Weekend Agreement (5 page)

His pants pocket buzzed, a vibrating reminder that he was never far away from the world’s demands. A groan escaped his lips when he saw the call screen.
Speaking of demands.

“Hello, Vivian. What can I do for you now?”

His mother’s answer was a put-upon sigh. “For one thing, you can do something about your staff. The man who answers your phone was incredibly rude to me when I called. Doesn’t he realize who I am?”

Oh, he knows all right. “I’ll speak to him.”

“I should hope so. Don’t you train your employees about proper service?”

“Like I said, I’ll speak to him. Now what is it you want?” Because God knows, his mother wouldn’t call to merely chat.

“Now there you go being curt. No wonder your staff behaves poorly. They pick up their cues from you. Really, Daniel, I thought you were raised better than that.”

Guess the nanny messed up.

“Have you spoken to Cole yet?”

“What’s the matter? He finally break loose from your apron string?” Of course he hadn’t spoken with Cole. Other than sharing the same mother, he and his stepbrother had little in common.

“He has a brilliant idea for a new business that I told him to share with you.”

Translation: their mother wanted Daniel to pony up some cash for his brother’s latest venture. “What kind of business?” Masochist that he was, he had to ask.

“One that is simply brilliant,” Vivian said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t spoken with you yet. He was very excited about it.”

“Guess he’s been busy.” Sailing or whatever it is he did on that boat of his.

“Oh well, you can get the details when you see him this weekend. Speaking of which, I need to know what time you and Valerie will be arriving. I want to make sure we have everything Valerie needs.”

What Valerie needed was a new boyfriend. “I’m not bringing Valerie.”

You could practically hear his mother clutching her chest in horror. “What do you mean, you’re not bringing Valerie? We’ve been expecting her.”

No doubt name-dropping to everyone on the island as well. “There’s been a change of plans.”

Silence greeted his reply. “And when were you planning to let me know about these changes?”

“I just did.”

“Unbelievable. How like you to spring something like this on me last minute. We were expecting to see her.”

Of course she was. Vivian’s interest in his dates was directly proportional to how much buzz her party would receive. She’d likely been counting on Hollywood’s rising “It Girl” to help out. After all, the only thing Mother loved more than being part of the social register was having her picture on the social pages. Publicity was one of the reasons she liked having her eldest son around; since he’d become a celebrity in the business world, he attracted press coverage. Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason. Her contact had definitely increased as his fame and fortune did.

Vivian rambled on, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he closed his eyes and pictured the rolling surf. Just once he’d like to meet a woman who didn’t want something from him. Just once it’d be nice to look into a pair of eyes and see only sincerity.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, he had to get his date’s contract notarized. Because in the real world, his romantic life consisted of nothing more than business transactions with better clothes.

And propriety agreements.

Chapter Three

Not a date. Not a date.

Charlotte recited the mantra with each stroke of her hairbrush.
Not a date.
She’d been on dozens of dates. Dates were fun. Lighthearted. Voluntary. This was not a date.

Why, then, did she have butterflies in her stomach?

Who wouldn’t be nervous? Getting on some strange man’s plane, spending the weekend with his family. A family no doubt as prickly as their son.

Not a date.

The doorbell rang. Charlotte started, the hairbrush tumbling from her fingers. She looked at the clock on her night table. Figures. He was ten minutes early. She quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail wrapper and surveyed her appearance.

She didn’t look like a woman going on a date–a feat that took a mere ninety minutes to accomplish. She looked at her pink T-shirt and khaki shorts with satisfaction. Nope, definitely not the look of a woman excited about seeing Daniel Moretti again.

The doorbell buzzed a second time. Not a man of patience, was he? Weaving her way through the maze of family furniture filling her living room, she opened the front door to let him in.

“Good, I got here in time.”

Judy brushed past her, a large manila folder tucked under her arm.

“If you’re here for one last attempt at talking me out of this weekend, forget it.” Charlotte shut the door. “As I told you at breakfast, and again at lunch, my mind’s made up.”

“I know, I know. I’m not here to rehash our argument.”

“Then why are you here?”

“After lunch, I figured if I can’t talk you out of this nonsense, I could at least help you know what you’re getting into.” She shoved the folder at Charlotte. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Research.”

Charlotte scowled as she opened the file. Judy had apparently amassed a collection of articles and photographs, all regarding Daniel. His business deals, his romances. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Press clippings?”

“Forewarned is forearmed. It won’t hurt for you to remind yourself what kind of shark Moretti is.”

“Right, a big polka-dotted shark. You’ve covered quite a bit of the animal kingdom these past few days.”

“Joke about my metaphors all you want, you can’t laugh away the facts. Do you know who his last girlfriend was? Valerie Pinochet.”

“The actress from that nighttime soap opera?”

“If acting is the word for what she does. Yes, her. Look.”

Charlotte looked at the magazine photo Judy placed on the top of the file. It was Valerie Pinochet, all right, her God-given talent on display for all the world to see. And there was Daniel, with his arm quite possessively around her waist.

She thought of her own dowdy appearance. “Wow.”

“Wow is right. That folder has dozens of photos like that one. He has a different woman every month. Models, actresses, socialites. It proves he’s a man to be wary of.”

“It also proves I’m positively not his type.” Ignoring the disconsolate feeling accompanying her words, Charlotte returned the file to Judy. “I couldn’t be less like those women.”

“Which makes you all the more a challenge,” Judy said, shoving the file back into Charlotte’s hands. “Take it. You may need to remind yourself what kind of man he is.”

“What are you afraid is going to happen? That I’ll take one look at those puppy-dog eyes of his and swoon with desire?”

