Dear Diary (12 page)

Strains of music filtered inside, and Rory glanced around to see a three-piece band tuning up at a small patio to the right. Moist air off the Sound had dampened the tile floor, but even so, several couples had drifted outside, waiting to dance. Rory heard soft laughter as the band broke into a slow song.

“Ready?” Nick asked, tossing down his napkin.

“Oh. No. No dancing.”

“C’mon.”

“No, Nick.” She tried to evade the hand he reached across the table, but he caught her arm, pulling her to her feet.

“What’s wrong with dancing?” he asked, peering down at her. “What in God’s name do you do for fun, Rory?”

“I don’t have fun. I don’t believe in it. It’s not good for the soul.” How could she explain she didn’t want to be that close to him?

“Says who?” He laughed.

“It’s a truism of life. One of those things you just learn.”

“You overthink things too much,” he growled low in her ear, guiding her to the dance floor against her will. “Let go a little.”

Rory stumbled in his wake. “Nick…” she warned.

“Stop fighting me.”

“I hope this isn’t your usual tactic with women, or you’re going to lose popularity,” she huffed.

“I’ll take my chances. So who have you been seeing lately, hmm?” he asked, drawing her into his arms.

Rory tried to wriggle free, but even though he held her loosely, his grip was surprisingly hard to break. “No one.”

“There must be someone.”

“Well, there isn’t.”

He closed his eyes as if lost to a memory then slowly opened them and asked, “What about Don Tisdale? He looked like a contender.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t date people I work with.” He laughed silently. “What?” she demanded.

“This isn’t a date?”

“No,” she said immediately. “And we’re not really working together yet, either.”

“I call bullshit on that.”

“You can call bullshit all you want. It’s my rule.”

She was suddenly aware that the tune was too slow and romantic for a dance with Nick. She opened her mouth to tell him so the same moment he dragged her tighter against his body.

The shock of hard masculine thighs and steely arms froze her tongue. “I always thought you’d marry,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair.

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I would have to marry a man.”

“Well, you wouldn’t
have
to,” he drawled, after a moment, as if he were thinking about her meaning. “What’s wrong with men?”

“I don’t know. You’re the expert.”

“I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something.”

“Nope.”

They danced silently for a few moments, then he asked, “If marriage is out, how about having an affair with someone?”

“I think that sounds more like your department, not mine.” She bent her head, suddenly remembering that time they were together in college. “You’re not offering your services again, are you?” she asked, glancing up at him.

For a moment Nick looked blank, then he broke into laughter. “I didn’t offer my services before,” he reminded her, grinning. “You just wanted me to.”

“Faulty memory!” she declared.

“Total recall,” he argued. She muttered under her breath, and he asked, “What was that?”

“I was expressing my reaction to your comment in four letter words.”

“Thought that’s what I heard.” A smile lingered in his voice.

Hard fingers rested lightly against the small of her back. Rory could feel every single one. She had to escape. “What about you? No repeat trip down the aisle in your future?”

“Not so far, but there’s always hope.”

“You would consider marriage again?” She pressed her hand determinedly against his chest, vainly trying to put some space between them.

To thwart her, Nick grabbed her fingers and wound them around his neck, gazing down sardonically into her flushed face. “Relax. I don’t bite. Well, not usually anyway,” he amended. “There was that time with…”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” she said.

“Kidding. You know what that is, right? Kidding?”

“If memory serves.”

“You seem to have a rather low opinion of my morals. Why is that?”

She thought of Jenny’s comment to her that day at the restaurant when Nick was out of earshot. “I don’t know. Maybe because you cheated during your marriage?”

Nick stopped moving, his hands at her waist suddenly hard and unfriendly. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Your
wife
,” she said.

“Jenny? Jenny told you that?” He was stunned.

“Unless you have another one.”

“My marriage broke up because Jenny wasn’t the woman for me, and I wasn’t the man for her,” he growled. “I don’t know why she’d say that, because I didn’t cheat during our marriage.”

“I didn’t make it up,” she said. “She told me that at the restaurant that day.”

“Doesn’t make it true.”

She sensed how angry he was, but wasn’t sure what to say next.

Silence followed. They swayed back and forth. She felt his jaw brush her forehead as he glanced down and tried to read her expression. Rory purposely focused her gaze on his broad chest.

“Maybe she wanted me to think the worst of you,” Rory said into the silence.

“And you did,” he said, effectively ending that discussion.

Neither of them spoke a word for the next couple of songs. Rory wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself. Whatever the truth was, Nick’s life was his own. She had no right to criticize him.

She wished they could just leave. Dancing with Nick‌—‌just
being
with Nick‌—‌made her uncomfortable. She was overly conscious of his scent and his strength and his disturbing touch, and she couldn’t seem to have an easy conversation with him, either. Every breath she took brought her breasts in hard contact with his chest, and the brush of his thighs against hers caused an awareness in her that she refused to acknowledge.

She had to get out of there.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She almost sighed in relief. “It’s kind of late,” she agreed.

“We didn’t talk about Marsden.”

Rory hadn’t once thought about the Marsden account.
I must be losing my mind,
she thought. “Maybe we can talk about it on the way home.”

“God forbid we might actually stay out past eleven,” he muttered, but he led her to the door all the same.

