Mine 'Til Monday (9 page)

And then it was going to be a quick good-bye.

Mud cursed under his breath, and scrubbed harder.

CHAPTER SIX

Dorothy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and fixed a smile on her face.

“Lovely party,” she gushed.

Only then did she open her eyes and regard herself in the mirror.

Nope. Still not right. The smile was all wrong. Inauthentic, overly—something. Oh, well. It was going to be hard work tonight, being “on” for the party when she felt like mooning around her room. Her own room, at home, where she could properly nurse a heartache.

She tried again.

“Oh, Miranda, the grounds are spectacular!”

Casting a hopeful glance at her reflection, Dorothy was disappointed again. The grounds were spectacular, but the look on the face that gazed back at her was not an honest one.

Dorothy was tired of pretending. Guilt had long since overcome her burning desire for the job, her commitment to do whatever it took to land the position at Finesse. In fact, Dorothy no longer felt nearly as certain that she was doing the right thing. Oh, the job was the right thing, certainly; the fulfillment of her professional aspirations, a chance to really put her talents to work.

But the price suddenly seemed a little high.

“Did you say something?”

Dorothy spun around to see Mud’s lathered face peering through the door. Suddenly aware that all she wore was a skimpy silk slip, Dorothy grabbed a hand towel and clutched it to her chest.

“No! Yes. I mean, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Mud’s gaze roved slowly, taking in the small bathroom, her cosmetics strewn all over the counter, clothes hanging from the towel bar. Dorothy had been uncharacteristically indecisive, unable to pick which outfit gave the proper message.

“You got someone else in there with you?”

Dorothy felt her face flame, and jutted her chin out.

“None of your business.”

“Ah. Ten-four that.” The lathered face disappeared, only to pop back in. “You wouldn’t be talking to yourself, would you, Dot?”

Only Mud’s eyes were visible above the shaving cream.

And they were registering only a trace of humor. Some other emotion crowded the deep blue. Something darker. Fierce, almost.

“Of course not.”

Dorothy could not look away, even as she felt the intensity of his appraisal slowly burning a path down the swath of black silk that ended high on her thighs. Her stomach knotted with sudden desire, and she reached for the closest object she could lay her hands on. Her curling iron.

She hefted it and poked it in his direction.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I need to finish dressing.”

“No problem,” Mud said. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes myself.”

“Wait,” Dorothy said. She bit her lip. “I think I’ll head over first, if you don’t mind. I think I ought to spend a few minutes with Miranda alone, you know, before the guests all arrive.”

Mud frowned, the white lather exaggerating his expression. “Afraid I’ll blow it with her again?”

“No, of course not.” Dorothy said quickly. A little too quickly. “I just—thought we could talk business a little. Maybe I can get a feel for where I stand.”

“You’re the boss. I’ll make myself scarce for a while.”

“Thanks.” Dorothy faltered, fixing her gaze on the floor’s tile pattern. “For...you know.”

Mud mumbled something unintelligible, and closed the door gently.

Dorothy finished dressing hastily, selecting her most reliable black dress and slicking on her makeup. She clipped on a simple strand of pearls and matching earrings, ran her fingers through her hair, and gave the mirror a final appraising glance.

“Good luck,” she whispered to her reflection.

As she made her way across the now-familiar flagstone path, Dorothy added yet another lie to the column weighing heavily on her conscience. It wasn’t the prospect of talking business with Miranda that led her to ask for the time alone. Not entirely. The truth was that the thought of strolling through the late summer evening on Mud’s arm was just a little too much to bear. Alone, she could turn a deaf ear to the melody of the crickets.

Ignore the glorious scent of the flowerbeds, carried on a gentle breeze. Pretend the last rays of sun didn’t caress her skin with warmth as they slipped behind the trees.

Alone, she could manage. Barely. But if Mud had been with her, all those sensations with combine with the...others, the ones only Mud could ignite. And she wasn’t sure if she could stand it, not knowing what she knew.

That he was only fulfilling a duty. That in twenty-four hours, he would be out of her life again.

“Oh my dear, you look spectacular!”

