Good Karma Read online

  The entire floor had been reserved for the benefit, an event he had been attending since he was a teenager. Of course, back then, he’d been with his parents. At thirty, he no longer needed a chaperone.

  In the exhibit hall, a variety of portraits, paintings, sculptures, and other works of art were on display, and a string quartet played on a small stage against one wall. In the Red Lacquer room, a mock casino had been set up for the evening, where those with a taste for risk could sate their demons for a good cause, as well as the chance to win one of the glamorous door prizes being given away.

  But the main action was in the Grand and State ballrooms, where food and drink coursed among the partygoers in the hands of black-tied wait staff, and where Chicago’s social elite mingled. While the allure of gambling was tempting, Mark would remain in the main ballroom for now and fulfill his social obligation, hobnobbing with politicians and socialites, as well as the members of his parents’ dance studio, who were old friends he had known since childhood.

  With a friendly nod, he plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and eased into the crowd. A quartet of guitarists on the stage began playing a slow, Spanish tune perfect for a sensuous rumba. If only he had a date, he might have swept her onto the dance floor to give his retired moves a wake-up call.

  Turning away, he navigated the crowd, stopping occasionally to converse and shake hands. The music created a gentle ambience within the warmth of shimmering, burnished gold walls and sparkling chandeliers. Candlelit table lanterns and fern fronds added an elegant touch to an already decadent room.

  “Mom. Dad.” He stepped between his fashionably attired parents standing beside one of the cocktail tables in the reception area. “You look good.” He shook his dad’s hand then kissed his mom on the cheek.

  “So do you, honey.” His mom fiddled with his tie. “You’re so handsome in your tux. Where’s Abby?” She frowned and looked around.

  He cleared his throat and briefly turned his attention to the crowd. “Abby and I broke up.” He downed a healthy swallow of champagne.

  A note of disappointment crossed his mom’s face. “Oh.”

  By now, she had to be used to the revolving door of women who came into his life then exited a few months later. Mark didn’t do commitments. Not anymore. The only meaningful relationship in his life had fallen apart in grand fashion six years ago, and he’d been trying to make up for his shortcomings ever since.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She stared into her wine glass. “Abby was a nice girl.”

  All the women he dated were nice. Educated, well appointed, and sophisticated. What every man of means looked for in a woman. They just weren’t for him. Or, rather, he wasn’t for them. He wasn’t good for any woman now. Not after the nightmare of his past, which had messed up his head to the point he couldn’t even set foot in a church anymore.

  Mark averted his gaze to the clusters of people gathered among the impeccably decorated tables. “It just didn’t work out between us.” He took another drink of champagne. The alcohol would help him get through the evening. “Is Carol dancing the exhibition again this year?”

  “No, not this year,” his mom said flatly before quickly taking a sip of wine.

  His dad forced a tight grin. “Sonya is.”

  Mark scrutinized his parents’ truncated reactions. Then again, Carol wasn’t a cozy topic of discussion between him and his parents.

  “Sonya? That’s an interesting choice.”

  Carol was the most decorated dancer at his parents’ studio. She had performed the exhibition for the past five years. She was in her prime and a three-time Professional Latin Ballroom Champion. Why would Sonya take Carol’s place? Not that Sonya was a poor choice. She was adequate for the task and a rising star at the studio. In fact, she had recently won her first competition.

  “Yes, well, Sonya has really impressed us.” Mom took another hasty drink of her wine, glancing away.

  “Will Carol be here?” Mark finished his champagne and grabbed another from a passing tray.

  His mom shifted uneasily and looked at his father. What was with all the cloak-and-dagger?

  “I think she and Antonio will be here, yes,” his dad said with an edge of discomfort.

  Antonio. Carol’s dance partner. Her husband. A woman thief. But then, that wasn’t really fair. What had happened wasn’t Antonio’s fault. He’d just been the benefactor.

  A hand clapped down on Mark’s shoulder. “Hey, Mark.”

  He turned to find his best friend, Rob, had joined them. “Hey, buddy.”

  Rob shook hands with Mark’s dad and kissed his mom on the cheek. “Good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Strong.”

  “Likewise,” his mom said. “You look good, Rob. Have you been working out?” She appeared eager to change the subject, which curdled Mark’s nerves.

  “I’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard lately.” Rob eyed Mark. “Your son has been kicking my ass on the courts, so I needed to get a leg up somehow.”

  “Oh really?” His dad chuckled. “I always thought he had the talent to play in the pros.”

  Mark gave his dad a good-natured but cynical look. “You know I’m too short.”

  “Too short? You’re six-two, son.”

  “Yeah, too short.” Mark laughed. “Some of those guys are over seven feet tall.”

  “Oh, but you were talented enough. Look at Michael Jordan. They said he was too short, too.”

  Mark glanced around the room and sipped his champagne. “I’ll stick with consultant work.”

  “Speaking of, how is work?” his dad asked. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I just finished an assignment a couple of weeks ago in Wisconsin.”

  “And now what?” His father swirled the wine in his glass.

