“We’ll see.”
“Enough of this. Call me tomorrow after you’ve discussed Janice and Sleeping Beauty with Andrea.”
“Yep. Talk to you then. Say hello to your father for me. See ya, Taylor.”
“’Bye.”
Taylor dropped his feet to the floor, then leaned forward to replace the receiver. He stood and walked to the windows that made up one wall of the office, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stared out over the skyline of Phoenix.
Well, he’d started the ball rolling.
If Brandon and Andrea told him to present the Hamilton House idea to Janice, would she be receptive to the proposed plan? He didn’t have a clue.
In fact, he didn’t have a clue about a lot of things regarding Ms. Jennings. But one thing was for certain. The dinner meeting with her tomorrow night wouldn’t be boring. Depending on Brandon and Andrea’s decision, he and Janice just might have a great deal to discuss.
Taylor shook his head. Brandon was worse than someone who had quit smoking and felt driven to save the world’s smokers from their nasty habit. Hamilton was happily married and, therefore, his bachelor friends should run right out and find themselves wives.
“Sorry, buddy,” Taylor said aloud. “Not interested.”
You could be lonely even as we speak and not even know it.
Taylor frowned as Brandon’s words echoed loudly in his mind.
He was not lonely. Yeah, sure, he was new in town, had just moved to Phoenix from San Francisco, but he already knew an amazing number of people from past business dealings.
He’d met a couple of his neighbors in the apartment building where he now lived, and he was going to play tennis with one of the clients he’d inherited from his father.
And women? They’d come along soon enough. They always did. A city the size of Phoenix wouldn’t be lacking in the beautiful, nocommitments gals who made up his social life.
A sudden image of Janice flitted in Taylor’s mental vision and his frown deepened.
Where had she come from out of the blue? Thinking about the women he would no doubt begin dating in the very near future certainly shouldn’t have conjured up Janice in his mind’s eye.
Granted, Janice Jennings had the most incredibly beautiful, sapphire-colored eyes that he had ever seen.
And, yes, her lips made him want to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth with his.
And, okay, Janice had, for some unexplainable and annoying reason, caused heated desire to rocket through him.
But Janice wasn’t his type, not even close. Her mode of dress announced that she wasn’t a sophisticated woman.
She was...she was frumpy, for crying out loud. She was—
Forget it, Taylor told himself. He’d wasted enough mental energy already, contemplating why Janice made no attempt to heighten her natural, womanly attributes.
So what if she wasn’t aware of her beauty?
So what if she knew but didn’t care?
So what if she was intentionally diminishing it, hiding it for heaven only knew what reason?
His curiosity was aroused by the mysterious Ms. Jennings. Not only was her wardrobe an interesting puzzle, but so was her demand that her ownership of Sleeping Beauty be kept a deep, dark secret.
If he discovered the answers to his questions about Janice, hooray for him. If he didn’t, it was no big deal. She was just another client, nothing more. He had no time to dwell on the off-the-wall Ms. Jennings.
You could be lonely even as we speak and not even know it.
Brandon’s words hammered once again in Taylor’s mind.
“Damn it, Hamilton,” he muttered. “Quit playing with my head. You’re so off base it’s a crime.”
A passing cloud covered the brilliant sun, casting a shadow over the office. A strange chill swept through Taylor and he spun around, his eyes darting back and forth across the large room.
He’d felt... something, he thought. It was as though... Lord, how weird...as though an invisible hand had tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention.
Hell, this was crazy. There was nothing here but an expensively furnished office. He’d hung his framed diplomas on the wall to replace the ones his father had removed. Other than that, everything was exactly the same as when Clem Sinclair had run this lucrative business.
Except...
What?
Taylor dragged both hands down his face.
He was losing it. This was nuts. There was nothing unusual about this room. It suited his tastes close enough that he’d decided to leave it as it was. It remained as it had always been.
Except...
As though drawn by an uncontrollable force, Taylor’s gaze was pulled to the large desk, where several files were waiting for his attention.
The chill returned, causing him to shiver.
He walked to the chair and sank onto it heavily, his eyes riveted on the bare, left corner of the desk.
The picture, his mind thundered. The framed photograph of his parents and him from the night he’d graduated from Prescott High School was no longer there. The family portrait that Clem had enjoyed looking at each day as he worked at that desk was gone. His father had taken it home.
But Taylor had nothing to replace it with.
He didn’t have a family.
A wife.
A son.
Damn it, he thought, lunging to his feet. What was the matter with him? He didn’t want the life-style his father had had.
Clem had loved his wife, Margaret—more, it seemed, with every passing day. And he’d loved his son with that same all-consuming devotion.
And what had that love and devotion gotten Clem Sinclair in the end? An empty, lonely existence, and an aching heart for what he’d had...and lost. Margaret had died. Taylor was grown, out on his own.
Love was great while it lasted, Taylor thought, dragging one hand through his hair, but there was no guarantee that it would. It was too risky to lay it all on the line.
No way. He wasn’t setting himself up to be emotionally defenseless against loneliness and despair. If he never fell in love, then his very soul couldn’t be ripped to shreds when it ended.
