- -
- 100%
- +
He took the bit of glossy paper and looked at it thoughtfully. “Delainey Hodges, Business Loan Officer, National City Bank.”
“Think it over and call me.”
He tapped a finger against the card. “Do you always make loans so impulsively?”
She was annoyed. “Look, Sam, I didn’t promise to back this enterprise.”
“It certainly sounded to me like that’s what you were doing. Do you get paid based on how many loans you can talk people into taking?”
“I just think it would be a great idea. And I didn’t guarantee you a loan, I said I’d help you apply for financing. If the package looked good, then the bank would probably be happy to give you a loan.”
“I don’t doubt it. The criteria seems to be if the client can prove he doesn’t need the money, the bank will lend it.” He put her business card in his pocket.
“That’s not the way it works. What happened to put you off banks, anyway?” she asked shrewdly. “Did somebody repossess your car after you lost your job, or what?”
He didn’t answer, but flicked a fingertip across Curtis Whittington’s face on the cover of a financial magazine. “Unless it’s somebody like this, of course. Then the bigger the loan amount and the riskier the ride, the happier the bank is to help out.” The magazine slid a little, showing that Whittington’s face was on the one underneath as well. Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Are you a fan?”
“Of the merger king? Not exactly. But I’m having lunch with him tomorrow.”
“Lucky you. Do you want me to take the flowers?”
“No, I’ll bring them over later. When did you say Emma will be home?”
“About six. My feelings are hurt, you know. What did Gran do to deserve flowers?”
“Hey, I offered to pay you. Twice.”
“I remember. I’ll let you know when I figure out what kind of reimbursement I can accept without losing my amateur standing. Of course, there’s always—”
Delainey tried to swallow a gasp. He’s only jerking your chain, she told herself.
“Though maybe it’s not worth the risk,” he said earnestly. “If you could cook, your pantry wouldn’t be so empty.”
She was too startled to stay silent. “You were going to ask me to cook something for you? Not—” She noticed that his deep blue eyes were starting to sparkle like moonlight on a lake, and swallowed hard.
“I’m always willing to listen to an offer,” Sam said gently. “What sort of currency did you have in mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Well, I’ll keep thinking. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
“Don’t twist your brain into knots over it.”
Sam smiled. “I’ll tell Gran you’re going to stop by. She’ll be pleased—she was making noises earlier today about giving you a housewarming party.”
“That’s lovely of her, but—”
“Yes, isn’t it thoughtful? I already know what I’m going to get you.”
Delainey couldn’t stop herself. “What?” she asked warily.
“An accessory for the next time you use your fireplace.”
“If you’re thinking of buying me a poker, I should warn you—”
“Nothing so dull. I’m going to get you a smoking jacket, so you won’t have to keep ruining your pajamas. See you later, sweetheart.”
Sam had left the garage door open when he’d gone over to Delainey’s to rescue Emma, so it was easy to put the tool kit back on the shelf on his way through.
Delainey had been right on target about one thing, he thought as he lined the plastic box up precisely with the dust-free outline it had left on the metal shelf. But it was one he hadn’t expected she would pick up on at all.
You’ll need some better tools, of course, she’d said almost casually. And she was right—he’d practically twisted the head off one of the cheap screwdrivers just putting that outlet back together. But he hadn’t expected that she’d know the difference.
The woman might not be able to light a fire, but at least there were a few practical bits of knowledge floating around under all that shiny gold-flecked hair. And a good thing it was, too, because if she was going to hard-sell business loans, she’d better know what she was talking about.
And that had definitely been a hard sell she’d given him. For a minute there, Sam had half expected to find himself in the home-repair business without ever having had a chance to refuse. Scarier yet was the fact that the longer she’d talked, the more it had started to sound like a good idea.
Of course, loaning the money to set up a small home-repair business was a far different proposition from dealing with Curtis Whittington. The merger king, she’d called him. The merger maniac was more like it.
He wondered if Delainey was trying to hard-sell Curtis Whittington, or if things were the other way around.
