by Wendy Wax
“Okay.”
“I am in such a shitty mood that I don’t even want to talk to me.”
She gave Helen the eyebrow, but the other woman just smiled. “I know the feeling.”
Oh, great, just what she needed, something else in common with her husband’s girlfriend! She added the other eyebrow and the woman stepped back.
Good thinking. Miranda entered the lobby alone.
At the reception desk Leeta shot her a big grin and stole a peek at her stomach. “Mornin’, Mrs. Smith. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Miranda gritted her teeth and forced the corners of her mouth up in what she hoped would pass for a smile. If she didn’t shake this mood soon she was going to rip someone’s head off.
She checked her stride as she passed Carly’s empty desk. Finding her own office door open, she called out as she entered. “Carly, I need you to—”
“My mommy’s not here.”
The little-girl voice stopped Miranda cold. She and the pint-size person sitting in her chair stared each other in the eye.
“That would make you Lindsey,” Miranda observed.
“Uh-huh. My mommy wented to make coffee for the boss.” The child smiled Carly’s smile and twirled a single blond curl around a chubby finger.
“Well, now, I guess that would be me, since that’s my desk you’re sitting at.” She gave the child the eyebrow, but it apparently didn’t work on small, blond-haired children. “Are you planning to do my work for me today?”
“Sure.” She held up a crayon. “What kind of picture do you need?”
“Lindsey?” Carly’s horrified voice reached them from the outer office.
“In here,” Miranda called.
Her assistant rushed in, coffee in hand, and came to a halt in front of Miranda’s desk. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Smith. I didn’t have anyone to leave her with.” She leveled a look at her daughter. “And she knows this room is completely off limits.”
She hurried around the desk and lifted her daughter out of Miranda’s chair. “I was thinking there might be a call from Mr. Smith later this morning when Helen comes in for the scheduled meeting.”
“Sure.” Miranda nodded numbly. Might as well torture someone else. It was no fun feeling this crummy all by herself.
“I’ll take care of it,” Carly replied. “And, uh, I was wondering if you’d like me to set up a lunch or something with your mother. We haven’t heard from her for a while.”
Leave it to Carly to notice the cold shoulder Joan Harper had turned Miranda’s way.
“No,” Miranda said, “that won’t be necessary.” There was no point in sitting down with her mother if she wasn’t going to back down or explain completely, neither of which she could picture doing right now. “I’ll talk to her when I get back in town. But I would like you to schedule an appointment for me with Dana Houseman while I’m in Atlanta.”
“Okay.” Carly’s look of sympathy made her feel even more alone. As Miranda watched, she turned a serious parent face back to the child in her arms. “Tell Mrs. Smith you’re sorry, Lindsey,” she admonished as they moved toward the door.
Miranda looked from mother to daughter and back again as the child made her apology. Same smile, same eyes, same curly blond hair. She felt a prickling behind her eyelids. Her grandmother and mother had daughters. Blake Summers had a daughter. Even unmarried Carly Tarleton had a daughter. Everybody, it seemed, had a daughter but her.
“It’s all right.” Miranda grabbed a tissue off her desk and blew her nose to camouflage the sob that was trying to escape. “Maybe we should put her to work on our advertising campaign. I understand she has her crayons with her.”
Carly smiled in relief and hurried the child out of the office, pulling the door closed behind her. Miranda waited a beat to be sure they were gone. And then she sat down in the still-warm chair and burst into tears.
chapter 19
I t took Andie four days to work up the nerve to ask Jake Hanson to the Guild Ball. She wanted to be the kind of woman Miranda Smith had described—bold, sure of what she wanted, determined to succeed—but when she looked deep inside to see what she was made of, she discovered that she was built a lot like a Tootsie Pop—hard and shiny on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside.
