Читать книгу Pillow Talk - Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 9

JESSICA BARNES studied the bride critically. Perfect. The warm, sparkling, spring afternoon was a rare thing in Chicago. White flowers covered the arbor, not one dead blossom in sight. The musicians hadn’t missed a note. The slim branches from the weeping willow trees danced in the gentle breeze. Absolutely perfect.

Yup, there was nothing like seeing fairy-tale happiness to make you feel like crap. “Do you think she’s put on weight since college?”

Safe on the far side of the garden, far away from the white, flower-strewn tent, the four friends shook their heads. It was a sad day for them all.

Mickey was the most practical. “It’s the dress. All those ruffles. I don’t know why women don’t understand the illusion of substance that ruffles project.” She shook her head and made a note in her PalmPilot.

Jessica considered her own well-stocked closet, completely ruffle-free. She didn’t have the fashion sense of Dior, but she managed.

Beth sighed, her eyes still locked on the groom. A long, wistful sigh that she did so well. “He looks pretty good. Kenny never looked that good.” Kenny was Beth’s ex. An ex they’d never liked, but that was the sort of thing you didn’t tell your friends. Subtle hints, yes. Life-damaging proclamations, no.

Cassandra, never one to confess weakness, studied her nails. Ten perfect ovals trimmed in Scarlet Nights. “He asked me out once, but I said ‘no.’ I was in my medical-students-only stage.”

“Kenny asked you out?” Beth’s wide blue eyes looked horrified.

Cassandra exhaled, her white sheath lifting gracefully. “No. Charles, the groom.”

“She looks happy,” Mickey put in, veering the subject away from No-Account Kenny.

Beth swallowed one bite of the wedding cake before licking the crumbs from her lip. “She’s glowing.”

That met with a long, jealous silence. They might as well just brand the lot of them with a scarlet L.

“Who needs love?” Cassandra asked, and then took a healthy drink of champagne.

Beth never took her eyes off the happy couple. “I do.”

With a bit more violence than finesse, Jessica speared the olive in her drink. This was an argument they’d had many times. “No, Beth, you don’t. You’re a single woman with your independence, you can stay up as late as you want, let the laundry stack up, go to happy hour whenever you choose. What’s not to love?” Just to prove her point, she swallowed the olive whole, a gesture her freshman-year fiancé had abhorred. They had broken up soon after.

Beth defended herself. “Sometimes it’s lonely.”

“Get a cat,” Mickey said.

Was a cat everyone’s answer to life? Jessica just shook her head. “Oh, please, no. Aunt Charisse had ten cats when she died. They could not get the smell out of the carpet. Ever. Finally replaced the carpet, the padding, even deodorized the slab, and still they had to take ten K off the price.”

Mickey raised her sunglasses and studied the bride once more. They’d all gone to college with Annie Summers, and now, six years after graduation, Annie was the first to get married. Second if you counted Beth’s two-week marriage, but they usually didn’t count Kenny. “I think white just isn’t her color. She should have done something with a rose tone for her complexion, don’t you think?”

“I heard they’re going to the Caribbean for the honeymoon.” Beth studied the hors d’oeuvre on the side table, finally settling for the curried shrimp.

“That’s so cliché.”

“I want to go to the Canadian Rockies on my honeymoon.” Beth sounded as though she was reciting a Christmas list. Jessica wanted to shake her sometimes, tell her the world wasn’t one big Disney movie, but she never did. Instead, they did their best to protect Beth from ever learning that Disney owned Miramax, too.

“Why don’t you go by yourself?” Cassandra asked.

Beth froze, her blue eyes wide. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Mickey shrugged. “Sure.”

“I don’t know. If I went now, where would I go on my honeymoon?” Beth sounded so certain. As if honeymoons were part of life’s guarantees. Jessica was much more realistic. There were no guarantees, unless you did it yourself.

“What if you don’t ever get married again?” Always the troublemaker, Cassandra wouldn’t let it drop.

“Cassandra, don’t scare the girl,” Jessica said, working to avoid a scene.

“She doesn’t need a man,” Cassandra insisted.

Jessica just rolled her eyes at that. “Big words from a woman who always has a date on Saturday night.”

After one regal sniff, Cassandra went on. “No, I’m serious. I could remain single for the rest of my life and be happy.”

Mickey raised a hand, sans ring. “I could, too.”

Beth stood firm. “Not me. I want to get married.”

