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Telling herself that pride went before the fall, Gloria forced her lips into a wide, beatific smile. “Because this is home and I decided it was time to come home.” And then, because she hated being on the hot seat, she turned the tables and asked him a question.
“Where’s home for you?”
He’d been unprepared for her prying. And there was no way he was about to discuss anything private with a complete stranger. “That doesn’t matter.”
To which she responded by widening her smile. He could feel it slipping in under his skin. Warming him. But whether that was due to annoyance or just a man-woman thing, he couldn’t tell.
“Home always matters,” she told him in a voice that was far too sultry for the message it delivered.
Jack fought the effects the only way he knew how: with a sarcastic remark he knew would put her off. “That sounds like something you’d find embroidered on a kitchen towel.”
Undaunted, her smile never waned. “The kitchen’s usually the heart of a home, especially in my house when I was growing up.”
She kept throwing him curves. Did the woman suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder? “Just what does any of this have to do with business?”
This time he noticed that her smile did frost over just a little. “I’d thought you might want to know a little about the person whose business you’re dipping your fingers into.”
Jack frowned. She made it sound as if he was deliberately invading her. As if he even had any interest in such a small venture. She could just take herself to one of their branch offices and arrange for a loan if that was what this was all going to boil down to.
“There’s no ‘dipping,’” he informed her tersely, “there’ll just be straightening.”
Temper. Remember to keep your temper, Gloria cautioned herself. There wasn’t anything to be gained by giving this man a piece of her mind. If she did, she knew her mother would get wind of it and probably think she’d gone back to her old ways. She wasn’t about to add to the woman’s concerns. No, she was going to be a lady about this if it killed her.
“There won’t be much of that, either.” Her voice was soft, melodious. “My business isn’t in chaos, Jack, it just needs a loving hand to oversee it being unwrapped in San Antonio.”
Her words produced startling images in his brain. Suddenly he saw himself sitting by a warm fireplace in some secluded little hideaway, removing the layers of her clothing one by one.
Was that just an acquired tan or was that the true hue of her skin?
Stunned, Jack pulled back.
What the hell was going on here? He didn’t care if her tan was painted on, it made no difference to him. What was he doing, thinking like that?
He jumped on the words she’d used. “This isn’t a love affair, it’s a business—”
“It’s both,” she corrected before he could continue.
She obviously couldn’t have lost him more if she’d thrown him headlong into the center of a cattle stampede and then ridden off, leaving him to be trampled.
“That’s actually the name, you know.”
“The name of what?”
“My jewelry store.” What did he think she was talking about? Obviously the man wasn’t as sharp as his father thought he was. “It’s called ‘Love Affair.’” She enunciated slowly for his benefit. His face looked like a road map to confusion. “Because that’s what all my designs center around.”
“A love affair,” he repeated incredulously.
“With the skin.” Even as she emphasized the concept, she could see that he wasn’t following her. Not a dreamer, this one. What a surprise. She tried again, repeating her philosophy for him and speaking very slowly.
“The jewelry I design is supposed to be a love affair with the skin it touches, with the woman who owns the piece.”
She could see that she wasn’t getting through to him. Definitely not a sensitive man. She blew out a breath, unconsciously propping a fisted hand on her waist. “Work with me here.”
He laughed dryly. The sound left her cold. “I don’t seem to have a choice.”
She cocked her head, doing an instant analysis. From where she was standing, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. His father was making him do this. “You don’t strike me as someone who resigns himself to not having choices.”
Was she trying to flatter him? Or pretending to be intuitive? He couldn’t tell and it annoyed him not to be able to read her.
He decided to put her off for the time being, until he regrouped. “Look, as I said earlier, this would be much more productive if we rescheduled. Frankly, I just got off the plane and I’m not at my best.”
“You have a gift for understatement I see.” She couldn’t help it. The words had broken free of their own accord. He’d handed her just too perfect a straight line. She flushed. “I mean—”
“Yes.” He cut her off, trying not to notice that the soft-pink hue of lipstick gave her an alluring look. “I know exactly what you mean.” Since she was his only assignment while he was here in San Antonio, his schedule was pretty much open. Still, he did want to catch up with Derek while he was here and to see a few people who’d been out in the New York office until recently. “How does the day after tomorrow sound? Say around nine?”
She was happy to learn that he liked getting an early start. So did she. At least they had one thing in common. “That sounds fine to me.” Since he hadn’t mentioned location, she asked, “Where would you like to meet?”
At her new shop would be the perfect place, but it occurred to him that he didn’t know if she had even selected a location yet or if she was still scouting them out. “Have you given any thought to where the shop is going to be?”
