My One And Only (9 page)

Abby nodded. "I thought it was a great idea."

"We're going to be using some artificial sweeteners and substitute sugars, so I wanted to check on how I should adjust the existing recipes. Since Monsieur Billaud does that entire sugar-free menu thing, I figured he'd know."

"Good answers?" Abby asked.

Rachel produced a piece of notepaper from her apron pocket. "Guess we'll find out." She looked over the piles of ingredients with a knowing eye. "Okay, let's get to work."

Abby reached for the butter. Rachel's strategy for the massive job always entailed preparing large batches of raw ingredients, then mixing as needed. It seemed to make things go faster than
working on one recipe at a time. "I'll cream the butter," she said.

Rachel gave her a surprised look. "You hate that part."

"I need the exercise."

LuAnne picked up a package of chocolate. "What do I do with this? Smelling it is starting to make me high."

"Chop it," Rachel said. "Really fine pieces." She brought out a grinder from the pantry. "I'll do nuts."

LuAnne opened the package of imported chocolate and rolled her eyes in exaggerated bliss. "I think I'm gaining weight just handling this. What is it?"

Rachel laughed. "It's Couverture Chocolate."

"Expensive," Abby assured LuAnne.

"Yeah," Rachel concurred. "That bar you're holding is worth more than my allowance for an entire month."

"I'm salivating." LuAnne licked her lips.

Abby shook her head with a slight laugh. "Well, don't try it. I guarantee you'll get addicted."

F
ive-thirty. Ethan glanced at the clock on his desk. In four hours it would be precisely three days since he'd informed Abby Lee of his terms. And he had nothing to assure him she'd fully understood his proposition, except for her startled intake of breath and the wary way she'd watched him pick up the reports on Harrison's company and walk out of her town house.

And the sound of the dead bolt turning in the lock seconds after he'd closed the door behind him.

The dead bolt had given her away.

He had to admit that she'd impressed the hell out of him by not calling him this week. He'd expected either outraged demands for an explanation, a flat refusal, or, at the very least, an indignant request for an apology and the blunt information that he would not be welcome at her home the following Tuesday night. She had responded with a polite and aloof thank-you note for giving her his time.

And neatly put the ball back in his court. Abigail Lee was proving to be every bit as fascinating as he'd hoped.

Ethan drummed his fingers on the desk as he absently listened to the droning voice of a colleague on his speakerphone. Caution was telling him to let things simmer for a while before he made another move. He could let Abby stew until Tuesday. She'd probably blink if he made her wait that long before contacting her. Harrison needed help, and she needed an answer. If he showed his hand too soon, he'd give her an edge. She was in a much stronger bargaining position than she probably realized at the moment. If he were smart, he'd leave it that way.

That was precisely what Pamela had been trying to tell him that morning.

He wasted fifteen more seconds mentally debating the wisdom of what he was about to do. A wooden pencil on the edge of his desk caught his eye, and he pictured it wrapped in the coils of Abby's hair. "Screw it," he muttered.

"Ethan?" came the voice on the speakerphone.

Ethan snatched up the receiver. "Nothing, Bob. Listen, something just came up, and I've got to cut this short."

"But I thought—"

"Can't be helped," he told the other man. "Besides, it's Friday. We couldn't get in touch with Severs now even if we wanted to."

"Didn't you say you wanted concrete numbers on this by Monday morning?"

Ethan frowned. "Monday's a holiday, Bob."

"A
holi—hell, Ethan. What's wrong with you?"

Good question, he thought. He never took holidays. And he sure as hell never spent three days wondering why some woman hadn't called him. He felt like a teenager. A cranky, hormone-ridden, lust-driven teenager. "Nothing," he told Bob. "I just don't think we can realistically pursue this until next week."

"Well, according to my source at the Justice Department, there's a very good chance we're going to be sucked into it."

Ethan already had his pocket PC in his hand
and was clearing his calendar. "And I can't do a damned thing about it until Tuesday, so why are we talking about it now?"

"But, Ethan—"

"Tuesday, Bob. You can go over the numbers with Beverly. In fact, make that Tuesday afternoon. I won't be able to get to them until—" He pictured the homey interior of Abby's house and made yet another quick decision. "Actually, Wednesday morning. I've got to make a trip out of town."

"Ethan—"

"Don't worry about it. Beverly's the best I've got. She can give you whatever you need."

"I know, but don't you think—"

He lost what was left of his patience. "Wednesday morning. That's what I think. I'll be out of the office until then, and if Carlyn needs anything, tell her to contact Edna. I won't be taking calls."

"You won't— Ethan, where the hell are you going? Zimbabwe?"

"Chicago." He hung up, and was about to punch the button for his assistant when the second phone on his desk rang. Ethan looked at it with a fierce frown. He got three kinds of calls on the private line. Calls from Pamela, though she hadn't used it since she'd broken their engagement. Occasionally, someone dialed a wrong number. And from time to time, calls from the few members of the Montgomery clan with whom
he'd maintained a semblance of a relationship. He thought about not answering, but couldn't make himself do it. Reaching for the receiver, he was hoping for a wrong number.

"Maddux."

"Ethan? Darling? Is this a bad time?"

At the sound of his aunt Letty's voice, some of his tension eased. Of all Harrison's relatives, Letty was the one Ethan liked the best. She had provided maternal comfort and support during those tense years between his mother's death and his final argument with his father. Letty had been the one to help Ethan with the simple funeral arrangements.

