by Patricia Kay
“But those are all such pleasurable things to do,” her mother was saying as Joanna’s thoughts whirled. “And I can help you. Why don’t you plan to come for dinner Sunday and we can make lists? It’ll be fun.” There was nothing Ann Marie Spinelli enjoyed more than making lists and organizing things. She even enjoyed it when she knew Joanna’s dad would probably discourage half of her ideas.
“Ohmigod, Mom,” Joanna said. “Until I said everything out loud, I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t imagine how I’ll get everything done. I have to find someone to help me, like, immediately.” She looked around in a panic, as if this unknown person might be somewhere in the room.
“Now, honey, calm down. I know all of this must feel a bit overwhelming, but you know what to do.”
Joanna swallowed. She did?
Then as quickly as the panic had overtaken her, it began to subside. Of course she knew what to do. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, and she had no naysayers living with her. She laughed shakily. “You’re right. I have to make a list and prioritize. And then just do one thing at a time.”
“And I’ll help you. Now...what about Sunday?”
“I should work on Sunday.”
“Joanna...”
“Oh, okay. I’ll come for eleven-thirty Mass and stay for dinner. But then I’m coming home to work.”
“Of course. But only after we make our lists.”
Joanna laughed. Her mother always managed to have the last word.
Chapter Six
Marcus was skeptical about the chance of Tad actually showing up for breakfast when he was supposed to, so he couldn’t hide his surprise when he entered the main dining room and saw his brother shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“Didn’t think I’d be here, did you?” Tad said when he’d finished swallowing.
“Life is full of surprises,” Marcus said. He walked to the sideboard where fresh fruit and several varieties of juice waited. After pouring himself a glass of tomato juice, he sat in his customary seat at the head of the table. A carafe of hot coffee was already there.
As if some hidden bell had summoned her, Franny quietly appeared at his side. “What can I get you this morning, Mr. Marcus?”
“How about a toasted bagel?”
“Butter or cream cheese?”
“Butter and blackberry jam.”
Franny smiled and nodded. Before walking away, she handed him the Wall Street Journal as well as the Seattle Times.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Tad said. “Are you going to put me in chains and throw me into the dungeon?”
“Don’t tempt me.” Marcus drank his juice, then added cream to his coffee.
“Oh, c’mon, Marcus, it’s not that bad. In fact, I’m fine. Call up Old Beagle Beak if you don’t believe me.”
Old Beagle Beak was the nickname Tad had given to Celia Kimball, the head of Rosewood. “I intend to.”
“Good. She’ll agree with me.”
“If you say so.” He seriously doubted this. “In the meantime, did you think about our conversation last night?”
Tad shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”
“And?”
“I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you mean. I told you. I need some time to get used to life on the outside again.”
Marcus felt like saying participating voluntarily in a rehab program wasn’t even close to being in prison, but what good would it do? He and Tad had had similar conversations for years. Tad saw things his own way, whether his way had any relation to reality or not.
“Tell you what,” Marcus said after drinking some of his coffee. “I’ll give you a month. If, at the end of that time, you haven’t figured out where you’re going from here, or if you haven’t found a job on your own, we’ll find you a spot at Barlow. Somewhere you can learn about the business from the ground up.”
“Let’s get something straight.” Tad put down his fork and stared at Marcus. “I’m not going to work at the loading dock. If that’s what you’ve got in mind, you can just forget about it.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of shipping and receiving.” That’s where Marcus himself had begun.
“Just as bad,” Tad muttered.
“And just what would you consider an appropriate place to begin?” Marcus told himself not to lose his temper.
Before Tad had a chance to answer, Vanessa entered the room. “Good morning,” she said.
“Morning,” the brothers said simultaneously. Then, turning back to Marcus, Tad said, “What does shipping have to do with accounting? I do have an accounting degree, you know.”
“You’ve never used it.”
“I did so! I worked at Turner & Turner.” Turner & Turner was a local Seattle accounting firm.
“For how long?” They both knew he’d been “let go” a month after he was hired.
“So the job didn’t last long. What difference does that make?”
“It makes a great deal of difference.”
“You’re determined to punish me, aren’t you?”
“I don’t consider it punishment to ask you to learn the business the way I learned it.”
“I’m not you, Marcus.”
“That’s obvious.”
Tad abruptly stood, causing several of the glasses on the table to wobble. “I can do without your sarcasm.”
“But not without my money.” The words were said quietly, but their effect was like a bomb bursting.
“Your money! Your money! I’m sick of hearing that from you. It’s our money. Dad left it to all of us equally.”
“Yes,” Marcus said, still quietly. “He did. But he was smart enough to put safeguards in place. You’ve run through all the money you can legally use any way you want to. And you cannot sell your stock without both Mother’s and my permission.”
“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. I’m thirty-two years old, for God’s sake. My share of stock is worth millions, but some stupid will says I can’t touch a penny of it. I’m going to hire a lawyer. See if I don’t.”
