by Nora Roberts
“No.” Closing her eyes, Laura willed herself to settle down. “I’m not running to them.” She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes again. “And neither is either of you. I made the mistakes, I’ll fix the mistakes. Kate, I need you to figure out how to liquidate enough money for the deposit on the building.”
“No way you’re going to take more than half of what you have left in cash and buy that place.”
She smiled thinly at Margo. “Yes, I am. Oh, yes, I am. I’m still a Templeton. It’s time I started to act like one.” Before she could change her mind, she picked up the business card Margo had tossed on the table and dialed the phone. “Louisa, it’s Laura Templeton. Yes, that’s right. I want to make an offer on the building we looked at this afternoon.”
When she hung up, she pulled off her wedding and engagement rings. Guilt and liberation twisted inside her. “You’re the expert, Margo. How much can I expect to get for these?”
Margo eyed the five-carat round-cut and the band with sparkling channel-set diamonds. At least, she mused, there was some small justice in the world. “Kate, don’t worry about liquidating anything. It looks like we got the down payment out of Peter after all.”
Later that night Margo sat in her room scribbling figures, drawing rough sketches, making lists. She needed to think about paint and paper and plumbing. The shop space had to be remodeled to include a dressing room, and that meant carpenters.
She could move in on the top floor as it was, which would save her the drive down to Monterey every day to check on progress. In fact, she could cut corners if she painted it herself rather than hiring professionals.
How hard could it be to roll paint on a wall?
“Yes, come in,” she called at the knock on her door and wondered if carpenters charged by the hour or the job.
“Margo?”
Distracted, she glanced up, blinked at her mother. “Oh. I thought it was one of the girls.”
“It’s nearly midnight. They’re sleeping.”
“I lost track of the time.” She pushed at the papers scattered over the bed.
“You always did. Daydreaming.” Ann skimmed her gaze over the papers, amused at the numbers her daughter had added and subtracted. It had taken bribes and threats and shouts to get Margo to do the simplest arithmetic homework when she was a child. “You forgot to carry the five,” Ann said.
“Oh. Well.” Margo shoved the paper aside. “I really need one of those little calculators Kate’s always got in her pocket.”
“I was talking to Miss Kate before she left. She said you’re going into business.”
“And that’s laughable for someone who doesn’t remember to carry the five.” Margo pushed herself off the bed and picked up the wineglass she’d brought up with her. “Would you like a drink, Mum, or are you still on duty?”
Saying nothing, Ann moved into the adjoining bath and came out with a tumbler. She poured wine. “Miss Kate thinks you’ve thought it through fairly well, and though the odds are against you, it may work.”
“Kate’s always so blindly optimistic.”
“She’s a sensible woman, and she’s given me fine financial advice over the years.”
“Kate’s your accountant?” With a little laugh, Margo sat again. “I should have known.”
“You’d be wise to use her services if you go through with this business of yours.”
“I’m going through with this business of mine.” Prepared to see doubt and derision on her mother’s face, Margo flicked her eyes up. “Number one, I don’t have many options. Number two, selling things people don’t need is what I do best. And number three, Laura’s counting on me.”
“Those are three good reasons.” There was nothing on Ann’s face but a small, enigmatic smile. “Miss Laura is footing the bill.”
“I didn’t ask her,” Margo said, stung. “I didn’t want her to. She got the idea in her head to buy the building, and there was no shaking it out.” When Ann remained silent, Margo crumpled up a sheet of paper and heaved it. “Damn it, I’m putting everything I have into this. Everything I own, everything I worked for. It’s not a lot of cash, but it’s everything I have.”
“Money’s not so important as time and effort.”
“It’s pretty damn important right now. We don’t have a lot to start with.”
Nodding as she wandered about, looking for something to straighten, Ann considered. “Miss Kate told me what Mr. Ridgeway has done.” Ann took a long, deep gulp of wine. “The cold, blackhearted bastard should rot in everlasting hell. Please God.”
With a laugh, Margo lifted her glass. “Finally, something we can agree on. I’ll drink to it.”
“Miss Laura believes in you, and Miss Kate, too, in her fashion.”
“But you don’t,” Margo countered.
“I know you—you’ll make some fancy place out of it, where people with no sense at all will come and toss their money around.”
“That’s the idea. I’ve even got a name for it. ‘Pretenses.’” Margo’s laugh was quick and amused. “It suits me, doesn’t it?”
“That it does. You’re doing this here in California to be with Miss Laura.”
“She needs me.”
“Yes, she does.” Ann looked down into her glass. “I said some things the night you came back that I’m sorry for. I was hard on you, maybe I’ve always been. But you were wrong when you said I wanted you to be like Miss Laura or Miss Kate. Perhaps I wanted you to be what I could understand, and you couldn’t do that.”
“We were both tired and upset.” Margo shifted on the bed, not quite sure how to handle an apology from her mother. “I don’t expect you to understand this whole idea about a shop, but I hope you’ll believe I’m going to try to make something real out of it.”
“Your aunt ran a trinket shop in Cork. You’ve some merchant in your blood.” Ann moved her shoulders, her decision made. “It will cost considerable, I imagine.”
