Fast Women (3 page)

"If that means she has a nice ass, you're right. Stay out of my office." Gabe rolled away in the forlorn hope she'd shut up.

"I bet she was a real redhead once," Chloe said. "There was fire there, I'd bet anything. But she's all faded out now." She nudged him with her elbow. "You could do something about that, put some of the fire back into her."

"She's going to answer the phone," Gabe said into his pillow. "Unless ATT inflames her, she's out of luck."

Chloe sat up and leaned over his shoulder, and he closed his eyes in pleasure at all that warm softness pressed against his back. Then she said, "Gabe, I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Gabe turned his head to look up at her. The moon came through the skylight and backlit Chloe's short blonde curls, making her look angelically lovely. Too bad she was insane. "You live next door. You work in the same building I do. You sleep with me several times a week. What's your plan, blindfolds?"

"I'm serious, Gabe. I think it's time we broke up." Gabe turned his back on her again. "We did that already. It was a success. Go to sleep."

"You never listen," Chloe said, and Gabe could feel the bed bounce as she rolled out of it.

"Where are you going?" he said to her, exasperated, as she struggled into her clothes.

"Home," Chloe said, and since that was just next door, Gabe said, "Fine. See you tomorrow."

"Gabe," Chloe said a minute later, and Gabe rolled over to see her standing at the foot of his bed, braless in her moons-and-stars T-shirt, her hands on her hips like a particularly demanding child. When she didn't say anything, he propped himself up on his elbows and said with exaggerated patience, "What?"

Chloe nodded. "Good, you're awake. You and I have stayed together partly because of Lu but mostly because there wasn't anybody else we liked better. You're a very nice man, but we're not right for each other, and we owe it to ourselves to find our soul mates."

"I love you," Gabe said. "If you weren't such a fucking wacko, I'd still be married to you."

"I love you, too, but this is not the great love we both deserve. And someday you're going to look at me and say, 'Chloe, you were right."'

"I'll say it now if you'll shut up and come back to bed."

"I think this Eleanor could be the one for you. I spent two hours on her horoscope, and I can't tell for sure without getting her time of birth for her rising sign, but I really think she might be your match."

Gabe felt suddenly cold. "Tell me you didn't tell her that."

"Well, of course not." Chloe sounded exasperated. "Look, I know how you hate change, so I'm setting us both free so you can start over with Eleanor and I can find the man I was meant to be with."

Gabe sat up straighter. "You're not serious about this."

"Very," Chloe said and blew him a kiss. "Good-bye, Gabriel. I'll always love you."

"Wait a minute." Gabe rolled toward the foot of the bed to reach for her, but she faded away into the dark, and a moment later he heard the door to his apartment close with a finality that was rare for Chloe.

Ninety- nine times out of a hundred, Chloe did exactly what he told her to do. This was clearly the hundredth. He fell back into bed and stared up at the skylight, depressed by the realization that his ex-wife had just dumped him again.

A shooting star traced its way above the skylight, and he watched it fade. Weren't those supposed to be good luck? Chloe would know, but she'd walked out. His future now consisted of an endless string of days spent coping with clients like Jack Dysart, keeping his daughter in college, chasing down a series of cheating mates, and watching his temp secretary destroy his office, all as a celibate. "I want my old life back," he said and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head to block out the stars that were responsible for his latest disaster.

When Gabe came downstairs at nine on Monday, the outer office was empty. Not impressive. He was in a bad mood, and now his new secretary was not there with a cup of coffee. Her ass was fired in six weeks, that was for sure. He turned toward the coffeemaker to make his own, and it wasn't there, either. In fact the entire top of the old oak bookcase was empty-no dented coffee can, no stack of Styrofoam cups, no little red stirrers, nothing.

"We've been robbed," he told Riley who came down from his second-floor apartment a moment later. "Some caffeine addict has wiped us out."

"It's not like it was good coffee," Riley said. "Want me to go out-"

He stopped as Eleanor Dysart walked by the big window at the front of the office, carrying a cardboard box that looked too heavy for her thin arms.

"I'm sorry," she said as she came in and set the box on her desk, her brown eyes opened wide in apology. "You were missing a few things, so I went to get them."

"Like a coffeemaker?" Gabe said.

"That was not a coffeemaker. That was an antique that should have been put down long ago." She unpacked the box as she spoke, putting paper towels and spray cleaner on the desk before lifting out a gleaming white coffeemaker.

"You bought a coffeemaker?" Gabe said'

"No, this is mine. I brought my coffee, too." She tore a paper towel off the roll, picked up the cleanser, sprayed the coffee shelf, and wiped it clean with one ruthless swipe, her hand a pale blur against the dark wood. "I'm going to be drinking it here for the next six weeks anyway." She set up the coffeemaker and added, "Also, your coffee was terrible."