The exterior trim on every single town house at White Oaks was basically the same, and the homeowner’s covenant that Delainey had signed along with her down-payment check made it clear that it was to remain that way. No extra awnings, purple shutters, or odd-shaped mailboxes were allowed, and Delainey suspected if a pink plastic flamingo appeared on a front lawn that a note from the manager would soon follow, giving the bird instructions to migrate.
“There’s a thought,” she mused. If Sam Wagner got to be too annoying, she could line his driveway with neon-colored pinwheels and park a painted plaster statue of a jockey next to the front door. But of course it wouldn’t be Sam who would have to take the nasty call from the complex manager, it would be Emma.
So much for a good idea.
Somehow, despite the rule about individualizing the town houses, Emma Ashford’s stood out as more personal than the units Delainey drove past on her way in and out of the complex. A potted pine tree covered with red bows stood off to the side of the front door, a holly wreath hung above the bell, and at her feet a welcome mat decorated with Santa’s face proclaimed “Welcome Ho-Ho-Home.”
Delainey rang the bell and sighed at the reminder that Christmas was only three weeks away. It wasn’t that she was a Scrooge, but exactly when was she going to find time to search out her few Christmas decorations, much less to put them up?
Emma ushered her inside, exclaimed over the roses, and went to put them in water. As Delainey waited for her to finish, she looked around. This town house was larger than her own, though the plan of the first floor was similar—basically one huge room divided into various living areas. The main difference was that the kitchen was separated by a wall rather than just a breakfast bar.
The overall impression was of vibrant color—an unusual combination of purple, lavender, and hunter green. Delainey was a little surprised, because the brilliant colors didn’t quite seem Emma’s style. She would have expected old-fashioned floral chintz that had faded gently over time until only the softest tones were left. But hadn’t Emma said something about not having lived at White Oaks long herself? Maybe she’d gone for all new furniture when she moved.
Considering the welcome mat and the wreath outside, she was also startled that there was no Christmas tree to be seen. But perhaps Emma was a purist about having a live tree and was just waiting till closer to the holiday to put it up.
On the back of a wing chair near the fireplace, a seal-point Siamese cat yawned and sat up, and deep blue eyes inspected Delainey from head to toe. “Well, hello there,” she said, holding out a hand for the cat to sniff.
Sam came down the stairs in the worn leather jacket with a helmet under his arm. “I see you’ve already met the Empress,” he said.
“Is that her name?”
“Not even close. Her official name is some long, involved, incredibly complicated mix of Oriental-sounding vowels. I gave up on it a long time ago, and she’s just been the Empress ever since. Was Gran suitably impressed with the flowers?”
“She seemed to like them.”
“I still think you should have given them to me instead. She gets flowers all the time, so it doesn’t have the same impact on her as it would on me.”
“That,” Emma said from the doorway, “is nothing more than slander. I adore roses and these are particularly lovely ones. And they’re always more fun when they’re a surprise.”
“As they are this time, because you didn’t do anything to earn them.” Sam grinned at her. “I was the one working my head off while you were over at the clubhouse going no trump and letting the manager wait on you hand and foot.”
“He’s very nice to us,” Emma admitted. “Have you met the manager, Delainey?”
“Not yet. In fact, I’ve never been in the mansion. I was so short of time the day I looked at the town house that I didn’t get any further.”
“Well, you definitely need to do something about that,” Emma said. “The mansion is one of the best features of the whole complex—it has a little of everything. Are you going out, Sam?”
“I’m not just polishing my helmet, Gran.”
“Well, have a good time,” Emma said.
Delainey watched as Sam set the helmet on his head. “You ride a motorcycle? Wait a minute—then why were you so fussed yesterday about the moving van blocking the drive? You could have gotten past it easily.”
“On the motorcycle, yes. But I was putting Gran’s car away.” He fastened the chin strap and tightened it.
“Where were we?” Emma asked. “Oh, yes—the clubhouse facilities. You should go over for dinner, at least, Delainey.”
“It wouldn’t be much fun to go alone,” Delainey said. “Perhaps you’ll be my guest.”
“She gets flowers and dinner?” Sam muttered.
Though he sounded hurt, Delainey was willing to bet he was trying to smother amusement instead of woe.
