Let Me Count The Ways (11 page)

Claire shrugged. “Okay, sounds good. Let me get my purse and we’ll go.”

Yes!
It was all I could do to keep from pumping my fist in the air. She hadn’t even hesitated. My jubilation was short lived, however. I turned back toward my desk, saw the papers scattered on its surface, and groaned. “Oh, hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Claire inquired, lifting her purse from its nest in the bottom drawer of her own desk.

I gestured at the papers. “I forgot. I wasn’t finished.”

“Oh. Right.” A smug smile seemed to flirt with the edges of her mouth. “Well, what do you want to do?”

Smiling? What I wanted to do, at this present moment, was think up some way to pay her back for that bit of insolence. I stared fixedly at her mouth, unable to look away. “I guess I could take it home with me.” I could bring it in to the office tomorrow and let one of my employees finish it up. Only I didn’t want to do that. Working on Claire’s account was a pleasure for me, an act of devotion. It was
my
task and I didn’t want to share it with anyone. “But why don’t I check my schedule tomorrow and see if I can’t find some time to come back next week and finish it?”

“All right.” Claire flashed a brilliant smile as she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Good idea,” she said as she headed for the door. “Two weeks was too long to wait anyway.”

Now, what the hell does that mean?
I wondered. Did she think I’d let her account sit, untouched, for two weeks? Or did she mean two weeks was too long to wait to see me again?
Does she only intend to see me when I come to do her books? The hell with that!

Before I could ask, however, she’d reached the door and pulled it open.

“Was that unlocked the whole time?” I was surprised into asking.

Claire glanced at me slyly. “You just figure that out?”

I felt the blood warming my cheeks and knew I was once again blushing. “I, uh, yes. Sorry. You should have said something.”

Claire patted my arm. “Well, you were occupied.”

I frowned. Something about her words seemed vaguely familiar. “What?”

“You know how it is,” she murmured, blinking innocently. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Then she skipped blithely down the stairs.

I trailed behind her feeling once again bemused.

“Good night, everyone,” Claire called cheerfully to her staff as she breezed through the small reception area, receiving a chorus of good-byes in response.

“Night, Claire,” Derek murmured. As he glanced up from the clip-board he’d been examining, his expression changed. His initial smile faded into a look that bordered on displeasure.

I felt myself bristling as his gaze lingered on her in what seemed to be entirely too proprietary a manner.
He looks like he knows exactly what we’ve been doing
. Then his gaze shifted to me and the open hostility I read there removed all doubt.
Damn. He does know.
Not caring to conjecture how that was possible, I returned his look with one of cool disdain and passed him by without a word.
Tough luck, kid. You didn’t know what you had, did you? Well, now she’s with me.

Picking up my pace, I managed to overtake Claire before she reached the front door. “Allow me, milady,” I murmured as I held it open for her.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She flashed me another smile, then her eyes narrowed inquisitively. “What’s going on with you?”

I looked at her in surprise. “I don’t know. Why?”

“It’s just... all of a sudden, you have this kind of cat that ate the canary look about you.”

Oh. I felt my lips stretch until I knew I must be grinning from ear to ear. “Close. Now, where would you like to go for dinner?”

Mike

Claire’s house was not what I’d expected. I’d thought her home would reflect her personality, her tastes and passions, her career. I thought it would tell me something about her that I didn’t yet know. Maybe many things. Instead, it seemed... impersonal.

“I know,” she agreed when I questioned her about it. “It’s not really me, is it?”

“It’s not really anyone.”

Claire shrugged. “Why should it be? I don’t own this place, you know. I lease it. Furnished. There’s a maid who comes in once a week, a gardener, a pool boy. I didn’t hire them, I rarely see them, I don’t even sign their paychecks. I just live here.”

“I see.” I glanced around the living room again. “Kind of like living in a hotel.”

“One that’s severely lacking in room service and other amenities, but yeah. Pretty much.”

“Why?”

