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She got to her feet, feeling a little unsteady.
“Dana,” he said. “Just one more thing before you go. I haven’t had a chance to tell you how very important this cocktail party is. Quite possibly the most important one yet.”
Dana was relieved to step back onto familiar ground, even though it seemed to be wobbling under her toes. The most important cocktail party yet? Why?
You should be honored, the imp at the back of her brain suggested, that he proposed before he brought up the cocktail party.
Dana ran through the guest list in her mind. The president’s cocktail party was a regular monthly event, and tonight’s guests were the usual mix. There were a few people from the foundation which raised funds for the university, a few of their most regular donors, a few alumni who might become donors, a few professors, and a few students being honored for special achievements. Dana couldn’t think of anybody who was at all unusual. So what made this particular party any different than the one she’d arranged last month?
“I’ve invited an extra guest,” Barclay said. “I happened to hear just this morning that he was in town, and I called him up on the chance that he might be free this evening. He seemed quite pleased to be asked. So I’d like you to make a special effort to make sure he feels welcome here.”
Lingering shock made her feel like saying she’d tell the bartender to be sure the special guest got an extra paper umbrella in his drink, but she restrained herself. “I try to arrange things so everyone feels welcome.”
“No, I mean a little personal effort. Instead of vanishing into the background tonight, Dana, I’d like you to stick around.”
“Play hostess,” she said. The words tasted like sawdust.
“If you want to call it that. I’d rather think that you were trying out the role.”
“Whatever you wish, sir.”
He shook a gently chiding finger. “You must get over that habit, my dear. When we’re married…yes, I know, you haven’t given me an answer yet. But you may as well get used to the change, anyway.”
Dana took a deep breath, decided not to say what she was thinking, and started for the door.
“Don’t you want to know who the guest is?”
“It won’t make any difference in how I treat him,” Dana pointed out.
“Of course it won’t, my dear.” He started flipping through CDs again. “Still, I think you should know. He might be the biggest single donor this university ever snags—he’ll certainly have the cash to do it, when the sale of his company is final. And he owes us a debt of gratitude, too, since he got his degree here and that’s what made him the success he is today. I looked it up, so I’d be sure to have it right—he studied mechanical engineering.”
Dana’s breath caught in her throat.
Don’t be silly, she told herself. Barclay hadn’t given any time period; the man he was talking about might have graduated decades ago. If he was selling a company, he was probably near retirement age.
To say nothing of the fact that every semester there were at least a hundred graduates who’d majored in mechanical engineering, and a fair number of them must have eventually gone on to own good-size businesses. So why should her mind instantly conjure up a particular one? Especially when the one she was thinking of had said, the last time she’d talked to him, that he’d never set foot on this campus again.
Besides, there was absolutely no reason for her heart to start pounding like an out-of-balance washing machine at the very thought of him. That was over. Done with. Finished.
She managed a casual tone. “So who is this marvelous catch?”
Barclay said the name slowly, with relish, as if the syllables tasted good. “Zeke Ferris.”
And suddenly Dana’s heart wasn’t thumping madly anymore. But that was only because it had almost stopped beating altogether.
The foundation people were always the first to arrive at any university function, because they never missed an opportunity to talk someone into making a pledge. Next came the honor students, starched and stiff and on their best behavior, sitting in a row along the edge of the room. The professors always came as late as they dared—missing the president’s parties altogether would be extremely bad form, but a token appearance was all that most of them seemed to be able to stomach. The alumni and the big donors trickled in and out throughout the party, making it clear that they couldn’t be expected to limit themselves to one event per evening.
But halfway through the time set aside for the cocktail party, it appeared that Zeke Ferris wasn’t going to show up at all.
Dana circulated through the crowd, a half-full glass of sparkling water in her hand, making sure that no one was left out of the conversation. Some of the students looked as though they’d rather climb under their chairs than talk to the president.