“The fact that you even noticed he’s got puppy-dog eyes is reason enough to take that file. Then there’s that little episode on the steps yesterday.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? The heat got to me.”

Her friend didn’t respond. She simply sat down on the sofa and examined her vermilion nails. “Just take the folder.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Charlotte shoved the research into the side pocket of her overnight bag. “Satisfied?”

“Almost. Did you pack your cell phone?”

“Why? Am I supposed to call in with hourly updates?”

“Every few hours will be fine. I’m being protective.”

A smile begrudgingly tugged at the corners of Charlotte’s mouth. Erroneous theories or not, Judy meant well. “Protective my foot. You’re being nosy.”

“Maybe a tiny bit. My practical side may think you’re making a mistake, but my starstruck side wants to know every detail.”

“In that case I promise to stay in constant contact.” Charlotte finally gave in and grinned.

The doorbell buzzed again. This time, both women started.

“Showtime,” Judy remarked. “Are you ready?”

The minute the doorbell rang, a flock of butterflies took flight in Charlotte’s stomach.
Make that two flocks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She reached for the front doorknob.

Daniel stood on the threshold, the picture of old money casual. Gone was the dark suit, shed in favor of a white polo shirt and sharply pressed tan slacks. Charlotte tried not to stare at his tan, muscular arms or think about her brief contact with them on the stairs.

Not a date
, her mind repeated.
Not a date.

“Ready to go? The traffic’s heavy this time of evening.”

Not waiting for her invitation, Daniel walked in, stopping short when he saw Judy. “Professor Cleghorn, how not surprising to see you here.”

Judy returned his wry smile. “I came to see Charlotte off. Wish her a good trip. Tell her to be careful navigating those shark-infested waters.”

“Interesting advice,” he remarked cryptically. “One never knows what trap one might fall into.”

He turned his attention to his surroundings. Charlotte watched him, uneasy with his scrutiny. She could only imagine what Daniel’s house looked like. Probably some impeccably appointed penthouse somewhere. As for her, her little ranch house wouldn’t make the cover of any decorating magazines. The furniture, all inherited, was thrown together, the various styles and periods clashing. Bric-a-brac and photographs littered every surface, a study in modern clutter. Up to that moment, design had never been as important to her as the pieces themselves.

“You’ve got quite a collection,” he noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many antiques in one place, except maybe in an antiques store.”

“Family pieces,” she explained, wishing she didn’t have that defensive note in her voice. “I’m the repository for all family objects no one wants.”

“The family junkyard.”

“You sound like my brother. I’ll have you know that none of it is junk. It all has meaning.”

“Not to mention value.” Daniel ran his hand over the back of her Boston rocker. The chair, owned by her great-great-grandmother, was her favorite. “I imagine a piece like this would go for quite a bit at auction.”

Charlotte pressed her hand against her chest. He might as well have spoken sacrilege. “Sell it? The thought never even crossed my mind.”

He gave her a strange smile. “Of course it didn’t.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” He gave the rocker a tiny push. “Nothing at all.”

But the cryptic remark refused to leave her brain. “What do you think he meant by that?” she asked Judy while Daniel carried her bags to his sports car.

“You’ve got me. Maybe he thinks sentimental value is a waste of time. Guys like him usually do.”

“He seems angry about something.”

“Guys like him are always angry.”

“Do you think he’s sorry he agreed to this arrangement?”

“If he is, then he doesn’t realize he got the best end of the deal.”

Daniel slammed the trunk shut. Judy gathered Charlotte in her arms and hugged her tightly. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

“And remember my research,” she whispered in her ear.

Twenty-five minutes later, weaving through the slow-moving Boston traffic, Charlotte doubted she’d need Judy’s clipping collection to keep distance between her and her companion. Daniel was more taciturn than usual, his responses to her attempts at conversation limited to the bare minimum. After a while, she gave up and stared out the window.

For the life of her, she didn’t know what she did to make him so angry. Yesterday on the steps, he seemed so different. Warmer. Surely she hadn’t imagined the connection between them.

She never told Judy about the baffling feeling of intimacy that seemed to pass between them. No, Judy would have gone ballistic.

And for good reason. Since that bewildering moment, Charlotte’s brain replayed it over and over, recalling each millisecond with crystal clarity. Right down to the way his eyes reflected her own secret, lonely feelings. Now she wondered if her mind hadn’t amplified the moment out of wishful thinking.

By the time they reached the airport, Charlotte didn’t know what she felt–other than regret for ever agreeing to this situation, and not figuring out another solution.

A sandy-haired man in a uniform greeted their car. When Charlotte stepped out, she caught his eyes widen slightly before their attention locked onto Daniel. “Good evening, Mr. Moretti.”

“Evening, Peter. Everything set?”

“Yes sir, just as you requested. Soon as you’re settled in, I’ll alert the tower of our departure.”

“Very good. Our luggage is in the trunk.”

Instantly Peter was on the job, unloading their bags. Not once did he look in her direction. Either she wasn’t interesting, or he was well paid for his discretion.

Daniel’s hand brushed the small of her back as he guided her toward the waiting plane. Just as in the movies, it sat gassed and ready. Despite her resolve to act unimpressed, Charlotte let out a gasp upon entering the cabin. The main fuselage was narrow, not much wider than ten feet. Without rows of seats, however, the cabin looked far wider. A soft blue sofa lined one side while a quartet of matching seats filled the other. Peter, at least she assumed it was Peter since she doubted Daniel gave it any thought, had already stocked the cabin with snacks and bottles of mineral water. She inhaled. No stale airplane air here. Instead, she caught the faint scent of ginger and citrus.