Читать книгу Wife On Approval - Leigh Michaels, Leigh Michaels - Страница 6

THE deli had obviously been busy through the lunch hour, for when Paige came in, the serving counter looked as if it had been ravaged by a horde of hungry sailors. She eyed the feeble remains and said, “Just a cup of soup, please.”

Looking doubtful, the woman at the counter stirred the contents of the big black soup kettle. “There’s not much left but broth, I’m afraid, Ms. McDermott. Now that the lunch rush is past, I’m just starting to restock the sandwich bar, if you’d rather have something heartier. The pastrami is extra good today, the mustard’s really hot, and the rye bread is so fresh you can smell it across the room.”

Paige’s stomach churned at the very idea of the spicy combination. “No, thanks. The soup will do just ne.” She carried her thick stoneware mug over to a table where her two business partners were already seated.

Sabrina looked up with a smile and pushed her sandwich wrappings aside to make room for Paige, tipping over her half-full iced tea glass in the process.

Cassie fielded the glass, set it upright without losing a drop, and said without rancor, “Perhaps I was being foolish, Sabrina, to hope that falling in love and settling down would make you just a little less—”

“Clumsy?” Sabrina asked brightly.

“I was going to say, exuberant.”

“You don’t need to hesitate for fear of hurting my feelings, darling. Caleb doesn’t—he says he’s going to have his tuxedo tailored out of the stuff they use for bulletproof vests, just in case I trip over the train of my gown and slam into him at the altar.”

“Not only knocking down the groom but pushing all the ushers over like dominoes, I suppose,” Cassie mused.

Ushers. Paige didn’t want to ask who Sabrina’s fiancé had ended up asking to accompany him at his wedding; she was afraid she already knew the answer. “Have you ever thought of eloping?” she asked.

“Frequently,” Sabrina said dryly. “Especially since my mother got into the act and started coming up with ideas to make my wedding truly unique. But do I sense a little personal tension in that question? You can tell me, Paige. You don’t like the bridesmaids’ dresses I chose?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Paige said. “I haven’t had time to get to the shop to look at them.”

Cassie gathered up the remains of her lunch. “They’re absolutely luscious—but have you ever known Sabrina to choose something that’s not?”

“Not exactly,” Paige murmured. “Sabrina’s taste is flawless—as long as we’re leaving Halloween costumes out of the discussion.”

Sabrina sipped her tea. “You looked great in that costume, and you know it. Besides, Halloween is ancient history. Let’s not be distracted from the real news of the day, which is that Paige is half an hour late for a business meeting. I’m not lecturing you, mind, just pointing out that this has never been known to happen before.”

Paige shrugged off the question. “You wouldn’t believe the crowd at the supermarket. It’s hard enough to try to stock a kitchen from scratch, but having to fight through the aisles in order to do it—”

“Austin Weaver’s kitchen?” Cassie asked.

Paige nodded.

“Tough job,” Sabrina sympathized. “I wouldn’t have any idea what to buy.”

“That’s an understatement,” Cassie murmured. “When was the last occasion when you spent any time in a kitchen, Sabrina? Other than walking in to refill your coffee cup, I mean.”

“That’s easy. Just this morning.” Sabrina grinned. “Of course, I was hanging new blinds for a client, I wasn’t cooking, but—”

“The client should be grateful. And Austin should thank his good fortune that Paige is the one who drew this assignment.”

Paige stared at her soup and thought that Austin Weaver was unlikely to do any such thing. Of course, if she had any luck at all, he might not ever know who had arranged the pantry shelves in his new apartment.

“That reminds me.” Cassie pulled a bundle of cards from her leather tote bag and flourished them. “I had a great idea last week.”

“New business cards?” Paige reached for one. “I thought we had plenty of the old style yet.”

“Job cards,” Cassie corrected. “To leave after each job is completed.” She held up one of the bits of paper and read, “’Your service today was happily provided by Rent-A-Wife. Every working person needs a wife!’ And then there’s our phone number and a spot to sign, so each client will know exactly who did the errand and how to call for additional service.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have individual cards made, with the names already printed,” Paige said.

“Should I have? I thought the actual signature would be more personal. Don’t you like the idea, Paige?” Cassie sounded downcast. “We’re proud of our work, so why not share that fact with our clients?”

“It’s a good idea.” It’s just the timing that’s bad. Of course, because the cards existed didn’t mean she had to use them, Paige thought. She could conveniently forget—at least at certain job sites…. “I have to be going.” She pushed her soup aside. “I have Austin’s groceries in the van.”

