by Gail Hart
Steve snatched the panties from Murph’s hand. “Just for five seconds, could you stop being an asshole?”
An aggrieved look settled on Murph’s face. “What bug crawled up your butt? I didn’t get lucky all week. You spent the last two days in the sack, and you’re the one acting all pissy.”
Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m in a lousy mood. She blew me off, all right?”
“What did you expect? This was a vacation hook-up, and the vacation’s over.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think we were done with each other. Especially since I found out she lives in D.C., on the Virginia side. But she shut me down cold.”
“I gotta say, that’s a surprise. Women never blow you off. What’s her problem?”
“She said I’m ‘unsuitable.’”
Murph scowled. “That’s awfully snotty. Who the hell does she think she is?”
“I’d guess she thinks she’s a hotshot business exec who could buy and sell my sorry ass ten times over, and I’m a tool.”
“How are you going to change her mind?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re encouraging me to go for it?”
“Nobody disses my wingman and gets away with it. What’s the ops plan?”
“An all-out romance blitzkrieg.” And he had a secret weapon, because there were still several items left to explore on Katie’s To-Do List.
CHAPTER SIX
A bell jangled as Steve pushed open the door of Joanne’s Flower Boutique and was hit by the cloying scent of the place. Operation Katie was officially underway.
There weren’t any other customers in the shop—just the salesclerk, a college-age redhead. At the sound of the bell, she looked toward the door, and her bored expression perked up. Ignoring her, he walked to the refrigeration case along the back wall and began scoping out the roses.
“How can I help you?” the redhead asked. Her tone suggested an answer that was illegal in several states. He felt a twinge of annoyance. That was the kind of guy he’d been—the kind women hit on even when he was buying flowers for another woman. And up to now, he’d probably have flirted back, accepted her phone number, maybe even called her for a date. No wonder Katie didn’t trust him.
“I want to send three dozen roses to an office out by Dulles. I need to impress a special lady.”
“Three dozen?” Her eyebrows rose, but at least she’d put a lid on the suggestive tone.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Like I said, she’s special.”
“Hmmm...”
He frowned. “What?”
“That sounds a little over the top. Though don’t tell my boss I said so.”
“Really? I don’t want to look like a dork, but I want to send her a message that I’m serious.”
“Then go with two dozen. Guys usually send a dozen, so you’ll still be making a statement.”
“Okay.”
“I assume you want red?”
“No. Red roses are a cliché, and this woman’s an original. Let’s go with yellow.”
She shook her head. “Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Yellow roses stand for friendship.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “What, there’s a code to the color of roses?” Hell, he hadn’t realized buying flowers was so complicated.
“Yes. Every color means something different.”
“How do you women come up with this stuff? Okay, forget about yellow. What are my other choices?”
“Red stands for true love, but you’ve already turned that down. And white stands for innocence, so you’d better skip that if you want to get lucky. Pink means thank you...”
“That might work.”
“Then there’s lavender which means love at first sight, and coral which stands for desire, and...”
Desire; coral, like coral reefs—score! “Coral would be perfect.”
“Two dozen coral roses it is then.”
Crossing to the counter, he pulled Katie’s business card out of his wallet. “Here’s the address. I made a card to go with the flowers,” he said, handing it to her.
The redhead began filling in an order form but paused to look up at him. “No one’s ever sent me two dozen roses. I hope this woman knows how lucky she is.”
Fat chance of that. He’d had models ready to redecorate his apartment after the second date, but he’d managed to fall for a woman who thought he was a frivolous piece of fluff. “She doesn’t yet, but she will.” His voice carried the same conviction he’d use telling his commander he was going to hit his target on the bombing range. It was true. It had to be.
* * *
The automatic doors swung open and Kathryn entered the lobby of the building housing the offices of Brubaker & Whitley, Consultants. Though she was groggy with fatigue, a feeling of comfort washed over her. She was home. This was her turf, the realm of the Ice Queen. She walked past Gallagher’s Irish Pub, its doors locked tight at this hour. Giving a nod of recognition to the guard at the reception desk, she entered a waiting elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
In her outer office, the face of Janelle, her young, blonde personal assistant, opened up like the automatic doors. “It’s good to have you back, Ms. St. John.”
Kathryn was sure the sentiment was sincere. Things went haywire at B&W when she was out of the office for any length of time. Brubaker was already half retired, and Whitley couldn’t manage his own life, much less the firm. The other members of the executive committee knew it; the staff knew it; even the clients knew it. No doubt she’d find a stack of bungled and overlooked paperwork waiting for her once she crossed the threshold of her own office. Well, bring it on. No matter how crazy things got out there in the rest of the world—and they’d gotten pretty crazy in Grand Cayman—here she was in control.
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.”
“Really? Didn’t you have a good time?” Janelle looked genuinely concerned.
Kathryn suppressed a smile. “I promise, I had a great time. Do I have any messages?” She was eager to cut off any questions about how great a time she’d had. Certain information was better kept out of the office.
