Читать книгу The Bachelorette - Kate Little, Kate Little - Страница 8

The morning had been absolutely exasperating—even for a Monday, Meredith reflected. She’d missed the bus and gotten caught in a downpour without an umbrella. Not to mention a run in her panty hose that was now as wide as the mighty Mississippi.

She scurried from the elevator to her office at Colette, Inc., the world-renowned jewelry company. She opened the door and slipped inside. Usually a little rain or a ruined stocking wouldn’t phase her. Her appearance was always neat and carefully planned to blend into the woodwork. But this morning she had to give a presentation to just about every high-level person in the company. Meredith dreaded speaking to groups, or any situation that put her in the limelight. Having her hair and outfit wrecked by the rain made the job even worse.

With her office door firmly closed behind her, she worked on some basic repairs, starting with her long reddish-brown hair. Matted and damp, it curled in every direction at once. She brushed it back tightly, in her usual style—a simple low ponytail secured with a clip. A bit severe perhaps, but certainly practical. Her complexion was fair, with faint freckles on her nose. She rarely tried to cover them with makeup. In fact, she usually wore no makeup at all. Which was just as well, she thought, since this morning she’d definitely have a bad case of raccoon eyes from melted mascara.

Her large blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror from behind oversize, tortoiseshell frames. She removed the glasses and wiped the damp lenses with a tissue. She often wished she could wear contact lenses and had several pairs in her medicine chest. But her eyes never felt totally comfortable in contacts, especially during the close work required for jewelry design. Besides, she had no one special to impress.

A long floral skirt hid most of the run in her hose, she noticed. But her V-neck sweater, usually so baggy and figure concealing, now clung damply to her body like a second skin. Her mother had often told her that her ample curves on top were a blessing, but Meredith had never felt that way. To the contrary, she felt quite self-conscious about her busty physique and the unwanted attention it brought her, especially from men. Unlike most women she knew, Meredith did all she could to hide her curves, rather than show them off.

The large brooch pinned to her sweater pulled on the wet fabric, and Meredith carefully unfastened the clasp. She took a moment to study the pin, holding it carefully in the palm of her hand. It was amazingly unique. Anyone would notice that. As she was a jewelry designer, it seemed even more remarkable to her. It was a one-of-a-kind item you might come upon in an “arty” shop of handmade jewelry or in a place that handled estate sales and antique pieces. Meredith’s landlady, Rose Carson, had given it to her just last night, when she’d been down at Rose’s apartment having coffee. Rose was wearing the pin and Meredith had admired it. Then, without any warning at all, Rose took the pin off and offered it to her, insisting that Meredith borrow it for a while.

“Rose, it’s lovely. But it must be very precious to you…. What if I lose it?” Meredith had asked.

“Don’t be silly, you won’t lose it,” Rose had insisted. “Here, put it on.” Rose had helped Meredith with the clasp. “Let’s see how it looks.”

Meredith had to agree it looked stunning. Yet, she still felt uncomfortable borrowing such a valuable piece of jewelry. But Rose, in her gracious, gentle way, wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The design was roughly circular, a hand-worked base of different precious metals, studded with chunks of amber and polished gemstones. Staring down at it now in her hand, Meredith still found the composition fascinating, almost magically mesmerizing if one stared at it long enough, with the interplay of glittering jewels of so many different colors, shapes and cuts. The flickering shards of light thrown off from the jewels made Meredith feel almost light-headed and she had to look away to regain her bearings. She had the oddest feeling each time she studied the pin, she noticed. But couldn’t quite understand why.

Brushing the question aside, she slipped the pin into the deep pocket of her skirt, feeling sure it would be safe there. Rose claimed the pin always brought her luck, and Meredith hoped that it would work for her today at her presentation, even hidden away in her pocket.

At work, she always wore a long gray smock over her clothing. It protected her clothes while she worked, constructing samples of her jewelry designs, and conveniently for the modest Meredith, also hid her body. She took it down now from the hook behind her door. The smock was a must today, even for the meeting. Without it, I’d look like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest, she reflected wryly as she fastened the snaps.

