Jennifer Crusie Bundle

by Jennifer Crusie

  By Thursday, she was regretting she’d ever met him and counting the hours until she saw him again.

  NICK WOULD HAVE understood perfectly.

  “This may have been a mistake,” he told Christine Thursday morning when she brought the mail into his office and dropped it on his massive ebony desk.

  “Probably,” Christine agreed. “Park left a message. He has a date for tomorrow night with someone who can read. He said to tell you thank-you.”

  “What do you mean ‘probably’?” Nick demanded, tipping his leather desk chair back so he could meet her eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

  “You’re not sure about Tess,” Christine said.

  “How’d you know that?” Nick narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You know, sometimes you’re a little creepy, Christine.”

  “I live to serve,” she said.

  Nick stared at her for a moment, biting his lip, tapping his pen on the desktop. “It’s not just her mouth,” he said finally. “It’s her clothes. She’s completely capable of wrapping herself in a thrift-store tablecloth and calling it a Victorian sarong.”

  Christine waited, staring into space as if mentally doing her nails.

  “Christine…” Nick began, smiling at her with all the charm in his possession.

  Christine buffed another mental cuticle.

  “Yo, Christine,” Nick said, snapping his fingers.

  “I’m here,” Christine said. “Waiting for orders. Any orders.”

  “You know, Christine,” Nick said, “the life of a secretary is a…varied one.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Christine said flatly.

  Nick gave up on the charm. “I know this isn’t in your job description, but go get Tess a dress and have it delivered to her. Then take the rest of the afternoon off so I don’t feel guilty about making you shop instead of type. I’m not going to get a damn thing done until this party is over, anyway.”

  Christine stood patiently. “Where, what size, what color?”

  Nick took a card out of his desk and began to write. “I don’t care where. I don’t know what size. Black. Conservative.” He finished writing and handed her the card. “Put that with it.”

  Christine read the card. “I need to know the size.”

  Nick frowned. “Sort of medium.”

  Christine looked at him with contempt, which Nick saw as a move in the right direction, given Christine’s general detachment from human interaction.

  “How tall is she?” Christine asked.

  “Oh…about here,” Nick said, slicing his hand at chin level.

  “About five eight,” Christine guessed. “How much does she weigh?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. “She’s not fat, but she’s upholstered. You know, soft not bony.” He looked confused. “She’s medium.”

  “Breasts?” Christine asked.

  “Yes.”

  “No, how big are they?”

  Nick frowned up at her, trying not to think about Tess’s breasts. He had two whole days to get through, and he was distracted enough already. “They’re, uh, sort of more than medium, I guess. Do we have to talk about this?”

  “She’s a ten, a twelve or a fourteen.”

  “Split the difference—go for the twelve.”

  “Fine,” Christine said, and drifted toward the door, the card in her hand.

  “Hey,” Nick said. “Would you like some money to pay for this?”

  “No,” Christine said at the door. “I’ll put it on your Visa.”

  Nick blinked. “Can you do that?”

  Christine smiled at him serenely and left.

  “Hey, Christine,” Nick called after her. “If you ever turn to a life of crime, remember I was good to you. Christine?”

  Nothing but silence answered him, so he returned to the problem at hand. How much of a liability was Tess going to be at this party? The more he thought about it, the more depressed he got. Asking Tess had been dumb, and sticking her in an expensive black dress was not going to help things much. Not unless he got her an expensive black gag to go with it. This is what happens when you let your emotions take over, he railed at himself. Just because he wanted to see her again—only all of her this time—he’d asked her to a career-making weekend. The career comes first, he reminded himself. Don’t forget that again.

  Then he went back to worrying.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the glitziest department store in town delivered a package to Tess.

  The underfed messenger pumped his Adam’s apple nervously as he stood in the hall outside her apartment. “Jeez, lady,” he said. “You really live here?”

  “Don’t be a wimp,” Tess told him, but she tipped him more than she could afford anyway, resisting the impulse to offer him food instead. Then she took the box into the apartment and opened it.

  Nick had sent her a black crepe dress. It came below her knee and laced at the sides with black crepe laces that blended so well with the fabric that they were practically invisible. The dress was beautifully if conservatively cut, and Tess hated it on sight. When she tried it on, she hated it even more. It fit perfectly when the laces were loosened, and it made her look respectable and successful. She wanted to kill Nick, but she called Gina to come over instead.

  “Stop bitching,” Gina told her when she got to Tess’s apartment. “He probably knew you didn’t have anything for this kind of shindig. He was being thoughtful.”

  “Wait’ll you see this thing,” Tess said, dragging her into the bedroom.

  But all Gina said when she saw the dress was, “It’s beautiful. It really was thoughtful, Tess.”

  “Thoughtful, my hat. He’s being patronizing. He thinks I don’t have anything decent.”

  Gina looked around Tess’s bedroom, which was furnished with a creaky bed, a dozen thrift-store pillows and Angela, and raised an eyebrow at her.

  Tess grinned and flapped a hand. “That’s not what I meant. I meant he’s assuming I didn’t have anything decent to wear.”

