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Paige wanted to applaud. Not only had the super neatly circumvented Austin’s attempt to get rid of her, but she’d provided Paige with a line of retreat, as well. The moment the two of them were out of sight, Paige decided, she’d burn a path to the kitchen, jam the flowers into a drinking glass, and get the heck away from Aspen Towers and Austin Weaver….
Coward, she told herself. Running away would only create questions that she didn’t want to answer. It would be far better to stay and act casual. As though this sort of encounter happened every day.
Though of course, she reflected, she could always say—and honestly, too—that with her work done there had been no reason to stay longer.
The child dropped her parka in the precise center of the hallway and started toward Paige.
Austin said, “I don’t see a coat hook on the floor, Jennifer.”
She grinned at him. “But it’s all new, so I don’t know where it goes.”
“Perhaps you should try looking behind that door.” He pointed. Then, without checking to see whether she obeyed, he followed the super down the hall.
Jennifer picked up her parka and opened the closet door. “There aren’t any hooks my size,” she complained and turned to Paige with wide-eyed helplessness.
Unable to resist the appeal in those big brown eyes, Paige took the parka. The soft fur trim tickled her hands as she hung it up. “This is a very pretty coat.”
“It’s new. I didn’t need a thick coat in Atlanta.”
“I suppose not.”
“I don’t like it here. It’s cold.”
“Yes,” Paige said. “It is definitely cold at times. But there are good things about Denver, as well. The mountains, for one, and the wildflowers in the spring—”
“We had a mountain in Georgia. Stone Mountain—with faces carved on it.”
“It’s true,” Paige admitted, “that none of the Rocky Mountains have faces carved on them.”
“Told you Atlanta’s better,” Jennifer said, as if there was nothing further to discuss. “What’s your name?”
“Paige,” she said reluctantly.
“You mean like in a book? That’s funny. Are you like a housekeeper?”
“Not exactly. Aren’t you going to go look at the apartment?”
Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “She’d just try to pat my head again.”
Paige tried to smother a smile. “You don’t like Ms. Cade much, do you?”
“She’s sticky.”
And that, Paige thought, was a pretty good description. Tricia Cade had certainly clung to Austin like caramel on an apple. Paige closed the closet door and started for the kitchen. There were still the flowers to deal with, and then she could escape.
Jennifer dropped into step beside her. “If you’re not the housekeeper, who are you?”
“I’m just helping put things in order so you and your father will be comfortable here.” Paige took a heavy glass mug from the cabinet. “Will you hang on to this to keep it from upsetting while I arrange the flowers in it?”
From the doorway came a quiet voice. “There you are,” Austin said.
Paige’s hand slipped and water splashed across the counter. She hadn’t heard him come down the hall, but that was partly explained when she realized that he was alone. She wondered how he’d managed to dislodge Tricia so quickly.
“Go explore, Jennifer,” he said.
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t recall asking if you wanted to,” Austin said gently. “Your room is just past the front door.”
With her lower lip stuck out and her feet dragging, the child went off. “Not my real room,” she muttered.
Paige put a shaggy mum into place in the mug.
“So it is you,” Austin said.
Puzzled, she shot a look at him. Had he not recognized her immediately? Surely she hadn’t changed so much that he hadn’t known her—though perhaps, since he hadn’t been expecting her to reappear in his life…
And yet, he’d almost sounded as if he had expected to run into her. So it is you, he’d said, as if he was confirming a hunch.
But of course, she thought, both Sabrina and Cassie had talked to him—frequently, in fact—during the weeks they’d been looking for and preparing his apartment. One of them might have mentioned her, and if they’d done so casually, using only her first name—well, it stood to reason that Austin wouldn’t have asked pointed questions about a woman who just happened to be named Paige, any more than she’d rushed to volunteer the facts the moment she’d heard he was in line for a job at Tanner. But of course, he would have wondered, and even been watchful.
“It’s me.” She felt incredibly foolish for not being able to think of anything else to say.
Austin folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. “How have you been?” he asked genially. “And what have you been doing with yourself in the last…let me think, how long has it been, Paige? Six years, I suppose—since our divorce?”