Meredith knew she wasn’t a “babe”—not like some of the women around the office. She was definitely the type men called a “plain Jane.” It had always been that way for her and she doubted now it would ever change. Some women were just born that way. They either had it—or they didn’t. Hadn’t her glamorous mother always told her so, in one subtle way or another? If she looked a little disheveled today, nobody would care. Nobody would notice.

Meredith took a seat at her drawing table and turned her thoughts to more important matters. She flipped the lid off a paper cup of coffee and took out a large project folder. The folder held the sketches for a new line of wedding bands, her current design project. She removed the sketches and spread them out on her drawing table. It was the line she was due to present at eleven o’clock and she still wanted to do some finishing touches. Her co-workers called her a perfectionist, but Meredith had always thought that the real impact of any piece was always in the details. Since it was so difficult for her to speak at meetings, she needed to walk into a presentation feeling that her work was flawless, otherwise her shyness would get the best of her.

As Meredith reviewed the sketches, she felt pleased. She was proud of the “Everlasting Collection” and eager to see what others thought. The his-and-her wedding rings had been solely her idea, and the simple but elegant designs bore her distinctive, contemporary flair. Yet, part of her found it ironic that she was so adept at creating such perfectly stunning wedding rings, when it seemed so unlikely that a man she loved—a faceless stranger so far—would ever slip a gold band on her finger and pledge his everlasting devotion. Her single attempt at romance during her senior year at college had been a total disaster. One that Meredith believed she’d barely survived. If that’s what they called taking a chance on love, Meredith knew she wasn’t fit for the game.

Designing wedding rings or heart-shaped lockets or any of the many trinkets lovers exchanged always left her with a feeling that was bittersweet at best. But she would try to distance herself, to tell herself it was her work and there was no need to get emotional. Then she’d go home, put on her grungiest clothes and head out to her studio. Alone in the empty warehouse space, she’d fire up her blowtorch and fuel all her loneliness and frustration into her artwork—her wild-looking abstract metal sculptures.

Sometimes it was hard for Meredith to believe that she had been working at Colette for four years. Time had passed so quickly. It had been her first job out of college, and though she hadn’t expected to stay this long, she’d already had two promotions and had never once considered looking for work elsewhere, though a few rival firms had tried to recruit her.

She liked the atmosphere here, the way that everyone worked together without a lot of petty rivalry and office politics which she knew went on in other firms. Over the years, she’d made some very good friends within the company, Jayne Pembroke, Lila Maxwell and Sylvie Bennett, to name her three closest pals, who also happened to live in the same apartment building as she did, on Amber Court.

But how long would she—or anyone else on the payroll—be employed by Colette, Inc.? Rumors of a corporate takeover had started as a vague whisper among the rank and file but now ran rampant through the company. Some hotshot financer named Marcus Grey was buying up as much stock as he could get his hands on. The firm’s mysterious predator was moving in for the kill, like a lone wolf poised to strike. The giant jewelry manufacturer had few resources to defend itself. It was now just a waiting game, and morale around the office was at an all-time low.

But like many other employees, Meredith was determined to carry on with an optimistic attitude. That was partly why she was so particular about her work these days. Instead of giving a halfhearted effort, as if the assignments didn’t matter anymore, she pushed herself to give her all, to produce designs that were truly inspired and would remind her co-workers that the company did indeed have a future. And everything might just turn out all right in the end.

She gazed down at the second set of sketches and lifted her pencil to add an extra embellishment. The phone rang just as her pencil point hovered above the drawing.

“Meredith Blair,” she answered in a businesslike tone.

“It’s me,” Jayne Randolph answered in a hushed but urgent tone. “You’re needed down in the showroom for a consultation.”

“The showroom? Do I have to?” Meredith knew she sounded like a five-year-old. But she couldn’t help it. Besides, Jayne was a friend. Surely she’d let her off the hook.

“In a word, yes,” Jayne replied.

“Oh, drat.”

Meredith hated visiting the showroom. She knew she’d rather starve than have a job in sales, catering to the representatives of large accounts and an upmarket, private clientele. Yet, from time to time designers had to go down for consultations with the sales personnel and a client.