Janelle rolled her eyes and handed Kathryn a stack of pink message slips. “Is the Pope Catholic? The one on the top is from your mother.”
Kathryn groaned. By the time she’d gotten home the night before, after a full day of traveling, she’d been exhausted. After unpacking, sorting through a mountain of mail and paying a blizzard of bills, she hadn’t had the energy to return her mother’s voicemail messages. An even worse slate of tasks that couldn’t wait lurked on the other side of the door, but Glenda St. John wouldn’t be put off for long. “Thanks, I guess.” She crossed into her office.
The corner office was large and airy. Amanda had done the decorating, mostly honoring Kathryn’s preference for a clean, impersonal look of chrome and glass, but insisting on a few splashes of color in bold jewel tones. Kathryn ignored the twentieth floor view and went straight to her computer to pull up her e-mail. 571 messages. It was going to be a long day, especially since her body still wanted to operate on island time. She did triage on her e-mail, deleting spam and checking messages from clients, managers and employees in that order. She’d leave the personal messages for later in the week.
Midway through her first response, her handbag buzzed. She dove under her desk, dragged up the bag, and dug out her cell phone. By the time she had the instrument in her hand, the ring tone had stopped. She checked the caller ID. Mother. Muttering a curse, she went back to her e-mail.
Within seconds, her intercom buzzed. She considered pretending to be out but decided that wouldn’t be fair to Janelle. Kathryn didn’t pay the girl enough to deal with Glenda St. John on a mission. Besides, it wouldn’t work; her mother would keep calling until she got through and got her pound of flesh. Kathryn might as well get it over with. She punched the button for her private line. “Hello, Mother.”
“Kathryn, you’re in. You didn’t return my calls, so I thought surely you must be in a meeting.”
Kathryn willed herself to take steady breaths and keep her tone neutral. “I got your messages and your e-mails. I was going to call you as soon as I took care of the Monday morning work emergencies. Things pile up when I’m on vacation.”
“I know you were on vacation, but you were supposed to get home last night, so when you didn’t call, I was worried. You should show some consideration for your old mother.” The woman’s martyred tone would have done Joan of Arc proud.
“I got in late, so I thought it would be more considerate not to call and wake you.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Kathryn Ann. I don’t care if you’re some sort of high muckety-muck at the office. I went through twenty hours of labor to bring you into the world, and I deserve respect.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just thought it would be better to talk to you later, when I could give you my full attention.”
“As usual, your priorities are all wrong. Family should come first. If you realized that, by now you’d have a husband and children of your own.”
The words instead of being a dried up old maid were left unsaid, but Kathryn heard them anyway. There was no way she had the time or the energy to deal with these histrionics right now. She mouthed a silent scream before answering, “Look, Mom, I have to run to a staff meeting. I promise, I’ll call you later and tell you all about my trip.”
She’d barely turned back to her computer when the intercom buzzed again. She jerked the receiver off the hook. “What is it that can’t wait until I’ve had my coffee?”
“Your coffee’s on its way up. And Phillips is here.” Janelle’s voice carried the soothing tone of someone trying to calm a cranky four-year-old.
Oh shit. Phillips was B&W’s chief accountant. This couldn’t be good. “Is he in a tizzy?”
“Definitely.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad?”
“Eleven.”
“Show him in,” Kathryn said, her voice resigned. Yup, it was going to be a long day all right. Where the hell was her coffee?
* * *
Kathryn wanted to scream. She hadn’t even made it to lunch, and already her plan for the day was shot full of holes. Her slim hope of getting home at a reasonable hour had evaporated. She could forget about a relaxing soak in a hot bath with a glass of white zinfandel.
Just as well. Travel fatigue was kicking her ass worse than usual. The way she was dragging, she’d probably fall asleep in the tub and drown.
Janelle’s head appeared around the edge of Kathryn’s door. The younger woman’s eyes were giant black marbles. “You have a delivery, Ms. St. John. Oh my God, do you have a delivery.”
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. What had the girl in such a state?
Janelle walked into Kathryn’s office and deposited an outlandishly large vase of pinkish-orangish roses on her desk. Kathryn opened the tiny florist’s envelope and took out the card. On it was a photo of a pair of angelfish with the message, “Later, Katie... XXX, Steve.”
“Who’s Steve?”
Kathryn jerked her head up. “You read the card?”
“I thought they were from a client and you’d want me to send a thank you note.”
No trace of guile showed on Janelle’s face. The girl didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. She wasn’t lying. She’d honestly believed this jungle’s worth of flora was a business gift. It had finally come to this—everyone assumed she had no personal life.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Because you’ll thank him in person, ‘later’?”
Did Steve plan to drop by? So much for avoiding office gossip. Her visitors didn’t usually look like underwear models. No doubt the flowers had already fired up the rumor mill; a Steve sighting would send it into overdrive.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had a great vacation,” Janelle continued, nakedly curious.
Kathryn tried to look as if the flowers were no big deal, which was difficult, since just the thought of Steve made her nipples pucker and her heart race as if it might pound out of her chest. “It’s not like that. He’s an old family friend.”
