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“You went overboard with the seasoning.”
“Stop fussing and get me some bread.”
Jenny grabbed the fresh loaf from the counter and pinched off a large piece. Chad immediately put the bread in his mouth and chewed it. “Thanks,” he said, and added more rice to the creole. “That’s not office sexy. Your skirt should be shorter, although it doesn’t have to be skintight. I like the idea of one that flips a little as you walk. You need to show more cleavage.”
“I don’t have a lot of cleavage.”
“Then create it.” He shook a piece of bread at her. “If men can create cleavage, then women can, too. And you need to wear sexier shoes.”
“Not if I’m on my feet all day.”
“I thought the objective was to get off your feet and into VP boy’s bed,” he retorted without batting an eye. “And you need to lose the red glasses and do something different with your hair.”
“I like my red glasses,” she said, touching the lenses, comforted by the fact that she’d worn them for six years and successfully irritated the living daylights out of her sister with the glasses.
“They’re not seductive. They’re weird.”
“Well, maybe I’m weird.”
“You don’t need to advertise the fact if you want to bonk VP boy.”
“That’s a crass way of putting it.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Would you like to be Mrs. VP?”
Jenny felt the back of her neck itch and gave an involuntary shudder. Marc would be a demanding husband. A woman would have to build her world and schedule around his, and since he was type A to the core, he would probably be a pain in the butt to live with. “That would be a nightmare,” she confessed.
“But you find him attractive.”
Ohhhhh, yeah. She nodded. “Everything that makes him unappealing as a husband makes him irresistible as a lover. He’s got this whole power thing going on and he’s got a great body. His lips are sort of full, but a little hard at the same time. He’s intense in a passionate kind of way. It makes you wonder how he would be if he cut loose and—” She broke off and cleared her throat, self-conscious.
Chad studied her for a long moment. “I’ve never seen your hormones in full throttle before. Pity,” he added. “This could be fun, but I don’t think you’re enough of a risk taker.” He patted her hand. “I’ll get you a good vibrator for Christmas.”
SO THE FOLLOWING DAY Jenny bought a new pair of heels, Bellagio, of course. Even with her employee discount, she flinched at the cost. The weekend after her shoe purchase, she brooded over Chad’s advice. Her fantasies about Marc Waterson had always seemed like harmless fun until now. She’d never spoken to him except over the phone. The man couldn’t even remember her name. Was she really such a wuss that she wouldn’t go after him? It wasn’t as if she wanted to marry him. She just wanted to borrow him. She just wanted his undivided attention and lust for once. She was twenty-six. Wasn’t she due at least one hot affair in her life? This was starting to feel way overdue.
She lunched and shopped with her friend Liz at Lennox Mall. Liz had been a cocktail waitress at the same club where Jenny worked, but Liz had parlayed the job into an introduction, affair, engagement and marriage to a very wealthy older man named Frank Colburn.
“And then I told him I wasn’t ready to be a golf widow at age twenty-five.”
“So where are you going next?” Jenny asked, because she’d heard a similar story from Liz before.
Liz smiled. “The French Riviera. I’ve always wanted to go. After this trip, I can either mark it off my list or add it to my revisit list.”
Liz was big on lists. “What about your degree?”
Liz was blond and cute with big blue eyes that worked like calculators and big boobs that made men forget their names. “I’m working on that, too. Two classes this fall. I have no idea how long this will last with Frank. Marrying him was like winning the lottery.”
“Does it bother you that you don’t have any romantic feelings for him at all?”
“Only at certain times, and those are rare. I care a great deal for Frank. I remind him to take his medication and to go for his doctor appointments. I even set up dinners to include his children. But you gotta remember, Jenny. I was raised in a single-wide. Frank is my ticket to financial security.”
“But don’t you miss having some kind of passion for him?”
Liz paused and sighed. “I have a different kind of passion for Frank. It’s a passion of gratitude for changing my life. If you’re talking about sex, well, I’ve had some really hot lovers. And I imagine that someday in the future I will again.”
Jenny sipped her soda and thought about how different she was from Liz. Sometimes Liz’s callous attitude to her marriage made Jenny cringe. Other times, she admired the woman’s practical approach.
“You’ve been quiet too long,” Liz said. “This is when you’re thinking I’m a she-devil going straight to hell.”