A visit to the showroom usually meant that some spoiled, wealthy woman couldn’t find the diamond ring or jewel-studded necklace she had in mind, and now wanted to drive somebody crazy as she tried to describe her jewelry fantasy. Meredith knew that nine times out of ten trying to get it right was an exercise in futility. She doubted that even a mind reader would manage to satisfy such clients. Meredith was much more comfortable hiding away in her studio then being thrust into the limelight.

Besides, if she went down now, she’d never get through the sketches in time. “Come on, Jayne. Can’t you call someone else? I’m really absolutely swamped. I’m due to show designs at a big marketing meeting this morning and I’m still cleaning up some rough spots. Can’t Anita or Peter help you?”

“I called Frank first,” Jayne said. “When I told your boss who the client was, he said to call you. Specifically, you, Meredith.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Adam Richards,” Jayne replied solemnly. She spoke in a whisper, so Meredith guessed that Mr. Richards—whoever he was—stood within earshot.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” she asked, laughing despite herself.

“No offense, Meredith but…what planet do you live on?” Jayne asked sweetly. “Adam Richards? Owns Richards Home Furnishings? One of the company’s top private clients? Spends loads of money here every year? Just your average, self-made millionaire,” she added.

“Oh, that Adam Richards,” Meredith said lightly. “I find it hard to keep up with the self-made millionaire list lately…. What’s he doing now?”

“Pacing around the showroom. In an irritated tycoon sort of way. He’s chosen a few items he likes, and he wants to speak to a designer about customizing the designs. I’m going to bring him into room number three and serve him coffee. You’d better get down here right away. I think he knows Frank personally,” she added.

Meredith had always gotten along well with her boss. He had taught her so much and encouraged her own creative talents to blossom. But Frank Reynolds still didn’t cut any slack for her, though she was probably his favorite. If Frank said she had to go, she had to go.

“All right,” Meredith conceded with a sigh. “Tell your average, impatient tycoon I’m on my way.”

Meredith hung up the phone, then grabbed her smaller sketchpad and her coffee. As she headed for the door, she thought to check her appearance, maybe swipe on a bit of lip gloss or check her hair again. But then she shrugged off the impulse. Big deal. Adam Richards. So the man had money—a great deal of money. Material success had never impressed her, and she rather disliked people who believed they were due special treatment just because they were wealthy.

She’d be courteous and professional, of course. With any luck, she’d get rid of Mr. Imperious Millionaire quickly and still have some time to review her presentation.

The elevator to the ground floor left her at the end of the long corridor that ran behind the showroom. Meredith soon caught sight of Adam Richards in room number three. He stood with his back turned toward the doorway. The first thing she noticed about him was his broad shoulders and lean build, covered by a charcoal-gray suit. An extremely well-tailored suit, she noticed, which covered his athletic build without a single gap or wrinkle.

He was also quite tall, an inch or so above six feet, she guessed. Meredith always noticed a man’s height, since at five-ten in her stocking feet, she was well above average for a woman. She didn’t often meet men she could look up to, but here was one. Literally speaking, at least, she thought with a secret smile.

As she drew closer to the doorway, she felt her chronic shyness move over her like a soft, heavy blanket. A smothering cloud. She took a deep breath and willed herself to go forward, to act the part of an efficient, able employee. Wisps of her wavy, reddish-brown hair had come loose from her clip and softly curled around her face. She tried to smooth back the tendrils with her hands, but to no effect.

The sooner started, the sooner done, Meredith reminded herself. Her head down, her sketch book clutched under her arm, she strode purposefully into the room…and nearly walked right into him.

He turned when she entered and quickly stepped to the side. He stared down at her with a dark, steady gaze, apparently startled by her clumsy entrance. He had brown eyes, a rich coffee color, greeting her with a mixture of warmth and curiosity. Meredith met his gaze briefly, then shyly looked away. She could feel her pulse race and her cheeks grow warm.

He was younger than she’d expected. Maybe around forty, she guessed. Weren’t self-made tycoons older than that? Older…and balding and paunchy…and far less attractive?

Finally she looked up again. He was still staring down at her, watching her in a way that made her feel even more self-conscious.

“Mr. Richards.” She thrust out her hand. “How do you do? I’m Meredith Blair, one of the designers here.”

