Читать книгу Mixing Business...With Baby - Diana Whitney - Страница 9

“I got the job!” Rushing into the tiny, downtown book nook, a breathless Catrina Mitchell Jordan danced the gray-haired proprietor around shelves stacked with leather-bound tomes. “I got the job, I got the job, I got the job!”

Her final exuberant trill was completed by the blending of a rumbaesque hip check and the hip-wriggling victory dance of a football player after a game-winning touchdown.

“Of course you got the job.” Gracie Applegate chuckled, smoothing a ruffled strand of silver hair back into her gleaming chignon. “There was never a doubt in my mind.”

“Well, there was plenty of doubt in my mind. If not for that tip you gave me, I’d still be scouring the want ads and wondering how to pay next month’s rent.” Suddenly limp with relief, Catrina sagged against the checkout counter fighting foolish tears. She’d been out of work for weeks, and her meager savings account was nearly drained. “I don’t know who you called, or how you managed to work this miracle, but I’m forever in your debt. Thank you so much.”

Gracie flicked her wrist as if shooing a pesky fly. “Pish and silliness, child. It’s Blaine Architectural that should be thanking me for sending over the best accounts receivable clerk they’ll ever lay eyes on. I’m sure my dear friend Martha in the personnel department would agree.”

“Is there anyone in Los Angeles that you don’t personally know?”

“Oh, I imagine a few folks have slipped past, but one of the perks of owning the finest antique and rare book establishment in the county is the pleasure of meeting lots of lovely, intelligent people. Speaking of which…” Angling a sly glance, she feigned interest in refilling a crystal bowl with fragrant potpourri. “Did you have an opportunity to meet the head honcho himself?”

“Mr. Blaine?” Catrina shook her head, still a bit nervous about meeting the fellow that every employee to whom she’d been introduced had described in the most glowing terms. “Apparently a group of managers had negotiated a lucrative contract to renovate a downtown office complex so he took them all to lunch as a reward.”

“How nice. Why are your eyebrows all scrunched up, dear?”

“He took them to lunch in San Francisco, Gracie. Just piled them into a rented plane and flew it himself.” Catrina shuddered. “Rich people make me nervous. My sister Laura made the mistake of marrying a rich man. He nearly destroyed her.”

Of course, another rich man had galloped to the rescue, just like Prince Charming on the proverbial snow-white steed, although Catrina considered that to be sheer luck.

Gracie tsk-tsked, skimming a disapproving frown in Catrina’s direction. “Now, now, dear, you can’t judge all well-to-do folks by the actions of a few. Besides, if Rick Blaine were as rich as the rumors imply, he wouldn’t have had to rent a plane would he?”

Catrina couldn’t help but smile. “No, I suppose not.”

A wreath of laugh lines bracketed the older woman’s thin mouth, and her blue eyes twinkled with peculiar slyness, as if she knew something that nobody else knew.

And she probably did. Gracie Applegate was a dichotomy, equal parts of grandmotherly wisdom and elfin mischief blended with a pinch of mystery and a dash of clairvoyance. Catrina adored her.

So did Heather.

A cranky gurgle caught Catrina’s attention. She moved through the open doorway into the bookstore office to retrieve her sleepy toddler from a playpen that had been set up behind Gracie’s desk. “There, there, sweetums, did you have a nice nap?”

The baby’s hair was moist and tangled. A reddened pressure mark stained her right cheek. She fussed, stretched, patted Catrina’s face. “Gamma Gracie gave me apple.”

“Did she now?” Catrina widened her eyes, affectionately exaggerating interest in the mundane information. “That was very nice of Gamma Gracie wasn’t it?”

As Heather bobbed her little head in agreement, Catrina angled a questioning glance at the older woman in the doorway.

“Humor an old woman’s small pleasures,” Gracie replied, displaying her gift for reading Catrina’s thoughts. “Since my son has decreed himself a confirmed bachelor for life, the only way I’ll ever hear a child call me ‘grandma’ is if I bribe one to do it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Every child needs a doting grandmother. My own mom passed away several years ago, and Heather’s paternal grandparents live 3,000 miles away.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

“It’s for the best. They are nice people, I suppose, but they were never into the grandparent scene. I got the impression that they were relieved enough to have survived raising one child, and weren’t anxious to get involved with another one.” She shifted the child against her shoulder, nuzzling her soft skin and inhaling the sweet baby fragrance. “Given the pathetic result of their initial foray into parenthood, I can’t say as I blame them.”