The spiel he’d given his father that morning about wanting a relationship that mirrored his parents’ marriage had been a smoke screen, something to say to hopefully keep his dad from nagging on the subject.
It was also a quiet way of letting his father know that his son respected and admired what his parents had shared.
But there was no escaping the fact that the senior Sinclairs’s love, their blissful life together, had ended far earlier than they had hoped.
His secret fears about love were too raw, too personal, to share even with his own father.
Taylor picked up the expensive pen set that had been his parting gift from the powers-that-be at the large company in San Francisco, and slammed it onto the desk where his father’s picture frame had rested.
He used such force that the gleaming wooden base holding the pens cracked, causing a jagged white line to mar its perfection.
“Hell,” he said.
He’d been working too hard. That was it. He’d put in twelve- and eighteen-hour days since arriving in Phoenix, paying visits to clients and studying every detail of their files.
He was thinking crazy thoughts, traveling down bizarre mental roads due to being exhausted. He would never change his mind on the risks of loving, never waver from his vow to stay far away from emotional entanglements. For Pete’s sake, to have been shaken by the empty corner of a desk was beyond ridiculous.
You could be lonely even as we speak and not even know it.
“That cooks it,” Taylor said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
He strode across the room, yanked open the door to a narrow closet and grabbed bis jacket. He left the office, not breaking stride as he passed the desk where the forty-something secretary who had worked for his father looked up at him in surprise.
“I’m outta he
re,” Taylor said gruffly. “I’ll be back in the morning, Emily.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, but Taylor had already disappeared from view. “Goodness,” she added, shaking her head in confusion. “What came over him?”
That night, for the first time in several years, Janice had the dream.
There had been a time when it had plagued her almost constantly, but then it had ebbed, finally leaving her alone to sleep peacefully.
But tonight it was back.
She was a little girl standing by the front window in a small, shabby apartment, hands flattened on the glass.
“Please, Mama,” she said. “They’re playing hopscotch out front. Can I play, too? Please, Mama?”
“No, absolutely not. What if you fell and scraped your knee, or chin, or elbow? How would that look to the judges of the beauty pageant? Get over here and practice singing your song again.”
“I know my song. I want to play hopscotch. I never get to play with my friends.”
“They are ordinary children, Janice Jennings, and you are not. You’re beautiful, and that’s far more important than silly sidewalk games. Your beauty is the only thing that matters. Do you understand me? Your looks are your ticket to a fabulous life, and I intend to see that you get what you deserve. Come away from that window. The sun is too bright there, and I won’t have your face marred by freckles.”
“But, Mama...” Tears streaming down her cheeks, a sob choked off her plea.
“Quit whining and crying like a baby. You’re six years old and you’ve been taking part in these pageants for three years now. Don’t act as though you don’t know the rules. Beauty, Janice, that’s what counts in this world.”
“I don’t want to be beautiful. I hate it. I hate it. I—”
Janice sat bolt upright in bed, her heart beating so wildly she could hear the echo of the thundering tempo in her ears.
“I hate it,” she whispered.
She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her moist forehead on top. Her tousled hair fell like a heavy curtain around her face.
“Oh, God,” she said, then took a shuddering breath.
She raised her head and swept her hair back with jerky motions, dashing away the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks.
Why, why, why had the haunting dream returned, evoking the painful memories? Her existence was peaceful, serene, exactly the way she wanted it to be. She’d done nothing different, hadn’t changed her pleasant, daily routine.
Except for...
“Dear heaven.”
Janice sank back onto the pillow and stared up into the darkness.
Except for accepting Taylor Sinclair’s invitation to go out to dinner.
Damn that man. This was all his fault. Taylor was the reason the horrifying dream had returned after such a blessedly long time.
No, no, that wasn’t fair. Taylor was simply doing his job. He was getting to know the clients he’d inherited from Clem.
Taylor obviously took his career seriously, just as she did, as evidenced by the fact that he’d thoroughly studied her financial portfolio and was prepared to make suggestions to improve her status even more.
So he was taking the owner of Sleeping Beauty out for a meal, where the conversation would be centered on business. It was an accountant and client outing. Not a man and woman on a dinner date.
But she had to admit that Taylor had an unsettling effect on her as a woman. His blatant masculinity had stirred her slumbering femininity, causing shivers of awareness to course through her.
Sleeping Beauty, Janice’s mind echoed. The name of her boutique was so perfect. No one knew that it represented her as well as the exquisite apparel she sold. It spoke of her fierce determination to diminish her beauty, to refuse to allow anything, or anyone, to awaken it from it’s hidden recesses, never to surface in public again.
Janice sighed with a sense of relief.
She now knew the reason for the dream. The rest was up to her. She would be on full alert against Taylor’s masculine magnetism. He was dangerous, a threat to her peace of mind and the life she’d so carefully constructed for herself.
She could handle this. She’d simply be certain that the protective walls she’d built around herself were higher and stronger while she was in close proximity to Taylor.
She was no longer the crying child who ached to play hopscotch.