Jessica raised her glass. “To the solo state of mind. Junk food and chick flicks forever. A bachelorette pact, single forever.”

Mickey and Cassandra clinked glasses. “Hear, hear.”

By the look on her face, Beth knew she was defeated. After a long moment of silence, she joined in. “Screw ’em all.”

Cassandra laughed, that throaty laugh she had perfected over the years. “Honey, life isn’t long enough.”

Sometimes marriage was overrated, but Jessica knew the truth. They had been single for so long that it was now easier to attack the institution of marriage than to face failure. Jessica hated failure.

“Marriage is nothing more than a woman’s subjugation to a man’s need for dominance. Ha. They try and dominate me, I’ll pin the laser on them.” Mickey worked at a research lab and had never yet met a man, or anyone for that matter, with a higher IQ.

Jessica speared another olive. “You know, there are some advantages to marriage. Actually, ever since the government tinkered with the tax structure, it doesn’t cost as much as it used to. For instance, I would probably jump into the next tax bracket, assuming he’s a white-collar professional; however, I’d get a credit of almost eight thousand. Not a great investment, but I suppose if he’s willing to cook every now and then, it could be worth it.” Jessica hated to cook.

“Or you could take all that money you’d put in extra taxes and buy your Porsche.”

That earned a smile. Only 2.1 more years and then the Porsche would be hers. Unless she got the promotion to vice president at Hard-Wire Networks, a computer networking equipment manufacturer. Not likely, but possible. The raise would put her in Porsche-attainment status within nine months.

“Now you’ve done it,” Mickey said with a sigh. “She’s going to have an orgasm, right here.”

Of course, if Adam Taylor had his evil way, she wouldn’t be polishing a Porsche, she’d be polishing her résumé. The impending buyout made her nervous, made her cranky and worst of all, made her sneeze. First her nose tickled, then twitched, and finally she began to wheeze.

Mickey started to laugh.

Jessica blew her nose and sniffed—for effect not necessity. “Orgasm? Not all of us have Cassandra’s talents.”

Cassandra’s smile spoke volumes. “All you have to do is exercise.”

Mickey waved a languid hand and assumed a Southern drawl. “I abhor exercise. I need my cabana-boy to do it for me.”

“He could be my cabana-boy,” Cassandra said with a nod to the other side of the garden.

Yes indeed, when it came down to men, they were all such frauds. Jessica, Mickey and Beth turned to look. Mickey and Beth got that gooey look. Jessica simply wanted to hit something.

He was here. Adam Taylor.

And didn’t that just put a cherry on top of the day? Tall, impossibly handsome in a dark suit, and worst of all—intelligent, witty, sharp. That brought her thoughts to a halt. Sharp like an executioner’s ax.

She shouldn’t have been surprised; the groom worked at Adam’s firm, after all.

Life really wasn’t fair. Work had been hell for her since he arrived, a consultant brought in by JCN, the international computer conglomerate, to prepare a report on Hard-Wire’s buyout potential. An “operational efficiency expert.”

Yeah, you could call ’em all the pretty terms you wanted, but you still couldn’t disguise that chainsaw. She picked up an olive and popped it in her mouth.

He turned and saw her, favoring her with a cool, appraising gray-green stare. Jessica was grateful for her sunglasses. She could look as if she was calm and in control. But then her nose began to twitch and she sneezed. Twice. She searched her pockets for a tissue, but came up empty. Great.

When she looked up, Mickey was still eyeing Adam with appreciation. Jessica felt inclined to enlighten them all. “He’s okay, if you like the rich, strong, arrogant jerks.”

“You know him?” Mickey asked smoothly.

Jessica bit into her last olive. “Adam Taylor,” she mumbled between bites.

They had all listened to Jessica’s horror stories of Mr. Adam “The Ax-Man” Taylor, but she’d never described him physically. It seemed a betrayal to her lifelong ambition of job security and Porsche ownership. Adam was the enemy.

“He wants you,” Cassandra said, swirling her glass.

“In your dreams,” Jessica answered, not wanting to discuss her own dreams about Adam. Mr. Taylor. The Ax-Man.

“If you smile, I bet he’ll come over,” Beth said, trying to make the world a happier place. And failing.

“Not if I leave first.”

“Jessica, Jessica, I never thought I’d see you playing the coward. Tsk, tsk,” Cassandra teased.