Gracie smiled, but her eyes were sad. “The young man must have had some redeeming characteristics, or an intelligent woman such as yourself wouldn’t have married him in the first place.”

A warning chill slipped down Catrina’s spine. The divorce had been messy, bitter, and the sour taste of failure hung heavily on her tongue. “Dan had always been a sullen, unhappy man. I thought I could change that. I couldn’t.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged Heather so tightly that the child squirmed in her arms. She loosened her grip, murmuring soft reassurances as the baby popped a wet thumb back into her mouth. A pang of regret and uncertainty stung Catrina, as it always did when she fretted about how the choices she’d made would affect Heather’s future, just as her own mother’s choices had affected Catrina’s past.

Catrina had grown up without a father. He’d deserted the family when she’d been an infant. That loss had always haunted her. Now it would haunt her beloved daughter too, since Dan hadn’t even requested visitation privileges. He’d never really wanted a child.

As it turned out, he’d never wanted a wife, either. He’d wanted a housekeeper, a scapegoat, and a convenient bed partner. Soft footsteps scuffled closer, and she knew Gracie was beside her before she felt the woman’s gentle touch on her shoulder. “Sometimes we have to endure the bad times in order to recognize the good ones.”

Catrina sniffed, juggled the child in the crook of her arm to free a hand and wipe a stray tear from her own cheek. “I know. But when I think of my daughter growing up with the knowledge that her own father doesn’t care about her, it breaks my heart.”

Gracie opened her mouth, closed it, and took another moment to consider her words. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a peculiar quiver. “Maybe it just takes some men a while to figure out what’s truly important in life. You’ll find the right one someday. Just give it time, dear.”

“I don’t want a man. They cause nothing but heartache and misery, and sooner or later they always walk away. So what’s the point?”

“Why, love is the point!”

“Love is a myth.”

Gracie made a clucking sound with her tongue. “So young to be so jaded.”

“I don’t believe in fairy tales, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” Gracie’s merry blue eyes twinkled. “That’s why you’ve spent countless hours in my humble establishment poring over great love stories of the ages.”

Feeling her skin heat, Catrina shifted her daughter in her arms and shouldered the diaper bag. “Thank you so much for watching Heather. Thank you for everything. Your friendship means so much to me.”

Gracie merely responded with a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze on Catrina’s shoulder. But as Catrina wound her way through the delicious shelves filled with fanciful tales of love and triumph, a memory echoed inside her head.

You can’t count on anyone but yourself, Cattie-girl. The world will break your heart if you let it.

“You were right, Mama,” she murmured. “You were so right.”

“Please don’t toy with me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” Kneeling before that which had imminent power, Catrina leaned in close, whispering softly as her fingertip traced a sensual path downward. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, your wildest fantasy fulfilled. Just grant me this one, teensy favor, and you can name your price.” She pressed her cheek against the cool, plastic skin. “Six measley copies, collated and comb-bound before the 3:00 meeting. Your operating manual says you can do this. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll polish your glass. I’ll vacuum your innards. I’ll stack your paper properly and double-check your controls every hour for the rest of my life.” She hesitantly pressed the Start button.

The machine whirred, hiccuped, fell silent.

Catrina exhaled all at once. “Or I can smear axle grease on your window, glue your gears together, and let my fingers do the walking through the office equipment pages of the telephone book. The choice is yours, fella. If you cooperate, you live. If not, there’s a screwdriver in my desk, and I know how to use it.”

A male voice from behind startled the daylights out of her. “I don’t know about the machine, but I’m certainly convinced.”

Catrina lurched to her feet so abruptly that she caught a heel in the hem of her swingy flowered skirt. With the sick sound of ripped fabric ringing in her ears, she spun to face a tousle-haired man wearing a pair of pleated khaki slacks, a casual golf shirt and a bemused smile.

