Читать книгу Cutting Loose - Susan Andersen - Страница 11

Sex is overrated. I for one can live just fine without it.

Really.

J ANE SAT in the Wolcott parlor the next evening typing annotations into her notebook computer for a meeting with the museum director the following morning. Instead of focusing all her attention on the report, however, she found her thoughts constantly drifting to a certain buff redheaded man.

What was it about Devlin Kavanagh, anyway? This inability to concentrate whenever he popped to mind-which was far too often for comfort-was ridiculous, not to mention unprecedented.

Well, there was some precedent, she supposed. It wasn’t as if she’d never been attracted to other men before, because naturally she had.

But not like this. Never had she been drawn to a guy in such an I-gotta-have-him, out-of-control sort of way.

And that was the problem in a nutshell. Because she didn’t do out of control. Having grown up in a household that was always verging on or in the midst of some sort of drama, she’d made a firm decision about that before she was even ten years old.

What had she ever done to deserve parents who were actors? All she’d ever wanted was a nice, normal family, but had she gotten one? Oh, no. God was no doubt up in heaven slapping his knee at the thought of the Dorrie and Mike Show he’d sent her instead. It was unfair, that’s what it was. Her parents didn’t have simple differences of opinion; they had wars, crises of epic proportions. Which she almost could have lived with-had they just once not tried to drag her smack-dab into the middle of them.

So, no. She didn’t do out of control.

Which ought to make matters simpler now, right? Except somehow this didn’t feel simple. And she didn’t understand why she was having so much trouble with this particular guy.

“Crap.” She stared at her computer screen in frustration. “I have got to get a grip.”

“Well, this doesn’t bode well if the job already has you talking to yourself.”

She gave an involuntary start, then scowled at Poppy as her friend strolled into the room. “Jeez, give me a heart attack, why don’t you.” Even if it was her own damn fault for allowing a man to distract her to the point where someone could sneak up on her.

“Sorry,” Poppy said without noticeable contrition. “So is it the job that’s making you carry on conversations with yourself?”

“I wish,” she muttered. “That would be so much easier.” Then she gave herself a mental head slap. Shut up, Kaplinski. Shut up, shut up, shut up. She wasn’t ready to spill her guts, and until she was she knew better than to give Poppy even an inkling that she might have a secret.

But of course it was too late. Because as she’d told Devlin just yesterday, Poppy was a pit bull once she sank her teeth into something. Already her friend, who looked deceptively soft and pliable with her curly blond hair, big brown eyes and today’s floaty hippie-dippy-girl clothing, had Jane firmly in the crosshairs of the dreaded Calloway Evil Eye. “Spill,” she commanded.

And like a leaky old oil tanker in a pristine harbor, she did just that. “I think I’ve gone and fallen face-first in lust.”

“Ooh.” Poppy plopped down on a nearby chair and wiggled her fingers in a gimme gesture. “Tell sister everything. And don’t skimp on the details.”

“Me. In lust. That is everything. There are no details, Pop, because there’s nothing to tell.”

Poppy pursed her lips to blow a skeptical pffffft. “Please. We’re talking sexual attraction. Pounding hearts. Jingly-jangly nerve endings. Am I right?”

Oh, man. Was she ever. Jane nodded.

“Then of course there’s something to tell. When it comes to all things sexy there is always something to tell.”

“Not this time.”

Poppy gave her an indignant look. “Why the hell not?”

“Hey, just because I have certain urges doesn’t mean I have to act on them. So I haven’t-and I don’t intend to.” She saved the file she’d been working on and shut down her computer, gazing at her friend over its closing lid. “It’s a random case of lust. I plan to get over it.”

“Why would you want to?” Poppy blinked, clearly puzzled. “Lust is a good thing, right? I mean, it leads to sex, and sex makes you feel good. Not that I’d know from personal experience,” she added virtuously.

“Of course not. You’ve only been disclaiming personal experience since you first misinformed Ava and me about sex back when we were nine.” She gave her friend a lopsided smile. “The only difference being that you really were a total innocent then.”

“What do you mean, misinformed? I was always first with the true scoop, and you know it.”

