Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [27]
“I’m a changed man,” Hugh said, channeling deep sincerity, “and I can even tell you why. Give me a chance to talk.”
I sighed and looked reluctant for a full thirty seconds before giving in and climbing into the car. Hugh happily gunned it down Park Avenue.
Suddenly he swerved the SL55 to the left, and soon we were speeding along FDR Drive, which was moving just fine, but moving where?
“I’ve got to tell you what I always seem to be telling you, Jane.”
If he said, “Give me the part,” I swear, I was going to shove a pen right into his ear.
“I’ve got to tell you that I’m sorry,” he said, totally taking me aback. “I’m so sorry, Jane. I didn’t know what Felicia and Ronnie had planned, I swear to God. Then my stupid tongue and temper got the best of me.”
My brain told me that couldn’t be true, even as my heart was registering how incredibly sincere he sounded. I was starting to soften up a little bit, and I didn’t like it. Trying to stay strong, I didn’t respond, just kept my eyes focused on the horizon. We were going bumpity-bump over the Brooklyn Bridge now. Heading where? And why? On the other side of the bridge, Hugh drove to a spot with an incredible picture-postcard view of Manhattan. Honestly, the city looked as if it had been carved out of a perfect piece of silver. I’d never been here with Hugh, and I suddenly wondered who had been?
“I guess I assumed we were on the same wavelength about the movie part, Janey,” he went on. “I saw myself in the role. I did it on Broadway. It’s part of me. I assumed you just saw me as perfect for it too.” He shot me a gorgeous smile, contrite and cocky at the same time.
Okay, as motivation it almost made sense. “You just weren’t listening, Hugh.” As usual.
He draped his arm over my seat and lightly stroked the back of my neck.
“You know, Jane, I also thought that this project, this little movie, could turn us into the team I know we can be. I pictured us working together. It would be fantastic. Together in our personal lives and in our professional lives. You know, I’d be there for you. I could help you, support you. I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s my dream. Honestly.”
His voice was low and sincere. He was holding my hand, rubbing my knuckles gently. What was going on here? I was getting a little dizzy. I was weakening, wasn’t I?
He opened the glove compartment and reached in. My eyes almost popped as he pulled out a robin’s-egg blue jewelry box.
Inside my chest, my heart seized. He couldn’t . . . he wouldn’t . . .
This, I hadn’t been expecting.
When Hugh opened the Tiffany’s box, there was a lovely diamond. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small, either. I tried not to suck in a wheezing breath.
“Jane, I know we can be great again. I’ve got the ring, and you’ve got the movie. Let’s make a trade, sweetheart. Do we have a deal?”
Time stopped. The earth tilted beneath me. Oh. My. Freaking. God. Oh, my God. No, this didn’t just happen. I felt as if I had just been punched very hard in the chest. A long pause followed while my stunned brain tried to decide on a response: Instant tears? Rage? Pathetic humiliation? This had been my first and only marriage proposal, and I couldn’t imagine it sucking more. Was Hugh insane, or was I just a much bigger loser than even I had suspected?
Hugh stopped smiling, watching my face.
Finally, my synapses started firing jerkily, and I searched for breath. “I’m sorry, Hugh,” I said tightly, in a colossal understatement. “About so many things . . . giving you another chance, caring for you in the first place. And I’m most, most sorry about what you just said to me. Let’s make a trade, sweetheart? Do we have a deal? How could you possibly say such a thing?” My voice had risen with each sentence, and I was aware of a strident, anger-constrained tone that should have made him run for the hills.
“I’m not a speechwriter, I’m an actor,” he muttered. “Okay, maybe I didn’t pretty it up enough, and I apologize. But I was going for direct honesty. Isn’t that what you always say you want?”
“Pretty it up enough?!” I sputtered. “Are you nuts? Try ‘biggest