Miranda greeted her from the back patio, arms outstretched. Dorothy accepted a kiss and returned the embrace, grateful for the woman’s warm reception.

“No, you’re the one who looks captivating,” she said, and it was true. Miranda’s still-svelte figure was draped in a long stretch of silver that ended inches from the ground, her only adornment eye-popping diamond stud earrings.

“Oh, this old thing?” Miranda teased. “Come, dear, let’s see if we can scare up a bit of champagne.”

Inside, tuxedoed waiters made final preparations. Small tables dotted the broad sun porch; to the side, a long table held a lavish buffet. Silver buckets laden with creamy white roses rested on each table, and a jazz trio was warming up in a corner, their soft laughter spilling into short bursts of music.

“Oh, Miranda,” Dorothy breathed. “It’s...wonderful! “

“Oh, my, it’s not all that,” Miranda replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “When Walter was alive, we’d have the whole house filled with people. We used to roll up the carpets, years ago, and dance...” For a moment her eyes lost their focus, softening at the memory.

Then a passing waiter caught her attention.

“Some champagne, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said.

In seconds they each held a crystal flute of amber champagne. Dorothy drank deeply. “Delicious,” she said.

“Now what have you done with that darling boy?”

Miranda’s tone was teasing, but Dorothy’s breath caught in her throat. She had to be careful.

“Oh, you know how men are,” she said, feigning humor. “Waiting until the last minute to get ready. He’ll be here soon.”

“Well, I’m glad you came over by yourself, as a matter of fact, dear,” Miranda said.

“You are?”

“Yes. There’s something I was wondering about.”

Dorothy felt her heart quicken.

“About what Mud was saying earlier. I’m afraid he may have given you an inaccurate view of his business. He can be so modest, you know, and—”

Miranda wagged a hand dismissively. “No, it isn’t Mud. He seems like a bit of a maverick, but I can respect that in a man. To be honest, making toilet parts is not something I would be particularly inclined to pursue either. And the fact that he’s already in the sporting goods business dovetails nicely with Finesse, don’t you think?”

Dumbfounded, Dorothy could only nod.

“What I want to talk about, dear, is
you
. Your motivations. Your family. Where you see yourself. How you might fit in at Finesse.”

Dorothy gulped. “Working for you, Miranda, would be my greatest achievement so far,” she said honestly.

“I don’t doubt your ability,” Miranda replied quickly. “I’ve kept my eye on you, and you’re one of a kind. I don’t doubt that you could take Finesse to the next level.”

But
. Dorothy waited, sure she heard some unspoken hesitation in Miranda’s voice.

She was right. Miranda twisted her champagne glass carefully in her slim fingers, then regarded Dorothy thoughtfully.

“Your parents are academics, Dorothy. Scientists. And you’re every bit intelligent enough to follow in their footsteps. Why haven’t you?”

The question surprised Dorothy. She had been prepared to defend her qualifications, her track record, her career goals. But it never occurred to her that Miranda might question her desire, her motivation.

As her mind raced to frame an answer that would most enhance her goals, something gave way in Dorothy. Suddenly she was weary of manipulating the truth, of twisting things around to fit the profile of what Miranda was looking for. The burden of the ruse with Mud had exhausted her, and she longed to tell the truth. The simple truth.

But suddenly the truth wasn’t simple. Not really.

“I—I did want to be like them. At first.”

Miranda encouraged her with a small nod and keen attentiveness in her eyes.

“They were always so excited about whatever they were working on, it was hard not to get caught up in their enthusiasm. When they were in the middle of something, everything else suddenly fell between the cracks. They’d be up late into the night talking, off to the lab early in the mornings. It all seemed so exciting.

“But as I got older, I started to understand I wasn’t cut out for the lab. Some days I would have traded every beaker in the lab for a real live human to talk to. That’s how I got into sales.”

Miranda nodded her approval. “You like working with clients. I can tell. It’s impossible to fake something like that.”

