Kill the Competition (13 page)

Her phone rang. She yanked up the receiver, then too late remembered she couldn't talk. Carefully she pulled the moist paper towel out of her mouth. As soon as the air hit her raw tongue, her mouth exploded with pain. Involuntarily, she moaned into the phone.

"Hello?" a male voice asked.

"Mm-hm." She clenched her teeth until the worst of the pain passed.

"Is this Belinda Hennessey?"

She tried to concentrate on breathing only through her nose. "Mm-hm."

"This is Lieutenant Wade Alexander."

"Oh. Heh-wo." She winced.

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"Um. No. Whaz up?"

After a few seconds of silence, he said, "I was calling to let you know that I searched the cruiser, but I didn't find your address book."

"Oh. Thanz anyway."

"You're welcome. Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"Okay. Well... are you still driving on that spare?"

She smirked. "No."

"Okay. Well... good-bye then."

"Guh-bye."

She frowned at the phone when she set it down. At least he'd stopped calling her "ma'am." Then she remembered that Julian had said the man was going through a divorce, and she regretted her unkind thoughts. She wondered if he'd gotten his big heart broken, or if he was the one who'd done the damage.

"Belinda."

She jumped, then turned to see Clancy Edmunds standing at the opening to her cubicle. "Heh-wo, Cwancy."

"Is that an Elmer Fudd impersonation, or did you have lunch at the Thai place?"

"Thai."

He grimaced. "Your lips look like Melanie Griffith's."

"Thanz."

"Okay, I won't make you talk. Just come to the boardroom and point to whichever sofa bed you want. They're going fast."

She smiled—at least she meant to—and followed him in the direction of the boardroom, gingerly touching her lips and testing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It all felt like a big, pulpy mass. En route, Clancy made an appreciative sound in his throat. She looked up to see a sandy-haired uniformed APS deliveryman coming their way, and she assumed it was the same guy that the girls had been salivating over. From the look of the young man's gear—back support harness, padded gloves, and thick-soled shoes—he was prepared for just about any maneuver, although she rather doubted that delivering packages in Midtown was all that dogged. Still, the accessories were...
effective.

He gave her a friendly nod, then turned his attention to Clancy. "Ms. Campbell isn't in her office, and her secretary isn't around, either. Will you sign for this?"

"Gladly," Clancy purred.

Belinda pressed her lips together to hide a smile, but that hurt, so she just stood there and looked at the ceiling.

"Hello."

She looked back to find the well-equipped delivery-man smiling at her.

Clancy glanced up and frowned. "Oh. Hank Baxter, this is Belinda Hennessey."

"Hi," she managed to vocalize on an expelled breath.

"Are you new here?"

She touched her mouth and looked to Clancy for help.

He sighed. "Belinda had a skirmish with Thai food today. She's been here a couple of months, but Margo keeps all the pretty ones hidden away."

"Too bad," Hunky Hank said with a grin.

"Here." Clancy slapped the guy's clipboard against his chest and snatched the envelope out of his hand. "I'll make sure Margo gets the package."

Hank nodded. "Nice to meet you, Belinda."

Clancy stared openly at the man's ass as he walked away, then turned back and made a rueful noise. "Why are all the good ones straight?"

She barely heard him because she was trying to steal a look at the return address on the overnight letter packet. When Clancy caught her, she blushed. He shrugged and held up the brightly colored envelope. "Looks like something from Payton—this could be the big day."

The food in her stomach seemed to reignite. The big day. The big deal. The big promotion. The big lie.

"I'll drop this on Margo's desk later. Come on, let's tag you a sofa. Mr. Archer wants these things out of the boardroom pronto. Apparently he caught someone taking a nap in here."

She frowned. "A nap?"

He leaned close. "I heard it was Tal. Must be tough on Mr. Archer having such a loser for a son."

She was glad they had reached the boardroom, because she didn't want to get caught up in the melodrama of the grapevine. She had enough on her mind, struggling with the decision of spending her ill-gotten raise before she even ill-got it.

"They're all nice sofas," he said, sweeping his arm wide. "Nicer than anything Archer makes, that's for damn sure. I bought the gray striped one for my den, and the brown plaid is already spoken for."

"Rosemary?"

"Uh-huh."

That left a cream overstuffed model with high arms, a cobalt blue contemporary couch with lime green pillows, a sleek black armless model, and, Belinda's pie-in-the-sky favorite, a red leather beauty, with deep seating and flared arms. A sound of longing escaped her throat.

"Isn't it decadent?" Clancy breathed.

"Mm."

"Let's unfold it," he suggested. They removed the sumptuous red leather cushions, and Belinda was amazed at how easily the queen bed opened.

"Give it a bounce," Clancy said.

She did, and found that the firmness rivaled her own bed. She lay back and closed her eyes, giving in to the fantasy of entertaining a lover on her pull-out red leather couch. God help her, she wanted it. Badly.

"How muth?" she asked, wishing she could feel her teeth.

"Fifteen hundred."

She winced and sat up.

"It's a four-thousand-dollar couch, sweetie."

She didn't doubt that it was a good deal, but at this discount, she'd have to pay cash, and she still didn't know how much the car repairs were going to cost. "I'll fink about it."

He clucked. "Monica Tanner called this morning and asked a hundred questions about this piece—you'd better snap it up before she does."

