Poisoned by Gilt (5 page)

on driving him to an urgent care clinic. Steve looked up

at me as if to seek my opinion, and I pointed with my

chin at Richard. He seemed to get the message as he

turned to leave with him.

Matthew Hayes was now heading out the back door,

and I quickened my step to catch up to him. I wanted to

find out if he'd been hired by Burke to harass Richard.

"Matthew?" I called just as he was leaving.

He turned around. "Yeah?" His brow was furrowed.

He clearly expected me to bicker with him.

"Hi." I gave him a shamefully flirtatious smile. "My

name is Erin. That instructor is a piece of work, isn't he?"

Realizing only then that I'd spoken too quickly and too

loudly, I looked behind me. To my horror, Steve was

standing in the other doorway, glaring at me. Damn it!

Why couldn't I have held my stupid tongue for two seconds!?

"Yeah," Matthew was saying. "You can say that again."

Not bloody likely.

Sullivan stormed out the opposite door, calling,

"Richard. Wait up."

I forced a smile and turned back to Matthew. "Don't

get me wrong. I'm into saving the environment. I love

our planet just as much as anyone. It's just that you need

to save yourself, too. You can go so overboard that you

turn everyone else off."

"Exactly." He studied my features and gave me another appreciative smile. "You're Erin Gilbert, aren't

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you? I think I saw an article about you in the Sentinel a

while back."

"You did?" I was smiling, but was cursing on the inside. I was going to be forced to drop my camaraderie

routine immediately. No way would I smear my reputation as an earth-friendly designer, just to ply an annoying

heckler for information about his relationship with my

client.

"Yeah. You're a designer, right?"

"Of interiors. Yes."

Matthew stood aside to allow me to pass through the

doorway first. As I brushed past him, he grumbled, "I

hate that guy. But I thought he'd be smarter than to drink

paint. Yeesh!"

"So you haven't heard that he drinks from a can every

year? That's what one of the other students told me a

minute ago."

"Actually, yeah, I heard something to that effect, but I

figured it was just a rumor. That's what gave me the idea."

He grinned at me. "You know, Erin, we're in different areas of the same field. You've even ordered some furniture

from me. At least once."

I finally made the mental connection. "Oh, that's

right. Of course. Matthew Hayes. You're the 'M.H.' in

M.H. Custom Furniture."

He nodded, eyeing me. "And you're the designer for

one of the finalists for the green home contest."

"That's right. Do you know my client, Burke

Stratton?"

"Not personally. I see that he's in for a big-deal prize,

though. Yet more greenbacks for the green home owner.

Huzzah."

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"I haven't heard anything about any boycott of your

store in almost a year. Is that really still going on?"

"Nah. Tonight was just a preventative measure. See,

every year, Crestview holds this community course, and

for Thayers's final class, he hands out fliers, along with

his list of supposed abusers. M.H. Furniture is always one

of 'em. He gets his students so psyched up, they think it's

their idea to picket."

"Even though he's the one handing out the fliers?"

"Exactly. So this year, I'm cutting them off at the pass."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Clever, right?"

"But you don't consider your furniture production

ecologically irresponsible?"

He spread his arms. "I admit that I use toxic varnishes.

And paints. And I use salvaged materials that are illegal to

import in the raw form. What are we supposed to do?

Never rework ivory? Hell, by the time I get ahold of it, the

elephant's already been dead for fifty years. That makes

me the bad guy, according to Thayers?"

I didn't reply, but the truth was, I could see both sides

of the issue. It was such a small step to go from salvaging

ivory to importing tusks. Yet Audrey had recently procured an antique piano with ivory keys, so, with an only

moderately ruffled conscience, I now had ivory in my

own house.

We entered the lobby, where I saw no sign of Sullivan

or Richard. I slowed my pace and glanced back. The two

men were coming out of the men's room. Richard's color

was considerably better, and his shoulders looked less

hunched. I breathed a sigh of relief. Steve, however, developed a hitch in his step when he spotted Matthew still

standing beside me.

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"How did you get on his list of ecological violators in

the first place?" I asked Matthew quietly.

He honed in on Richard with laserlike eyes. "I had the

guts to argue with the pompous jackass at a conference a

couple years back. He's been riding me ever since."

"I see."

"The funny thing is that the guy's a hypocrite!"

Matthew raised his voice to make sure Richard could

overhear as he neared. "He's really not that much into

the environment. He's just fooled a lot of people into

thinking he is. He only pretends to be green, because

that's been his bread and butter for years. Richard

Thayers is about as green as my rear end."

"Strange," Richard asked him as he and Sullivan

walked past us. "Did you hear a noise just now? It

sounded like a lot of hot air being let out of a balloon."

Matthew retorted, "You should know."

We left the building. It was freezing outside, but

Richard wiped dots of perspiration from his brow.

Matthew horse-laughed. "What's the matter, Thayers?

Feeling a little ill from your nontoxic product?"

I gritted my teeth at the way Matthew was taunting

him. "Can I give you a ride someplace?" I asked Richard,

thinking he might accept help from a woman more easily

than from his former student.

"No. I'm fine," he barked, and headed quickly into the

parking lot. He walked with his weight forward, as if he

was once again in physical pain.

"I'm Matthew Hayes, of M.H. Custom Furniture,"

Matthew said to Steve, and held out his hand. "Are you

Steve Sullivan?"

Sullivan clenched his fists as he faced Matthew, who

appeared to be oblivious to Steve's hostile demeanor, per-
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haps due to the dim light of the street lamp. "Yeah." He

hesitated, then shook Matthew's hand.