He stepped back, raised his hands over his head. “Don’t hurt me.” A smile of uncommon brilliance brightened sky-blue eyes sprinkled with curiosity and sparkling with humor. “Look, I’m unarmed.”

Under normal circumstances Catrina would have appreciated the amusement factor of her bizarre situation. The circumstances, however, were far from normal.

She was tense, feeling both pressured by the expectations of a new job she hadn’t yet conquered and embarrassed by having been caught threatening a recalcitrant office machine. “If you don’t wish to be implicated in a crime, I suggest you leave the vicinity at once.”

The man hiked a brow. “Is there no other way? You don’t seem the type to contemplate violence against a helpless collating device.”

“Helpless? Ha.” Her cheeks burned until she suspected she must be glowing like a neon tomato. “That’s what it wants you to believe. It suckers you with its simplistic controls, its benign operating manual, then waits until your entire career is on the line before going in for the kill.”

“Is your entire career on the line?”

“If I don’t get these reports to the budget committee in the next fifteen minutes it very well may be.”

“Hmm, sounds serious.” Pursing his lips, he regarded the lumpy device as if actually giving credence to her concern. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. I have some experience with machinery.”

“You do?”

“I repaired a lawn mower once.”

“How impressive.” A covert perusal of his casual attire suggested that he was either an outside vendor or one of the draftsman from the engineering department. “Do you work here?”

The question clearly startled him. “As a matter of fact I do. Why?”

Too exasperated to do more than take vague note of the surprised glint in his eye, she shoved a tangle of hair from her face and glanced at a nearby wall clock. “Because I doubt management would appreciate me giving a non-employee access to company equipment. If you end up destroying the danged thing, I’d personally shake your hand, but the company would either take the replacement cost out of my paycheck or out of my hide. Neither alternative is particularly appealing.”

He cocked his head in a manner that was oddly self-effacing and arrogant at the same time. “Then I’ll have to be exceptionally gentle, won’t I?”

Catrina smiled in spite of her tension. There was a certain charisma about this man that wormed through a person’s defenses, a mellow charm that sneaked up slowly, insidiously. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself say, “Blow in its ear, and maybe it will follow you home.”

His pupils dilated, darkening into a pool of sensual interest that instantly put her on guard. “Is that all it takes?”

Embarrassed and angry at herself for having fallen into a trap of her own making, she yanked her gaze away and glared at the hapless machine. “If you can make this thing work, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise you’ll have to excuse me. There isn’t much time for me to make other arrangements.”

He recognized her request to depersonalize the conversation and respected it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Stepping forward, he opened the access door and peered inside the machine. He hummed, grunted, reached into a cabinet nested in the corner of the alcove and pulled out a stack of tooth-edged plastic templates.

It took a moment for the significance of what he was doing to sink in. When it did, she was mortified. “Please don’t tell me that the binder cache was empty.”

“All right, I won’t tell you.” He tapped the stack of plastic edging to square it, then slipped it into the binder cache. “I will simply suggest that when programming a set of instructions, it’s helpful if the machine contains all the items necessary to fulfill your request.”

With that he pressed the start button, and the machine whirred to life. A minute later, the first neatly-bound report spat out into the holding rack.

Catrina wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling. A fresh scent wafted past as he leaned to inspect the results of his handiwork, a masculine blending of soap and cedar that was well suited to his casual, outdoorsy appearance.

Clearing her throat, she angled a glance, realized to her shock that he’d retrieved one of the budget reports from the holding rack and was idly flipping through it.

She immediately plucked it out of his hands. “Are you a member of the budget committee?”

He stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted antlers. “Not exactly.”

“Then I can’t allow you to see this. It’s a confidential document.”

“I don’t think the committee would mind if I took a quick look at the preliminary projections.”

“I’m sorry, but company policy forbids the review of budget documents by anyone other than accounting personnel or the budget committee.”

“It does?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to give the policy manual another look-see.”

“That might be prudent.” She stacked all of the reports, scooped them into her arms, giddy with relief. Her task was complete, and with five minutes to spare. Life was good. “I suppose I should get these to the conference room.”

