people would be glad to see him.
A client. A meeting with a client. A client
like him? A meeting like the one they'd had a week ago, full of
laughter and exchanged glances and the implicit possibility of
more?
He startled a few people by stopping abruptly
in the middle of the sidewalk and swearing vehemently. "A client ? She's meeting with a client ?" Most of the
people kept walking, parting and passing him like a rock in a
stream, although he thought he noticed a few trying to hide smiles.
They were all women.
* * * *
"You can come out now. It's safe, he's
gone."
Darla clearly intended irony, but Bette had a
nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that if Paul Monroe had
stuck around, she wouldn't have been safe.
"I don't know why you don't just go out and
have some fun with the guy."
"I told you I—"
"Have a schedule to keep." Darla completed
the sentence in unison with her.
Bette frowned. "Besides, Darla, you were the
one saying just a few days ago that all Paul Monroe looked fit for
was funny business."
"I didn't say that's all he was fit for,
unless you include certain other activities under the heading of
funny business." Heat swept into Bette's cheeks, more in memory
than embarrassment. "A woman would have to be blind to miss that
man's potential in that area, and I may be married, but I'm not
blind. Besides," Darla added with a pugnacious tilt to her chin,
"I've never seen anyone in more need of funny business than
you."
"Really, Darla, I—"
"Really, Bette," she mimicked. "You work too
hard. You schedule your life down to the minute and you don't leave
any time for fun."
"That's not true. How about this weekend? I'm
going on a trip—"
"Only because your mother made you feel
guilty when you first said you couldn't go." True, but Bette wasn't
about to admit it out loud. "And if you can look me in the eye and
tell me you haven't already packed three days' worth of work and
arranged a couple business meetings up in Minnesota, I'll eat my
hat. Better yet, I'll promise to keep quiet about the whole
matter."
Bette said nothing. Did the Fifth Amendment
hold in dealing with scolding assistants?
"Humph." Darla produced a sound somewhere
between disgust and triumph. "All I have to say, young woman, is
you better start penciling in time on that schedule of yours for
exactly the kind of funny business Paul Monroe can provide, or
you're going to be old before your time."
Darla opened the door, then added a parting
shot over her shoulder. "And while you're at it, schedule in some
hanky-panky, too."
* * * *
"I'm sorry, Mr. Monroe, the office informs me
that Ms. Wharton has left for the weekend."
Left for the weekend by ten o'clock on a
Friday morning ? Bette Wharton ? Paul wanted to snarl at
the voice on the intercom. But he restrained himself.
When Janine went on, he noted for the first
time all week a hint of humanity beneath her efficient exterior. "I
believe she flew out early this morning for a weekend trip." Janine
hesitated, then added in her usual tone, "Can I put through another
call for you, Mr. Monroe?"
Since she hadn't managed to "put through" the
one call he'd wanted, he thought that bordered on sarcasm.
"No. Thanks. I have a call to make, but this
one's private so I'll put it through myself."
Let her inform her cronies at Top-Line that
he didn't consider his calls to Bette Wharton as anything more than
business. And let her also tell them that he had private calls to
make.
"Grady, it's Paul," he said when he got
through. "What do you think about taking the afternoon off for a
last sail of the season?"
"I think it's too damn cold, for
starters."
Actually, Paul thought so, too. The three-day
rain that had washed away Indian summer had eased yesterday, making
the lingering cold all the more noticeable. But he needed something
to vent this restlessness, and the lake had always been good for
that.
"And it's supposed to rain again," Grady
added.
"Afraid your good looks will melt?" The
A client. A meeting with a client. A client
like him? A meeting like the one they'd had a week ago, full of
laughter and exchanged glances and the implicit possibility of
more?
He startled a few people by stopping abruptly
in the middle of the sidewalk and swearing vehemently. "A client ? She's meeting with a client ?" Most of the
people kept walking, parting and passing him like a rock in a
stream, although he thought he noticed a few trying to hide smiles.
They were all women.
* * * *
"You can come out now. It's safe, he's
gone."
Darla clearly intended irony, but Bette had a
nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that if Paul Monroe had
stuck around, she wouldn't have been safe.
"I don't know why you don't just go out and
have some fun with the guy."
"I told you I—"
"Have a schedule to keep." Darla completed
the sentence in unison with her.
Bette frowned. "Besides, Darla, you were the
one saying just a few days ago that all Paul Monroe looked fit for
was funny business."
"I didn't say that's all he was fit for,
unless you include certain other activities under the heading of
funny business." Heat swept into Bette's cheeks, more in memory
than embarrassment. "A woman would have to be blind to miss that
man's potential in that area, and I may be married, but I'm not
blind. Besides," Darla added with a pugnacious tilt to her chin,
"I've never seen anyone in more need of funny business than
you."
"Really, Darla, I—"
"Really, Bette," she mimicked. "You work too
hard. You schedule your life down to the minute and you don't leave
any time for fun."
"That's not true. How about this weekend? I'm
going on a trip—"
"Only because your mother made you feel
guilty when you first said you couldn't go." True, but Bette wasn't
about to admit it out loud. "And if you can look me in the eye and
tell me you haven't already packed three days' worth of work and
arranged a couple business meetings up in Minnesota, I'll eat my
hat. Better yet, I'll promise to keep quiet about the whole
matter."
Bette said nothing. Did the Fifth Amendment
hold in dealing with scolding assistants?
"Humph." Darla produced a sound somewhere
between disgust and triumph. "All I have to say, young woman, is
you better start penciling in time on that schedule of yours for
exactly the kind of funny business Paul Monroe can provide, or
you're going to be old before your time."
Darla opened the door, then added a parting
shot over her shoulder. "And while you're at it, schedule in some
hanky-panky, too."
* * * *
"I'm sorry, Mr. Monroe, the office informs me
that Ms. Wharton has left for the weekend."
Left for the weekend by ten o'clock on a
Friday morning ? Bette Wharton ? Paul wanted to snarl at
the voice on the intercom. But he restrained himself.
When Janine went on, he noted for the first
time all week a hint of humanity beneath her efficient exterior. "I
believe she flew out early this morning for a weekend trip." Janine
hesitated, then added in her usual tone, "Can I put through another
call for you, Mr. Monroe?"
Since she hadn't managed to "put through" the
one call he'd wanted, he thought that bordered on sarcasm.
"No. Thanks. I have a call to make, but this
one's private so I'll put it through myself."
Let her inform her cronies at Top-Line that
he didn't consider his calls to Bette Wharton as anything more than
business. And let her also tell them that he had private calls to
make.
"Grady, it's Paul," he said when he got
through. "What do you think about taking the afternoon off for a
last sail of the season?"
"I think it's too damn cold, for
starters."
Actually, Paul thought so, too. The three-day
rain that had washed away Indian summer had eased yesterday, making
the lingering cold all the more noticeable. But he needed something
to vent this restlessness, and the lake had always been good for
that.
"And it's supposed to rain again," Grady
added.
"Afraid your good looks will melt?" The
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