  “You don’t.” Gina dropped onto the bed and looked at the dress wistfully before she returned to her attack. “Look, Tess, he did his laundry with you. He knows what your clothes look like. He knows what you dress like. He did you a favor. What’d the card say?”

  “What card?”

  “There must have been a card.” Gina sounded exasperated as she reached for the box and pawed through the tissue paper until she found it. “Got it. It says…” She hesitated while she pulled it out. “It says, ‘I saw this and knew you’d look great in it. Thank you for saving my life. Nick.”’ Gina frowned at Tess. “And you’re not planning on hanging on to him? You’re nuts. I’d kill to have somebody write me cards like this.”

  “That’s because you don’t know him like I do,” Tess grumbled. “I mean, look at this dress. Nancy Reagan would love this dress. He’s trying to make me a Republican for the weekend.”

  “Nancy Reagan dressed great,” Gina said. “You’re such a bigot. If it’s Republican, you want to burn a cross in the yard. Shape up.” She looked at the dress wistfully again. “It would be nice to have clothes like that, you know? Real clothes, not just cheap stuff.”

  Tess looked at the dress dubiously. “I suppose so.” She pulled at it a little, growing more cheerful as she studied it. “It’s just one night. And then maybe I can change the laces to red and lower the neckline.”

  “And put a slit up the side and pretend you’re Suzie Wong,” Gina added. “Why don’t you just give respectability a try?”

  “Never,” Tess said. “You’ll know I’m dead when I start acting respectable.”

  “Somehow I’m not worried,” Gina said. “Listen, all I’ve got for this thing is my black jersey dress. You know, the one with the belt? Is that gonna be okay?”

  “Sure.” Tess shrugged. “You look great in everything.”

  “It’s not like this,” Gina said, fingering the material of Tess’s dress one more time before she let go. “It�
��s not the kinda dress that people just look at and know it’s a good dress.”

  “Gina, you look so darling in everything you put on that people don’t care what you’re wearing.” Tess hung the dress on the back of the closet door. “Forget about your dress. You’ll look great. Nick’s picking me up at four. You’re riding with Park, right?”

  “You’re not going to be late, are you?” Gina said, sudden panic making her voice sharp. “Please.”

  “You’re not even riding down with us,” Tess said. “What difference does it make to you whether I’m late or not?”

  “All those people.” Gina clutched her hands together. “I want them to think I’m classy. I need you near me.”

  “Not if you want people to think you’re classy,” Tess said, and shut the closet door on the Nancy Reagan dress.

  NICK WAS NOT at all surprised that Tess wasn’t home when he came to pick her up on Friday afternoon. He put his suitcase by the door and rang the bell, and when there was no answer, he leaned against the wall to wait. Tess was always late because she always got caught up in the drama of the moment wherever she was. Time was relative to Einstein and Tess alike.

  While he waited, he thought about Tess and all the ways she could screw up his life, particularly this weekend. The more he thought about Tess and her cheerful bluntness, the more tense he got. He closed his eyes and thought about calling the whole thing off, and then he thought about Tess and spending the weekend with Tess and—if he laid his plans carefully—spending the night with Tess. The career comes first, he reminded himself, but then he also reminded himself that man did not live by career alone. At least she’d be dressed well for the party, and as long as he never left her side maybe he could stop her from actually ruining his life, and besides, he wanted to be with her. He missed her. Okay, the weekend with Welch was probably not the best place to renew Tess’s acquaintance, but it was all he had. There was no point in obsessing over her unpredictability. That was the penalty for being with Tess. Tess would stop being spontaneous when she stopped being sloppy and late, and that would be never. Sometimes he thought that was one of the reasons he missed having her around—her chaos had been a sort of relief from his carefully mapped-out life. Not that there was anything wrong with a carefully mapped-out life. He’d spent twenty years weighing his every option and it had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted.

  Except partner.

  Well, he’d have that soon, too. If it took getting the Welch account, he’d get it, even if he had to bind and gag Tess to do it. And then he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.

  And then what?

  Nick considered his future.

  He’d been thinking about Park’s father’s theory that unmarried men over thirty-five were pathetic. Park’s father was wrong, of course, but he might have a point if he changed the age limit to forty. That was two years away for Nick. It might actually be time to start thinking marriage. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to get married. He had. Eventually. When his career was in place. When he found the right woman.

  But now he might make partner. And if he did, he’d need somebody to be a hostess, somebody to open the door of his house and welcome people in, somebody to call the caterers. It occurred to him that if Christine could develop some expression, it would probably be easiest just to upgrade her status to wife. God knew, she was undemanding and efficient. Unfortunately she was also Morticia Addams without the enthusiasm.

  What he needed was a cross between Christine and Tess.

  He thought about being married to Tess and grinned. Of course, she’d have to get different clothes, and he’d have to get his housekeeper to come every day to pick up after her, and she’d have to learn to shut up when it was politically necessary, but she’d also be around all the time, laughing, warming his life, warming his bed…

  It was a thought with definite promise.

  He heard the door slam downstairs, and then someone pounding up the three flights to Tess’s floor, and then Tess herself surged into view, stopping in her tracks when she saw him.