“Money for one thing. That’s simple enough, right? Until my settlement went through I couldn’t afford to buy anything and, once I had the money, I decided I’d be better off investing in my business.” She sighed. “Plus, I guess I just got tired of having to re-invent myself every few years. The thought of starting over again... I just couldn’t do it.”

I suppose I must have looked puzzled because she shrugged and added, “You know. Marriage, divorce, remarriage. At this point, I probably wouldn’t recognize my own tastes in furnishings if I were plunked down in the middle of ‘em. Really, the only things here that are mine are my clothes, and that’s just fine with me.”

“What about memorabilia? You must have boxes of stuff from all your movies.”

Amusement glimmered in Claire’s eyes. “Oh, but you know, Mike, those charity auctions do take their toll.” Then she shrugged. “
Boxes
? No. I did used to keep a scrapbook with my clippings and whatnot. And I suppose I might still have
a
box in storage, somewhere. But, you know, things tend to get lost when you move as much as I have. It’s an occupational hazard. Besides, I prefer clothes anyway. And shoes, of course.”

“Okay, but there had to be something about this house that you liked.” I suppose I was still hoping I could get some kind of insight into her mind. “What was it that made you choose it over... well, any of the other places you could have rented? When you first saw the place, what did you think of it?”

“Well, let’s see...” Claire swept the room with a thoughtful glance. “I think it was something along the lines of... this’ll do.”

“This will do?” I repeated, in disbelief. “That was it?”

Claire nodded. “Pretty much. Or maybe, this’ll do. For now.”

I felt myself frowning. There was something about that statement, something about the way she said it, that bothered me. Maybe because I couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way myself. Not about anything, really.

“Well, enough of this standing around,” Claire said, her eyes twinkling as she smiled at me. “I’m going to go change now, so why don’t you... oh, I dunno... make yourself at home? If that’s possible?”

“I will,” I said as I returned her smile. “Take your time.”

As I waited for her to return, I tried hard to dispel the disappointment I was feeling. There was so much about her I’d yet to learn, so much I wanted to know. Luckily, things improved over dinner.

I took her to Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. It’s the kind of place that’s popular rather than trendy with an emphasis on good food and good service. The kind of place where I knew we could sit and talk and get to know each other better.

The first thing I learned was that, contrary to all the preconceptions people tend to have about stars and their egos, this one really didn’t like to talk about herself. Not about herself, not about her career, not about her past. Especially not about her past.

“Oh, but that’s such
old
news,” she protested after humoring me for several minutes. “And not at all interesting. Honestly, Mike, if you really want to know this stuff, I’m sure it’s all been written up somewhere. You could just... look it up and read it sometime. Right now, I’d much rather talk about you.”

Talk about ‘not at all interesting’! “You’d be bored.”

She smiled at me from across the table. “I bet I wouldn’t either. I suspect you’re actually quite fascinating.”

Fascinating? I shook my head. “Now, Claire, you’re a very talented actress, but not even you can pull off a line like that and expect anyone to believe it.”

Her laughter was lyrical, musical and just loud enough to turn several heads. “I really do want to know more about you, Mike. Truly. Please?”

When she looked at me like that, when she used that voice and asked so sweetly, I could deny her nothing. And so we talked about me. And then we talked about other things. About everything. About food and wine. Places we’d traveled to, or lived in, or wanted to see someday before we died. And, finally, after I’d worn her down and slipped past all her defenses, we talked about her.

We lingered a long time over dessert and coffee and, with every word she spoke, I felt myself falling deeper and deeper in love. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything as lovely as she looked that night, with the lamplight gleaming in her hair and her eyes glowing.

When I could no longer put off the inevitable, I took her home. I walked her to her door and there, standing in the soft glow of her porch light, I wrapped my arms around her and let her kiss me. Bracing her hands on my arms, she went up on her toes and I closed my eyes to better revel in the sweet softness of her lips, the gentle hesitancy of her mouth on mine.

She broke off the kiss, at last, with a little sigh. Resting her head on my chest she asked, “You’re not coming in, are you?”

