Текст книги "Miss Match"
Автор книги: Laurelin McGee
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Seven
Andy shuffled around the apartment, not caring that she was already probably going to be late for work. It wasn’t that she was nervous about going in—actually, that’s exactly what it was. She was shaking-in-her-socks nervous and she couldn’t even begin to say all the reasons why.
After she’d left Blake on Saturday, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon racking up charges on his business card with purchases for his home. That had felt good. She’d never realized how much fun it was to spend money, never having had much of it herself. Although she’d certainly imagined it enough times.
But after she’d finished with her shopping spree, she’d been at a loss as to what she should do next. She was certain she had a grasp on the type of woman Blake wanted to date, only where to find her? Should she take out a Craigslist ad as Blake had? She imagined the headline—Wanted: Attractive, preferably Asian, woman to date sleazy bachelor and ignore his lack of humanity in exchange for an account at Nordstrom. No personality desired. Serious inquiries only. Her gut told her that wouldn’t attract anyone decent. Well, gut and brain.
She’d scoured her own social media accounts looking for anyone local who might fit the bill. No one. Besides, did she really want to submit her friends to Blake’s arrogance? Not if she intended to keep her friends.
Saturday night she’d tagged along with Lacy to a gig hoping she’d find a suitable candidate there. Not even close. She’d gazed around the room at various women and ruled them out one by one. The one with blue streaks in her hair? No, she obviously enjoyed attention too much to be submissive. The flawlessly beautiful brunette standing by the stage? Oh, just threw her undies at Lacy. This one, too hip, that one, too hippy. The show was a complete bust.
Sunday she’d tried one of the mega churches, standing outside the doors while the parishioners filed out on their way to brunch. Here she’d spotted several women with potential. Approaching them, however, was a whole new problem. How the hell was she supposed to sell a date with Blake to passersby? It was hard enough figuring out how she was going to allure dates when she had the time to build him up. Perhaps if she held up a sign with his much-too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good face and the words WANNA DATE? She’d put that on her mental list of possibilities for the future.
Sunday night she refused to think about it anymore. By Monday morning, she had a headache and a case of cold feet. She was already so much of a failure in her own eyes. She really didn’t want to fail this too. Yet she was beginning to think it was inevitable. So could anyone blame her for not wanting to hurry to her job?
There was another reason for her hesitancy—one much harder to admit. It could be boiled down to two words: Blake Donovan. Not only had her visit to his mansion enlightened her on the women he was attracted to, but now Andy was also pretty sure she knew the kinds of things he’d like to do with those women. She’d seen his tight pants after looking at those explicit pics and if she hadn’t been sure then, his comment about hotel reservations made his intentions crystal clear.
It was to be expected; he was a man after all. Looking at extremely erotic images would surely pique his interest. Standing next to him, leaning on his firm shoulder as his musky scent filled her senses, even she’d been aroused. Because of the pictures, of course. For no other reason. It was an overall arousing scenario. Surely, if she were a man, she’d also have become interested.
But for some reason, witnessing his … interest … in other women bothered her. Bothered her a lot. It was psycho, because this was ultimately her job. She was supposed to find the woman that interested Blake to no end. Why did that thought tug so uncomfortably in her chest?
Best not to answer that.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” Lacy called groggily from where she’d passed out on the couch the night before.
Andy grabbed some pumps to toss into her bag then slunk into the armchair to tie her sneakers. “Maybe.” Definitely.
Lacy squinted open her eyes just enough to send a scowl across the coffee table. “You’ve been there less than a week. Tardiness—”
“Oh, shut it, Lacy. I’m not in the mood.”
“Your mood doesn’t count. It’s keeping that creeper boss of yours happy that pays the bills.” She pulled a pillow over her face. “Did you at least make coffee?”
Andy pretended not to have heard the muffled question. If she’d gotten up instead of hitting SNOOZE, she could have made the coffee. Instead, she had pushed the button and closed her eyes, then proceeded to lie there fuming about the day ahead of her instead of enjoying the extra ten minutes. Then she had done it twice more. So now she was riled up and undercaffeinated. Freaking Mondays.
She closed the apartment door behind her just as Lacy’s pillow hit. “Missed, sucker!” she called through the door as she locked it. She was still smiling to herself when she turned around and saw a gorgeous Asian woman standing in front of the neighbor’s door and staring at her.
“Are you looking for Mrs. Brandy?” The words were out before Andy remembered that wasn’t the elderly next-door neighbor’s real name. “I mean, Mrs. Brando.”