Dana sympathized; she was feeling a bit out of place herself. Always before, she’d stayed in the shadows, orchestrating the party and keeping it running smoothly but not coming into direct contact with the guests. This, she thought irritably, would have to be the one evening that Barclay Howell changed the rules. She tried once more to smooth the creases out of her rust-colored skirt. She’d chosen the suit because it was just a shade darker than the auburn of her hair, and normally she liked wearing it. But tonight, next to the neat little cocktail dresses the other women were wearing, her suit felt sadly lacking in style. If she’d had any idea what Barclay had had in mind, she’d have brought along a change of clothes.
Beneath the president’s smile, Dana could see tension. He kept looking toward the door—expectantly at first, then hopefully, and finally with irritation.
Dana was sorry for his disappointment, as well as relieved that Zeke hadn’t shown up after all. But she was not at all surprised. Once she’d had a chance to calm down and think it over, she’d have been willing to bet her next paycheck that he wouldn’t appear.
She entertained herself, while she pretended to listen to an alumni who wanted to describe in detail the last football game of his college career, by listing the possible reasons why Zeke wasn’t there. First and most likely, Zeke had accepted the invitation and then completely forgotten the time and even the day. Or perhaps he had actually not accepted the invitation at all, but Barclay thought he had. The same way he thinks I’ve accepted his proposal, Dana thought. Or, possibly, Zeke had never intended to show up—though he wasn’t habitually rude. At least, he hadn’t been when….
But she wasn’t going to think about that.
That’s over, she reminded herself. Done with. Finished.
Just as the alumnus was reaching the climactic play of the game he was describing, gesturing wildly as he demonstrated the gymnastics required to cross the goal line, the chatter of the crowd dropped by a good ten decibels. Sensitive to the atmosphere of the party, Dana let her gaze sweep across the room, seeking out the cause of the sudden comparative silence.
Not that it required much effort. Her attention, like that of every other person in the room, was drawn as if by a magnet to a man standing in the arched doorway between the drawing room and the entrance hall. He was tall and lean, dressed in a silvery-gray business suit, and he stood perfectly at ease as he surveyed the room. His face was shadowed by the deep arch, but the light of the chandelier behind him fell warmly across his black hair, almost crowning him with its golden glow.
Like he’s wearing a halo, Dana thought grimly. I’ve never seen a better example of false advertising.
She surveyed the perfect tailoring of his suit with interest and had to admit a wisp of relief that he hadn’t shown up in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Not that it mattered to her what he wore, she added hastily. Or how he presented himself to a crowd.
Barclay had hurried toward him, beaming, his hand extended. “Mr. Ferris,” he exclaimed. “How kind of you to honor us with your presence tonight. I hope your business meetings went well today.”
Zeke stepped forward. The halo vanished as the soft light of the drawing room fell across his face. “Call me Zeke,” Dana heard him say.
The alumnus cleared his throat, and she turned hastily back to him. “And that was the play which won the game?”
But the man wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Zeke. “What’s so important about that young fella?” he demanded. “President’s hardly said a word to me all evening, but he falls all over him. Has he given a lot of money to the university, or something?”
“Not yet,” Dana said.
“Oh, I see. Howell’s trying to put the squeeze on him. Well, I suppose there’s never enough money.”
A man on Dana’s other side, a member of the university’s board of directors, said, “You can say that again. We need a new stadium, for one thing.”
Dana started to say that the last thing Zeke Ferris was likely to give the university was a sports stadium, but she stopped herself just in time. How could she know that, anyway? People changed—the Zeke Ferris she had known certainly hadn’t been the perfectly-tailored business suit type. “And we could use a new conference center,” she pointed out.
“Oh, well, I suppose if you’re interested in that sort of thing,” one of the men conceded.
She left the two of them discussing the university’s sports program and excused herself. But the party seemed to be taking care of itself at the moment; no one was standing alone, no one was looking forlorn, and no one seemed to be plunging into an argument. When a waiter passed, she swapped her sparkling water for a glass of champagne, and as she turned away she came face-to-face with Zeke Ferris.
