CHAPTER 11

Dianna stirred what was left of her rum and Coke and looked over at Chris. He sat next to her on a bar stool pulled up to the long, polished wood bar. People were everywhere. Crowding, jostling. Cheerful. It was, after all, a beautiful spring Saturday night. She and Chris had been lucky to find two seats together. Well, “found” wasn’t the right word. Holding firmly on to her arm, Chris had muscled them in when a couple they were standing behind had been called to their table. And now he and she sat very close. It was the only way to hear each other.

“So, Chris, tell me this,” she said, striving for conversational and girl-pal when all her nasty-girl hormones wanted to do was take a big bite out of him, he was so close and smelled so good. “What did you say to Veronica about tonight? I mean, here you are all dressed up. She’ll notice that. And this is the Palm. That has ‘special occasion’ written all over it.”

Chris hoisted his own rum and Coke, finished it off, and then sort of chuckled and grunted. “I told her we needed to play dress-up because I had good news to share with her.”

Dianna nodded. “Appropriately vague. That was good. So you’ll tell her the good news was her saying yes to your proposal?”

“Maybe. We may never know.”

“Oh, I think we will.” Dianna couldn’t believe how tight her facial muscles felt around her smile. Could she be any more conflicted? On the one hand, the guy was her client and needed a bit of bolstering right now. But on the other, he felt like so much more than a client and she really didn’t like priming him for Veronica—or any other woman, she felt certain.

“She might not show at all.” Chris took a long pull on his drink and glanced toward the entrance to the bar.

Poor guy. Dianna gently gripped his arm, intending a show of support and reassurance. “She’ll show up, Chris.”

He turned to her, slowly raking his smoldering dark-eyed gaze up and down her body. “What if I don’t care if she does or not?”

“Don’t say things like that.” Dianna withdrew her hand and swallowed, feeling a need to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. She could feel a gently pulsing throb at the base of her throat that told her she wanted this man, and she wanted him bad.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no reason for us—especially you—to be here if you truly feel that way.” Dianna leaned in toward him, filling her vision with the planes and angles of his handsome face. “Do you? And I mean really, not just a guy thing because she’s late. Remember, she did call.”

Chris chuckled. “So what are you—her agent?”

“No, but I sound like one, don’t I?” Dianna sat back. “I guess I just want to be certain you’re all right. I worry.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Sorry. That can’t be fun for you. But how is she? Does she still think I’m a hooker?”

Chris raised his drink to his lips and, looking at her over the rim of the glass, took a big swallow. “It’s come up.”

“Great.” Dianna waited, giving him an expectant look, but Chris didn’t take the bait. Instead, he watched her watching him, essentially. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t think of a word to say. He didn’t seem prone to conversation, either. She had no idea what he could be thinking right now. None.

But, beyond that, how could this be so intimate in such a crowded, noisy bar? People reaching around them, calling out their drink orders, crowding up against their backs, talking too loud, glasses clinking, money exchanging hands. And yet, the people and the noise around them existed only as backdrop to the sensual web that she and Chris were weaving between them as his gaze held hers riveted to his face.

Dianna noted the small details about him. The way his hair fell neatly over his forehead. The squareness of his jaw. Those high cheekbones. The fine wings of his eyebrows and the deep set of his dark eyes. She knew better than to allow this to draw out upon itself. But she couldn’t seem to stop. Still, she had only two words for herself: Melanie. Dr. Yakahama. Look what had happened there—they’d gone all the way in the big dentist’s chair in the museum. But the sign had said “interactive,” Melanie had wailed.

Just then, Chris blinked and straightened up on his bar stool. “I think I’ve been stood up.”

Brought rudely back to the moment by his abrupt movement, Dianna made a show of checking her watch. “Not yet. Veronica told you she’d be thirty minutes late. It hasn’t been thirty minutes.”

“It’s been longer than that. And no, she didn’t tell me. She told Roman she’d be thirty minutes late. She didn’t ask to talk to me.”

He didn’t sound hurt or whiny. He sounded mad. Dianna exhaled a sigh for having to continue to be Veronica’s advocate, when in reality she wanted to take the woman’s man from her and never let him out of her sight. “But it’s still the same thing.”

“Right. The seminar, Dianna, was supposed to be over at seven. It’s now nine-thirty and no Veronica.”