It turned out Nick had very few rules when it came to John Marsden. “Just keep up with what he’s got for now. His accounts are already being transferred. If John calls you while I’m in San Francisco, do your best. But remember, he likes to play it safe.”

“So do I,” Rory said as he pulled up to her apartment complex.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, and she wondered just what that meant as she let herself inside and was greeted with a meow and a leg rub by Problem.

DEAR DIARY — NANCY BUSH

Chapter Six

Make sure you’ve got something ready for Puget Sound Children’s Hospital. All of Jacobson & Kern’s management team is donating. Don’s putting up his beach house for a weekend, and Sharon’s husband is offering a guided fishing tour up the Cowlitz River. Mr. Shard has pledged $5,000 and John Marsden is matching his pledge. Think about what you want to give. This is a great opportunity for all of us to show Mr. Shard our commitment to Jacobson & Kern.
Sam

Rory dropped her forehead into her palm at the message Sam Wright had emailed. What did she have to donate for the auction? Nothing.

“‘Great opportunity for us to show Mr. Shard our commitment to Jacobson & Kern,’” she muttered aloud. Nick had been gone nearly two weeks. She hadn’t expected to miss him as much as she did, and it irked her.

Her intercom beeped and Rory hit the button to answer, “Sam wants everyone to meet in his office in fifteen minutes to discuss the fundraiser,” Pamela’s voice announced.

“What if I have other things to take care of first?” Rory asked rhetorically.

“You could always take it up with our new boss,” she said suggestively.

“He’s not here, and we’re not that close of friends.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your sister called while you were out. She said she was going to be in Seattle tomorrow and wants to take you to lunch.”

“Good.” Rory’s mood improved.

“She said be ready at noon.”

“Okay, thanks, Pamela.”

“Anytime.”

Rory plucked her cell phone from her purse and realized Michelle had left her a couple of texts that she hadn’t picked up with the same information; she knew Rory, unlike most everyone else, wasn’t the swiftest at checking with her phone.

She hadn’t seen her sister for several weeks. Every time she called Michelle these days, her sister was involved in one family crisis or another. Last week alone Lisa had fallen out of the top bunk and had been rushed to the hospital‌—‌it was later learned that her twin, Max, had pushed her‌—‌and the day after that, the car had broken down and stranded Michelle and the kids on the freeway for three hours. A week later Rory had called and gotten James, Michelle’s husband, and learned Michelle was in the tub and it was her first free moment of the day. Rory could tell James wasn’t about to disturb her with Rory’s phone call.

So it was great that now she and Michelle could actually finally get together.

Grabbing a pad and pencil, Rory headed toward Sam’s office. She intended to jot down everything the other employees were donating to give herself ideas. She was going to have to think of something for this fundraiser and fast.

Sam was seated behind his desk, looking exceptionally proud to have been put in this position.
Nick, you’d better get here fast,
Rory thought wryly.
Or else Sam’s head won’t be able to fit inside this room.

“Is everyone here?” Sam asked, looking around. They all nodded. “Then let’s get right down to business. I hope everyone plans to donate something for the auction. It doesn’t have to be much. It’s more a gesture of teamwork and good faith.”

“I don’t have a beach house or a husband who fishes. If anybody has any bright ideas for me, I’m willing to listen,” Rory spoke up.

“I can think of a thing or two,” Don said smoothly.

Rory glared at him. “Could you be more specific?” she challenged.

“Now, now,” Sam inserted benevolently. “I’m sure there must be something you can give, Rory.” He nodded toward the newest member of the staff. “Tim, there, has got season tickets to the Mariners. Four seats. He’s putting two different nights on the block.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I let my season tickets go this year,” Rory said. “And they were right behind the dugout, too.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at her, uncertain whether she was putting him on or not.

Sharon was pouring herself a cup of coffee from the silver thermos on Sam’s credenza. “Why don’t you offer to cook a gourmet meal for two? Say, in the bidder’s own home? That’s what I was going to do before Eric bailed me out with his fishing trip.”

Rory made a strangled sound. “Me? Cook? I am the bane of the discriminating palate. Lean Cuisine is about as culinary as I get.”

“So? It can be funny. No one cares.”

“I would,” Sam said with a snort of disapproval. “This is a serious fundraiser. It’s not a joke.”

Don smoothed the crease in his slacks. “You’d better believe I wouldn’t bid on Rory’s cooking.” He gave a mock shudder. “I want to live to see thirty-five.”

“If this is reverse psychology, Don, it’s working,” Rory said. “I might just do it.”

His eyes widened in horror and he clutched his throat. The room broke into laughter and Rory smiled and managed to keep from kicking Don in his shins. She wasn’t exactly a horrible cook, but her menus were far from gourmet. Pastas and salads were the mainstay of her single life dinner menu.

“Okay, put me down for dinner for two, cooked to perfection, in the bidder’s own home,” she said with a sudden decision.

Sam uncapped his black pen. “With a starting price of… ?”

“How about fifty dollars?”

Don choked on a laugh. “Nobody’ll pay that!”

Rory narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Make it a hundred, because I’m worth it.”

“A hundred it is,” Sam agreed. “I’m sure Mr. Shard will be pleased by our team spirit. Now, is there anyone else who needs help coming up with a donation?”