She looked past him and saw that the alumnus who had told her all about the game he’d won had buttonholed Barclay as he crossed the room and was drawing him off into a corner. Even Barclay’s celebrated people skills might not get him out of that conversation in a hurry, she thought.
She’d almost forgotten how tall Zeke was. Even in her highest heels she’d always had to look up at him. Today, in the comfortable flats she habitually wore when she was in charge of a party, she seemed to look a very long way up into eyes bright as sapphires and filled with speculation.
“Dana,” he said softly. “Now this is a surprise.”
He had not said, she noted, that it was a pleasant surprise. And you can multiply that reaction times two, she thought. But she smiled and put out her hand. “Zeke.”
His grip was warm and firm, and he continued to hold her hand. “It’s been a long time.”
Not long enough.
He looked around the room and then back at her. “So what are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you faculty? Staff? Or are you finally going after that graduate degree you wanted so badly?”
“Staff,” she said coolly, and tugged her hand away. He let her fingers slip slowly out of his. She could feel her hands trembling, so she folded both of them around her cold glass to hide the telltale tremor. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit here, Zeke. May I get you a drink?”
She watched a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He might as well have said it, she thought, for it was quite clear what he was thinking. So that’s the way you’re going to play it.
“When you said you were staff,” Zeke murmured, “I thought you meant something administrative. It didn’t occur to me you might be just a waitress.”
Dana gritted her teeth. He’s trying to jab you into making a scene, she told herself.
Behind her, Barclay said smoothly, “I’m sure you misunderstood, Zeke.”
Dana had no trouble interpreting his tone of voice. No matter what a prospective donor said, it wasn’t to be taken as an insult—it was merely a misunderstanding.
“This is Dana Mulholland,” Barclay went on. “She’s not a waitress, she manages all the conferences and special events that the university hosts, and she’s been filling in at Baron’s Hill as well. In fact—”
Dana stepped quickly into the gap. “When we finish raising the money to build a new conference center, I’ll be in charge of it.”
“That’s not what I meant, my dear, but I know you’re right. Since it’s not quite official yet, I probably shouldn’t say anything at all. But it’s so hard to keep such happy news a secret.” Barclay’s tone was confidential, almost intimate.
Zeke’s eyes had narrowed, and only then did Dana realize that Barclay had draped an arm around her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off.
Barclay’s grip tightened. “I’ve asked Dana to marry me.”
Dana wanted to stuff her fingers in her ears on the theory that if she couldn’t hear what was going on, then it wasn’t really happening.
A member of the board of directors, standing nearby, cocked his head to one side. “Did I hear you right, Howell?” he asked. “You’re marrying Dana?”
“I wasn’t actually going to announce it just yet,” Barclay began.
He’s keeping his options open, Dana deduced. But the director didn’t pause. “Capital idea. I don’t mind telling you there was some hesitation on the part of the board when we hired you. We wondered if putting a young man, a bachelor, in that position was just asking for trouble. But marrying Dana—now that’s sensible. Like you’re taking the university to your bosom, eh? Making it your own.” He chortled at his own wit.
Dana’s face felt hot. Say something, she ordered herself. Deny it—and fast.
But that would mean contradicting Barclay in public and mortifying him in front of directors and alumni and faculty. Not that he didn’t deserve it—but if nothing else, self-preservation suggested she keep quiet for the moment and deal with the proposal later, when she could be alone with Barclay. Embarrassing the president of the university wasn’t the best way to improve her job security.
And why should she provide any more of a scene for Zeke Ferris’s entertainment, anyway? It was none of his business what she did.
“And marriage will help keep all the other women from circling around, too,” an alumnus added. “You must have been having to beat them off with a baseball bat this last year.”
Barclay’s self-deprecating smile and vague gesture of denial were so halfhearted, Dana thought, that he might as well have come straight out and said yes, the women found him so attractive that he was forced to defend himself.
