Just One Week

by Alice Gaines

  His mouth went dry at the sight of her. Another part of his anatomy had a very different reaction. As he made his way toward her, he couldn’t help but notice some of the other men eying her the way Olivia Upton had just done to him. He couldn’t blame them. When you saw feminine perfection like Michelle you couldn’t help it. They wouldn’t get any closer than looking if he could help it. And he certainly could.

  He might have nudged a few people aside in his eagerness to get to her, but he finally stopped a few feet away. “You look…unbelievable.”

  She gave him a shy smile and held her arms out to her sides. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Like it?” Oh, baby. He’d take that dress off her later, and then he’d show her how much he “liked” it.

  “It’s a bit much,” she said. “But I thought it’d be okay for a special occasion.”

  He closed the distance between them and put his hand at the small of her back. “You’d better stick with me, or you’re likely to get jumped by a bunch of intellectuals.”

  “Surely no one who works with your father would try to take advantage of me,” she said.

  “Never trust anyone with too much education,” he said. “The high-status nerds are the worst.”

  “Are you forgetting I’m a nerd?”

  “You’ll forgive me if it slipped my mind for a minute,” he said.

  She wrapped her arm around his. “Why don’t you introduce me to a few of them?”

  “Sure.” Great, now they could talk to her about paradigms and post-modernism and he could try to look as if he understood. Or cared.

  He lucked out with the first person they encountered. Yolanda, his dad’s personal assistant for over twenty years and an all-around good person.

  Yolanda extended her arms. “Alex, there you are.”

  He bent to give her a hug and the peck on the cheek she always expected. Then she pushed away and studied him with a motherly eye.

  “My goodness,” she said. “You got even bigger.”

  “Football’ll do that to you,” he said.

  “I watch you every chance I get. I make sure my Ed puts your team on, even if the 49ers are playing.”

  “Now, don’t make him give up his 49ers,” Alex said. “Michelle, I don’t know if you’ll remember Mrs. Price, Dad’s right hand at the publishing house for many years.”

  Yolanda glanced at Michelle, obviously noting her arm through his. “Michelle?”

  “Kyle’s sister,” he said. “You’ve met her a few times.”

  Yolanda’s eyes got wide, and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Not the one you used to call Mickey.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Michelle said.

  “Lord have mercy, look at you.” Yolanda put her hands on Michelle’s shoulders and studied her. “You were always pretty, but what a beauty you grew up to be.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Alex put his hand at Michelle’s back again. “And smart, too. She got her doctorate.”

  “Biochemistry,” Michelle said.

  “You always could pick them, Alex. You could have had any girl, but you went for quality.”

  Michelle blushed at that, and he rubbed her back. He would have liked to gather her into his arms, but they were in public, after all.

  “So, do you still live around here?” Yolanda asked.

  “East Coast. I came back for the party.”

  The wheels in Yolanda’s mind turned visibly. She was doing her best to figure out their relationship and how geography was involved.

  “Boston,” he said before more questions flew.

  “Ah, good,” Yolanda said. “Nice city, Boston. Great lobster.”

  “Yolanda,” a man’s voice called. “Over here.”

  Yolanda glanced in that direction. “Looks as if Ed found us a seat. He doesn’t much like being surrounded by strangers.”

  “I know the feeling,” Alex said.

  “We’ll talk again before I go.” Yolanda turned to Michelle. “Nice seeing you again.”

  Yolanda wandered off, leaving them alone again. Or as alone as you could be in the middle of a crowd. Honestly, everyone else nearly disappeared because he couldn’t take his eyes off Michelle. What healthy male could?

  Right now, she was staring at someone or something across the crowded patio. “Say, is that…”

  He followed her gaze and discovered the object of her curiosity. Of course, the famous author of science texts, Sam Tillis. The man had even had a series on public television based on his book, Culture and Human Consciousness. Lots of opportunities for intellectual discussion there.

  “Sam Tillis,” Alex said. “Would you like to meet him?”

  Her whole face lit up. “You bet.”

  “Come on.” Tillis noticed them as they approached, and he turned in their direction, more or less ignoring the clutch of people around him. He seemed as eager to make Michelle’s acquaintance as she was to make his, although for different reasons. Tall and lanky, Tillis wasn’t exactly a heartthrob, but women wouldn’t put him out with the trash, either. Alex stood extra close to Michelle, ready to stake out his territory if necessary.

  “Michelle, this is Professor Sam Tillis,” he said. “Dr. Michelle Dennis.”

  “Sam,” Tillis corrected as he shook Michelle’s hand. “Did he say ‘Doctor’?”

  “Biochemistry.”

  “Interesting.” Tillis glanced at Alex. “I’m sorry, you’re…”

  “Jim’s son, Alex.”

  “Of course. How could I forget?” If Tillis watched football, he didn’t let on but gave his full attention to Michelle. “Where do you teach?”

  “I don’t,” she answered. “I’m in research.”

  “Both are absolutely essential, aren’t they?” Tillis said.

  Michelle smiled, and she might have blushed a bit, too. She clearly found the man charming, and he might well be. Naturally his charm didn’t work on Alex. Nor was it supposed to.