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

She hesitated. She didn’t know why. “Thank you again for your help.”

There was something incredibly appealing about the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “You’re welcome again.”

After another moment, she sucked a breath, managed a smile and stepped from the copy-room alcove, nearly colliding with a gray-suited man carrying a thick document tucked under his arm. She stiffened instinctively, snapped to attention as she recognized the company finance director, her boss’s boss.

The fellow dodged, spun, touched her shoulder to steady himself. He didn’t favor her with a second glance. Instead, his gaze darted around the bustling accounting department with preoccupied verve. “Have you seen Rick?”

“Rick who?”

He blinked, then laughed as if she’d cracked a joke. “That’s a good one—” He glanced past her shoulder, toward the copy alcove from which she’d just emerged. “Ah, there you are. Look, the city lawyers are in your office, and I need a signature on these contracts posthaste.”

A chill slipped down her spine as the man who’d just witnessed her embarrassing ineptitude with the office machine accepted the proffered documents, flipping through them with practiced skill. “Has the legal department reviewed these?”

The finance director nodded. “Yes, all we need is your approval, and the deal is done.”

“Let me give them a quick read first. I’ll have Marge hand-carry them to your office when I’m through.”

Catrina steadied herself on a metal file cabinet. During the past week of her employment, she’d met dozens of company employees, including most department directors and top managers. She’d met only one person named Marge. She was the personal assistant to the head honcho, one of the few people to whom she had yet to be introduced…the elusive Rick Blaine.

Rick glanced up from the contract long enough to see the color drain from the young woman’s face. He’d realized moments earlier that she hadn’t known who he was. That hadn’t bothered him, actually.

Having just returned from a boring round of golf with the dull-as-dirt CEO of a national conglomerate in need of a new headquarters complex, Rick realized he looked more like a mail-room employee than the founder of a multimillion dollar architectural firm. He’d always made a point of personally knowing each and every employee of his company. He wondered how this breathtaking young woman had escaped his notice.

The embarrassment in her eyes was quickly replaced by a snap of anger, barely visible before she spun on her heel and marched toward the conference room. A thick gather of toffee-colored hair spilled to her shoulders, bouncing with each hurried step, and the torn hem of her skirt dangled as a reminder of the earlier accident. For some odd reason, the minor disarray of her clothing made him feel strangely protective.

Beside him, the finance manager continued to drone on about the particulars of a contract he’d be reading himself in a few minutes. He interrupted with no particular grace. “Who is that woman?”

“Which woman?” Frank Glasgow blinked, followed his gaze. “Oh, that’s our new accounting clerk. Jordan, I believe…Catherine, Caitlin…something like that.”

“Find out.”

“Find what out?”

Even after the clearly aggravated Ms. Jordan had disappeared into the conference room with her hard-earned stack of budget reports, Rick kept his gaze glued on the vacant doorway, awaiting her return. “Her name. I want to know her name.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s rude to refer to one’s employees as ‘hey, you.”’

“Oh.” Frank shot a quizzical look, cleared his throat. “Now about the completion clause and non-compliance penalties, I think we should attempt to negotiate a more favorable—”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right,” Rick mumbled as the gorgeous Ms. Jordan reappeared in the doorway.

She hesitated, noting his presence with an annoyed sideways glance before hurrying across the spacious open area to a neat desk in front of the management cubicles. She seated herself stiffly, deliberately turned her back on him, a subtle signal that she’d noted his visual interest and rejected it.

“Rick, have you got a moment?”

A vaguely familiar feminine voice caught his attention. He glanced around as a portly, middle-aged woman rushed toward him. “Good afternoon, Sandra. I hear your son’s football team won the league championships. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. He’s up for a sports scholarship at U.C.L.A.”

“Really? That’s quite a coup. You must be very proud.”

“Oh, I am.”

“You’ve done something different with your hair.”

“Why, yes.” She patted her chic, scissored coiffeur, gave him a grateful smile. “Even my husband didn’t notice. Do you like it?”

He flashed her a smile that usually made women flush and giggle. “Extremely attractive. Brings out the resonance of your eyes and draws attention to your lovely smile.”