The sheer arrogance of the man made Dana seethe with fury. She was drawing breath to set the record straight when she caught a glimpse of Zeke’s face. She blinked in astonishment. She hadn’t expected that he’d rush to congratulate them—but she also hadn’t expected to see pity in his eyes. Pity? How dare he pity her?
He looked at her levelly for a long moment. “Now that could present a problem,” he said finally. “Because she can’t.”
Dana’s temper snapped. Even though she had no intention of marrying Barclay Howell, the very idea of Zeke telling her she couldn’t was enough to make her spit nails. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Zeke, don’t try to lay down the law to me. There is absolutely no reason for you to have an opinion in the matter. Whether I get married or not has nothing to do with you.”
“Much as I hate to disagree with a lady—”
“You expect me to believe that piece of nonsense?”
He wasn’t looking at her, but at Barclay. “She can’t get married till her divorce is final.”
“Divorce?” Barclay said blankly.
Dana’s jaw dropped. “What? We took care of that years ago. You have absolutely no claim on me anymore, Zeke, so stop acting like a dog in the manger.”
“You’re divorced?” Barclay sounded as if he was about to faint.
“That’s the problem,” Zeke murmured. “She isn’t, actually. There was a little hangup with the paperwork, and so our divorce never quite went through. Sorry to break the news this way, darling—but you’re still married. To me.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE room seemed to whirl around Dana.
It wasn’t possible, she thought. It was six years since they’d called it quits, and the proof was buried at the back of the fire-safe box in her closet where she kept her most important papers.
Or…was it?
Suddenly—illogically—doubt swept over her. She had certainly received documents. But when that long brown envelope had finally arrived, months after they’d actually split, she’d simply glanced at the papers inside before she’d put the package away. Half of her had been relieved that the whole mess was over, but the other half was still stinging with misery and injured pride. The last thing she’d wanted to do was read every last detail, set down in harsh black and white in a chilly legal document, concerning the most painful mistake of her life.
But she’d looked at it closely enough to know what it was—a final dissolution of her brief marriage. Zeke was wrong, that was all there was to it. Where he’d gotten the idea that the divorce hadn’t gone through was beyond her, but he had to be wrong.
Or else he was flat-out lying.
She found herself looking uncertainly at him. The one thing he had never done, in their months together, was to lie to her.
People change, she thought. But did they change in such essential ways as that?
Of course, the fact that he’d never lied to her wasn’t exactly an accolade, Dana told herself. There had been times during their brief marriage when Zeke’s bluntness had not helped the situation at all. For instance, during that last argument when he’d made it clear that he was anxious not only to get away from the campus but from her…
This is no time to be reliving the past, she reminded herself. You’ve got enough to deal with right now. Like the fact that Barclay’s face had turned purple and he looked as if he couldn’t breathe.
She hit him a sharp blow between the shoulder blades, just in case he’d inhaled an olive, and he gasped, choked, and started to laugh. “For a minute there, I thought you were serious,” he said. “What a joker—I’d heard you have quite a sense of humor, Zeke, but I had no idea it was quite so…unusual.”
Zeke looked down at him, eyes half-hooded. Though he was only a couple of inches taller than Barclay, somehow he managed to make it look like much more, as though he towered over the other man.
It was a good trick, Dana thought. Under other circumstances, she might have been amused at his lord-of-the-manor pose.
“Oh, it’s a side-splitter of a story, all right,” Zeke said agreeably. “I’m glad you enjoyed my efforts to entertain you, Bark.”
If he hadn’t already had a shock, Dana suspected Barclay wouldn’t even have winced at the mangling of his name. But obviously he wasn’t fully recovered yet, for distaste flickered across his face. “Uh…yeah,” he said. “Let me get you that drink Dana promised you.”
He strode off toward the bar. The buzz of conversation picked up again, and for a moment Zeke and Dana were almost alone in the center of the room.
