Adrienne’s eyebrows rose. Was Graydon actually admitting he had feelings? Wow. First Cameron does her own homework, and now Graydon is acting like a regular, slightly shy guy. Has the entire world gone insane?
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Graydon Warner?” Adrienne demanded.
“You’re one of the few people who has ever seen the real Graydon Warner,” he said softly. Then he smirked his usual smirk. “And if you tell anyone that I actually admitted I have a fear of rejection, well, just remember I’m very well-connected. Those rumors about there being a Russian Mafia…? You don’t want to find out.”
Adrienne laughed. Graydon was presumptuous, duplicitous, conniving, and right now utterly adorable.
“Oh, good!” Graydon said. “The lady laughs. So I’m guessing you won’t mind when I invite myself upstairs.”
“Are you kidding me?” Adrienne demanded, her hands on her hips. “You really like to push your luck, don’t you?”
Graydon waggled his eyebrows at her. “Are you saying I could get lucky?”
Adrienne laughed and smacked his arm. For once his lecherous act really did seem like an act. Maybe I’ve been oversensitive and he really has just been joking all along, she thought.
He stood in the doorway looking at her. “Well…?”
To Adrienne’s shock, she was actually torn. But then sense took over. “I don’t think my mom would appreciate just showing up with an extra person in time for dinner—which I’m already late for. Besides,” she added, “if you want a date, you’re going to have to actually ask me out. Not just horn in on a family meal.”
Graydon shrugged. “Hey, I only wanted to meet your dad. I really want to take his macroeconomics class next year. This isn’t actually about you at all.” He shook his head. “Some girls are so egotistical.”
“You are such a jerk,” Adrienne said, laughing. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her keys.
“And you are such a beauty,” Graydon said. He reached out and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Adrienne felt herself grow warm at his touch and, confused, took a step backward.
“So will you?” Graydon asked.
“Will I what?”
“Will you go out with me? You said I had to actually ask you, so I’m asking.”
“Uh, o-okay,” she said.
Graydon placed his hands on the wall behind her. He moved closer, and she raised her face to his.
Adrienne closed her eyes as she gave herself over to the kiss. His lips pressed against hers, and the feeling sent shivers of pleasure through her. She knew if she hadn’t been leaning against the wall, she would have fallen over—her knees felt that wobbly.
Graydon pulled away. “Don’t forget me,” he said. “I know I’ll be thinking about you.” He grinned at her, then turned and climbed back into his Porsche.
Adrienne stayed leaning against the wall until he drove away. Luckily no one she knew had witnessed them kissing. She felt out of breath and exhilarated, her senses tingling. She had never felt that kind of intense chemistry with Brian.
She turned and went into her building. Could she have been wrong about him? Maybe he really did have this totally sweet, totally insecure side that just needed a girl he could trust to bring out.
It made her wonder: Maybe she was that girl?
CHAPTER SEVEN
horse sense
Liz put her heavy pile of books on the counter at the Salad Patch and placed her tiny Lulu Guinness purse on top of them. Now that spring was approaching, the girls of Pheasant-Berkeley had abandoned their backpacks in favor of the ridiculously small bags, and while, Liz admitted, the girls did look cute on Park Avenue clutching their tiny confections of grosgrain and silk, it had become difficult to travel without a larger bag for her textbooks.
None of her friends had arrived at the P-B hangout yet, but she was too hungry to wait. “Iced tea and a garden salad, please,” Liz ordered as the waiter placed a glass of water and a set of silverware in front of her.
“And a porterhouse steak to go with that rabbit food,” a familiar voice commented behind her.
Liz spun around on the chrome stool and saw Parker, hair disheveled and tie undone, standing behind her in the very sexy uniform of the boys at Dudley Academy: ripped jeans, oxford-cloth shirt, blue blazer, and expensive watch. The watch was, of course, optional, but it seemed that every boy at the tony private school sported a watch that cost as much as a small car on his wrist.