  “I’ll be heading down to Indianapolis on Monday.” Mark’s eye continued to rove the room. Just hearing that Carol was attending the benefit had him on high alert. Mark lifted his glass only to find it empty. Again. But then, they were barely filling the flutes halfway.

  “Indianapolis, huh?” His dad flagged down a waiter after noticing Mark was dry. “Weren’t you just there for March Madness?”

  “Yes.” Mark drove down to Indy almost every year for the NCAA basketball tournament.

  “And now you’re going down for a job just in time for the Indy 500. How’s that for luck?”

  “Yes, but I doubt I’ll get to the race. I’ll be too busy.”

  “You can always come back to the studio.” His mom ran the tip of one elegant finger around the rim of her wine glass. “At least then you could stay in one place.”

  It was an old joke. Mom always teased him about returning to the family business even though she knew he wanted to make his money the way Grandfather had, through strong business acumen. Granddad’s shrewd talents in business had allowed his mom to follow her dreams of becoming a professional dancer…and for Mark to receive a multimillion-dollar trust. The least Mark could do was build a name for himself to pay homage to one of the greatest men he had ever known. Besides, with Carol working and training at the studio, there was no way Mark would set foot in the place.

  “Uh, no, Mom. I’ll leave the salsa and cha-cha to you and dad.” And Carol.

  “You’re welcome any time, you know.” Mom knew why he didn’t visit the studio anymore, but they never talked about it. She was good at dancing, whether literally or figuratively, around sensitive subjects best left untouched. “I’m sure your dancing hasn’t gotten that rusty, has it?”

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Actually, yes. I haven’t danced in a while.” He had left dancing behind to earn his master’s at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business, one of the top business schools in the country. His mom had been disappointed about that at first, but now she seemed content with his career choice, if a little sad he hadn’t pursued dancing.

  The four chatted a while longer, then Mark and Rob broke away and settled
at the bar.

  “So, you and Abby broke up.” Rob flagged down the bartender. “Corona, please.”

  “Yep.” Mark leaned against the bar and faced the room.

  “Seven months. That’s a new record for you.”

  Mark blew out a puff of air. “I guess.” He didn’t normally date a woman more than three or four months. Longer and they started itching for more, clinging…as Abby had begun to do.

  But Mark had to admit, he had enjoyed the steady constant Abby had brought to his life. He hadn’t needed to go through the tedious getting-to-know-you bullshit that bouncing from one relationship to the next entailed. And Abby really was a nice girl. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Still, he should have ripped off the Band-Aid months ago instead of letting her end it. He would never make that mistake again.

  “What happened this time?” Rob nodded to the bartender as he took his beer, then turned around and joined Mark, gazing at the mingling crowd.

  “Same ol’ same ol’,” Mark said. “We had an argument last night.” He chuffed. “Seems she was more into our relationship than I was. Asked if I was ever going to ask her to move in. I told her no. Then she asked if I ever plan on marrying her.” Mark took another drink.

  “Another no,” Rob said, glancing down at his Corona.

  “Yep.”

  “I guess that didn’t go over well.”

  Mark shook his head. “Nope.”

  Even now, remembering how Abby had broken down in front of him killed him. He knew that kind of hurt all too well. Sure, maybe he knew it to the power of a hundred, but that didn’t mean Abby’s torment was any less agonizing to her. She didn’t need to know the level of suffering he had endured in the past to know that his not wanting to marry her now hurt like hell.

  He took another gulp of champagne but kept his exterior dull and emotionless. This was his burden to bear, no one else’s.

  “Yeah, well,” Rob said, “maybe that’s because you never told her you didn’t want a serious commitment. You ever think about that?” Rob pushed the lime wedge into his Corona then tipped the bottle for a swig.

  Rob had a point. Mark didn’t want commitments from the women he dated. They were simply stepping-stones. But to where?

  “I don’t know, Rob. Maybe.”

  He had been committed once. He had been in love. The house, the wife, the kids, the white picket fence…the golden retriever…all of it had been within his grasp. The term “family man” had defined him to a T. But then that train pulled out of the station without him and left him scratching his head like a fool, and he blamed himself for the failure. If only he had been more attentive, more selfless. If only he had sought to give her pleasure as much as he had sought to fulfill his own—to include her more than he had—then maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now, which was in a never-ending cycle of women he could never get close to, and who he didn’t let get close enough to him to break his heart if and when they left. And they always left. They always had and always would. Nowadays, he kept women safely at arm’s distance. That kept things simple and harmless. No complications. No pain. No chance for another heartbreak.

  But he didn’t let his trysts be a waste of time. Somewhere deep inside, in a place he refused to acknowledge but knew existed, he hoped for a second chance at happiness. If he got it, he didn’t want to make the same mistakes, so he dated to practice being the kind of man a woman wanted. Practice makes perfect, as they say, and he was an overachiever that way. A perfectionist. But apparently he had become too good at giving women what they wanted and needed, because for the past couple of years, every woman he dated wanted him to pop the question. Perhaps he was going about this all wrong.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said to Rob. “Maybe I need to change my approach.”

  “Hell yeah, I’m right,” Rob said like a wise guy, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m always right.”

  “Modest, too.” Mark tipped his head toward him.