Emma shot a disapproving look at him. “The boy has no manners, of course—but he’s right. He did do all the work.”
Now there was no question; Sam’s eyes—even bluer than those of the Siamese—were full of humor. The cretin was laughing at her.
Still, even though Delainey felt she’d been set up by an expert, there was only one graceful thing to do. “I meant both of you, of course,” she said.
“And anyone who believes that,” Sam said under his breath, “is due for a serious reality check.”
Delainey raised her voice just a little. “How unfortunate that Sam has other plans so he can’t accompany us.”
“Then we’ll go tomorrow,” Emma said comfortably. “Going on Wednesday night will be better anyway. There’s always live entertainment on Wednesdays, and that usually means a crowd. You’ll be able to meet some of the neighbors.”
By the time that Delainey ushered her last client of the morning out of her office, her secretary was practically vibrating with anxiety. You’re late, she mouthed behind the client’s back. Delainey waved a hand to acknowledge her and went right on talking to the client.
The instant the woman was gone, Josie bounced out of her chair and seized Delainey’s coat from the tiny closet. “You can’t be late to the Century Club.”
“It isn’t that special, surely.” Delainey slid into her coat.
“Yes, it is. I went to a wedding there once—well, a sort of bridal show thing. It’s not only beautiful, but the waiters do everything just so. Twelve forks at every place—”
“Surely not.”
“Maybe not twelve,” Josie conceded. “But it’s very fancy. Hurry—Mr. Conners said he’d be in the lobby at half-past twelve, and it’s almost that now. You can’t keep him waiting.”
I’d like to, Delainey thought. She shoved her scarf in a pocket, because Josie was looking as if she’d like to grab hold and tie it herself. As if she wants me to make a good impression when I go out to play with the other kids.
Jason Conners wasn’t in the lobby. Delainey wasn’t surprised; she had half expected him to be late even though he was the one who’d set the time, because he seemed the sort who enjoyed making an entrance. So she leaned against the marble-topped reception desk to wait.
Five minutes went by, and she was just starting to think about walking back down the hall to check whether he was still in his office when she heard her name called.
But it wasn’t Jason Conners who was walking toward her across the lobby. It was Sam, and he was coming in the main entrance. “Is it part of your job to stand there and be decorative?” he asked as he approached. “I thought banks had budgets for stuff like art.”
Delainey let her eyebrows creep up. “Thank you for saying I’m ornamental. However, if you’re flattering me because you’ve come to talk about your loan—”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Flatter me at all, or flatter me to get a loan? Never mind. You’ve got about two minutes, tops, to make your case.”
“Before you have to leave for lunch with the merger king? Sorry to disappoint you, but I came in to cash a check for Gran. However, I’ve been thinking about that loan.”
There was a note of idle humor in his voice that made Delainey brace herself.
“I’ve figured out why you’re so determined to give it to me—you need just one more loan in your portfolio in order to be named employee of the month and win a trip to Hawaii. So I’m willing to talk about terms.”
“I suppose your terms include that I take you along to Hawaii?”
“Of course. It would be only fair, if I help you win.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Delainey admitted. “And I’d think very hard about it—if we had an employee of the month contest and if the prize was a trip to Hawaii. It’s just too bad for you the bank doesn’t run promotions like that.”
“Want me to go talk to the president about it?” He checked his wristwatch. “I have a few minutes to kill, and I’m sure he’d like the idea. I might have it fixed by lunchtime.”
“Thanks, anyway, Sam, but I think you should stick to fixing things like outlets.”
A hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jason Conners said, “I’ve just talked to Curtis—he can’t make lunch. Something came unglued in some big deal he’s working on and he’s tied up for a while. But we scheduled dinner instead.”
Nice of you to ask me first whether it would be convenient, Delainey thought. But she said, “Still at the Century Club? What time?”
“No—he said he’s been there so often he’s tired of it. I was telling him about you, and when he heard you lived at White Oaks, he said he’d like to try it for a change. Apparently the place has a wider reputation than I thought.” He looked Delainey over speculatively, as if trying to figure out how she’d managed to beat him to a trend. “That’s all right with you, isn’t it? Arrange it for eight o’clock. And wear something…attractive.” His gaze slid over Sam and dismissed him as unimportant. Then he patted Delainey’s shoulder and strode off down the hall toward the loan department.