“One of the best, I hear.” He took her hand in his larger one and briefly shook it. His grasp was firm and warm. His voice was deep. Deep and definite. The compliment made her blush again, but she tried to ignore it. “Thank you for coming down to see me. I realize now I should have made an appointment. I hope you weren’t called away from anything important?”

“No, not at all,” Meredith wasn’t deceptive by nature, but the little white lie seemed necessary under the circumstances. As in, “The customer is always right.” Especially this customer.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Richards.” She gestured for him to take the chair opposite hers at the small table in the center of the room.

“Please call me Adam,” he suggested with a smile. He had even white teeth and deep dimples creased his lean cheeks. The change in his expression, the small lines that crinkled at his eyes and etched his wide, supple mouth made something within her tingle with awareness.

Awareness…and alarm.

He was either a very nice guy, she decided, or so phony, he was able to fake it flawlessly. Meredith knew she was suspicious of men and their motives. Especially good-looking, older men. But she couldn’t help it. Experience had been a cruel but able teacher.

She took a moment to arrange the objects on the table. A necessary task that gave her a moment to collect herself. The table was set up for viewing jewelry and had a dark-blue velvet mat in its center. A magnifying lens and a high-intensity lamp with a long bendable neck stood to one side.

She rearranged the lens and lamp to her liking, then pushed up her glasses, which had slid down her nose a bit. Her hands felt strangely shaky, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“I’ll try to be brief and not take up too much of your time, Ms. Blair,” he began. “Here’s the problem. I’d like to give some gifts to my employees at a company banquet that’s coming up in a month or two. It’s part of our national sales conference, and about five hundred employees usually attend,” he explained. “A few retirements will be announced, and the firm always gives an engraved desk clock. But I’d like to give something different this year. A stickpin, perhaps. Or a gold key chain with some sort of medallion or inscription,” he suggested. “Then there are awards for outstanding achievement. Especially in the sales force. The employees are receiving a bonus, of course. But I’d like to give them a gift, as well. I’ll need about one hundred items in all. Do you think they can be ready by say…the first week in December?”

Meredith watched his face as he spoke. He had a very expressive face, she thought. Her artist’s eye appreciated his broad, smooth forehead, the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw, his wide, supple mouth. She thought she would like to do a sketch of him sometime. She also liked the way he looked right into her eyes, meeting her own in such a direct, unguarded manner.

But once he had finished and his gaze remained fixed on hers, she realized that she’d been so distracted, studying him, she’d barely heard a word he’d said.

“The first week in December?” she echoed vaguely.

“Not enough time, you think?” He shook his head. “I always leave these things to the last minute,” he admitted. She was surprised at his tone, which was almost…apologetic.

Weren’t these rich guys supposed to be much more irate and demanding? Wasn’t he supposed to pound his fist on the table or stamp his foot or something?

“Probably. I mean, maybe. I mean, it depends on what you want, specifically, of course,” she stammered, staring down at her notepad. “I do know that we’ll try to do our best to meet your schedule, Mr. Richards.”

She quickly raised her eyes to his and saw that he was grinning. Laughing at her babbling. Oh, Lord. She sounded like an idiot. And felt like one, too.

“It’s Adam,” he reminded her. “May I call you Meredith?”

She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat the size of a large jelly doughnut. She didn’t know what was happening to her. Meredith was typically nervous meeting new people—especially men—but she was usually able to hide it much better. This man was really getting under her skin for some reason, and she willed herself to get a grip on her frazzled nerves. And runaway pulse.

“You’re right. I haven’t been very specific, have I?” he said, obviously trying to put her at ease. “I found a few things I liked in the display area. I believe Ms. Randolph left them here on the table so that we could discuss them.”

“Yes, of course. That will give us a start.” Meredith picked up a dark-blue velvet bag that was sitting in front of her on the table and hurriedly opened it.

“Let’s see, what do we have here—” she murmured. She withdrew the various items one by one and laid them out on the velvet cushion. As she moved into her working mode, Meredith felt herself relax a bit. It was easier for her to deal with clients once she had something tangible to focus on and could begin the design process.

She picked up the first piece, a 14K yellow-gold stickpin with an engraved shaft, topped by a square-cut emerald of about one-third a carat in size. The stone was held in a crown-shaped setting, which Meredith didn’t care for at all.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, unsure of whether or not to be frank. She didn’t want to insult his taste. On the other hand he had requested her opinion.