The coward remark was really a low blow, but not enough to divert Jessica from her plan. “I needed to leave early anyway.”

Mickey raised a brow. “And that’s why we all came in one car?”

She was outnumbered. Three to one. “You’re supposed to be my friends.”

“Friends don’t let friends run away,” Cassandra said, pushing her in the direction of her worst nightmare. And her steamiest dream.

“He can’t be that bad. He’s got a nice smile,” Beth said, still permanently fixed in Pollyanna-land.

“Tell that to Red Riding Hood’s grandmother.”

“Go on. What can it hurt?” Mickey said, completely practical.

Jessica popped another olive in her mouth and adjusted her sunglasses, the picture of aloof sophistication. She spoiled it all with a sneeze.

CHARLES WAS a stuffed-shirt prick, but Adam had learned long ago never to burn a bridge. They had worked together on the Symtheson-Hardwick buyout, growth in revenue: $4.7 million over five years, total jobs lost: 537. The consulting firm they worked for, Kearney, Markham and Williams, considered that a very good deal indeed.

On most days, Adam ignored the consequences of his work. He was a consultant. Get in, make recommendations, get out. He was good at what he did and life treated him right.

He sipped his champagne and glanced around for a beer. He’d never liked champagne, but always took a glass at social functions. Of course, most of it ended up watering the potted plants.

Charles caught his eye and Adam pasted a “How the hell you doing?” smile on his face. He had more friends than the president, every one his best buddy, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt the desire to talk with anyone about subjects other than the market, the weather or golf. Golf was the worst. He shot a seventy-three and hated the game.

He moved into virtual consultant mode and strolled over to where the happy couple was eyeing each other with pure rose-colored lust. Envy seared him, hot and fast. For a moment he dropped his guard, and thought about his house in Alabama. His empty house. He closed his eyes and counted to eleven. By the time he reached the end of the exercise, the consultant was back.

He clapped Charles on the shoulder. “You lucky dog,” he said, more truth than not.

The groom slipped an arm around his new wife. “Hands off, Taylor. According to the laws of this fine state, she’s all mine.”

First compliment the client and then on to more trivial topics. “And you picked a gorgeous day to marry a gorgeous woman.”

Annie blushed, and planted a soft kiss on Adam’s cheek. “Thank you, Adam.”

Charles lifted his glass. “Blue skies, my friend. All blue skies. Hey, I see you’ve been assigned Hard-Wire. Sweet deal. Read the report. Lots of opportunity for efficiency there.”

Translation: We could trim fifteen percent and the company would never miss it.

“Too early to tell,” Adam answered.

Translation: Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. Maybe twenty.

Charles nodded toward the far garden. “You met Jessica Barnes yet? She’s manager of finance there. She went to school with Annie. If you haven’t met her, you should let Annie introduce you. She could really show you the ropes.”

Translation: Play your cards right, two dinners and a movie, and you’ll get laid.

Adam turned and let his gaze linger on Jessica. Yeah, he knew her. She was one of the fifteen to twenty percent. Great legs, savvy and a dark glare that said never trust her with sharp objects nearby. Undo-mesticated and ambitious.

Translation: Trouble.

For two weeks, Adam had worked himself into a serious frenzy to keep from personalizing Jessica Barnes. Personalizing was a bad thing to do in his line of work. He avoided looking at her in meetings, and thought of her as her employee number—44713, never Jessica. But he’d be a stupid man not to realize that 44713 lit up buttons he didn’t even know he had.

Damn it all to hell, he’d never been stupid.

He watched her pick her way through the crowd, passing between pastel suits and wide-brimmed hats and men in dark tuxes. Today she’d worn neon blue. He’d spent more time than he liked to admit wondering what sort of clothes 44713 wore out of the office. Monday through Friday, eight to five, she was so tightly buttoned. Prim and proper, never a false step.

Except when she sneezed.

That brought a smile to his face. He pretended to sip his champagne and watched the sun beat down on her thick, brown hair. She’d let it slip down around her shoulders today. Adam normally liked blondes, but he’d never seen brown hair that caught the sunlight so well, or looked so temptingly touchable.

A man could weave fantasies that involved that hair.

She finally reached his side, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. Soft brown. Gold and green swirled together in darkness. “Hello, Taylor. I didn’t expect to see you here today. I thought you’d be at Hard-Wire doing inventory.”

He winced. 44713. 44713. It made his job easier. “Lovely day, don’t you think?”

