Angela popped to her feet. “I better be going now.”
“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so. Look, Angela, I’m sorry—”
She shook her head, putting on what she hoped was a cheery, nonchalant face. “Nonsense. Happens to me all the time. Men stop me on the street to kiss me. It’s my irresistible charm.”
She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Bryce stood still for a moment after she left, gazing blankly at the door. Finally he turned to the room service cart and absently lifted the covers. His earlier hunger had vanished, and he studied the food with uninterest.
Room service had come just in time, he thought. Who knows what might have happened if they had not been interrupted?
Stifling a sigh, he sat down and began to eat.
Angela drove home in a fury. She parked her car in the single garage assigned to her condominium and stomped up the stairs to her condo, still seething over her encounter with Bryce Richards.
The condominium complex where she lived was small and secluded, surrounded by large, spreading oaks. It was an elegant place without being pretentious, and its occupants were by and large young professionals without children. Angela’s condo, toward the rear of the complex, was a small, utilitarian, down-to-earth place with little decoration. She didn’t spend much time here. Her real home was the lake house, and it was there that she had put in most of her effort of furnishing and decorating. This condo was simply a place to sleep during the week, and its primary advantages were that it was quiet and close to work.
The furniture was simple and comfortable; some of it she had had from the tiny first apartment she had shared with Kelly when their business was beginning. It looked old and well lived-in, and the stacks of books all around—in bookcases, on tables and in piles on the floor—added to the casual, cozy ambience. At odds with the furniture, however, were the array of electronic machines and gadgets around the place.
Angela had always been intrigued by gadgets and time-saving or energy-saving devices, and when the company had started making good money, she had allowed herself to indulge in the clever machines that caught her fancy. Though she was not fond of cooking, her kitchen was a treasure trove of bread machines, cappuccino makers, electric steamers, icecream machines and various sorts of food processors. The second bedroom, which served as her office at home, was stocked with a fax machine, copier, two computers and an assortment of hand-held computerized games, translators, calculators and electronic novelties. Her favorite was the home theater setup at one end of her living room, where a large-screen TV and a multitude of speakers, VCRs, laser disc players, tuners, tape players, etc., provided sensational sound and view for any movie.
Tonight, however, she had no interest in popping any cassette into the VCR. Nor did cooking a dinner appeal to her. She was too restless, too agitated; her mind kept jumping from her tax troubles to Bryce Richards to her bizarre behavior in his hotel room. She rattled purposelessly around the condo for a few minutes and finally wound up on the small balcony in back.
The balcony was shielded from the sun and neighbors by large, sheltering oaks, but it had a clear view of the balcony next door. There a slim, curly-haired, middle-aged man fussed over a group of hanging plants, watering them and carefully breaking off dead leaves.
“Hi, Jim.” Angela leaned against the railing and smiled at the man, who turned and beamed at her. Jim had more or less adopted Angela when she first moved into her condo six years earlier, telling her she was the daughter he had never had, and they had weathered many an emotional storm with each other over the intervening years.
“Sweetheart!” He came over, the empty watering pot dangling from his hand. “My, aren’t you home early? What happened?”
Angela grimaced reflexively. “Trouble, probably.”
“Really?” His brows arched in amused curiosity. “Do tell. Is it interesting or some boring business thing?”
“It’s people, not business. Or maybe a combination of both.”
“Well, why don’t you come over and tell Daddy all about it? I have hot water on the stove and I’ll fix you a nice cup of herbal tea if you want.”
“Sure. That sounds great.” Angela turned and walked back through her condominium.
Jim opened the door for her just as she reached it and led her inside, chattering all the way as he walked back into the kitchen to fetch her tea.
His condo was a mirror image of hers structurally, But there would never be any mistaking the two. Jim’s place was done in the same campy, flamboyant style in which he spoke and acted. Having been around him in moments when he was quite serious, direct, and even practical, Angela had never been quite sure whether this flamboyance was real or merely something he assumed as befitting the owner of a trendy art gallery.
“So what happened?” he asked as he bustled back out of the kitchen, carrying a small tray on which sat two cups.
Angela, who had kicked off her shoes and leaned back in an ultramodern turquoise canvas chair, reached up and took the steaming cup gratefully. “Mmm…smells delicious.”
“Thank you. I had water heated because I was expecting Harbaugh, but, of course, he called about two minutes before you came and said he was going to be late again. Lawyers.” He made a face and took a sip of his tea. “But never mind that. Tell me about you.”
Angela sighed and began to relate the events of this afternoon, to Jim’s appreciative noises and comments. When she finished, she shrugged. “So there you have it. I dislike this guy, always have. He represents everything I don’t like about my family and that whole world they inhabit. And then all of a sudden, he kissed me! And I enjoyed it!”
“Sounds like not such a terrible problem to me,” Jim joked.
Angela answered with a derisive snort. “I’m serious. It’s a complication, a stupid, weird complication—as if I didn’t have enough with this IRS thing hanging over my head.”
