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“You’re wearing a suit—”
“There has to be a dress you could wear somewhere in this place.”
There was, of course. She bit her lip. What was wrong with her? She’d just been thinking how much she wanted to be friends with Brad again, and now here he was, wanting to renew their old relationship and share his happy news.
And it was happy news. She couldn’t quite figure out why it was affecting her so strangely. She was happy for Brad. Wasn’t she? Of course she was. He was going to get married and live happily ever after.
If that was possible.
She’d seen married people in action. She’d seen how couples could fight and tear each other apart. That was why Brad’s news unsettled her—she was worried about him. She didn’t want him to have to experience that unpleasantness.
“I really can’t. I’m expecting a client.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Apparently Mrs. Blogden wasn’t going to show.
“Can’t you call and cancel? Please, Sammy.”
“Well…” She wavered. She did want to meet Brad’s fiance´e. Heather Lovelace. The most beautiful woman in the world, Brad had called her. But Sam took that with a grain of salt. Brad was in love with Heather after all. He’d also described her as sweet and kind. That sounded like Blanche Milken, the girl he’d had a crush on in high school. Blanche had been a straight-A student with mousy, colorless clothes to go along with her mousy, colorless personality.
“Okay,” Samantha said, making up her mind. “Let me change and call Mrs. Blogden to make sure she isn’t coming. It’ll only take me a few minutes.”
“Great. I’ll go tell Heather. Come outside when you’re ready.”
He left, and Sam went into the office to call Mrs. Blogden. The housekeeper answered and informed Sam that Mrs. Blogden was at a party and wouldn’t be home until late. Sam wasn’t too surprised. Mrs. Blogden frequently didn’t show up for her appointments and rarely called to cancel.
Her conscience clear, Sam grabbed a short black dress off a rack, went into the dressing room and changed. Quickly, she slipped on some strappy, high-heeled sandals that increased her height from an insignificant five three to a much more respectable five six.
She brushed out her hair, applied enough makeup to conceal her freckles and surveyed herself in the mirror. Acceptable, she thought. The black matte jersey echoed the sheen of her dark curls and made her eyes seem more green than gold. She hurried outside.
A red sports car was parked there. Next to it stood Brad, his arm around the waist of a tall, slender blonde dressed in a form-fitting halter dress of glittering bronze.
Samantha stumbled on the asphalt. This was his fiance´e? The woman was gorgeous! Not a day over eighteen, she had the long, lean look of a model—except for the large, firm breasts that threatened to bounce right out of her low-cut dress. She was wearing heels, too, fantastic purple-and-bronze Jimmy Choo stilettos that lifted her at least four inches over Sam’s suddenly pathetic height. Sam felt like a troll next to her.
This was no Blanche Milken.
Sam pinned a smile to her lips and held out her hand. “Hi, Heather, I’m Samantha Gillespie.”
The blonde ignored her outstretched hand. A cloud of Chanel No. 5 enveloped Sam as Heather hugged her. “Samantha! Brad has told me so much about you!”
“He has?” Sam murmured faintly when she could speak.
Heather smiled blindingly. Her teeth were as white and perfect as the rest of her. “Oh, yes. I have to admit that when he first told me what good friends you were, I was the tiniest bit jealous, but now that I’ve met you, I can see that I didn’t need to worry at all.”
Startled, Sam glanced at Heather’s face. Had the woman—girl, really—meant that the way it sounded?
Heather was smiling, her large blue eyes clear and innocent.
Brad smiled, too. “I told you you were being silly. Samantha and I have always been just friends. Right, Sam?”
“Right.” You’re being oversensitive, Sam told herself sternly. She smiled at Brad’s fiance´e. “You’re marrying a really nice guy.”
“Nice?” Heather turned to Brad and drew a teasing finger down his chest. “I don’t know if I would have used exactly that word to describe you, darling.”
Sam frowned at the sexual implication of the blonde’s words. She glanced at Brad, expecting him to defend his character, but he only gazed at Heather, his hand closing over the blonde’s. The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, a silent communication of some shared memory passing between them. They appeared to have completely forgotten Sam’s presence.
She cleared her throat.
The spell was broken. The two lovers stepped away from each other. Brad glanced at Sam, his mouth curving ruefully. “Sorry. You know what it’s like to be in love.”
Sam forced herself to smile again, but inwardly she felt oddly defensive. Of course she knew what it was like. She’d had innumerable boyfriends in high school and college. She’d gone out with men from here to Chicago to New York to London, Paris and Rome. But somehow, none of them had ever looked at her the way Brad looked at Heather. Sam didn’t remember him ever looking at Blanche Milken that way. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. She would’ve thought he would show more restraint.