“Now, Chris, you heard Roman as well as I did. Veronica said the seminar was running late and they were on a break and she had to go right back in. And surely she had to go home after that and change clothes, Chris. Maybe she got a run in her nylons and didn’t have another pair and had to go buy some and—”

“You women really stick together, don’t you?”

He didn’t look happy about that, either. Maybe he wanted her to be on his side. Dianna sobered appropriately. “All right. So, what are you implying, Chris? Do you think she’s, what, seeing someone else?”

He shrugged his shoulders, smiling at her as if he were trying to convince himself he didn’t care if she was. “I don’t know. Could be. How would I know?”

Dianna shrugged. “There’d be signs, right? Not like big, printed ones, or billboards or anything … although those would be helpful. But, still, signs.”

Chris nodded. “Probably. What do you think they’d be, those signs? That she’d break dates? Maybe show up late? Always be distracted or start fights? Not want to stay over? No interest in the, uh, bedroom, to put it delicately?”

Dianna felt the embarrassed heat traveling up from her neck to her face and called herself grateful for the bar’s low lighting. “Those would all work.”

He nodded. “Yes, they would. And they do.”

Uh-oh. Dianna sniffed, more of a delaying tactic than anything else, and toyed with the glass tumbler that held her drink. “I’m guessing that list wasn’t just off the top of your head.”

“Good guess. You’re right. It wasn’t.”

As much as she wanted a chance with this man, she didn’t want it this way. By default or on the rebound. She felt pretty good about herself to realize that, though he was perfect for her in every way, it was still more important to her that he be happy than that he be with her. God, I’m the noble heroine again. Dianna swung her gaze to Chris’s face and looked into his eyes. She saw a challenge there. And hurt and disappointment. The man needed handling with emotional kid gloves. Dammit. Given the way she felt about him, or could come to feel about him, she was not the woman to do that. But then again, it was her job.

So, taking that stupid bull by the horns, Dianna sat up perky and chirpy. “All right, what we’re going to do here, Chris, is not jump to conclusions, okay? We’re going to give Veronica the benefit of the doubt. We’re going to go with the nylon thing and keep in mind that she doesn’t know that tonight is special. She could be telling the truth. The seminar ran late. It happens. Come on, I bet that years from now you’ll both laugh about this, about how it almost didn’t come off.”

“Yeah. Ha-ha.”

How was this for irony? Here she was, trying to cheer up a guy whose proposal effort had hit a snag—a guy she no more wanted engaged than she did the man in the moon. And here she was defending a woman she didn’t even like and didn’t want engaged to this guy who was sitting next to her and was upset because his girlfriend was late, when less than an hour ago he hadn’t even been certain he wanted to ask her, or if he wanted her to say yes if he did.

Hello. The definition of “conflicted.” Dianna took a big, fat swig of the hard liquor in front of her. It burned all the way down her throat. Whew. This stuff was a lot stiffer than she was used to drinking. But it sure did taste good. “So, Chris,” she began again. “Are you going to go down on one knee when you ask Veronica to marry you?”

“If I ask her. And if the down-on-one-knee mood strikes me.”

“It will, and you will. It really is more romantic.”

“Tell that to Lenny.”

“Touché. But just because it didn’t work for him doesn’t mean it won’t work for you.”

Chris shook his head. “You know, on second thought, I don’t see me down on one knee. Too Romeo and Juliet. Too hearts and flowers. Veronica would probably laugh her head off. So, no, I won’t go down on one knee.”

Dianna gripped his arm, feeling the fine fabric of his suit under her fingers. “All right, Chris, this is not my business, what I’m about to say. But I’m going to take a big chance and just say it.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Dianna inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “You don’t seem even to like Veronica. When you talk about her, you seem only to resent her.”

Chris stared at her. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at her. Feeling like a tiny cocktail sausage that had been found floating in the big punch bowl, Dianna pulled her hand back to her lap. “My two cents. And if there was a big, invisible line here I shouldn’t have stepped over, then you’ll have to tell me.”

Chris shook his head. “No. That’s okay. Really. You just stopped me because I had no idea I came across like that. Or that she did, I guess. Or we did.” He frowned his concern. “So I sound like I resent her? That’s an interesting choice of words.”

Dianna’s stomach started to hurt. “Maybe it’s too strong a word. I’m sure she’s a very nice woman.”

“Come on, don’t back off now. Give me an example.”