“You haven’t finished your lunch,” Sabrina pointed out. “Not that it was adequate in the first place.”

Paige shrugged. “I’ll be cooking this afternoon, so I’ll no doubt nibble.”

“What are you making for the Weavers to eat on their first night in Denver?” Cassie asked casually.

“A chicken and rice casserole. I can leave it in the oven so it’ll be ready whenever they arrive.”

Cassie looked doubtful. “Will Austin’s little girl eat rice? Didn’t he say she’s five? Sometimes kids that age are awfully picky about their food.”

“How should I know what she’ll eat?” Too late, Paige heard the sharp edge in her own voice, and she saw Cassie’s eyebrows climb. “The request was to leave a meal that will be ready to serve when they arrive this evening. Nobody specified the menu. Besides, if what’s-her-name doesn’t eat rice, there will be peanut butter in the cupboard.”

“So there,” Sabrina said under her breath.

Paige tried to smile. At least she’d been successful in making it appear that her irritation concerned five-year-olds in general rather than this one in particular. “Sorry to sound so prickly about it. But it isn’t exactly easy to come up with a menu that’ll be all right in the oven for hours, in case they’re delayed.”

“To say nothing of cooking for someone you’ve never met,” Sabrina sympathized.

Paige braced herself. You’re going to have to say it sometime, she reminded herself. You should have told them long before now.

Cassie was smiling. “If it’s the same wonderful casserole you made for my bridal shower, Paige, don’t forget to leave one of your new cards. That way Austin will know who to call when he wants another one.”

Or he’ll know for certain who not to call, Paige thought. And maybe that’s a better idea yet.

Paige parked her minivan in the loading zone in front of Aspen Towers apartments and eyed the assortment of grocery bags in the back. The small folding cart she always kept in the van was less than adequate for the task, and she wasn’t looking forward to making half a dozen trips with it up the service elevator to the topmost apartment in the tower. So she locked the van, bypassed the doorman, who was absorbed in handing a tenant into a taxi, and paused in the open doorway of the building superintendent’s office.

The super was talking on the phone, but she made an impatient gesture inviting Paige to step in. While she waited, Paige leaned against the nameplate on the door. Tricia Cade, it proclaimed.

The super turned her chair at an angle and kept talking. Sunlight streaming through the narrow window behind her highlighted her severely cut, platinum-blond hair—a color, Paige knew from the darkness of the woman’s eyebrows, that nature had never intended her hair to be. Paige wondered exactly how old she was. Probably only slightly past her mid-thirties, Paige guessed, and it was apparent that Tricia Cade had no intention of ever looking a day older. Perfectly colored hair, sleekly manicured nails, subtle makeup and fashionable clothes were her weapons—and effective ones they were, too.

Beside the super’s elegance, Paige felt just a little dowdy. Of course, she’d deliberately chosen her tweed slacks and dark turtleneck for their practicality on a day which involved far more physical work than public appearance; nevertheless she couldn’t help feeling inadequate in comparison.

She glanced at her wristwatch. How long was the woman apt to keep her waiting while she talked to what was obviously a friend, not a business contact? By now Paige could have had one load all the way upstairs and be coming back for another. At least, she told herself, with the outdoor temperature hovering at freezing, she didn’t have to worry about finding a pool of ice cream in the back of her van. Still, the minutes were ticking by, and a whole afternoon’s work remained to be done.

The super obviously saw the restless movement of Paige’s hand, for she said into the phone, “Hold on a minute, will you? No, it’s not important, it’s just my newest tenant’s maid needing something.” She gave a light laugh at something her friend said and cupped a hand over the mouthpiece.

“That’s a common misunderstanding,” Paige said. “That Rent-A-Wife is really just a glorified maid service, I mean. Sometimes I wish we’d named it At Your Service instead, because we’re actually more like the concierge staff at a big hotel.”

The super looked unimpressed. “Is that what you came in to tell me?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Paige kept her voice level. “I’d like to borrow a cart—a luggage cart or something of the sort—to haul things up to the penthouse.”

“I thought the movers did all that earlier in the week.”

“I’m sure they’d have taken care of this, too,” Paige said sweetly, “if Mr. Weaver had just thought to ship his sugar and coffee and eggs and ice cream along with his furniture, all the way from Atlanta.”

The super waved a hand. “There’s a cart down the hall in the storage closet. The doorman has a key, if the room’s locked. You should have asked him instead of bothering me, anyway.” She put the phone back to her ear and then paused. “Ice cream? That must mean Mr. Weaver is arriving soon—right?”

“How should I know when to expect him?” Paige murmured. “As you so graciously pointed out, I’m only the hired help.”