CHAPTER TWO
PAIGE’S voice sounded so taut that Austin wouldn’t have been surprised if it had cracked under the strain. “Seven,” she said. “It’s been almost seven years since the decree was final.”
“Has it really?” Deliberately, he kept his tone lazy. “How time does get away.”
“When one is having fun, I suppose you mean to say?”
He moved across the kitchen and perched on the edge of a tall stool pulled up to the breakfast bar. Besides being more comfortable than standing, the seat had the advantage of being a safe distance from the counter where Paige was arranging flowers. The downside was that from the breakfast bar he could see three of her—the real one and two hazy blonde reflections in the highly polished stainless-steel doors of the refrigerator.
She didn’t look much different, really, than the last time he’d seen her all those years ago. She didn’t even look older. Her face was a bit thinner, the fine bone structure more prominent. But perhaps even that change was simply the result of her hairstyle—shorter than he’d ever seen it before, like a fluffy mane that looked as if she could run her fingers through it in the morning and be done with it for all day.
How typical of Paige that would be, he thought, with her almost-Puritan practical streak. While she’d always taken care to look neat and attractive and feminine, Paige had never put much emphasis on the glamorous extras.
He almost laughed at the understatement. In fact, he thought, she’d practically gone out of her way to avoid them…
It seemed to him that outlook of hers hadn’t changed in the least, despite the passage of time. Her attitude showed not only in her hairstyle—for flattering though it was, the cut had obviously been chosen for convenience as well as looks—but in her manicure. He watched her slim fingers as she worked with the flowers. Even from across the room, he could see that though her nails were evenly trimmed and buffed to a shine, they were completely innocent of polish.
She’d always avoided bright nail polish, he remembered. He’d told her once it was a shame not to emphasize the delicate grace of her shapely hands by painting her nails red, but she’d simply shaken her head and said brilliant nails were a waste of time, requiring almost constant care and upkeep, with attention to each minuscule chip or scratch.
Yes, he thought, she was the same old Paige….
He drew himself up short. She wasn’t the same old Paige, he told himself. If anything, she was probably even more set in her ways than she’d been seven years ago—and he’d be wise to remember it.
She stabbed another stem into the mug. “I should have thought our divorce would be an easy date for you to remember.”
Austin frowned. “I don’t celebrate it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course not. I’m certainly not saying that our divorce is important enough for you to recall it for its own sake.”
She’d gotten better at sarcasm, Austin reflected. More controlled, far more subtle. It flicked him on the raw nevertheless.
“But you can surely remember how old your daughter is,” Paige went on sweetly, “and how long it was before she was born that you met her mother. From there it should be no step at all to recall—”
“How long I’d been free at the time. I see what you mean now. If we’ve been divorced nearly seven years, and Jennifer’s soon going to be six…You’re quite right, Paige.” He let a congratulatory note creep into his voice. “It was very nearly the same time as when you filed for divorce.” He saw her tiny, almost-concealed shudder. “What’s the matter? Are you jealous because I moved on with my life, and you haven’t?”
“Of course I’m not jealous. Your choices have no significance for me. Besides, why would you think I’m stuck in a rut somewhere?”
“Your name, for starters,” he said. “The super called you Ms. McDermott—just as you asked of the judge in the divorce petition, when you got tired of being Paige Weaver.”
She shrugged. “I made the mistake of giving up my name once, when I married—and it was terribly untidy to get it back. Perhaps the next time around I was just wiser.”
“And perhaps,” he said curtly, “if you were talking about the truth instead of vague possibilities, you’d be making definite statements instead of subjective ones.”
She tilted her chin up. It was a gesture he remembered well; in the old days it had usually meant she knew she was on less-than-solid ground. “All right, so I haven’t married again. At least I learned my lesson.”
“Meaning what? That I didn’t?”
“What other conclusion is there? You got yourself mixed up with a woman while you were on the rebound—”
He picked up an apple from the polished fruit bowl on the counter and rubbed it against his sleeve. “You’re giving yourself quite a little credit there, I see.”
“If you’re talking about your bad choices, they’re not my responsibility.”