  “I’ve read several of your books,” she said. “Your biological approach to the understanding of culture is rather unusual, isn’t it?”

  Oh, boy. Here they go. Alex kept his expression neutral while his stomach tensed. This situation was now officially out of his control.

  “Culture is a human construct,” Tillis said. “In fact, it’s the ultimate human construct, which renders it invisible. Like the air we breathe, we don’t notice it, but it’s everywhere.”

  “I suppose,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Culture is coded in our brains,” Tillis went on. “It’s in our DNA.”

  “Do you think it’s anatomical or biochemical?” Michelle asked. “What brain structures would be involved?”

  “Not limbic system, certainly,” Tillis answered.

  That got polite laughter from the people standing around. Alex did his best to chuckle, too.

  “Pre-frontal cortex, then,” Michelle said.

  Tillis gave her a sugary smile. “I always enjoy Jim’s parties. I meet the most intelligent people.”

  “Can I ask a few more questions?” she said.

  “Please do.”

  Great. More discussion where someone might ask his opinion on something. Giving Michelle a chance to notice how little he understood about the subject of the conversation.

  “Would you two excuse me for a minute? I think my dad needs help with something.”

  “Of course,” Tillis said.

  Michelle gave Alex a quizzical look but didn’t object, so he touched her back one more time before taking off across the patio. Then he climbed the deck and went into the kitchen. The caterers had the place humming with people at the stove and at the table, which was covered with silver trays of food. Servers dressed in black came and went, but Alex was finally able to get to the fridge. He opened it in search of beer and found plenty. But drinking wasn’t the solution to getting through this evening, so he closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.

  He shouldn’t ha
ve bailed back there. Not that he had to worry about Tillis scoring with Michelle. She wasn’t shallow. But after all his years on earth, he might have developed some confidence in himself. He had a learning disability. As his family constantly pointed out, he wasn’t stupid. But Alex had spent his entire life covering up the secret because some people did treat him as if he were dumb, and it hurt. He so didn’t need to have someone make him look ignorant in front of Michelle.

  Damn it all, he could use a tackling dummy right about now. Smashing something would feel so damned good. The physical he understood. The intellectual could tie him into knots. Right now, Michelle was talking to the uber-intellectual. The thinking person’s thinker. And she was loving it. Alex couldn’t give her that.

  He went to the window that overlooked the party. His eyes immediately found Michelle. She was talking to the poet now, her face alive with excitement. The man must have said something witty, because she tossed back her head and laughed. A clutch of other publishing folks stood around, obviously enjoying an animated conversation. She shone in those surroundings. Her very own paradigm of human constructs, whatever the hell they were.

  “Son?”

  Alex glanced over to discover his father had entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Great party, Dad.”

  “One you felt you had to escape,” his father said.

  Alex stuffed his fists into his pockets and went back to staring out the window. He felt more than heard his father walk up to stand beside him.

  “Sorry you had to be exposed to all that hot air,” his father said.

  “The best and the brightest. Isn’t that who you always said you publish?”

  “I guess I did.” Dad ran his hand over the back of his neck.

  “It doesn’t matter that I don’t fit in with them. I have my own accomplishments.” Major lie there. It did matter.

  “I wish you’d see things that way for real.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll try.”

  “What are you going to do about Mickey?” his father said.

  Alex couldn’t quite stare down his father the way he did his brother. Or tried to stare down his brother. It didn’t usually work very well. He could do his best to avoid the question, though, because frankly, he didn’t have any answers.

  “Your mother has high hopes,” his father said.

  “Yeah, well, you know Mom.”

  “Don’t think we haven’t figured out what goes on in the cottage at night,” Dad said.

  And in his bedroom upstairs. They didn’t have any problems in the sex department.

  “You’re not toying with her, are you, Alex?”

  “Dad!” He did glare at his father this time. His dad couldn’t seriously think he’d do something like that.

  His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Just checking.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” He hadn’t entered into a relationship with every woman he’d slept with. Some had been casual lovers, on both sides. But that was impossible with Michelle. Only where did that leave them?

  “Work it out between yourselves, then,” Dad said. “But do it. I don’t want either of you hurt.”

  “I will.” Easier said than done.

  “I’d better get back outside, then. Your mother will be needing me.”

  At that, his dad opened the door and went onto the deck. Before it closed, the sound of Michelle’s laughter came to him on a breeze.

  …

  Why had Alex taken off like that, and why hadn’t he returned? His initial reaction to seeing her had been everything Michelle had hoped for and more. Instant male interest, immediately by her side. Touching her in ways that said “mine.” If he’d been truly jealous of Sam Tillis’s attentions, he wouldn’t have left them alone.

  She sipped some of Kyle’s zinfandel and skirted the party. She’d met many of these people at the winery. Family members mostly. The folks from the publishing house were something else entirely. So far, she’d met an anthropologist, a poet, and a woman who wrote cookbooks. Most had driven up from San Francisco and would be staying at the B&B and other inns in neighboring towns.