Today, she’d decided, the wimpiness was going to end. Which was why she was standing in front of Jake’s locker watching him and ML walk toward her. Jake’s eyes got a really cool kind of twinkle in them when he spotted her, which was the only thing that kept her from abandoning her position. Mary Louise’s eyes narrowed, and she wrapped herself more tightly around Jake, but Andie intended to see this through even if she had to conk ML on the head and stuff her in an empty locker to do it.
“How are those paper flowers coming?” The other girl’s tone was snide. “Must be kind of rough with your hand out of commission and all.”
“I’m managing.”
“Too bad about missing the game,” Jake said. “That would flat out drive me crazy.”
“Yeah, you can say that again,” Andie said.
Conversation stopped as Jake opened his locker. Mary Louise stepped even closer to him, then reached past him to pull a half-opened gift box off the top shelf.
“Here, Jake,” she said, shooting a triumphant look at Andie. “Why don’t you put on some of the cologne that I bought you?”
Jake looked distinctly uncomfortable, but before he could respond, Mary Louise lifted the bottle up and sprayed some behind Jake’s ear. Then she sneezed.
Andie sucked the stuff into her lungs. It was heavy and musky, and totally obliterated that wonderful Jake smell. She coughed lightly.
Mary Louise’s eyes watered as she doubled over from the force of another sneeze. “Ah-choo!”
Andie couldn’t help noticing how bad ML’s face looked.
“Oh, God, how can I be allergic to Libido by Donati?” Mary Louise wailed. “The saleslady told me it was her number one seller.” She sneezed again as tears ran down her cheeks.
Andie and Jake exchanged looks.
“Gosh, Mary Louise,” Andie said innocently. “Are those hives?”
The other girl shrieked. “Oh, my God, I’m starting to swell.”
“Do you want me to take you to the clinic?” Jake asked. “You should probably take an antihistamine.”
“No!” She shrieked again. “Don’t look at me!”
Andie was trying not to enjoy herself. “Wow,” she exclaimed. “Look at the size of those welts.”
Mary Louise’s fingers flew to her face, and she shrieked again. “Don’t look! I’ve got to get home!” And she raced down the hall away from them, already whipping her cell phone out of her purse. The last thing they heard was a sneeze and a wail.
“Guess she should have smelled that stuff before she bought it for you,” Andie observed.
“Yeah.” She could tell he was fighting back a smile just like she was. She liked that he was too nice to crack up over it.
The bell rang and Andie knew it was now or never.
“So, um, I was wondering.” She brought her books to her chest and paused to gather strength. “Did Mary Louise already ask you to be her escort to the Guild Ball?”
“Yeah.”
Andie’s shoulders drooped. “Okay.” She knew she should get to class. She’d lost track of how long ago the bell had rung.
Jake reached out and placed a hand on her arm. His fingers were warm, and his eyes were . . . God, she really liked his eyes.
“I was kind of hoping you’d ask me first,” he said. “But when you didn’t . . .” He shrugged. “Well, I figured maybe you’d asked somebody else.”
Andie shook her head and tried not to sigh with disappointment when his hand dropped to his side. “Just slow,” she said. And chicken, she thought, as she walked beside him to the office to pick up a tardy slip.
But Mrs. Smith was right. If she’d dragged her feet this way on a basketball court, she’d have had a permanent spot on the bench
.
“Have a good trip,” Carly called out as Miranda stopped at her desk on the way out of the office on Friday afternoon. “Tell Mr. Smith I said hey.”
Miranda stopped in her tracks and looked around. She and Carly were completely alone.
“Sorry,” her assistant said. “I got a little carried away.”
Miranda sighed. The week had been long and brutal, and the only thing it had going for it was that it was almost over.
“I’ll call you on Monday after I meet with Selena. You can reach me on my cell phone if you need anything before then.”
“Got it, Boss!” Carly saluted smartly. “Maybe when you get back we can talk about that promotion . . .”