The woman looked at the envelope in her hand. “Yeah. I got her mail by mistake. I’m in the same apartment, but the next building over.” She knocked for what couldn’t have been the first time, judging by the toe-tapping.
“She’s out of town for two weeks. I’ve just been stuffing her mail under her door.” Andy took the mail from the other woman’s slim, manicured hand and crouched. “Getting a bit of buildup, I see. Just give it a little—push—ah! There we go.” She wedged the envelope past the jam triumphantly then looked up to see the woman’s expression.
“She asked me to. I didn’t just decide to do that randomly,” Andy reassured her. The woman’s face relaxed into a stunning smile.
“Thanks for the tip. If I end up with any more of her mail, I know what to do. So … Mrs. Brandy?” They fell into step heading for the stairs.
“That’s what my sister and I call her. She’s a bit of a drinker.”
“Ah. Clever.” The woman’s heels clicked smartly down the steps ahead of Andy.
She couldn’t help but notice how fit her new acquaintance’s legs looked stemming down from her skirt. Particularly her calves. She’d always wished for that kind of definition herself, but didn’t have the willpower to acquire it.
“Her name’s basically begging for it, isn’t it?” Andy was impressed with how well she was performing at small talk. She usually didn’t articulate anything very well before at least four ounces of coffee.
“That or some Marlon Brando joke. Is she very manly?”
“Actually, she is … I’m Andy, by the way. Andy Dawson.” She stuck out a hand.
The woman’s grip was firm but not overbearing. “Jaylene Kim.”
Ah, Korean. Andy was starting to formulate a plan. And a read. “You said you’re from next door?”
“The next building, yeah.”
They reached the front door, which Andy held open. “God, I have got to get better about knowing my neighbors.”
“No worries. I’m the same way.” Jaylene flashed that smile again, made even more glorious in contrast with her bright red lips. The woman’s makeup was flawless.
“Are you headed—” They stepped out into the warm Boston morning.
“To the subway. You?” Jaylene paused for Andy’s answer.
“Me too.” Though she had considered grabbing a cab—it was the only way she’d make it to the office on time. But if she could snag a date for Blake out of this chance encounter, the tardiness would be justified. With a possibly too-wide grin, Andy said, “So what do you do, Jaylene?”
“I teach at Boston University Academy.”
Andy watched as Jaylene spoke, mesmerized by the way her lips moved and how precise and articulate each word was. “You’re a professor?”
“Not quite. It’s a private high school on BU’s campus. I teach English.”
English at a private high school? How girlie could a woman get? Feminine, demure.
Jaylene wiped a hand across her dry brow. “I’m a little embarrassed that I’m taking the train.”
“Do you usually walk the whole thing?” Andy was impressed. Physical exertion of any sort was not her cup of tea. She suffered through the yoga but wasn’t about to take it any further.
“I don’t. But only because I run seven miles before I get ready for work.” It was amazing how she didn’t even sound like she was bragging. As if it were the norm. “Running to work would be a little much. Plus, sweaty.”
“Oh, yeah. Me too.” Andy pinned her eyes to her cross trainers—the ones that still looked as pristine as the day she’d bought them a year ago since they hadn’t gotten much action. Dammit. I never grabbed my heels. “I mean, I exercise before work because, sweaty.” Lies.
“So you’re off to work as well?”
“Yeah. I’m, uh, a personal assistant for an IT executive.” Andy swallowed, preparing to make her move. “Hey, can I ask a totally forward question? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Um…” The other woman’s steps slowed.
“Not for me. For someone else. A guy.” Andy realized she was likely not making the situation any better, but charged ahead anyway. “I mean, I’m not hitting on you. I didn’t think you were a lesbian, if that’s what you thought. Not that I wouldn’t be interested if I was, that’s just not—if you were thinking that’s what I meant.”
“Actually, I didn’t know what to think. I still don’t.”
“Of course not. I’m going about this all weird.” God, pimping was so … awkward? “It’s for my boss. He’s decided to get out in the field and though we just met, I have to say, I really think you’d mesh with him. His name is Blake Donovan—”
“Blake Donovan of Donovan InfoTech?” Jaylene’s right eyebrow lifted.
“You’ve heard of him?” Andy couldn’t help the surprise that sounded in her voice.
“He’s the toast of Boston’s business scene.” Jaylene fanned her face with her hand. “Who hasn’t heard of him?”