She was no longer at the mercy of a mother who had only seen the outward beauty of her child, never the lonely and needy inner heart and soul.
Her mother was dead, and so was the man who had married Janice so he could show her off like a beautiful trophy. A man who had betrayed her so painfully.
She was no longer on display to be judged by strangers, who would determine whether or not she was beautiful enough to be accepted.
She was Janice Jennings, in charge, in control, of her own life.
She was Sleeping Beauty.
“Yes,” Janice whispered. “Yes.”
She closed her eyes and allowed blissful slumber to claim her, no longer afraid of that dream lurking in the shadows.
That afternoon, during a lull at Sleeping Beauty, Janice telephoned one of the women who worked for her and asked if she would be available to take over the store at about two o’clock.
“Sure, Janice,” Betsy said. “I’ll be happy to come in. I’m getting hooked on television talk shows that are an insult to my gray matter. Even my cat leaves the room when I tune into one of those things.”
“Then I’m your heroine,” Janice said, laughing. “I’m saving you from yourself.”
“That’s the truth.” Betsy paused. “You’re not ill, are you? I can’t remember you ever asking me to work when I wasn’t scheduled to.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she said. “I have a business meeting with the accountant this evening, that’s all. I decided to treat myself to the afternoon off, since I’ll literally be on duty tonight.”
“Good for you,” Betsy said. “I suppose you’ll have to talk to the owner of Sleeping Beauty and relay every little detail that the accountant said.”
“Yes,” Janice said slowly. “The owner will be fully informed about what took place.”
“Which should earn you another afternoon off. Tell the owner that, Janice.”
“I just might. Thanks for stepping in on such short notice. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okeydoke. ’Bye.”
“Goodbye, Betsy.”
Janice replaced the receiver and smiled.
“Did you get all that, madam owner of Sleeping Beauty?” she said aloud. “I deserve another afternoon free in addition to this one.”
Her smile faded and she sighed.
Even after all these years, she wasn’t completely comfortable pretending she was only the manager of Sleeping Beauty. But the duplicity was necessary.
“So be it,” she said.
She dismissed the subject from her mind as the door to the boutique opened and Henry, the mailman, entered and hurried to the counter.
“It’s a girl,” he said, beaming as he handed Janice the mail. “Six pounds, six ounces. My daughter is fine. My son-in-law is exhausted. My wife hasn’t stopped sniffling with joy, and I’m a proud grandpa.”
“Congratulations,” Janice said, smiling. “A baby girl. That’s wonderful, and how very lucky she is. She’s obviously going to be very loved.”
“And spoiled,” Henry said. “I get to do that, you know. It’s in my job description as a grandfather.”
Janice laughed. “Indeed, it is.” She sobered. “Remember to give her lots of hugs, Henry, and love her just as she is, no matter what.”
“Well, sure, that goes without saying.”
“Not always.” Janice smiled again. “Anyway, best wishes to you all.”
“Thanks, Janice. I gotta go.”
Janice watched as Henry left the store, then frowned as flashes from her dream the night before flitted across her mental vision.
&n
bsp; “Just love her as she is, Henry, no matter what,” she said softly, staring into space. “And give her lots and lots of hugs. And, Henry? Let her play hopscotch whenever she wants to.”
Chapter Four
As Janice turned onto her driveway and pressed the button on the remote control to open the garage door, her friend and neighbor, Shirley Henderson, pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway.
“Hello, Janice,” Shirley called. “Are you playing hooky this afternoon?”
Janice leaned out the car window. “Well, sort of,” she shouted. “Would you like to come over for a swim?”
“You’re on. See you in a few.”
Janice waved, then drove into the garage, closing the door behind her. She entered the house through the laundry room off the kitchen and headed for her bedroom, removing the pins from her hair as she went.
Shirley was a delight, she thought as she entered the bedroom, shaking her hair free to tumble down her back. She was a rare find as a friend, because she never pried, never pushed for answers to questions that Janice knew she must have.
Shirley often saw her in her work attire, then witnessed the transformation to “Janice at home”. But Shirley had never once inquired why there were obviously two Janice Jennings.
“A special friend, indeed,” she said aloud as she shed her clothes.
A short time later, Janice stepped out of the kitchen onto the back patio, carrying a tray with tumblers filled with ice and a pitcher of sun tea. She set the refreshments on the table just as Shirley opened the gate to the yard, clad in a one-piece bathing suit and toting a beach towel.
Shirley was forty-three, divorced, and a tad plump. Due to the financial settlement she’d received from a now ex-husband she’d caught in bed with his secretary, she was a woman of leisure who used her spare time to volunteer for several charitable organizations.
Janice enjoyed Shirley’s upbeat and cheerful personality. She had told Janice early on that she refused to turn into a bitter old woman due to her husband’s betrayal, a decree that Janice had silently vowed to follow.
“Let the bubblehead pick up his dirty socks from now on,” she’d said. “Wait until sweetie-poo finds out the bum snores loud enough to rattle the windows. That’ll fix her wagon.”
The Irresistible Mr. Sinclair Page 4