“No. I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t know one.”

He chuckled. “Sure you do. And I’m not mad. Seriously.”

“You are. You’re mad, and I’m so sorry.” She held up her rum and Coke. “It’s this drink. I told you I wasn’t used to such strong liquor.”

“It’s not that strong. Just tell me what you meant a minute ago when you said I seem as if I don’t like Veronica. Obviously I said something to make you think that. What was it?”

Well, she had been the one to start them down this road. “All right,” Dianna announced. “For one thing, she doesn’t sound like a nice person, even though I just said she did. I mean, the things you say about her when you’re telling me how she might respond or what she might say. Things like that. That she’d laugh at you when you’re proposing to her. That’s not nice. It’s cruel. See? She just sounds, well, mean. And I’m fired, aren’t I?”

Chris grinned and shook his head. “No, you’re not. And you’re also right. I used to call it her sense of humor, but she is sharp and cutting sometimes. But then, who isn’t?”

“I’m not.” The words were out before she knew she was going to say them. Her eyes wide, Dianna picked up her drink again. “I tell you, it’s the liquor talking.”

Chris gently took the glass tumbler from her and set it on the bar. “Maybe these are too strong for you. You ought to go easy since you’ve got to drive yourself home.”

“So do you.”

“Not me. I’ve got a limousine waiting tonight, remember?”

“Oh, yes. You’re proposing. From your chair. Not down on one knee.”

“You sound disappointed.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s your proposal. Not mine, or how I’d want mine.”

“Really?” He sat up straighter, suggesting she’d piqued his interest. “So, what about you? Would you go down on one knee?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. That’s the guy’s place.”

He chuckled. “Boy, some things just never change, do they? But, come on, you’ve thought about it a lot. You have to have. It’s what you do.”

Dianna grinned broadly. “Okay, I have.”

Laughing, giving her a mock jab to the shoulder—a tender, gentle one, for which he deserved points—Chris teased, “I knew it. Tell me.”

Suddenly Dianna felt shy and overly warm in a way that had nothing to do with the liquor flowing through her veins or the press of bodies around them. This was Chris and this conversation was exciting. No one had ever asked her before what she dreamed of or how she saw it happening for her. She thought back to that night in Chris’s penthouse and how she’d envisioned him proposing to her in that seductively romantic setting. Well, she could hardly tell him that, now could she? No. What she needed was a smokescreen.

That decided, Dianna sat up and fisted her hands together, resting them in her lap. “So. Me. Okay. If I was the one asking, I’d go down on one knee … if the guy was right.”

“If the guy was right?” Chris grinned at her, roving his gaze over her face and then her figure. “Tell me about the right guy for you. What’s he like?”

Maybe it was the rum and Coke; maybe it was Saturday night fever; or maybe it was having Chris all to herself again, much like she had at his penthouse, but whatever it was, Dianna went into vamp mode and boldly looked him up and down. “My ideal guy would have to be tall, dark, and handsome.”

With dancing lights in his dark eyes, Chris grinned. “With you so far. I’m tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” She’d managed to say that with a straight face before going on to describe him to himself. “Anyway, he’d also be filthy rich. That’s a must.”

Chris nodded. “Agreed. I am, of course, filthy rich.”

“So you keep saying.” She ducked her head regally. “We’ll see when you get the bill, Mr. Adams. But, anyway, we’re not talking about you. So, he’d also have to own a penthouse.”

“Check. Goes without saying.”

“And be older than me.”

“A must. Could he be, say, twenty-eight?”

She knew from the forms he’d filled out that Chris was twenty-eight, but she pretended to consider that. “Hmm.” Then she promptly and pompously rejected it. “Only two years older than me? No. That’s not good.”

“Well, what do you want—someone’s grandpa?”

“If he has all of the above, sure.”

Chris shook his head. “Women. So fickle. Okay, go on.”

“Thank you. Let’s see. Oh, he’d have to have a good sense of humor.”

“I have a good sense of humor.”

“And I keep telling you that you’re not applying for the position, Mr. Adams.” Still, she leaned in toward him now, propping an elbow on the bar and looking right into his eyes. Who was this sexy, flirty woman? a part of her mind that hadn’t drunk the rum and Coke wanted to know. “However, in all fairness to you, and keeping an open mind here, tell me a joke.”

