie “selling Bree” hurt-and badly. If he’d meant it as a compliment to Marie, Bree took it as an insult to herself-one that she, unfortunately, deserved. She had let Marie sell her, for five long years. Marie had never demanded; rather, she’d functioned as a football coach. You can do more, Bree; I know you can handle this one, Bree; imagine what this project will do for our reputation, darling; win this one for me…

And she had. Because she was by nature responsible and motivated by security, and because she had always found it so very hard to say no to people.

A cold fog surrounded Bree from nowhere. For days, she hadn’t thought of Gram. Once the nightmares were over and her speech had returned, she’d assumed that the trauma was over. The sudden fierce panic in her heart informed her that it wasn’t. All she could think of was that Gram would never have sat here like this. She’d never have stayed in a job where she was being used. She’d never have fallen in love with a man who drew every feminine eye. She’d never have just stood by passively and let things happen to her…

The music ended, and the two were wending their way around tables, coming toward her. Bree barely noticed. As if her hand were attached to another woman’s body, Bree found herself suddenly picking up her purse to depart.

“Bree?” Marie cocked her head in question.

“What’s wrong?” Hart’s voice was quiet, an echo of a dozen intimate love words between them.

But then, Hart was very good with love words. He was brilliant with women, period. “I’m going home,” Bree said brightly, and swung her hips out of the booth. Hart’s fingers curled on her wrist, but she shook herself free. She couldn’t breathe. There was just no air in the place, and Hart’s touch hurt just a little too much.

A waiter was pushing a cart of desserts between the tables. She dodged him, dragging a hand through her hair. Hart was demanding the bill; she heard that, and Marie’s chatter. She knew that the pianist had started another song, and that the carpet was a patterned black and red. Such silly details struck her when for a moment she was utterly disoriented as to the location of the exit. There had to be an exit; they’d come in somewhere-

The door was ridiculously heavy. Once she was outside, she hauled great gulps of night air into her lungs. Her hands were shaking-silly. Nothing was wrong. She was awake-there was no nightmare. She was standing in a parking lot filled with cars; a crescent moon cradled a bevy of stars; a warm breeze wisped around her on an absolutely lovely night…and her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“We’ll have you home in twenty minutes.” Hart’s baritone was quiet and sure, coming from behind her even as he placed a supportive arm on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off, vaulting for the car.

“Bree? My goodness, darling, what happened? I was just telling Hart that I wanted you to take more time off. You deserve a vacation, so make it as long as you-”

Bree whirled to face Marie. “I’m not coming back,” she said crisply. “I gave you my resignation-you knew that before you came here.”

“Of course I did,” Marie said soothingly, even as she glanced at Hart. The look was “meaningful” and made Bree almost physically ill. “But you can’t give up an excellent job on a whim, darling. I know you don’t mean it. After you’ve had a little more rest-”

“I’ve had tons of rest, and I’ve decided I’d rather wait on tables for a living.” She’d reached Hart’s car, and grabbed the backseat door handle.

“You can’t mean that-”

“You have something against waitresses?” Bree frowned at Hart. He’d removed her hand from the door handle of the backseat and was firmly trying to maneuver her into the front seat next to him. And succeeding. “I would prefer to sit in the back,” she said flatly.

“Tough.” He only mouthed the word, but the pat on her fanny was very close to a push, and he grinned suddenly. “I’m proud of you,” he mouthed again.

Was that supposed to make sense? The man was crazier than she was, and her hands were still shaking. Somewhere in the back of her head she felt a terrible ache, sudden and sharp, taunting her with the memory of failing Gram whom she loved so very much-failing her by failing to be assertive, and endlessly strong, and a thousand other things she’d expected of herself…and never seemed to be.

Hart started the engine. As soon as they were on the road, Marie leaned over the front seat, and that seductive, teasing note she’d used for Hart was gone. This was strictly Marie to Bree. “Look, darling, we’ve been together forever. You can’t just give up your work on a whim-you’ve got more sense than that. When you’ve thought this through-”

“I’ve thought it through. I’m sure in the past decade at least half of all women have thought it through. Fulfillment’s the word. The media are trumpeting it. You’ll be fulfilled if you’re successful in your career, and you’re a failure if you can’t manage it all-house and job and husband and children to boot.” Bree twisted around to offer Marie a stony glare. “Hogwash. It means trying to please everyone and going nuts in the process.”

Marie sat back in her seat. “You’re not,” she said stiffly, “yourself.”

That was certainly true. Knife spears were lancing in and around her temples; she was trembling like a leaf in the wind, and she was imagining that Hart had just winked at her, when he was clearly facing the road. Furthermore, she never…yelled. Much less at Marie, who’d come all this way to see her…only to be treated uncivilly?

Silence stretched in the car like a taut rubber band. Hart reached over, flicked on a tape and classical guitar music filled that silence. She felt his eyes on her as clearly as she felt his hand reach for her thigh. She pushed the hand away. Like a fool, she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to be enfolded and protected and warmed…but again to turn to Hart out of need? He probably considered her a three-day wonder, the one woman in a million who didn’t instantly throw herself at his feet; regardless, she wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t anyone’s. Just her own.

Within a half hour, Hart’s headlights gleamed on Marie’s rental car, which was parked by the cabin. They all rushed from Hart’s blue Lexus at the same time.

“Bree?” Marie straightened the collar of her dress, standing in the darkness.

Bree suddenly stretched her hands out, meeting Marie halfway. “I apologize if I sounded rude, and I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing,” she said quietly.