"Thank you," Riley said, clearly fascinated by the whole process, which Gabe could understand. He'd never seen anybody as gracefully efficient as this woman. She'd pulled out a small white coffee grinder, plugged it in, and poured beans into it from a shiny brown bag, and now she flipped the switch and went back to unpacking as the heavy, sweet smell of the beans filled the room.

"God, that smells good," Riley said.

She was setting out china cups in their saucers, her long pale hands almost the same color as the cream china. "How do you take yours?"

"Four creams, two sugars," Riley said, still mesmerized by her.

She stopped with a small waxed carton in her hand. "Really?"

"He's very young," Gabe said. "I take mine black."

"He's very boring," Riley said. "Is that real cream?"

"Yes," she said.

Riley peered into the box and pulled out a bottle of glass cleaner. "What's all this cleaning stuff for?"

"The office. You really should hire a cleaning service."

Gabe frowned at her. "We have a cleaning service. They come once a week. Wednesday nights."

She shook her head. "This place hasn't been cleaned in at least a month. Look how thick the dust is on the windowsill."

There was a faint coating on everything, Gabe noticed. Except for the bookcase where the new coffeemaker perked cheerfully, the whole office was full of dust and gloom.

"The number for the cleaning service is in the Rolodex." Gabe opened the door to his office, escaping before he went headfirst into the coffeepot. He'd forgotten anything could smell that good. "Hausfrau Help."

"You're kidding," she said, and he closed the door behind him to shut her out. Thank God he had an office to escape into.

An office that looked like hell, he realized when he was sitting at his desk in the unblinded light from the broken window. The room was littered with papers, Styrofoam cups, books he'd pulled off the shelf, and the other general rubble of his daily work. When had this place been cleaned last? Some of the mess looked like it dated back to his dad's day. His keyboard was buried under more paper, and there was dust on everything, and suddenly it mattered.

It was Eleanor Dysart's fault. He hadn't noticed any of this until she'd come in with her coffee and her china and her Windex and torn down his blinds.

He picked the Styrofoam cups out of the mess and threw them away and went through the papers, pitching notes he'd already dealt with and putting letters that the Dysart woman would have to file in a separate stack. That would slow her down. He'd just turned on the computer when she came in, bearing a china cup and saucer and a determined expression that sat strangely on her finely drawn face. Gabe thought of his father, three sheets to the wind, reciting Roethke to placate his furious mother: I knew a woman, lovely in her bones. Eleanor Dysart was too thin and too pale, but she was lovely in her bones.

"I called your cleaners," she said, setting the cup down. "They haven't been here in six weeks because they haven't been paid."

Gabe frowned at her and forgot his father. "Of course they have. I signed the checks."

"Not for July and August, according to their bookkeeper. If you'll tell me where you keep the canceled checks, I'll fax them over."

"Reception desk, bottom right-hand drawer," Gabe said automatically as he hit the keyboard to open the office bookkeeping program. He did a search for "Hausfrau." Eight entries came up for 2000, including two for July and August. "There," he told her, and she came around behind him.

"That's Quicken, right?" she said. "Is that on the computer on my desk? Good, I'll take care of it. Thanks."

"For what?" Gabe said, but she was heading for the door, a woman on a mission.

When she was gone, he sat back and picked up the coffee cup. It was a sturdy but graceful piece of china, cream colored with a blue handle, and it felt good in his hand, a luxury after the flyweight Styrofoam he'd been drinking from for years. He took a sip and closed his eyes because it was so rich, speeding caffeine into his system while assaulting every sense he had. When he looked again, there were blue dots on the inside, appearing as the coffee level dropped. It was absurd and charming and completely unlike the tense woman vibrating outside his door.

Maybe he'd misjudged her. Maybe she was nervous because it was her first day. He didn't care, as long as she kept the coffee coming.

Fifteen minutes later, he went out to the reception room for a refill and found her with a frown on her face.

He picked up the coffee carafe and said, "You okay?" as he poured.

"I'm fine," she said. "You have a problem. Look at this."

She had eight checks spread out before her. "These are all from Hausfrau," she told him. "Here are the endorsements from January through June."

Gabe shrugged as he looked as six smudged stamped endorsements. "Okay."

She pointed to the last two checks. "These are the endorsements from July and August."

The checks were endorsed in blue, loopy handwriting. "That's Lynnie's writing."

"It appears she turned to embezzlement in her last two months with you."

"She was only with us for six weeks," Gabe said and thought, Damn good thing, too. "Give Hausfrau some story about administrative screwups. I'll handle the rest." He took his coffee back to his office, thinking of Lynnie, black-haired and lovely, making lousy coffee and embezzling the cleaning money, and now sitting at home recovering from her sprained back with a thousand dollars and, he hoped, a sense of impending doom.

He took another sip of coffee and felt slightly better until another thought hit.

He was going to have to hire Eleanor Dysart permanently. For a moment, he thought about keeping Lynnie-so she stole money, she was cheerful and pretty and relaxed and efficient-and then he gave up and resigned himself to a tense reception room filled with the smell of great coffee.