“Please. Babies are made when you swap spit with a boy?”

“Oh. Yeah. That. Damn Karen Copelli’s sister. I thought for sure she was a reliable source. After all, she was an older woman.”

“I know. She must have been all of twelve, which made her a helluva lot nearer to being an honest-to-god teenager than the three of us. I gotta tell you, though, after hearing that spit thing I figured I’d probably never, ever have babies. Because, ew. ”

Poppy grinned. “Yeah, it didn’t sound real appealing, did it? Luckily, actual kissing turned out to be so much cooler.”

“Not that you’d know from personal experience.”

“Of course not,” she agreed with a serene smile, then brushed the topic aside with a long-fingered wave of her hand. “But we’re not talking about me, Jane. So don’t go changing the subject.”

“Yes, let’s. Let’s change it to something else entirely.”

“Okay then, how about this? Maybe what you’re feeling isn’t actually lust at all.”

She considered the possibility for, oh, two full seconds before giving a definitive nod. “Trust me. It’s lust.” A big, fat, flaming-hot case of it. “Or, okay, I suppose it could be heartburn.”

Her friend practiced the selective deafness that made her such a formidable meddler-with-a-mission and said with a perfectly straight face, “Maybe it was really a case of love at first sight.”

“Uh-huh. Because everyone knows that’s not a great big fairy tale, or anything.”

“Hey, it worked for my parents. And Ava’s mom and dad might be sort of benignly neglectful in the parental department, but look how long they’ve been married.”

“I always sort of assumed that was because there was too much money involved to go through the hassle of getting a divorce. But maybe not. They do seem to do a lot of stuff together.”

“See? The world is simply lousy with True Love stories. So tell me your guy’s name and maybe I can help you figure out how to handle the situation.”

“I’ve figured it out for myself, thank you very much. It’s pretty simple, really.” She gave Poppy a level look. “I’m handling it by not doing anything at all.”

“That’s a horrible game plan.”

“Yet all mine.”

“Tell me, Jane-Jane.”

“You don’t really want to go there with that name-Pop-Pop.”

“ Tell me.”

“No.”

Poppy treated her to another Calloway Evil Eye. This time, however, Jane wasn’t about to budge and she shot the Kaplinski version right back at her.

Her blond friend studied her for a moment. Then she gave a clipped nod. “Oh, all right. But you know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later. I don’t know why you don’t just save us all some trouble and tell me now.”

“I’ve never minded a little trouble.”

“In what universe, pray tell?”

She merely gave the other woman her best inscrutable smile.

“Fine.” Poppy heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Be that way. I didn’t come here to see you, anyway. Ava told me Dev has some great photos from the Washington State archives. Have you seen him today?”

Jane’s heart kicked hard, then commenced to gallop in her chest. Luckily, Poppy was busy glancing around as if she expected her question to make him magically appear and didn’t notice her expression. Good thing, because Jane was pretty sure it would render the question about who she was lusting over obsolete.

She managed to compose her features in the moment it took Poppy to turn her attention back to her. “No, I haven’t. Considering all the clomping around I’ve heard from up in the sunroom this afternoon, though, I’m gonna take a wild stab and guess he’s upstairs.”

Poppy studied her a moment. “Tell me you’re not still holding on to that ridiculous grudge because he knocked back a few too many tequilas last week.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m being incredibly open-minded. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he was sober when I saw him yesterday. Or that those footsteps I mentioned sounded fairly steady.” Or the fact she’d already decided she’d been a bit precipitous passing judgment.

“Dammit, Jane! You have got to stop this judgmental shit, because I swear if you louse this up for us-”

“Oh, get a grip, I haven’t done anything to upset your precious arrangement with Kavanagh Construction. As a matter of fact, I was the epitome of professionalism with him yesterday-and if you don’t believe me, just ask Ava.” Who luckily hadn’t been around during her afternoon conversation with Devlin. “Not that I can swear she was actually paying attention, mind you. She was pretty jazzed about those photos.”

The mention of which diverted Poppy’s attention. “Av said you saw them, too?”