In agreement, Margo indicated her papers. “I just have to rob Peter to pay Paul for a while. It would help if I could sell my soul. If I still have one to sell.”
“I’d feel better if you kept it.” Ann reached into the pocket of her skirt, took out an envelope. “Use this instead.”
Curious, Margo took the envelope, opened it, then dropped it on the bed as if it had sprouted fangs and bitten her. “It’s a brokerage account.”
“That’s right. Miss Kate recommended the firm. Very conservative investments, as I prefer. But they’ve done well enough.”
“It’s almost two hundred thousand dollars. I won’t take your savings. I can do this on my own.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say so, but it’s not my savings in there. It’s yours.”
“I don’t have any savings. Hasn’t that been the problem all along?”
“You could never hold on to a penny in a clutched fist. You sent me money, and I banked it for you.”
A little amazed, Margo stared down at the brokerage statement. Had she sent so much, had so much to send? It had seemed so little at the time. “I sent the money for you.”
“I had no need for it, did I?” Brow arched, Ann angled her head. It pleased her to see the pride in her daughter’s face. “I have a good job, a fine roof over my head, enough for a nice vacation twice a year because Miss Laura insists I need it. So the money you sent I banked. And there it is.”
Ann took another sip of wine because that wasn’t how she’d meant to say it. “Listen to me, Margo, for once. The fact that you did send the money was appreciated. Perhaps I’d have gotten sick and unable to work and needed it. But that didn’t happen. Sending it was a loving thing to do.”
“No, it wasn’t.” It shamed her as much to know it as to admit it. “I did it out of pride. I did it to show you I was successful, important. That you were wrong about me.”
Understanding, Ann inclined her head. “There’s not so much of a difference, and the result’s the same. It was your money, and it still is. I had t
he comfort that you thought to send it, that you had it to send. You’d have frittered it away if you hadn’t passed it to me, so we’ve done each other a favor.” She reached out to stroke Margo’s hair, then, faintly embarrassed by the show of affection, dropped her hand back to her side. “Now take it and do something with it.”
When Margo said nothing, Ann clucked her tongue. She set down her glass, then cupped Margo’s chin in her palm. “Why are you so contrary, girl? Did you earn the money with honest work or not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Do what your mum tells you for once. You might be surprised to find she’s right. Go into this business venture on equal terms with Miss Laura, and take pride in that. Now clean up this mess you’ve made before you go to bed.”
“Mum.” Margo picked up the papers as her mother paused at the door. “Why didn’t you send this to me in Milan when you knew I was scraping bottom?”
“Because you weren’t ready for it. Be sure you are now.”
Chapter Ten
Mine. Holding out her arms, Margo circled the empty main room of the shop on Cannery Row. Technically it wasn’t hers quite yet. Settlement was still two weeks away, but the offer had been accepted, the contract signed. And the loan, with the Templeton name behind it, had gone off without a hitch.
She’d already had a contractor in to discuss alterations. It was going to cost big, and in her new frugal fashion she had indeed decided to do the simple cosmetic improvements herself. Research was under way on the rental of floor sanders, the purchase of caulking guns. She’d even looked into something wonderful called a paint sprayer. More coverage, faster. More efficient.
And the building wouldn’t actually be hers, she reminded herself. It would be theirs. Hers, Laura’s, and the bank’s. But in two weeks’ time, she would be sleeping in that little room upstairs. In a sleeping bag if need be.
Then by midsummer, the doors of Pretenses would open.
And the rest, she thought with a laugh, would be history.
She turned at the tap on the glass and saw Kate.
“Hey, open up, will you? I’m on my lunch hour. Thought I’d find you here gloating,” she said when Margo opened the door. “It still smells,” she added after a testing sniff.
“What do you want, Kate? I’m busy.”
Kate studied the clipboard and the pocket calculator on the floor. “Did you figure out how to work that thing?”
“You don’t have to be a CPA to use a calculator.”
“I meant the clipboard.”
“Ha ha.”
“You know, the place grows on you.” Hands tucked in her trouser pockets, Kate wandered. “It’s a nice busy area, too. Should pull in some walk-in traffic. And people on vacation are always buying things they don’t have any use for. The secondhand clothes, though. Everything’s going to be a size eight.”
“I’ve already thought of that. I’m working on some other stock. I know a lot of people who ditch their wardrobes every year.”
“Smart people buy classics—seasonless classics—then they don’t have to worry.”
“How many navy blue blazers do you own, Kate?”
“Half a dozen,” she said and grinned, then thumbed a Tums out of the roll in her pocket. Her idea of lunch. “But that’s just me. Here’s the deal, Margo. I want in.”
“In what?”
“In on the building.” She popped the antacid, crunched it. “I’ve got some money to invest, and I don’t see why you and Laura should have all the fun.”
“We don’t need a partner.”
“Sure you do. You need someone who knows the difference between black ink and red.” Bending down, she scooped up the calculator and began to run figures. “You and Laura put in twelve-five apiece, cash. Now you’ll have the settlement costs, points, insurance, taxes. Which should bring it up to somewhere around, oh, eighteen each, which makes it thirty-six.” Taking glasses out of her breast pocket, she put them on as she continued to work. “Divide that by three, and it makes twelve each, which is less than you’ve already shelled out.”
