Читать книгу The Bachelor Bid - Kate Denton, Kate Denton - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

WYATT tore off a page of the yellow lined tablet he’d been doodling on and wadded it up, tossing the paper in a perfect arc toward the wastebasket where it joined a pile of other crushed missiles on the floor. At that moment Frances strode in and stopped, noting the empty wastebasket and its wreath of paper discards. “Busy today, I see. And your aim is rotten.”

“Did you come in here for a purpose or to criticize my throwing skills?”

“Grumpy, too.” She sat down in Wyatt’s armchair and eyed him.

He caught her gaze. “I’m not grumpy,” he said testily.

“What, then? You’ve been distracted all morning. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” He remained silent for a minute. “Is there any reason I should feel guilty about refusing to be part of that circus?”

“What circus?”

“The bachelor auction.”

Frances studied him more closely. “No reason at all.”

“Right.”

“But you do?”

“Yeah. I suppose I do.”

“Because of Cara Breedon?”

“What makes you come up with a crazy idea like that?” He didn’t give Frances a chance to answer. “The Rosemund Center is providing a service to kids who wouldn’t have a chance in life without—”

“I’m sure the center is pleased to welcome you as an advocate and benefactor. Only that’s not what we’re talking about, is it?”

Wyatt smiled ruefully. Frances could read him all too well. Still, he refused to rise to the bait. “Donations aren’t everything,” he continued. “Giving one’s time is important, too. The auction also provides good publicity for the center. That’s why I feel guilty.”

“Of course it is.”

“Even though I find the idea distasteful, the fact is, I could spare a couple of evenings if I felt like it.”

“True.”

“Well, you’re a big help. You’re supposed to tell me not to sweat it, assure me I’m too busy...blah, blah, blah, and get me off the hook. Now you’ve made it worse. Some assistant you are.”

Frances laughed. “So fire me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Wyatt glanced at his watch. “Listen, tell Kenneth he may have to handle that staff meeting this afternoon. I’ll be out of the office for a while...don’t know when I’ll get back.” He reached for his jacket on the back of the chair. “See you later.”

Despite his sermonizing to Frances about needy causes, Wyatt didn’t deceive himself any more than he had her. His remorse today didn’t bear an ounce of altruism. Oh, the Rosemund Center was a worthwhile project, all right, but he couldn’t care less about joining in the auction. What he did care about, he realized, was knowing Cara Breedon better. And the cursed auction seemed to be the only way to accomplish that.

Cara read the spreadsheet on her computer screen. “Ah, it tallies,” she told herself. So engrossed was she in the financial report before her that when a hand from out of nowhere tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped, kicking the plug from the computer and causing the screen to go blank.

“Oh, no!” Wheeling around, she was even more shocked and annoyed to discover Wyatt McCauley behind her. “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people like that?” she lashed out. “This is the second time you’ve done it, and this time you scared me half to death. Just look what you made me do!” She pointed toward the screen. “All my work...gone.”

“Sorry. Was it something important?”

“Of course it was important!” she said, gesturing wildly. “What did you think? That I was playing computer solitaire?” Cara picked up a stack of papers and shook them at him. “Now I have to do it over.”

“Surely you’ve been saving your work as you go along.”

She knew what he was thinking. Anyone familiar with computers learned quickly and painfully about the perils of not backing up work, and actually, all but these last entries had been saved. She was torn over whether to appear the dunce or admit that most of the report could easily be retrieved. Unfortunately she couldn’t have it both ways. “I’ll still have to do some of it over,” she complained.

“But not too much, I hope. Forget the report for now. Grab your purse and let’s go. Since you weren’t free for dinner last night, I’ve come to take you to lunch.”

“I see.” If McCauley thought this dictatorial stance would get him anywhere, he had another think coming. And Cara was about to tell him so except that one glance into those penetrating brown eyes almost made her reach for her purse as directed. But then she regained her equanimity.

