The Not-So-Perfect Man by Valerie Frankel Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t the only man at the newsstand pretending to read a magazine for the momentary pleasure of beholding this woman. In fact, three others, dressed just like Peter, were rearranging their shoulder bags in front of their trousers. As he made this deflating (literally) discovery, the blonde turned a page of the magazine, her eyes rising to find him in full gawk. Peter could have caught his heart in his hand when she winked at him.
    Logically, he knew the wink meant “Busted!” But, with eternal optimism, Peter let himself believe she wanted him. The thought was both emasculating (was he man enough to make a move?) and exciting. His erection doubled in size, lifting his bag off his hips.
    He really needed more sex.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Vermillion?”
    He turned toward the small voice that came over his right shoulder. She was petite, brunette, vaguely familiar, not altogether unattractive. He glanced back to see the blonde tiger put the magazine back in the rack and click off in her man-killer boots toward the elevators.
    He said looked down at brunette and asked, “Have we met?”
    “Forgive me for interrupting your reading, ” she said. He realized with an embarrassed start that he’d been holding Shape upside down.
    “It’s quite all right,” he said, fumbling to close the magazine.
    She said, “I followed you from your office. We’ve met a few times. I’m Bruce McFarthing’s wife.”
    Wife of the man he’d fired. “Mrs. McFarthing,” he said. “Of course I remember you.”
    She smiled ruefully. She knew he’d forgotten her. “I’d like to speak to you about my husband.”
    Peter said, “I have to get downtown.”
    She said, “Bruce is threatening to sue you for discrimination.”
    “Have his lawyers call our lawyers.” Talk about climatic extremes: His mood went from red hot to ice cold in seconds.
    She said, “He said you were jealous of him. He feels he’s been discriminated against because he’s fit and handsome.”
    “I don’t have time for this,” said Peter. This woman followed him from his office to threaten a lawsuit and call him an insecure egomaniac? Discrimination on the grounds that Bruce was too attractive? Peter felt a tightness in his chest. He wondered if he were having a pre-heart attack, if such a thing existed.
    She put her hand on his elbow, stopping him from clutching his chest. “Bruce said the same thing about his last three bosses.”
    Bruce was insane. Peter had been right to fire him. God knows what kind of trouble the magazine would be in if he’d let Bruce stay on staff. Peter said, “If Bruce wants to pursue legal action…”
    “I’m not threatening you,” she said. “I just want to know the truth.”
    He said, “I fired him because of the quality of his work.”
    “You read his clips when you hired him,” she said.
    He didn’t want to get into the detailed explanation. Good clips could mean good writing—or good editing. You could never be sure. Peter said, “His clips were not extraordinary. He came across well. I thought he could fit in at the magazine. He had great references.”
    “So you hired him because he made a good first impression. So why did you fire him?”
    Grossly aware that any word out of his mouth could come back to him in court, Peter said, “I can’t say anything.”
    Mrs. McFarthing (he tried desperately to remember her first name) started to cry. At full volume. Her face reddening with each rattling wail, she teetered in her low heels and leaned against Peter’s bulk for balance. Arms limp and impotent at his sides, he allowed her to wipe her wet eyes and nose against his tie. The contact was excruciating.
    He said, “Please, Mrs. McFarthing.”
    “I’m beginning to wonder if the man I married is all style, no substance,” she said through her tears.
    “How long have you been married?” Peter couldn’t help asking.
    “Fifteen years.”
    That was a long time to begin to wonder. His style was, apparently, good enough