“Riiight.”
Kathryn rested one hand on her hip and jutted her chin out. “What?”
“A friend who sends you about a gazillion roses?”
Kathryn scowled. “Don’t you have something to do? If not, I must be paying you too much.”
“Message received.” Her assistant smiled and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Kathryn held a flower to her nose, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. The roses were lovely, and there were so many of them. The florist’s bill must have taken quite a dent out of a Second Lieutenant’s paycheck. Apparently Steve had meant business when he said he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.
Returning to her desk, Kathryn tried to turn her attention to other paperwork, but she couldn’t concentrate. She kept getting distracted by the fragrance of the flowers. And to be honest, by thoughts of the flower-sender. She imagined him coming up behind her and kissing her neck, his breath warm in her ear as he whispered words of comfort, his powerful hands massaging the knots out of her shoulders, then sliding lower...
Oh for God’s sake, what was wrong with her? She was acting like a teenager, letting her hormones take over her brain. Steve had that effect on her. She’d played with fire when she seduced him, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d get burned.
* * *
Six thirty. Only a few stragglers seemed to be left in Kathryn’s building, judging by the mere trickle of people coming out of the elevators as Steve arrived. Going against the flow, he let the elevator deposit him a few feet from Kathryn’s outer office, where to his surprise, a young blonde still sat behind the desk. Must be Kathryn’s personal assistant. It couldn’t hurt to get on her good side. He gave her his most brilliant smile. “Is Kathryn in?”
She blushed under the heat of his smile and stared at him with unabashed curiosity. “Su... sure. Are you Steve?”
“Yes, ma’am.” So Kathryn had told her to expect him. That was a good sign.
Continuing to stare at him, the woman pressed the intercom button. “You have a visitor, Ms. St. John,” then a pause, then “No, it’s the flower guy.” After another pause, she turned her attention back to him. “Let me show you in.”
They entered Kathryn’s office, and he nearly shivered. The place was cold with a capital C. All metal and glass, very little color, and no clutter. The white leather sofa looked so stiff and uncomfortable, he couldn’t imagine making love on it. Even to Katie.
Kathryn herself, dressed in a forest green wool business suit and white silk blouse, looked just as cool. So businesslike, so calm, so unaffected by his presence. She rose from her desk chair and looked at her assistant. “You can go now, Janelle. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Ms. St. John. Have a nice evening.” Janelle smirked and left, closing the door behind her.
In the awkward moment that followed Janelle’s departure, Steve noticed a framed poster on the near wall. He did a double take. “Wonder Woman?”
Kathryn blushed. He was grateful for this small sign that she was human. “It was a gift. My team gave it to me after we made the final delivery on the Madison project, the contract from hell.”
He looked from the poster to her and back. “You do look a little like Lynda Carter. You’d look great in that outfit. Or out of it. We should get you one. Think of the games we could play.”
She ignored his comment and fixed him with a direct stare. “The roses are beautiful, Steve, but you should have left well enough alone.”
He walked over to her, took her hands in his, and scanned her face. Now he understood how it was possible for people to think of her as icy. Her heavy makeup, though tastefully applied, seemed like armor designed to hold people at a distance. And he hated the way her
hair was pulled back in that twist. He frowned. “You look different.”
“I warned you the person you met in the islands wasn’t the real me.”
“We’ll see.” If he didn’t do something to melt this deep freeze, and do it fast, he was going to crash and burn. Letting go of her hands, he reached behind her head and unsnapped her hair clip. Her thick dark brown curls tumbled down. He dropped the clip to the floor and spread her hair across her shoulders. Then he grinned. “That’s more like my Katie. Much better.”
She took a step back, and he had to resist the impulse to laugh at her shocked expression.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk in here and start—”
“Start what? All I did was let down your hair. It’s not like I took off your blouse.”
The way her breath caught and the flush that crept up her cheeks told him she liked the idea. He gave her his best seductive smile. “Although I can if you want me to.”
“Stop it! This is my place of business.”
“Yes, and it’s after six, so I suggest we get the hell out of your place of business and go somewhere we can talk.”
She gave him an intense look. “Talk?”
“Talk, relax, see where things go from there.”
She turned away from him. “I can’t leave. I have hours of work left. I’ve been on vacation, remember?”
“How could I forget? But you still have to eat. Come grab a bite with me, and then if you insist, you can go back to the office.”
“Hmmm...” He saw the wheels turning in her head. “You’re not going away until I say yes, are you?”
“No.”
She shrugged. “All right, I’ll have dinner with you. But I need to make some phone calls to the west coast first. There’s an Irish pub in the lobby. Wait for me there. I’ll be down in about an hour.”
“What if I can’t wait that long?”
She scowled. “There are always plenty of good-looking women in Gallagher’s. You’ll have no trouble finding a substitute.”
He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to look at his face. “Yes, I would. No one could replace you. But I’m glad you’re jealous.”