“Honestly?” she asked.

“Of course.” He sat back in his chair.

“I like the detail on the shaft,” she said, turning the piece under the magnifying lens for him to see. “But I don’t care much for the setting. It’s very ordinary. And a bit…gaudy.”

“My feeling exactly.” He nodded in perfect agreement, then waited for her to continue, giving her his complete and utmost attention.

Meredith felt better. She had a strong feeling that Adam Richards had good taste. Similar taste to her own, in fact, which would make things a lot easier.

“Most people would wear a small piece like this as an accent to other jewelry,” she continued. “A simple, sleeker setting would display the stone more dramatically. And also, be less likely to clash with other items.”

She turned the pin over again in her hand, then took it out from under the magnifying glass, set it on the velvet display cushion and looked at it for a few moments.

“Wait…I have an idea.” She quickly rose from her seat. “Let’s see what you think of this….”

She walked to a polished wood cabinet, withdrew a ring of keys from under her smock and opened the brass lock. She opened the doors to reveal three rows of narrow drawers, like the drawers one might find in an old-fashioned hardware store. Only these drawers held precious stones of various sizes and hues, not screws and washers.

It took her only a few moments to find what she was looking for, and she withdrew several small plastic bags that held gemstones and brought them to the table.

“I want to show you these stones,” Meredith said, feeling excited at her inspiration. “They’re called cabochons. Perhaps you’ve seen them before?”

“No…I haven’t,” Adam replied as he watched her shake out the gems onto the velvet pillow.

“These are uncut gems, polished with an opaque look. I’ve picked out some sapphires. But all types of colored gems are available as cabochons. Rubies, emeralds, amethyst. Here, take a look,” she said, swinging the magnifying lens in his direction.

He peered down at the gems, studying them…and she took a moment to study him. His hair was dark and thick, with a slight wave. Cut conservatively short, he combed it back and to one side, though a thick lock occasionally fell down across his forehead. With the bright light nearby, she noticed how his dark mane was shot through with strands of silver. His face looked intense as he examined the stones, his thick brows drawn together over lean cheeks and square jaw. His chin held a small dimple, that seemed just right. A perfect balance to his long, straight nose.

He was handsome, she thought. Extremely handsome. Though not in the typical way at all. More of a rough-around-the-edges, self-made man way, she silently noted with a small smile at her own private joke. She wondered vaguely why Jayne hadn’t warned her about his looks. But then again, Jayne knew very well that any mention of such a thing would have rattled Meredith totally, and made her find some excuse to avoid the meeting altogether.

Adam suddenly looked up. He caught her looking at him, and she felt self-conscious, as if, gazing into her eyes, he had read her thoughts. A slow, knowing smile formed on his supple lips. She felt herself blush and looked back down at the gemstones.

“So…what do you think?” She tried her best to sound casual and professional, but her voice sounded forced and breathless. Just to give herself something to do, she removed her glasses and wiped the lenses on the edge of her smock. It was a nervous habit she had and one she wasn’t even conscious of performing.

That is, not until she noticed a strange expression on Adam Richard’s face as he stared at her across the narrow table.

“Beautiful,” he replied, his tone mindful, appreciative and even surprised. “Absolutely. Very subtle and natural. Very…unconventional.”

His quiet words and intense gaze were totally unnerving. Meredith was annoyed with herself and couldn’t understand her reaction. It was almost as if, at that moment, he wasn’t talking about the gems at all…but describing her.

But that was ridiculous. Utterly…insane. She shoved her glasses back on and turned her attention back to the jewelry.

“Uh…good. I’m glad you like them. Let’s try one with the pin.” She pulled open the small drawer on her side of the table and removed some tools and a vial of setting-glue solvent.

Moments later she’d removed the emerald from the stickpin setting and replaced it with a small sapphire cabochon.

She held it out for Adam’s inspection. “What do you think?”

“That’s lovely. Perfect,” he exclaimed in his quiet, thoughtful way. “May I see it under the lens?”