“Okay. Let me think.” He did, frowning and working his mouth. Then he brightened again. “Got it. Well, it’s not a joke. It’s more of a limerick.”

Dianna popped out of vamp mode, clapping her hand against his mouth. “No. Don’t you dare, Chris Adams. Never mind. I will take your word for the sense of humor.”

Laughing under her hand, Chris kissed her palm. The surprise and shock of it dazed Dianna. He pulled her hand away, only to hold on to it. “But I want to tell you. It’s a classic. Here we go.” He cleared his throat and proceeded loudly. “There once was a girl from Nantucket—”

“No!” Laughing, shrieking, embarrassed, Dianna clapped her free hand over Chris’s mouth. “Don’t you even think about finishing that.”

Chris grabbed her other hand away from his mouth. And again he held on to it. Now they were holding hands and facing each other and staring into each other’s eyes. Quietly, totally, raptly. Absorbed in each other—

“Am I interrupting something? Or can anyone join this barroom game of pat-a-cake?”

Talk about flash-frozen while melting at the same time. Moving only her eyes, sliding them to the right and relying on peripheral vision, Dianna suffered a just-shoot-me-now moment. No last cigarette or blindfold necessary. Just ready, aim, fire. It would be a mercy because …

Oh, yes. Veronica Alexander, blond attorney dressed in a slinky black cocktail dress, and smiling like a pit viper, now stood in the space between the two bar stools occupied by Chris and Dianna. She divided her gaze between Chris, the man with whom she enjoyed a committed relationship, and his … Dianna cringed … friend who just happened to be a girl, maybe? Apparently knowing she owned this moment, the attorney turned first to Chris, lightly kissing his cheek. “Hi, honey, sorry I’m late. I tore my nylons.”

A functioning part of Dianna’s mind brayed triumphantly: Now, what did I say not ten minutes ago?

And Chris, Mr. Suave and Debonair, acting as if he weren’t still holding Dianna’s hands and hadn’t just been caught dallying red-handed—ha-ha! Dianna feared she was going to lose it—said testily, “Late, Ronnie? You’re not just late. You were supposed to be here over an hour ago.”

The prosecuting attorney for the state was unmoved. “I told you. Unavoidable.”

Then, her eyes glittering, her teeth bared in a deadly smile, she rounded on Dianna. “Hello.”

“Hello. And this isn’t what you think.”

“Don’t tell me what I think.”

“And yet, it really isn’t. In fact, you’re going to laugh when you find out.”

“Am I?” She half-turned to Chris, somehow not breaking eye contact with Dianna, either. “Introduce me to your little friend, Chris. I think it’s time we met, don’t you? And I’ll assume she’s not the good news you told me you had for me, because you, of all people, would know I wouldn’t want a woman of my own. And I don’t do three-somes.”

Dianna felt herself shrinking. Oh, there was no way this was going to end without bloodshed.

“Knock it off, Ronnie. I mean it. It’s like she said: You don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Then tell me what is, Chris. I come in to find you sitting here at the bar and laughing and having a great time with this woman. And you’re holding her hands.”

Yikes. Dianna tugged fiercely against Chris’s grip on her. He let go of her and Dianna dropped her guilt-ridden hands to her lap. “So, Chris, you know what? She’s got a point here. Why don’t you just introduce us?”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “You sure?”

Dianna nodded over and over. “Under the circumstances, Chris, and with everything else that is supposed to transpire this evening, yes, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” But first he stood and drew some folded money out of his pants pocket and signaled to the bartender, instantly getting the man’s attention. “The tab, please. Need to settle up.” Then he turned to the waiting women. “Dianna West, I’d like you to meet Veronica Alexander. Veronica, Dianna.”

“Dianna West?” The attorney flared up at Chris like the hideous dragon queen/stepmother in Snow White. All scary green scales and red eyes and slashing tail now, she pointed at Dianna. “This is Dianna West? The prostitute you and your mother were talking about the other night?”

Heads turned, conversations stopped, the bartender fled after taking Chris’s money.

And Dianna’s heart all but flew out of her mouth. “I’m not a prostitute, and I also told his mother I’m not—”

“Knock it off, Ronnie. Right now.” Chris’s angry frown rivaled that of any self-respecting bulldog. “I told you she’s not a prostitute.”

Dianna yelped. “Hey, could we say ‘prostitute’ more, please? And louder? I don’t think the people in that back corner over there heard you.”

