Saturday Morning by Lauraine Snelling Page A

point. She should have known better than to think he wanted her there because he missed her. All he wanted her there for was to do his bidding, to be his nice corporate wife, to be his house-hunter, to be his … She was so mad she shuddered.
    Biting down on her tongue was the only way Andy could keep from saying anything else. She held the box of lavender wands tightly in her lap and watched the city go by.
    “There are some things you need to know before we arrive,” Martin said, as if nothing were amiss. He briefed her on the guest list. There would be three other couples. She had met two of the couples at previous events. The new couple had been brought in from another company, and the wife was now the new senior vice president of something or other.
    When he was through, she realized she had only heard half of what he’d said. Was it Jo or Joe with the last name Waters? The newsenior vice president, should she be addressed as Mrs. or Ms.? Until she knew for sure, she would avoid addressing anyone.
    Martin adjusted the knot in his tie. Again. He was nervous. Funny, she didn’t recall him having any trouble in the past at functions such as this. Was he worried about the dinner in general, or was he worried she would mention the move that wasn’t going to happen? She supposed she could reassure him, but right now she wasn’t in a particularly charitable mood. On top of backing out of looking at houses, he hadn’t even asked how her trip had been into the city, or if she’d had any trouble with BART.
    At the restaurant, Martin paid the driver and handed her out. Acting the perfect, thoughtful husband, he put his arm around her and escorted her up the red carpet. If she weren’t so mad, she would feel like a queen. At the door, he quickly moved in front of her and held it open. The smile he gave her reminded her so much of their early years that the tingle went clear to her toes. Now, though, every nice thing he said and did only aroused suspicion.
    Lord, please get me through this occasion with my social face intact. Playing the game of corporate wife had often been a joke with her, one that Martin never found humorous. He had always been far too serious about his job. As they wended their way between the white-clothed tables, Andy told herself to make nice and remember to smile.
    Then she saw them, six of them, seated at a rectangular table toward the back. Were they late? Martin was never late to anything. She used to tease him about being early to his own funeral, just to make sure everything was in order.
    Andy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Good little corporate wife.
    The three men rose from their chairs simultaneously. Black suits. Starched white shirts. They looked like a line of dominoes, standing up instead of falling down.
    “Good evening, Andrea.” Brad Grandolay, head of the company, greeted her. “I’m glad you could join us.” He turned slightly, indicating the woman beside him. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, Sophia.”
    Andy put on her brightest smile. “I’m so happy to meet you, Sophia.” This was not the same wife Brad had been married to a few years ago. Andrea reached out to shake the woman’s hand and was blinded by the diamond—as big as a bantam chicken egg—on her finger. Vaguely, Andy recalled Martin saying that Brad’s first wife had left him to pursue a career in something or other. Yeah, right.
    “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” Sophia said with a distinct southern drawl.
    The syrupy drawl, combined with the blond hair and the chicken-egg ring, told Andy that Sophia could find her way around Saks blindfolded and that it would be hard to strike up a good conversation with her.
    Andy drew her hand back and went to the next introduction. “And this is our new senior vice president of R&D, Ms. Waters.”
    Andy nodded and smiled, but before she could say anything, the fashionably thin woman extended her hand. “Please call me Marcelene,