For Services Rendered (10 page)

"Who delivered it?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't they say anything?"

Mrs. Kenny frowned. "No. I thought you ordered it."

Claire suddenly knew the set had come from Nick. How he'd known about her mother's set breaking down, she had no idea.

"Well, she can't keep it."

The nurse looked at Claire as if she thought Claire were crazy, but she didn't say anything.

Later, after substituting her own portable for the new set—over Kitty's protests—Claire struggled to carry it out to her car.

But the next morning, when she called Nick's office and Wanda put him on the line, he denied all knowledge of the set.

"Fine," she snapped. "I'll just bring it into work and deposit it on your desk, then."

But of course she knew she wouldn't. She certainly didn't want anyone at work to know what was happening.

Two days later, her car wouldn't start. Claire felt like sitting down in the parking lot and crying.
Please, God. Don't do this to me.
Shoulders slumping, she climbed the stairs back to her apartment and called the corner service station.

Fifteen minutes later the mechanic from the station pulled into the parking lot. He tinkered with the car for a few minutes, then wiped his hand across his forehead. "Ms. Kendrick, I'm sorry, but it looks to me like it's your alternator."

"How much?"

When he told her, she cringed. Getting her car fixed would wipe out every penny of her savings, which wasn't much to begin with. And she'd been saving that money to buy new tires, which she needed desperately. But what could she do?

Hours later, Claire stared out the window of her office. She felt so inadequate. Suddenly, everything seemed too much for her. She felt exactly like the little Dutch boy must have felt when he stuck his finger in the dike.

That night, Peachey picked her up. She had also driven her into work that morning. "You're a wonderful friend, you know that?" Claire said as she slid into the front seat of Peachey's sporty little Mazda.

"Come on, Claire. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me."

"When's your car going to be ready?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'll take you to pick it up."

The next day, when they arrived at the service station, Clyde, the mechanic, handed her the work order to look over. "I did everything you asked for. I'm sure glad you decided to have the works." He beamed at her.

"The works. What do you mean?" Alarm caused her voice to squeak.

"You know, new tires, replace those worn belts, fix the A.C., get that alignment taken care of—the works." Clyde's smile faded as he watched her face.

"Clyde, I never authorized you to do that."

He scratched his head, his light blue eyes puzzled. "Sure you did. I have the work order right here." He pointed to the paper in her hand. "Why, that fella from your office, he said—"

"What fella from my office?"

Clyde shrugged. "I dunno. Somebody called here yesterday, said he was from your office, told us to fix everything that needed fixin' on your car and to put four new tires on it."

Nick! Who else could it have been? Anger, hot and thick, clogged her throat. Damn him! Damn him.

"Clyde, I can't afford all of this. I . . . I'm sorry, but there's been a mix-up. I can't pay for all this work."

"The bill's already been taken care of, Ms. Kendrick."

Claire looked at Peachey.

Peachey raised her eyebrows.

Claire, teeth clenched, didn't say another word. All the way home, she alternated between swearing at Nick and marveling at how good her car sounded. She knew if she called him he'd deny everything.

Sure enough, he did. "I don't know what you're talking about, Claire," he said.

The worst part of these two incidents was that Claire could feel herself weakening. And she didn't want to weaken.

The following day he started working on her through Kitty. On Thursday night, when Claire showed up at Pinehaven, tired and worried because it was now February and March 1st was looming closer every day, Kitty was eating Godiva chocolates and there was a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on her nightstand.

"Where did these come from?" Claire asked Amy.

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. They were delivered earlier today."

Claire couldn't even get angry. Especially when she saw how much pleasure they had given Kitty. After all, what right did she have to deny her mother the little pleasure she did have? After that, each day Kitty received a present of some kind: a bracelet, a bottle of Joy, candy, a stuffed animal, a lace-edged handkerchief, a lovely handpainted scarf, a porcelain music box.

Kitty was ecstatic.

Claire was tired.

So tired, she thought, as she drove home from the nursing home. Tired of resisting what Nick was offering her. Tired of trying to find a way out of her problem.

Tired of being alone. Tired of trying and trying and never getting anywhere. Tired of everything.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to hold out. What was she trying to prove anyway? Why shouldn't she grab this opportunity he was offering? After all, he'd made things very clear. All he wanted was for her to keep his home life peaceful and give him children.

Children. A painful lump formed in Claire's chest. Tomorrow she would try to reason with him one last time. Because if he kept this up much longer, she didn't think she was strong enough to resist.

The next morning she called Nick's secretary to see if he would have time to see her.

"He'll see you at ten o'clock," Wanda said.

Promptly at ten, Claire presented herself on the 50th floor. When she walked into Nick's office, he smiled and stood. "Well, this is a nice surprise."

"Nick, I've come to ask you to stop. What you're doing isn't fair, especially to my mother. It's not right to let her get used to these luxuries. In fact, it's cruel."

"There's no reason these luxuries, as you call them, have to stop."

When she met his gaze, she expected to see arrogance, that same cocksure look she'd seen so many times before. Instead, she saw concern and kindness and something else, something that made her stomach feel hollow. "There's a perfectly good reason, and you know it."

He sighed. "Claire, give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. Go out with me Saturday night. Let me show you my proposition can work."

Because she was so tired and feeling so vulnerable, she answered more harshly than she'd intended to. "No. I won't go out with you."

"I could make you, you know. After all, I am your boss."

Claire jumped up. "I can't believe you'd resort to blackmail!"

"Whatever it takes," he said, his voice light and teasing.

"Win at any price. Is that it?" She was so angry she could hardly talk.

"I told you once before. I rarely lose."

He looked so smug, so supremely sure of himself.

"Well, Mr. Callahan, if you think I'm going to do whatever you tell me to do simply because you own this company, you're dead wrong. Because I won't. No matter how many orders you give me. And if you don't like it, I guess you'll just have to fire me."