Too tired to raise an eyebrow, Miranda exited the building and crossed the parking lot. She’d cancelled her Rhododendron group in order to make her alleged flight out of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta, and now it was time to leave for her imaginary weekend with Tom.
In hindsight, the whole charade felt slightly ridiculous and unnecessarily expensive. She’d spent twelve hundred dollars on an airline ticket to a place she had no intention of going, and an arm and a leg on a suite at the Ritz-Carlton that she’d be inhabiting alone. Spending a weekend holed up at the Ritz in Atlanta wasn’t going to solve any problems, but the further south she traveled the lighter her heart grew. A couple days outside the fishbowl could do great things for the fish.
Beginning to look forward to her weekend away, Miranda zigzagged down the mountainside, passing through Dillard and Mountain City on her way to Highway 985. She was approaching the on ramp when the BMW began to lose power. One minute she was moving along at a good clip, the next the car was decelerating, and putting her foot on the gas pedal had no impact whatsoever. Unsure what else to do, she steered the car onto the shoulder of the two-lane highway and rode the brake lightly until the car sputtered to a stop.
“Damn.” Resisting the urge to beat her head against the steering wheel, Miranda put the car in park, clambered out, and used all of her pent-up frustration and anxiety to kick the front tire. When this failed to make her feel better, she took aim at the front bumper—another meaningless gesture that did nothing but dent in the toe of her shoe.
“Shit!” Fresh out of things to kick and unable to come up with anything more profound to shout, she popped open the hood, stomped back around to the passenger door, and leaned in to grab her purse from the front seat. It took a little longer to figure out whom to call.
By the time Blake made it back to the house to pick up Andie for the drive to her mother’s in Atlanta, he was doing a slow burn. The day hadn’t been all that great to start with, but it had taken a serious nosedive when the rest of the answers to his inquiries about Tom Smith had begun to trickle in.
He didn’t know why he was so upset to receive confirmation that Tom Smith had never used the airline ticket to Hong Kong that Ballantyne had bought for him, or checked into, or been seen at, the Hong Kong hotel where he’d been booked, but the more he found out, the more confused and irritated he became.
There was nothing like wanting to sleep with a woman to make a man abandon all semblance of objectivity.
“Get a move on, Andie,” he barked. “We’re going to hit major traffic as it is.” He wanted to drop his daughter and get to the airport in time to find out where Miranda was really going.
He and Andie made sporadic and unsuccessful attempts at conversation as they passed through Truro, their gazes locked on the road and the small towns that flew by.
They were almost to the Interstate when the traffic slowed unexpectedly. Blake spotted a tow truck backing into position and recognized Gabe Holcomb from Gabe’s Gas ’n’ Such in Truro at the controls. The car it was grappling was a bright red BMW.
“Hey, look, Dad. That’s Mrs. Smith’s car.”
Blake pulled off the road and drove slowly up the shoulder toward the tow truck and its shiny prize. Miranda stood out of the way, shivering in her leather jacket, tapping the tip of one strangely dented shoe on the pavement. He and Andie got out of the car and walked toward her. Miranda greeted Andie warmly; he got a nod.
“What happened?” Blake asked.
“Not sure,” Gabe replied. “I think it might be a leak in the transmission. I’m going to tow it in and look at it in the morning.”
Blake glanced at Miranda. She had a dust-covered leather carry-on sitting at her feet and didn’t look at all glad to see him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She shifted her weight. “Just late.”
“What time is your flight?” he asked as if he didn’t know.
“An hour and a half from now.” She shifted her weight again.
“We’re going to Atlanta,” Andie piped in. “We can give you a ride.”
Miranda’s look of panic was brief, but unmistakable.