She wavered. Her living room
was
balefully empty. Her mother would be thrilled that she'd finally bought a couch, although Barbara Hennessey would think her daughter had "turned wild" when Belinda described it. Julian's wink sprang to her mind. Little did her mother know, buying a red leather couch was the tamest of her contemplations today.

"Free delivery if you can wait a few days," Clancy encouraged.

"Otay."

Chapter 10

"Except for a little sunshine slowdown in the east-bound lanes on the Top End of The Perimeter, all is runnin' smooth on the freeways this mornin'! Folks, it's a beautiful Friday in Hotlanta. Drive safe! This is Talkin' Tom Trainer for MIXX 100 FM traffic."

"And you didn't know it was him?" Carole asked.

"Not a clue," Belinda said. Just hearing his voice sent her pulse jumping. When she'd driven home yesterday, he'd still been covering the chemical spill cleanup. It gave her a quiet little thrill knowing he was soaring overhead, and she wondered if he'd thought about her as much as she'd thought about him. Any time that Lt. Alexander's words about Julian had worked their way into her thoughts, she had discounted them as well-meaning but misguided. Hadn't she decided to form her own opinion? Perhaps the officer assumed she was looking for some kind of permanent solution to her single state, but she wasn't. And while she still considered men unnecessary, she had developed a new appreciation for their...
usefulness.

When she'd woken this morning to Julian's voice on the radio, her entire body had been in a state of heightened awareness that had rivaled her tender mouth. She'd felt every nubby loop on the terry washcloth as she'd showered, had felt her eyelashes brush her cheeks when she'd blinked, had sensed the nerve endings dance in the pads of her fingers. And the man hadn't even touched her. Yet.

"I see your speech has returned," Libby said sarcastically.

Belinda squinted. Libby wasn't her normal cheery self this morning. "Thanks to Rosemary letting me know that bread would get rid of the sting."

"My pleasure," Rosemary said, but a little pinch appeared between her eyebrows. Enduring back pain was the single outward concession she had made to aging.

Warmth crept into Belinda's cheeks. "Rosemary, I'm sorry. I forgot to mention that I told Julian I'd meet him in the gym today."

Libby huffed. "I've got one for the book: DON'T dump your girlfriends when you meet a new guy."

Belinda's flush deepened—another bonding faux pas. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Rosemary cut in. "My back is so tight, I think I'll skip my workout."

"I knew that good old Southern boy radio bit was an act," Libby exclaimed. "Men are natural born liars and were put on earth to make our lives a living hell."

Silence crackled in the car.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the curling iron," Carole murmured.

Libby's mouth tightened, and she burst into tears.

Belinda swerved onto the shoulder, then corrected.

"What's wrong?" Carole asked, leaning forward.

"We're broke," Libby sobbed. "My SUV, you know I was letting Glen, Jr. drive it until he got his truck fixed? Well, the bank repossessed it yesterday while he was in Algebra, which he's failing. Oh, hell, there goes my mascara." She dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin, spreading the black mess. "Glen is being just awful. He cut up all my credit cards—both of my Visas, all of my MasterCards, plus Discover, American Express, Macy's, Diner's Club, Best Buy, Sears—"

"We get the idea," Carole cut in, patting her shoulder.

"And worst of all—"

"Your Bloomingdale's card," they all said in unison.

She nodded miserably and sprang a new gusher. "Glen is barely talking to me, said I'd better get that raise." She sniffled. "Rosemary, do you mind driving the carpool next week? Glen's trying to get the SUV back, but I don't know how long that'll take."

"No problem," Rosemary said with a flat little smile. She looked as if she was going to say something else—I told you so?—but didn't.

Carole made soothing sounds as Libby repaired her makeup. Belinda bit into her lip, assuming that Libby hadn't made good on her promise to lop off her husband's pecker if he yanked her Bloomingdale's card. She was starting to feel connected to these women. It concerned her that one of them was in trouble and she might be able to help... plus she was having second thoughts about buying the wicked couch.

"Libby," she said carefully, "I have cash in my purse to pay Clancy for the sofa bed, but if you need to borrow—"

"Oh, Belinda," Libby breathed, tearing up again. "That's so sweet of you, but no, I'd never borrow money from a friend." She sighed. "I'm sorry, girls, for being a downer this morning. But don't worry, I'll think of something. Always have a plan B."

"That's a good DO for the book," Belinda said quietly.

Libby smiled through her tears. "I'll write that one down."

"Was Atlanta your plan B, Belinda?" Carole asked.

She pursed her mouth. "Yes, I suppose it was."

"What was he like? Your husband, I mean."

Husband.
It was one of those words that if you said over and over, it sounded nonsensical. "He was..." She conjured up Vince's pleasant face—mild blue eyes, fresh-scrubbed skin, nondescript hair, average build. "Vince was..." Her tongue faltered as mixed emotions flooded her. What was Vince like? What about him had convinced her that he was the man she'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with? Proximity? Timing? Expectations? Maybe the answers lay in the unopened envelope sitting on her kitchen table at home. Or maybe the answers lay in the fact that she hadn't yet opened the envelope.

"Belinda?"

She pushed aside the jumble of thoughts. "Ask me another day, okay, Carole?"

Carole nodded. "Guess you don't want to think about him now that you've met someone new."