Lessons in tact from Gage Fitzgerald were the last thing Sabrina needed right now. Now he was looking at her with guarded eyes as though she were one of those loathsome people who abandoned their pets at kill shelters.
“Yeah? Well, maybe she broke mine, too,” she exploded passionately. “If something happened to Molly, if she ended up in a chair or even worse—” She didn’t want to speak the unspeakable. “—I can’t lose Molly. I just can’t.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Why am I telling you all this?”
“Good question.” He arched a brow. “The person you should be talking to is Molly.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” Right now all Sabrina wanted was to be away from everyone.
“Sabrina?”
“What?” She paused, her hand on the doorknob.
“I’d suggest you do it now before the cut goes deeper,” Gage said, only there was no condescension in his voice.
Sabrina sat at the small kitchen table and shoveled her meal into her mouth without tasting a thing. It was only ten o’clock. Molly would still be cutting things up in the sewing room while Sebastian graded his students’ essays. Sabrina retrieved her cell phone from her purse and accessed her frequently called numbers: Mom, Capitol Hell and Molls. Her finger paused over the last entry before she put the phone down.
Molly would forgive her. Molly always did. It wasn’t as though they’d never fought. Sabrina thought back to their thirteenth year when they’d gone to the same summer camp. Molly had gotten bent out of shape when Sabrina innocently befriended an eighteen-year-old camp counselor. Molly had insisted his motives were less than savory. Sabrina had refused to listen. This had ultimately led to a two-week standoff when they spoke to each other only to call dibs on the shower.
Then when the counselor shoved his tongue down Sabrina’s throat behind the boathouse after the Fourth of July fireworks display, she had run back to the dorm room, humiliated. Molly had consoled her and never once exercised gloating rights. She and Molly then agreed to keep things hush-hush. But for the next four days until camp ended, Molly had stuck with her like a cocklebur, guarding her protectively every time the counselor came around.
There had been other silly sisterly quibbles over the years. This time it felt different. Irrevocable. The thought of ever facing Molly again was so daunting as to feel impossible. Sabrina went to her computer desk.
From: sabrina@lascasadimarch…
To: molly@lechateauduparker…
Subject: …
Dear Molls,
Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I imagine the far future. I see you and me puttering around in the same assisted living center when we get old, playing bingo (we always win — go us!) and complaining about the fried fish dinner (Fridays were made for pizza). You finally teach me to quilt (even though I’m really bad at it) while Sebastian works on the tenth revision of his memoirs. I believe that future can happen.
What if that’s no longer so—?
I know you’re going to be a great mother, Molly. If there’s one woman on this great blue planet who deserves that honor, it’s you. I want you to have a lot of children. I want your daughter (or son) to call me ‘Aunt Brini.’ Gage says—
Sabrina stopped typing. She contemplated the words on the screen for several minutes before clicking “cancel.”
This isn’t the way.
She went through her nightly ritual of rubbing moisturizer into her face and lotion into her arms and legs. Then she climbed into bed wearily. Her mind went through various scenarios that might result from Molly’s pregnancy. Sabrina tried to be optimistic. But at the end of each scenario, there was no happy ending.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We close up shop at two.” Theo popped his head into the Think Tank early Friday morning. “I figured you’d need a little primp time before the gala tonight, Chief. I noticed you didn’t give me your RSVP. Still just one?”
Sabrina looked at her fingers, which were stained with copier toner. “Still one,” she told him.
“Gotcha.” Theo looked a little uncomfortable. “Ah, just so you’ll have the heads up, Sprinkle’s attending.”
“You could have let me know before this morning, Theo.” Sabrina tried to sound collected. A face-to-face encounter with Jackson was precisely what she wanted to avoid, even if it was only a one-off.
“I can’t scratch the Tide Brothers’ lead counsel from the guest list just because you gave back his letter sweater.” Theo shrugged. “Bring a date if you’re so worried about running into Sprinkle. Isn’t that what you women usually do? Tell you what,” he said, a sudden gleam in his eyes. “I’ll put you down for a plus one just in case something pans out.”
