by Joan Hohl
Satisfied with having thrown her slightly off balance, Brett’s smile grew into a grin as he motioned to the waiter for a refill. He remained quiet, scrutinizing her with what he knew was unnerving intentness until their drinks had been placed before them and the waiter had departed. Then, lifting his glass in a silent salute, he sipped appreciatively, lowered his glass, and queried softly, “I can’t help but wonder why Delheny would tell you where I’d registered.” His smile turned suggestive. “Unless Casey decided I’d appreciate a little entertainment and diversion.”
Although Marsha seemed startled at Brett’s use of the architect’s last name, her surprise was forgotten with his final conclusion.
“Casey decided no such thing!” she declared heatedly. “I am not a pros— call girl, Mr. Renninger!” Drawing a calming breath, she went on more quietly. “Casey mentioned your name quite casually and I—”
“Casually, Ms. Wenger?” Brett interrupted silkily, then added thoughtfully, “I beg your pardon. Is it Ms. Wenger?”
“Yes, it is.” Marsha sipped distractedly at her wine. “And I said casually because ... oh Lord, I’m screwing this up, and I wanted so badly to make a good impression!”
Now that he had her thoroughly rattled, Brett relaxed completely. You are a chauvinist bastard, he accused himself unrepentantly. Somewhere on the very fringes of his consciousness Brett knew he was, in a very convoluted way, trying to get at Jo through this stranger. Yet, unwilling to face the power his vulnerability placed in Jo’s hands, he refused to give a second thought to his own lack of logic. At this moment he simply enjoyed that fact that he had unnerved any woman.
“Don’t despair, Ms. ... may I call you Marsha?” he inquired respectfully—much too respectfully.
“Yes, please do. I—I—” Marsha had obviously not missed the nuance of a drawl in his overly polite request. Her expression revealing that she was indeed despairing, she grasped her glass and drank thirstily.
Suddenly Brett tired of the roasting game. Relenting, a little, he prompted, “You were saying my name was mentioned casually?”
“Yes, well, not really casually.” Marsha took a final gulp from her wine, then dove head first into an explanation. “We had lunch together yesterday, Casey and I. When I mentioned”—she winced over the word—”that I’d just mailed a resume off to you, Casey told me you were due to arrive in Vermont sometime today.” She wet her lips before continuing. “The name of this motel was not offered. I asked Casey point blank where you would be staying.”
“Resume?” Brett pounced on the one word.
Marsha winced again but answered at once. “Yes. Through a friend in New York I learned about the managerial position open in your offices. As I’d been considering relocating to New York City for some time now, I decided to apply for the job.”
“Go on,” Brett prodded.
“That’s all!” She smiled apologetically. “At least it was until yesterday. When Casey said you were coming here I decided to seek a personal interview with you.”
“Here? Now?” Brett’s expression and tone wiped away the image his casual pants and polo shirt projected, revealing the hard businessman that was never very far from the surface. “A bit unorthodox, wouldn’t you say?”
Marsha had the grace to blush with embarrassment. But she espoused her cause just the same. “I know,” she admitted boldly. “But I have always believed that the only way to get something is to go for it fearlessly. Up until now my method has always worked.”
Brett laughed. He had to. The woman’s honesty genuinely amused him. Settling more comfortably in his chair, he fixed on her with eyes sharp with interest. “Okay, Marsha Wenger, fire at will. Give me a verbal account of what is contained in your resume.”
Leaning forward tensely, Marsha began speaking in a tone devoid of inflection. Her recitation went on nonstop for a full twenty minutes. When she was finished she sat back and matched Brett stare for stare, her expression composed with the knowledge that her credentials were impressive.
In actual feet, Brett was impressed. He was also relieved. The open managerial position Marsha had referred to was the New England area manager’s job, which had not been filled since he’d figuratively kicked Bob Harley upstairs, the day he’d gone to the New York offices at his sister-in-law’s request. Brett had lost count of the exact number of people he had interviewed for the job during the last three weeks. Most of the applicants had been unqualified, some had been overqualified. Now, incongruous as it seemed, in a motel in Vermont, at a very late hour, Brett had found his new manager!