Jenny laughed and shook her head. “No, I just wish my conscience wasn’t so noisy.”
Liz patted her hand. “Your conscience is part of your charm, and I wouldn’t want you to lose it.” She smiled. “But couldn’t you just stuff it in the hall closet every now and then? Like, remember that guy you had a crush on and you wouldn’t go after him because that other flaky waitress couldn’t get over him?”
“It would have felt mean to flaunt it in her face.”
“And remember that guy who offered to take you to the Super Bowl?”
“He was married,” Jenny said.
“Not much longer,” Liz corrected.
Liz patted her hand again. “I can tell something is bothering you. Tell Liz about it.”
Liz was a strange combination of survivalist and everyone’s favorite aunt.
“It’s stupid,” Jenny said, shaking her head. Stupid, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Does it involve man, money or job?”
“All three in a way,” Jenny said.
Liz’s eyes rounded. “Oh, my. Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill. I got a promotion to work on a special project which means more money, for a while. But the project will go away in a few months, so the promotion may really be temporary. One of the problems is the VP thinks I have a degree and I don’t.”
“And the angel side of you is hurting,” Liz said with a nod. “Frank has told me about this kind of thing, and you know he’s a very experienced entrepreneur. It’s the fake-it-till-you-make-it principle. I hear they even teach it at the community college, so get over yourself. You’ve been given an opportunity. Make the most of it. Where does the man come in?”
“The man is a VP at the company where I work.”
“Oh, really,” Liz said. “And have you—”
Jenny shook her head. “No. He doesn’t even know my name.”
Liz frowned. “I don’t understand. Do you want to get him to give you a permanent promotion or do you want to get him—” she shrugged “—naked?”
“Both, except I’m ninety-nine percent sure there’s no way I can get a permanent promotion.” She thought about her résumé that Sal had doctored and felt her stomach tighten. With her luck, there was no way the truth wouldn’t come out about that sometime. She would just ride this wave until it crashed.
“Okay, so you want the VP to marry you? I bet he’s loaded,” she said with approval.
“No. I don’t want to marry him. I just want to—” Her throat closed up and she lowered her voice. “Have him once, or maybe twice.”
“Omigod, is he that hot?”
“Yes,” Jenny said in a crisp voice.
“Is he married? Engaged?”
Jenny shook her head.
“Well this is so easy. You just seduce him and—” She broke off and sighed. “Easy for everyone but you. Okay, the first thing you must do is give yourself permission to have VP stud. Second step, give yourself permission to go after him. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. This will all be done by choice.”
This actually sounded somewhat logical. “So he can be my one hot lover.”
Liz blinked. “One?”
“I think that every woman should have one hot love affair, don’t you?”
“I think we can and should have more,” Liz said. “And if you include celebrity crushes, my list is a mile long and I probably started working on it when I was three years old and my babysitter introduced me to Huey Lewis. I went on to The Backstreet Boys and Rob Thomas. Collin Farrell’s the current fave. But it all started with Huey.”
Jenny laughed in agreement. “My older sister was crazy about Huey. I guess she made me have a crush on him, too.”
“See? There you go. But back to your—” she cleared her throat “—one hot love affair, since your conscience will only allow you one. VP stud will be the hot love affair you remember with a naughty smile even when you’re eighty. Put it on your list.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY Jenny finally set aside her beloved red glasses and put disposable contact lenses into her eyes. She slid her feet into her new heels, left her hair swinging freely at her shoulders and wore a little red sweater and the black skirt. She added a pair of Foot Peta footpads to keep her feet from declaring mutiny by midday.
Feeling conspicuous, she hid in her office for the better part of the day until she worked up the nerve to show Marc some drawings of evening shoes she’d designed.
Her palms damp, she took the elevator three flights up and walked to his assistant’s desk.
“He’s gone for the afternoon. You didn’t have an appointment, did you?” Cynthia asked, clicking her computer mouse and checking her screen.
“No,” Jenny said, feeling foolish. How anticlimactic. She should have made an appointment, but she’d been too chicken yesterday.
“He leaves early on either Tuesday or Thursday afternoons to visit his grandfather. Do you want to set up an appointment for tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Jenny said.
“Hey, Cynthia. I need to talk to Marc about the new marketing initiative with retailers,” a man said from behind Jenny.
