Love Letters, Inc. (9 page)

"I'd notice you if you were standing in Times Square on New Year's eve, O'Hanlon. I think we both know that."

That shut her up. She settled for silence until they were nearing Beachline and he started to tell her about the people she was going to meet.

Inside the club's impressive doors they were met by a frosted cookie named Marlene, who looked at Rosie as if she were a soggy-mouthed Rottweiler with one of Marlene's three hundred dollar Italian pumps clasped in her teeth. The pump, Rosie guessed, was Kent Summerton.

They shook hands with the showy enthusiasm of two rival politicians at a joint fundraising.

"Kent, I've been waiting for you," Marlene said, turning to Kent. "Con called. He said if you phone before eleven-thirty you can catch him at his hotel." She looked at her watch. "You've got five minutes."

Kent's expression hardened. "You'll have to excuse me, Rosie."

"No problem. I'm sure Marlene can point me in the right direction."

"Marlene, how about starting Rosie off in accounting? Introduce her to Susan. I'll catch up with you there."

Marlene nodded. She and Rosie moved toward the lair of bean counters and computers as Kent strode off, double-time, in the opposite direction.

Marlene and Rosie smiled at each other, showing enough straight, gleaming teeth to make a crocodile writhe in envy.

"How nice of you to make time to come and see us," Marlene said, not meaning a word of it.

"Nice to be here," Rosie said, then she giggled.

Marlene gave her a puzzled look.

"Sorry, I was just thinking how wonderfully vague the word 'nice' is. How it's so often used to say the exact opposite of what it means."

They stopped outside a door with a sign saying STAFF ONLY, and Marlene's smile fell from her face like snow from a tin roof. "Are you saying I'm insincere?"

"Uh-huh. But that's okay. If I had my cap set for Kent Summerton, I'd be leery of me, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

Marlene started to say something, then stopped. A tight smile bowed her lips. "I've got a flash for you, Miss O'Hanlon. Every woman in the place has her 'cap' set for Kent Summerton."

"But?" Rosie tilted her head. "There's a but in there somewhere. I can smell it."

"But
it seems Kent has an aversion to 'caps' regardless of what woman's head it sits on. The only thing that turns him on is work, work, and more work."

"I know." Rosie sighed noisily. "And it is, as they say, a cryin' shame. All that good husband material going to waste."

Marlene gave her a searching look, then laughed. "You, too, huh?" She shrugged. "Well, all I can tell you is the line forms to the right, and it's damn long." She pushed open the door a couple of inches, then stopped. "You're all right, Rosie. It'll be fun working with you."

Rosie put out her hand, and Marlene took it. They both chuckled. "Lead on, Marlene. Nothing like the warmth and charm of a well-run accounting department to make me feel at home."

* * *

By the time Kent joined them, Marlene, Susan Lyle, and Rosie were sitting in Susan's office drinking coffee and laughing like schoolgirls. Actually, it sounded more like giggling. Not that any man in his right mind would accuse them of that. He was pretty sure women didn't "giggle" any more. When he stepped into the office, Susan, always shy and hesitant around him, sobered immediately and began fussing with the papers on her desk. He glanced past her to the clock behind her desk. Twelve-ten.

"Rosie, I promised you lunch. Are you done here?" If he read it right, they'd barely got started. At this rate it would take Rosie forever to finish this project, which was just fine with him. He'd take all the time with her he could get.

"Yes, and I'm starved." She stood, then turned back to Susan and Marlene. "When I'm finished with the manual, we'll celebrate, okay? Have dinner at my place and finish dissecting the inner workings of the opposite sex."

"We'll be there," Marlene said, answering for the always silent Susan.

"Oh, and Marlene? I'll send the first pages of the manual through on Friday. Have a look and let me know what you think."

* * *

In the dining room, Kent pulled out Rosie's chair and she settled in, looking both preoccupied and pleased with herself.

Within seconds Mae Smythe, Beachline's newest server, was at their table, smiling broadly, telling them the specials, and leaving menus. Inwardly, Kent groaned. If he'd hoped for privacy with Rosie, that hope was lost with Mae waiting their table. He knew from experience she'd be filling his water glass every five seconds.

"Good meeting?" Kent asked, setting aside the menu he could have recited in his sleep.

Rosie looked up. "Excellent. I like your people. Marlene's amazing. There isn't anything she doesn't know about this place. And Susan... Well, let's just say I think her DNA would show she's Jonesy's long-lost twin. Neat lady."

"Yes, they're both valuable Beachline employees, very committed to their careers."

Rosie lifted her eyes to meet his directly, their expression impish. "Not like some misguided women you know. Right, Summerton?"

"That's not—"

"May I take your order?"

Mae, accompanied by the clinking ice cubes in her water pitcher, arrived to hover over Kent's shoulder. He put his hand over his glass and nodded in Rosie's direction. Mae gave her a bright smile. After Rosie had her explain the ingredients that made the chicken special so special, they ordered.

"I'm not misguided, you know," Rosie said, turning her attention back to him. "I know exactly what I want, just as Marlene and Susan do. And I'm equally as committed to it."

He loved her eyes, so wide and honest, not a hint of subterfuge or guile. He'd never looked into eyes so blue, so filled with humor. He noticed then.

"Your glasses are fixed."

She touched the lower rim, then shot him an irritated look. "You're not listening again, Summerton. I was talking about my commitment."

"I know, but when did you get your glasses repaired?"

She rolled her eyes. "Saturday. Hennessy came and took me to the optometrist." She pierced him with a look. "Happy now?"

"You should have called me. I would have taken you."

"Are you crazy? Why would I call you?"

"Why did you call Hennessy?"

"Because he's my friend."

"So, what am I?"