“You got it.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” Marsha blinked in surprise. After his long silence, it was clear his sudden pronouncement had startled her.
“The job.” Brett smiled. “It’s yours. When can you start?”
Marsha straightened abruptly, as if she’d been pinched in a very delicate spot. “At once!” she squeaked, then hedged. “Or, that is, as soon as I can relocate to the city.”
“All right.” Brett nodded his acceptance. “If you’ll drop all the pertinent information off here at the desk tomorrow, I’ll fax it in to the office and have personnel prepare the necessary forms.”
Marsha opened her mouth to agree but before she could speak Brett added, “Are you employed now?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll want to work out notice.” It was not a question. Brett’s tone indicated she had better want to work out a decent notice.
“I gave my firm a month’s notice three weeks ago.” Marsha was not quite successful in hiding her annoyance.
It would seem quite a bit happened three weeks ago, Brett thought wryly. The thought reminded him of Wolf and his own temporary tenancy as head man in the New York office. The thought also reminded him of Jo, and that coated his voice with irritation.
“You do realize, I assume, that I’m only filling in for my brother, and the status quo might change when he’s back in command?” At the harsh sound of his voice Brett modified his question-statement. “Understand, he will take my recommendations under consideration, but the final decision is his.”
“Yes, Casey outlined the current situation.” Marsha smiled. “I was also led to understand that if you hired me, your brother would very likely retain me.” Her smile widened, revealing small, straight white teeth. “Casey seems to know your brother quite well.”
“Indeed?” Brett murmured coolly, wondering at both her smile and her opinion. How buddy-buddy had Wolf and this Delheny become? he mused. He did not voice the question to Marsha, preferring to judge the extent of the men’s friendship for himself.
Marsha appeared to take Brett’s coolness and preoccupation as a hint for her to leave for, after swallowing the last of her wine, she picked up her purse and pushed her chair away from the table. Her actions drew an alert, questioning glance from him.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she explained. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“Alone?” Brett’s smile held sheer enticement. “Stay and join me for another drink,” he invited softly. “We’ll discuss your problem of relocation,”
Brett found Marsha as easy to charm as most of the other women he’d come in contact with ... excluding Jo Lawrence, that was. Again the flashing memory of Jo sent a spasm of annoyance through him. Damned woman! He’d wipe all consideration of her out of his mind, or kill himself in the effort! Giving Marsha his warmest smile, he underlined his desire to keep her company. “You will stay, won’t you?”
“Well, yes.” She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that was easy on Brett’s ears. “If you like.”
“I do,” he assured her firmly, consigning all thoughts of a tall, willowy body, a breathtakingly beautiful face, and a pair of maddeningly arousing lips to the farthest reaches of hell. Brett was content to smile at Marsha encouragingly until their fresh drinks were served, then he encouraged her to talk. ‘Tell me exactly what has to be done to accomplish this move to the big cit
y.”
“First”—she held up a long, slim forefinger—”I must finish out my month’s notice which, in actual days, amounts to seven. Then I’ll have to face the distasteful task of going through my things to decide what I want to take with me and what I will store temporarily. My friend has offered me the use of her sofa until I can find a place of my own, so I can’t take too much of my own stuff along.” She paused to gaze contemplatively into her wine. When she again raised her eyes to him, they were cloudy with consternation. “I understand finding a decent apartment in the city is the next thing to impossible.”
“But not completely impossible,” Brett assured her bracingly. While she’d been speaking a germ of an idea had stirred to life in his mind. Now, playing for time to allow the germ quiet in which to sprout, he took a long moment to taste his drink, savoring its bite on his tongue. In his foolishness over one kiss, Brett felt sure he’d revealed far too much of his feelings to Jo. Here, sitting next to him, was a way to disabuse her of any notions she might have conceived about his emotional state. The consideration that he’d be using Marsha didn’t bother him in the least. He would be helping her as well and he’d be careful she was in no way involved afterward. The decision made to proceed, Brett put his hastily formed plan into action.