Both Veronica and Chris ignored her, continuing their argument unabated.

“Oh, she isn’t a prostitute?” Veronica challenged, searching Chris’s face. Dianna did, too. The man was implacable. Gave nothing away. So the attorney turned to Dianna and held a pale, slim, long-fingered, French-manicured hand out to her. “At long last we meet. How do you do?”

Dianna stared at the woman’s hand and fought a whimper. Surely it would be cold and reptilian. But there wasn’t a thing she could do except clasp the other woman’s hand—warm, dry, soft—and mind her manners. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, do you really think so?” She was smiling and so chatty.

“No. Probably not.” Eeyore, that sad little blue donkey in the Winnie-the-Pooh books, could not have sounded more desultory. “In fact,” Dianna added, “I suspect you’re going to make my life a living hell before this is all over, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Veronica Alexander assured her, still smiling brightly. “You can count on that, Miss West. And to prove it, let’s start now. If you’re not a prostitute, then what are you?”

Dianna opened her mouth to tell the blond woman exactly who the hell she was, by God, but Chris chose right then to intervene. He gripped Veronica Alexander’s arm, much as he had Dianna’s when he’d escorted her into the bar, and pulled her to his side. The attorney’s eyes flashed but before she could say or do anything, Chris addressed Dianna. “If you’ll excuse us?”

Pretty damned hot under the collar now, Dianna nodded regally. “Of course. Please. Go. Enjoy your evening.” And because she felt diminished sitting there, and also because she couldn’t resist, and because she knew it was innocent—though it certainly wouldn’t sound so right now—Dianna added, “Call me when you get home, Chris. I’ll be waiting with bated breath to hear how this turns out.” She winked at him. “Oh, and I’ll send you my bill for services rendered.”

Chris rolled his eyes, as in “I’m a dead man,” and tugged his hissing girlfriend along behind him as he threaded their way through the crowd, which finally closed around them and hid them from Dianna’s sight.

She sat there. Conspicuously alone. Well, now what? What was she supposed to do? Hang around? Wait for some big, fun moment when Veronica came gliding back in with Chris’s ring on her finger and hugged her and told her how wrong she’d been and, oh, how wonderful all this was? Of course, that was what she was supposed to do: wait here for that moment. But …

Barf. I don’t think so. Dianna looked around her and accidentally made eye contact with a couple of guys standing close by who were staring speculatively at her. She sized them up … your basic slick and polished little yuppie types … and glared at them. “What the hell are you looking at? Like you’ve never seen a prostitute before.”

*   *   *

It was the end of a busy Monday at Popping the Question and Dianna found herself the sole focus of Paula’s wildly agog attention. Her employee sat with her arms crossed and a hip perched atop Dianna’s desk. “Don’t tell me you said that to those yuppies about being a prostitute, Dianna. I know you didn’t.”

Dianna grinned evilly. “And yet I did.”

Staring bright-eyed at Dianna over the top of her blue glasses, Paula said, “Pretty damn cool, boss lady. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

High praise, indeed, coming from their resident high priestess of cool. Feeling pretty good about herself, Dianna shrugged. “They deserved it. They were staring.”

“Hope they don’t see all the press coverage next month and the People thing. They’ll go around telling everyone you’re a hooker.”

Dianna cringed. “Yikes. I didn’t think about that.”

“No. You wouldn’t. So what’d they do? The yuppie snots, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Ran home to mama, I guess. Anyway, they left me alone.”

“Well, I guess they did. And our Mr. Adams and his paramour?”

Dianna lowered her gaze and contemplated her blotter. “I don’t know. Never heard from him.”

“But I thought you were going to hang out until the deed was done.”

Dianna looked up, meeting Paula’s very direct gaze. “I was supposed to, but I just couldn’t.”

Paula eyed Dianna speculatively. “Why not?”

Totally self-conscious now, Dianna chuckled. “Please don’t be shy, Paula. Just ask away.”

“Okay. Again, why didn’t you stay? Come on, talk to me. Are you maybe feeling something more than you should, boss lady? It happens.”

Dianna frowned at her employee. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. He’s just another client.” All right, deep breath. Enough protesting. Giving yourself away. “Anyway, I left because there was really no place for me to hang out, and everyone was staring. Remember, they thought I was a hooker.”

“Not everyone. The people who work there know who you really are.”

“True. But why’s this so important to you?”