“You know he’s not here, Will,” Cynthia said. “It’s Thursday afternoon.”
Jenny glanced around and saw Will wince. “Damn, I forgot. Gone to see the grandfather.” He shot Jenny and Cynthia a sly look. “That’s the official explanation. Underground is that he’s out for a quickie.” He gave Jenny a once-over. “You must be new here. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand. “I’m Will Turnbull.”
They hadn’t met, but she knew who he was. He, of course, had never noticed her. He was so full of himself she was surprised he noticed her now. “Jenny Prillaman. I work with Sal in design.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good for you. He’s a legend. Haven’t seen much of him lately, though.”
“He’s very busy with the designs for Brooke Tarantino’s wedding.”
“Yeah, that’s a hot job. Maybe you and I could get together for dinner sometime. I’ll give you a call,” he said, assuming her agreement and strutted away.
She turned back to Cynthia, who was eyeing her with curiosity. “I’d say he likes your new look,” Marc’s assistant said.
Jenny pulled at her sweater self-consciously. “Maybe it’s too much. Or too little,” she said and bit her lip.
“No, it isn’t,” Cynthia said. “If I were younger and forty-five pounds lighter, I’d wear a skirt like that.” She glanced at Jenny’s feet and shook her head. “I’ve had three kids and my feet couldn’t take those heels. Wear them while you can.”
“Thanks,” Jenny said. I think.
“It’s none of my business, but you might want to be careful with Will.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He likes to think of himself as a player.”
Jenny lowered her voice. “Thinking is the only thing he’s going to do with me.”
Cynthia laughed. “Smart girl. What time do you want to meet with Marc tomorrow? He’s got time for a fifteen-minute appointment first thing in the morning, or I can squeeze you in for ten minutes in the afternoon.”
“Afternoon,” Jenny said, thinking she needed coffee before she faced Marc Waterson. Maybe a doughnut, too.
MARC OPENED THE DOOR to the home for the elderly and inhaled a combination of oranges and antiseptic cleaner. The orange scent was trying hard, but the antiseptic was winning. He didn’t like the smell, but he figured a clean smell was better than a dirty one. He’d carefully reviewed more than a dozen nursing homes for his grandfather Waterson and chosen this one based on a comprehensive checklist. Despite his numerous responsibilities at Bellagio, he’d felt the heaviest burden in choosing a home for his grandfather. Since his own father had passed away and Grandpapa’s other children lived on the other side of the country, he’d been the only one to do the job. He was the only one to visit, too.
Marc showed his identification to the receptionist and she pressed a button to allow him entrance through the locked door. The security feature had been important to Marc because Grandpapa had a tendency to wander sometimes. Doctors blamed the old man’s increasing peculiarities on dementia.
Marc never knew what to bring, and he hated to come empty-handed. Today he brought a photo book of beautiful gardens. Grandpapa and Grandma had tended a garden together when they’d both been healthy.
He found his grandfather sitting in the day room looking out the window. “Grandpapa?”
His grandfather turned, and his blue eyes lit with recognition. “Marc, boy, it’s good to see you.”
Marc felt an easing inside him. He hadn’t realized he’d been tense. It was a good day. His grandfather had remembered him immediately. He extended his hand and his grandfather grabbed it with both of his.
“I brought you a book,” Marc said, sitting beside him. “Some nice gardens in there.”
Grandpapa flipped through the pages with his gnarled hands. “Pretty pictures. You didn’t need to bring me anything.”
“I wanted to. How are you feeling today?”
“Pretty good. I can tell it’s gonna rain.” He wiggled his fingers. “My joints are a little stiff.”
“Who needs the weatherman when you’ve got arthritis, right?”
Grandpapa grinned. “That’s right. What about you? Done any fishing? Gone to any Braves games lately?”
Marc shook his head, remembering the many times he’d gone fishing with his grandpapa when they’d both been younger. Since his grandfather had broken his hip last year, Marc feared he was too frail for field trips. “Too busy at work, but I saw one the other night on television.”
“Same one I saw. That shortstop needs to get his act together.” He looked at Marc and nodded. “You found a wife yet?”
Marc shook his head and smiled. His grandfather had been asking him the same question for at least five years. “Not yet. But I’m looking.”