The wistful tone in her voice could have been an act. I knew it wasn’t. That, all by itself, was almost enough to compensate for the words I had to say. “I can’t. I have to get back to Zoe. If I come in now, I won’t be able to make myself leave until morning.”

She nodded, saying nothing.

After a moment I asked, “Can I call you?”

“You have to, remember? You were going to tell me when you can come back next week and finish up.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “I know I’m free next Thursday afternoon, so why don’t I just make it then? Same time as usual, okay?”

“Sure.” She angled her head to the side and glanced up at me. “So, I guess, when you asked if you could call me, you must have meant... socially?”

I nodded. And then waited for what seemed an eternity while she appeared to ponder the matter.

”Yes,” she said at last, speaking slowly, clearly, making that single word sound so very, very serious. She waited a beat and then added, “Now, that wasn’t too vague, or anything, was it?”

Smiling, I pulled her close for another kiss. “No. Not too vague at all.”

I’d wait until Saturday, I decided, right there on the spot. One day, so as not to seem too eager. One day to wait, this time, not fourteen. And then, if I was lucky, we’d have almost the whole weekend, two full days, to share together. Two days of heaven.

Claire

“Talk to me, Claire,” Derek said Saturday morning. He’d come to my office to discuss changes to the upcoming schedule, which was not unusual. But then he’d stayed to chat, something he hadn’t done in quite awhile. “What’s new with you?”

I hid my surprise at the question as best I could. “Nothing much. Same old, same old, really. Why do you ask?”

Derek shrugged. “It’s just... well, it’s been great seeing you get back into things in the last few weeks. Exercising. Working out. You’re looking more like your old self these days.”

“Exactly which ‘old self’ would that be?”

For just an instant, Derek looked uncomfortable. “You know. More like before. Like you were when we first--Well, like you were when I first met you.”

“You mean before you tortured me into shape with your endless
asanas
?” I teased. I wondered if he was feeling slighted because I’d been avoiding his classes.

“No, I mean happy.”

I stared at him. “Derek... I’m happy.”

He nodded. “That’s what I said. And I’m happy for you. But...”

I waited. “But?”

Derek sighed. “It’s just--You and the accountant, Claire? That’s a little random, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know why,” I answered, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Well, for starters, he doesn’t seem like your usual type.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t have a usual type. Come on, Derek, you know how much I like variety. Mike and I are friends. I had dinner with him. End of discussion.”

“Dinner?” Derek’s smile turned sardonic. His eyes bored into mine with that annoying all-seeing, Secrets-of-the-Mystic-East kind of way he likes to affect at times. “Well, good. ‘Cause I’m sure you needed it. I’m sure you and your
friend
worked up quite an appetite while he was here.”

It was a struggle to keep my mouth from dropping open. Derek knew about that? No. He couldn’t. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” Derek replied dryly. “I’ve been your friend too, right?”

Oops
. “Does everyone know?” It shouldn’t bother me if they did. No, it
didn’t
bother me. Not really. But still, that was
not
the image I was trying to project right now.

Derek shrugged. “Probably not. No one’s saying anything about it. If they were, I would have heard it. But I know you better than most of the others do. Besides,” A look of distaste curled his lips. “The guy was looking too smug for me to think anything else.”

I nodded. “I noticed that too. Like the cat that ate the canary, right?”
And I still don’t know why.

Derek’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, I’m not sure which of you was the canary in that scenario but yeah, kinda like that.”

Which of us was the canary? What the... oh.
As Derek’s
entendre
hit home, Mike’s reply the other day suddenly seemed a lot less cryptic.
Close.
Right. He hadn’t eaten a canary, but--Wow, color me stupid for having missed that one!

To cover my confusion, I went into character. I’d been playing a vamp for over half a lifetime--both on and off screen. Leaning back seductively in my chair, I let my gaze turn smoky. “Now, Derek,” I purred in lecherous tones, “You
know
that’s always been my favorite part.”