chart.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. She didn’t agree with Darcy’s beliefs that everything had a cause or an explanation in the stars.
“How does this one look?” she asked, slipping into a black sheath with short sleeves and a V neckline. She and Darcyregarded her reflection in the full-length mirror in Annie’s bedroom.
“That’s good. Sexy and sophisticated but not too wild.”
“I don’t want to look sexy.”
“Honey, all women want to look sexy. We want men to think we’re sexy, too. We just don’t want them to actually do anything
about it—at least not while we’re having a business dinner.”
“You’re right, I should have insisted on a restaurant.”
“Billionaires don’t meet people in restaurants. They order you to come to their mansions and be tended by their servants and
fed by their cooks. But I wouldn’t worry
too
much. He can hardly rape you in front of his entire household staff.”
“Whatever he’s thinking,” Annie said tersely, “it’s too late.”
“You’re still mad at him for saying no to you about Fabrications, aren’t you?”
Annie shrugged. Her feelings about Matt Carlyle were, at best, mixed.
“I just read a book on male friendships as compared to female friendships,” Darcy said. “Just goes to show—men are so different
from us!”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“We think of our best friend as someone we can talk intimately to. A man’s best friend is someone he can
do
something with—you know, hunt, fish, watch football. And even when they do have a conversation, they rarely listen and empathize
the way women do.”
“They’re too busy giving advice,” Annie said ruefully.
“Right. They even define the term
friend
differently than we do. Maybe they haven’t seen or talked to someone fortwenty years, but because they were on the football team together in high school and swore an eternal pact of friendship,
they still feel loyal.”
“Whereas for us, friendship is more day-to-day, in the present.”
“Exactly. Women are more practical about friendship. You and I haven’t known each other very long, for example. But we’re
close friends.”
“Absolutely.”
“Compare that with the long and old friendship between a couple of men. For example, Sam and your date for the evening, Matt
Carlyle.”
“It’s not a date!”
Darcy grinned. “They don’t socialize very often, as far as I can tell. But Sam testified for the defense at Carlyle’s trial.
He risked alienating all sorts of people by standing up in court on behalf of a man whom everybody thought was guilty.”
“I would have done the same thing. Wouldn’t you?” Annie asked. “Surely both men and women are loyal to their friends when
the chips are down.”
Darcy shrugged. “If you asked Carlyle, I’ll bet he’d say that most of his friends abandoned him in his time of need.”
“Well, maybe they did. But I was never a friend of his, Darcy.”
“Still, he’s bound to be angry and bitter. Watch out for this guy, Annie. I’m serious. You want me to come with you—as another
representative of the firm?”
Annie shook her head. “No. I can handle it.” She smiled wryly. “I guess I’ve got to prove that to myself.”
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Darcy nodded solemnly. “You can handle it.”
* * *
The first thing she thought when she arrived at the secluded, gated mansion was that she must have made a wrong turn somewhere.
Surely this dark Gothic horror could not be the home of one of the wealthiest and most sophisticated CEOs in the nation. It
looked like something out of a Stephen King novel.
Carlyle lived in the traditionally upscale area of the city known as Pacific Heights. From the tops of the hills residents
had a fantastic view of San Francisco Bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge to the left, the village of Sausalito across the Bay,
Alcatraz Island looking deceptively picturesque out in the blue waters, and the shores of
Annie raised her eyebrows. She didn’t agree with Darcy’s beliefs that everything had a cause or an explanation in the stars.
“How does this one look?” she asked, slipping into a black sheath with short sleeves and a V neckline. She and Darcyregarded her reflection in the full-length mirror in Annie’s bedroom.
“That’s good. Sexy and sophisticated but not too wild.”
“I don’t want to look sexy.”
“Honey, all women want to look sexy. We want men to think we’re sexy, too. We just don’t want them to actually do anything
about it—at least not while we’re having a business dinner.”
“You’re right, I should have insisted on a restaurant.”
“Billionaires don’t meet people in restaurants. They order you to come to their mansions and be tended by their servants and
fed by their cooks. But I wouldn’t worry
too
much. He can hardly rape you in front of his entire household staff.”
“Whatever he’s thinking,” Annie said tersely, “it’s too late.”
“You’re still mad at him for saying no to you about Fabrications, aren’t you?”
Annie shrugged. Her feelings about Matt Carlyle were, at best, mixed.
“I just read a book on male friendships as compared to female friendships,” Darcy said. “Just goes to show—men are so different
from us!”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“We think of our best friend as someone we can talk intimately to. A man’s best friend is someone he can
do
something with—you know, hunt, fish, watch football. And even when they do have a conversation, they rarely listen and empathize
the way women do.”
“They’re too busy giving advice,” Annie said ruefully.
“Right. They even define the term
friend
differently than we do. Maybe they haven’t seen or talked to someone fortwenty years, but because they were on the football team together in high school and swore an eternal pact of friendship,
they still feel loyal.”
“Whereas for us, friendship is more day-to-day, in the present.”
“Exactly. Women are more practical about friendship. You and I haven’t known each other very long, for example. But we’re
close friends.”
“Absolutely.”
“Compare that with the long and old friendship between a couple of men. For example, Sam and your date for the evening, Matt
Carlyle.”
“It’s not a date!”
Darcy grinned. “They don’t socialize very often, as far as I can tell. But Sam testified for the defense at Carlyle’s trial.
He risked alienating all sorts of people by standing up in court on behalf of a man whom everybody thought was guilty.”
“I would have done the same thing. Wouldn’t you?” Annie asked. “Surely both men and women are loyal to their friends when
the chips are down.”
Darcy shrugged. “If you asked Carlyle, I’ll bet he’d say that most of his friends abandoned him in his time of need.”
“Well, maybe they did. But I was never a friend of his, Darcy.”
“Still, he’s bound to be angry and bitter. Watch out for this guy, Annie. I’m serious. You want me to come with you—as another
representative of the firm?”
Annie shook her head. “No. I can handle it.” She smiled wryly. “I guess I’ve got to prove that to myself.”
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Darcy nodded solemnly. “You can handle it.”
* * *
The first thing she thought when she arrived at the secluded, gated mansion was that she must have made a wrong turn somewhere.
Surely this dark Gothic horror could not be the home of one of the wealthiest and most sophisticated CEOs in the nation. It
looked like something out of a Stephen King novel.
Carlyle lived in the traditionally upscale area of the city known as Pacific Heights. From the tops of the hills residents
had a fantastic view of San Francisco Bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge to the left, the village of Sausalito across the Bay,
Alcatraz Island looking deceptively picturesque out in the blue waters, and the shores of
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