“You’re free to do whatever you please. Just remember—I’m not going to pay for the lawyer. You’ll have to find a way to do that yourself.”
Since another of the terms of their father’s will stipulated that once Tad’s initial cash settlement—or any of theirs—was gone, they would each receive a monthly allowance of a thousand dollars and no more, Marcus knew it would be impossible for Tad to hire a lawyer until he found a job.
In answer to Marcus’s proclamation, Tad slammed his hand down on the table, glared at his brother, then, muttering under his breath something about Marcus being sorry, he stomped from the room.
Vanessa, who hadn’t said a word during this tirade, walked around to where Marcus sat. She leaned down and hugged him. “I’m sorry I’ve given you a bad time lately,” she said.
Marcus squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
“He’ll settle down. He’s just angry right now.”
“You think so?”
“I hope so, anyway.”
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
“Yes, I do. To allow him to sell off his stock would be a disaster.”
Sometimes Marcus wasn’t sure. As Tad had pointed out, he was old enough to do what he wanted with his life. And if that meant he squandered the remainder of his inheritance, why should Marcus care?
Why? Because you’ve had to be a grown-up your entire life. You’ve had to make tough decisions and take responsibility for everything and everyone, whether you wanted to or not. You don’t know any other way to behave.
And if Marcus did allow Tad to blow the rest of his money, then what? Tad would still be an albatross around Marcus’s neck, for Marcus would never l
et him starve.
And Tad knew that.
No wonder he wouldn’t grow up.
* * *
Joanna had hoped to hear from Marcus or his assistant on Monday, but it was Tuesday before the assistant called. Thankfully, Chick was away for the day, so Joanna didn’t have to worry about him overhearing the conversation and giving her grief over it.
“Miss Spinelli?”
“Yes.”
“This is Judith Holmes, Mr. Barlow’s assistant.”
“Yes, hi.”
“Mr. Barlow wanted me to ask you if you would be available to lunch with him and his sister on Thursday.”
Joanna smiled. So much better to do the lunch thing on her day off than argue with Chick about how long she’d be gone. “Thursday’s perfect,” she said happily.
“Good. Mr. Barlow said to tell you he would stop by and pick you up at noon, if that works for you.”
“Pick me up?”
“Yes, he figured that would be more convenient for you than having to drive somewhere and find a place to park. You know how Seattle can be.” The Holmes woman chuckled. “Besides, he likes to drive.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “He has a really neat car.”
Joanna smiled. “Well, in that case, great.”
“He said he’ll need your address.”
Joanna gave it to the woman, thanked her and they hung up. Afterward, Joanna sat and looked at the phone for a long time. She had butterflies just thinking about how her life had changed in the past week. She’d gone from a person with very few options to one with a bright future ahead of her.
And all of it was due to Marcus Barlow. Well, not all of it. Some of her good fortune was due to the Queen Anne Community Bank and their generous loan. But the show Marcus had promised her was what would really put her and her designs on the map.
Joanna hugged herself. She was so happy right now. Everything in her life was finally going the way she’d dreamed of it going. In fact, the sky seemed to be the limit. She kept thinking it was probably a sin to be so happy. In fact, she was probably tempting fate. No doubt just daring fate to throw a monkey wrench into her plans.
She just hoped the monkey wrench wouldn’t turn out to be Vanessa Barlow. Because no matter what Marcus Barlow had said, no matter that he seemed to really like her—she couldn’t help thinking of that moment in the storeroom—Joanna knew it would be best if his sister liked her and her designs, too. Otherwise, there was nothing stopping Marcus from changing his mind. Contract or no contract.
* * *
Joanna hated to be late, so on Thursday, to ensure that Marcus wouldn’t have to wait for her, she went down to the lobby of her building fifteen minutes before noon. While waiting, she sat and chatted with Thomas, the security guard, while keeping one eye out for Marcus’s arrival.
A few minutes before noon, a sleek red sports car pulled up to the curb. Joanna had no idea what kind of car it was; she just knew it was expensive. It had to belong to Marcus. Sure enough, she’d barely pushed open the front door of her building when she saw Marcus emerge from the driver’s side. He smiled when he saw her and managed to come around and open the passenger door before she even reached it.
Always the gentleman, she thought, half amused and half annoyed. The annoyance was caused by her wish to find some fault with him. Why did he have to be so darned perfect?
Since she had figured his sister would probably be riding with them, she was surprised to see the car was empty.
“Vanessa’s meeting us there,” he said to her unasked question.
“Oh, okay. Where are we going?” He sure looked good. Today he wore dark gray slacks, an open-necked white shirt and a black leather jacket. Joanna had dressed carefully, too—and as conservatively as her wardrobe would permit. She’d put on a short black knit dress, black tights and her black suede boots. And she’d slung the red shawl her mother had made her around her shoulders. But she hadn’t toned down her makeup or her hair. She wasn’t trying to impress anybody. It was her work that counted, not the way she looked or dressed.