“Parker!” Liz said, slipping off the stool. Even though it had only been two days since she’d seen him, things had been strained at Jack Chasen’s party, leaving Liz with a sour feeling. She was hoping to have a chance for some normal time with him, though she wasn’t even sure what “normal” would mean at this point. He smiled a slow, sexy smile, slid his hands onto her hips, and kissed her.
Mmmmm, Liz thought. That’s better.
Reassured by the playful affection of the kiss, she leaned away from him to see his face. “What’s up? Why are you here? You guys out early?”
“Do I need a reason to come see my girl at lunch?” Parker moved his lips to her neck and nibbled.
“Well,” Liz said, tingling with each soft bite, “since Dudley is across town, yes, you do!” She turned her face to kiss him again, then sat down. “But I’m happy to see you.” She pushed her enormous pile of books aside to make room for Parker at the counter.
Parker hopped on the stool next to her and leaned in close, his shoulder touching hers.
“Actually,” he said conspiratorially, “I’m ditching.”
“The afternoon?” Liz said, eyes widening. “You’ll be so busted! They’ll put you on probation, right?”
Parker shrugged. He took a swig from her water glass. “I may take off the whole week,” he confessed.
Liz stared at him. The whole week? He’ll be expelled! “You’re not serious,” she said.
“Yup.” Parker glanced around the room, as if he suddenly realized they weren’t alone. “Is anyone from P-B here?” he asked.
“Of course,” Liz said. “You know we all hang out here. What’s the problem?”
“This was a bad idea,” Parker said, standing up. “Someone is going to see me and blab back at Dudley. I’d better take off. Call me later. I’ll be hanging out in the park. Or downtown, or something. See you.”
“Parker, wait!” Liz called as he hurried out the Salad Patch door, its bell jingling as it slammed behind him.
“Your order, miss.” The man behind the counter placed a salad and iced tea in front of her, yanking her attention away from the door.
Liz stared down at the salad in front of her, but lunch was the farthest thing from her mind.
Liz arrived at the Claremont Riding Academy on West Eighty-ninth Street about ten minutes late. Her crosstown bus was stuck behind a limousine that seemed as if it would never move. When she got off the bus at Columbus Avenue, Liz realized what had caused the hold-up: The limo contained a weeping Heather, a shouting David, and the inimitable Dr. Mayra Markham-Collins.
“Elizabeth!” Dr. M-C bellowed. The chauffeur holding open the door for her flinched but quickly recovered. “You’re late!”
So are you, you big pain, Liz thought, but said, “Sorry!” instead, and ran down the block to meet them.
“Hi, Liz!” David said, jumping out of the car. “Heather is crying and she won’t stop!”
Oh boy, Liz thought, this will be great.
“Elizabeth,” Dr. M-C said, “I need to go inside and prepare the instructors for Heather’s delicate psyche. They must be aware that they are dealing with an extraordinarily fragile child. Calm her down, then bring her inside. David, come with me.” Dr. M-C strode into the old wooden building, David running to keep up with her.
The driver returned to the front seat, and Liz stuck her head into the car. Heather cowered in the corner of the backseat, a Hermès lap blanket over her head.
“Heather,” Liz said gently, “are you all
right?”
“I want to go home.” Heather moaned from under the blanket. At least Liz was pretty sure that’s what Heather said—her voice was muffled.
“Heather,” Liz coaxed. “It’s hard for me to hear you. Can you come out from under the blanket? Please?”
Heather sniffed. “I don’t think so.”
“Sure, you can,” Liz encouraged her.
Heather pulled the blanket down from her face and looked at Liz with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. “Do I have to?”
Liz smoothed down Heather’s hair. “Yeah, you do. Your mom is really into this.”
Heather’s lower lip quivered. “Have you ever ridden a horse?” she asked.
Liz’s memory flashed back to a horrific ride at a fair, clutching the mane of a smelly, filthy horse that trotted too fast and made her sick to her stomach.
“Yes, I have,” Liz said. “And, see! I survived.” She gave Heather a broad grin.
Heather frowned, her furrowed brow making her look much older than her nine years. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll go in. But I won’t ride.”
“That’s fine,” Liz said. “And your mom is going to be really proud of you.”