An hour later, Riley knocked on Gabe's heavy office door and came in. "I finished most of the background check," he said as he lounged into the chair across from Gabe's desk. "I'll go see the last guy and then I'll ruin the rest of my day with the Hot Lunch." He ducked his blond head to look at Gabe. "What are you pissed about?"

"Many things," Gabe said.

"Nell?"

"Who?"

"Our secretary," Riley said. "I said, 'I'm Riley.' She said, 'I'm Nell.' I think she's doing a pretty good job."

"She seduced you with her coffee," Gabe said. "And you have no idea what a good job she's doing. She was only here an hour before she nailed Lynnie for embezzling the cleaning money."

"You're kidding." Riley laughed out loud. "Well, that's Lynnie all over."

"Since when?" Gabe scowled at his partner. "If you knew she was bent-"

"Oh, hell, Gabe, it was in her eyes. Not that she'd embezzle," he added hastily as Gabe's scowl deepened. "That she'd cheat. Lynnie was not a woman you'd leave alone for a weekend."

"Or with a checkbook, evidently," Gabe said.

"Well, that part I didn't realize," Riley said. "Although she was into luxury. Her furniture was all rented, but everything else in her duplex was first class with a label on it, right down to the sheets…" His voice trailed off as Gabe shook his head.

"We have three rules at McKenna Investigations," he said, reciting his father's words. "We don't talk about the clients. We don't break the law. And-"

"We don't fuck the help," Riley finished. "It was just once. We were doing a decoy job, and I took her home, and she invited me in and jumped me. I got the distinct impression she was just doing it for practice."

"Does it ever occur to you not to sleep with women?"

"No," Riley said.

"Well, try to restrain yourself around the new secretary. She has enough problems." Gabe thought about her tight, frowning face. "And now she's sharing them with me."

"If you're that unhappy, fire her, but do not get my mother back from Florida."

"God, no." Gabe said, picturing his aunt behind the reception desk again. He loved her dutifully, but duty only went so far. She'd been a lousy secretary for ten years, and a worse mother for longer.

"Get Chloe back. She's tired of selling tea, anyway. She asked me if I knew anybody who'd like to run The Cup for her."

"Great." Chloe and the stars. "I married an idiot."

"No, you didn't," Riley said. "She's just wired different from most. What's going on?"

"She dumped me," Gabe said, and decided not to mention that she'd done it in favor of Eleanor Dysart. Riley would have a field day with that one.

"Now see, that's what I hate about women," Riley said. "They divorce you, and then ten years later, right out of nowhere, they stop having sex with you. She have a reason?"

"The stars told her to."

"Well, then, you're screwed," Riley said cheerfully. "Or in this case, not."

"Thank you," Gabe said. "Go away."

His new secretary knocked on the door and came in.

"I fixed it with the cleaners," she said.

"Thank you."

"Now, about your business cards. There's a note in the file from Lynnie that says it's time to reorder." She was frowning, as if this were a major problem.

Gabe shrugged. "Reorder."

"The same cards?"

"Yes, the same cards."

"Because, while they are lovely, of course, they could be better-"

"The same cards, Mrs. Dysart," Gabe said.

She looked as if she wanted to say something else, then she lifted her pointed chin, took a deep breath and said, "Fine," and went out, wincing as the office door creaked behind her. It had probably creaked for years, but Gabe hadn't noticed until Eleanor Dysart showed up and started wincing.

"I don't think she likes our business cards," Riley said.

"I don't care," Gabe said. "I have to go see her brotherin-law and then deal with Lynnie. I am not screwing with perfectly good business cards on top of that. And you've got the Hot Lunch. Go act like a detective so I can get some work done."

"Maybe Nell could do it," Riley said. "You were training Lynnie. Nell-"

"She'd stick out a mile. People would stop by, trying to feed her."

"Just because you like your women upholstered doesn't mean everybody does. You have to broaden your tastes. Which in your case would mean anybody besides Chloe.

You know, she did you a favor by dumping you-"

"And God knows I'm grateful," Gabe said. "Now I have to work, and so do you. Go away."

"Fine," Riley said. "Resist change. It'll get you anyway."

Five minutes after Riley had gone, Eleanor Dysart knocked and came in, creaking the door again, and Gabe closed his eyes and thought, The hell with her bones. She's going to drive me crazy. "Yes?"

"About these business cards-"

"No." Gabe shoved himself back from his desk. "We're not changing the business cards. My father picked those out." He shrugged his suit jacket on. "I am now leaving. I will be at Ogilvie and Dysart and I won't be back until well after lunch." He detoured around her to the door, adding, "Just answer the phone, Mrs. Dysart. Don't change anything. Don't cause trouble."

"Yes, Mr. McKenna," she said, and he looked back to see if she was mocking him.

She was standing in the doorway, looking down at his business card with a potent mixture of displeasure and frustration on her face. He didn't care. His business card was staying the way it was.