“Canlis,” he said in answer to her question. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants.”
“Mine, too.” Not that Joanna frequented the legendary restaurant often. But, like most longtime Seattle residents, she loved its ambience and gorgeous view of Lake Union. And the food was to die for. It also had the bonus of being quiet enough to actually talk to your dinner companions, unlike a lot of the new places where noise seemed to be part of the decor.
“That’s a beautiful shawl,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance before swinging out into traffic.
“Thank you. My mother made it.”
“I thought maybe you did.”
She was ridiculously pleased that he’d remembered the crocheted dress in her portfolio and that she’d told him she did her own crocheting and knitting. “No, she was the one who taught me to crochet and knit. It’s probably one of the reasons I first became interested in fashion.”
“You owe her, then.” He shifted gears, and accelerated.
“I do. She’s great.” She could see his assistant was right. He liked to drive. Fast. Then again, anyone owning a car like this one would definitely like speed. “What kind of car is this, anyway?” she asked after he shifted gears again.
“It’s a Ferrari.”
“It’s beautiful.” Joanna wondered what her dad would say if he could see it. He thought all things Italian were better than anything anyone else could produce.
“Thank you. I admit it. I love cars. I have a more sensible one, too, but I prefer to drive this one.”
For a while, they didn’t talk as he expertly navigated the traffic and she covertly studied him. He had nice hands, she decided, with long fingers and well-groomed nails. They rested almost lovingly on the steering wheel, which made her imagine they would rest just as lovingly on a woman’s skin. The unbidden thought caused her to squirm a bit. Can’t you at least try to keep your imagination out of the R-rated zone? You know he’s off-limits, so cut out the inappropriate thoughts.
Even as she lectured herself, she couldn’t help wondering why Marcus wasn’t married. She knew he was thirty-five, soon to be thirty-six; she’d done a search on him. She also knew a lot about his background because she’d read all the articles her search had turned up. A man as wealthy, successful and sexy as he was had to be considered a catch. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done his share of dating. In fact, a couple of the stories she’d read about him came from the society pages of the local newspaper, and according to them he had only recently ended a relationship with one Amanda Warren—herself a prominent member of Who’s Who in Seattle. She was one of the beautiful people, too. One photo taken when the two of them had attended a charity dinner showed a tall, elegant blonde with a dazzling smile.
Boy, if Joanna had been in the Warren woman’s shoes, she would have held on to Marcus any way she could. Not that she ever would be in those shoes, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Of course, having a relationship with Marcus wouldn’t all be roses. She wouldn’t be crazy about attending tons of charity dinners and doing all that society stuff, but even though she was different and wanted different things than the Warren woman probably wanted, dating Marcus Barlow—at least for a while—wouldn’t be a hardship. He probably thought nothing of whisking a date off to Paris for the weekend. If only she was the kind of person who wanted a fling. You’re not, though. You have serious goals and you want the kind of marriage Georgie has. Remember that. Yeah, Joanna thought wryly, she wanted it all, and she wanted it all her own way.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, startling her.
“Oh, sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.” She knew her face had heated. If he’d known she was fantasizing about him, what would he think?
“Take a penny for the
m?”
She laughed. “They’re hardly worth it. I was just thinking...about my boss,” she fibbed. “And how he’d better get on the stick and hire someone to replace me.” That wasn’t really a lie. She had been thinking just that earlier.
“He hasn’t done that yet?”
“No. He’s barely even interviewed. The problem is, he travels too much. Doesn’t leave much time for mundane things like finding a new assistant.”
“I think I already told you I’d be in serious trouble if my assistant left. She’s like my right hand. Cut it off, I couldn’t function.”
“I offered to do the interviewing for him, but he blew me off. I don’t think he trusts me.”
“And how long did you say you’d worked for him?”
“Six years, going on seven.”
“During which I imagine you’ve run the office not only while he travels, but probably most of the time even when he’s there.”
“Yes.”
“And he trusts you to do that.”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s an idiot for not letting you find a replacement. And frankly, if that’s his attitude, I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m not.” She wondered what Marcus would think if she told him how she really felt about Chick. Of course, if he knew how stupid she’d been to get mixed up with her boss on a personal level, he’d probably lose all respect for her.
Before she had time to explore that sobering thought, Marcus had swung into the front entrance of the restaurant and handed the valet parking attendant his keys.
Joanna enjoyed the way the valet—who knew Marcus by name—acted toward him, and then the maitre d’—who couldn’t have been more attentive and who personally escorted them to a choice table in a corner by the windows. As it was a beautiful, sunny day, the water of Lake Union shimmered as if sprinkled with hundreds of tiny jewels.
“Vanessa should be here soon,” Marcus said as they were seated. “She had a class this morning and was coming here afterward.”