Heather slid out of the limo, looking every inch the professional rider in her very expensive outfit. Except for the terrified look on her face, of course.
“I just hope I’m not permanently traumatized by this experience,” Heather said shakily.
That goes for both of us, Liz thought. For the millionth time, Liz wondered how the renowned Dr. Markham-Collins could be so completely clueless about her own kids.
Liz and Heather walked into the riding ring, which was open to the street. Heather planted her feet and refused to budge more than a few feet from the sidewalk.
Several young girls trotted in circles around the small dirt-covered ring. The animals were large and well-tended, their coats shining and clean. Liz admired the little girls who seemed to have no fear in spite of the fact that they were sitting on animals that could so easily throw or hurt them. Liz spotted David up in the tiny office, nose pressed to the window, mesmerized by the horses.
“Heels down!” an older man instructed one of the girls. “And, Caitlin, shoulders back! Look in the direction that you want to go—your mount needs to see you know what you’re doing before she’ll believe you’re in control!”
Dr. M-C and David clattered down the steps from the office, followed by a trim woman in her forties. The woman beamed at Heather.
“Hello, Heather,” she said. “My name is Alex-ahn-dra Winters,” she said as if she were talking to a very small dog. “Your Mommy told me that you are a little scared of horses. Are you?”
“Heather is a very sensitive girl,” Dr. M-C said, “and I think that some time with animals would do her good.”
“Dr. Markham-Collins”—Ms. Winters turned to Dr. M-C, her voice turning steely—“if your little girl needs time with animals, you should get her a kitten. If she wants to ride, then she should get up on a horse and work with me. I train champion equestrians, Doctor. I’m no baby-sitter. If Heather wants to commit to success, she can stay.”
Dr. M-C blinked several times behind her black-rimmed glasses.
Whoa, Liz thought, it looks like Dr. M-C has met her match. Way to go, Winters!
Dr. M-C collected herself. “Heather is ready to succeed!” she declared. “Aren’t you, Heather?”
Heather slipped behind Liz and clung to Liz’s legs. Liz could feel the little girl’s fingers trembling.
“Let’s find Heather an appropriate horse,” Ms. Winters said. “Jake!” She crossed to the side of the ring to confer with a young man wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Dr. M-C and David trailed behind her.
“Okay, you can let go now, Heather.” Liz twisted, trying to free herself from Heather’s white-knuckled grip. Heather finally released Liz’s now-bruised legs and stood there, quivering.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” Liz assured her. “Look at the other girls. They’re having fun.”
Heather glanced at the ring. The instructor brought the lesson to an end, and the girls dismounted, chatting happily as they led their horses to the stalls.
Heather went back to staring at her shiny new riding boots. “What if I get colic?” she whined.
“Get what?” Liz asked. She wasn’t sure she had heard Heather correctly.
“Colic! I saw on a TV show that horses can get colic. And when Lindsay Cunningham’s baby brother had colic, he screamed for hours and hours.” Heather shuddered. “He was in agony!”
Liz shook her head. It’s true, she mused, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. “It’s not the same kind of colic,” she explained. In addition to being supersensitive, Heather could be a class-A hypochondriac. “Besides, it’s not even contagious.”
Heather looked at Liz dubiously, then she brightened. “What about hoof-and-mouth disease,” she said. “Can I get that?”
“Heather, darling—look! They have a horse just for you!” Dr. M-C boomed from ringside.
Heather scurried behind Liz again.
Liz saw that Jake was leading a graying, slightly over-weight mare with soft brown eyes around into the ring. The horse looked extremely calm. In fact, Liz wondered if it was sleepwalking.
“See, Heather,” Liz said, “this horse isn’t scary at all.”
Heather peeked out from behind Liz but made no move to the ring.
“Heather, you only think you are afraid,” Dr. M-C lectured. “This is a false reality you have created. You aren’t actually frightened, you only believe you are frightened, leading to your current need to act out as a scared child.”
Everyone in the stable stared at Dr. M-C, clearly trying to make sense of the psychobabble. Even the horse looked perplexed.