“Because I think you care about this guy.”

Dianna’s yelped response was immediate. “I do not. At least, not any more than I do any other client. I care only that he has a happy outcome.”

“Right. He’s just another client. Then why’s your face so red, huh?” Paula’s expression mingled amusement and concern, but she didn’t wait for Dianna to answer. “So, Mr. Razzle-Dazzle got to you. Interesting. But more to the point, chief, you still don’t know if he popped the question and got a yes or a no.”

Dianna had recovered enough to be droll. “Your point being, Paula?”

“Our track record. It’s at stake here. ‘We’re number one,’ and all that.”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not worried.” Dianna firmly clasped her hands together atop her desk to prove it. “He’ll call.”

“Maybe they’re still holed up somewhere and, you know, celebrating.”

Dianna refused to allow that image to take hold in her mind’s eye. Too … hurtful, somehow. “I doubt it,” she said, struggling for neutrality in her voice. “Chris’s girlfriend is a prosecuting attorney. She’s at work, trust me.”

“So, you don’t like her much, do you?”

Sudden impatience with Paula’s too, too pointed questions—questions that cut too damn close to the bone today—seized Dianna. “You know what, Paula? Don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”

Unfazed, her redheaded employee who viewed the world through a filter of amused and detached cynicism shook her head no. “Uh-uh. I’m done for the day. Well, except for messing with your head.”

Despite herself, Dianna chuckled at the woman’s benign brashness. “Great. Then how about if I call it done and say we’re through here?”

“Suit yourself. But come on, you know you can talk to me. I’m all discretion. And I do have more than a paycheck here at P the Q that I care about, you know, boss-lady dearest.”

Touched, Dianna realized this was as close as Paula would probably ever come to saying she actually cared. In light of Paula’s bending, Dianna decided she could do the same. Besides, she really could use another perspective on this Chris Adams issue. “All right, Paula. Let’s talk.”

“Yes! I won!” Paula fisted her hand triumphantly and settled herself more securely onto her precarious perch. “I am all ears, my friend. Dish at will.”

“Okay. So the whole thing was just this huge bust.”

Paula nodded sagely. “That’s because it was tainted with Lenny. That was his restaurant, his private room, yada-yada.”

“I know. I wanted quick, and that was quick. I won’t make that mistake again. Not with Lenny, either. For his and Olivia’s next time, I’m sending them out to Fort McHenry.”

“Ah. Rockets’ red glare and all that. Hey, the fort survived a whole war and, now, tourists. Lenny probably can’t hurt much that’s out there.”

“Or get hurt.” Then Dianna heard herself blurt her uppermost fear: “Is it just me, Paula, or is everything suddenly falling apart? I mean businesswise.”

“It’s just you. You’re being tested. The annoying gods have found you and are just messing with your head.”

“Well, great. How long does that go on, do you suppose?”

Paula shrugged her narrow shoulders, which were covered with a black lace shawl over a white peasant blouse. “Until they get bored or you give up. So, what are you going to do about Melanie and her dentist?”

That was abrupt—and probably the real reason Paula was in here. Dianna scratched at her forehead, as though her gesture would bring an answer to the fore. “I don’t know. This is really hard. I told her I’d talk to her tomorrow. I’ve always said that doing what she did would be grounds for instant dismissal.”

Paula nodded. “Understood. Protecting your business’s rep and the fear of all the legal shit that could come down if the tooth fairy’s girlfriend sues us. The accusation of fraud. Et cetera. I get all that. And yet? There’s more, right?”

“Isn’t there always? I don’t know, Paula, this is a real mess. Adult stuff.” Dianna slumped dejectedly. “I’m the boss here and I have a clearly stated policy, but I just can’t bring myself to fire her. And I shouldn’t even be sharing this with you, either.”

“Hey, it’s cool. We all know what’s up. But, anyway, your problem is you’re too nice. No killer instinct.”

“Oh, and what about you? Could you fire Melanie?”

Paula picked up and fiddled with a pen. “I’m not the boss.”

“If you were.”

She met Dianna’s waiting gaze. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You looking for reasons not to?”

“Yes.”

Paula grinned. “Okay. I wouldn’t fire her because she could never get another job anywhere and so she’d starve to death and then you’d burn in hell for that.”