“No. I mean your assumption that I was on a rebound from you,” he said gently, and watched with slightly malicious pleasure as the dart hit her dead center. He bit into the apple with a satisfying crack.
Irritation flared in her big hazel eyes. “Oh, come on, Austin. Even bad marriages—especially bad marriages—have aftereffects. People do crazy things after a divorce, no matter how much they wanted to be free.”
“You sound as if you’re speaking from personal experience. What crazy things did you do?”
“None,” she said crisply.
Austin shook his head sadly. “What a shame—to be so repressed that you’ve forgotten how to let your hair down.”
“Attacking me doesn’t change the circumstances. It’s obvious just from the timing what happened to you—to say nothing of the fact that the relationship obviously wasn’t successful. You’re here, with your little girl, and her mother is—do you even know where?”
He said wryly, “I don’t have a forwarding address, no.”
“As I said, at least I learned my lesson.”
“Have you.” He didn’t intend it to be a question. “How is your mother, by the way?”
Paige looked wary. “She’s fine.”
“Still enjoying her invalidism, I suppose?”
“There’s nothing fictional about Mother’s disability.”
“Only about her dramatic way of coping with it.”
“I don’t have any idea why you would think I’m interested in your opinions about my mother, Austin.”
“Really? That’s just about the way I feel concerning your opinions about my life.”
She closed her eyes momentarily and he saw a flicker of pain in her face, as if the shaft had gone home.
“It’s ironic,” he mused, “that the woman who didn’t want to be married to me ends up as my hired wife.”
“But not for long.” Paige wiped off the counter and set the mugful of flowers to one side. “I’ve left a chicken casserole in the oven for you, and a salad in the refrigerator. Don’t worry, neither includes anything but healthy ingredients—the last thing Rent-A-Wife needs is a case of food poisoning laid at our door.”
Jennifer bounced down the hall and across the kitchen to fling herself against her father. “It’s exactly like my old room! It’s just like you promised!”
Over his daughter’s head, Austin met Paige’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said stiffly.
She shrugged. “Not me. Jennifer’s room was entirely Sabrina’s doing.” She washed her hands. “The grocery list you sent has been filled and everything stored away. And now that I’ve done all I can to make the place ready for you, I’ll get out of your way and leave the two of you to settle in.”
She brushed past him and picked up her coat from a kitchen chair. “Goodbye, Jennifer.” Her voice grew softer. “I hope you’ll learn to like Denver despite the cold.”
Then she was gone, through a back door Austin hadn’t even seen.
Jennifer stared after her. “Why did she go away?”
“Probably because she had other things to do right now.”
“Why did she sound like she’s never coming back?”
“Perhaps because she doesn’t intend to.”
“Oh. That must be because she doesn’t like you.” The child’s voice was matter-of-fact.
It wasn’t the first time that Jennifer’s precocious insight had set Austin back on his heels. Sometimes, he thought, she seemed to be five years old going on thirty—both perceptive and acute.
And even more dead on target than Paige had been, as she’d so curtly diagnosed his weaknesses. Paige, he thought, had missed the mark in a couple of critical areas.
He’d made his share of bad choices, just as she’d deduced, and he wouldn’t deny it. But not everything he’d done in the months after their divorce had fallen into the category of things to be regretted.
Take Jennifer, for example. She had been anything but a bad choice.
Why, Paige asked herself miserably, had she let herself be drawn into that insane discussion? Why had she allowed herself to voice her opinions at all? And why had she left herself open to that cutting remark about his lack of interest in what she thought of him?
She could have simply refused to take part in the whole conversation. She could have maintained a cool silence. She could at least have avoided any mention of Jennifer’s mother.
But no—she’d had to go behave like a shrew. Not that she didn’t have some cause; Austin must have taken up with the woman practically before the ink on the divorce decree was dry, to have a child who was almost six. And it wasn’t much comfort to tell herself that many men wouldn’t have waited even that long; for all she knew, Austin hadn’t waited, either. Though Paige hadn’t so much as suspected the existence of another woman at the time, perhaps he had just been very careful, very lucky at keeping a double life under wraps—
“At this rate,” she said aloud, “you’re going to drive yourself nuts over something that happened years ago and has no significance now. So cut it out.”