She regretted the jab as soon as the words were out. She knew better than to make catty remarks to someone in a position to do favors for her, that was sure. Don’t make anyone into an enemy—it was the first and most basic rule of a service business. What was wrong with her anyway?

She considered apologizing, but decided that the super would be even more annoyed by what she would probably see as yet another interruption, so Paige went in search of the cart instead.

When she let herself into Austin Weaver’s apartment a few minutes later, pushing the cartful of grocery bags, she found herself fancying that the spacious rooms held an expectant hush—as if they realized that the new residents would be turning up soon.

She dismissed the notion and hurried toward the kitchen. The logjam at the supermarket had put her well behind schedule, and Tricia Cade hadn’t helped a bit. There was still a meal to fix, flowers to arrange, towels to put out, and all the last-minute touches which went so far toward making an impersonal apartment into a home. Touches which all took time. Touches which were particularly important in this case, since Austin Weaver and his daughter Jennifer hadn’t yet seen their new residence.

Their first impressions of it could have a dramatic impact on Rent-A-Wife, as well, Paige knew. If Austin Weaver liked the arrangements which had been made for him, Rent-A-Wife would have not only an enthusiastic new client but a good recommendation. If he didn’t, the business would be the one to suffer, especially since all three partners had been involved at one stage or another in getting the Weavers settled in Denver so Austin could take on his new job as the chief executive officer of Tanner Electronics.

Cassie had blitzed every real estate agent for miles around till she’d located the best available apartment in the city. Sabrina had whipped the place into shape by organizing the cleaning team and the painters, and then supervising the movers as they arranged Austin Weaver’s furniture.

Until today, Paige had managed to stay away from the entire project. But it was only fair that the finishing touches had fallen to her; not only had the other two already done their share, but she was the most domestically inclined of the three, the best cook, and the most detail-oriented. And since she hadn’t found just the right occasion to explain to her partners why she’d much rather keep her distance from Austin Weaver, here she was.

With the casserole safely in the oven, Paige took another look at the clock and gave a sigh of relief. It was just midafternoon, so she’d be well out of the way before the Weavers’ arrival. She put the flowers, their stems freshly cut, to soak in cold water and went looking for vases. Where would Sabrina have put them? The topmost cabinets in the super-efficient kitchen were entirely empty, and the linen closet yielded nothing more promising. Of course, there was no guarantee Austin owned anything of the sort, she reminded herself.

Paige paused at the doorway of the smaller bedroom and looked in at the sunny yellow carousel horse, the white-painted bookcase crammed with volumes of all sizes and dimensions, the small bed dwarfed by its headboard—an enormous three-story-high dollhouse.

Austin Weaver had a daughter.

She’d known the fact for weeks, of course, since even before he’d actually accepted the job at Tanner Electronics. But it wasn’t until Paige was faced with the hard evidence of Jennifer Weaver’s existence—the carousel horse, the bookcase, the dollhouse bed—that the child seemed real.

Austin Weaver’s daughter. Five years old, and—if the photographs were accurate—a budding beauty.

Paige walked slowly back toward the living room, where a few silver frames were grouped atop a shiny black baby grand piano. The piano was leased, Sabrina had told her, since Austin thought shipping a grand piano cross-country was hardly practical. Paige had had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she wouldn’t be surprised by anything Austin chose to leave behind, and that the only really amazing thing was that he’d collected as much baggage as he had.

She’d settled, instead, for commenting that since Tanner Electronics was paying the bill for his move, and since Caleb Tanner’s attitude seemed to be that whatever his new CEO wanted he was to get, regardless of the cost, leaving a baby grand piano behind had been a needless economy.

She paused to straighten the silver frames, which were a fraction of an inch out of line. Austin with an infant in his arms. Austin swinging a toddler over his head. The toddler alone, perched on the carousel horse. A slightly older child, her arms and legs just starting to stretch out of chubby babyhood.

But there was no photograph anywhere she could see of a woman who might be the mother of that toddler…

Paige wondered if that meant the woman’s picture was so precious that Austin was carrying it with him instead of shipping it ahead with the rest of his possessions. On the other hand, she thought, there might not be a photograph at all. If it had been a divorce…

Though surely in that case, she mused, wouldn’t it would be more likely that the child would have remained with her mother, instead of being placed in the care of a business executive so high-powered and so driven that companies across the country had competed for his services?

Too late, Paige heard the click of a key and then, as the front door swung wide, the soft purring voice of the super. “I’m sure you’ll find everything just as you ordered, Mr. Weaver,” Tricia Cade said.