Theo didn’t know what he was talking about, Sabrina decided after he went back into his office. Even if she could scare up an escort within a period of twelve hours, certain logistics were involved. A tux needed to be rented and prior engagements cancelled. No one was that spontaneous.
No one except maybe …
Sabrina leaned over her desk and shot a covert look through the doorway. She could see Carlton nattering on the phone at the receptionist’s desk. Moira had made a run to the library, leaving Sabrina alone. She turned on the radio and twisted the volume knob down low.
“—which is why social networking sites are for pussies, man,” Gage was saying. “How many sad souls will be hunkered behind laptops tonight hoping they’ll find the love of their lives playing fu— effin’ ‘Mafia Wars’?”
“Or just trying to find someone to score,” Giggles pitched in helpfully.
“The answer is: I don’t know, friends. However, I do know one pussy who’s about to find out what happened to Lacey Adams. Pass me your laptop, Gideon. Are you logged onto this thing, this … whassit, Facebook? Dumbass name for a social networking site,” he muttered.
“So Lacey spun your top, dude?”
“Only in my dreams,” Gage said. “She was the only chick in high school who never let me get to third base. The rest of ’em? Hell, it was Bunk, Iowa. Small-town girls get bored, too.”
“Awesome, dude. Just type the name in the ‘search’ field and … yeah!”
“Well, hot damn,” Gage said with delight a few seconds later. “Lacey Adams, Walden, Iowa. Status: ‘It’s complicated.’ What does that mean? She still has great top action going on. Hell, yeah, I’ll ‘Add as Friend’.”
Sabrina groaned as she pushed the filing cabinet shut. She still had days when she couldn’t believe Gage got paid to flap his gums.
“Let’s search for somebody else.” He sounded more enthused. “Lessee, S-A-B-R-I … ”
“Dude,” Giggles breathed in awe. “That’s her? That’s the CHB?”
“No, no, no!” Sabrina wailed as she scrambled to her computer. She couldn’t believe that those two overgrown frat boys were ogling her Facebook profile. She quickly accessed the site and logged in. Who could predict what mockery Gage would make of her Osho quote?
“Cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” Gage asked. “Tell you what, she’s got a mouth on her. But she’s a go-getter. I’d put her in the driver’s seat anytime.”
“Over Lacey Adams?” Giggles queried.
“Lacey had backseat privileges only.”
Smartass. Sabrina typed a new status update rapid-fire and clicked on “Share.”
“Whoa-ho!” he crowed. “‘Sabrina is listening to every word you say, Fitzgerald.’ Hi, roomie.”
“Howdy!” Giggles giggled. “Fitz wasn’t kidding. You’re hawt.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
Her next thought was unconscionable.
“I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about doing this,” she muttered aloud, retrieving her cell phone from her messenger bag. She reminded herself that Theo’s gala was strictly A-list, attracting nouveau riche and Texas bluebloods alike. So prestigious was the privilege of attending that women made special trips to safety deposit boxes to retrieve their insurable jewel
ry.
There would also be dancing. And dancing meant that close physical contact would be involved …
Apparently, Carlton heard “Fitz and Giggles” playing on the radio, for he dipped his head over his desk and into her line of vision, pulled his eyebrows into an arc and gave her one of his woo-woo stares.
“Absolutely not,” Sabrina mouthed back at him. Carlton gave a resigned shrug and popped back out of view.
She was still staring at the cell phone display after the show ended.
**
“You’re an FCC violation just waiting to happen, dude,” Gideon chuckled as he took off his earphones. “The Powers That Be are going to have their tails in a twist. That’s the third time you almost dropped the F-bomb this week.”
“Almost doesn’t count,” Gage said nonchalantly. He retrieved the migas tacos he’d stashed in the studio’s mini-fridge, which was brimming with containers of salsa, energy drinks and beer, and tossed the bag in the microwave. “What are they doing to do? Fire me?”