Before she reached the door, Nick was at her side, grasping her arm. She yanked it free and glared at him.

He spoke softly. "All right. You're fired. Now will you marry me?"

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Thoughts tumbled through Claire's mind with the turbulence of a jet-propelled engine. She wanted to smack the self-assurance right off his handsome, arrogant face. Her chest heaved and her face felt hot.

His molten-blue eyes were sparked with emotion: amusement and something else, something that flashed between them in a sizzling arc. Claire was reminded of the night in New Orleans when they stood outside her hotel room door and she'd known he wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her now.

The knowledge thrummed between them.

He wanted to kiss her.

And she wanted him to.

Oh, you're in big trouble, she told herself, stunned by the strength of the awareness between them.

"Why are you fighting me, Claire?"

Good question. Why
was
she fighting him? He was offering her everything she'd ever wanted: security, freedom from worry, children. So what if he wouldn't promise undying love? She had never expected marriage, let alone love. He obviously desired her physically.

And that thought excites you. Admit it.

Okay, she would be honest with herself. She
was
excited by him. He fascinated her and made her feel like a woman.

So why shouldn't she enter into this sensible bargain? Holding out like this, for some kind of misguided principle, would cause Kitty to suffer needlessly and for what? For nothing.

She shrugged. A permanent tiredness had seeped into her bones. His question was legitimate.
Why was she fighting him?
"I don't know."

This time, when he touched her arm, she let him lead her back into the office. He guided her to the far corner where two couches were placed at right angles to one another, with a low coffee table centered in front of them.

Claire sat on one of them. He sat on the other. For a few moments, he was silent. The entire office was silent except for the muted sounds on the other side of the heavy walnut doors. The 50th floor was completely insulated, Claire thought. Insulated and protected. Exactly the way her life would be if she married him.

He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees as he studied her. "Claire, will you answer a few questions for me?"

"That depends on the questions."

"Fair enough." One corner of his mouth lifted. "First question: If I had never mentioned marriage to you—what would you think of me?"

"I . . . I'm not sure what you mean." What kind of game was he playing now?

"What would you think of me? Would you dislike me? Would you dislike being with me?"

"No." She shook her head. "No. I . . ." She broke off, met his eyes. So blue. They were so blue.

"Well?" he said softly.

"I ... I wouldn't ... I don't dislike you." She wasn't sure she liked him either. This emotion she felt whenever she was with him was too strong to be described by such an innocuous word as
like.

"Do you respect me?"

"I did before all this started."

"Do you enjoy being with me?"

"Most of the time."

"So, if I had not mentioned marriage and asked you to go out with me—just an ordinary date—would you have gone?"

She wanted to say no.

Their eyes met again. The clock on his credenza struck the half hour, its soft chimes keeping time with Claire's heartbeat. She couldn't seem to look away.

"Would you have gone?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"I enjoy being with you, too," he said quietly. "I think we could have a good marriage."

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement. She took a deep breath. The moment seemed suspended in time. "All right. I'll marry you."

His eyes flashed with triumph, and Claire, unable to look away, shivered. Fear and excitement coursed through her. What had she done?

Grinning, he stood, then walked over to his desk. He unlocked a bottom drawer, removed something, then walked back toward her. Solemnly, he handed her a small velvet box.

Dazed, Claire lifted the lid and gasped. Nestled into the satin lining was an enormous round diamond solitaire. Her heart pounded. Had he been so sure she'd say yes? She wanted to be angry with him for this blatant display of confidence. But how could she be mad? The very qualities that angered her were the ones that had made him the successful man he was.

The man who's going to make your mother's life and your life safe. The man who's offering to share his life, his home, and his fortune. The man who's been honest about his feelings.

Wordlessly, she looked up. Nick took the box from her limp fingers, removed the ring, and slipped it on her left hand, holding her fingers lightly. Even this casual touch started a trembling in her stomach, and she could hardly meet his eyes.

The ring was loose, and he said, "Tomorrow we'll go to the jeweler's together and get this sized for you."

Claire looked at the ring glittering on her finger. It was magnificent. Raising her eyes to meet his warm gaze, she said, "It's very beautiful. But I never expected—"

"I know that. If you'd expected it, it wouldn't have given me nearly as much pleasure to give it to you."

Then, before she could say anything else, he slipped his arms around her, lowered his head, and kissed her.

Claire felt as if she were on a merry-go-round as she clung to him. The kiss drew all her strength from her body and caused her blood to heat and her heart to pound. She could feel his hands holding her tightly, their heat searing her through the thin silk of her dress.

He broke the kiss, finally, then said huskily, "You won't be sorry, Claire. I promise you that."

And with his ring glittering on her finger, and his promise echoing in her heart, Claire prayed he was right.

* * *

At seven o'clock the next morning, Claire called Peachey. "Help," she said. "Please come over. I have to talk to you."

"Come over! It's the middle of the night."

"Peachey, I need you."

Claire heard Peachey's moan. "Okay. Say no more." Then Peachey chuckled. "Can I take a shower first?"

"Yes."

"Put on the coffee. I'll be there in an hour."

True to her word, Peachey arrived at Claire's door fifty-eight minutes later. She looked gorgeous, Claire thought, for someone who'd been rousted out of bed hours before she normally woke up. She was wearing black tights and a long red T-shirt with sparkly stuff all over it, her silver fox coat slung carelessly over her shoulders. From her small ears hung red crystal waterfall earrings, the longest Claire had ever seen.

"Where's that coffee?" Peachey demanded.

Claire handed her a cup and pointed toward the coffee maker.

"Ahhh, ambrosia," Peachey declared as she took her first sip. "Now, what couldn't wait?"