“As a matter of fact, when I fax the vitals into personnel tomorrow, I’ll have my assistant scout out a place for you.” His smile could only be described as intriguingly wicked. “Jo is highly competent. I’m sure she’ll have no trouble at all in finding the perfect place for you.”
“Oh, but I can’t infringe on your assistant’s time like that!” Marsha protested, if not too convincingly.
Now Brett’s smiled came very close to nasty. “She’ll love it,” he promised. “Apartments are her ‘thing.’“
Though she looked suddenly skeptical, Marsha grasped at the offer. “Well, if you’re positive she won’t mind?”
She won’t be given a choice, Brett thought with relish. Aloud, he merely reassured her. “She’ll enjoy the search,” he murmured facetiously. Controlling a prod from the devil to laugh out loud, Brett spun out another strand to his deception web. “I will be in Vermont for at least two weeks. If you can clear up everything here by then, you can drive back to New York with me.”His smile was now sugar coated. “You could add the saved air fare to the rent money.” His grimace was sincere. “The cost of renting decent living quarters is astronomical.”
“So I’ve heard, and so I’d be a fool to argue over your offer.” She grinned. “Thank you.”
With a twinge of guilt he didn’t wish to recognize, Brett waved her thanks aside. They talked of other things then, the beauty of Vermont, the many and varied attractions it had to offer, not the least being the skiing, and Brett’s purpose in being in the state in the first place.
“Casey did tell me about the project some time ago,” Marsha said when Brett finished his very brief account. “But I guess I assumed the project would be dropped, at least until your brother was fully recovered from his injuries.”
Sipping his drink, Brett reached the conclusion that this Casey Delheny talked too damn much for the Renningers’ own good. Where in hell had Wolf found this blabbermouth? Carefully concealing his thoughts from Marsha, he watched her polish off her wine.
“Would you like another?”
“No, thank you.” One well-manicured hand, complete with raspberry-colored polish, covered his when he went to signal for the waiter. “I must be going. My alarm clock rings at the same early hour every working day, no matter what time I stumble into bed.”
“I’ll be in touch with you as to exactly when I’ll be leaving for New York,” Brett promised.
“Oh, you’ll probably be running into me all over the place while you’re here.” She grinned. “In a town this size, people have to work at not tripping over each other every other day or so.” With a final grin and a wave of her hand, she strode lightly from the room.
Having risen when Marsha stood up to leave, Brett watched her retreating back in appreciation of her shapely form. Even in the soft light from the small lamp that had flickered away steadily during their conversation, Brett had reevaluated his initial judgment of her age. When she’d entered the lounge, he had guessed her age at mid to late twenties. Now he felt sure she was within striking distance of his own thirty-five years.
Twenty-five or thirty-five, he mused, Marsha Wenger is one very attractive woman; smart too.
Brett moved to sit down again, then, changing his mind, decided to call it a night. He paid the check the waiter promptly presented to him, added a tip that from the man’s grin insured Brett would be remembered the next time he entered the lounge, and, fighting a yawn, sauntered from the room. Traversing the motel corridors from lounge to elevator, then from elevator to his room, he gave up fighting the tiredness pulling at him and yawned widely. It had been a long, tension-filled day. The hours Brett had escaped consciousness the night before had not counted more than three. He was beat, and he slipped into sleep mere minutes after slipping, buck naked, between the cool sheets.
Ten hours of uninterrupted sleep did wonders for Brett’s mental condition. Waking with the bright October sun on his face around mid-morning, Brett stretched hugely before springing off the bed. He felt good, raring to go, but he also felt empty. By the time room service delivered the large breakfast he ordered, Brett was shaved, showered, and dressed to go roaming the project’s site in jeans, a soft cotton shirt, a finely knit cashmere sweater, and tan suede boots.