  She looked like a Gap ad, although he knew better than to tell her that. Her short red hair curled around her pale face, and her eyes were huge and placating as she smiled at him in apology. Her oversize navy T-shirt hung just to her hips over a navy cotton mini skirt, and she was wearing that god-awful baggy navy tweed jacket she loved. It was worn so thin that it fluttered as she walked toward him, but for once, he didn’t care. He felt good just looking at her.

  Suddenly the thought of a life with her had a lot more promise.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she reached him. “I really am.”

  “Relax,” he said, keeping his arms folded so he wouldn’t reach for her. “We’ve got time.”

  Tess stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You said four at the latest.”

  “That’s because I knew you’d be late.” Nick looked at his Rolex. “But now we do have to get moving. Tell me you’re packed.”

  “I’m packed,” Tess said, giving up as she moved past him to unlock her door. “I can’t believe you set me up like this.”

  Nick picked up his suitcase and followed her into the apartment. “So what was it? No, let me guess. You were at the Foundation. Some kid needed help.”

  Tess grinned at him. “All right. Big deal. You know me.”

  “Remember that.” Nick looked around and sighed when he saw her bulging duffel on the couch. “I thought so. Give me that damn thing. I am not taking that to Kentucky.” Tess handed him the bag, and he frowned at her jacket. Her clothes were impossible. “Could we lose the jacket, too, just for the weekend?”

  “Oh, don’t be so snotty.” Tess smoothed her worn sleeve with love. “This is a great jacket. It’s very practical and it never wears out. And it has memories.”

  “Probably more than you do,” Nick said. “It’s been around a lot longer than you have.” He dumped the duffel on Tess’s rickety dining-room table and opened his suitcase beside it. Then he began transferring her clothes to his suitcase. “Of course, on you the jacket looks great, but anything looks great on you.”

  “Save the snake oil.” Tess grinned at him. “I love this jacket. It’s me. I’m wearing it.”

  “Okay, fine. Whatever makes you happy.” Nick folded the last of her clothes into the suitcase and closed it. “Now, we’re ready.”

  “If you say so.” Tess shook her head. “But the duffel would have been a lot easier.”

  “Not on my eyes.” Nick picked up the suitcase. “Not to mention my dignity.”

  Tess’s smile widened. “You have no dignity.”

  “Not around you.” Nick grinned back at her, suddenly warmed by how alive she was just standing in front of him and suddenly damn glad to be with her. “This is why we should be together. You can save me from getting too stuffy.”

  “Fine for you,” Tess folded her arms and looked at him with mock skepticism. “Who’s going to save me?”

  “I am,” Nick said. “Hell, woman, can’t you recognize a hero when you’ve got one in your living room?”

  “This would be you?” Tess lifted an eyebrow.

  “This would be me. Picture me in armor. Better yet picture me out of armor making love to you.”

  Tess blinked at him, and Nick’s smile grew evil.

  “No,” Tess said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Nick shook his head. “Good thing for you I’m a patient man.”

  “That’s not necessarily good for me.”

  “Okay, be that way. Could we get going here? I’d like to have at least a couple of hubcaps left for the ride home. Why are you still living in this dump, anyway? The crime rate around here must be out of control.”

  “It is not.” Tess suddenly looked guilty enough to make Nick wonder if the crime rate really was bad enough to worry her. “And besides,” she plunged on, “if you didn’t bring an overpriced car into a deprived neighborhood, you wouldn’t have to worry about some kid heisting your
hubcaps to even out the economic imbalance. So there.”

  Nick felt his familiar Tess-annoyance rise again. “So you’re saying that some delinquent is justified in stealing my hubcaps because he doesn’t have as much money as I do?” Nick shifted the suitcase to his right hand to keep from strangling her. “Situational ethics, right?”

  “I’m only saying—” Tess began, and then Nick remembered the weekend and held up his hand.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “We have to get through two days together. You look terrific, I look terrific, we like each other a lot when we’re not arguing, and we have a strong sexual attraction that I, for one, think we should act on, so why don’t we just agree not to mention politics until, oh, say, midnight on Sunday?”

  “What sexual attraction? I don’t feel any sexual attraction.” Tess looked away from him. “And I didn’t say you looked terrific.”

  “Well, I do, don’t I?”

  TESS LOOKED BACK at him reluctantly, already knowing she was lost. He was beautiful, neatly pressed into a suit that evidently had no seams at all, every strand of his dark hair immaculately in place. Only his face betrayed any sign of human weakness, mainly because he was grinning at her. It was that grin that got her every time. The suit and the haircut belonged to Nick the lawyer, the yuppie materialist. Him, she could resist, no problem. But the grin belonged to Nick the guy who watched old movies with her and handed her tissues when she cried. It belonged to Nick the guy who did the worst Bogart imitation in the world and who knew it and did it anyway. It belonged to Nick the guy who’d gotten one of her students out of trouble with the police when he’d been caught vandalizing the school, and who’d then put the fear of God into the kid so he’d never pick up another can of spray paint again.

  The grin kept telling her that the real Nick was trapped inside the designer-suited, I’m-making-partner-before-forty Nick. Maybe that was why she kept fantasizing, against her will, about getting that designer suit off him.