“Shall we go?” she asked brightly.
Brad opened the passenger door.
“You don’t mind if I sit in the front, do you?” Heather asked Sam. “My legs get terribly cramped in the back.”
Sam saw Brad’s gaze go immediately to the impossibly long legs of his fiance´e. “Of course not,” she said, feeling like a child relegated to the back seat. She climbed into the tight space behind Heather and Brad.
With a roar of the powerful engine, they were off.
Chapter Three
Samantha sat at the dinner table of the West L.A. restaurant, watching the laughing couple across from her. They seemed giddy with happiness. There was a glow in Brad’s eyes that she’d never seen before—except, perhaps, when he was working on some complicated project. But this wasn’t the same. A sense of electricity seemed to envelop him.
Heather glowed, too. Sam had never met a woman who glowed so much.
Sam looked down at her menu and tried to subdue the wave of dislike she felt for Heather. So far, she’d seen nothing about the blonde that would justify Brad’s falling in love with her. Except for her gorgeous face and figure. But Heather must have more to her than that. Brad wasn’t the kind of man to care only about a woman’s looks.
Sam shifted her gaze to Brad as he raised a finger and a waiter rushed over. Watching him place their order, she was struck once again by a sense that he had changed—and not just on the surface.
Sam could restrain her curiosity no longer. “What happened to you, Brad?” she asked after the waiter left. “You used to be a strictly meat and potatoes man and now you’re ordering shrimp and jicama. And you look like you should be on the cover of GQ. Isn’t that an Armani suit?”
“Heather happened to me.” Putting his arm around his fiance´e, he smiled down at her. “She convinced me to try some new dishes and helped me make a few changes—new clothes, haircut and contact lenses. An improvement, don’t you think, Sammy?”
“I always thought you looked fine.” Forgetting her own attempts to change Brad’s wardrobe, Sam realized suddenly that she really didn’t care for this new style that Heather had foisted on him. Before, he’d looked like…Brad. Now he looked almost alien. He looked rich. Sophisticated. Masculine.
She shook her head. Brad was Brad, no matter how he dressed. That much she was sure of.
Heather had arched her brows at Sam’s response. “I think appearance is extremely important. Some women, especially older ones, don’t set any standards for themselves at all. I’m always careful to wear the right clothes and makeup and watch my weight. I count every calorie. I think it’s worth it, don’t you, Brad?”
Brad’s gaze wandered over Heather’s magnificent figure. “Sure, sweetheart.”
Heather beamed.
A waiter passed by with a dessert tray, and Sam resisted an urge to seize a slice of strawberry torte and stuff it down Heather’s throat. Instead she told herself that Heather probably hadn’t meant to imply that Sam was old and fat. Forcing herself to smile politely, she asked, “So, how did you two meet?”
“At the RiversWare Run,” Brad said. “Heather loves to run and enters competitions whenever she can.”
Heather sipped her drink. “Do you run, Samantha?”
“Not if I can avoid it.” Sam tried to remember exactly when the RiversWare Run had been. About four months ago, she was pretty sure. That wasn’t very long.
“Running doesn’t appeal to everyone,” Heather said in a kindly manner. “I like to try something different once in a while, too. Like in-line skating. I started just a few weeks ago. Brad says I’m a real fast learner.”
“Heather’s amazing on skates,” Brad interjected. “I’ve never seen anyone as graceful as she is.”
Heather smiled modestly. “In-line skating’s very easy. Even the biggest klutz imaginable can do it.”
“Sam can’t,” Brad announced cheerfully.
Sam’s fingernails curled into her napkin.
Heather’s eyes widened. “You can’t?”
Sam could barely stay upright on skates and usually wouldn’t have minded admitting it. But something about the blonde’s incredulous blue eyes made Sam say, “Of course I can.” She looked past Heather to the approaching waiter. “Oh, here comes our food.”
Brad wasn’t diverted, however. Releasing Heather’s hand so the waiter could put their plates down, he stared at Sam. “Since when? That time I took you skating, you almost fell on your face.”
“That was a long time ago. I’ve improved,” Sam lied. She remembered the time he referred to very well. It had been a high school fund-raiser, and she’d been falling all over the place until Brad came to her rescue. He’d helped her up and held her upright—until someone brushed by them, knocking her off balance. Legs and arms sprawling, they’d both ended up on the floor. Tangled together, they’d started laughing uncontrollably. By the end of the evening, they’d both had more bruises than two boxers—not to mention a bad case of the hiccups.