“You? Not remotely,” Gideon said. “You’re golden around here. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the little lady at home. You’re just begging to be sleeping with the automobiles, aren’t you, Fitzgerald?”
Gideon had a good point. Gage thought for sure that morning’s irreverent banter would inspire another punchy phone call from the House of Representatives, but it hadn’t. That could only mean one of two things.
Either Maid March hadn’t been listening to the show, or she was plotting her revenge more carefully this time.
With any luck, he’d be done with his power sleep and out of the house before she got home from work. And with even better luck, she’d have bigger fish to fry. Gage could tell by the way she’d incessantly pushed hangers around in the hall closet and whipped various dresses out to inspect them the night before that she was going to dress to impress.
Could Sabrina finally be going out on a date?
God help the poor sap if she were. Whoever he was, he didn’t stand a chance. Gage thought of the way she’d sauntered up to him in that barely-there get-up, running her hand around her neck slowly. She’d given him the barest breeze of a force to be reckoned with. That kind of pent-up sexual energy eventually had to go somewhere. Or in this case, to someone. Sabrina had cunningly demonstrated to whom it wasn’t.
Him.
Gage was about to leave through the station’s front entrance. Fortuitously, he had the presence of mind to peer through the windows of the call center and spot the station manager stalking down the hall in the direction of the studio, a stern look on his face. Not in the mood for another dressing-down, Gage ducked into a side corridor and left through the emergency exit. He had just pulled into the drive of the Corners house when he heard the customized ringtone. He smiled as Papa Roach’s “She Loves Me Not” blasted out of the tinny speaker of his cell phone. Took her long enough.
“That wasn’t quite as posthaste as I expected,” he said into the phone. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what you’re calling about. I stalked your pretty ass on a social networking site.”
“Hey, it’s a free country,” Sabrina said in a breezy voice. “First Amendment? Freedom of speech? That’s some good stuff. Actually, I called to give you a heads up about something.”
“Shoot,” he said carefully.
“You’re escorting me to Theo’s charity gala tonight.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “I’m telling you you’re going to be my date. There’s a big difference.”
Not in my world, honey.
“Something tells me I shouldn’t ask you to qualify that response,” Gage laughed, prompting silence on the other end of the line.
“The gala is at the Driskill Hotel,” Sabrina went on. “It’s one of those ‘see and be seen’ types of events. You’ve probably never been to one before.”
Gage in fact had, but he was distracted by the timbre of her voice. It had taken on a husky, aloof purr that reminded him of her hands sliding down his jacket.
“You don’t say,” he prompted her conversationally. “Go on.”
“It’s a formal event. Black coat, black tie.”
“Yeah, I know the drill. So tell me something. How exactly does one pass time at one of these things?” He grinned as he reached for the package of migas tacos that were growing cold on the seat beside him. It amused him that Sabrina confused Fitz’s simple, homeboy sensibilities with his own.
He wasn’t about to enlighten her. At least not yet.
“It’s a ball,” she explained. “So you dance and make polite conversation about how nice the band sounds.”
“So what do I get out of the deal?” Gage peeled back the aluminum wrapper.
“Good drinks. Fine food. You can tell your friends, ‘I went to Representative Ward’s gala ball.’ It’s quite an honor to get invited,” she reminded him.
“Ah, finally: A chance to see how the better half lives.” He injected mock gratitude into his voice. “Why should I do you this particular ‘favor’ anyway?”
Gage took a bite of taco. He could hear her tapping her pen on her desk on the other end of the line while he chewed.
“Because you owe me — Fitz,” she finally hissed. “If my life is fodder for your ridiculous show, I expect a little reciprocity.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re giving me a choice.”
“I’m not.” Her voice was suddenly clear, sweet and hard. “As far as I’m concerned, I own you for the next twelve hours, Fitzgerald. I suggest you catch up on your beauty sleep before tonight.”
“You win, honey,” he said wearily. “I suppose I should get the car detailed.”
