your honest opinion of that?”
Just repeat what Claire would say,
Caroline told herself. But she couldn’t, not with Tony Fleming’s cool blue eyes fixed on her, and the strange sensation they were causing in the pit of her stomach. “I think it’s one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, and I know Ms. Delamond got ripped off. Saturday morning it was priced at ninety dollars, but my boss had me mark it up to nine hundred just a few minutes before she came in. I tried to tell her, but—”
“But she didn’t care,” Tony finished for her. “Don’t worry about it—Irene can afford it, and I suspect she wasn’t in there for the vase anyway.” His eyes met hers, and Caroline felt herself blushing.
What is this?
she thought.
This is nuts! I don’t even know this man!
“So the question is, how would you like to handle this?” He was wrestling the vase into the elevator cage now. “We can let Irene have her fun and go our separate ways, or we can really let her think she’s pulled off a coup, and I can take you out for dinner.”
As he closed the gate and the cage began rattling slowly upward, Caroline asked the one question that popped into her mind. “Why did you ask me about the vase?”
“Simple. If you liked it—or even claimed you did—I’d have been polite, let Irene feed me a martini, then gotten out fast. But since you seem to share my reaction to it, why not play along with Irene and see what happens?”
The car clattered to a stop, and Caroline reached for the handle on the door, but before she could open it, Tony Fleming’s hand covered her own. “So what do you say?” he asked. “Do I make an excuse, or do we go out for dinner?”
“Go out for dinner,” Caroline heard herself say, feeling the heat of his hand on hers. A second later she tried to backtrack. “Oh, God, what am I saying? I can’t go out for dinner—my kids are waiting at home.”
“Do they like Chinese?”
Caroline stared at him. “You’re kidding. You want to take me
and
my kids out for dinner?”
Tony Fleming shrugged. “I like kids. So sue me.”
“We’ll see if you still like them by the time dinner is over.”
They manhandled the vase out of the elevator and down the hall to Irene Delamond’s door, which opened just as they arrived. Irene, dressed in a floor-length dress, her gray hair swirled into an elegant twist, held it wide. “Right on time,” she observed. “I do appreciate punctuality. Come in, both of you!”
She turned and swept through her entry hall into a cavernous living room, obviously expecting Caroline and Tony to follow. Tony picked up the vase to carry it inside, and as he passed she heard him whisper, “Act like you hate me. It’ll drive her crazy.”
But even having spent only five minutes with Tony Fleming, Caroline knew acting like she hated him would be utterly impossible.
CHAPTER 8
Mistake,
Caroline thought as she stepped through the door to Harry Cipriani’s the next day. But it was too late for second thoughts—Beverly Amondson and Rochelle Newman were already there, sitting side by side on a banquette where they could both face the room, and even as Caroline considered the possibility of slipping right back out the door again and scurrying up Fifth Avenue to disappear around the corner of 60th, she knew it was too late: Rochelle was already waving to her. As she approached the table, both women leaned forward and tipped their faces up to exchange the air kisses that would demonstrate their affection without marring their makeup, and as Caroline sat down, Beverly reached across the table to take one of Caroline’s hands in both her own.
“How
are
you?” Bev asked, her eyes fixing on Caroline’s, her face falling into an expression that Caroline assumed was intended to express genuine feelings. “Really?”
If you’d called in the last three months, you’d know,
Caroline thought. Why had she agreed to come? She glanced around the room. Most of the tables
Just repeat what Claire would say,
Caroline told herself. But she couldn’t, not with Tony Fleming’s cool blue eyes fixed on her, and the strange sensation they were causing in the pit of her stomach. “I think it’s one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, and I know Ms. Delamond got ripped off. Saturday morning it was priced at ninety dollars, but my boss had me mark it up to nine hundred just a few minutes before she came in. I tried to tell her, but—”
“But she didn’t care,” Tony finished for her. “Don’t worry about it—Irene can afford it, and I suspect she wasn’t in there for the vase anyway.” His eyes met hers, and Caroline felt herself blushing.
What is this?
she thought.
This is nuts! I don’t even know this man!
“So the question is, how would you like to handle this?” He was wrestling the vase into the elevator cage now. “We can let Irene have her fun and go our separate ways, or we can really let her think she’s pulled off a coup, and I can take you out for dinner.”
As he closed the gate and the cage began rattling slowly upward, Caroline asked the one question that popped into her mind. “Why did you ask me about the vase?”
“Simple. If you liked it—or even claimed you did—I’d have been polite, let Irene feed me a martini, then gotten out fast. But since you seem to share my reaction to it, why not play along with Irene and see what happens?”
The car clattered to a stop, and Caroline reached for the handle on the door, but before she could open it, Tony Fleming’s hand covered her own. “So what do you say?” he asked. “Do I make an excuse, or do we go out for dinner?”
“Go out for dinner,” Caroline heard herself say, feeling the heat of his hand on hers. A second later she tried to backtrack. “Oh, God, what am I saying? I can’t go out for dinner—my kids are waiting at home.”
“Do they like Chinese?”
Caroline stared at him. “You’re kidding. You want to take me
and
my kids out for dinner?”
Tony Fleming shrugged. “I like kids. So sue me.”
“We’ll see if you still like them by the time dinner is over.”
They manhandled the vase out of the elevator and down the hall to Irene Delamond’s door, which opened just as they arrived. Irene, dressed in a floor-length dress, her gray hair swirled into an elegant twist, held it wide. “Right on time,” she observed. “I do appreciate punctuality. Come in, both of you!”
She turned and swept through her entry hall into a cavernous living room, obviously expecting Caroline and Tony to follow. Tony picked up the vase to carry it inside, and as he passed she heard him whisper, “Act like you hate me. It’ll drive her crazy.”
But even having spent only five minutes with Tony Fleming, Caroline knew acting like she hated him would be utterly impossible.
CHAPTER 8
Mistake,
Caroline thought as she stepped through the door to Harry Cipriani’s the next day. But it was too late for second thoughts—Beverly Amondson and Rochelle Newman were already there, sitting side by side on a banquette where they could both face the room, and even as Caroline considered the possibility of slipping right back out the door again and scurrying up Fifth Avenue to disappear around the corner of 60th, she knew it was too late: Rochelle was already waving to her. As she approached the table, both women leaned forward and tipped their faces up to exchange the air kisses that would demonstrate their affection without marring their makeup, and as Caroline sat down, Beverly reached across the table to take one of Caroline’s hands in both her own.
“How
are
you?” Bev asked, her eyes fixing on Caroline’s, her face falling into an expression that Caroline assumed was intended to express genuine feelings. “Really?”
If you’d called in the last three months, you’d know,
Caroline thought. Why had she agreed to come? She glanced around the room. Most of the tables
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