  As night fell, a mellow jazz ensemble had set up to one side of the party area, and strings of lights overhead had come on. A truly romantic setting and one she’d hoped to share with Alex. Where was he?

  He materialized finally, and in the dim light, he looked almost mythical in his finely tailored suit, with his broad shoulders and firm chest. He came right up to her. “Care to dance, pretty lady?”

  She held up her glass. “I’ll need to get rid of this.”

  “Got it covered.” He took the glass and gave it to a waiter. Then with his hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the area where couples were moving to the music.

  Stepping into his arms felt like walking into a fantasy. She fit against his chest as if he’d been designed specifically for her. With the height her heels gave her, her nose brushed his chin, and she inhaled the scent of his cologne. The consummate gentleman, he’d shaved for the occasion, and she allowed herself to nuzzle his jaw.

  “What’s that for?” he said.

  “Because you might be the sexiest man alive.”

  “You’re biased.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  He pulled back and studied her face. “Having a good time?”

  “Amazing. You wouldn’t believe the people I’ve met,” she said.

  “My dad and Chase run in pretty rarified company.”

  She cocked her head and looked up at him. “Not you?”

  “I tackle people for a living, remember?”

  “Still, you must meet and hang out with them sometimes.”

  “Sure.” With that, he clammed right up, his jaw tensing. The dyslexia? What else could upset him about discussing his family’s publishing company? He’d seemed decidedly uncomfortable around Sam Tillis and had actually escaped from the conversation. She thought of their lunch earlier, and how she’d noticed his struggle to read the menu. She’d hoped then that he would tell her the truth.

  She gazed up at him. “Alex, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  One of his eyebrows went up. “About what?”

  How could she word this? She could let him know, straight out, that his grandmother had slipped and mentioned his dyslexia. But that would force him to share the secret. They could only be a couple if he trusted her with the information.

  “Oh, I don’t know…” There, that sounded casual. “Why the authors at Stafford Publishing make you uncomfortable.”

  He tensed. “Who says they do?”

  “You had a funny reaction to Sam Tillis.”

  “It would have been even funnier if he’d tried to put a hand on you.”

  “Cute,” she said. “But I mean it. Why don’t you like to talk to people like him?”

  “My whole life has been football. I went to a sports college, and now I play in the pros. Lots of people think athletes are dumb.”

  Some people in academia thought that, sure. But that couldn’t apply to Alex. “No one could believe that about you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Well, bless my soul,” a familiar male voice said. “Is that Michelle Dennis?”

  She glanced around and found the source. Mr. Quinn, her high school chemistry teacher—the man who’d given her her love of science.

  She nearly danced her way over to him. His hair had turned gray. Otherwise, he was the same man who’d laughed when she’d stained her fingers with the chemicals in the lab and encouraged her to enter the county science fair.

  “Look at you, all grown up,” he said. “What are you doing with yourself?”

  “Biochemistry, Mr. Quinn,” she said. “I have a PhD now. I’m doing research.”

  “Best student I ever had.” He tapped the side of his head. “I told you you had a great mind.”

  Mr. Quinn glanced past her, and his smile faded. “Stafford.”

  Alex had come u
p beside her, and the two men sized each other up. A rather strange interaction for former teacher and student, but then, Alex hadn’t done particularly well in Mr. Quinn’s class.

  “Nice party,” Mr. Quinn said.

  “Glad you could come.” Alex didn’t sound glad in the least.

  “I saw your brother. Another good student.” Clearly, Mr. Quinn left Alex out of that category.

  She tucked her arm around Alex’s. “Alex plays in the NFL.”

  “So I understand,” Mr. Quinn said.

  So this was what Alex had been talking about. She’d heard of academics who scorned athletes, considering them second class students who expected special treatment because their teams brought prestige and money to their schools. She’d never seen that in action before, but she might be witnessing it now. Alex didn’t deserve that treatment. Being a braniac, as he’d used to call her, didn’t make you a good person.

  Mr. Quinn turned his smile on her again. It didn’t feel nearly as welcoming as it had a few minutes before.

  “What are you researching?” he asked.

  “Biochemistry of Parkinson’s,” she answered.

  “Wonderful,” Mr. Quinn said. “I knew you’d do well.”

  Alex slipped an arm around her. “Michelle’s up for a job at Cardmouth University.”

  Mr. Quinn’s eyes widened. “A research job?”

  “Faculty,” she said.

  “Tenure-track,” Alex added.

  “Well, well,” Mr. Quinn said. “That is exciting.”

  “Not sure I’ll get it. I have a lot of highly qualified competition,” she said.

  “I’m sure you will, Michelle.” Mr. Quinn glanced at Alex. “And you’ll continue with football, I presume.”

  “As long as they pay me,” Alex said. “Say, will you excuse us? I think my father needs help.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Quinn smiled and disappeared back into the crowd.

  Michelle turned toward Alex. “Jim doesn’t need anything.”

  “But I do…” Alex said. “Want to dance some more?”

  “Let’s.”

  He took her elbow as they went back to the area in front of the band. They’d started another slow song, and soon, she was in Alex’s arms again. She’d enjoy the fantasy for as long as she could. Tomorrow reality would stare her in the face.