Paige froze. Not yet, she wanted to say. I wasn’t expecting you till evening, till long after I’ve gone. You can’t come yet.

Her first instinctive reaction was to dart a look around the apartment, hoping to see an escape route. But the only path from living room to kitchen—and to the service exit where she’d left her belongings—led directly past the front door. For a fleeting instant, she even considered trying to huddle in the shadow of the baby grand piano and hope the coast would clear long enough to let her slip out.

But to be discovered in hiding would only make things worse; she couldn’t take the chance. And she had nothing to conceal anyway, Paige reminded herself. No reason to run away.

Maybe it would be just as well to get this first encounter out of the way right now. Even with the super as a witness, it would be a whole lot better to face Austin Weaver now rather than encounter him for the first time in public—maybe even at Sabrina’s wedding, when it would feel as if half of Denver would be watching.

Besides, though it wasn’t going to be exactly easy, facing him was really no big deal, she told herself. At least it wouldn’t be for Paige, since she was forewarned and prepared. Austin would be surprised, no doubt—perhaps even shocked to see her. There would probably be a little uncomfortable small talk. Then they’d both move on—and that would be it.

She tried to take a deep breath to prepare herself, but her chest was so painfully tight that she couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs.

The super pushed the door wide and made an expressive gesture with both hands. “Welcome home! We’ve all done our very best to make things comfortable for you and your little girl, Mr. Weaver. And I just have to tell you what a darling Jenny is.”

Paige hardly recognized the woman’s voice; it was a husky, sweet drawl which bore no resemblance to the clipped, irritable tones she’d heard in the office downstairs just a few hours ago.

“My name is Jennifer,” said an insistent small voice, and like a magnet Paige’s gaze was drawn past the super to the child who was standing just inside the door, her hand tucked into her father’s.

Jennifer Weaver was tall for five, Paige thought. She was wearing a red parka with fur trim around the hood. The coat wasn’t fastened, and beneath it, Paige could see jeans and sneakers and a sweater with a picture of a cat appliquéd on the front. The little girl’s dark hair was tied back in a pair of ponytails, and there was a watchful, almost mulish look on her face.

Tricia chuckled and reached down to ruffle the child’s dark hair. “How formal you are, my dear. But I’m sure we’re going to be the greatest of friends.”

The child sidestepped the touch and moved away from the door and into the entry hall, where she paused, halfway out of her parka. She made Paige think of a ruby-throated hummingbird—delicate and dainty and full of motion even though at the moment she wasn’t going anywhere.

It took a moment before Paige realized what had stopped the child. Jennifer Weaver was staring at her. “Daddy,” she said, without taking her gaze off Paige. “Who’s that?”

Paige squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

The super turned to stare. “Oh, Ms. McDermott. You’re still here.” Her voice was full of disdain.

“Just finishing up,” Paige said. She was proud of herself; her voice didn’t even tremble. She looked beyond Tricia to where Austin Weaver was standing in the shadow of the doorway.

She’d caught just a glimpse of him a few weeks ago, when he’d been interviewing for the job at Tanner Electronics. Even that transitory glance had been enough to make her feel hollow. Still, with the first shock past, the worst was over, she’d told herself.

And now she’d had weeks to get used to the idea of him living in Denver. To ready herself for the inevitable. To get her psyche in shape to meet him once more…

But she had been wrong, she realized as she got her first good look at the man. That single fleeting sight hadn’t done a thing to prepare her for coming face-to-face with Austin Weaver. And a whole year of thinking about it wouldn’t have done the job, either.

Paige could feel her heart slowing until each beat was like the pounding of a gong, echoing and reverberating through her body. It wasn’t fair, she thought. The only change in his face—the only sign that he might be startled—was the slight lift of one dark eyebrow. But then, she thought, Austin Weaver had always been a poker player at heart…

His photographs didn’t do him justice, she thought. It wasn’t a matter of looks, though indeed the chiseled lines of his face were far more handsome in person than on paper, his dark hair softer-looking, his eyes almost silvery instead of the chilly gray they sometimes appeared in pictures.

What was missing from the photographs was the force of his personality. No camera could begin to capture the magnetic field which seemed to surround him. At a glance, it was apparent that this man not only possessed power, but that he wielded it easily and without hesitation.

It was no wonder the super was practically drooling, Paige thought. Power, money, and good looks all wrapped up in a package and practically delivered to her doorstep…she must have taken one glance and gone straight into vamp mode.

Not that it appeared to be doing her any good. Without turning his head to look at the super, Austin said, “Thank you for bringing us up, Ms. Cade.”