There he went again, treating her as if she had a brain the size of a pea. “As a matter of fact, I have. And it’s perfect.”
He’d be the judge of that, Jack thought. “All right, I’ll come by and pick you up at your place and then we can take a look at this so-called perfect place.”
She was in purgatory, Gloria thought, and doing penance for all the past sins of her life. But that was all right, she could get through this, she told herself. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, she recalled. And at this rate, she was going to be one hell of a strong woman.
“Fine.” Taking a small pad out of her purse, she wrote down the necessary information for him. She tore off the page and handed it to Jack, tucking the pad back into her purse. “Here’s the address.”
“Fine,” Jack murmured as he pocketed the slip of paper.
“Fine,” she echoed. But it was definitely not fine in her book and wouldn’t be fine until she had this man and the stick he had swallowed removed from her life. “Until then,” she said prophetically, then walked out of the office.
Gloria lengthened her stride considerably once she was out of the office. Hurrying past Doris at the receptionist’s desk she had the presence of mind to offer the woman a quick, perfunctory smile. Gloria didn’t slow down until she reached the elevator. She couldn’t wait to get away.
Entering the elevator, she felt the air immediately hitch in her throat.
What a jerk, she thought angrily. What a damn pompous jerk.
Trying to rein in the anger that was spiking through her, she punched the button for Christina’s floor. She did not want to deal with Jack Fortune. She stared at the numbers as she descended.
Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. Maybe she’d ask her mother to speak to Patrick. There was no question that she’d rather deal with the senior Fortune than his stuck-up sarcastic snob of a son. The two men were as different as night and day.
And then she frowned.
She wasn’t nine and involved in some scrap in the schoolyard. She was thirty years old, for God’s sake, and had been around the proverbial block a few times. More than a few. Even at nine, she hadn’t gone running to her mother for help. She’d always settled her own fights.
Nothing should have changed. She could handle the holier-than-thou Mr. Jack Fortune and she could do it with aplomb.
She calmed down as the idea of putting him in his place began to take hold. The man would never know what hit him, she promised herself. She’d gotten through rehab, a rotten marriage and dealt with an entire boatload of guilt and remorse along the way. Compared to that, dealing with Jack Fortune should be an absolute snap.
To underscore the thought, she snapped her fingers just as the elevator door opened. Right on time.
She grinned as she stepped out.
Christina held her questions in check until they were seated at the restaurant she’d selected; a fashionable one located on the tenth floor of the Fortune-Rockwell Bank building. Far from an employee cafeteria, it had earned a reputation for both its food and its affordable prices. Ever the practical one, her older sister had judged that although they both seemed to be on their way to bigger things, they could do with watching their money for a while.
She leaned forward across the small table for two and asked in a hushed whisper, “So? How did it go?”
Gloria took her lead from her older sister and leaned in toward her. “Awful.”
Disappointment registered across Christina’s face. “What? Why? Mr. Fortune seemed so nice at the party.”
Gloria shook her head. “He is, but it’s not Patrick Fortune I’ll be working with,” she said. “I’m talking about Jack Fortune.”
“His son?” Confusion marred her perfect looks. “What’s his son got to do with it?”
“Apparently everything.” Gloria sighed as she broke a bread stick, more interested in the physical exercise than in eating it right now. “Mr. Fortune handed me over to him and I get the feeling that ‘Sonny boy’ is not too happy about the turn of events.”
“I didn’t know that Mr. Fortune had any mentally challenged children,” Christina responded, clearly disturbed that someone didn’t like Gloria.
Gloria laughed. Before their falling out, Christina had always been able to buoy her spirits with just a few choice words. God, she’d missed her, she thought now, lamenting the years that had been lost. “He doesn’t. But he’s certainly got at least one offspring who’s definitely manners-challenged. Jack Fortune thinks he walks on water.” She broke another bread stick into several pieces until it was almost reduced to crumbs. She kept envisioning the younger Fortune’s neck with each snap. “And I’m not sure if I can hold my tongue until everything’s ready to go.”
As Gloria picked up a third bread stick, Christina tactfully took it out of her hands and bit off a piece.
“Well, you’d better. Mama said that Mr. Fortune was going to lend you any seed money you might need to get started. At three-percent interest,” she emphasized. “You can’t get a deal better than that.”
Gloria concentrated to keep her mouth from falling open. Patrick had said nothing about a loan. She wondered if Jack knew and if that was why he was so cold toward her. “Three percent? Are you sure?”
