They’d met when she was a senior at Northwestern. He’d been a graduate student in journalism, and they’d met in a seminar she’d gotten special permission to take. The first time he walked into the room, she’d wanted him. He was tall, lean and good-looking, with sandy-blond hair and deep blue eyes that made her tingle whenever he looked at her. But he was a lot more than a handsome face. His sharp wit and warmth had overwhelmed her.
Now Nick was ancient history, but they had one new thing in common.
Ironically, it was his parents’ divorce that had brought them together. He’d needed sympathy and understanding, and she’d been more than willing to give it.
She’d needed to believe that he’d loved her, at least a little, even though he’d repeatedly warned her from the beginning he wasn’t into commitment. At first she’d blamed his attitude on the shock of his parents’ breakup.
She’d been so naive, thinking she could change his mind over time. Well, she’d been dead wrong, and had paid a big price in heartache for dreaming she could make Nick into something he wasn’t. Pushing hard for commitment, she’d ended up with him moving on and out of her life.
The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was mooning over him.
At least having a lot to do would help her cope with her parents’ divorce. Doing things efficiently was second nature, probably a genetic gift from her father who ran his insurance business like a military operation. Amy took after Mom, who could charm people into buying real estate but struggled with the details of finalizing a sale.
Liv went to her kitchen with its pale yellow cupboards and uncluttered green marbleized counter-tops. While she boiled water for tea, she vowed not to feel sorry for herself. The divorce wasn’t about her. The important thing was whether her parents would be happier apart, but she was having trouble believing they would be. They’d always seemed so right together, so close they could complete each other’s sentences.
She carried the mug of tea back to her office to begin making calls. She couldn’t spare a minute at work for personal business. Her job was difficult enough without trying to impress a new boss with how hip, with-it and on top of things she was, his latest additions to her job description. She found the party list and punched in the first number on her phone.
A few minutes later she’d talked to one person and left three messages on answering machines. She was calling Nick next. It was ridiculous to stew over talking to a man she hadn’t seen in five years. The sooner she did it, the quicker she could forget him again.
Liv still vividly remembered her anger and hurt when she’d caught him at a party with a frizzy-haired blonde on his lap. He’d ditched the girl and taken Liv home to the little apartment she shared with two friends, but it had been the beginning of the end. They never slept together again, never spent long hours in companionable silence in the library, never took long walks or drove in his car to watch Lake Michigan lapping at the shoreline of Chicago.
He’d left a void in her life and in her heart. Maybe that was why no man since had measured up to her expectations.
She punched in Nick’s number. What if he thought the invitation had been her idea? Would he think she was chasing him? Did he think she’d hop into bed with him for old time’s sake, as if he was so irresistible she still got hot and bothered just thinking about him? The possibilities made her cringe. How could Amy have put her in this position?
His phone rang three times. She took a deep breath and hoped her nerve wouldn’t fail her. He most likely hadn’t given her a thought in years before Amy called him. Liv didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing for five years, but she’d bet he hadn’t been lonely for female companionship. He attracted women like no man she’d ever dated, maybe because he genuinely liked to spend time with them. He had a gift for listening and making people feel better about themselves.
“This is Nick Matheson. I’m not available now but leave your name and number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
His answering machine. What a relief, even though hearing his recorded message made her quiver. He had a deep, mellow voice that matched his drop-dead good looks. She could see him in her mind, tall at six-two with blond hair and bedroom-blue eyes lively with intelligence and passion.
The machine beeped, and she had to leave a message. Now that she’d heard his voice, she’d never work up enough nerve to call back.
“This is Olivia Kearns. Don’t bother coming to my parents’ party.”
She’d meant to explain that Amy had sent the invitation and the party had been canceled.
“Don’t bother coming,” she repeated, not at all pleased with herself. She’d gotten rattled and left a terribly abrupt message.
Should she call back and leave another, more tactful message? What if he answered himself on the second try? What if he…? He loved afternoon sex—he’d been pretty fond of it anytime, but stealing a little time out of a busy day had once been great for both of them. It would be terrible to interrupt something like that. He might be living with someone, and she might cause trouble for him by calling twice.
Face it, she was afraid of how she’d react if she had to talk to him. She didn’t want to awaken feelings she’d long ago buried. No, a second call was a very bad idea.
She slashed his name off her list with a black felt pen.
NICK HAD GOTTEN HOME from his wasted weekend too late Sunday night to bother checking his messages. He couldn’t believe he’d hung around the little lakeside town of Saint Joseph, Michigan, for two days without getting an interview with the daughter of a depression-era baseball player.
It didn’t deter him that a couple of other Post reporters had tried and failed in the past few weeks. In fact, he loved the challenge of succeeding where his more seasoned colleagues had struck out. He was the new kid in the sports department, and he wanted to cement his reputation by interviewing the reclusive Matilda Merris, daughter of the baseball player who’d rocked Chicago with a bribery scandal in the 1930s. There were lots of questions only she could answer. Had the infamous Marty Merris been intimidated by gangsters? Were some leading politicians of the day involved? What had been her father’s motivation in accepting money to throw a crucial game?
He didn’t usually write history, but Merris was a special case. Marty was one of the greatest athletes that sport had ever seen, single-handedly exciting interest in a new league that failed not long after his disgrace. Sports-crazy Chicago was opening a new sports museum soon, and the directors were determined to keep Merris out of it. Mack Gallagher, Nick’s editor at the Post, had a collection of Merris memorabilia he wanted to donate to the new museum, but so far the powers that be had refused it. They wanted to write Chicago’s third great team out of the history books.
Nick had already figured out that the Post had more reporters than they needed to keep up with local sports. If the big bosses ever came to the same conclusion, he wanted to be too invaluable to be let go. Getting the Merris story could be his ticket to fame—and job security, no small prize in a field as competitive as his.
If he could uncover the true story of Chicago’s biggest sports scandal, there was a more immediate payoff. Mack had promised him better assignments if he could justify what Merris had done.
Nick had a file two inches thick, much of it gathered by the two reporters who’d given up on the piece. Without the insights only Matilda Merris could provide, the story was only speculation. The fact that two of his co-workers had failed only challenged him.
He started listening to his messages, first one from his mother in Florida. She wanted him to spend Christmas with her. He wanted to see her