“No need to go that far,” Sabrina told him quickly. “Just meet me at the Driskill at eight.”
Gage stared at his phone after she hung up and gave sleep a passing ponder. So Sabrina intended to use him to impress her poncy Capitol crowd, did she? He could hear the underscore in her voice when she mentioned that the event required formal attire. As though he never would have guessed. He ran a hand through his shaggy mane, then over two days’ worth of stubble. He’d crammed his tuxedo into one of his suitcases before the move, and his dress shoes needed more than a spit shine.
He tossed the taco bag aside and revved up the GTO.
This sap had serious errands to run if he wanted to give Maid March a night to remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sabrina scrutinized her appearance in the mirror of the ladies’ lounge.
She’d planned to go boutique-hopping for a new dress, but Carlton had convinced her to get a mani-pedi at a day spa instead. With no time left to shop, she had to settle for what she had in her wardrobe. The black silk number, one of the formals she’d packed for the Iceland cruise, was a clever combination of sedate and sexy — a retro stunner, complete with three-quarter-length sleeves and a deceptively modest round neckline that plunged all the way down to the base of her spine at the back. Her feet were jammed into steep platform pumps she’d bought on a whim and had worn exactly once because they pushed her instep into an unnatural pitch. Tonight she’d need that four additional inches of leverage.
Theo’s female guests would no doubt be dripping diamonds, emeralds and other precious stones. But Sabrina was of the mind that lilies that needed such gilding had probably long withered on the stem. Less was always more in this case. She’d left her fingers, wrists and ears bare and put on the single strand of pearls Nola gave her for her sixteenth birthday.
Sabrina entered the upper mezzanine and lingered on the landing while she watched guests trickle through the entrance below. Built before the turn of the century by Jesse Driskill, one of Texas’ legendary cattle barons, the main lobby of historic hotel — with its glossy marble floors, stained-glass dome, and princely Corinthian columns flanked by tall palms — managed to be both opulent and tasteful. To the average out-of-towner, the Driskill Hotel was an elegant curiosity. Touri
sts’ interest in the landmark building was fueled by either rumors of hauntings or the exquisite menu served in the hotel’s grill. Sabrina knew every inch of the Driskill by heart, having attended numerous social functions there, from baby showers and weddings to lobbyists’ parties and Sine Die bashes.
The most exciting part of the evening before social engagements turned into a smart roar of music, conversation and clinking glasses that punctuated toasts and speeches was watching the guests arrive. Predictably, the female gala attendees opted for seasonal colors — crimson, mulberry and emerald and forest greens — for their long formal gowns, which were spackled with intricate beadwork and Swarovski crystals. Their jewels glistened under the glow of the lobby’s chandeliers.
But it was the opposite gender that commanded Sabrina’s attention. She liked a well-dressed man. Many of the younger men had taken liberties with current tuxedo fashion, adding ascots, scarves, untucked dress shirts and patterned lapels to the mix. From her vantage point next to the piano bar, she watched them filter through the entrance and run up the stairs to the ballroom, tails dancing.
But the young bucks paled compared to the tall man who’d just strode into the lobby. He wore a straight-up, no-frills tux that would have looked just as classic on Sinatra as it would on that year’s red carpet Academy Award winner. It was more than just his dress blacks that drew Sabrina’s eye; his mere presence, quietly confident, demanded her attention. She gave him a closer look.
Gage?
He looked around him. Then, spotting her standing on the mezzanine, he smiled and bounded up the stairs. He’d gotten his hair trimmed. It was still long, but it barely touched his shoulders and fell from a side part in shiny waves. Sabrina was aware that the girls behind the registration desk were sneaking covert looks of appreciation his way.
“Help a man out,” he said, depositing a pair of silver cuff links in her palm. “These possess a certain degree of difficulty.”
“You look—” She couldn’t think of an apt word. She couldn’t think at all. “—quite debonair.”
Something About You (Just Me & You) Page 20