In no particular hurry whatever, Brett savored every sip of the tart, chilled grapefruit juice, every forkful of creamy scrambled eggs, every crunching bite of golden-toasted English muffin, and every satisfying swallow of rich, dark coffee. Replete with good food and ready to face the day, Brett pushed the tray aside and reached for the telephone. The digits he heard register numbered eleven. The voice that answered at the other end of the line had already been familiar to him at age ten. The voice belonged to his mother’s housekeeper at the horse farm in Florida. Even now it seemed to Brett that Elania Calaveri had been in residence at the farm forever.
When he responded to her hello, Brett’s tone was warm with affection.
“Good morning, Elania, How are you today?”
“Still kicking,” The reply was a stock one, reserved for the offspring of her employer. Brett’s retort was also stock.
“Anyone I know?”
Elania’s chuckle was as hearty at seventy-odd as it had been at forty-five. “Your brother if he don’t start behaving himself. I swear, that man is the worst patient I’ve ever cared for.”
Brett was fully aware of the fact that Elania Calaveri was the main reason Wolf had been transferred to the farm instead of his own home to recuperate. Having grown up in the streets of Sicily, Elania was one tough cookie. Nobody, not Wolf or even the hard-nosed businesswoman they all called Mother, gave Elania an argument. If Elania decided Wolf was going to recover completely, Wolf had damn well better do it, and without complaint! Smiling at the thought of the fire Wolf was under, Brett politely inquired if his brother was up to speaking on the phone.
“I wouldn’t know why not.” Elania gave a long-suffering sigh. “He’s been up to driving me to distraction since before six this morning. Hold on till I prop the prowler up.”
Brett’s appreciative smile still lingered on his voice when he responded to Wolf’s growled, “What’s up, Brett?”
“Mind your own sex life,” Brett shot back, laughing at Wolf’s groaning response to his feeble attempt at humor.
“You have a sex-oriented mind, baby brother,” Wolf accused grittily.
“Merely following in your size fourteen shoes, big brother,” Brett chided laughingly. “May I inquire how you are today?”
“In comparison to what? The wreck of the Andrea Doria?” Wolfdrawled dryly before, relenting, he allowed affection to color his tone. “How’s it going, Brett?”
“Hey, big prowler! You’re t
he one in the sight of Elania’s formidable gun, not me!” Brett laughed. “Compared to the heavy weather you’ve got to ride out, my job’s a piece of cake!” Brett’s opaque terminology in reference to Wolf’s injuries had been deliberate, simply because he knew an openly solicitous query would not be welcomed warmly.
“Yeah, I know, but don’t tell the boss.” Wolf’s dry tone didn’t quite succeed in masking his weariness. “If she finds out how easy I usually have it up there, she’ll probably create a new region just to keep me out of trouble.”
The tired huskiness in Wolf’s voice shot instant concern through Brett yet, knowing his brother would not welcome a display of that concern, he decided to claim an appointment and end the conversation. “Look, lazybones, I’m going to have to hang up in a minute. I have to see a man about a house,” he paraphrased an old saw. “But first, tell me how Micki and the kids are making out in Florida.”
“Basking in the sunshine.” Wolf’s voice held a smile. “I’d let you talk to Mick but she’s having her riding lesson at the moment” His soft chuckle hummed through the wire to draw a smile from Brett. “She’s doing pretty good at it,” Wolf added. “She’s only tumbled twice.”
Brett’s smile disappeared. “Was she hurt?” he asked sharply.
“Micki! Hell no!” Wolf actually chortled. “That hoyden ‘s got more bounce than half a dozen tennis balls. At the rate she’s going, she’ll put all the rest of us in the shade in no time.”
Mingled with the relief Brett was feeling was a growing urgency to cease and desist, for Wolf’s voice was now definitely reedy. Before he could ease into saying good-bye, Wolf asked a question that jolted him upright in his chair.
“How is my best girl working out as your assistant?”
“JoAnne Lawrence?” Brett asked tightly, stupidly.
“Well, of course, Jo,” Wolf chided. “Isn’t she something?”
Oh, she’s something, all right, Brett mentally sneered. “Yes, she’s very efficient.”
“Jo is more than merely efficient!” Wolf defended strongly, much too strongly, to Brett’s way of thinking. “I’d say she could give your Richard Colby a run for his money any day of the week!”