“A good day for a wedding.”

“You know Annie?”

“School. You?”

“Charles is one of our auditors.”

“Imagine that. Small world.”

Too small. Way, way too small when he started having thoughts that involved one of his client’s employees. Thoughts of long sleepless nights in bed and hot showers that had nothing to do with hygiene.

Fantasies.

For two years a lonely reality had honed his expectation. He wanted a wife. A family. White-picket fences and apple pie.

Jessica Barnes—44713—was not potential wife material. Her potential was purely sensual, and he felt it oozing through every inch of her sun-kissed skin.

“Why don’t you come out to dinner with me this evening?” said the spider to the fly. The words were out of his mouth before he thought.

“Sorry. I’m tied up.”

The fly had brains. “Pity. Tomorrow?”

“Mr. Taylor, I don’t think it’s wise for us to consider anything more than a strictly business relationship.”

He completely agreed with her logic. In fact, he’d thought of it himself. However, something about her legs made logic impossible. “Ms. Barnes, you work for one company, I work for another. There’s no legal, moral or ethical reason you couldn’t have dinner with me. Unless that’s your choice?”

She didn’t even hesitate to skewer his ego. “Of course that’s my choice.” She turned to walk away from him, and he nearly dropped his glass. Her entire back was bare. Tan, smooth, with a long, long line that ran down from smooth shoulders and dipped low and lower still.

He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and traced one wayward finger down the delectable curve. Hands-on usually wasn’t his style: he’d always believed it was only polite to wait until you’re invited to touch.

But he’d never seen a back like that before.

She froze.

“Jessica.”

She didn’t turn, just stood there, flaunting all that silky skin. His mouth grew dry and his mind kicked in with all sorts of images that involved skin and touching. Mouths. Tangled legs.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“What is?”

“Seeing each other, every day, being polite and completely professional.”

Then she spun around. Stared up at him, those soulless glasses giving nothing away. “I can handle it.”

He almost argued with her, saying that he couldn’t. He, the consummate professional. The man who could finesse anything. But he didn’t. Now wasn’t the time.

A smattering of applause started in the crowd. They both turned to look. Annie and Charles made their way to the main table. “Hope they’re one of the lucky fifty percent,” she murmured.

“Actually, they only need to be one of the lucky seventy-five percent.”

The sunglasses came off then, the brown eyes alight. “No, that’s not right. According to the census bureau it’s fifty percent.”

She was always so passionate about being right, even when she was wrong. Adam had seen her operate in meetings, found himself stepping in when he shouldn’t. All to protect 44713.

Jessica.

What was it about her? He shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t going to analyze it, just go with it.

But he hid his smile because he wasn’t stupid. “No, you can’t say that. I stand by my seventy-five. Seventy-five percent of the married people in this country have never been divorced.”

She shook her head, brown hair flying. “You’re wrong, Taylor.”

“Want to bet on that?”

“What?”

“You name the stakes. A cup of coffee…money.” He eyed her mouth. “A kiss.”

She pursed her lips. Today she wore more lipstick than usual. Dark maroon, the color of heart, the color of sin. “No kisses, Taylor. One dollar.”

What harm could come from a bet? He could almost hear his mother’s lecture about gambling, but he’d think about that later. “We can settle this tomorrow at the office, or if you want, we could leave right now and find the answer.”

“I don’t trust you.”

She was smart. People shouldn’t trust him. “Sorry you feel that way.”

“You’re wearing the black hat, Taylor. That’s the way it is.”

“So, no dinner for guys in black hats, huh?”

“Nope.” She rocked back on her heels, looking rather proud of herself.

He studied her for a long time, wondering about all that pent-up energy, and then finally he shook his head. “Now you’ve done it. You’re an insurmountable challenge, Barnes.”

For three heartbeats, their gazes locked. He could see it in her eyes, the challenge, the excitement. She loved the game just as much as he did. Eventually she looked away. “Just don’t get any ideas about surmounting, if you get my drift.”

“You get your mind out of those dark places you don’t want to go to, and I’ll get mine out of there as well.”

She stared him down, the glasses tapping against her thigh. “You’re no threat to my peace of mind, only to my career ambitions.”

He laughed softly. “I’ve had enough of this finger food. I’m going to go have dinner, Barnes. You’re welcome to join me.”

She turned and walked away, a cocky swing in her hips. “In your dreams, Taylor,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“There, too, Barnes. There, too.”