Her Man Friday by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

herself. Right. To think that she might need a reminder of such a thing.
    "Schuyler's IQ is one-hundred-and-ninety-seven," Lily said, wondering what made her offer up the information. It wasn't as if the two men were competing, after all.
    But Mr. Freiberger evidently didn't see it quite that way, because he straightened to an even more impressive height than usual and said, "Oh, yeah? And can he bench press his IQ the way
I
can mine?"
    She smiled, striving for a benign expression. "I have no idea, Mr. Freiberger. I would think not, seeing as how Mr. Kimball prefers swimming and tennis over brute force athletics."
    He seemed to deflate some at her suggestion that she found brute force unappealing. But even deflated, Leonard Freiberger was quite an intimidating specimen of manhood.
    Unable to help herself—he did look so dejected, after all—Lily added, "I myself, however, think that there may be something to be said for brute force on occasion."
    Mr. Freiberger brightened some at that, straightening to his full height once again. "Oh, yeah?"
    She managed a brief nod and congratulated herself for not acting on her impulse to leap into his arms and claim him as her very own personal love monkey in the most basic, primitive way imaginable, with her own show of brute force. "So long as it's performed in moderation, naturally," she added faintly.
    "Well, that goes without saying," he agreed.
    For some reason, she suddenly began to grow warm again, and decided that it might be wise to discontinue their discussion—at least while other people were present. So instead, she gestured over her shoulder toward the bar and asked, "Would you care for a cocktail before dinner, Mr. Freiberger?"
    "That would be nice, thank you, Miss Rigby. Scotch, if you have it."
    She smiled again. "Why, Mr. Freiberger. You forget whose home you're in. Don't you read the papers? Schuyler Kimball has everything."
    Leo watched with much interest as the delectable Miss Rigby spun around and made her way across the dining room—
dining room
being a deceptive term, as far as he was concerned.
Veterans Stadium
might have been a more accurate one. With a single, quick assessment, he'd come to the conclusion that the square footage on the room where Schuyler Kimball took his meals was larger than that of Leo's entire townhouse.
    He shook his head in silent disbelief. In addition to having an IQ up there with da Vinci's, the man had more money than God. Eleven billion dollars. That was what Schuyler Kimball was worth. Certainly Leo had already known that before coming to Ashling, but witnessing the physical evidence of such enormous wealth was more than a little awe-inspiring. The idea that one individual could possess
billions
of dollars was almost incomprehensible. To think that the man could spend ten
billion
dollars and still be a billionaire… To think about what ten
billion
dollars could buy… To imagine how many people could be fed and housed and clothed with ten
billion
dollars, and Kimball would
still
be a billionaire…
    It just wasn't right, Leo thought. He didn't care how hard Kimball had worked or how talented and gifted the man was. There was no reason to hoard all that money, when it could do so much for so many and still leave Kimball a fat and sassy cat. The man should be ashamed of himself, for God's sake, not spreading a little bit around for others to enjoy. And on top of that. .
    On top of that, Leo had actually just bragged to a woman that he could bench press his IQ. He groaned inwardly. What a moron. He should have his IQ rechecked. Because ever since coming to Ashling, he'd felt it slipping away little by little. And whenever Lily Rigby walked into a room, well… His IQ went right out the window.
    He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt it necessary to try and impress a woman in order to win her over. Usually, women responded to him with enthusiasm right off the bat, with absolutely no coaxing from the studio audience. And although