Paige took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind as she steered the minivan out into rush-hour traffic.
At least, she reminded herself, the first and most difficult encounter was over. And now that Austin knew about her, he’d no doubt be every bit as careful to avoid another runin as Paige intended to be.
Her cell phone rang, and she took advantage of a red light to dig it out of her leather tote bag.
Sabrina said, “When are you going to be leaving Austin’s apartment?”
“I’m headed for home right now. Why?”
“Can you stop by Caleb’s house? It’s practically on your way.”
“My mother will be expecting me.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Sabrina wheedled. “That’s all. I picked up your bridesmaid’s dress from the shop this afternoon, because I figured if you were ever going to have time to try it on, it wouldn’t be during regular business hours.”
Paige tried to smother a sigh. Right now, with every inch of her body still smarting from Austin’s words, she didn’t want to face either of her partners. She just wanted to go home and…
Not face your mother, she finished. A few minutes’ respite from Eileen McDermott’s all-observant gaze would be a blessing. In comparison, Sabrina—perceptive as she could be—was downright oblivious. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few minutes if traffic cooperates.”
“Great. I want to talk to you about something, anyway.” Sabrina sounded almost somber.
Paige forgot her own troubles. “It’s not Caleb, is it? I mean, you haven’t had a fight?”
“Too many to count. It’s our favorite pastime.” The bounce was back in Sabrina’s tone. “But nothing serious. It’s my mother that’s the problem.”
“Again?”
“Are you sure you don’t mean still? I’ll tell you when you get here.”
When Paige parked her van in front of Caleb Tanner’s three-story Georgian house, Sabrina opened the door to greet her and while she waited for Paige to come up the walk, idly began picking off fragments of loose paint from the siding next to the entrance.
“It’ll be a mansion again someday,” Paige said as she climbed the crumbling concrete steps. “With your taste and Caleb’s money, anything’s possible.”
“It’s just too bad I can’t buy enough good weather to work on the exterior in the winter.” Sabrina led Paige upstairs to a newly decorated guest room and pulled a garment bag from the closet. “Conversation later,” she decreed. “Let’s get the important stuff out of the way first.”
The dress she displayed was raspberry silk, in an Edwardian style which even included a tiny bustle. It was one of the most beautiful—and impractical—things Paige had ever seen. “Gorgeous,” she said as she turned to the mirror, hands holding the neckline in place while Sabrina started to deal with the long row of buttons up the back of the gown. “But don’t tell me Cassie’s enthusiastic about this color. With that red hair of hers—”
“She’s wearing periwinkle blue, but it’s styled the same.” Sabrina sounded abstracted.
Paige watched her for a moment. “So tell me what your mother’s up to.”
“She invited my cousin and a friend I haven’t seen in at least ten years to be bridesmaids.”
“How thoughtful of her.”
“Wasn’t it, though? And that’s not the worst of it. She invited them before she bothered to tell me. The first I knew of it was when the old friend called this afternoon to tell me how excited she was about being in my wedding and to ask where she should pick up her dress.”
“So what are you going to do? Look around for a couple more ushers to keep the numbers even?”
Sabrina shook her head. “I can’t add more bridesmaids, even if I wanted to. Caleb is edgy enough at the very idea of having a formal wedding. I don’t dare suggest making an even bigger production out of it. Two bridesmaids, two ushers—that’s his absolute limit.”
“Then if you’re wondering whether I’d mind stepping aside for a substitute in order to keep the peace—”
Paige ran a hand over the sleek heavy silk as she thought about Sabrina’s truce with the parents who had once disowned her. It was, she thought, too new and too fragile to risk. And even if Sabrina’s mother had veered over the line from helpful to managing…well, she was still Sabrina’s mother, after all.
Paige half turned to face her friend and went on, “Surely you know you don’t have to ask, Sabrina. I wouldn’t be offended, and I’m sure Cassie feels the same. And it wouldn’t be too late to have the dresses altered if—”
Sabrina’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of asking anything of the sort! You and Cassie are my best friends—if the two of you weren’t standing beside me through the ceremony, I wouldn’t even feel married.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Paige said lightly, but she felt a tremor deep inside. How lucky she was to have friends like this. “So what are you going to do? Tell them there’s been a mix-up, and talk to your mother?”