“Well, you know, opposites attract and all that. I mean, look at Harbaugh and me—a lawyer, for pity’s sake! You know how serious he is. Sometimes I swear the man has no sense of humor. But we’ve been together almost four years now.”
“I know. With some people it probably works out. But you don’t know Bryce Richards. He’s not just serious or humorless, he’s also methodical and critical and analytical. I doubt that the man knows how to have fun. Everything has to have a reason. Besides, we don’t even like each other. He’s precisely the type of. man I don’t want, and I’m sure he still has some kind of grudge against me, considering all the awful twelve-year-old kind of practical jokes I played on him. I mean, just because I’ve grown up and suddenly there’s this physical thing between us, that doesn’t mean that we’re going to start liking each other. We’re still the same people, like night and day. It would be a mess…especially with us working together now. It’s going to be hard enough being in the same office with him as it is. If we were having an affair, too, it would be impossible.”
“Sorry,” Jim said, retreating into the serious persona that he usually strove to keep hidden. “Just teasing—although it does sound like there’s an awful lot of free-floating emotions in this relationship. Well, frankly, Angie, it seems to me like the only solution is to avoid him.”
“How can I do that? He’ll be working right down the hall from me.”
“So? Go to work late and stay late. You already do that lots of times. Stay in your office while you’re there and don’t go wandering all over talking to everybody.”
“Exile myself from my own business?” Angela frowned. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then get rid of him.”
“No. That wouldn’t be fair to Tim and Kelly. We need his help even if I don’t like him.” Angela sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’ll try to avoid him as much as I possibly can. I’ll hide out in my office till he’s through.” She smiled at him. “Thanks.”
“Ah, it was nothing.” Jim made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“Of course it was. Herbal tea and advice—what more could a person ask for?”
Jim rolled his eyes comically. “Lots.”
“Well, it’s enough for tonight. I appreciate your listening to me. But let’s talk about something more interesting now. How’s your new show coming?”
“Oh, my dear!” Jim clasped his hand to his chest dramatically and proceeded to launch into a long description of his latest trials and tribulations with the temperamental but talented artist whose work he was about to exhibit in his gallery.
Angela stuck to her decision to avoid Bryce at the office. She came to work late the next day and walked the long way around to her office door in order to avoid passing Kelly’s office, where Bryce was working. She kept her door resolutely closed all day, and she got their receptionist to buy her a sandwich and bring it up to her office on her lunch hour.
She felt foolish, as if she were a child playing hooky and hiding from authority. Worse than that, she found that she spent so much time listening for Bryce’s voice or footsteps in the hall and wondering whether he would come knock on her office door that she got almost no work done.
Late the next afternoon, when most of the employees had left, she started down to the kitchen to get a snack to sustain her, but when she opened her door, she spotted Kelly and Bryce walking along the hallway toward her, deep in conversation. Quickly she ducked back into her office and listened as they walked past. She waited several more minutes, then cautiously opened her door and peeked out. No one was in the hall. She walked quickly and quietly down the hallway to the stairs.
Downstairs, she peeked out the front door and saw that the black Mercedes sedan Bryce had parked there this morning was gone. With a sigh of relief, she went into the kitchen and began to rummage around for something to eat. In accordance with the casual way they did everything here at H & A Enterprises, most of the workers brought in food from time to time and, unless it was boldly labeled, whatever was there was generally considered fair game. Tim usually kept them generously supplied with soft drinks, and Dorothy Fairfax, the receptionist, made such good desserts that Tim and Angela reimbursed her so that she would bring them regularly.
Angela checked the plastic-wrapped pan on the counter first and sighed with disappointment to find that Dorothy’s brownies had been demolished. She settled for a container of peach yogurt from the refrigerator and put a cup of water in the microwave to heat for tea. She sat at the table, absently spooning the yogurt into her mouth and gazing out at the quiet yard as the day drifted slowly into dusk. She wondered what Bryce had done that day.
There were familiar footsteps in the wooden hallway outside, and Angela turned, a smile already spreading across her face. “Hi, Kelly.”
“Oh, hi!” Kelly looked a little surprised. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought you left a long time ago. Your door was closed all afternoon.”
“No. I was in my office working.”
“Oh. The new game?” Kelly pulled a soft drink out of the refrigerator and plopped down at the table across from Angela.
“Yeah.” Angela didn’t think it was necessary to add that she had gotten almost nothing done on the project.
“Sorry. I told Bryce you were gone.”
“He wanted to see me?” Angela looked at her sharply.
“He was going to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Angela’s eyebrows vaulted upward. Something strangely like panic seized her chest. “He’s left? I mean, gone back to Charlotte? Already?”
“Well, just for a few days. He told me what he wants to look at when he comes back, so I’m getting the records printed up for him. In the meantime, he’s gone back to Charlotte to tie up some things there. He said he’d be back here Monday.”
“Oh. Of course.” Angela looked down into her empty yogurt container, busily scraping the remains of the creamy stuff off the sides and bottom of the cup, as she asked casually, “What did he do today?”
“Not much. Sort of familiarized himself with our system. Asked me a bunch of questions about how the business office is run and who has access to what. Internal security sort of things. Apparently he thinks we’re pretty sloppy.”