“Nice guy,” Sam said.
Of course he would have to be there to witness the whole thing, Delainey thought irritably. “Well, I don’t imagine you were best buddies with everyone you ever worked with. Or is that why you’re not working right now? Because you couldn’t get along with the people you didn’t like?”
Sam seemed not to hear her. “You’re a business loan officer and his secretary,” he said admiringly. “You’re one busy woman.”
“Put a sock in it, Sam. Tell Emma we’ll have dinner another time, all right?”
“You’re standing us up? I’ve heard some fancy excuses to get out of a dinner date in my day, but this one—”
“You’ve heard excuses?” Delainey deliberately let a note of wonder creep into her voice. “You mean personally? There have actually been women who didn’t fall all over themselves to get a date with you?”
Sam’s lower lip quivered in the best imitation of a scolded three-year-old that Delainey had ever seen. “You have a mean streak that runs all the way through, Delainey.”
“And you don’t? That crack about me being a secretary…Tell Emma I’m sorry to disappoint her. I’ll make it up to her.”
“And to me, too?” Sam murmured. “Because I’m warning you—this time I’m going to hold out for a lot more than just roses.”
Josie looked horrified when Delainey came back into the office, but when she heard what had happened she swung efficiently into action. “Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll make all the arrangements,” she said, and she’d picked up the phone before Delainey could answer.
Delainey, still not used to having someone else taking care of details, had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she’d rather do it herself. But that, she knew, would hurt Josie’s feelings, so she went back into her office and buried herself in the paperwork for a new loan application.
Still, she couldn’t quite put the whole thing out of her mind. It wasn’t Josie, after all, who would immediately face the music from Jason Conners if they ended up with a table next to the kitchen door. It was Delainey who would face Jason’s scorn, and she’d already had enough of that to last her a while.
She was sure that Josie would do her level best, but some things were out of Josie’s control. Emma had said that Wednesday nights were always busy at the mansion—and even if the manager recognized Delainey’s name as a new tenant, he didn’t know anything about her yet, so he probably wouldn’t go out of his way. Of course the established customers would get preference.
She arrived at the Mansion early so she could check on the arrangements, and the manager greeted her with a smile. “Ms. Hodges,” he said. “Everything is ready.”
Delainey was startled. “How do you even know my name?”
“Well, partly because I make it a point to know all the tenants, so a new face stands out. But Mr. Wagner stopped earlier to make sure you got extra-special treatment.”
That’s downright terrifying, Delainey thought. She was morally certain that Sam’s notion of extra-special wasn’t the same as her own.
“Would you like to see which table he suggested for you?” Without waiting for an answer, the manager led the way to the dining room.
She was so early that the only people in the room were the busboys who were putting the finishing touches on the tables and in one corner an older couple who were already eating their soup. The manager showed Delainey to a table set for three. It was probably the best location in the room, near a huge marble fireplace where a gas fire flickered, but not so close that the heat would be excessive.
That probably hadn’t been Sam’s reason for choosing it, however, Delainey thought. He’d no doubt figured that if she was any closer to the flames, she’d manage to set herself ablaze.
She could see nothing wrong with any of the arrangements, but that didn’t entirely relieve her apprehension as she sat at the library bar, toying with a glass of wine while she waited for Curtis Whittington and Jason to arrive.
She tried to distract herself by studying the room. So this was where Emma had been playing bridge yesterday. It was a warm, pleasant room, with a high coffered ceiling and long walls lined with books—the kind which looked as if someone had actually read them. The soft strains of Mozart wafted in from the grand piano in the drawing room next door—the live entertainment that Emma had mentioned.
When Jason and Curtis arrived, Delainey slid off the bar stool to greet them. She was mildly surprised to see that Curtis Whittington looked older in person than he had on the magazine covers. But then, she reminded herself, the profiles she’d read last night had been uniformly complimentary about the merger king’s magic touch in making the businesses he acquired more successful—so why would a magazine use a photograph that wasn’t flattering?