Her lips moved, but nothing came out. "Good question, Summerton. A very good question."

"And one I'd like an answer to."

"You're a recent acquaintance."

"That's it?"

She looked at him as though he were in full military gear with a sack of land mines strapped to his back. The lady was cautious.

"Okay, let's see." She fiddled with her fork, then aligned it perfectly with her plate before looking at him. "You're an acquaintance, a customer of MooreWrite, a man I'm trying to extricate from an over-heated and over-avid woman's attentions, a single guy who'd love to have a no-strings affair, and a highly developed peptic ulcer waiting to perforate."

He laughed. "I don't have an ulcer."

She smiled serenely. "You will, Summerton. You will." Then she added, "I notice you didn't deny the 'no-strings affair' part of my description."

"Can't."

She sipped her water. "You're honest, anyway. I guess that's something." The way she said it, it didn't sound like much. Maybe on a par with putting the toilet seat down. But the damn truth was he didn't know what he wanted from Rosie—other than a repeat of that sizzling kitchen kiss.

Mae brought their orders and for the remainder of their lunch, they stuck to neutral subjects. They weathered it with only six interruptions, not all of them from Mae.

After lunch they were walking toward the pro shop, when Rosie asked, "Is it always like that? So many people coming at you for things?"

"It's a bit worse than usual. My partner's away." Enough said. Right now, he didn't want to think about Con York, let alone tell Rosie about him. Con's recent penchant for playing hookey was beginning to wear thin. It hadn't started out that way. At first they'd worked together, but lately Kent had taken over virtually all of Con's work. He was beginning to feel like a fool for tying up with him in the first place.

He opened the door to the pro shop and followed Rosie in. Greg was waiting for them.

"Rosie, this is Greg Nestor. He's our golf professional. Between him and Marlene, I think you can find the answers to all your questions." When he looked down at her, he caught the faint scent of lemons. Knowing Rosie, a man couldn't be sure if it was perfume or pie ingredient. "When you're finished here, let me know. I'll drive you home."

She pushed her chin against the brace in what passed for a nod and, unless he read her wrong, had just a little trouble pulling her gaze from his. His breathing warmed, and he concentrated on his own problem, shifting his eyes to look at Greg. "Take care of the lady, Greg," he said, his voice odd to his own ears. "I'll be in my office."

He had arrangements to make for a family barbecue. It was show-and-tell time.

* * *

Rosie called Kent at three to tell him she'd done all she was going to do for today, and by three-thirty they were in his car. Rosie was tired, but she was determined it wouldn't show. This was the longest time she been away from home since her surgery. All she wanted to do was go home and put her head down. But she couldn't. Not yet.

She glanced at Kent. The lines in his forehead were drawn tight enough to snap. She resisted the urge to smooth them away. No. It would be all too easy to make Kent Summerton and his stress lines a full-time job. She stilled her twitchy fingers.

"Kent, would you drop me off on Yates Street? I've got a doctor's appointment at four."

"No problem." He started the car.

"Thanks." She smiled, not wanting him to see her own weariness.

"How are you getting home?" he asked.

"Hennessy's picking me up."

"No, he isn't."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll take you to the doctor, and I'll wait."

Chapter 6

"But I told Hennessy I'd call when I was done. He's expecting to hear from me."

"I'll call him."

The set of his chin said argument was futile. "Fine," she agreed. "If you want to play taxi driver, so be it."

She was grumpy about it and let it show. She didn't know what Kent Summerton had in mind, and it bugged her. She hoped he wasn't the kind of guy who took the word no as a challenge, because she wasn't sure she was up for it. Her blood simmered every time she laid eyes on him; a roiling boil was a distinct threat. Even her current state of exhaustion didn't make her immune. All she had left was her willpower. Now there was a scary thought.

She left him sitting in the doctor's reception area with his nose in a copy of
Fortune Magazine.
Of course she got all mushy and flickery inside, thinking he looked like an expectant father waiting for a newly pregnant wife. Hopeless, she was hopeless.

"You're doing great, Rosie," Dr. Winters said. "You'll be out of the brace in no time at all." He walked with her to the reception area where Kent waited. "Until then, continue to take it easy and don't do anything foolish—and stop looking at me like that," he added, giving her a stern look. "I didn't promise anything. That surgery you had was no joke, young lady. I'm not about to have all my hard work undone because you can't wait to go bungee jumping."

"I know, but I was hoping the darn thing could at least be downgraded from steel to latex. I'm a bit tired of being a human lightning rod." She smiled through her disappointment. She really had hoped she'd be able to talk him into taking the damn thing off today.

Feeling unrepentantly sorry for herself, she walked over to where Kent sat waiting. He looked up and smiled. "Something looks different," he said, nodding at her neckwear.

"I had a tune-up He lowered it a bit."

He stood, then leaned down to plant a brief kiss just to the left of her mouth. "It must feel better," he added, holding her by the shoulders and studying her updated hydraulics.

What felt good were his lips grazing hers, the hum of his deep voice in her ear, the scent of him tickling her nose. She had the insane urge to wrap her arms around him and ask for a hug. And more kisses, definitely more kisses. She wanted to feel like a woman again instead of a space needle spin-off. She wanted to be cuddled, and then some.

In the car, he turned to her, his green eyes questioning and intent. "Anything else you need to do before going home? Anywhere else you want to go?"

How about the nearest motel with clean sheets? Hormone leered, snapping a lace-fringed garter. Troublemaker.

"No, just home," she said, emphatically enough for him to give her a puzzled glance. Rosie settled back in the car and sent an SOS to Lady Brain. She arrived brandishing a full color set of baby pictures. Triplets. Rosie concentrated on naming them during the ride home. Kent picked up his cell phone and started talking to Marlene about a man called Packard and a barbecue.