Angela snorted indelicately. “He’d probably accuse St. Peter of keeping sloppy accounts.”
Kelly chuckled. “You’re too hard on him. He seems like a nice guy. Very polite.” She paused, then added, “Not to mention cute.”
“Cute?” Angela wrinkled her nose. “Puppies are cute. Bryce Richards is not cute.”
“All right. Handsome, then. What is it with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you hired him, and he’s a friend of your family’s. But you keep making cracks about him. And he keeps asking questions about you—not all of which are what I would consider business-related—but when I suggested that he ask you some of those questions instead of me, he turned all stiff and wouldn’t do it. So what’s the deal?”
Angela shrugged. “There’s no deal. We’ve known each other since I was twelve, and he is good friends with my mother and father, but the two of us never hit it off. We’re complete opposites. He’s totally anal and obsessive.”
Kelly laughed. “He said you were—I believe it was unrealistic and impractical.”
“That’s typical.” Angela got up and went to the microwave to take out her cup and plop the tea bag in it. “I guess he’s not bad, really. He’s just so into numbers and things. You know.” She turned and grinned at her friend. “You might like him, actually. At least you could understand what he talks about. I never could. Maybe you could even get him to lighten up a little.”
“I don’t think he’d be interested in me,” Kelly retorted. “I got the distinct impression that it’s you he’s got a thing for.”
“Got a thing for?” Angela repeated disbelievingly. “Uh-uh. Believe me, I am not his type. He’s so uptight and correct he probably wears pajamas to bed—with little paisley patterns all over them.” She paused, then added, “Ironed pajamas. Starched.”
Kelly chuckled and said, “Then why did he keep looking toward your office every time he went out into the hall today if he isn’t interested in you?”
“He’s probably trying to avoid me—like I was trying to avoid him.”
Kelly studied her thoughtfully, then went on. “Okay. Tell me this… why is it necessary for you all to try so hard to do that? Hmm? I mean, I think it’d come naturally to two people who didn’t like each other.”
With that parting shot, Kelly left the kitchen, throwing a last teasing glance over her shoulder as she walked out the door. Angela grimaced as she picked up her cup and followed her. Kelly had been teasing her, she told herself. There was no basis for what she had said. She and Bryce had succumbed to some strange quirk of passion last night. It didn’t mean that he had any real interest in her. And, certainly, she was not interested in him!
Four
With Bryce gone, Angela’s work progressed more quickly. It surprised her a little since for the two or three weeks before this her brain seemed to have been stuck. Every time she had tried to concentrate on the plot for the new game, her mind had willfully gone back to worrying over their tax situation. Now, however, it didn’t intrude. Reluctant as she was to admit it, she realized finally that she must have confidence that Bryce would find the problem and handle it, and she was able to relax and return to her work.
Friday afternoon, Angela again stayed at the office after the others had gone. She often worked after hours, as it was much easier without the noise and distractions of the day. Often Tim or Kelly or one of the others worked late as well. Theirs was a loose sort of business where workers more or less set their own hours.
Tonight Angela was by herself in the office. Kelly had a date, and Tim and his family had gone to the beach for the weekend. Angela’s fingers flew over the computer keyboard as she expanded her ideas. Over the past hour, she had been growing gradually more aware that she was hungry, but she was too deepl
y involved in the creative process to stop and get something to eat.
Finally, however, a harsh metallic clang intruded on her consciousness, and she looked up from her computer screen. What in the world had that been? Her heart picked up its beat. She knew that there should be no one else in the office, especially up here on the second floor, which was primarily her, Tim’s and Kelly’s domain. She thought about burglars. There was never much cash in their office, but they did have lots of expensive electronic equipment—and not just equipment, either; Tim’s office was full of all the games he loved and their paraphernalia.
Angela stood up and tiptoed to the door into the hallway to peer out cautiously. Light slanted out of Kelly’s open door into the hallway. Angela’s heart began to race. She knew that Kelly had left almost three hours earlier. There was no reason why anyone should be in her office—and Kelly’s door was always locked, since many of their records were kept there. That meant whoever was there would have had to break in.
Angela glanced back at the telephone on her desk and wondered if she should call 911. But somehow she could not quite believe that someone had really broken in, and she thought of how stupid she would feel if she called 911 and they came charging in only to find that Kelly’s date had been broken at the last minute and she had decided to come work off her irritation. Angela stood for a moment indecisively then tiptoed back to her desk and picked up the large piece of mahogany obsidian that she used as a paperweight. Hefting it in one hand, she sneaked out the door and down the hall, careful not to make a sound. At Kelly’s door, she peeked around the doorframe. She could see nothing except Kelly’s desk, the desk lamp casting a golden circle of light over it. Angela leaned farther in, her head craning around to see behind Kelly’s desk.
On the other side of Kelly’s office, hidden by the open door, a file drawer banged against its metal frame as it rolled in. Angela jumped, an involuntary gasp escaping her, and the heavy rock slipped from her hand. It hit the floor with a loud thud.
The Last Groom on Earth Page 4
