Kill the Competition (15 page)

She might have dozed earlier, but now she was wide awake, waiting for remorse to hit her. When it didn't, she was left feeling even more confused. She found her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, then gathered her socks and shoes and managed to slip out the door without making any noise. In the empty hallway she released a pent-up breath and padded toward the women's locker room. If remorse was going to hit her in the next few minutes, she might as well be standing under a showerhead getting clean.

Footsteps sounded behind her—
tiny
footsteps.

"Is that you, Belinda?"

Margo.
Belinda closed her eyes briefly, then turned and manufactured a smile for her boss, whose microscopic white leotard was sweat-drenched. "Hi, Margo."

"I didn't see you in the gym." Her gaze dropped to Belinda's bare feet. "Taking a sauna?"

"Well—"

"Isn't it out of order?" Margo indicated the sign on the door.

To her abject horror, the sauna door opened, and a shirtless Julian, looking like he'd been ridden hard and put up wet, stuck out his handsome head. "You forgot something." He held up a white sock.

Mortification bled over her. Belinda stepped forward to block Margo's view, retrieved the sock from his hand, and tucked it into her shoe with as much dignity as she could muster. "Thanks."

"I didn't run you off, did I?" he murmured, an irresistible twinkle in his eye.

"Er, no. I need to get back to work."

"Okay. Be listening for me on the radio."

She nodded, thinking perhaps she could pass him off as a mere acquaintance, someone who had happened to be in the sauna. Or at least pretend as if nothing of naughty consequence had occurred.

Then he leaned out farther and waved. "Hey, Margo."

Margo lifted her hand. "Hey, Julian."

He disappeared into the sauna, and Belinda's mind raced at the implication of Margo and Julian knowing each other. Despite a nauseous stomach, Belinda conjured up what she hoped was a casual expression for her boss. "You know Julian?"

"Well, not in the Biblical sense," Margo said with a dry smile. "How was it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The sauna—how was it?"

Remembering the advice of her wedding director, Belinda bent her knees slightly to avoid fainting. "Um, fine. Hot." She waved her hand over her neck. "Actually, that's probably why the sign is on the door—the sauna is overheating. I think."

Margo nodded. "And that would explain why your shirt is inside out."

Belinda looked down. Sure enough, her T-shirt read "sabibA," the serged seams exposed, and the fabric content tag in plain view.

"It's okay," Margo said with a shrug. "There was a time when I wouldn't have minded hooking up with Julian myself, but I guess he prefers redheads." She angled her head. "Come to think of it, he had a thing for Jeanie Lawford, and she was a freckly little thing."

The mounting similarities between herself and Jeanie Lawford were too numerous for easy digestion. She managed a small laugh. "It's a little unsettling to be compared to a dead woman."

"You're much too smart to wind up like Jeanie."

At the odd timbre in Margo's voice, Belinda's throat constricted. "What do you mean, 'wind up like Jeanie'?"

Margo gave her a rueful smile. "I mean you watch your step."

Innocent (if tactless) remark, or veiled warning? Belinda stood, knees bent, holding her socks and shoes, and watched her boss disappear into the locker room.

Chapter 11

By the time Belinda got back to her desk, she was a nervous wreck. Fooling around in the workplace—what was she thinking?
Here lies Belinda Hennessey. She was indiscreet.
The enormity of her lapse was outweighed only by her relief at not having been caught in the act, although it was clear that Margo had a good idea of what had transpired.

And that bizarre comment about Jeanie....

"Hey."

She turned at the sound of Libby's voice. The woman's blond hair was a mess, and her pink mouth drooped. "Hey, Libby. What's going on?"

Libby dropped into the visitor's chair. "I'm suffering withdrawal. Bloomingdale's is having a white sale."

Belinda bit back a smile. "Oh."

"I can't stand the thought of all those goodies over there twenty, thirty, even forty percent off. Think of all the money I could be saving."

"But think of all the money you'll save by not shopping at all."

"I know, I know. But you know that thrill of buying something new?"

Belinda thought of her naughty red couch and flushed. "Of course. But needing that kind of high to the point of risking your financial security isn't healthy."

Libby pointed to her head. "Here, I know that. But here"—she rubbed her thumb against her fingers in the universal "money" symbol—"I just keep thinking eight hundred thread-count white Egyptian sheets on
clearance
." She moaned. "I need to win the lottery. Life isn't fair."

"True enough."

Carole appeared in the cubicle opening, her arms full of padded envelopes. "Are you all having a party without me?"

"Pity party for me," Libby said.

"Bloomingdale's sale?"

Libby nodded miserably. "I ate at my desk and cried over the newspaper ad. What are you doing up here looking so chipper?"

Carole grinned. "I rode up the elevator with Hunky Hank—we were stuck between the fourth and fifth floor for ten whole minutes." She gave Belinda an accusing look. "You're holding out on us. He said he carried up something for you yesterday."

Belinda pointed to a gray crate sitting under her desk. "My collection of exciting reference books."

"Still, I think he digs you." Carole jerked her thumb toward Belinda's slice of window. "Speaking of digging, I wanted to take a look at the, um, bushes."

One side of Libby's mouth slid back. "Yeah, right."