Dorothy nodded vigorously. “I do. At GilTec I had a good product and I really enjoyed growing its market. I can do the same thing for Finesse.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Miranda murmured, tilting her head slightly and regarding Dorothy with open curiosity. “But I would still like to know...maybe I’m prying, Dorothy, but there is something unique about your drive. Very few folks in the industry, women or men, seem to me to be likely to put their heart into something the way I hope someone will care for Finesse. You love your work, don’t you, my dear? It’s in the blood?”

Dorothy flushed. Miranda saw into her so well. She felt exposed, frightened; but at the same time safe because she was with Miranda, who she trusted implicitly.

“My parents have passion,” she said quietly, staring at the bubbles that slowly drifted up from the bottom of her glass. “I always envied that. It seems to make their lives so rich. I don’t remember a day that either of them wanted to stay in bed rather than get out and live.”

“And they were passionate for each other, as well?”

Dorothy simply nodded. Of course, Miranda had guessed at the truth...though perhaps she didn’t see quite how much Dorothy envied the consuming devotion her parents had for each other.

But she also understood that such a bond was rare. Like so many scientific breakthroughs, that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love was the result more of luck than of determination, of being in the right place at the right time, of fate smiling for a fraction of a second.

Dorothy knew instinctively that she would never know such love.

“Such a gift, that is. Walter and I had that. Truth be told, that is the secret to the success of Finesse. It was built on a foundation as solid as our own bond, fueled through the tough times by the commitment we had to each other.”

“You were lucky,” Dorothy said wistfully.

“We were. So we were.” Miranda zeroed her gaze on Dorothy and smiled a crafty smile. “And now you will be the lucky ones. It’s your love, you and Mud, that will ensure that Finesse continues to thrive.”

Miranda reached for Dorothy’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Guilt seeped in and silenced whatever response she might have managed. She returned Miranda’s squeeze and tried to smile, averting her eyes so Miranda wouldn’t read the betrayal written there.

A melodious chord rang, giving her a reprieve. Miranda’s eyes lit up.

“Guests!” She exclaimed. “Come, I must take up my hostess duties and I do so want to show you off.”

Dorothy allowed herself to be led through the house, following the older woman and, she was sure, trailing her own cloud of deception behind her.

An hour later the house was filled with the sounds of laughter and warm conversation, and men in tuxedoes paired with women in evening gowns. Despite a couple of glasses of champagne, Dorothy’s nerves were taut. She felt very much alone, even as Miranda kept up a steady supply of introductions, and her many friends and associates professed their delight at meeting “the woman Miranda talks so much about”.

Everything was all wrong, somehow. She wasn’t a part of this crowd. Her black dress, with its long, fitted sleeves and simple neckline, couldn’t compete with the jewel tones and luxurious fabrics draped on the women. Diamonds and gold flashed in abundance. She recognized several attractive people from the society pages; other familiar faces she’d read about in the business pages, high level executives in the companies that supplied Finesse Sportswear or carried their products.

Who was she fooling? She didn’t have the polish, the credentials to mix in this crowd. There must have been dozens of more-qualified candidates for the job that Miranda was, in her own unique way, looking to fill. That Dorothy was under consideration spoke more about her willingness to go to questionable lengths to land the job, than to Dorothy’s ability to do it.

Even her date, her fiancé, was faux.

Not only that—he wasn’t even here, and the party was in full swing.

As if on cue, Miranda appeared from a thicket of laughing guests and gently took Dorothy’s arm.

“He’s here!” she exclaimed brightly. “Mud’s found his way to the party.”

And so he had. Dorothy looked in the direction Miranda indicated with her elegantly arched brow—but not before noting the faint trace of bemusement written there.

Mud stood in an arched doorway, illuminated by gleaming candles in polished brass sconces, flanked by two beautiful women. Even as her heart sank, Dorothy had the sudden thought that he looked like an ad for men’s evening wear; in his tuxedo, escorting the tall, lovely women in their slinky gowns, Mud betrayed no lack of confidence as he laughed obligingly at something one of them said.

He was too far away for Dorothy to be able to make out their conversation, but she could easily imagine what might be being said. Light, witty, banter, the kind that slips easily into innuendo as the evening wears on.