Wyatt wasn’t really here for a lunch date with her. He was a successful businessman with demands on his time. Probably happened to be in the vicinity and decided to enjoy a second round of evening the score. “I don’t believe for an instant,” she added, “that you drove halfway across Austin to—”

Her buzzing intercom interrupted. “The report?” Brooke prompted.

“Will be ready in about thirty minutes.” If you and the rest of the world will leave me alone. Cara didn’t need Brooke’s nagging right now. Wyatt was enough to deal with... A satisfied grin appeared on her lips as a brainstorm popped into her head. She would divert Brooke’s attention and teach McCauley a thing or two at the same time.

“It’s just that Mr. McCauley is here,” she said into the intercom, “and—” As anticipated, Brooke clicked off and came rushing out of her office, a look of elation on her face.

“Wyatt, as I live and breathe!”

“Hello, Brooke. I came by to take Cara to lunch. To discuss the auction.”

A frown threatened to form between Brooke’s eyebrows before she rallied. “Then I’m the one you need to be having lunch with, silly. I am the chairman, after all.”

“Ms. Abbott’s right,” Cara agreed. “She’s the one you should be talking to about the auction.” She smiled sweetly at Wyatt as Brooke entwined an arm through his and pulled Wyatt toward her office.

“We can talk better here than in some noisy restaurant,” Brooke cooed as she ushered him through the door. “Excuse me just a sec.” She darted back to Cara. “Be a dear...call Marcel’s and order lunch. Oh, and postpone this afternoon’s session with the layout people until three.”

Step into my parlor... Cara thought with diabolical pleasure as she reached for her telephone.

Revenge was taking its toll. For the past hour and a half, Cara’d been an unwilling party to Brooke’s twitter and Wyatt’s laughter, and she was sick of it. She’d delayed her own lunch to complete the report, reschedule Brooke’s afternoon agenda and handle an emergency call, so she was not only put out, she was starving, too. Her stomach growled, underscoring her hunger pangs.

At two-thirty the pair finally emerged from Brooke’s office, Brooke wrapped around Wyatt like a love-struck anaconda. They came over to Cara’s desk. “Mr. McCauley has graciously consented to be part of the bachelor auction,” Brooke announced with unconcealed relish.

Cara, startled, looked up into Wyatt’s face. “He has?”

“And not just a simple evening, either,” Brooke gushed. “Wyatt’s date will have the pleasure of flying with him to New Orleans for an overnight stay.”

“How wonderful,” Cara said, hoping Wyatt could read the mockery in her tone.

“Isn’t it? This will be the highlight of the evening,” Brooke enthused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bids top ten thousand, maybe twenty.”

What woman in her right mind would waste all that hard-earned cash just to spend a few hours with a brash, know-it-all like Wyatt McCauley? Cara asked herself, then heaved a sigh. Any woman who could afford it, that’s who. A woman like Brooke who was probably planning her travel wardrobe at this very moment.

“Oh, give Mr. McCauley our fax number,” Brooke said, “so his secretary can transmit the details.”

Dutifully, Cara grabbed a red pen, circled a number on one of Brooke’s business cards and held it out for Wyatt. When he walked over to pick it up, Cara heard him say under his breath, “I can hardly wait,” before he moved away.

That was strange. He’d been so adamant with his refusals. Surely a couple of hours with Brooke couldn’t have generated such a dramatic turnaround. Yet apparently it had. His previous “no” was now a “yes” and that megawatt smile beaming down on Brooke didn’t indicate a man who was anything but delighted to be a part of her auction.

He had to know Brooke’s ulterior motives. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the woman, and although a major aggravation, Wyatt was no fool. Then again, maybe he wanted Brooke as his date. Maybe that was why he’d not only agreed to the auction, but had expanded the prize from a single date into an entire weekend. From all appearances, Wyatt was as taken with Brooke as she was with him. So what do I care? I don’t. But watching the twosome grin like actors in a toothpaste commercial, Cara couldn’t help wishing something would foil their little plot for a romantic interlude in the name of charity. Charity indeed

Cara removed the papers from her printer and turned it off. She needed to get out of here, her rumbling stomach providing the perfect excuse. “Here’s the report. I’m off to lunch now,” she told Brooke.