“Oh, call me Tricia.” The super laid a hand on the sleeve of his leather coat. “It’ll be so much more comfortable if you feel you can call on a friend for help.”

More comfortable for whom? Paige wanted to ask.

“Now I must show you through the apartment,” Tricia coaxed. “Every place has a few eccentricities, you know. Not that there’s anything wrong, because we’re very careful about maintenance here at Aspen Towers. But I’d be shirking my duties if I didn’t show you around.”

Paige wanted to applaud. Not only had the super neatly circumvented Austin’s attempt to get rid of her, but she’d provided Paige with a line of retreat, as well. The moment the two of them were out of sight, Paige decided, she’d burn a path to the kitchen, jam the flowers into a drinking glass, and get the heck away from Aspen Towers and Austin Weaver….

Coward, she told herself. Running away would only create questions that she didn’t want to answer. It would be far better to stay and act casual. As though this sort of encounter happened every day.

Though of course, she reflected, she could always say—and honestly, too—that with her work done there had been no reason to stay longer.

The child dropped her parka in the precise center of the hallway and started toward Paige.

Austin said, “I don’t see a coat hook on the floor, Jennifer.”

She grinned at him. “But it’s all new, so I don’t know where it goes.”

“Perhaps you should try looking behind that door.” He pointed. Then, without checking to see whether she obeyed, he followed the super down the hall.

Jennifer picked up her parka and opened the closet door. “There aren’t any hooks my size,” she complained and turned to Paige with wide-eyed helplessness.

Unable to resist the appeal in those big brown eyes, Paige took the parka. The soft fur trim tickled her hands as she hung it up. “This is a very pretty coat.”

“It’s new. I didn’t need a thick coat in Atlanta.”

“I suppose not.”

“I don’t like it here. It’s cold.”

“Yes,” Paige said. “It is definitely cold at times. But there are good things about Denver, as well. The mountains, for one, and the wildflowers in the spring—”

“We had a mountain in Georgia. Stone Mountain—with faces carved on it.”

“It’s true,” Paige admitted, “that none of the Rocky Mountains have faces carved on them.”

“Told you Atlanta’s better,” Jennifer said, as if there was nothing further to discuss. “What’s your name?”

“Paige,” she said reluctantly.

“You mean like in a book? That’s funny. Are you like a housekeeper?”

“Not exactly. Aren’t you going to go look at the apartment?”

Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “She’d just try to pat my head again.”

Paige tried to smother a smile. “You don’t like Ms. Cade much, do you?”

“She’s sticky.”

And that, Paige thought, was a pretty good description. Tricia Cade had certainly clung to Austin like caramel on an apple. Paige closed the closet door and started for the kitchen. There were still the flowers to deal with, and then she could escape.

Jennifer dropped into step beside her. “If you’re not the housekeeper, who are you?”

“I’m just helping put things in order so you and your father will be comfortable here.” Paige took a heavy glass mug from the cabinet. “Will you hang on to this to keep it from upsetting while I arrange the flowers in it?”

From the doorway came a quiet voice. “There you are,” Austin said.

Paige’s hand slipped and water splashed across the counter. She hadn’t heard him come down the hall, but that was partly explained when she realized that he was alone. She wondered how he’d managed to dislodge Tricia so quickly.

“Go explore, Jennifer,” he said.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t recall asking if you wanted to,” Austin said gently. “Your room is just past the front door.”

With her lower lip stuck out and her feet dragging, the child went off. “Not my real room,” she muttered.

Paige put a shaggy mum into place in the mug.

“So it is you,” Austin said.

Puzzled, she shot a look at him. Had he not recognized her immediately? Surely she hadn’t changed so much that he hadn’t known her—though perhaps, since he hadn’t been expecting her to reappear in his life…

And yet, he’d almost sounded as if he had expected to run into her. So it is you, he’d said, as if he was confirming a hunch.

But of course, she thought, both Sabrina and Cassie had talked to him—frequently, in fact—during the weeks they’d been looking for and preparing his apartment. One of them might have mentioned her, and if they’d done so casually, using only her first name—well, it stood to reason that Austin wouldn’t have asked pointed questions about a woman who just happened to be named Paige, any more than she’d rushed to volunteer the facts the moment she’d heard he was in line for a job at Tanner. But of course, he would have wondered, and even been watchful.

“It’s me.” She felt incredibly foolish for not being able to think of anything else to say.

Austin folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. “How have you been?” he asked genially. “And what have you been doing with yourself in the last…let me think, how long has it been, Paige? Six years, I suppose—since our divorce?”