Then, without waiting for Meredith to hand him the stickpin, he reached out, cupped her hand in his own and moved it beneath the magnifier. His touch felt gentle but firm. She felt as if a sudden shock of electricity coursed up her arm, spreading swiftly through every inch of her body. But Meredith willed herself to remain stone still, not moving a muscle. Barely breathing.

“Yes, it’s just right. The sapphire is a good choice, too,” he commented, still holding her hand and staring down at the pin. “Though I think I’d like to see others made up with a ruby and an emerald, just to compare. Once we’ve agreed on the new setting design.”

He took his hand away and Meredith placed the stickpin on the velvet mat. Looking down, she flipped open her notebook, taking a moment to gather her scattered thoughts.

“Yes, of course. A ruby and emerald,” she said aloud as she jotted the note in her book. “Here’s a rough idea of a new setting design,” she added. With a few deft strokes of her pencil she sketched a new design for the pin—a smooth, organic-looking shape with a setting that would wrap around the stone, like green petals of a bud about to unfold.

Adam sat quietly, watching her draw. As she shifted the pad for him to view the sketch, he bent his dark head toward her. The expression on his face told her that he was impressed by her artistic ability. It surprised her somehow. She didn’t think a man who had spent his life in such a corporate, commercial atmosphere would recognize or value artistic talent.

Adam Richards certainly wasn’t what she had expected. Not at all.

“This is excellent, Meredith.” He looked up and met her gaze. “It’s just the type of thing I was hoping to find…but couldn’t quite put into words,” he added with an attractive, appreciative smile that set Meredith’s nerve endings tingling. “Could you make a sample for me to see?”

“Of course,” she said agreeably.

She was suddenly highly aware of their close proximity, his face just inches from her own as they both remained leaning over the sketch. She blinked and quickly sat bolt upright.

“I could have that ready for you tomorrow afternoon,” she said. She swallowed hard and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose.

“That quickly? That’s great. Let me check my schedule for tomorrow and see if I’m free…” He withdrew a small black book from the pocket in his suit jacket and flipped it open.

“You don’t need to come back here. I mean, I know how busy you must be. We’d be happy to send the piece to your office by messenger,” Meredith explained. “Then you can call and let me know what you think.”

Was she stuttering? The idea of enduring another one-on-one interview with Adam Richards had her nerves in an uproar all over again. She took a deep breath, hoping he’d agree to her suggestion.

“It’s no problem. This time of year is relatively slow for me,” he replied lightly, and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Besides, there’s more than the stickpin to figure out,” he reminded her. “And I’m due back at the office in a few minutes.” He glanced briefly at his watch. “Shall we figure out some meeting time for tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” Meredith replied numbly. She looked down at the table, her lips twisting in a resigned expression. She’d make up the stickpin for him. That would be fun. But as for working with him further…the very thought totally unhinged her. And she didn’t want to figure out why.

“What about lunch?” he asked.

Her head snapped up. “Lunch?”

He laughed. “You know, that meal between breakfast and dinner? Don’t you eat lunch…or are you one of those women who are forever starving themselves?”

“I’m never on a diet,” Meredith replied honestly.

There were times in her life—particularly her adolescence—when Meredith bemoaned her figure. But with the passing years any excess weight had simply melted off her long-limbed frame. Although in her mind she still carried the poor body image of her childhood, in actuality she was slim and fit, practically model-like in proportions. She did nothing extra to stay in shape, getting most of her exercise with long walks or a jog through the park with her Labrador retriever, Lucy. The heavy work required for her metal sculptures also kept her muscles hard. She didn’t like most sports, and working out in a gym, in front of all of those mirrors, not to mention the other members, was her idea of damnation. As for dieting, she wasn’t a junk-food junky, but loved to eat and rarely deprived herself.

“Never on a diet, eh? How refreshing,” Adam replied brightly. “So I can take you someplace tomorrow where they serve real food, instead of rabbit feed?” he persisted. “I know just the place. How about Crystal’s?”

Crystal’s? That was the most exclusive restaurant in Youngsville, Indiana. She’d never been there, but had heard one needed to wait a month for a reservation. Of course, not if you were a regular, as Adam Richards no doubt was.

“I’ve heard it’s lovely. Thanks for the invitation…but I don’t think I can have lunch with you,” Meredith stammered. She rose from her seat and hurriedly gathered her pad and coffee.