They all headed over and looked down. Eight floors down, a half-dozen shirtless men were stacking stone around the bases of newly planted trees. Blonds, brunettes, tall, stocky—it was a veritable smorgasbord of bronzed man-meat. Belinda wondered how many women were standing at their office windows ogling the unsuspecting laborers—not that it kept her from getting an eyeful for herself.

Carole emitted a hungry noise. "Maybe one of those guys is my destiny. Ricky said he was right under my nose."

"See the tall blond?" Libby asked. "Word is, that's one of Margo's boy-toys."

Belinda looked again—stringy hair, dirty hat. "He looks a little..."

"Skanky? I'll say. Must be a power thing."

She shook herself. Here she stood gossiping about her boss's supposed conquests when her body still sang from the application of Julian's hands.

Carole turned her back to the window. "So, how was helicopter man?"

Belinda blinked. "Hm?"

"Didn't you meet him at the gym?"

"Oh. Julian's... fine. He asked me to go to Raleigh with him this weekend."

Libby's eyes narrowed. "So, are you dumping us?"

"No." Belinda smiled, then moved back toward her cubicle. "I'm looking forward to being pampered at the spa for a few hours."

"Good girl." Libby snapped her fingers. "Hey, I need to look up something in that policy and procedures manual I loaned you."

"Do you need it back?" Belinda asked, reaching for the thick three-ring binder. "I can take out the pages I'm using."

"No, I want to double-check something in case I'm summoned for my evaluation with Margo this afternoon."

"Summoned? You mean the interviews aren't scheduled?"

"Heck, no—she likes to catch people off guard. Some people will get their comeuppance today, and the rest of us will have to sweat it out over the weekend."

Belinda's stomach clenched. She made a mental note to see if there was a section in the manual on employee hanky-panky. She hefted the bulky binder from the corner of her desk and stared down at the object that had been sufficiently hidden beneath—her electronic address hook. One mystery solved.

Libby ran a finger down a page in the manual, read for a few seconds, then slammed the book closed. "Too many rules," she muttered.

Belinda and Carole exchanged a perplexed glance, then Clancy came around the corner, carrying a zippered cash bag. "Is this a hen party, or can I join?"

"Hens only," Libby said. "So you're fine."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "I came to see Belinda." He shook the money bag. "Time to pay for your delicious couch."

"We'll see you later," Libby said and walked away with Carole.

Belinda pulled a key from her jacket pocket to unlock the drawer where she'd placed the envelope of cash. "I'm already having buyer's remorse."

"Honey, are you Catholic?"

"Baptist."

"Worse. You know you'll probably go to hell for buying a red leather couch."

She handed over fifteen one-hundred-dollar bills. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"Oh, don't worry—Margo says it isn't such a bad place."

She shook her finger at him. "Stop it. Are all the couches sold?"

He nodded. "You, me, Rosemary, Monica Tanner—she settled for the black one—a lady in HR and a friend of Carole's from the mail room bought the other two." He held her wad of money under his nose and inhaled before tucking it into his cash bag. "I haven't had this much money since managing the Who Will Margo Fire Next? pool."

Rather than responding, Belinda thought it was safer to change the subject. "So when can I expect my yummy couch to be delivered?"

"Next Wednesday was the earliest I could arrange to get yours and Rosemary's on a truck. I need your address, and I have to write on the order if the delivery guys will have to carry the sofa up any stairs."

She reached for a notepad. "It's a town house, and they won't have to maneuver stairs. My living room is level with my yard."

"That'll make the boys happy. Do you need for them to haul away your old couch? They can drop it at Goodwill."

"Thanks, but I don't have a couch right now."

"Ah. Did your ex-husband get all the furniture?"

She blinked. "Well..."

He brushed off her embarrassment. "Honey, there are no secrets around here."

She so hoped that wasn't true. "We, um, divided up everything. He got the couch, and I got the cat."

He grinned. "You're a cat lover?"

"I wouldn't go that far. Downey and I sort of tolerate each other, I guess. She misses my... ex."

"Yeah, cats can sulk, just like people. Have you tried warming up her food?"

"No."

"Trust me—a few seconds in the microwave, and she'll be your friend for life." He checked his watch. "Gotta run. I have a feeling that Margo's going to call me for my evaluation so she can ruin my weekend. I've heard that raises this year are more scarce than a Gay Pride flag in Cobb County."

There was that stomach twinge again. "Good luck."

After he walked away, she massaged her temples. She and her friends were experiencing individual dramas that would rival anything on
The Single Files
—Libby with her finances, Carole with her marriage-for-hire, Rosemary with her body's limitations, and she with her sudden... truth issues.

She smoothed her hand over the sleek surface of the address book. At least she'd be able to call her mother later with Suzanne's address. It was one of the reasons her mother had postponed the cross-country trip for so long, because she had obsessed over every little loose end of the non-wedding. Her poor mother would probably collapse when everything was finally over and done with.

Belinda stopped—
when
everything was over and done with? She and Vince
were
over and done with. Hadn't she proved that by moving three states away? By not tearing open the envelope he'd sent her? By having an...
encounter
with another man?

Maybe she'd jot a quick note on the back of Vince's envelope before sending it back:
Having too much fun in the dry sauna with my new helicopter pilot lover.