“I want to ride!” David announced from where he was sitting in the dirt. “Let me!” He jumped back up.
Heather charged out from behind Liz and blocked David’s path to the horse. “No!” she screeched at her little brother. “This is my riding lesson!”
Liz fought back a smile. Nothing like a little sibling rivalry to motivate a kid.
“Let’s get started, then,” Ms. Winters declared. “Heather, this horse’s name is Mindreader.”
Jake gave Heather a boost up while Ms. Winters explained how to mount the horse from the left and how to hold the reins between her thumbs and forefingers.
“Just sit up straight and feel the horse under you,” she instructed. “That’s right, you’re doing fine!”
Heather sat bolt upright on Mindreader, her face white with terror.
That poor girl, Liz thought. Why can’t Dr. M-C see that this is pure torture for Heather?
“She’s got good posture,” Ms. Winters commented. “You can’t teach that. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”
“Did you hear that, Heather? We’re IN!” shouted Dr. M-C, as Heather sat pinned to Mindreader’s back with fear. “Now try galloping around the ring, dear.”
“She’ll do no such thing!” Ms. Winters ordered. “Heather, do not give Mindreader that command!”
No danger of that, Liz thought. The horse is the one in charge here. And I’m guessing Mindreader barely makes it above a trot on an energetic day.
Liz was relieved to see that no matter how Dr. M-C may have exaggerated Heather’s abilities, Ms. Winters saw right though it and chose a horse suited to Heather’s temperament and nonskill level.
A series of chimes caught Mindreader’s attention. The horse shifted its weight and turned its large head toward the sound.
“Aghhhh!” Heather shrieked. She squeezed her eyes shut. “The horse is trying to eat me!”
“Oh, it’s doing no such thing,” Dr. M-C scolded, pulling out her cell phone—the source of the chimes. “Dr. Markham-Collins here.”
“The horse just wanted to know who was on the phone,” Liz called to Heather, who continued shrieking. “But if you keep screaming, you could make her mad.”
Immediately Heather shut up. Now instead of white, her face was bright red. Liz was pretty sure Heather was holding her breath as a way to stop shouting.
“I have to go,” Dr. M-C announced. “I’ll leave you in Ms. Winters’s capable hands. My client needs me. Her child was just rejected from the top nursery school in New York, and she is just devastated. Now that’s a REAL problem.”
Liz stared as Dr. M-C charged out of the stable as if she were on a true mission of mercy. She looked back at Heather, miserable on Mindreader, and sighed.
Doc, she thought, you wouldn’t know a real problem if it reared up and whinnied.
CHAPTER EIGHT
what’s normal?
Friday night Adrienne settled into a chair at a restaurant near the Warners’ apartment on the Upper East Side. Bilboquet was a tiny French restaurant. The small tables were packed in tightly, and Adrienne realized that she was actually closer to the table next to her than she was to Graydon.
Graydon.
To Adrienne’s complete and utter astonishment, every time they got together or spoke on the phone over the past two weeks, she discovered something about Graydon Warner that surprised and pleased her: his hope of creating a foundation to help disaster victims; the fact that he loved some of the same obscure black-and-white movies that she did; that he even shared her affection for old Bewitched reruns—an obsession that even Brian didn’t know about and that she’d only recently confessed to Emma in a rare moment of nanny-mini-genius bonding.
“A bottle of Pol Roger, please,” Graydon said to the waiter, then fixed his dark eyes on Adrienne. “You like champ, right?”
“Sure,” Adrienne said, barely able to hear him over the clamor of the young and attractive people around them. She glanced at the woman sitting at the next table.
She was blond and almost shockingly thin, dressed head to toe in Dior. A gorgeous aquamarine-and-diamond necklace glittered at her throat, and she chatted animatedly on her Vertu cell phone.
Five thousand dollars for a cell phone, Adrienne thought. Can the reception actually be any better? Judging by how loudly the woman was talking, it clearly wasn’t. The woman fiddled with her glittering necklace absently as she chatted away about her couture fitting.
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