Blake watched her face, willing her to say yes. Driving her to the airport would be a lot easier than trying to pick up her trail once he got there. “I have to drop Andie first, but I can run you on down to Hartsfield-Jackson after that. You can call the airline from the car and try to get on a later flight.”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “I really hate to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble.” He picked up her bag and carried it to the Jeep. Andie slid into the backseat, but Miranda still stood where they’d found her. The tow truck’s flashing light sent slivers of brightness streaking across her face. “Look,” he said, walking back to her, “you can stand here on the side of the road and wait for a better offer. Or you can catch a ride back to Truro with Gabe and just forget about the whole trip. Hell, you’ll barely have two days in San Francisco by the time you get there.” He shrugged and began to wave Gabe over.
“No, wait.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to disappoint Tom.”
“No, of course not.” He paused. “Given how he’s been away working so hard and all.”
Her head jerked up. Without another word she went and conferred with Gabe, then stalked around his car, climbed into the front passenger seat, and slammed the door. Hard.
He spent the drive to Atlanta biting back the questions he wanted to hurl at her, but he couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t seem at all anxious about getting to the airport, and she hadn’t bothered to get her cell phone out to call and make arrangements.
The number of things that didn’t add up just kept adding up.
A few minutes after leaving Andie at her mother’s, he and Miranda were on 85 speeding south toward the airport. Her face in the occasional spill of streetlight appeared pinched, and her gaze remained fixed on traffic. Her hands were clamped in her lap.
“Don’t you think you should call and see about getting on another flight?” he asked.
She turned toward him for the first time. “No, I think I’ll just wait until I get to the airport. It’ll probably be easier to explain what happened in person.”
“Are you going to call Tom?”
“Hmm?” She looked as if this had never occurred to her. “No, he, uh”—she looked down at her watch—“is probably in the air right now.” She looked back out the windshield. “I’ll call and leave a message at the hotel once I have a new arrival time.”
They lapsed back into silence. He could feel the energy rolling off her and knew deep in his bones that she was as aware of him as he was of her. Part of him wanted to pull over and kiss her and tell her everything would be okay. The other part wanted to grill her mercilessly until he understood what in the hell was going on. Before he could figure out which approach to take, the signs for Hartsfield-Jackson Airport began to appear. A few minutes later they were pulling to a stop in front of the Delta check-in. They stood now beside the car with her carry-on wedged between them.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
“Sure.” Her gaze strayed toward the terminal and then scanned the traffic, settling on a taxi that whizzed by.
“Maybe I should wait and make sure you get
on another flight.”
“No!”
He cocked his head and studied her more closely.
“I mean, thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be on the next plane out.”
She went up on her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek, which created its own little burst of electricity, then stepped back quickly. “Thanks for the ride.” Her gaze flitted over the traffic, the other passengers, everything but him. She didn’t look toward the terminal, either. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Have a good flight.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll do that.” And then she picked up her bag and walked toward the terminal.
He watched her until she disappeared from view and then, because he was in the business of following up on hunches, and because the kiss she’d given him was not the kiss of a woman happily getting on a plane to visit her husband, he got in his car, drove it around to Arrivals, and pulled in to the curb just beyond the line of waiting taxis. When an airport cop came over to check him out, he flashed his own badge and settled in to wait.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Miranda came out of baggage claim and hailed a cab. He turned his head to hide his face as her taxi flew by, then he slid into the flow of traffic a few cars behind to follow her.
He could hardly wait to see where they were headed.
chapter 20
T he bath in the suite of the Ritz-Carlton was glorious, the champagne from the minibar heavenly. Miranda continued to soak in the tub long after the water had cooled. Her body felt languid, and her brain, the one that had been racing at top speed for the last two months, had slowed to a comfortable jog. Best of all, no one from Truro could see her or judge her. No one could ask her to solve even the smallest problem. Or write an article about her. For this brief moment in time she was in complete control of her world, even if that world was about 730 square feet and located in Buckhead.
She climbed out of the tub with real regret, then wrapped herself in the terry-cloth robe the hotel had so thoughtfully provided. The feel of its bulky softness sliding against her naked skin made her tingle. Blake Summers popped into her head unsummoned, and she tingled some more.