Until she’d met him the day of her interview, Andy hadn’t, that’s who hadn’t. “Yeah, exactly. Who hasn’t.”
“If I remember right, he’s a hottie.”
“Yes. Yes, he is. I have a picture.” Andy was suddenly grateful for the doldrum hour on Saturday that she had filled snapping shots of Blake on her phone unbeknownst to him.
Jaylene took the phone, her eyes brightening as she took in Blake’s picture. “Yummy.”
Though pleased with Jaylene’s assessment, Andy couldn’t help feeling a little bit stabby that someone else recognized how attractive Blake Donovan was. It was honestly the most absurd feeling she’d had in, well, ever. She dismissed it as a side effect of the no-coffee-plus-walking thing.
Jaylene handed the phone back to Andy. “And you think he’d want to go out with me?”
“I’m positive. He asked me to set him up, in fact.” Not a lie. “Would you be interested?”
“Maybe.” Jaylene’s tone said there was no maybe about it. It was yes all the way.
“Tell you what—are you on Facebook?”
She nodded so Andy opened her phone and entered Jaylene’s name in her social media app. When her profile came up, she sent a friend request. “I just friended you.”
Jaylene’s own phone buzzed from the side pocket of her purse. She pulled it out and flicked her fingers across the screen. “And I just accepted.”
It took all of Andy’s strength not to happy dance right there in the station. “I’ll show Blake your profile, if you don’t mind, and see what he says?”
“Yeah. That sounds … great, actually. Thanks.”
There was a moment of semistrange silence between them which Andy filled with unnatural grinning and staring at Jaylene’s daintily polished hands. Thankfully, the moment was interrupted by the arrival of a train.
“Well, this is me,” Jaylene said with a shrug.
“Great meeting you.” Was that too eager? “I’ll get back to you soon.”
The women waved and parted.
With Jaylene out of sight, Andy let out a sigh of half relief, half elation. She might have a grip on this ridiculous job of hers after all. Although extremely tardy and undercaffeinated, she couldn’t help thinking, I’m awesome.
* * *
Two days in, and his matchmaker was already late. How could he have been so wrong? Blake was rarely off on his assessments like this. Her first working days seemed to have been going extraordinarily well, despite all his best efforts. He still cringed at the thought of how Drea had derailed him so much in the elevator.
Now that she was showing her true colors, he was feeling far more in control. Once that unruly hair popped around his door, he was going to give her a piece of his mind. He was going to put her in her place, and then he was going to sit down in his place, and get in the B-Zone. He was going to show Andrea and Monday who was boss.
But when she peered around the jamb with such a delighted sparkle in her eyes, he decided to wait and hear just what had her all riled up before laying down the law. And when she started hopping back and forth from one foot to the other while gushing about the date she’d just interviewed, he decided that her neon-orange cross trainers were actually the worst part of what was happening here. After all, she had been working. He knew he hadn’t been wrong about her. Blake Donovan was rarely wrong. Andrea wasn’t the only one who was an astute reader of people.
He let her words flow past his ears as he studied her, trying to decide why he was finding himself so unexpectedly charmed by this display of enthusiasm. Probably it was because most of his employees played their cards close to the vest. Probably it was just the novelty of it. Probably nothing.
He tuned back in as she collected a few folders and printouts and marched over to his desk. “So I tentatively scheduled you for Thursday evening. I figured you’d want to approve it, obviously, but this also gives you a little time to make sure that jives with your schedule. Okay, these are the latest batch, and I’m not telling you which one I’ve spoken with.” She slid the small stack over to him and fanned them.
He gave the head shots a cursory glance. At first look, he thought two were decent, one was doubtful, and one was perfect. He slid one of the maybes back at her. “Tell me about this one.”
“Amanda Delgado. Retail clerk at a high-end boutique. Has an associate’s degree, no plans to further her education beyond that. Hobbies include shopping and horses.” She waited for his reaction. Blake considered. There were a few things that gave him pause about her profile, brief though it was. He’d never liked horse people, for one. Creeped him out. And shopping? Was she going to be a shoe person? He sent another disapproving look in the direction of Drea’s feet.
The thing that he was silently debating was the education bit. It was true that he didn’t like ambitious women, and those with degrees tended to be. Many educated women also tended to have opinions, and those simply would not stand when his spouse was entertaining business associates. On the other hand, and he had Drea to thank for this, he was beginning to realize that women with opinions could simply be more interesting. Blake was torn, and he didn’t like that feeling.