“I did, and they’re every bit as great as she’s undoubtedly told you.”

“Hot damn. I’m gonna go find Devlin and see for myself.” She started toward the doorway.

“I’ll catch you later, then,” Jane said to her friend’s retreating back. “I’m going to call it a day and head home.” Where she intended to put Devlin out of her mind once and for all and buckle down to finish her report.

Poppy paused to look back over her shoulder. “Hang around for another fifteen minutes. We can go grab some dinner.”

She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted to go another round defending her right to keep a few thoughts to herself. But visualizing her almost empty refrigerator and even sparser cupboards, she nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Okay, then, I’ll be back in a few.” She raised her brows. “Unless you wanna come up with me?”

Jane managed not to screech, “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” Her face even felt halfway composed when she said coolly, “No, you go ahead. We’ll probably get to eat a lot sooner if only one of us is drooling over the pics. And this will give me a chance to get a little more done on my report.”

“Okay, then. I won’t be long.”

“Hey, take your time.” She didn’t mind waiting. As long as she didn’t have to endure any face-to-face time with The Incredible Radiating Pheromone Man, she was perfectly happy to have Poppy take just as long as her little heart desired.

S HORTLY AFTER NOON the following day, Jane left the staff room at the Seattle Metropolitan Museum. She was slightly dazed, yet at the same time completely wired. Her meeting with Marjorie earlier this morning had gone well. She’d expected no less, since she had prepared for it last night with her usual overachiever obsessiveness, working from the time she got home from dinner until a case of scorched-earth eyeballs had forced her to close down her Mac shortly after midnight. Being in her own tidy little Belltown condo had helped her finally shove Mr. Too-hot-for-his-britches Kavanagh out of her mind, which in turn had allowed her to polish up her report until it shone and pore over her notes until she had all the major points in her presentation memorized.

Someone a little more laid-back might have skimped on their report, given that the only condition of Miss Agnes’s jewelry and couture-clothing-for-the-ages bequest to the Met was that Jane be the one to catalog the two collections. After all, it wasn’t as if Marjorie could yank the job out from under her and pass it along to someone with more seniority. Well, she could, of course. She was the director; she could do whatever she pleased. But she couldn’t do so and have the museum keep the collections.

The notion was moot, anyhow. Jane wasn’t laid-back. Preparation was her middle name and she simply could not, in all good conscience, give her superior a half-assed report.

The opportunity that Miss Agnes, bless her heart, had provided her wasn’t something Jane took for granted. This was going to make her instantly more visible in the art community. Everyone was going to be taking a closer look at her now, and if she handled this assignment right it would catapult her career beyond anything she might have imagined for this stage of it. She’d have a real shot at Paul Rompaul’s position as full-fledged curator when he retired next October. With all her heart she appreciated the boost this bequest had given her and she intended to repay Agnes’s faith in her abilities by doing the very best job she could.

So yes, she had been prepared, and therefore the success of her meeting with the director had not come as a major surprise.

What had knocked her socks off was the sheet cake bearing Congratulations, Jane in ruby-colored frosting that had been in the staff room at lunch today. Even more shocking had been the special announcement that Marjorie had given the staff. She’d freely credited Jane with bringing two valuable Wolcott collections to the Seattle Metropolitan Museum. The genuine enthusiasm that the director displayed as she’d shared Jane’s newly revised schedule for the next couple of months in order to get them ready for the January exhibit had blown her away.

The last thing she’d been prepared for was public kudos. In fact, she’d half expected the change in her status to fly under the radar for as long as the powers that be could manage it, given the way it had been forced upon them.

Want these prestigious collections? Then be prepared to take the junior curator along with it was the general theme of Agnes’s bequest.

Along with Marjorie’s acknowledgment, however, had come her expectations for this exhibit. She’d talked about how much the museum was counting on it to generate needed revenue during the traditionally slow postholiday period in which they’d slated the show. So now Jane was feeling downright twitchy and even more anxious than she’d already been. She had to find the couture clothing, pronto, and get a move on.

“Jane, Jane! Wait up!” a voice commanded from behind her.

