Free The Bare Facts by Karen Anders Page A

hear the message again. “Got your e-mail. Can’t wait for your surprise visit. Have a good couple of weeks. Call me if you want to talk.”
    It was dangerous to talk to Dylan. Margo had told her how hard it was to make a life that was her own. She wondered if Dylan had the same problem. He’d said image was important, so maybe he didn’t have those problems at all. Maybe he followed along with what his family wanted him to do and never struggled with his own identity and his own wants.
    If that was the case, Haley certainly had no business thinking about Dylan as relationship material. Not that she did. Really, he was a man who could have any woman he wanted and probably did. Shewas way out of his league. She was content to take four months of his time and enjoy the physical relationship, then simply move on.
    She could tell herself all these things and they sounded extremely rational. So why was it Haley felt as if she’d jumped into the deep end and totally forgotten how to swim?

4
    H ALEY APPROACHED Dylan’s door. She listened intently but could hear nothing. With her heart pounding, she put the key in the lock and turned. It’d been two weeks since she’d gotten the message on her answering machine. It had been difficult, but she hadn’t contacted him. Only problem was, she’d waited a tad too long and Kate had told her that morning that she needed the column on the tenth instead of the fifteenth this month. Haley had only four days to get the fantasy done and the column to Kate.
    No one was home in the beautiful, spacious loft with massive Douglas-fir beams and forty-five-foot ceilings, along with multiple skylights. She crossed the hardwood floor on her three-inch spiked black boots, her black raincoat slapping against the leather. The anticipation of what was to come was burning inside her. Out of necessity Haley had dodged Dylan’s calls, not even admitting to Margo that she was afraid to talk to him. Afraid she’d beg to come over and see him.
    She set the boom box down on his glass and wrought-iron coffee table and cued up the music, making sure the volume was high.
    The doorman would have been a problem if Dylan hadn’t put her name on the list of visitors allowed in his loft. He’d eyed her attire and then let her through.
    She surveyed the light, airy room. A bank of windows revealed the hustle and bustle of the busy Village pedestrians, going quickly to their homes as dusk approached.
    She turned from the windows and discovered that Dylan’s decor mirrored his cutting-edge personality. The living room consisted of a nut-brown leather sofa with tasteful lamps in front of an exposed-brick wall. On the coffee table next to the boom box were Advertising Age and other trade magazines. Along with the professional magazines were two books on Andy Warhol’s work and a biography of Harry Truman.
    There was a gleaming white gourmet kitchen with a small wine rack and six glasses hung above, their stems caught in a wooden holder. The sound of the phone made Haley jump. After four rings the answering machine picked up.
    A sultry voice said, “Hi, it’s Laurel. I need to stop by. I hope you’re ready for what I have planned for you.”
    Haley glared at the machine. The woman sounded positively gleeful. It was obvious that Haley wouldn’t be able to stay after the fantasy, but that wasn’t in her plan anyway, she told herself. A stab of jealousy made her face warm and her heart ache.
    She walked farther into the loft and found a half-finished storyboard depicting a man and a woman’s life from their wedding to old age. Haley found itfascinating. Next to it was an open section of the Wall Street Journal.
    She sauntered into his bedroom, finding a comfortable-looking sleigh bed, armoire and matching nightstand. More reading material was next to the bed: the latest thriller, another trade magazine and a book about the birth of jazz.