Lonely Millionaire by Grace Carol Page A

kitchen?"
    "Of course. If you'll excuse me for a second, just help yourself to some more sherry."
    Once inside the kitchen door, Mandy ran her hands through her hair. "What are we going to do?" she demanded in a stage whisper. "Are you sure they're vegetarians?"
    "Positive, but don't worry about it."
    "Don't worry about it? Why didn't they tell you this on the phone?" She could feel the panic rise in her throat.
    There was a knock on the kitchen door and the younger woman stuck her head in the door.
    "What time is dinner?" she asked.
    Mandy gave Adam a frantic look. "In an hour," he said smoothly.
    "Good, then we'll have time for a nap." And the woman closed the door firmly behind her.
    Mandy collapsed onto the kitchen chair. "What is it about this place that sends people to bed the minute they arrive?"
    Adam leaned against the cabinet and grinned at her. "It’s the atmosphere. Everyone feels it. You've created a love shack."
    She felt a flush creep up her cheeks as she rubbed at a stain on the table. "I shouldn't complain. As long as they pay their bill, what do I care what they do while they're here? But what on earth are we going to feed them, after you've made your delicious beef Stroganoff?" She sniffed the air and then sighed deeply.
    "Omelets?" he asked.
    She shook her head.
    "Salad?"
    "That s all?"
    "And pasta," he suggested.
    Mandy handed him an apron and put one on herself. "Fine."
    They worked steadily for the next hour, shredding lettuce, toasting croutons, grating cheese, boiling noodles, bumping elbows, stepping on each other's toes. Adam muttered instructions, Mandy followed them. When they'd finished, they'd used every pot, every bowl, every utensil in the kitchen. Despite their aprons, they were liberally spotted with globs of cream and butter from head to toe, and the floor looked like the aftermath of a tornado.
    Mandy was just spinning lettuce leaves dry when she heard a loud knocking on the front door and a loud voice call, "Anyone home?"
    Adam looked at Mandy. Mandy let the lettuce spinner slide across the tiled counter. "Another guest?" Adam asked.
    Mandy shook her head.
    "Laurie."
    As if on cue, Laurie burst through the kitchen door in her maroon uniform like a whirling dervish. Setting her small black suitcase down, she opened her arms out wide and yodeled, "I'm ho-ome."
    "Great," Mandy said. "Just in time."
    "What's for din—" she began, and then she noticed Adam. "Is this the...?"
    "This is Adam Gray. Adam, my sister, Laurie."
    Laurie extended her hand. "Adam, it's a pleasure. I've heard so little about you. Are you the one?"
    "From the Yukon," Mandy said.
    "How exciting."
    As they shook hands Mandy noticed Laurie giving Adam a very close examination.
    "Laurie, we're just about to serve dinner," Mandy said.
    "If I'd known, I wouldn't have eaten on the plane. It smells heavenly." She frowned. "But you don't do dinners. And Adam is a guest."
    "Yes, I know, but this was a special request. And I can't afford to turn anyone down."
    Laurie nodded. "I'm going to change. Back in a minute."
    Mandy watched her pick up her bag and leave the kitchen, marveling as she always did at how Laurie could look so perfectly groomed, so well put together, after hours of traipsing up and down the aisle of a 747 and smiling, smiling, smiling.
    When Mandy finished the salad, she carried it into the living room, noticing how much the place suddenly resembled a cozy restaurant, with the fire burning in the fireplace and the candles on the table.
    She almost ran into Adam on her way back to the kitchen as he came through the door with a bottle of Burgundy. She paused to watch him hover over the table much as he'd done the night he'd arrived, when he'd played maitre d' and she was the guest. He was an amazing man, switching identities with the greatest of ease, keeping her amused, entertained, and just a little off balance. And she felt a pang, just for a moment, as she stood there admiring his suave manner, a longing for the