“You think I haven’t already? Their feelings were hurt, and Mother cried and said she was only trying to help.” Sabrina sighed. “I’m just afraid of what this desire to be helpful will make her do next.” A knock at the door made Sabrina break off, and she went to open it.
Paige turned back and forth in front of the long mirror, admiring the play of light and shadow against the distinct weave of the fabric, only half hearing the murmur of the butler’s voice at the door.
Sabrina came back to the mirror, her eyes alight. “Now that’s downright lucky,” she said. “That I called you over here tonight, I mean. Austin’s in town—you must have just missed him at his apartment.”
“Actually,” Paige began.
“He’s downstairs right now, in fact—he stopped by to say hello. It’s so sweet of him, I think, to make a courtesy call on his first night in town. Hurry and change out of that dress so you can come down and meet him.”
“Sabrina, I—” Paige’s throat seemed to swell shut.
“On second thought, don’t change.” Sabrina grabbed her arm. “Come down just as you are.”
Paige said flatly, “I can’t.”
“Why not? You mean, the dress? It only matters that Caleb not see my wedding gown before the ceremony, you know. The bridesmaids’ dresses don’t count. Come on, Paige—oh, I didn’t get nearly all the buttons fastened, did I? Here, turn around and let me finish.”
Paige didn’t move. “Why are you so anxious for me to meet Austin? And why right now?”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “You think I’m trying to fix you up, don’t you?” She chuckled. “Darling, I’ve known you for more than two years, and I’ve learned the lesson well. I would never dare try to organize anything which even faintly resembled a date for you.”
“That all sounds good,” Paige said suspiciously, “but—”
“I just think you should get to know Austin. If Rent-A-Wife is going to keep on taking care of Tanner Electronics’ employees, it wouldn’t hurt a bit for all three of us to be on speaking terms with the new CEO.”
Paige bit her lip. She could hardly argue with that. And it was a little late to start explaining that she’d gone well past speaking terms with Austin Weaver, all the way to ferocious argument and accusation, earlier this very afternoon—to say nothing of sharing the whole history of her relationship with Austin Weaver while the man himself was waiting just downstairs…
“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll come down. But I’ll have to get into my own clothes first. I can’t walk around wearing this elegant dress and my everyday loafers.” And I’ll take my own sweet time about changing, Paige told herself. With any luck, Sabrina would mention that Paige was upstairs, and Austin would set a speed record for the door.
“On second thought,” Sabrina murmured, “if you’re trying to look your best for him, Paige, perhaps I should try to organize a date!”
But Paige’s luck was cold indeed. Either Sabrina hadn’t commented about the friend who’d be coming down in a few minutes, or Austin had seen no acceptable way to excuse himself, for when Paige came down the stairs she could hear the murmur of several voices in the living room. Among them she had no trouble picking out the low, rich tones of Austin’s voice and the high notes of Jennifer’s.
Though why, Paige asked herself, should she leap to the conclusion that he’d be uncomfortable enough to run just because she happened to be on the scene?
You’d better get over the idea that you’re anything more than incidental to him, she told herself. And the sooner, the better.
As the man had said himself this afternoon, he had gone on with his life—and straight on, at that, barely even pausing over the little matter of a divorce. Jennifer’s childish soprano ought to be reminder enough of that; even if Paige had once been the most important thing in Austin Weaver’s life—which seemed increasingly doubtful, from the evidence at hand—she had long since ceased to be significant.
Just as he was no longer significant to her. She’d made a mistake earlier in the day, allowing herself to put too much importance on the past, allowing herself to become shrill over something which didn’t matter at all anymore. Now that she’d realized her error, she could be every bit as indifferent to Austin as he was to her.
She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene at a glance. Austin was seated on the couch, with his back to her and his daughter nestled up against his side.
Knowing she could still walk away, Paige had to force herself to step into the living room.