In fact, however, Curtis not only looked older in person than in his portraits, but he looked older than he actually was. Though he was just past forty, his stooped shoulders and the deep-slashed lines in his face made him appear a decade more. He looked like a man with an enormous burden to bear.
If his business weighed so heavily on him, Delainey wondered, why didn’t he chuck it and retire to enjoy the fortune he’d already made? Perhaps it simply hadn’t occurred to him that he could stop the amusement-park ride and get off anytime he wanted. Or perhaps it was ego that kept driving him to the next even bigger deal.
She saw Jason point her out, but he hung back a bit as Curtis approached. Behind the merger king’s back, Jason gestured toward Delainey’s dress and made a thumbs-up gesture to her. It was enough to make her wish she’d ignored his heavy-handed suggestion and worn a business suit instead of the sleek black velour with its heart-shaped neckline and lace-trimmed sleeves.
Curtis Whittington seemed to appreciate the dress, however. His dark brown eyes devoured her. “You’re Delainey,” he said. His voice was lower and more gravelly than she’d expected. “It’s a pleasure.” His hand was cold, and it was all Delainey could do not to shiver and pull away from his touch.
It’s cold outside, dummy, she told herself. It’s not like he’s a corpse.
Curtis took the bar stool next to hers. “Nice place,” he said. “Do you like living here?”
Apart from a few neighbors… “I think I’m going to like it very much. I’m still getting settled and learning my way around.”
Jason snapped his fingers at the bartender and gave an order. “Curtis is thinking of buying something locally.”
Delainey was startled. “You mean you’d move here? You’re based in Seattle now, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t move exactly,” Curtis said. “But hotels are such a nuisance. If I’m going to spend any time in a place, I like having my own territory. And I foresee the possibility of spending a lot of time here.”
“Then there must be several companies you’re interested in acquiring,” Delainey said.
“Companies…and other things.”
“Curtis just bought Foursquare Electronics,” Jason said.
“Yes, I read that.” Delainey just hoped nobody quizzed her about it, since that was one of the magazine articles she hadn’t had time to finish. “Are you looking to expand more in that direction, or new ones?”
“I’m always interested in something new,” Curtis said, and winked.
The bartender brought the drinks, and Curtis knocked his Scotch back and ordered another before the man had even moved away.
Delainey regarded him thoughtfully. If the man continued to drink at that rate… “Perhaps we should go on in to dinner.”
Jason shook his head. “There’s no hurry. Let’s get to know each other.”
“We can get acquainted over dinner,” Curtis said. “Let’s get started.”
While Delainey had been waiting in the library bar, the dining room had almost filled, and now only a few tables, including their own, stood empty. Here were all the new neighbors that—if this evening had gone as originally planned—she would be meeting right now, Delainey thought wistfully.
She glanced around the room and felt herself freeze. Now she knew what Sam’s definition of extra-special treatment was. And she’d been right to be wary.
Because Sam and Emma had come to dinner after all—and they were sitting at the table next to hers.
CHAPTER THREE
DESPITE Delainey’s effort at self-control, she must have gasped, because Jason’s gaze focused sharply on her.
She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, because by now she’d had ample evidence of what Sam Wagner was capable of doing. Still, the idea that he would make a special effort to hang around and annoy her—as opposed to simply seizing an opportunity whenever it happened to conveniently present itself—was a little more than she could swallow.
Or perhaps she was being unfair, she told herself. He might have simply concluded that Emma shouldn’t be cheated of her evening out…
More likely it was Emma’s idea to come to dinner anyway, and Sam just decided to make the most of it.
At the next table, Emma looked up from her menu with a beatific smile and a casual little wave. She really was the perfect lady, Delainey thought—acknowledging an acquaintance but making it clear she didn’t expect a conversation at the moment.
Sam, on the other hand, laid the wine list aside, turned halfway around in his chair, and said, “Well, hello there, Delainey.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Sam,” Delainey murmured and deliberately chose the seat at their table which was farthest from him. Curtis practically fell over himself to hold the chair for her, and he seated himself next to her. Jason took the chair opposite Delainey’s, on Curtis’s other side.