“Flatterer.”

“If the truth is flattering, so be it.”

Sandra flushed and giggled, then caught herself, clearing her throat and drawing her ample shoulders back with a modicum of dignity. “When you finally get married, you’ll break a million hearts, you devil, you.”

“Why, I can’t possibly get married when the most perfect woman on Earth is already taken.” Lifting her hand, he brushed a light kiss across her knuckles, then offered a conspiratorial wink that raised a crimson stain across her cheeks. “I hope your husband realizes what a lucky man he is.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“You do that.”

Still blushing madly, Sandra sighed, floated a few steps away, then jerked to a stop. “I almost forgot. The drafting department elected me to express our appreciation for the merit bonus this week. It was very generous of you.”

“I’m the one who is appreciative. Please convey my gratitude to your colleagues for a job well done. Because of their efforts, the company was able to secure a lucrative renovation contract that benefits us all.”

Sandra was pink with pleasure. “I’ll pass that along.”

“Please do.” Rick gave the woman his undivided attention until she broke visual contact by turning away. Then his gaze immediately returned to the fascinating Ms. Jordan just in time to see her roll her eyes and swivel her chair around until her back was to him again. That she’d been unimpressed by his employee interaction skills couldn’t have been more clear if she’d held up a scorecard.

Rick’s smile flattened. He wasn’t exactly insulted, but he was most certainly confused. People just naturally liked him. They always had, perhaps because he naturally liked them as well.

“It seems as if I’ve inadvertently gotten off on the wrong foot with our newest employee,” he murmured to no one in particular.

“Hmm?” Beside him, Frank followed his gaze and scowled. “She’s probably just preoccupied with learning the position. The finance department is one of the most complex and important in the company.”

Frank’s reminder of his own importance didn’t escape Rick’s notice. “We couldn’t get along without you.”

Frank’s tailored lapels seemed to puff a bit. He was a short man, thin and balding, with a mustache so neat it appeared to have been trimmed with a template. He was also a man prone to agitation when his ego wasn’t routinely stroked, but he was exceptionally good at his job and treated his subordinates with respect. Frank was an excellent manager. Rick appreciated him immensely and would have spent more time stroking that fragile ego if he hadn’t been so overwhelmingly intrigued by his own peculiar turmoil.

“We could spend some time discussing those contracts if you’d like,” Frank said. “I’m free until 4:30….”

The remainder of Frank’s comment dissipated as Rick made a beeline for Ms. Jordan’s desk.

The subtle stiffening of her shoulder blades was the only indication that she was aware of Rick’s presence. “It occurs to me that we were interrupted before we could complete the introductory process,” he said jovially. “I’m Rick Blaine.”

“So I gathered.” She stared at the computer monitor as if mesmerized by it. Her fingers clicked over the keyboard with impressive speed. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Blaine.”

The final comment was added as an afterthought and without benefit of a glance.

Rich shuffled uncomfortably. “And you are…?”

She leaned forward, hit the backspace and re-entered a number. “Catrina Jordan.”

“Catrina. That’s a lovely name.” He repeated her name, which was pronounced Cat-rina, emphasis on “Cat,” rather than the softer European pronunciation. “Your mother must have been a feline fancier.”

“My mother was allergic to cats. I was named after my grandmother.” Another correction made its way to the monitor. She studied her notes a moment, then went back to inputting figures without further comment.

“I see.” Rick felt like a high-school nerd trying to ask the homecoming queen for a date. “My mother was a big Humphrey Bogart fan.” He flashed his famous smile, presuming she would be dazzled by it.

And she might have been, if she’d bothered to look up. “He was a fine actor.”

He puffed his cheeks, blew out a breath. “She named me after Humphrey Bogart’s character in Casablanca.”

“How interesting,” she murmured in a tone that clearly implied she’d rather discuss the genetics of animal dander with an intellectual dwarf than indulge in further conversation with him.

“Look, I want to apologize for what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I mean, if you were embarrassed there was no need to be. This is a casual company. We’re all on pretty much a first-name basis here. It didn’t occur to me that you’d be intimidated just because my name is on the letterhead.”