“Unfortunately, I can’t go skating very often,” Sam added as she cut a bite of chicken and swished it in mango-chili sauce. “Helping at Jeanette’s shop takes up all my time.”
“I work, too,” Heather said. “But I still find time to exercise.”
“Keeping fit is very important in Heather’s business,” Brad explained. “She’s an actress.”
Heather preened. “I just had a part in a special TV movie called Baywatch—the California Reunion.”
“Oh, really?” Sam had never watched the show, but she knew it was something about lifeguards at the beach. “That must have been exciting.”
“Yes, it was. David Hasselhoff himself rescued me when a great white shark attacked the swimmers in the middle of an earthquake right after a deranged yoga instructor blew up the pier. I didn’t have any speaking lines, but I did have to scream very loudly. Jim, the director, is editing the final cut of the movie right now, so I’m on call. That’s why I’m staying at the hotel across the street, because it’s close to the location shoot.”
“You’re not staying with Brad?”
“My house is too inconvenient,” Brad said.
Sam, chewing on a bite of risotto with pine nuts and green chilies, was surprised but strangely relieved. The thought of him living with Heather was very distasteful. The thought of him sleeping with her…
The rice and pine nuts in her stomach oscillated.
Forcing herself to keep her tone pleasant, Sam asked Heather, “When will the movie be on TV?”
“Not for several months,” Heather said. “But my agent says the offers will pour in once it airs. Not that I’ll accept any of them, of course.”
“Why not?” Sam asked.
“Because I’m marrying Brad. I want nothing more than to be his wife, to love him and support him with every fiber of my being. And, if God is willing, I will bear his children, the precious fruit of our deep and eternal love for each other.”
Sam smiled, thinking the blonde was joking. But her smile faded when she saw Brad wasn’t laughing. He was gazing tenderly at his fiance´e, who gazed back worshipfully.
Sam gagged on her mango-chili sauce.
Her cough broke the spell. “Are you all right?” Heather asked.
“Mmm.” She coughed once more to clear her throat and to prevent any resumption of adoring gazing. “Brad said you wanted me to design your dress.”
“Oh, yes,” Heather said. “It would mean so much to Brad and me. Do you think you can do it?”
“Of course,” Sam said automatically. “You must come to my sister’s shop tomorrow and we can look through the catalogs.”
Heather tapped a French-manicured nail against her chin. “Well…I hope you don’t mind…but I would really like something unique. Something that suits my personality.”
Something with lots of frills and lace. And maybe a big lollipop. The bitchy thought popped into Sam’s head before she could prevent it.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Heather said, laying down her fork. “I promised to call my agent about a possible part playing a housewife in a commercial. He thinks I would be perfect for it.” Her eyelashes fluttered in response to Brad’s warm look. “I’ll be back in a minute, darling.”
She rose and glided gracefully away.
Sam watched her go, wondering how on earth the girl got her hips to sway like that.
She peeked at Brad to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was looking straight at her, paying no attention to Heather’s hips. A crooked smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“So, what do you think?” His gaze was strangely intent as he asked the question.
“She’s…” Sam paused, several unkind remarks hovering on her tongue. She took a deep breath. “She’s perfect,” she admitted. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy, Brad.”
Brad leaned back against his seat, his face expressionless for a long moment. Then he smiled. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? I couldn’t believe my luck when she said yes to my proposal.” He stirred some cream into his coffee. “What about you, Sam? Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, not right now. I’ve been too busy at the shop.”
“Oh, yes, the shop. Are you planning on working there permanently?”
“No,” she said. “Not really. I’ll probably look for some other job soon.”
“Still haven’t made up your mind what you want to do with your life?”
Samantha pushed her rice around on her plate. “Not yet. I never could figure out what I wanted. Unlike you. You always knew, didn’t you, Brad?”
“Yes, I did. I still do.”
She’d never paid much attention before, but he really had the most determined chin she’d ever seen—a square jaw ending in a resolute knob. There was no softness beneath, no cleft to compromise it. “You’ve done very well for yourself. You’ve accomplished a lot.”
He shrugged. “A case of being in the right place at the right time.”
“You’re too modest.”
“So Heather tells me.” He grinned. “She’s an extraordinary woman. I really am the luckiest man alive.”
“I think Heather’s the lucky one.”