  Mark had enjoyed his time with Abby the same way he enjoyed his time with every girl he dated, but he had to admit that telling his past girlfriends up front that he wasn’t a commitment kind of guy probably would have saved everyone some grief. He liked dating, and, like any hot-blooded man, he enjoyed the sex. He just didn’t want to settle down.

  Was he wrong for how he felt? He wanted it all—the dating, the love, the sex, the intimacy. All of it…except the commitment. And he enjoyed making a woman feel good about herself. Too many women seemed to suffer some blow to their self-esteem, just as he had, and giving them a little pleasure and a boost to their confidence always made him feel better.

  He was surprised by how many women saw themselves as less than they were. Even the beautiful ones. Especially the beautiful ones. They got in their own way when it came to men. Even Abby, as pretty as she was, suffered from self-doubt. In hindsight, her insecurity was what had attracted him to her, because he had a soft spot for people—not just women—who, in one way or another, battled inner demons…probably because he had battled his own all his life and could relate. And because he was who he was—and because he never wanted to fail again—he took it as a personal mission to bring these women out of their shells. Give them joy, pleasure, a little happiness. He studied them, because…well…that’s just what he did. He studied everyone and everything. Including women. What made them tick? What did they want? What were the best ways to give them pleasure? How could he bring this one out of her shell while taming that one’s wild side? He was a student studying for his master’s, and women were the subject. But would he ever write his thesis and graduate?

  But it was more than that. Mark was a man with something to prove. That he could make a woman feel beautiful and special, and that he wasn’t the selfish bastard he had once been.

  “Well, look at it this way,” Rob said, “now that you’re single, there’s nothing stopping you from having a wild night with one of these fine ladies before you leave for boring old Indianapolis.” Rob lifted his beer and waved it in an arc toward the crowd.

  “You know that’s not who I am.” Mark didn’t do casual the same way he didn’t do commitments. He lived in the halfway between the two. Casually committed? Was that even possible?

  “Yeah, yeah. You and your mighty principles.” Rob grinned, glanced away, and then his eyes went cold.

  “What?” Mark turned to find what had spooked Rob.

  And there she was. Carol. The reason why he hadn’t had a relationship that lasted longer than four months—with the exception of Abby, of course—for the last six years.

  His heart skipped a beat as it always did when he saw her, not because of how beautiful she was, but because of the traumatic reminder of the past. The humiliation still felt fresh, as if what she had done happened only yesterday. A wave of nausea swept through his body. His pulse raced, and he quickly downed a gulp of champagne. A nice buzz was setting up shop in his brain, which was perfect. He would need it to get through the rest of the night.

  Carol laughed at something Antonio whispered in her ear, and that’s when he noticed the bump. The one her right hand caressed with the love and affection every mother would show her unborn child. So that’s why Carol wasn’t dancing tonight…and why his parents had behaved so strangely when he’d asked about her.

  Carol was pregnant. How about that?

  Rob said nothing. God love him. He knew without Mark having to say it that seeing Carol pregnant devastated him.

  Mark turned away, cleared his throat, and drained the rest of his third glass of champagne.

  That was supposed to have been his life. His baby. His wife. His fucking white picket fence.

  For a second, Mark thought he was going to be sick, but he forced himself to breathe and pushed back his emotions—as well as the bile rising in his throat.

  “Hey, man. I’m sorry,” Rob said quietly.

  “About what?” Mark squared his shoulders and faced the room again as if nothing were wrong.

  Rob glanced do
wn, fiddled with his beer bottle, then looked at him. “It’s not fair.”

  “What? That she’s pregnant.” He huffed and shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Good for her. She’ll be a good mom. And Antonio…yeah…well…he’ll be a good dad.”

  “This is me you’re talking to, Mark.” Rob gave him a look that said he wasn’t buying Mark’s line of shit.

  Mark shrugged again. “I know. But I’m good. Really.” He clapped Rob on the shoulder and waved for the bartender to bring him another of those half-glasses of champagne, which he downed in one gulp. “Excuse me.” He smiled at Rob then walked away.

  With measured steps, he left the ballroom, made his way to the elevator, rode to the floor of his suite, unlocked his door, entered, took off his tie and tuxedo coat, and carefully hung both over the back of a chair. Then he slid into the bathroom. As he unbuttoned the cuffs of his starched shirt, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Where had his life gone so wrong? How had he failed so miserably? Why hadn’t he been able to make Carol happy? Just…why?

  Resting his head against the cool glass, he closed his eyes and held his breath.

  One count.

  Two.

  Three.

  Pain knifed his heart as he lost the battle.

  He collapsed in front of the toilet and gripped the sides as he threw up. The champagne, his dinner…his heart and soul. He was shredded, wrecked beyond repair.

  After the retching ceased, he leaned against the side of the bathtub, his face in his hands, tearless sobs jerking his body as he gasped for air.

  Fuck! He thought he’d been getting better, but like everything else in his life, that had only been a lie. He was no better now than he had been then. Damn her! Damn her to hell for doing this to him!

  Seeing Carol pregnant had destroyed him all over again.

  Chapter 3

  A ship in a harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.

  -Grace Hopper