Christina made short work of the bread stick and picked up another before Gloria could kill it. “I’m sure. Mama was very happy about it.”
A former CPA with a company that had gone under, Gloria had done her homework and knew she had enough to cover everything for the move with some money to spare—as long as there were no unusual surprises. To discover that she now had a safety net was a tremendous relief. Armed this way, she knew she was capable of cutting the man’s son a little slack. After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d been born with a permanent scowl tattooed on his brow.
Gloria took a sip of water. “Patrick Fortune is a hell of a nice guy.”
“Don’t make ’em nicer,” Christina agreed.
Gloria set her glass down, matching the bottom to the slight ring that had formed beneath it. “Too bad he couldn’t have passed his ‘nice’ gene on to his son.” And then she smiled as she looked at her sister. There was mischief in her look the way there had been when they were young, when they’d whispered their innermost secrets to one another in the dead of night while shrouded by sheets and darkness. “But I guess for three-percent interest I can dance with the devil for a while.”
“Just as long as it’s not slow dancing,” Christina said, obviously thinking of their pact.
“No danger of that.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of wine. “This is the house special.” Holding it as if he was cradling a baby in his hands, he presented it to both of them.
Gloria read the label. A small nibble of temptation waltzed through her, but she ignored it. Raising her eyes to the waiter, she shook her head. “None for me, thank you.”
“None for me, either,” Christina was quick to chime in.
Gloria knew Christina didn’t want to seem insensitive.
“She’ll have a glass,” she told the waiter.
“Glory—” Christina protested as the waiter began to pour.
“Don’t turn it down on my account, Tina. I’m not that weak,” she assured her. “Besides, if being with Jack Fortune didn’t drive me to drink, I guarantee you watching you have a glass or two isn’t going to do it. I’m on safe ground.”
But Christina was taking no chances. She waved the waiter away. “Two ginger ales, please,” she instructed. Once he was gone, taking the half-filled glass of wine and bottle with him, Christina leaned in toward her sister. “I’m not too sure how safe that ground you’re standing on is.”
Gloria didn’t follow her. “Come again?”
Christina nodded toward something behind her. “Incoming. Twelve o’clock high,” she added.
Gloria turned in her chair.
Patrick Fortune was walking into the restaurant—with his son.
She closed her eyes, seeking strength. There seemed to be no getting away from the man today. Resigned, she shifted back in her chair. “Of all the restaurants in all the world, he had to walk into mine,” she murmured under her breath.
Christina grinned. “You don’t look a thing like Humphrey Bogart.” And then, because she sensed that something was going on here that she didn’t quite understand but that was obviously troubling her sister, she added, “This is what we get for coming into a restaurant that’s located in the Fortune-Rockwell building.” Wanting to spare her sister, she pointed out the obvious. “We haven’t ordered yet, Glory.” She leaned down to pick up her purse. “We could go somewhere else.”
“And have you late getting back from lunch? I don’t think so. You haven’t been working here long enough to risk that. No, put your purse back down, Tina, we’re staying here. I’ll deal with my threatening bout of indigestion like a trooper.”
Christina watched as the two men were shown to a table and then seated.
“You know, for a walking case of indigestion looking to happen, Jack Fortune is one hell of a good-looking specimen,” Christina pointed out.
Gloria opened her menu and pretended to be interested in the various offerings that met the eye. “According to the Bible, so was Lucifer.”
Christina laughed. “Same old Gloria, scissor-tongued to the end.”
Gloria pretended to sniff at the description. “I’ll have you know that I was the picture of sweetness and light at our meeting—even when he was treating me like an airhead.”
About to open her own menu, Christina stared at her incredulously. “Did he talk to you?”
“At me,” Gloria corrected. “He talked ‘at’ me. Like I said, the man thinks he walks on water and I am the pond scum beneath his feet.”
Christina shook her head, clearly amused at the choice of words. “As I remember, you were also given to exaggeration.”
“Not this time,” Gloria said defensively. “Mr. Jack Fortune doesn’t think I’m a worthy recipient of his expertise. I can see it in his eyes. I’m not really sure why he’s doing it.”
“Maybe because his father asked him to and he can’t find a way to say no,” Christina suggested.
“Maybe.”
The waiter had returned with their ginger ales. Setting them down, he took their orders, punching appropriate buttons on something that resembled a Palm Pilot.
Her stomach in knots, Gloria ordered the chef’s salad. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep anything more substantial down.
“Well,” she theorized once the waiter had left again, “the only really good thing about Jack’s attitude is that at least I know I won’t be in jeopardy.”