“Pass,” he said. “This one?” He pointed toward the doubtful girl. There wasn’t anything wrong with her per se, but something about the arch of her brows and the sharpness of her nose said total bitch, even with the smile she was wearing.
“Mina Mizuki. Works in a nonprofit animal shelter, active member of PETA, enjoys cooking.”
“Pass. Absolutely not. No way.” He was shaking his head before she’d finished her spiel.
“Why? She’s skinny and brunette, and already has a pet charity. That’s kind of perfect for the stay-at-home wife of a gazillionnaire.” Of course she was going to argue about this.
“It isn’t any charity, Andrea. PETA is for vegans. Vegans, Andrea.” He felt pained at the very thought. “Do you think I plan on dating this woman at salad bars, because the menu at Del Frisco’s offends her?”
“I suppose you don’t look like the tofu type, no. But she cooks, didn’t you want that?” She still looked hopeful. This woman was impossible. Why was he explaining himself to an employee?
“PETA is also an organization that prides itself on celebrity endorsements. If I start dating this person, I’ll be her ticket to landing a big name for the next ad campaign. Her cooking or not is beside the point. I’m not interested in being used for my name or status.” Andrea pressed her lips together and held out her hand for another folder.
The other maybe skidded in her direction.
“Melissa Carswell. Dancer. Not very talkative, but seems nice enough.” That sounded promising.
“She’s a possibility. Pull up her home address on Google Earth.”
Drea stared at him in disbelief, but he was not joking. Location, location, location—it wasn’t just a real estate mantra. Where people chose to spend their time said a lot about them.
Once she had located the address, he leaned over her. “I know that neighborhood. Lots of bars. It’s a party area. She’s obviously a drinker. Pass.” He was close enough to smell her shampoo, but also to hear the choice words she muttered about him. He pulled back.
“That leaves us with Jaylene Kim,” she said in her normal voice. He leaned back in, ostensibly to study the picture, but she smelled really nice. Blake idly wondered why he didn’t find excuses to smell her more often.
“Because that would be inappropriate,” Drea was saying.
Oh, dear. Had he said that last thing out loud? “Excuse me?” Please don’t let that have been out loud.
“I was saying it would have been inappropriate for me to have informed your secretary about your date already, but you clearly don’t have many choices left if you plan on meeting anyone this week. Try and keep up.”
“Is Jamie a carnivore?” He picked up the woman’s picture and studied it more closely. She was a stunner. An apple-scented stunner. Wait—that was Drea’s shampoo again. Either way, it left him pleasantly dizzy while he drank in the dark-haired beauty on the page.
“It’s Jaylene, and I believe so.”
“Book Jamie and I a table at Del Frisco’s for Thursday. I’m suddenly in the mood for prime rib.” Blake was back in the B-Zone, confident as hell, stalking around the office and ticking off items on his fingers. “Deal with those shoes. They clash horribly with your skirt. You can have Friday off, since you came in Saturday. We can discuss the date Monday.” He paused. That would be a three-day weekend without seeing Andrea. “Plan to bring me another batch of candidates on Saturday, at my home.”
“Blake.” He faced her, the questioning look on his face a contrast with the stormy one on hers. “Her name is Jaylene. It doesn’t matter how good the steak is, how sweet and submissive the date, no woman will ever want to be with you if you can’t remember her name. Try to have a little respect. For you, a wife is an accessory, but you’re expecting to be someone’s whole life. Also, I forgot my heels, so.”
Even the confidence of the B-Zone couldn’t keep that from stinging. And now he’d have to look at those stupid orange shoes all day. He felt himself deflating. This was unacceptable. He’d have to find a way to gain his control back.
Chapter Eight
Andy awoke with a start when Lacy burst through her bedroom door at—she glanced at the clock—seven forty-three in the morning. Seven forty-three on her day off.
“What the hell, Lacy? I’m sleeping.” Andy pulled the covers up and started to snuggle back into her pillow.
“Your phone, which you left out on the coffee table last night, has been ringing nonstop for fifteen minutes.” Lacy was obviously none too happy about it, too. “When it wouldn’t stop, I answered it. Here—take it.”
Andy sat up and took her cell, wondering who on earth would call her at such a god-awful time of the day, and why her sister didn’t just silence the phone instead of answering it. She glanced at the number on the screen—it was one she didn’t recognize—before putting the cell up to her ear. “Hello?”
“She was gay,” the male voice barked into her ear.
“What?” Andy wasn’t awake enough to register who the caller was let alone the meaning of his words.