She hesitated. Today’s events had both rattled and exhilarated her, making her so jittery that simply standing still was very nearly impossible. Still, she forced herself to do exactly that as she waited for her colleague Gordon Ives to catch up.

Gritting her teeth at the delay, she forced a smile for Gordon that probably wouldn’t fool a toddler. Hell, she doubtless looked like a toddler doing the I-gotta-go dance in front of a closed bathroom door. How embarrassing was that?

Well, too bad. She was fighting the urge to move, move, move as hard as she could. Smiling brilliantly at the same time was simply beyond her.

She tried all the same for a more genuine smile as Gordon walked up to her. Memories of Marjorie’s graciousness helped her produce one.

“I’ve said it before, girl, but I’ll say it again.” Gordon greeted her with a big white-veneered smile of his own. “Congratulations! What a huge job you have ahead of you.”

“No kidding. The past couple days I’ve been finding out exactly how immense it’s going to be.” Which contributed to both her edginess and her elation. “I’m a little concerned about the deadline the director’s put me on. I’m going to have to be really focused to get everything done in that time frame.”

“Focus is your claim to fame.” He waved her worries aside like so many pesky flies. “Obviously Marjorie has no doubt that you can do the job and do it both well and on time. But if there’s anything I can do-”

She made a noncommittal noise, because the truth be told, if she needed help she’d probably enlist Poppy. Her friend might not be as knowledgeable as Gordon, but they worked well together. Not to mention that with the holidays approaching, Poppy could probably use a little extra cash to round out what she made with her mishmash of jobs.

Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about Gordon that she didn’t quite trust. There was no good reason for it-he’d never done anything to her. It was probably nothing more than his wanna-be-your-best-friend occasional toadying combined with his predilection for narcissistic metrosexual grooming. Because, really, who could take a guy seriously who spent more on manicures and moisturizers in six weeks than she did in a year? She couldn’t help it; she preferred men who had a firm grasp on their identity-and were perhaps just the slightest bit rough around the edges.

Like a certain construction foreman…

Whoops. Didn’t want to go there. “Thank you for the good wishes. And if I decide I need help I’ll definitely keep you in mind.” She started edging away.

“Are you on your way over to the Wolcott mansion now?” he asked, taking a step forward for her every step back.

“Yes.” She quit trying to be subtle about it and simply started walking down the corridor. The nerves zinging in her arms and legs immediately quieted, but she had to smooth out a frown drawing her eyebrows together when Gordon fell into step beside her. She picked up her pace slightly.

He matched his stride to hers. “If you want, I could stop by after work sometime and give you a hand.”

She was a bit startled by the suggestion, but said carefully, “Thank you, Gordon, I appreciate the offer. But I’m still in the sorting phase and kind of want to-” Damn. How did she say this without sounding like little Miss Greedy-guts?

“Stamp your brand all over it before you let anyone else touch it?”

“Yes! Exactly.” She looked at him in a new light. And felt a little guilty for her heretofore less-than-flattering opinion of him. Guy grooming products and facials be damned, he obviously had more depth to him than she’d given him credit for. “I will definitely keep your offer in mind, though. Right now there’s just so much stuff in the mansion that I haven’t even found the Met’s collections yet.”

“Huh. I’d say poor baby, but the truth is, I’m pea-green with envy.” He gave her a crooked smile. “And green is so not my color.”

She laughed. “Not exactly a big candidate for sympathy, am I? Man, I still can’t believe that I get to be in charge of all this, myself. Speaking of which-” she accelerated her pace to a full-out stride “-if I want to start whittling away at my workload I’d better get to it.”

“All right then.” He slowed down as she sped up. “Good luck. And don’t forget I’m available if you ever need any help.”

“I will.” She waved a hand, but didn’t slow down as she hit the door to the stairs. “Thanks.” Feeling kind of warm and fuzzy toward him at the moment, she truly meant it.

By the time she’d pushed through the main museum doors into the blustery fall afternoon a few minutes later, however, her mind was already on other matters. Anticipation began bubbling through her veins.

She could hardly wait to get to work.