Her fingers froze over the keyboard, then she tucked them in her lap. She took a deep breath, then swivelled around to face him. “I was not intimidated, Mr. Blaine, nor am I interested in conducting an office flirtation with the boss, or with anyone else for that matter. I take my work very seriously, and I’m good at what I do. I need this job. I’ll be a valuable employee for your company, but that is all I will be.”

If she’d shoved her keyboard down his throat sideways he couldn’t have been more shocked. “Exactly what kind of reputation do I have among my employees?”

The dart of her gaze proved he’d hit a nerve. “You are highly regarded,” she confessed. “Everyone I’ve spoken with thinks the world of you.”

“So I’m not known as a lecherous skirt-chaser?”

That adorable flush revealed itself in crimson patches on her otherwise perfect complexion. “On the contrary, you’re known as a man who is generous and outgoing to everyone.”

“And you just naturally resent generous, outgoing people?”

His teasing question was rewarded by the hint of a smile, which she quickly quashed by biting her lip. “I apologize for my rudeness. The truth is that you’re right, I was embarrassed because I didn’t know who you were and because I’d made such a fool of myself in your presence. I presumed you were deliberately taunting me. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Perhaps?” He tilted his head in a manner he knew was boyish and unthreatening. “Let’s start over, shall we?” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Blaine, Rick Blaine. I work here.”

She hesitated, then offered her hand. “Catrina Jordan. I work here too.”

Her hand nested in his with a perfect fit. It was soft to the touch, a warm contrast to her cool demeanor. “I hope we can be friends, Catrina.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because she withdrew her hand with more speed than would normally be expected. “I’m sure we will be, Mr. Blaine.”

“Rick.”

“Very well. Rick.” With that, she swiveled her chair toward the monitor and began inputting figures into the computer.

Rick stood there like a spurned suitor, knowing he should muster whatever small dignity he retained by walking quickly to the nearest exit.

As usual, however, Rick rarely did what he should do, but followed his instinct instead. He took the opportunity of studying this unexpected woman, the firm curve of her jaw, the determined crease of her chin.

He’d seen fear in her eyes when she’d looked at him, a fear that both saddened and intrigued him. He acknowledged that Catrina Jordan represented a challenge, not only to his masculine ego but to his sense of humanity. Something had wounded her, something she still feared, something that she apparently recognized in him. Even though this seriously bothered him, Rick chose not to explore it too closely.

He wanted to know about this lovely young woman, wanted to know everything about her, what she enjoyed, what she disliked, what made her laugh, what brought out the joy in those luscious brown eyes.

A glance around her desk gave him a few tantalizing hints. There were no personal items, no family photographs. Her ring finger was bare, a fact he’d noticed when he’d first seen her threatening the collating machine.

He spotted a small but healthy philodendron plant at the edge of her desk, alongside an extra-large disposable cup emblazoned by the logo of a coffee boutique not far from the office. She liked plants and gourmet coffee.

On the floor behind her chair was a gym bag with a pair of running shoes tied to the handle. She was a probably a jogger, and he presumed she headed to the nearby park during lunch hour since she’d brought her fitness togs into the office.

He was still scrutinizing her personal effects when she suddenly spun around, skewered him with a stare. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Blaine?”

“Uh…nice plant.”

“Thank you.”

Feeling chastised and thoroughly dismissed, he backed away and returned to the spot where Frank Glasgow had been watching with obvious disapproval.

“It’s not my place to question,” Frank said, “but I thought you had rather firm rules against, well, mixing business with pleasure, so to speak.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Heaving a sigh, Rick absently ran his knuckles over his scalp, a habit that made it even more difficult to control a shock of nut-brown hair that drove his barber crazy. Frank was right, of course. Rules were rules, and no business could be effective if its employees were constantly sizing each other up for romantic entanglement.

But there was something about Catrina Jordan, something that stuck like a sharp tack somewhere inside Rick’s chest and wouldn’t let go. “Rules are like mirrors. You never mean to break them, but sometimes it just happens.”

Frank shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” Rick replied quietly. “So do I.”