“Gay. As in lesbian. As in not fond of men. As in likes to get it on with other women.”
“Blake?” The high-pitched frenzy in his tone didn’t sound quite like her boss’s voice, but the words he was spewing could only belong to Mr. Donovan himself.
“I don’t understand why you would set me up with a gay woman,” he continued without verifying that it was indeed him.
But Andy was sure now. She should have expected this actually. Jaylene had stopped by last night after her date with Blake and already given Andy an earful. Turned out the couple weren’t a match made in heaven as Andy had hoped. They weren’t even a match made for the moment, the pairing had been so ridiculously awful.
Andy took a deep breath. “Jaylene wasn’t gay, Blake.”
“Ah, she had you fooled as well,” he muttered. “Then it was a purposeful snow job. Obviously she was after my money. Or at the very least, a free meal. No more first dates at expensive restaurants. Write that down.”
If she’d been more awake, she may have thought it was comical that Blake thought she carried a notebook around at all times, ready to jot down his latest candidate preferences. But she wasn’t awake. And it was her day off. A day that she’d meant to spend sleeping until noon.
“Blake, Jaylene isn’t gay. She’s a feminist.” It was a fact Andy hadn’t realized until the night before. Definitely not the right woman for Blake, but how the hell was she supposed to have figured that one out? None of the dedicated feminists she’d ever encountered had ever had such traditional women’s jobs—nor did they spend so much time on their makeup.
The fact that Andy had only known one die-hard feminist in her lifetime was beside the point.
“A feminist?” Blake said the word with equal exclamation, equal questioning. “God, that’s even worse.”
“How in the world is feminist worse than lesbian in terms of bride-finding? You know what—don’t answer that.” Andy rubbed at her sleep-crusted eyes. “This is my day off, Blake. Perhaps we can discuss this further on Monday.”
“She drank Sam Adams. She follows baseball. Drea, she had a bob.” Apparently the conversation couldn’t wait until Monday. “I thought in the pictures you showed me that her hair was just up. Nope. It was a full-on bob.”
Andy sifted through the comments lining up in her brain and picked the one least likely to get her fired. “You’ve never mentioned long hair as a prerequisite for your dates, Blake.”
“I would have expected that to be obvious. You did say you had a handle on my preferences.”
That was it. She was not having this conversation. Not on her day off, not without coffee. “Okay, Blake, I’m done now. I’ll talk to you more about this on Monday.”
“She owns a cat, Drea. A diabetic cat.” Blake spat the word cat as if pet-owning were the worst thing he could imagine about a person. “No cats. That’s a rule.”
“I’m jotting it down,” she lied. “And I’ll jot down more on Monday. Talk to you later.” She’d moved the phone away from her ear when she heard him call back to her.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. The new files you bring had better be more appropriately aligned to my tastes.”
“Got it. Have a great day, Blake.” She clicked END before he could say anything else. After saving the number to her contacts so she’d be warned the next time he called, Andy turned the phone off and fell back into her bed.
Dammit, she hated her job. No, scratch that, she hated her boss. Well, she hated her job and her boss. And she hated mornings. But, dammit again, she was awake now. Besides, she was suddenly worried that the files she had were not appropriately aligned to Blake’s tastes. Which meant she had work to do, namely finding more candidates before she stopped by his house the next day. Well, she’d show him she could find candidates, all right.
Within an hour, she’d showered, dressed, and laid out a plan of where to search for potential brides. Both the coffee shop in the Asian American Civic Association and the Italian Cultural Library seemed like good places to meet exotic women. But even if her scouting for suitable dates was successful, she still had one very huge problem: However would she make Blake Donovan suitable for dating?
Fortunately, she thought she just might have an idea to solve that as well.
* * *
“Your sister’s worried about you, you know.” Lacy’s boss glanced over at Andy from the driver’s seat of his van.
“Oh, my God, Darrin, I have told her over and over that I am not going to screw this one up. Will you please attest to what a great employee I am being?”
His glance traveled over her skeptically. “Well. You are definitely a dedicated employee. Unusual, even. Great…? Jury’s still out.” He chuckled. “I’m pulling for you, Andy.”
“Oh, shut up.” She glared out the window. Despite her words to the contrary, her confidence in the job was somewhat lacking at the moment. She had found some brilliant women on her scouting mission the day before, but she still feared that none of them would succeed in wowing Blake if she didn’t manage to soften him first.
That fear was what led her to her plan. Today’s plan. A glorious plan, she hoped. Though she had the feeling Blake might not see it that way.