“Oh, why not? I think we can get a lot done over lunch,” Adam persisted. He rose, as well, and stood in front of her, blocking her escape route from the small room. He stood so close that when she looked up to answer him, she had to tilt her head back.

“Yes, I’m sure we’d get work done,” she said diplomatically, remembering that he was, after all, an important client. “But I believe I’ll be in a meeting that will be going on all afternoon.”

That was a lie. There was no meeting. But she didn’t know what else to say.

“How about Wednesday, then? Do you have a meeting on Wednesday?” he asked. His voice was soft, with a faint note of amusement, she thought. He had guessed she was lying to him. Still, she couldn’t understand why he was so insistent about taking her out to lunch.

“I…I have to check. I’m not sure.” Meredith hugged her sketchbook to her chest and decided to charge for the door. “I’ll call your office and let you know.”

“All right.” He nodded and smiled slightly, trying to suppress a huge grin, she guessed. He was laughing at her. Finding it terribly amusing that a woman would be so flustered by a simple invitation to lunch. She felt silly…but couldn’t help it.

She looked down, avoiding his gaze as she moved toward the doorway. She just wanted to leave, to get away from him and be alone. But then she did something even more stupid. In her rush to flee she spilled coffee on herself. She felt the warm liquid seep through her smock and sweater. She looked down and saw what had happened.

“Oh…darn,” she muttered aloud. She dropped her pad to the floor and placed the leaky cup on the table. With her arms sticking out on either side, she looked down to survey the damage. Her gray smock was dripping with coffee, a huge stain spreading on one side. She couldn’t bear to see what had happened to her pale sweater and skirt.

“Here, let me get that for you,” Adam said as he quickly bent to retrieve her pad. “I’m so sorry…did I bump into you or something?” he asked with genuine concern.

“No…not at all. I manage to create these little disasters all on my own,” Meredith explained. She still stood with her arms at her side, coffee now dripping from her smock to the floor.

“But I was standing in your way. You couldn’t get by,” he said, making an excuse for her. “Can I help you get that off?” Adam asked politely.

“Uh, no…I can manage, thanks.”

The moment of truth had arrived. She had to take the smock off, it was dripping on her shoes.

She carefully undid the snaps, then slipped it off her shoulders and rolled it in a ball to contain the wet spot. Her sweater, still damp from her soaking in the rain, clung to her like a second skin. It now had an ugly brown stain covering a large portion of the pale fabric. A hopeless kind of stain that would probably never come out, she guessed.

“Oh, well. Guess I need to go find another smock,” she said, trying to sound offhand about the fumble.

She looked up at Adam and saw a strange light in his eyes. A totally masculine glow that scared her to death. He hadn’t been staring at the coffee stain all this time…but studying her figure. She was sure of it. She was just as sure that he’d never expected that beneath her baggy gray camouflage there was anything worth looking at.

She thought she had long ago outgrown self-consciousness about her hourglass proportions. At that moment, however, it didn’t seem so. At least he didn’t ogle her, but quickly looked away, his expression once again returning to a friendly smile.

“Well…here’s your pad.” Now it was his turn to seem self-conscious and momentarily off balance as he handed her the sketchpad. “And take my card,” he added, handing her a business card. “On second thought, I’ll have my secretary call you later to set up another appointment.”

“That sounds fine,” Meredith said, backing toward the door. She held the sketchpad to her chest, though it offered little coverage. His secretary. Good. She wouldn’t have to make excuses to him. It would be even easier that way.

“Well, so long, Meredith. Thanks for your help,” he said as she left the room. “I look forward to seeing the stickpin.”

“I’ll have it made up for you soon, Mr. Richards…. And, you’re very welcome,” she added, remembering her manners. She also remembered that she was supposed to call him by his first name. But she didn’t want to. She needed to put some distance between them now, to put things back on a more businesslike level. She had finally reached the door and quickly turned and opened it.

“Goodbye, now,” she called over her shoulder as she left him.

“Goodbye, Meredith,” he returned. “See you soon.”

His soft, deep voice did not sound businesslike, or impersonal at all, she noticed as she raced away toward the elevator.