“Wait up,” Wyatt called after her, “and I’ll ride down with you.” He kissed Brooke on the cheek. “See you at the auction.”

“Not sooner?” Brooke purred.

“We wouldn’t want anyone to think us in collusion—now would we?” His wink brought another broad smile from Brooke.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said almost with a giggle. Cara couldn’t believe her eyes and ears. Brooke, a tough-nut businesswoman, was simpering like a teenager.

Cara waited as Wyatt had instructed, mumbled, “Thank you,” when he opened the door to the hallway, then proceeded on her own toward the elevator, taking out her frustrations on the “down” button.

“Why so grim? I thought you’d be happy I’d decided to help you out.” He pulled Cara’s hand away before she could jab the button a fifth time.

“You aren’t helping me. All you’ve done is make me look inept in front of my boss. She got a job done that I couldn’t handle. You told her yes, not me. But I suppose it will benefit the Rosemund children. Someone’s bound to fork over substantial bucks for the pleasure of your company.” And we both know who.

“Someone like you?” he asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

“Hardly.”

“You are going to attend the auction, aren’t you?”

“Sure. But I’ll be there to work, not to bid.”

“You don’t know what you’ll be missing. It’ll be a memorable date. Dinner at Commander’s Palace, a cruise on the Mississippi by moonlight. Sure you don’t want to make an offer?”

“Is this more retaliation—making me spell it out in black and white? For your information I could no more compete in that auction than I could buy out General Motors.”

“Jeez, you’re a sorehead when you’re hungry.” Wyatt took her arm as they reached the ground floor. “Let’s get some lunch.”

“You had lunch.”

“I’ll have dessert.”

“You had that, too. I ordered from Marcel’s, remember?”

“I could squeeze in another one. An extra lap at Town Lake will work it off.”

“Look, I know I should be grateful you’re doing the auction—and I am. But I don’t want to have lunch with you. OK?”

“OK,” he said agreeably. “I’ll give you a reprieve—this time. See you at the auction.”

“You are stunning,” Meg pronounced. It was the night of the auction, and she was fluttering around Cara, admiring her own handiwork. Meg had insisted Cara wear one of the cocktail dresses she’d designed for a recent competition.

Even if her oldest sibling couldn’t afford the valet parking at the hotel, much less a thousand-plus dollars bid on one of the bachelors, she’d easily blend in with the horde of dressed-to-kill women scheduled to attend. “Good advertising for me,” Meg said, but Cara intuited another motive—proving that Big Sis could indeed look like date bait.

The black halter-style bodice bared both Cara’s shoulders and almost all of her spine inasmuch as it plunged to the waist at the back. The gown’s red skirt flared out in tiered ruffles, giving the costume a Spanish look. For a finishing touch Meg pinned her sister’s blond hair up and fashioned a small Spanish fan at the crown.

“There,” Meg said. “Fantastic!”

Cara studied her reflection. “It’s sorta far out, don’t you think? All that’s missing is a rose between my teeth.”

“Get real, Cara. For once you’re showing the world what a real glamour gal you can be. That clotheshorse Brooke will be so jealous.”

“Brooke has other things on her mind. She’ll be too preoccupied with her quarry to pay notice to anyone else.”

“How much moolah do you think she’ll ante up to ensure Wyatt leaves on her arm?”

“Whatever it takes. She will not be denied this opportunity. She’s been lusting after him for eons.”

Meg sat on the side of the bed. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have money enough to buy a fancy date like that?”

“Actually it’d be nice to have money enough for new tires.” Money. It had defined much of their existence the past seven years. “One of these days,” Cara assured Meg, “when you’re a famous designer and I’m a senior executive...maybe I’ll buy myself a man, too. After the new tires, of course.”