Ethan settled into his chair. "Come on, Letty. When is it ever a bad time with you?"

She laughed. "Charming as usual, I see."

Ethan picked up the pen on his desk and twirled it between his fingers. "But as it happens, I'm on my way out the door. Was there something specific you needed, or could I call you tomorrow?"

"Well
…
" She hesitated.

"Yes?"

"It's just that I heard something, and I was wondering—I mean, not that I—"

"Yes," Ethan said patiently. "I was in Chicago on Tuesday."

"Oh."

"How did you know?"

"I'm not going to tell you," she said. "You'd get mad, and then I might not find out again."

"Well, since everyone is so fascinated by my travel arrangements these days, you might as well know that I'm headed back to Chicago this evening."

"Really?" She sounded way too interested for his peace of mind.

"Yes. Really."

"Ethan, does this mean—"

"I am not going to Chicago to see Harrison."

"Oh." Silence.

Ethan glanced out the window. "I'm going to see Abigail," he admitted for no logical reason.

"I see." The tone in his aunt's voice told him that she saw way more than he wanted her to. "Abby's trying to get you to help Harrison with MDS."

"Shrewd as usual."

"Are you going to?" she asked.

"Depends."

"On?"

"On Abby."

He was certain he heard her smile when she said, "Ah."

"Don't sound smug," Ethan warned her. "It's unbecoming."

"But wickedly satisfying, darling."

Despite himself, he laughed. "Then I'm sure you'll understand why I have a flight to catch."

"Of course. But believe it or not, I did call you for a reason."

"Not just to pry?"

"No. And since you're going to be in Chicago this weekend, you might even give me my way."

Ethan dropped the pen into its holder. "Letty, when have I ever failed to give in to you?"

"Never. It's why I love you."

"Liar," he muttered.

She laughed. "What I called about was that Carlton is graduating this weekend."

Ethan recognized the name of Letty's stepson, the son of her third husband. She'd maintained a very close relationship with the young man even after her divorce from his father. Ethan hadn't been surprised. Letty had never had children of her own, and Carlton had been at a vulnerable age when he'd entered her life. She'd immediately taken to him just as she had to Ethan. Their bond seemed to have strengthened when Carlton lost one of his legs in an automobile accident. Through Letty, Ethan had remained somewhat informed of his cousin's progress through college.

"Is he?" Ethan asked.

"Yes. He's magna cum laude—did I mention that?"

"A few times," he said with a slight smile.

"Well, I was hoping you'd meet with him. Just for a few minutes. He could use some good career advice."

"He can come work for me."

Letty sucked in a breath. "I wasn't asking that."

"I know. But he can."

"Ethan, really, I just wanted you to give him some career advice."

"The best advice I can give him is that he should come work for me. Software development is his thing, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I've got a division for that. I'll give him a decent salary and benefits, and we'll see what he can do."

"Really, I—"

"Letty, I'm glad to do it."

"Not everyone expects you to do them favors, Ethan. You know that, don't you?"

He didn't bother to respond to that. "Tell Carlton he can expect confirmation from me in the mail. I'll have my assistant send him his paperwork."

"Don't you even want an interview?"

"He's related to you," Ethan told her. "That's all I need to know."

"Oh, Ethan, what in the world am I going to do with you?"

"Beats the hell out of me."

"Would you at least like to come to his party on Saturday? You're going to be in town."

He hesitated. "Where is it?"

Letty coughed slightly. "Harrison's yacht."

Ethan glanced at the Rothko painting on the wall of his office and had a mental picture of Abby staring at it while a pencil held her hair in place.

"What time should I be there?" he asked.

"You'd come? You're serious?"

"I'm about to hire my newest software genius. The least I can do is show up at his graduation party."

"You're sure?"

"Have you ever known me to be anything but sure?"

Letty laughed. "It's part of your charm. But, Ethan, the party—"

"I know. Swarming with Montgomerys. What time should I be there?"

Letty paused. "I'm sure Abigail has the information."

"I'm sure she does."

"One piece of advice, Ethan?"

"Only one?" he teased.

"One for now," she clarified. "Everyone loves he
r—the entire family. Abby is…
unique."

An understatement at best, he thought. "I can see that."

"Don't hurt her."

"I'll try."

"That's all I ask, darling. I can't wait to see you."

"Bye, Letty."

He hung up with a shake of his head. He had to be losing his mind
to even think about getting in
volved with Abby Lee when the Montgomery clan had obviously claimed her as one of their
own. Rather than diminishing the appeal, however, the knowledge that she'd managed to woo and win most of his estranged family held an odd fascination. Charming, gracious, complicated, Abby somehow managed to be both sophisticated and unaffected. If any other woman had neglected to call him after the conversation they'd had on Tuesday, he could have comfortably assumed she was biding her time. With Abby, he was prone to suspect she had probably just forgotten.

The realization made him feel irritable and agitated—two words he hated. In Ethan's life, moods were inconvenient realities of the human condition. And if he had a brain in his head, logic told him, he'd recognize that Abby Lee had an ability to bring out every mood he possessed— including a few he'd never acknowledged.

The only way, he thought, staring at the San Francisco skyline, to regain control was to settle the question of Abigail Lee and just what the hell he was going to do with her. And that question had to be settled in Chicago.