No time to doubt herself. According to her Google Maps app, they were almost there.
She nodded to Darrin. “Left here.”
His muscular, tattooed arm flipped the turn signal on. For a guy who perpetually looked like he was on his way to meet Sid Vicious for a bender, Darrin was a surprisingly careful driver.
“I’ve been worried about her, too, of course.” His tone grew serious. “Having to cut her hours on top of everything else made me feel like a complete asshole.”
“Oh, no. We all know music is a precarious business. There are ebbs and flows in the work. You have to keep the studio open. She’d rather have a part-time job than no job at all. Seriously, D, she understands.” He smiled, but hardly looked convinced. “Really. I’m hoping a little less time playing songs for other people will give her a chance to work on some songs of her own. I don’t think she’s done much writing since Lance.”
“I don’t think Lacy has done any writing since Lance. Much as I agree with her that you are out of your mind half the time”—he shot a look toward her lap—“I have to say, the fact that she’s worrying about you is an improvement. For a while it was all I could do to get her to show up to work with her hair brushed. She’s starting to get involved with the world again and not just go through the motions.”
Andy sighed. Darrin was more than a boss to Lacy; he was a good friend. When Lance died, Andy froze. She didn’t know what to do or say, and Lacy pretended none of it was necessary. If Darrin hadn’t stepped in, Andy knew there was a chance she could have lost her sister as well. She’d owe the guy for the rest of her life for that. Which was why she let the crack about being out of her mind slide.
“This is it.” She pointed him into a winding drive.
“This place? It’s a mansion. Shit, girl.” He craned to see through the windshield.
“Did I mention my boss owns the company?”
“Does he have any use for sound recording?” Darrin was still staring openmouthed. Personally, after seeing the coldness of the place, she’d reserve the dropped jaw for its owner.
“Not likely.” She put her hand on the door handle. “Okay, I need to go in there first and talk to him. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wait here, please.”
“Jesus H, are you kidding me? This was not part of the plan.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t just walk in there with this. I need to prep the situation. Please, give me just twenty.” Puppy eyes, engage. “I’ll make it up to you. Lacy will work half a shift for free.”
“Don’t make deals you can’t keep, you little brat. Your sister is going to kill you.” He looked sort of delighted at the thought, and Andy knew she had him.
“So you’ll stay?”
“I’m leaving if you aren’t back in fifteen. Your time starts now.”
“Fine. And thank you, Darrin.” Puppy eyes for the win.
“Hey, don’t be trying that feminine wiles stuff on me. It won’t work. I’m doing this because I’m a friend, is all.”
Andy rang the doorbell and was again greeted by Ellen, the housekeeper. “Good morning, Drea. Nice to see you. Mr. Donovan didn’t say you were coming by today.”
Uh-oh. He’d forgotten. Maybe the situation needed more prepping than Andy had hoped.
Then she thought about the time limit Darrin had given her and the present she had waiting in his van. Perhaps this would be one of those occasions that baptism by fire was the appropriate route.
But first, the housekeeper. “Yes. I have some files for Blake. And something else. Could you hold the door open for me a moment?”
Without waiting for Ellen’s response, Andy handed her the stack of folders she’d been carrying and ran back to the van to retrieve her gift. With a wave, she signaled Darrin could leave and returned to the house.
Andy set the surprise on the floor and motioned for Ellen to shut the door behind them.
Ellen then raised an eyebrow skeptically at the gift. “Good luck,” she said.
“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” It was too late now to change her mind even if it was.
“Not at all. I think it’s an excellent idea.” Ellen smiled encouragingly as she handed the files back to Andy. “But I’m still saying good luck.”
“Thanks.” Andy tucked the files under her arm and headed for the stairs. Luck wasn’t what she needed. She needed a goddamn miracle.
* * *
Blake sat at his desk, trying to remember what it was he’d forgotten. He knew it wasn’t a conference call. His secretary would have alerted him if he’d missed something like that. His phone was charged—wasn’t that. Rolling his neck around, he decided the niggle would come to him eventually. In the meantime, it was Saturday. Maybe a long jog outdoors instead of the usual prework treadmill session?
As he rose from his desk to change into gym shorts, a noise came from downstairs. He jumped a mile. Who the hell?
Then, with a rush, he recalled Andrea. Considering he’d completely forgotten about her, the sudden thrill that rolled through his body at the realization she was here took him by surprise. Especially when he realized she’d been the cause of the niggle.