She paced as she cleared figures, added more. “Now, you’ve got repairs, remodeling, maintenance, utilities, business license fees, more taxes, bookkeeping—I can set the books up for you, but I don’t have time to take on another client right now so you’ll have to hire someone or learn to add.”
“I can already add,” Margo said, stung.
Kate merely took out a small electronic memo and entered a reminder to herself to earmark time to give Margo a course in basic bookkeeping. The cellular phone in her briefcase rang, and she ignored it. Her service would have to deal with that until her current business was concluded.
“There’s the overhead for shopping bags, tissue paper, boxes, cash register tape,” she continued. “That’ll bump things back up into six figures in no time. You’ll have fees to the credit card companies since your clientele will be using primarily plastic.” Tipping the glasses down, she peered at Margo over the tops. “You do intend to accept all major credit cards, don’t you?”
“I—”
“See, you need me.” Satisfied, she bumped up the glasses again. No joint venture between Laura and Margo was going to exclude her, no matter how many funds she had to juggle. “Of course, I’ll just be a silent partner, as I’m the only one of the three of us who has a real job.”
Margo narrowed her eyes. “How silent?”
“Oh, just a peep now and then.” All the practicalities were already ordered in her tidy mind. “You’ll have to figure out how and when to replace your stock once it starts to sell, what your markup percentage needs to be to ensure your profit margin. Oh, then there’s legal fees. But we can talk Josh into handling that. How did you get him to let you use his Jag? That is his new Jag out front, isn’t it?”
Margo’s expression turned smug. “You could say I’m test-driving it.”
Lifting her brows, Kate slipped her glasses off and back into her pocket. “Are you test-driving him?”
“Not yet.”
“Interesting. I’ll write you a check for the twelve thousand. We’ll have a partnership agreement drawn up.”
“A partnership agreement.”
“Jesus, you do need me.” She caught Margo by the shoulders and kissed her dead on the lips. “The three of us love each other, trust each other. But you’ve got to make a business legal. Right now the stock is all yours, but—”
“Laura’s added to it,” Margo interrupted, and wicked humor glinted. “We’re selling everything in Peter’s office.”
“Good start. How’s she holding up?”
“Pretty well. She’s worried about Ali. The kid took it hard when Peter didn’t show up for her ballet recital. Word is he’s in Aruba.”
“I hope he drowns. Nope, I hope he gets eaten by sharks and then drowns. I’ll get over to the house this weekend and spend some time with the girls.” She took out a check, already written and signed. “There you go, partner. I’ve got to get back.”
“We haven’t cleared this with Laura.”
“I did,” Kate said breezily, as she opened the door and plowed into Josh. “Hi.” She kissed him. “Bye.”
“Nice to see you too,” he called after her, then cautiously closed the door.
Laura had warned him not to expect much. It was a good thing. “Have you and Kate been smoking grass in here?”
“That’s all she ever does on her lunch hour. We really have to get her into a program.” Thrilled with herself, Margo spread her arms. “So, what do you think?”
“Uh-huh. It’s a building, all right.”
“Josh.”
“Give me a minute.” He walked past her into the adjoining room, came back, looked into the bath, gazed up the pretty, and potentially lethal, staircase. He wiggled the banister, winced. “Want a lawyer?”
“We’re going to have that fixed.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to you that sometimes dipping your toe in is smarter than diving hea
dfirst.”
“It’s not as much fun.”
“Well, duchess, I’m sure you could have done worse.” He walked over, lifted her pouting face to his. “Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we? I’ve been thinking about it across two continents.”
He pulled her close, covered her mouth greedily with his. After a moment of token disinterest, she let herself melt into a kiss that tasted of frustrated lust. So unexpected. So thrilling, the way his mouth fit on hers, the way all those hard lines and planes of his body met and meshed so perfectly with the curves of hers.
It didn’t give her time to think whether it was simply that she had missed that glorious sensation of being held by a man, or if it was Josh. But because it was Josh, she needed to think.
“I don’t know how I missed how potent you were all these years.” She drew away, flashed a quick, teasing smile.
His system was straining like an engine revved too high. “That was just a free sample. Come back here and we’ll go for the full treatment.”
“I think we’ll take it in stages.” She walked away, opened her bag, and took out a pack of cigarettes. Her elegant case was already boxed into inventory. “I’m learning to be a cautious woman.”
“Cautious.” He scanned the room again. “Which is how you got from renting a little shop in Milan to clear your debts and make a reasonable living to buying a building on Cannery Row and adding to those debts.”
“Well, I can’t change overnight, can I?” She eyed him through a haze of smoke. “You’re not going to get all lawyerly on me, are you, Josh?”
“Actually I am.” He picked up the briefcase he’d set aside, opened it. “I have some papers for you.” He looked around for a place to sit and settled on the bottom step of the staircase. “Come here. Come here,” he repeated and patted the narrow space beside him. “I can manage to keep my hands off you.”
She picked up a little tin ashtray and joined him. “I’m getting good at papers. I’m thinking of buying a file cabinet.”