"I was telling Miss Gilbert that I read the article about

you two in the paper."

Sullivan shrugged. "They must have been short on

news items that day."

We all turned as Richard drove off in an old Volvo station wagon. Steve and I waved, but he didn't acknowledge us.

"So, Erin," Matthew said, "could I take you to dinner?"

"I ate before class. But thanks anyway."

"You did?" Sullivan asked in a snarky voice. "You

weren't planning to join Richard and me after class?"

"It sounded like you were planning on catching up on

old times, and I didn't want to be a third wheel."

"I said I wanted you and Richard to like each other."

"Ouch. Sorry," Matthew interrupted, holding up his

palms. "I didn't realize you two were a couple."

"It's all right," Steve said. "Erin does her own thing."

He turned away and strode toward his van.

I felt both hurt and affronted. "It was nice meeting

you, Matthew," I said automatically, although it was far

from true.

"You, too. Stop by my store sometime." He slipped a

business card into my hand. "My workshop's in the back,

so I'm pretty much there twenty-four seven."

"I'll do that," I called over my shoulder as I trotted

across the lot, only to see Sullivan pulling away. I let myself into my own Sullivan and Gilbert Designs van,

grabbed my cell phone, and pressed Sullivan's number

on my speed dial.

"Yeah?" he answered a moment later.

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"Hi, Steve. It's me. Doing my own thing. And calling

you."

"What did you expect, Erin? You had to flirt with the

guy who was harassing Richard? You had to hang out

with him in the lobby? To rub things in Richard's face?

And mine?"

"Jeez, Sullivan! Give me a little credit! I was trying to

find out if Burke Stratton had set up tonight's confrontation! We've run into terrible luck where our clients are

concerned, so I was worried about Richard's health." I

paused. When Sullivan said nothing, I added, "Despite

what Margot Troy said, it really looked to me like something went wrong when Richard drank the paint this

time. That's why I deliberately struck up a conversation

with his heckler. So I could ask if he knew Burke

Stratton. He claims he doesn't."

Steve remained silent. He pulled his van over ahead of

me, just a short distance from the parking lot.

I waited.

"I . . . didn't put that together," he finally said quietly.

"So I gathered. And by the way? Even though I did, in

fact, have dinner before class, I would have claimed to

have eaten, just to get away from Matthew Hayes."

Another long pause. "You don't have to worry about

Richard's health. He told me he'd gotten the mix wrong,

is all."

"The mix?"

"He . . . cheats a little every year." Steve's voice was deflated. "He dilutes the product he's planning on drinking.

He says it was too thick this time . . . that he didn't add

enough water. So he was feeling a little nauseated. But

he took an antacid, and he assured me he's fine now."

"Good. I'm glad."

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"Erin? I was a real jerk just now. I should've known

you wouldn't . . ."

"Flirt with your mentor's arch rival, just because I'm

such a habitual slut?"

"I was going to put things more tactfully than that.

And I know you're not a slut. I'm sorry."

I crossed my fingers and said suggestively, "You want

to try and make it up to me?"

"I'm dying to. Believe me. But . . ."

He let his voice trail off. Oh, for crying out loud! He'd

loused up, he admitted as much, and yet he was sticking

a "but" into our making-up-again conversation?! How

fair was that?!

"Erin, I just think I need to call it a day. Before I . . . put

my foot in my mouth again. Let's start fresh tomorrow."

I said nothing.

With a smile in his voice, he teased, "I'll bring you

flowers and peel you some grapes."

"Grapes?"

"Yeah. I think there's some line in Cleopatra about

grape peeling. By her love slave. If I'm not mistaken."

I chuckled. "Well, I like the sound of that love slave

thing."

"I was hoping you would. So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I guess so. At work. Yippee."

"Doesn't really feel like work, when you're around."

My heart made a little flutter that felt like a joyful leap,

but he said, "Night, Erin," and hung up before I could reply.

The next morning, as I strolled from my parking space

toward our office, the view of crystalline blue sky against

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snowcapped mountains made me fall in love with

Colorado all over again, even though I'd lived here for almost three years. On such a morning, it was easy to find

inspiration for my work--the lavender colors of the white

crested mountains, the azure sky, the deep forest greens

of the pine trees.

I felt almost giddy as I let myself inside through the

carved oak door, smiling at the brushed-nickel faceplate

that read Sullivan and Gilbert Designs. I was so lucky! I

lived in one of the most beautiful areas in existence, I was

working in the career that I loved with the man I--

Perish that thought! I was getting way ahead of myself.

Sullivan and I had only recently figured out how to work

together without letting our differences boil over--and

cost us clients. None of the famed couples in happilyever-after fairy tales had to navigate running a two-person

business together. If I was going to let myself start believing that Sullivan and I could manage that feat, I had to

ignore an enormous amount of evidence to the contrary.

After a few minutes of stalling, I gradually got to work.

By the time my drawings of Burke's sunroom had captured my full attention, I had resolved that my businesshours focus needed to stay squarely on the job. I simply

could not be daydreaming about my love life, or lack

thereof, when the object of those dreams would, in mere

minutes, be occupying the only other desk in the room.

As if on cue, Sullivan stepped through the doorway,

his cheeks adorably flushed from the cold. My heart instantly began its familiar thrumming. He hung his black

wool coat next to mine on the antique brass coat rack. He

carried nary a flower nor a grape, peeled or otherwise.

Disappointment was already clutching at my throat.

Maybe if I sat in a closet for long enough, my emotions

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