That left Dianna blinking. “Succinct, as always—and definitely something to look forward to. But you’re wrong. Melanie wouldn’t starve. She doesn’t really need to work. She has more money than God.”

Paula frowned. “God has money?”

“Focus, Paula.”

“Okay. You’re telling me that Melanie is a rich bitch?”

“Well, rich, yes. Bitch, no.”

“So, why’s she work if she’s loaded?”

“It’s probably the only thing that keeps her family from committing her. And, too, everybody has to be somewhere.”

“True. She never told me she has all this money.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Dianna’s tone blended humor and sarcasm, which was, as always, lost on Paula.

“Beats me,” she said sincerely. “It’s not like I’d take advantage of her. So, it’s like, what, family money or something?”

“Of course. Where would Melanie get money on her own? And it’s very old family money.” Dianna was silent a moment, considering Paula. “And now that you know?”

Paula tossed the pen back on Dianna’s desk and stood up. “Hey, I’ve got to protect that girl from herself and other people who might try to rook her out of her vast wealth. So me and Mel are now new best friends.”

“No, Paula. Down, girl. Sit.”

Too late. Paula was already leaving Dianna’s office as she called out: “Hey, Mel, wait for me, girlfriend! I know just the thing to cheer you up—a big shopping spree.” She was now out in the hallway. “We’ll start at Towson Town Center, where I saw this totally killer sweater I’ve been dying to have. Get your reticule. I’m driving.”

Dianna cupped her face in her hands. “Forgive me. I have just done a very bad thing.” But she’d had to for her own survival. Paula was like a terrier—a very smart one, too—when she got on the scent of something. And the last thing Dianna needed was for her to nose around her feelings for Chris, which were pretty raw right now.

Dianna leaned her head back against her chair’s padded head cushion and stared at the light fixture overhead. So Chris was—most likely—engaged now. Consequently, whatever she felt for him was now totally irrelevant. Time to send him a bill. He was no longer one of the fishes in the sea. Instead, the man had been caught up in the marital net, gutted, cut up, and canned, like so much tuna.

Dianna abruptly sat forward, making a face at her comparison. “Gross. Where did all that come from?”

Just then, Mrs. Windhorst stepped into the doorway of Dianna’s office. “Line two, Miss West. It’s Dr. Yakahama.”

Her secretary’s voice radiated censure and disapproval and all things negative. Dianna’s stomach muscles contracted. “Melanie’s dentist?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Dianna eyed the guiltily blinking line two. Just the man she wanted to talk to. How dare he compromise one of her employees—a woman she thought of as a friend? And how dare he compromise Popping the Question? Wait. There was more: How dare he cause her to realize just how close she’d come to doing the same thing with Chris Adams? Dianna looked up at Mrs. Windhorst. “Is Melanie still here? Perhaps she should be here for this.”

“No, I’m afraid she isn’t. Miss O’Hara and her reticule have already been dragged out the door by Ms. Capland.”

“Well, at least they’re out doing their part to help the economy. Thanks, Mrs. Windhorst. Why don’t you go ahead and leave? I’ll take care of this and then lock up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But she didn’t leave. And she didn’t look happy.

Dianna got that sinking feeling in her stomach. “What is it, Mrs. Windhorst? Are you all right?”

“No.” A sudden high color stained the older woman’s face and neck and she looked as if she were about to cry.

Dianna could only stare at her secretary of the bouffant hairdo and paisley shirtwaist dresses and wonder if Paula was right about the annoying gods. Because surely today was some cosmic joke wherein the wheels came off her life. Dianna slowly came to her feet. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Yes. And I’m afraid I must give you my two-week notice.”

“Two-week notice?” Dianna stiffened her knees against the shock. “Tell me we’re talking about your vacation time.”

“I’m afraid not. I mean … I’m quitting.” The woman adopted an heroic pose of the injured worker. She could have been cast in bronze. “Once again I find I’m being forced out by computers.”

A hot and cold weakness turned Dianna’s bones to water. Computers, huh? That could only mean one person (Chris) and one thing (he was engaged now, and so could start on the computer thing for her office). And yet, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Dianna tented her fingers atop her desk and leaned her weight into them. “Computers?” Could her voice be higher or sound more guilty? She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“I think you know, Miss West. Please do not further offend me by pretending you don’t.”

That stung. “Yet I would like you to clarify.”

“If you wish. Mr. Christopher Adams called me today, and we had quite the conversation.”